And So It Begins...

Every dragon has a conscience. It may not seem so, but it's true. Even as hatchlings, we come from the shell with a knowing of what we must do. The problem is that what stirs a dragon’s conscience differs vastly from what humans think of as right and wrong. Of course, arrogant humans assume theirs is the sole notion of truth, admitting no alternate possibility. I find it odd that humans act contrary to their designated moral code far more often than any other species.

For example, dragon hatchlings come from very large clutches as a general rule, and they hatch out of their eggs in waves. These small creatures are feral, but they emerge in possession of the core knowledge of dragonkind, able to speak our language and fully aware of our beliefs and morals. Strangely, they do not know flight or the world outside the den.

Those that hatch earliest immediately attack their unhatched siblings, cracking open eggs to devour the helpless inhabitants. This seems terrible to a human mind, but to a dragon hatchling, it is completely necessary and obviously the right thing to do. They instinctively know the mother dragon can only bring so much food to feed them, and the competition for that food must be reduced. In their minds, the unhatched represent the weaker elements of the brood and are best eliminated as quickly as possible. They even consider their behavior merciful.

It seems harsh, but it is critical to the survival of the remaining hatchlings. No hatchling, once it has eaten its fill, will continue to destroy unhatched eggs until it is hungry again. In the hatchlings’ minds, such wanton killing would be murder.

This destruction continues until there are enough hatchlings to pose a danger to any other who is attacking an egg. Exposing your back while stuffing your head into a shell becomes exponentially more dangerous as the number of your siblings increases.

A pecking order immediately arises among the successfully hatched dragon chicks, based on fierceness, strength, and fighting ability. They challenge each other to personal combat to establish dominance. Although these battles may not be to the death, a badly wounded hatchling will soon be challenged and defeated, killed, and eaten. By the time the brood is ready to move from hatchling to fledgling, the numbers have been dramatically reduced, with the strongest of the clutch remaining, at least in theory.

#

My mother tapped my eggshell once, twice, three times, with her foreclaw, shrugged her shoulders, and turned away. That was fortunate for me because most dragon mothers eat any unhatched eggs. I didn’t break out of my shell until a day later, almost 4 days after my 37 remaining littermates.

The clutch initially consisted of fifty to seventy eggs, but my siblings were an exceptionally violent and aggressive crew, immediately attacking unhatched neighbors, killing them while they were still incubating. As this is a common and normal behavior among dragon chicks, our mother simply looked on approvingly. After all, only about 10% of any brood survives the first few months of life, and only 1% achieve adult status. Then the real fighting begins.

But my egg, laid last and near the top of the pile, had rolled down and to the side of the main clutch, coming to rest in a deep shadow by the wall, which resulted in my being unnoticed by my sibs until enough eggs had hatched, which forced them to watch their backs.

My egg was undersized, possibly because I was the last laid. Perhaps being in the shadow during incubation stunted and slowed my development. Regardless, I came out of the shell late and undersized. Being the smallest and weakest made me cautious, and I quickly learned to be devious as a matter of self-preservation. The others began calling me Adyata-Va, or dragon for ‘the sly one'.

As we progressed through our first three months, most confrontations were deliberate provocations meant to improve the challenger’s status. It rarely worked, typically resulting in two badly injured combatants who were swiftly killed while weakened.

I never picked fights. Why would I? I had no chance of winning such a duel. But no one bothered to challenge me, either. Why take the risk? Killing me wouldn’t improve anyone’s status because I was at the bottom of the pecking order. I moved fast and fought dirty, fighting not to win a challenge but to injure a challenger badly enough to make them vulnerable. My talons were just as sharp as theirs. Strategically, I was not worth the risk.

#

Until baby dragons reach three months of age, we remain feral, our cognition limited. Life consisted of fighting, eating, and sleeping. Mother came and went, bringing us food, but we barely noticed her until the day she brought her Kiriannyi Stone into our den.

That object was a large, irregular, rock-like object, richly veined with both gold and silver, an amalgam that also contained gemstones of all kinds. It was roundish, completely smooth to the touch, and so polished it reflected light. You could see yourself in it, even though the curves and dips in its surface distorted the image. For most of us, gazing at that stone was the first time we’d seen ourselves.

It was the first moment I realized how different from my siblings my body shape was. They were all more compact and more obviously muscular. I was thin and sinuous, longer than they were, more snake-like in my movement, and my wings were bigger, too. And my scales, all of them, were pitch black. No wonder I could hide so well.

Our mother placed the Kiriannyi Stone in the center of the cavern and bade us gather around it. Most did, out of a mix of curiosity and fear of our mother. She quickly reminded those few that didn’t of the reasons we feared her. Once the brood settled, she called one of my brothers forward, the one who currently sat atop the pecking order, proving that she was well aware of what went on among us. He came forward warily, paying far more attention to his dam than to the Stone. She indicated he should touch the Stone, which he did — gingerly.

Fear and surprise swept through us all when he whimpered and danced backward immediately on touching the Stone. He surprised us again when he swung his head back and forth and crept forward to touch the object a second time. His eyes grew enormous, and he roared with pleasure. He broke contact, spun around and walked back to the ragged arc of his peers, and reclaimed his place in the front with just a look.

Number two was called, the biggest female. She boldly approached the Stone and touched it without pulling away. Her eyes filled with wonder, and she retreated to the crescent of her siblings. One by one, my brothers and sisters stepped forward. Each touched the Stone, some for a second or two, others for a little longer. It visibly filled each with wonder before they stepped away.

I came last, but when I stepped back, I understood, just as they did. The Kiriannyi Stone contained all the aggregated knowledge of our family, all the way back to the beginning of time, and it gave us that knowledge, dumping it into us with an unforgiving ferocity, filling us with the knowledge and wisdom of the ages. We knew languages and could speak in many tongues. The history of dragons and the world were among the things we knew. We knew of men and magic. We knew what we were and what the world thought of us. We knew the ways and traditions of Dragons, including the rituals of battle and of mating. And I understood that day, for the first time, that I was a female.

#

The winnowing of our cohort continued after that day, but the pace was slower. The remaining few, except me, were all closely matched in strength and skill now, and possessing the same knowledge. They were capable of truces and alliances, and they made those with care. Of course, they did not offer me any such thing. They barely tolerated me when they noticed me and ignored me the rest of the time. I spent most of my time in the shadows.

I thought about what the Stone had given me, turning it over in my mind, and concluded that my life in the den had furnished me with all I needed. I was almost ready for independence.

What I needed next was my name, and that would come at six months of age. Mother would call all who remained and give each their true name, which would allow us to reach our full power. She would continue to feed us for a few additional months, then she would push us out into the world. Any who returned to the den, she would kill.

I planned. Once I had my name and power, I would leave. I even crept out of the den a few times, something none of my siblings had attempted, and got the lay of the land.

Then Mother came to my hiding place in the middle of the night. She glided so silently that she caught me by surprise. That was difficult to do, given how aware of my siblings I had to be. She looked closely at me and asked, “Do you know why I didn’t eat your egg, even after all the others had hatched?”

“No,” I answered, uneasy with her full attention focused on me.

“Have you wondered?”

“No, not really.”

“Your shell was black—the only black egg I’ve ever laid. The color of the shell predicts the color of the dragon. Black dragons are very rare and always exceptional. I knew you would be special if you survived to be a fledgling, and so you are.

“I know your brothers and sisters despise you and will harm you if they can,” she said. “What I don’t know is why you’re still here.”

I stiffened, angry. “I wait only for my true name.”

“You have it already. Your siblings gave your true name to you unknowing. They meant it as ‘the sly one’, so that’s how you heard it, but if you listen to it properly, it also means ‘the wisest’. You will bring change with you wherever you go. I suggest you leave shortly; they will come for you soon. Best you are gone when they do.”

She turned away into the darkness and disappeared.

#

I was stealthily heading for the exit when my sister saw me. Her voice rang out in a challenge.

“Are you still alive, you little scroat? I think we should fix that.” She roared, asking my other siblings for a truce, the sole purpose of which was to kill me. They unanimously agreed in a chorus of responding roars, and the chase was on.

This didn’t bother me, nor was I afraid. I’d hoped to leave unseen, or at least unchallenged, but I had a contingency plan. All my siblings weighed substantially more than I did and were more compactly built. This gave them a tremendous advantage if I were to stand and fight, but that wasn’t my plan.

I had grown to about 12 feet, a little more than my peers, and I had the largest wingspan, making me faster and far more maneuverable than any of them. My body undulated as I flew low, snaking through the trees faster and more easily than any of them could manage. My advantage was to run.

I blew fire onto a stand of trees right by the entrance to the den and lit fire after fire all the way down the mountain, making a burning path right to the door of our home. I broke from the woods near the bottom of the mountain and shot across a farmer’s pasture, igniting a haystack as I passed. The cows and sheep panicked and fled.

From there, I followed the main road through town, setting fires as I went. My family stayed in pursuit, but I had gained a lot of ground. By the time they streaked down the main street, the villagers were in the street, armed and angry. A juvenile dragon is a fearsome sight, but our scales don’t harden fully until we are much older. Arrows, swords, and pitchforks can take a toll, and that night, they did. I never knew if the villagers killed any of my siblings, but they certainly inflicted significant damage, forcing my sibs to scatter, and so I made my escape.

The villagers would follow my burning trail back to the den, meaning it would have to be abandoned. I vanished into the night. Behind me, I left my disrupted family scrambling to solve the pressing problems I had created, guaranteeing they would be too busy to track me down.

#

The direction I took in my escape was not mere chance. The Kiriannyi Stone had shown me the perfect location to hide out, so I followed the road out of town, traveling west. That road was the only remaining route traveling across the vast, empty Wastelands. Few humans dared to live there. This had not always been the case; human-built ruins dotted the landscape.

These lands had once been two thriving kingdoms until a vicious and brutal war between them decimated both populations. Desperate to prevail, both kings brought in black wizards, who unleashed an unholy hell on the land, rendering it barren and uninhabitable. When the kings ran out of money, these black wizards carved off pieces of each kingdom to hold as their own. The kings called on white wizards to do battle with the black, but the spells of both carried terrible consequences. They left magical booby-traps, each with its own unique horror, scattered across the landscape, left to be triggered by the unwary or unfortunate.

The un-plantable fields were bad enough, and drove the farmers off the land. But in the cities and towns, wells and water sources were spelled so that drinking from them brought a fate worse than death, transforming the unlucky victims into terrifying monsters that roamed the land for years, killing and destroying all they found. The surviving peasants fled with their families, followed quickly by the merchants and tradesmen. By the end, both royal families and almost all their nobles perished. The wizards claimed the ragged remainders of the once great kingdoms.

A dragon came. The wizards foolishly attacked her on sight, without warning. This angered the dragon, who was only seeking a place to lay her eggs. Soon, not a single wizard with any significant power remained alive, their secrets dying with them. The dragon captured their grimoires and added them to her Kiriannyi Stone, giving her offspring a deep understanding of human magics. That dragon was my mother.

#

This vast swath of land, once rich and fruitful, but now terrible and deadly, was abandoned by all but the most foolhardy or the most desperate, those willing to risk death daily from monsters, hidden magical traps, and snares. It was occupied now by the worst criminals, the ones who needed a place to hide where no one dared to follow.

One road remained. It became the trade route for countries separated by the wasteland. Merchants banded together into great caravans and hired warriors to guard them as they made the treacherous trek through the wilderness.

Time passed. The land slowly healed; the remaining hidden spells were triggered or faded a little with each passing season. The fallow fields recovered. Animal populations returned. Still, man’s memory is surprisingly long for such a short-lived species, and monsters and bandits regularly reminded them of the dangers lurking there.

Still, humans encroached along the edges, a slow creeping action over many years. Below my mother’s den, a village took shape, straddling the trade route. First, an inn sprang up with supplies and a safe staging place for the caravans, then a few cottages for the workers. A farmer began planting the fertile soil nearby, selling his produce to the inn and the villagers. Fences and walls went up to keep out the bandits and the monsters. Humans were born, lived, and died in the hamlet, knowing nothing else but village life.

I followed that road to my new home. There, deep in the wilderness, high in the forbidding mountains, I made my new home, living in peace and solitude for hundreds of years. Food was plentiful, and I grew larger—much, much larger.

My scales hardened, my claws became sharper and stronger, and my flaming breath grew considerably hotter. But I remained stealthy and quick. Despite my increased length and long wingspan, I could still rocket through the thickest of forests, and my aerial skills only got better.

Every hundred years or so, I would sneak back to the edge of civilization to spy on my few remaining siblings. Whenever I checked, they seemed far too engaged in their own issues to concern themselves with me. It gradually dawned on me I had grown far larger and more powerful than any of them. My concerns gradually faded, and my trips were less frequent.

I did not mourn when I learned of the death of another sibling; that is not the dragon’s way.

#

It also occurred to me I was reaching the proper age to find a mate, and I turned that idea over in my mind. Eventually, it spurred me into action.

I assembled my treasure trove, slowly gathering the things I needed to create my own Kiriannyi Stone. Some things I found in the old ruins, rich and powerful magical objects from past ages. Some came from hidden places deep in the earth. Others I took from caravans the bandits had looted. It always surprised me that these ruffians, so good at killing and stealing, were so poor at recognizing authentic treasures. I did not attack the caravans myself; I did not need to do so, and no desire to be seen as a danger. Most men, seeing a dragon flying high above, are in no hurry to hunt it down. Why bother if it doesn’t harm you? Not much to gain and a lot to lose. But a dragon that attacks and destroys, well, that’s another matter.

Usually, when I found a ransacked caravan, the only humans present were dead. There was one exception to this. I’d heard the sounds of a ferocious battle from quite far off. As I overflew the burning and ruined wagons, I could see that the bandits had chosen their victims poorly. They’d outnumbered the caravans’ guards, but those soldiers must have been excellent fighters because the bodies of dead bandits were thick on the ground. The guards and the caravaners were all dead, too, so both sides had lost.

Three robbers lay dead on the road. They’d been heading away from the caravan, probably running for their lives, and all three had arrows in their backs. That’s how it ended, I thought. I landed by them and sniffed. Not dead long. I decided to check the wagons, which hadn’t been looted. That’s when I found them.

Two guards, a male and a female, had survived, but both had sustained fatal wounds. I knew they were guards because of the black dragon painted on their armor. I’d seen these guards before. Their lead wagon had a black dragon painted on its side, and I had flown over it many times in the past few years.

To this day, I don’t know why I did it. I gave each of them a drink of my blood, which has powerful healing powers. I licked their wounds to speed their healing, and, in the process, inadvertently took some of their blood, which revealed them to me. They were a father-and-daughter team, the last of a long familial line of mercenary warriors. He was called Auerlow, and his daughter, L’angevin, and they had fought side by side in many battles. Those experiences had soured them on fighting for pay. Too often, they were hired by tyrants, bullies, and altogether nasty people to fight against the innocent. They became caravan guards, much preferring the role of protectors.

I knew the effect that my blood would have on them. They were now bound to me. I could sense them and find wherever they were, and I could summon them to come to me, a call they could not refuse. Patches of dragon scales would appear on their bodies, their strength would increase, and their vision would improve. Their lives would be much longer, and they might experience a host of other changes.

What I didn’t know then was the effect that their blood would have on me.

#

My blood conferred dragon attributes on those to whom I willingly gave it. I knew this from the deep history I received when I was a hatchling, but I didn't know that when I absorbed the blood of a human during an act of kindness, I also absorbed a sliver of human traits. The effect was so small and appeared so insignificant I didn’t notice until it became cumulative.

I first noticed an increase in my sympathy for humans. I also noticed a marked effect on my thought processes as I experienced a different perspective of the world. It occurred to me that my motives and actions might become more and more driven by human-like desires and ideas.

The effect also passed into my Kiriannyi Stone. Any offspring receiving their hatchling knowledge from my stone would also inherit many of these human qualities. I pondered this a great deal once I realized what was happening. I couldn’t decide whether the broader knowledge of humans, accompanied by an increase in human-like emotions, was a good thing or a bad one for dragon kind.

#

Some years later, driven by a hankering for venison, I was hunting deer in the woods when I again heard the sounds of conflict on the road. Although the fight was quite a distance from me, it aroused my curiosity. But before I could act, the battle sounds ended with cut-off screams that spoke of finality. I wondered briefly which side had won. Since I couldn’t affect the outcome and didn’t sense my humans anywhere near, my curiosity faded, leaving any investigation for later.

I returned to my hunt. Successfully.

Later that day, I tracked a small herd, wanting one more plump buck to bring me to satiation. They were a wary bunch, skittishly moving on a whim, and I was enjoying the hunt. But at last, I was almost close enough. They must have sensed me tracking them because all the normal sounds of a grazing herd ceased. I held myself in perfect stillness, listening. I knew they would relax and move again before I did.

Then something else was moving noisily through the forest, something that had no fear of being heard. A predator? I wondered to myself. No, even they weren’t so careless and noisy. Only humans made this much noise. The herd fled at the first sound, but I waited to see what was moving in my woods. As a rule, humans knew better than to come here.

When a tiny human toddler stumbled into the clearing on short, plump little legs and fell/sat on its tidily diapered butt, I was stunned. But no sounds of an adult human followed the little creature, whose face was now clouding up like a thunderstorm.

How cute! I thought. I pushed my head closer and sniffed. The diaper was still clean, and the creature’s scent was heavenly, heady and attractive. I closed my eyes and drew in another breath. Something attached itself to my nose. My eyes opened to discover the little thing standing, clinging to the small horns next to my nostrils. The thunderous expression had left its face, and it seemed happy to see me. It began making cooing and gurgling noises as it patted my face. I do not know how long we remained in that position, admiring one another.

#

Eventually, I realized we were close to where I’d heard the noise of combat earlier. I closed my talons gently around the child and winged towards the road. The little thing clapped and giggled throughout the flight, utterly unafraid, making me adore it even more.

I knew the outcome of the fight well before we arrived. The bandits had won this fight; I would find no one alive. Without a doubt, my toddler was an orphan, its survival at risk. Another new feeling stirred inside me, and I resolved this child would live. A protective instinct I didn’t know I had flared to life, already burning as hot as my flame.

The youngster began making unhappy noises. At first, I thought it was distress at seeing the destroyed wagons, but when it began suckling the fringes below my jaw, I recognized hunger. Since I had no milk to give it, I gave my blood. There was nothing to heal; my blood only served as basic nutrition, and in a little while, it fell asleep, leaving me to consider what I should do next.

Night was falling, and the air was cooling. I made a fire and rocked the child. Using my claws more delicately than I ever had before, I made a tiny cut on the child’s hand and took a single drop of its blood.

Instantly, I knew the little one was a she, my little princess. I knew her parents and all they had done for their child, who was now mine to cherish and watch over. She had lived because they had sacrificed themselves to allow her to escape.

Once again, an unfamiliar emotion swept through me. I thought my heart would burst. Could this be what humans call love? I didn’t know about human love, but if this was dragon love, it was wild and fierce. I knew I would do anything to protect this child; I was her parent now.

But how can a dragon care for a human child? This thought caused me to do something I never thought I would do. I summoned my humans.

As luck would have it, they weren’t terribly far away, not as dragons measured distance. They were leading another caravan across the wastelands, only a few hundred miles away, so I mentally told them to stay with their wagons. I cradled my baby and flew towards them.

Panic spread through the caravan as I landed on the road in front of it, even though the guards had warned all the merchants we were coming. My two humans rode out to meet me. They were more than human now.

Both of them had yellow dragon eyes with vertical slits for pupils. Shimmering scales covered Auerlow’s head and neck, except for his face, and he had tall, pointed dragon ears. More scales peeked out from under his sleeves onto the back of his hands. He had traded his fingernails for sharp black talons, and a new spine ridge was visible on his back. L’angevin had morphed in the same way, except a full mane of black hair poured down her back.

I smiled at them. “You two look marvelous. The changes suit you. Have you had any problems with them?”

“Other than being called half-dragons and shunned by most folk, no. I can throw people who insult me across the room, my sense of smell is better than ever, and so is my sight,” the L’angevin replied, acid in her tone.

“Hmm. Half-dragons. I like it.”

“Why did you call us?” Her voice was sharp.

“I understand sarcasm now,” I said, holding out the toddler, who was standing on my talons, bouncing up and down and burbling to herself. “This is why I called you.”

Shock flashed in L’angevin’s eyes. She stepped forward to take the baby, instantly becoming serious. “We’ll find a suitable home for her, I promise.”

I drew the child close. “You mistake me. Princess Onyria is mine; she will become the queen of all the half-dragons. I will raise her, but I require a wet nurse. It must be a brave woman, one who is willing to become a half-dragon.”

Without a word, Auerlow spun his horse around and galloped back to the caravan. L’angevin said, “You’re in luck. We have the perfect solution for you. A man murdered my cousin’s husband recently, and the king did not punish the murderer for his crime because he was the son of a noble. She was pregnant, so when her child was stillborn, it doubled her grief, leaving her with nothing but anger and sorrow. We planned to seek you out; she has already asked to become like us, to be strong enough to exact her vengeance.”

Auerlow was galloping back towards them, but he was not alone. A woman rode behind him, clinging to his waist. When they arrived, he introduced her to me. “This is Concherria, my niece. She wishes to take service with you, and she has milk for the child.”

“Excellent! She will come with me, then. The two of you will finish your contract with these humans and return to me. We have much to discuss. Call to me when your obligation is completed.”

#

As I flew back towards my den, carrying my daughter and her wet nurse, I surveyed the vast wastelands below, thinking un-dragonish thoughts. Here we would establish a great kingdom of half-dragons that my daughter would rule when she came of age. I would find more humans who wished to live better lives. I’d find warriors and farmers, merchants and blacksmiths, builders and traders. Together, we would fulfill my vision, reclaim the wastelands, and build this new kingdom. It would be called Dragonland.