Empire of Americana

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

Roosevelt had never seen one before today. The valley in front of them, Dark Hall Valley, was created by a dragon though. The ancient dragon, Loromor, divided their ancestors’ kingdom of Appalamiwe into two. The giant first-blood dragon split the rock of the high plateau down to the flatland with her tail. Then, she melted the rubble with blue flames, creating the dark walls that give the valley its name.

Two medium-sized dragons, here and now, circled each other. Roosevelt listened to the wind the dragons seemed not to even feel. Without sound, they glided, high up, scales glinting in the light of two of the three suns. They could be an illusion.

He wished they were an illusion.

If they spoke, he could try to talk to them. He didn’t know what he would say, but in the past old-blood dragons had respect for the lives of others. And what if they didn’t speak, or couldn’t speak? Well…, he didn’t allow that thought to block his ears with fear. He couldn’t uproot the whole kingdom fast enough anyway.

His cousin, Aretha, lay low beside him shaking slightly on every inhale. Otherwise, she was completely still. It looked as though tears were welling in her almond brown eyes. But in this summer heat and after the climb up the ridge it might just be sweat. They’d been waiting there for what felt like 5 minutes, listening, worrying. But it couldn't be five...

He started his shift from third sundown. Regulations required check-ins once every half hour, and he had only checked in once. Moments after that, the figures appeared gliding over The Great Sea. He assumed them to be Dogra long boats, a lesser rank's mistake. "Don't make assumptions, make observations" he scoffed at the trainee mantra in his head. He might have drawn them to the city had he lit the port lights. Something peculiar made him hesitate. It was the snake-like, wavy wake of the 'boats' then...

The 'boats' rose into the sky one after the other and disappeared around the cliffside.

He signaled for replacement tower guards. Not waiting to see them into the tower, he and Aretha made a test time-worthy ascent of the ridge and waited. A quick glance now at his watch reassured him they'd been waiting about two minutes. He wanted to reassure her, too. Though the most reassuring development would be the voice of one of the near immortals in the sky.

“Please let one of them speak,” he pled. He imagined reaching out with his mind like one of the telepathic races. He sat motionless, waiting for an answer…

“What’s your problem?” a frustrated, but still cloud-soft and delicate voice called across the sky. Aretha heaved an audible sigh, but Roosevelt tensed even more in the wake of the question. There was no relief in it, no chance for conversation, only imminent danger.

“Aretha, go back down and get everyone into the cellars.” His voice was decisive in tone and in disappointment.

“But…” she started. Then coming to the realization of what she heard, eyes widening, tears flowed for certain now. But she moved, determined, back down the cliffside. Roosevelt knew tears wouldn’t stop her from doing what he asked or anything else necessary to keep everyone as safe as possible. Roosevelt, for his part, sent a low wave, depth signal to his cousins on the other side of the dark gorge. They can’t uproot either, but some warning is better than none. If dragons fight in the valley, they, as humans, can only wait for the conclusion and hope their cellars hold up. He received a ping of "message received". Then he laid in the silence of circling dragons above fighting the hopelessness on his spine from his active thoughts, unsure of what to do.

The dragon that spoke, now, silent and sudden, dove into the chasm. Though not..., she dropped into one of the caves lining the western side of the gorge. Roosevelt knew the caves well, as head of the royal guard, he must. That cave was a deep one, unexplored by geologists of either kingdom. The drop inside was too steep. Flight, not their gravitational hovercraft, is the only possible way to get safely in there.

Roosevelt waited for the other dragon to follow. But the dark, storm cloud scaled dragon, hovered, waiting, sensing…

something…

…someone?

It floated its face around toward Roosevelt, direct, red eyes browning, locked on him. Roosevelt shook involuntarily, his mind and muscles useless. The face narrow and beaked contemplated what it was inspecting from afar. The eyes seemed to glow, and Roosevelt only stared back into them. The reptilian face with minimal muscle movement, still expressive, flashed puzzlement, then dismissal. Contempt crossed the dragon’s scaly countenance, as its deep amber eyes reddened again. Refocusing, and it called after its original mark, “We playing hide and seek, bitch?” His voice was deep, youthful, and mocking. Then he silently dropped, falcon steep, vanishing into the cave after the other.

Franklin breathed. He didn’t recall when he stopped, but his lungs filled hungrily and he figured it had been a decent amount of time.

Shortly after that first breath, the earthquakes started. Franklin knew he had to get off the ridge, but after that, he had no plan. “A man with no plan is in a rough sea with no paddle,” his father’s words rattled in his head, and he wished him home.

But something else, gentle, also knocked in his head, more than his wishful thinking. He 'heard,'"Excuse me," from the cloud-soft voice, but no sound entered his ears.

"Um, yes?" he said aloud with as much confusion in his voice as in his head.

"You can say it in your head. But do mind me talking to you like this?" she said, and he could hear a hint of shyness, but also feel patience, and care. Underneath it, like an aftertaste, lingering, there was worry and dread.

She was scared. He decided to help her if he could.