Tongue of the God-Dragons

There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that they are here now. The battle between man and mythical beast has been raging for the last century. Their arrival was sudden and shocking. No one knows where they came from, only that they hungered for dominion.

Dragons toppled skyscrapers and made the ruins their nests. The humans who weren’t killed were herded like sheep and branded with dragon flames. Not only were the dragons mighty in physique and wit, but they commanded the elements. They spoke a tongue that caused mountains to move, water to rise and fire to come alive. Only the most submissive humans survived, and even half of those were killed. International communication between humans ceased almost overnight. At first there was a rumbling. Power outages swept the world, and the plundering began.

The dragons didn’t want to completely eliminate humans, as humans were the most useful of the sentient beings. They had no special power to fear, but could do a lot of work. The human race was allowed to survive as slaves to their particular god-dragons. The god-dragons rarely fought one another, but when they did only death and destruction followed. The god-dragons themselves appeared to be immortal. No matter how much they bit, snapped, or hit each other they never sported a wound. This only served to make the populace more fearful and subservient.

However, within the first decade of their arrival a group began to form. A group known as the Whisperers had a secret mission to get close to the dragons so that they could learn the beasts’ tongue and one day use that to their advantage. It took quite a bit of time and cunning to convince some of the god-dragons to accept humans as trusted advisors. However, it was undeniable that humans could write, and could convince other humans to do things better than any dragon could. So with much effort, the Whisperers infiltrated the inner-circle of the god-dragons.

One hundred years after the first dragons appeared, the Whisperers created a secret academy. The goal of the institute: specialize humans in dragon speech. The academy accepted only those that showed true promise; more students enrolled increased the chances of being discovered.

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Lutso, a fire whisperer, traversed thick forest on a mission for the Academy. For the past few years, a migratory god-dragon had disrupted the uneasy peace that existed between domains. The white dragon would fly north during the spring and south toward the end of fall. The reason for its sudden, consistent appearances was unknown, but it had been causing an uptick in violence. God-dragons travel with many lesser dragons, making clashes between two god-dragons disastrous. It was Lutso’s mission to discover what kind of speech the white dragon used, and why the beast was traveling back and forth so frequently between domains. No other Whisperer was willing to volunteer due to the dangerous nature of the task. Lutso found himself in this predicament only because he had much more at stake than the others.

Trees had helped shade him from the now-summer sun. A month had already passed since the white god-dragon had last passed through, but the signs of the dragons’ presence were still visible. Lutso discovered multiple nesting grounds, large areas where trees had been uprooted and fecal matter was present in higher concentration, during his journey. He assumed that the god-dragon only traveled during the day and rested at night with its company.

Lutso had never used an automobile before, but had heard stories about the metal husks that were strewn about most cities. As he wiped sweat off his brow, he began to wonder what it would have been like to travel at such high velocities. They say that a person could get from one side of the coast to the other in just two days, if the driver didn’t make any stops. A trip like that seemed impossible now. Dragons had taken luxury away from man. Not only were humans not allowed to use cars, they were not even allowed to have carriages, let alone electricity.

Lutso pondered these thoughts more often than he liked. He wasn’t sure if he hated the dragons or not for doing this. Many of the older generations despised the dragons, and to be clear Lutso wasn’t fond of them himself. However, their beauty and art appealed to Lutso in a way old machinery and factories never could. Lesser dragons would often put on shows for their master, trying to gain favor. Scales would twinkle under starlight as green, red, blue and purple pillars of fire rose and fell to rhythmic fire speech. A shiver ran down Lutso’s spine as he remembered watching one such show, hidden in an abandoned ruin.

Moments like those had nudged Lutso to learn fire speech. Climbing a steep incline, Lutso puffed out a chuckle remembering his mother’s reaction to him setting his own bed sheets on fire. He had tried repeating some words he heard from one of the dragons’ performances. As one could imagine, the story spread just as fast as the fire. It wasn’t long before the Whisperers came to claim him. Replicating dragon speech was incredibly awkward for a human, and if spoken incorrectly would result in nothing. The Whisperers were very eager to meet the boy who could fire speak.

The rest was history. He was taken from his family, chosen to be an “advisor-in-training” when in reality he was accepted into the Academy. Memories of his family were few. He should have been proud; his family was compensated handsomely, and he got the opportunity to study what he admired most. He wished he could see his mother smile, hear his father laugh or play with his younger sister once more, but he would play his part and pass the torch on to the next generation, hopefully adding more to the Archives while doing so.

With one last huff, he finally reached the top of the hill. He carried few provisions with him besides a sling, clothes, a bottle of water, a pad of paper and flint. He was capable of hunting small animals like rabbits and squirrels with his sling. He easily cooked the meat over fires he created by whispering to the flint’s spark. He had little experience traversing the wilderness between domains. He sported blisters, bruises, and scrapes. Despite travelling lightly, he felt exhausted and was reminded of this fact each and every hill he climbed.

He stopped for a quick breather setting his bag down and grabbing his handkerchief. He wiped his brow and took a swig from his bottle. All he could see ahead of him were trees and ferns. Luckily, it appeared that the slope would become a decline soon. He picked himself up and marched onward. The sun was beginning to set, bringing darkness and the need to find shelter.

These thoughts soon disappeared from his mind as he approached the beginning of the downward slope. The slope was steep enough that he could peer over the tops of trees in the valley below. Trees had been knocked over to make way for large, metal shipping containers. At least thirty of the containers made a circle in the clearing. Some were stacked two or three high. In the midst was a beautiful, shimmering beast. Light shown off her wings, which stretched fifty feet wide. Her neck resembled that of a swan; it curved in a delicate fashion forming a half-heart. Every time she spoke (which Lutso could barely hear), light from the fading sun rippled as if to carry her voice to the celestial entity. He had finally caught up with the white god-dragon and company.

Around the beautiful beast, swarmed dozens of inferior dragons. They were about two-thirds the size of the god-dragon. They were all different shades of colors. Some scholars believed that no two dragons shared the same hue. This was difficult to believe due to the number of dragons that existed, but looking at the crowd before him, Lutso thought the theory had merit. He sat at the edge of the hill and pulled paper from his bag. He then looked around for a twig which he could burn into a makeshift pencil. He saw one temptingly out of reach. He hated having to get back up after sitting, so he stretched and huffed but couldn’t quite reach it. He stopped for a moment to lean back and rock forward hoping the momentum would give him extra reach. It was too much.

Lutso lost balance and the slope pulled him in. He didn’t roll too far before hitting a tree. The collision only tossed him into more trees as he fell like a pin ball. He finally stopped about halfway down the hill. Darkness overtook him. He couldn’t tell if he was blacking out or if night had fallen. Pain from bruises pressed in on all sides. He felt blood on his forehead. He took off his shirt and ripped it into bands, using one to wipe the blood pouring down his face. He received complaints from his aching body as he reached for a flint, but there would be no body left to complain if he didn’t sear the wound to stop the bleeding. A dragon’s eyesight was decent, but their sense of smell was uncanny. Their nostrils were better than those of a blood hound. He would need to find some way to disguise the scent of seared flesh, but a burn is easier coat than an open wound. His flint was with the pack several hundred feet uphill.

He made a point to cover his scent with sap from pine trees. This would have masked his normal scent while he was a good distance away. However, blood has a much more potent smell. Lutso groped around in the dark for two stones, hoping to use them to produce a spark. The darkness was unnaturally black. Lutso knew he was not unconscious, and it was too dark to be the beginnings of evening. Stopping to look towards the dragons’ encampment, he noticed something terrible.

A faint whisper wove its ways around the trees, tickling Lutso’s ears. The words were strange, and softer than fire speech. The words flowed together neatly, similar to water speech but with too many “v” and “sh” sounds to be water speech. No stars or moon looked upon the forest, or if they did their light never made it to their intended destination. The whispering crept closer. The sounds melded together like a lullaby. Lutso frantically searched in the darkness for stones. His left hand grasped one. It was slightly moist and fit his hand well. The back of his hair pricked up, as if he had been noticed. He ran.

Lights turned on all at once. Not warm yellow light like the sun, but cool, stark moon-and-starlight. His right hand shielded his eyes from the burst. He knew it. He was dead.

A sound broke the light speech. It was a familiar scrape. Lutso didn’t hesitate.

“Hach lich, hicho gruch. Hichsnt jich churchink,” he yelled. Fire shot from the forest to his right. The flames licked where the blood touched his face. His command was specific enough for the flame to close the wound without inflicting sustained damage. He couldn’t see the dragon in front of him, but he felt the large body waver at the sight of fire speech. Until now, no dragon (that he knew of) had seen a human use dragon speech. Taking the opportunity, Lutso dove to the right, where the spark had originated. He felt his body being covered in some sort of liquid. It pulled him away, plopping him on his feet. He had to use all of his strength to remain standing. Adrenaline pumped through his veins.

Darkness once again surrounded Lutso. The tones of the dragons had changed. Their words now held more growl than lullaby. Lutso’s wound was cauterized, stopping blood from trickling down his body. The liquid that had surrounded him earlier smelled of bog, which should mask his scent. He admitted that the stench was horrendous, but still better than death. He didn’t dare speak or move. Dragon’s hearing was decent enough. All he had to do was not be caught before the dragons decided sleep was more interesting than a rogue human. He was unsure how long it would take for them to lose interest, considering they saw him use fire speech. Dragons hated humans who tried to reproduce dragon speech. Stories of curious kids’ deaths were widespread. That was one reason his mother had given Lutso up so easily; she knew he would be safer with the Academy than with her.

Lutso squatted down carefully and placed his stone on the floor. He spread his hands out looking for anything he could use to tap the stone. His right hand grasped a stick. He pulled it in and gave the stone a few taps, hoping the dragons wouldn’t interpret it as a human trying to communicate, but rather a woodland creature of some sort. After waiting a few tense moments, Lutso tapped out a message. Despite his drenched body, Lutso’s mouth was dry. He heard a few taps directly in front of him. It sounded like whoever sent the message was using the bark of a tree. He relaxed a little. His savior was a Whisperer. Lutso had been pretty certain of this, but wanted to make sure. Before learning any dragon speech, each whisperer was required to learn Morse Code.

There were times in which a Whisperer had to communicate without speaking, and so the founders gathered as much information on Morse Code as they could before it could be destroyed. They had no way of knowing if it would be destroyed, but it had seemed to be the right thing. Lutso gained even more respect for the founders.

Lutso tapped out, “Who are you?”

“Water 32,” came the reply. This confirmed Lutso’s suspicions. He didn’t know whether he should be overjoyed or irritated. Either way, she had saved him and of that he was very appreciative. If he had to be stranded in the middle of a dragon infested forest, he would definitely have chosen Espira to accompany him.

Lutso reached his hand out. Water coated his hand once more, but it didn’t stay long. When the water retreated, a familiar weight sat in his hand. Lutso couldn’t help but smile as he grasped his flint.