Here Be Dragons: Book 1 of the Emergence Series

Pryce gave Fathom another dose of penicillin before spending the rest of the day treating the dragon’s wounds. This entailed making some more stalagmite soup, which Pryce was currently boiling. Once he was sure the solution was sterilized, he cooled it off and added the medicine before bringing it to Fathom.

“Smoke…bad…” Fathom wheezed when Pryce had entered his ‘bedroom’. The dragon had said he did not feel that he needed to rest in the river since his fever had weakened.

“Hmm? What do you mean?” Pryce asked, confused. He only smelled a hint of smoke in the cave, it couldn’t be irritating Fathom, could it?

“Fire…too…close…” Fathom rasped, a little frustrated.

“Oh, okay, I’ll make fire farther away,” Pryce acquiesced. Did dragons have sensitive lungs? It would make sense if they had highly efficient respiratory systems, like how birds were used to detect toxic fumes deep in mines. The previous times he had boiled limestone dust he had made the fire further away from the river where Fathom rested, so he supposed it did not bother him then.

Now that he had access to all of the medical supplies on the ship, he didn’t have to worry about which injuries to use his supplies on. After Fathom took his medicine, Pryce began to remove the dirty bandages so that he could clean the partially healed wounds.

Some minor damage had healed well, but others had festered, and Pryce took a great amount of time cleaning these infected wounds before applying the ointment. He also took satisfaction in being able to finally stitch all the wounds that required stitching, though Fathom was less satisfied with this development.

Pryce checked up on the broken wing finger and was relieved to see that the metal rods were still in place, and that the bone was still straight. Overall, the dragon seemed to be healing the damage quite well given how sick he was.

There was a sort of uncomfortable silence between them as Pryce worked. He wasn’t sure what he’d done that specifically angered Fathom, but he also couldn’t ask the dragon while his throat was in pain.

The sun had almost set by the time Pryce had finished administering medical treatment.

“Okay, I’m done,” Pryce said, securing the last bandage with tape. “Now, I think we need to talk.”

Fathom grunted. His throat might be raw, but he could still communicate, especially with gestures.

“I’m not sure if you are mad because I went back to my ship without saying goodbye, or because I gave you the chronometer.”

Two grunts.

“Both?”

Fathom tilted his head, then drew one small ‘!’ followed by a bigger ‘!’.

“Both, but more yes for the second one?” Pryce surmised.

A nod.

“Was it because I…” He trailed off, not sure how to convey this question in words that Fathom knew. “Was it because…I think I will die if I try to go back to ship?”

Fathom bobbed his head stiffly.

Pryce sighed. “I try to wake you up, but you did not wake up. I have to go to ship to get more medicine,” Pryce explained, but he knew this was not the whole truth.

Fathom rumbled in thought as he considered this, but guilt made Pryce add, “I did not try very much to wake you, because if you were awake then you maybe try to stop me.” Fathom let out a huff at this, as if it were obvious. “If you try to stop me, maybe you hurt yourself, but I also did not want to tell you because…I did not want to say goodbye to you,” Pryce admitted somewhat crudely, but it was more or less true.

Fathom sighed, looking as though he wanted to say something but ultimately set his head back down upon his bed of animal pelts, some of which seemed to be from white tigers.

“You probably have some questions,” Pryce guessed. “I brought things with me from ship, like medicine for your cough,” he said, demonstrating what a cough was so that Fathom understood.

He let Fathom drink half the bottle of cough syrup, and the dragon was surprised by the fact that it didn’t taste horrible.

“This is…not bad,” he had said in a voice much less strained. The dragon eyed the rest of the bottle hard enough to make Pryce pocket the bottle for fear he would try and drink the rest. “This is alcohol?”

“Yes, this has alcohol in it. It helps you feel better,” Pryce explained.

“Yes,” Fathom agreed. “Can I have more?”

“Later,” Pryce said. “What did you want to ask me?”

Fathom narrowed his eyes as he remembered he was supposed to be cross with Pryce. “You leave chronometer, you do not think you come back, you think you will die,” he accused harshly, though his voice was still hoarse.

“…a little?” Pryce said, making a so-so gesture.

Fathom growled, “You are…thing that makes me a little angry!”

“I am…irritating?” Pryce suggested sheepishly.

“You are irritating!” Fathom continued as if he had not stopped, “I know you help me, but I do not understand, why you almost die to help me? Do you not want to live?” His voice strained as he asked this string of questions.

Pryce froze at the last question before slowly dropping his gaze. “Some things I need to do. Not important if I die, I still need to do it.”

Fathom drew his head back a little, baffled by this explanation. “…all dragons want to live more than all other things.”

“Do dragons die for promises?” Pryce asked, eyebrow raised.

“…some dragons…yes,” Fathom rumbled uncertainly, aware that he was contradicting himself. “If dragon dies for a promise, other dragons think that dragon is…good. But some break promise to live.”

“Honorable. People who die to keep promise is honorable.”

“Humans are…honorable?”

“Some humans, yes,” Pryce said, echoing Fathom’s own answer.

“You…help me because….you make promise?” Fathom asked, blinking in confusion.

“Yes, and no,” Pryce said. “The word for healer is ‘doctor’, and I was a surgeon, surgeons are a type of doctor that cut people to make them heal better, like I did for you. All doctors make a promise to heal all people they can,” he sighed.

“That is yes, why you say no?”

“I…broke my promise, I stopped being a surgeon,” Pryce confessed hesitantly. “Surgeons help many people, but many people also die from infection. I hate seeing people die, so I stopped being a surgeon to learn many things about cells and bacteria, I wanted to find something that can kill infection. You know what happened after that,” he said dejectedly.

“This makes sense,” Fathom said easily.

“What?” Pryce asked, confused. “But I broke my promise, you don’t think that’s bad?”

“No, you said antibiotics help heal millions of people, yes?” Fathom asked, unsure of what Pryce was trying to say. “That is…many more people than people you can heal if you not stop being a surgeon, so you keep promise, help heal all people you can.”

“But…I stopped being a surgeon because I hated seeing people die, I stopped helping people because I was…weak,” Pryce admitted, low.

“If you are not weak, many millions of people die, and I die,” Fathom said impatiently. “What you think is not important, what you do is important.”

“That is…not always true,” Pryce said.

“Yes, but it is true now,” Fathom dismissed. “You want to help many people, and that is what you did,” he said, looking at Pryce to see if he would disagree. When he did not, Fathom sighed. “I know you do not want people to die, but…why do you want this so much?”

“Oh right, well…” Pryce frowned, not sure how to explain. “Every person can do something, every person can help other people, so the more people we have, the more things we can do.”

“’Things you can do?’” Fathom echoed, not understanding what Pryce was referring to.

“Like…ship, many people make ship,” Pryce gestured, wondering if he should show Fathom pictures of buildings and monuments humans have created. “Together we are better, we can make many things and learn many things.”

“You help other humans to…help your self?” Fathom blinked at this alien concept.

“Yes, you can think of it like that,” Pryce nodded. “A second reason is that I think it’s…very bad for people to live and then die for no reason. Some people die from very small scratch that becomes infection.”

“But reason is infection?”

“By ‘no reason’ I mean ‘no good reason’,” Pryce clarified.

“…Like Abyss,” Fathom murmured, lowering his head.

“Yes,” Pryce said sadly. “People all die some day in the future, I don’t want anyone to die for no reason.”

“Do you want people to…die with reason?” Fathom’s spines twitched, baffled.

“Er…no?” Pryce said, rubbing his head. He’d meant ‘Everyone deserves a chance to live’, but he wasn’t sure how to phrase that. “I don’t want anyone to die, but that cannot happen, so I try to help make less people die for no reason.”

“…then…you…?” Fathom asked, struggling to find the right words. “I do not understand, you say you do not want anyone to die…but you think it is good if you die with reason?”

Pryce stood speechless for a few moments, then sighed. “Like I said before, I do what I need to do, it is not important if it’s dangerous.”

They were both silent for a few moments, until Fathom eventually said, “…I think I understand you now. You are not weak.”

“Oh…thank you?” Pryce said, unsure of how to answer. The dragon sounded like he was making an observation rather than a compliment.

“But you are still confusing, there are no dragons that do things like you,” Fathom snorted, awkwardly tossing his head so that he did not pull on his stitches.

“I’m not a dragon,” Pryce said, smiling a little.

“…No, you are not,” Fathom said, his tone indecipherable.

Pryce took a moment to summarize his thoughts. “So, you don’t like me almost dying to help you, because dragons don’t help each other like that.”

Fathom nodded.

“But I needed to get antibiotics, what did you want me to do?”

“Take chronometer with you.”

“…that’s everything you wanted me to do?” Pryce blinked.

“Yes, most things you do I understand, but I do not like that you think you will die,” Fathom said. “You also leave to go to ship and did not tell me,” he added a little crossly.

“Alright, I’ll promise I’ll tell you next time I do something stupid.”

Fathom settled back down and rumbled, moderately appeased. “I am tired, and a little hungry. Do you have food?”

It was frustrating to have The Horizon so close and yet so far, Pryce wasn’t going to risk going to get supplies when they weren’t necessary, but he did very much want to get some more food. Fathom’s wounds were healing nicely, so it wouldn’t be long until he could accompany Pryce to the ship.

Until then, Pryce would have to rely on what unappetizing rations he had brought with him on his last trip. He’d made some soup out of bouillon cubes, which was nice, though Fathom had wanted to try some. His ‘some’ was most of the pot, and Pryce ended up only having a few mouthfuls to go with his bread.

After that the dragon had demanded (using very few words) more soup, and Pryce had to make another batch at Fathom’s insistence.

“Done?” Fathom asked upon seeing Pryce dump the diced potatoes into the boiling pot.

“No, ten minutes from now.”

“First soup faster.”

“First soup didn’t have potatoes.”

Fathom grumbled, glaring at the cubes as they bubbled around the pot.

Pryce sat waiting for the potatoes to cook, and lost track of time as he thought about the events that had occurred that day. He turned his head to look in the direction of a strange noise outside the caves; it sounded like a distant howl of some kind, though he had no idea what kind of animal would make such a noise.

“What animal is that?”

“I do not know.”

Pryce turned to look at him. “How do you not know?”

Fathom tried to ruffle his wings before remembering one was chained shut. “This animal only make noise at night, and not if I am close.”

“…makes sense,” Pryce said, shifting the pot off the fire to let it cool against the rock, then looked back outside. He turned back to ask Fathom what he thought the animal might be, only to see Fathom freeze in the middle of reaching for the pot.

“…What are you doing?”

“Drinking soup?” Fathom said, though it came out more like a question.

Pryce sighed, smiling a little, “Fine, you can have the soup, just let me have a little bit first.”

[JOURNAL ENTRY]

Day 50,

Well, I’m not dead, so that’s good.

The journey was quite dangerous, and I lucked out in some places. I imagine the white tigers stalked me to try and see if I would lead them to more of my kind, but thankfully that worked in my favor.

Despite all my precautions, it seems I was not thorough enough…but looking back, I’m not quite sure what I could have done differently. I could not have seen the tigers, and waiting would not have benefited me. I wonder if I did everything I could, or is there something I am missing? It is true that sometimes you can do everything right and still lose, but that does not help me prepare for next time, though I sincerely hope there will not be a next time.

It is very strange that they did not flee from the foghorn, virtually all animals are startled by loud noises. Perhaps they had fled, but circled back? That implies curiosity and intelligence, but I cannot say if they are merely cunning or truly sapient animals.

Fathom is beginning to recover, much to my relief. I’ve given him two doses of 80 grams today; I was conflicted on how much to dose him now that I have two kilograms of penicillin to use, but I believe it’s possible that 80 grams is sufficient. Penicillin takes 2-3 days to take effect, and I had only dosed Fathom 80 grams for 2 days, with today being the third.

If Fathom does not show signs of improvement tomorrow, I will increase the dosage by some amount, but I don’t think that will be necessary.

It has been nine days since he received his injuries, and I’m not sure how long they will take to fully heal, but stitches are usually taken out in fourteen days at the latest. I’ll keep an eye on the state of the injuries, but I should be able to remove the stitches in a few days.

However, his wing-bone will take much longer. I would prefer to wait at least a month before removing the rod holding it in place, but I’m not sure how well Fathom would handle being grounded for so long.

As for the dragon himself, Fathom had some difficulties understanding my choices, but we’ve since reached an understanding. Despite this, it is difficult to explain things well when our cultures are so different. For example, the concept of selflessness appears to be alien for dragons, as their culture places so much focus on trade and ‘earning’ things. I also have the feeling his pride doesn’t like the fact that he’s been saved by a tiny human, but he doesn’t seem to be bothered as much by that.

I suppose it makes sense that he’s conflicted; imagine living your entire life expecting everything to have a price, then this strange creature shows up and keeps giving you things and helping you without asking for much of anything in return. It would make one quite uncomfortable, much like leaving a debt unpaid.

I think he does not think of the time he saved me from the raptors to be of significance, as he did not really risk his health. I wonder if convincing him otherwise would make him feel better?

At least we have plenty of time to iron out the wrinkles in our ability to communicate, his knowledge of the past tense especially needs work, and I’m sure he’ll markedly improve in a day or two.

Vitals signs, noon of Day 50:

Respiratory rate: 10 bpm

Temperature: 31.18 degrees[1]

Major HR: 43 bpm

Upper minor HR: 7 bpm

Lower minor HR: 7 bpm

Hydrogen HR: 5 bpm

Pupil dilation: Responsive

Vitals signs, sunset of Day 50:

Respiratory rate: 9.5 bpm

Temperature: 30.77 degrees[2]

Major HR: 40 bpm

Upper minor HR: 6.5 bpm

Lower minor HR: 6.5 bpm

Hydrogen HR: 5 bpm

Pupil dilation: Responsive