Here Be Dragons: Book 1 of the Emergence Series

“Have you ever met the two dragons Celeste is living with?” Pryce asked as he worked on reinforcing his makeshift harness.

“...No, I have never seen them,” Fathom said, shifting a little uncomfortably. “But I know about them; they’re both old females, one who is a great fighter, the other is a great…maker? I knew you would be interested in her,” he rumbled in amusement when Pryce looked up at the mention of a maker.

“What are their names?” Pryce asked, putting down his tools to focus on this conversation.

“The fighter’s name is Ghorrah-ǂ, and the maker’s name is Jooral-ǂ. Ghorrah probably isn’t very interesting to you, but Jooral lost a fight a long time ago and broke her wing very badly – she cannot fly at all,” Fathom said gravely.

“Oh,” Pryce said, wincing in sympathy. It must be terribly distressing for a dragon to be unable to fly, but he wondered if the crippling injury was the reason why she became a great ‘maker’ in the first place. “What kind of things does…Jooral-” Fathom flattened his spines as Pryce butchered her name “-make?”

“Mostly carvings, some that are useful, some are only pretty, but she is also one of the only dragons who can make shaped-stone.”

“Shaped-stone?” Pryce asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Things that are like stone, but shaped like wood carvings. She can make things like your cups, but they look like stone.”

“Oh, clay pots,” Pryce said in realization.

“Should I assume that humans can make anything we can?” Fathom asked in a dramatically resigned tone.

“Probably, unless it’s something made with things that are only found on this island,” Pryce shrugged complacently.

“...usually you explain how things are made,” Fathom said pointedly.

“Hm? Oh, right,” Pryce chuckled. “Clay pots use a special type of dirt. When you make it wet, it becomes soft, which lets you change its shape. Once you’re done making the shape you want, you use fire to cook the clay at high temperatures, and it becomes hard.”

“That…doesn’t sound very hard,” Fathom said, looking a little disappointed. “But I can see why very few dragons learned how to make clay; I don’t know any dragon who plays with dirt.”

“It’s a lot harder than it sounds, the type of dirt is important, and the temperature has to be the same for a long time, and even if you do things right the pots might crack anyway,” Pryce explained as he held a length of rope up to Fathom. “Here, pull on this, but use your fingers and not your talons, I want to see if this harness is strong.”

“This is very bright and colorful,” Fathom noted with interest. “How much do you want me to pull?” He asked, looking dubiously at the relatively thin strand of neon orange rope.

“It only needs to keep me from falling off your back, so…not too hard?” Pryce shrugged.

Fathom snorted at this vague answer before looping the rope around his fingers, and gently pulled.

It didn’t budge.

Seeing that the rope could take it, he pulled a bit harder.

…It still didn’t budge.

Surprised at the strength of the material, he pulled even harder-

“Don’t pull too hard!” Pryce yelled with an abortive wave.

“What is that material?” Fathom huffed, dropping the harness.

“Nylon rope, it’s strong and light. I also don’t know exactly how to make it,” Pryce explained as he examined the rope, nodding when he found no visible damage. He knew that polymers such as nylon were made by heating and pressurizing crude oil, but he wasn’t clear on the specifics, and Fathom wouldn't really understand polymer chains anyway.

“You don’t know how to make it?” Fathom asked. “Must be very complicated...can I try pulling very hard?”

“Why? I have a lot, but it’s useful, I don’t want to destroy any without a good reason.”

“...I don’t want to lose to a small rope,” Fathom grumbled as he glowered at the rope, causing Pryce to chuckle.

“This rope is one centimeter in diameter, I should have to hang something weighing more than 1800 kilograms to break this, so you can probably break it,” Pryce said in an attempt to reassure Fathom’s bruised ego.

“Are you going to use that rope to make the ‘harness’ that you mentioned earlier?” Fathom asked, a little assuaged. “At least something like that will not break.”

“Close, I’m going to use it to change the harness I already have, and to make it stronger.”

“Celeste will be interested in things like that. Jooral-ǂtoo, probably,” Fathom said.

“I’m already planning to bring some interesting things to show them, but I can bring some rope too, if you think they’ll find it interesting,” Pryce said, then blinked. “Why did you say -ǂ for Jooral, but not for Celeste?”

“That’s not really a part of the name, that is used to say a name properly. Dragons who are related to each other might not say the -ǂ part,” Fathom explained. “I think It is like how you said humans call you Doctor Pryce.”

“That makes sense,” Pryce nodded. “This is all very interesting stuff, but I’m getting distracted; I need to finish this harness today so we can test it out.”

“Don’t blame me; you’re the one who started asking questions,” Fathom grumbled laconically as he rolled his eyes, which Pryce could not dispute. “Why are you attaching the compass to the harness?” He asked as he watched Pryce work.

“So I can find out which way we’re going without having to ask you,” Pryce said offhandedly. “Speaking of the compass, I’ve been thinking; what is that scale you pointed at earlier called? The magnet that feels weird. Does it do anything?”

“This is called…hmm…” Fathom rumbled as he pondered how to best translate the name of the odd scale. “I think I will translate it as ‘lesser eye’, and it can sense light.”

“It can sense – oh!” Pryce exclaimed, “It’s a parietal eye!”

“You have a name for this already? I don’t see one on your head, do other animals have this?” Fathom asked, cocking his head.

“Yes, we think animals that have this eye can only sense light or dark, but can’t really see with it, is that how it works for you?” Pryce asked excitedly.

“Yes, I can’t ‘see’ with this eye, but I can sense if something is above me; it is useful for when someone tries to attack me from above,” Fathom explained disinterestedly, mundane subject that it was to him.

“I’m so glad that you can just tell me what things you can sense,” Pryce sighed thankfully. “This is so much easier than doing a bunch of tests.”

“Do you have any senses I do not?” Fathom rumbled in a contemplative tone.

“If we do, I can’t think of any,” Pryce shrugged, and returned to his work.

“That thing on your head looks weird, what is it?” Fathom asked, sounding equally bewildered as he was amused.

"It's a face shield," Pryce said, adjusting the large transparent plastic flap. "Face shields are supposed to protect faces, and I’m using this one to protect my face from the wind."

"Just use your..." Fathom trailed off and peered closely at Pryce's masked face. "Do you have these?" He asked, flicking his nictitating membranes back and forth.

"No, those are called nictitating membranes, and humans don’t have those."

"You don’t have them? Humans are strange,” Fathom snorted. “How do you see underwater if you do not have nicti–nictitating membranes?” He asked, stumbling over the somewhat difficult word.

“We don’t.”

“Well, that sounds inconvenient…” Fathom said, scowling. “What is this face shield made of? It is clear, like human glass, but it looks like it can bend,” he said, gently tapping on the face shield with a talon.

“This is plastic, a material humans made. It does not exist in nature, but it’s very useful since it’s so strong and light,” Pryce said.

“How do you make it?” Fathom asked,

“This is also very complicated, I don’t know enough about plastic to explain it to you,” Pryce admitted. He knew it was somehow made by subjecting crude oil to high heat and pressure, but that wouldn’t explain anything to Fathom. “Humans only made it for the first time about seventy years ago.”

“That is very interesting, I have never seen anything like plastic before,” Fathom said, breaking his gaze from the alien material to ask, “Are you ready to fly?” He asked, sitting down cat-like so that Pryce could climb up.

“Yes, let me just…” Pryce stared at the dragon’s shoulder. It had to be about two meters from the ground to the top of the dragon’s back, with nothing but smooth scales to grab ahold of. “I can’t climb up like this.”

“My back is not very tall; can you not just jump?” Fathom asked.

“I definitely can’t jump two meters,” Pryce said emphatically.

“Try.”

Pryce shrugged helplessly as he took a few steps back, ran, and jumped up as high as he could – only for his fingers to scrabble against scale, and with no purchase he bounced off of the dragon’s hide to fall rear-first onto the ground.

Or he would have, if Fathom hadn’t curled his neck around to catch and push Pryce up with his head, allowing the human to sit astride the base of his neck.

“Maybe next time you can just extend your arm, and I can try climbing up,” Pryce suggested, feeling a little embarrassed; it felt like the sort of maneuver used to help up a hatchling.

“But that is how we push hatchlings up,” Fathom said, confirming Pryce’s suspicions. He couldn’t say for sure, but if he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn there was a note of amusement in the dragon’s tone. “That or we pick them up with our mouths, but I don’t think you would like that.”

Pryce gave up on trying to decide if Fathom was being clever or genuinely considerate, instead he focused on clipping himself to the two chains slung across Fathom’s chest in an X shape, while a padlock at the center of his chest dangled like an odd pendant – that would keep the chains from shifting around. He had Fathom try flying with the chains in this position yesterday, and it did not seem to impede his flight at all.

It might have been simpler to just loop a single chain around his neck, but there was no way for him to keep it from sliding around. There was nothing for him to grab onto other than the dragon’s neck, and any moderately intense flying in this setup would leave him dangling against the dragon’s chest like the world’s first human pendant.

Three thick steel carabiners clipped around one link from each chain to ensure that he would not fall to his death – hopefully. This reinforced harness was incredibly durable, but it obviously wasn’t designed for riding dragons in mind.

“Do you think you could catch me if I fell off?” Pryce asked nervously. He sat so that his legs could straddle the base of Fathom’s neck, which meant he had to sit on the chains themselves, but he’d wrapped those sections in leather so that it wouldn’t be too uncomfortable.

“That depends on how high we are,” Fathom huffed in annoyance. “I said you would be safer in my hands, but you wanted to ride on my neck.”

“Yeah, but this trip is going to take hours,” Pryce said, waving off his concern before tightening his grip. “I’m ready.”

Fathom glanced back at him with an expression Pryce wasn’t sure how to decipher, but soon fanned out his wings and crouched, giving Pryce time to brace against the dragon’s neck before he launched himself into the air, his great wings forcing down massive gusts of air with each beat.

It was only now that Pryce realized the base of the neck might not be the best place to sit, as every stroke of the dragon’s wings threw him up and down in a distinctly uncomfortable manner. He couldn’t speak up about it either, as doing so would result in biting his own tongue. He was doubly glad that he had reinforced the harness so much; without it he would’ve definitely been thrown off.

With nothing to do he focused on maintaining his grip on the chains, hugging Fathom’s neck with his arms and legs as they ascended beat by beat. Fortunately, Fathom had jumped off a cliff near an updraft, and it didn’t take long for him to begin spiraling upwards in tight circles without the need to flap his wings.

Pryce’s ears popped uncomfortably as they rose, and his hands grew numb despite the thick gloves he wore – though that might have been due to his iron grip rather than the low temperature. Soon Fathom leveled off into a straight glide, and Pryce gradually eased his grasp once he felt he was in no danger of being thrown off.

“Are you okay?” Positioned as Pryce was, Fathom’s deep voice reverberated through his entire body. It was an odd sensation to feel the words just as much as he heard them.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Pryce said, but it came out quieter than he had intended, especially behind the face shield and the howling winds. “I’m okay!” He called out, still quieter than he would have liked, but loud enough that it should be audible.

“I heard you speak the first time,” Fathom called out, still facing forwards. His sleek, angular head easily cut through what little resistance the air offered.

The first flight with Fathom had given him a fantastic view, but at the base of the neck Pryce was free to turn his own neck and torso to look wherever he pleased, and the vibrant sunset made for an awe-inspiring sight. The red sun was low to the west, and spotted clusters of cumulus clouds dotted the otherwise brilliantly golden skies. The winds were not intolerable, especially with the face shield doing its job keeping the worst of the wind from drying out his eyes and lips. He would have felt like he was on the top of the world if not for the towering mountain range towards the center of the island, whose peaks dwarfed their considerable altitude of perhaps a few hundred meters above sea level.

“Is this working?” Fathom asked when his passenger remained silent for several minutes.

Pryce rubbed his aching face, realizing he was grinning widely.

“Oh yeah, this is working.”

[JOURNAL ENTRY]

Day 79,

Test flight went great today, though I’ll probably end up saddle-sore after tomorrow’s 3-4 hour long flight. Ascent is unpleasant, but once Fathom started gliding it was more sedate than I expected.

Fathom spent the afternoon hiding his treasures so that none are stolen while we’re away. He said that dragons normally ask their neighbors to look after their respective territories when they leave for a period of time. This seemed like a great amount of trust to give, but Fathom says it’s a common thing for neighbors to do if one needs to leave for a time. As expected, it’s more of a mutually beneficial transaction rather than a purely benevolent act.

Unfortunately, that’s not an option for us, as any dragon flying Fathom’s territory would see The Horizon, which we can’t really hide. Our only option is to just hope no one finds it. Neither of us are comfortable with leaving this place unattended, but it just can’t be helped.

I caught Fathom inspecting himself through the mirror today; I think he’s feeling self-conscious about his dull color and/or weakened body, especially when he’s about to meet his daughter again for the first time in at least fourteen years. He’s nearly fully regained his lost muscle, at least by my estimate, but his color is admittedly still much duller than before despite his reintroduction of blue lizards into his diet. Perhaps it takes some time for the pigment to work its way into his hide.

Fathom told me about the two dragons Celeste is living with, named Ghorrah and Jooral – the closest approximations I can do with the alphabet. He also taught me that the -ǂ suffix at the end of their names is something like an honorific, so recording that won’t be necessary. He explained that Ghorrah had a reputation as a strong fighter, while Jooral was badly injured long ago and can no longer fly. Interestingly, the latter is apparently known as an artisan; will be something to see.

I’ve already got some ideas on what name to give her – maybe Tenacity, or Fortitude, or Perseverance – but until I get to know them better Fathom will have to put up with my poor attempts at their names.

I’m excited to be meeting new dragons, but I would be lying if I said I weren’t a little anxious.