In Part 4 (Ch. 26-36), Emilie finally told everyone just what she was, and what that meant for the future of the town. More specifically, she let them know that there was a threat of extreme violence hanging over her head. To prepare, she’s been added to the high school’s combat training, while everyone else also gets ready for a fight.
Urgh. I – It’s been a few minutes, so my ears aren’t ringing anymore, but also I’m a lizarkin right now and my ears are in way, way better shape than Shannon’s must be. I’ve been checking heat and I think Martha left as soon as the stadium collapsed. Grinding metal together apparently makes heat, but I’ve found that Steven’s Fire Extinguisher is as good at preventing fires and such as putting them out (via testing with paper on the stove at home) so I’ve applied that to hot spots within the wreckage. (Thankfully, it’s also not very entropy-consuming when stuff isn’t already on fire.) Other than that, what I can sense doesn’t paint a pretty picture.
Mrs. Chesbrough herself created a bright green dome over our group as she shouted for others to do the same. That dome is still there, and while I can’t tell for certain, I’m pretty sure the metal on top doesn’t weigh nearly as much as it did when it collapsed. That said, I’ll not ask her to remove the dome until the metal has no chance of falling on us. That also means I’ve moved as close to the middle as possible to avoid accidentally touching it.
The dome is probably the maximum size allowed by the spell and the space it was in. I can’t shift in here, but I nearly could. There are many other families and people under this dome than just my group, but the large size also means it’ll probably be easier to spot despite our position in the building, whenever the fight outside is finished. Until then, we’re kinda stuck.
No one under the dome had any games with them, so we mostly just talked to pass the time. If maintaining the dome is taxing for Mrs. Chesbrough, the only way it shows is from her reduced participation in conversation. Thankfully, people aren’t asking me about Dragon things or what happened for the brief while I was outside. Other than my friends and family, I’m not sure they even know what I am.
At long last, something enters my range. I take a bit to analyze the form. Definitely upright, but… no tail? More enter, with similar forms. I nudge Shannon and ask if she has a scrying wand, to which she nods. “Can you scry just outside the collapse?”
Shannon nods again and closes her eyes, opening them a second later with a gasp. “Humans outside! We won! Hold on, I’ll message them!” She digs another wand out of her bag, during which time her announcement makes the rounds, resulting in a rallying cheer.
I close my eyes and watch the forms approaching, one breaking into a run a few seconds later, presumably from Shannon’s message. I suppose it would have been just about impossible for them to tell that anyone was okay. You wouldn’t want to mistakenly message one of the people who made a dome and cause a collapse from their broken concentration, and you probably can’t scry while actively fighting.
My range is pretty large, so it’s another couple of minutes before they reach the pile of collapsed metal that was once a stadium, and even longer before the people in our dome can see outside. But with a lot of work from those outside—and some telekinesis and transformation help inside—eventually enough is moved that Mrs. Chesbrough can drop the dome with only a little collapse into the now-unoccupied area underneath.
“Can anyone tell me where the others are?” I hear a battered voice call out.
“I can!” I offer before locating the source. If they’re alive, anyway. I know that not everyone survived. I do know that Mr. Manning did—since he was the largest living thing in the building, and so easy to locate—and I also know he was with the medics, so that might not be a bad place to start.
“Great. Come with me.” I look again—I think that’s Nick? He’s always so pristine after fights because Dana does everything for him, but from the look of things he ran out of magic to summon her. My previous fatigue momentarily forgotten, I make my way over to the man with his hand in the air. He frowns. “You’re awful young…”
“I’m Emilie Gaschler.”
He takes a bit to register the name. “… Oh! Oh, wow, that’s great news! Can you help us dig?” He looks so excited that I hate that I have to disappoint him.
“I can’t shift right now. Sorry. No entropy.”
He smiles anyway. “That’s okay. Just pointing out where people are is enough.”
“Alright.” I nod. “The paramedics are over at the other side, but I can point out more pockets on the way over.”
After rescuing was done, it was pretty late and people just went home or to whatever shelter was standing. We all just valued the fact that we had survived the day; mourning would come later. We didn’t know for sure for a few days, but we eventually received word that Martha had fled back to her territory. On that day, all we knew was that Martha had abandoned the battle. Most of her troops perished, but a select few who had been threatened into fighting surrendered when those who would have punished them could not. Most have now gone home, but some elected to stay, at least long enough to help rebuild. Before they left, they all apologized to the Defense Force and to me personally. I felt out of place.
More than just the collapsed indoor stadium, Blacksburg suffered a lot of damage. Martha demolished one of the university buildings (luckily not the library) and the DF headquarters, but thankfully both of those were empty at the time. And the majority of the fighting took place at the west end of town, which means that in addition to wall damage, we’ll have fewer animals and a smaller crop harvest this year. It’s a good thing Blacksburg isn’t isolated and can bring in food. I normally don’t pay attention to where the food on the table comes from, but Dad thought it important to teach Al and I about that when it was brought up. The university normally has ongoing construction or maintenance crews every week of every year, so they moved those teams to help with rebuilding anything that broke. It’ll probably be a while before we have an indoor stadium again. Dad said the plans for the DF building would take over a year if they worked fast.
Blacksburg isn’t in a Dragon territory (besides, uh, mine? If that counts? I don’t do hardly any of the things that even the ancient Dragons did for their towns. Maybe I could start.) so it’s not like it’s had to deal with battles like the recent one before, but not everyone survived on our side of the fight. Once people who’d left started coming back, the town held a large funeral for those on our side, those lost in the stadium collapse, and even for our attackers. Some people in the crowd weren’t so happy about the last category, but those were still people, no matter what they did to us. I wasn’t close friends with anyone who didn’t survive, but it’s not like that makes it impersonal. Those with Blacksburg fought for me, and those against Blacksburg were deceived by Martha.
I’ve been back to Rich Creek since then. It seems Martha and company didn’t find them—partially thanks to Martha’s small range, I bet—but it’s not like they escaped unscathed. Some of their residents had left to get away or to warn family, and those haven’t all been located yet. Some might have ended up in that funeral we held. It’s not like most of the monsters could be identified if they lacked an ID, and Rich Creek IDs don’t have a place of residence listed. On the thought of doing ancient Dragon things, I think I’ll ask if Rich Creek would like for me to do that more officially than passively. Killing nasty beasts would benefit both Blacksburg and Rich Creek, but that’s a beast hunter job now, and Blacksburg has those. The other job in there is being a teacher, probably because of the Mymoir. I’m only 12 myself, but there’s a lot I can read that others can’t.
It took Martha a really long time to get here and she still lost. Sure, it wasn’t an ambush, but now we know how to counter her and possibly other nearby Dragons, so it shouldn’t take too long to set up if one does try something. I think I can finally relax. I’ll still take combat classes, but not with the urgency of before. Just more as supplemental education I should get as a Dragon, if it was 800+ years ago. And for the verbal part of the education…
I lean back on my chair in the den and look down at the clay figure I’m holding. To think that Alex gave this to me for my birthday; it’s not like any of us could have known what was coming. Like probably any other Dragon, Brice had a diary, and, well, now it’s public. I’ve put it off, but I think I owe it to him to at least read some of what he wrote. «1601, May 20. Mom said I was good enough to fly on my own, so I took the liberty of visiting Dad in his country. He taught me how to make journals, so I suppose today is my first entry. I might add my earlier writings later. For now, I’d like to compliment my dad on his French! He claims it’s “only fitting for one of noble birth to know other languages,” but he lives on an island and hasn’t left in centuries. When does he practice?»
French? Did – wait, that date. Nobody from Europe lived in the United States area until the mid-1500s. It’s very likely that Brice lived in France as a kid, not Georgia. I wonder why he came here?
«1790, August 3. Since the death of Anagalsgv Goyadv, the northern Americas have lacked Dragons. To fix this, my brother, his wife and I will be traveling across the sea when next we can secure passage, as it is rather far to fly under our own power with little navigational assistance. I hear that the southern region is particularly rife with monsters and have claimed that area to spare it the wrath of my brother and sister-in-law. Hopefully the place will survive and improve with only the occasional nudge.»
I know that Dragons generally don’t like monsters, but I don’t think I’m prepared to know exactly why. But if this was his attitude then, how did we get to him casually destroying buildings and talking about “ending [me]?”
«1957, February 8. This entry is a record.»
Oh boy. I’ve read about Dragon records. They’re not like the records I watch at the library or DF building; they don’t just record sights and sounds. Dragon records are captured by the special magic that is the Mymoir, and record everything that this library can contain: sights and sounds, certainly, but also smells, sensations, magic senses and even emotions felt by the recording Dragon. If you a view a record, you are standing in place of the recorder at the captured moment. We know this, so most records are brief. Even so, I brace myself before allowing the record to start.
I had braced myself, but I was not prepared for the raw emotion. Shock, overwhelming shock. Stunned silence. I slowly became aware of a searing pain in my right hand; I look down to see the remains of a shattered teacup below my boyish hand. Ceramic and tea vanish a moment later, taking much of the heat with it. The Mymoir opens with a practiced familiarity. «Are you sure?» appears, the author marked as Brice.
«Positive,» comes the reply from Flora. Does she just monitor the Mymoir all the time? My mind reels from the shock changing to intense grief.
«Do you know… what happened?» Brice writes. While they don’t appear in the words themselves, even the symbols used convey the mournfulness of his mood. I don’t know what he was thinking, but for this kind of emotion, I think I can guess.
«I do not.»
The Mymoir closes, and for a moment all I can feel is Brice’s breath in his chest, pain in his scalded hand, and his foreign observation of all the masses around him. Then his mouth opens and he breathes in before screaming, “Maman!” And the record ends.
I lie in my chair in my own stunned silence. I don’t know any French, but I don’t think I need to. I – My mom isn’t a Dragon, so unless I do very poorly in future combat I suppose I’ll go through something similar eventually. But Brice’s parents were both Dragons. Aging and disease are barely concerns: someone had to have killed her. So now, like Brice, I find myself wondering what happened.
«1957, March 15.» This is a public article, not one of Brice’s journal entries. Why is it dated? «The public have discovered that our magic has a defined range. During one of Miriam’s raids, a skilled sniper set up outside of her range. He then proceeded to shoot her in the head when she took a rest. I received this information from the sniper himself at a celebration in his honor, shortly before I poisoned him. Be careful to rest with your vitals obstructed. – Flora»
Where is Flora? … Spain. Oh. I would hope that sort of tactic hasn’t spread, but it’s been forty years. Checking again, it looks like Steven has a spell to verify his safety. I really don’t like that I might need to be careful about that, but at least I found out this way instead of the hard way. I… feel sorry for Brice. What – What did he think of me?
«2003, July 16.» That’s just a few days before we met! «Father’s revolution, and the events that led to it, made it clear that the old ways did not work. They worked for a time, certainly, but that time had passed. They were far too encouraging and caused several wars, albeit indirectly. However, the new ways – I am not convinced that they work, either. While we have certainly discouraged war, we have caused the whole world to hate us, with the exception of those still following the old ways or an imitation thereof. Even Father is filled with regret and has started a merged version of the new and the old. But it brings him no joy and his people appear wholly unaware of his sorrows.
«No, we need a new way. We cannot hide ourselves away; the world will find us, and it will view its records of us and destroy us. I myself am guilty and deserving. Neither, however, can we assume that blind exploration of the possible will lead to good ends. As much good as came of that era, there are many examples of unmatched cruelty made possible only then. Akiko herself still fights those battles to this day.
«I have heard of a new century dragon. A blue one; how fitting, to match Father. Perhaps this one too may leave such a lasting legacy, although hopefully with less bloodshed. But if this one will pursue the third way, as it has thus far indicated, it will need both strength of will and strength of character. To that end, I will need to test it. The century dragon has shown courage, at least, in that it has not fled Martha’s advance. Rather, it has informed its home, and prepared for her arrival. Martha has requested my assistance, and I will give it to her.
«To the blue century dragon, if you are reading this: know that I did not let you win. You won by your own strength, and that strength not taught by traditional methods, but by your soul, your faith and the grace of God. You have read this far, and you know my thoughts. Pursue the third way. Learn where we have failed. I am already proud of you; make me prouder still.»
Thus ends my first novel, What’s a Dragon? I hope you enjoyed it! Next week is the prologue that I wrote long after I started to upload this to Substack, and after that, probably a lot of short stories. I’ve sent this book to the excellent S.E. Reid and she gave me some much-needed feedback… which will result in my needing to rewrite pretty much the whole thing. It might not be exactly the sort of thing that one might expect if one read the feedback, but I’ll be doing my part to make this novel the best it can be. Which is a lot of time that I won’t be able to spend writing the sequel, because no, Emilie’s story is not yet over. However, I tried to make it not feel like a cliffhanger. I’m looking forward to sharing the next part, once I’ve completed it, that is!
Congratulations- I'll be interested in seeing where this goes...