Tara giggled nervously and then clapped a hand to her mouth in shock. Serryah twisted back towards her curiously.

"What was this sound?"

Tara goggled back at the dragon and blushed, "Ah. Human magic? I don't have any magic!"

Serryah sniffed, and Tara's hair danced a bit in the rush of air. "We shall see. For the moment, I should take you to the place of the Last Passage."

Serryah rolled her shoulders and thumped heavily across the rocky expanse towards the steeper slopes and the sparse tree line. Tara stared after her for a moment before realizing she was meant to follow and scrabbling along to catch up. Once she got her breath collected, Tara glanced up at Serryah who was moving with deliberate but focused purpose. "What is the Last Passage, Serryah?"

Serryah's eye rolled over to her Rider briefly before returning to the middle distance. "The Overlay was not...instantaneous. When it happened, I was not the only dragon still on the surface. There were...a few others."

It was a moment before Serryah continued, but Tara only listened. This didn't require any great strength of character -- much of her attention was divided between maintaining enough of a pace to stay abreast of her large friend on the one hand, and not collapsing into a broken mess on the treacharously uncooperative terrain on the other.

"We were all frightened, it is important to understand. This may seem strange to you, to think that I was frightened, but these times were calamitous. We knew we were in grave danger. We knew that our our world was changing drastically. But we did not know whence the danger came, nor what form the change would take. So many among our number had taken refuge beneath, in the ancient caves, that the rest of the surface stalwarts fled below to join them, seeking security and comfort in numbers. I was...not welcomed below. I knew this, and I did not follow. The final exodus from the surface to the caves was clouded in despair. We knew an end was upon us, if not the form. I wached my people slink through the few remaining openings, and then I watched the final moments of the Overlay lock them all beneath the stone. In the end, they were too afraid to run away."

"Serryah..." Tara began cautiously, but she paused when she realized the dragon was no longer walking forward.

"We are here," Serryah said, looking at the ground before them.

Only then did Tara recognize the clearing. The circular patches of gray stone inexplicably precise in their pattern among the grass. The mountain rising behind them. "The symbol of the Elders," she said, in tones of shock and confusion.

human magic; dragon magic

"Did you fall?" Tara asked.

Serryah lowered her head, and said in a low growl, "Yes. It was the most difficult and wrenching thing I hope ever to endure. It only happened once, for I never completely lost the gift of flight as the other dragons did, but once was enough."

"Why were you different?" Tara asked.

"I had always been a little apart. Aloof, some might say. Some did say. As I told you , I never accepted a Rider until you. I lived my life in the sky, and in my own mind. Other dragons were getting closer and closer to the humans, hypnotized by their audacity, being lured to the earth just as the sky had somehow been lured. But I kept apart, watching from above but always more interested in above than below. The time that I fell was when I was thinkg the thoughts I just shared with you - that it seemed sky had met earth, and there was something magnificent in that. I became disoriented, unable to tell up from down, beating my wings but not sure if it was righting me or hastening my demise. Thankfully, I was not badly injured by the fall, but I was shaken and hid underground for some time, too afraid to try again lest I have to experience that terrible loss, the inescapable pull of gravity. Eventually though, I venture back out and made my way, laboriously, by foot to a place where I could not see the humans and their buildings like towns with their lights that eclipsed the stars. I went to a place where I could see the stars and for several days i simply staid on the ground, reacquainting myself with the sky through sight and thought and feel alone. When I thought that I knew it again, that I was once more a free creature of the air and not a miserable beast huddled on the ground and shackled to the earth" (a quick apologetic look at Tara, who only looked on, expectantly) "I ventured to fly again.

"Just as the fall was the worst of all memories, so was that first flight the best. I soared into the silent night air and once more felt I could touch the stars, that I floated somewhere in the universe just between earth and everywhere else, not just in teh pull of earth with everything else distant and unattainable. I vowed never to go back, never to gaze desirously at the humans' creations again. That was how I survived. I was in the air when all my kin perished, huddled underground."

"So, what now?"

Serryah had been standing, gazing tensely at the sky during hte monologue, but she now settled herself comfortably near Tara.

"Even alone with the sky and the stars, my magic was never as strong as it had been before. And when the Overlay hit, I felt the dragon magic drain from me as surely as if I bled from a thousand wounds. Those were the lives of my kin draining away, for we are only strong together. But in the last few years I have felt some magic returning, I feel the strange flickering of magic, like tiny bolts of lightning coursing through my body. I believe there are other dragons. I believe they are alive, somewhere inside this mountain. We must find them, and let them out into the air, and teach them to love the sky once more. I cannot do it myself, but I have seen you work the turbines. I have seen that you have a special way of coming at a problem that even other humans do not seem to have. I believe that you can work some human magic to help me release the dragon magic."

Dragon Magic

“Once,” said Sarah, no, Tara thought, Serryah, her name is Serryah, “when mankind still dwelt in its infancy, dragons dominated the skies, and stepped lightly upon the earth. I say we stepped lightly. Perhaps this is not entirely so. If we injured unknowingly, if we destroyed, from time to time, those who seemed smaller to us, and less significant, I must believe it was not with ill intention. I must believe we were less evil than careless. We house our bodies beneath the soil, but our eyes are ever turned upwards.

“For you see, we have a great fascination with the stars, and with the sky. No, it is more than mere fascination. We hunger for them. We yearn. I cannot explain it better than this. Our philosophers wondered if our nature, our abilities, your kind might say our magic, was tied into this relationship. I do not know. I only know that even I, who has lived so long among humans cannot help but feel pity. To be so earthbound…” Serryah stopped short, and inclined her head towards Tara. “I am sorry,” said the dragon.

“You should not be,” said Tara. “We cannot help but be earthbound. We work the earth. We were born so.”

“We thought so also, for a time,” said Serryah. “We were so busy looking at the stars, that we didn’t see the infants growing on the insignificant earth beneath us, didn’t see them rise and change, didn’t seem them look to the skies, as we looked, and yearn as we yearned.”

“I don’t understand,” said Tara. “Humans are as we ever were.”

“No,” said Serryah, “no, once you were so much more.” She tipped her great head to the sky, and did not speak for a long moment, as though she were burrowing deep within her many, aged thoughts for the proper response. One moment stretched to ten. Tara waited, watching her dragon watch the movements of the clouds above, and the sun in its daily path, and perhaps a dozen other things Tara could not imagine, and she thought, She is doing it, even now. Finally, Serryah said, “I could not help but admire. You destroyed my civilization, unknowingly, I believe, but destroyed us nonetheless, driving us deep beneath the ground. Where we were arrogant, you were violent, but it was not man’s violence that destroyed us. It was his creativity. While we saw the sky and reached for it, man saw the sky and drew it downwards. Did you know,” said Serryah, “that your turbine was once one among many, among thousands, among millions?”

“I cannot believe it,” said Tara.

“A peculiar human idiosyncrasy, disbelief,” said Serryah, “and yet it is so, nonetheless. Imagine your streetlamps multiplied. Imagine buildings the size of your town, buildings that grew so high they seemed to pierce the heavens. Buildings covered with lights like your single street lamp.”

Tara tried. “I cannot,” she said.

“I know,” said Serryah. “And yet it was so. It was quite remarkable. Something about these things contributed to the destruction of my race and still I cannot help myself. From the air, you see, it appeared that the humans had brought the sky to earth. It was magnificent.” Serryah barked a little, deep in her throat. A laugh, perhaps. “I see you now, wallowing in the dirt…” she did not finish this sentence, but merely sighed. “I do it again. I am sorry.”

“I do not offend easily, especially in the face of something I can hardly imagine,” said Tara.

“You are good,” said Serryah.

“I don’t know,” said Tara. “Maybe I am honest.”

“It is the same thing,” said Serryah. “Everything the humans did, it was all powered by turbines. Turbines like yours. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Tara. “I work the turbines, like everyone else. I understand them as best as I am able.”

“This is my greatest hope,” said Serryah. “You are a human. You share the blood of the turbine creators. Perhaps somewhere you hide an understanding of their technology that I will always lack, like somewhere, the last of the dragon magic resides in me.”

“Technology?” said Tara.

“Your people had no magic, as we do. They were forced to create their own. Like the turbines. And the lamps, that come on in the evenings, but don’t rely on fire. Human magic.”

“I think I understand.”

“It destroyed our own. We began to fall to the earth. At first, there were those among us who believed the falls to be isolated occurrences, merely the careless acts of individual dragons who confused one sky for another. But soon, we all fell, and could not fly again. Unable to fly, many of my kind began to burrow, deep within the earth. They thought, if they placed some distance between themselves and the unknown harm they might outlast it. We outlasted so much, in the past. It was not to be. We died off, one by one.”

“Except you,” said Tara.

“Except me,” said Serryah.

Tara had been sure she was not going to be able to sleep. Indeed, it was deep into the night before sleep finally came. And it was well into the morning that she awoke. When she noticed how high in the sky the sun had already climbed she panicked and sprang out of bed. This sudden action caused her newfound bruises and sore muscles to howl in protest, the price of learning to fly. She grabbed her pack and went running to Serryah, panicked that she had been left behind.

Tara felt a small wave of relief when she finally approached Serryah, but she could tell the dragon was uneasy. Serryah got into position and Tara climbed on, somehow sensing she was not supposed to say anything right now.

Tara had barely got herself settled when Serryah took to the sky. She flew with a ferocity Tara had not yet see. The late morning air had not lost its chill and it stung Tara’s face, causing tears to well in her eyes. After an hour all of her exposed skin was numb and her entire body was a giant cramp, but still she said nothing, and still Serryah beat her wings, relentlessly flying away from the sun.

They were approaching the south mountains, a range that was always on the horizon, yet only in here wildest flights of fancy did Tara ever think she would be this close. The mountains were dark and majestic, the biggest things she had ever seen and she was about to fly over them. Not even the elders knew of anyone who had seen the other side of these mountains. Occasionally a young villager would set out to cross the range, but those who left never returned.

It was crossing over the peaks that drove home to Tara how real the stakes were, the game had ended as she crossed into the unknown. Underneath her, Serryah could sense this shift. The dragon could feel the anxiety of her rider and so she broke the silence.

“There is nothing to fear, flightless one. You have been very brave, but this is not the part of our journey where we should be afraid.”

“Oh Serryah, we’re s far away, what if something goes wrong, who will come and help us.”

“There will be no one to come and help us on this task little one. If I am to succeed it will be through our efforts alone.”

“But what if I’m not good enough, what if I let you down.” Tara had put on a brave face for the duration of the journey but it was falling apart in an instance.

“I have not lived so long by making foolish decisions. You and you alone are the one capable of helping me.”

They were descending down the back side of the mountains, Serryah gently landed in an alpine meadow. Serryah let Tara scramble off her back then spoke to the flightless one with a heightened level of caring. “We shall rest here Tara, and I shall tell you why we must not fail.”

Before Dawn

The village woke again before full dawn, slowly, as Old Agar sat watching from his bench. The pale haze of morning lifted gradually over the buildings and cast faint shadows across the square, the sun not yet available to throw it's full authority behind the effort. A faintly wooden smell drafted out from the evening's pit fires, and the honey-tang of drying ale from the tables and dust nearby. It was unusually quiet, this morning, but occasional rustles and hinge-creaks in the middle distance spoke to the building alertness.

Old Agar's attention, however, was focused on none of this, having grown deeply accustomed to the mornings of the village. He woke to watch the sun set, and returned to his bed each day before the mid-day meal. Bright light did not agree with his eyes, but his vision in the dark was sharp. In the pre-dawn light, Agar could quite easily study the massive creature sprawled in the alley across from him. As the dragon slept, he had carefully counted the rings on her neck, examined the spines of her eye-ridges, and stared at her wings. Finally, as the first rays of true sunlight began to filter across the horizon, he glanced agitatedly to the east, then sighed sharply. Agar reached for his stick, and began walking across the square.

He simply stood in front of the creature's head for a time, and then reached out and gently rapped her on the nose with the side of his cane. She sneezed mildly and reached up with a claw to scratch at her nose and idly opened her eye to a slit, and then snapped it open to a full and interrogative disc once she saw Old Agar standing before her. He felt the comfortable pressure build in the back of his head and then heard her voice.

"You smell strange."

Agar grinned impishly, replying "To find the high ground on that one, you'll be wantin' to brush your teeth, great lizard!" He laughed at her look of consternation and added "You'll be Gadrya's get, then. Serryah, was it?"

Serryah's attention snapped from peevish curiosity to intense scrutiny. "My mother is dead," was all she said, but the tone conveyed real danger.

Agar was unmoved. He removed his collar and loosened his right sleeve, revealing the blue coil that ran from his elbow to his shoulder. Seeing that Serryah recognized the mark, he carefully relaced his shirt. "I have something for you. You'll need it, once you've found her." As he spoke, he raised his cane aloft, and brought it sharply down to the soil with a muffled cracking sound. Gingerly he pulled apart the now split halves of the wood and removed the long thin crystal from within. Serryah said nothing, only watching with unease as he slid the rod into place along her temple. Agar turned quietly, his task complete, and straightened from his customary stoop. His pace, as he left the village, was slow, and unhurried. He would be missed, he knew. But not greatly. And not for quite some time yet.

Around the corner was what used to be a large central square. In it were long, rough hewn wooden tables and benches, with over 100 people bustling about, carrying a hodge-podge of rescued dishes and utensils. An open fire was burning at one end of the square with skewers of meat roasting over it, and next to it was a make-shift iron oven glowing and emitting the smell of some sort of tuber baking.

Sarah had settled herself just outside the cluster of structures, with her neck extending down one of the side streets so that she could just see into the square. The bottomless black of her slitted pupils followed Tara's movements.

As Tara moved through the crowd, people moved out of her way and turned to watch her go past, with stony expressions. At last, she reached the head of the table closest to what must have been a church. A group of older Villagers sat there, with food already in front of them.

"Council." Tara said.

They all turned to look at her. "Tara." said one man, bearded like the rest. "Speak."

"Sarah the Dragon speaks to me. There is a task she must accomplish - she must find her birthright, and I must help her to do so. We will depart tomorrow morning."

There was silence among the Council while Tara stood proud and silent. Finally, the man who had addressed Tara before said "How long has she spoken to you?"

"Today was the first time."

"What is her birthright?" asked a woman.

"That I do not know," Tara answered.

"When will you return?"

"When the task is complete."

"But . . you will return?"

"Yes - when Sarah's task is complete, we will return and assist the Village in any way necessary."

The Council exchanged glances, and then the first man spoke again. "Eat then, young Tara, and take such supplies as are necessary, and return to us swiftly."

Tara turned away and went to look for some sort of bag to carry with her on the journey before returning to eat. Sarah, satisfied, promptly closed her eyes.

Trial and Error

Trial, error, and more than a few bruises revealed a method by which Tara could ascend Sarah’s back. It bore no resemblance to a sack of wheat being shouldered, which pleased Tara and her aching joints considerably. It was a testament to Tara’s persuasive abilities that Sarah agreed to practice her take-offs and landings. “I am no mule or donkey, destined to cart humans about as it pleases them. I have been landing in this exact manner for centuries. It has never failed me before,” said the dragon.

“I do not question your landings, Sarah, but my ability to sit through them,” said Tara. “I have never ridden any beast in my life. You must see I have no seat at all.”

“Yes, I do see that,” said the dragon. “Now that you mention it, I understand your difficulty. I am more than happy to practice on your account.”

Tara was not lying when she said she had “no seat at all”. They practiced until dusk. Tara fell from the dragon on more than one occasion, and Sarah proved slow to alter her technique. Still, by the time the sun set, and the moon rose once more, casting the golden hills sterling, Tara had held her seat on three separate occasions, and Sarah had discovered a means to reach the earth that did not require diving headlong.

“How do you manage?” said the dragon, casting a critical eye upon her flightless companion. Tara walked gingerly.

“I manage,” said Tara. “No really, I am well. Will we go tonight? I am sure you must be eager.”

“Nothing will happen tonight. We will return to the Village, and you will rest,” said the dragon.

“Truly, I can manage,” said Tara.

“Yes, I can see,” said Sarah gravely. Tara attempted to launch herself once more upon Sarah’s withers in the way they had practiced. She failed, sliding down the scaled sides of the great creature before sinking into a most unceremonious heap by one large claw. Sarah said, “You fail to consider, though, that perhaps I am tired. I am not used to such exertion, after all. I have grown soft, living so close to the Village.”

“I am doing well enough, but I understand if you must rest,” said Tara. “Come, let’s go home.”

“Let’s,” said the dragon.

The Village hummed with quiet evening activity, the closing of shops, the final return of stragglers from the fields, the whistle of a solitary engineer, as he attempted to repair the corroding wiring connecting the street lamp at the corner of Market and Main to the Turbines (or so the aged green signs proclaimed it to be) with a handful of clay and a strip of leather. “You were missed today, you and that big beast of yours,” said the engineer. “You will hear of it at dinner.”

“I am sure I shall,” said Tara. She rounded the corner for home.