Here Be Dragons: Book 1 of the Emergence Series

The morning was spent teaching Fathom more essential words as well as some basic grammar, a topic that included pronouns. It took a few attempts to convey the concept, but Fathom grasped it as quickly as he had everything else, and it allowed them to converse with the eloquence of moderately articulate cavemen. Eventually they had enough of a shared language for Pryce to teach Fathom how a scale worked, and by extension the concept of weight.

"See this?" Pryce asked as he dangled from the ship's hanging scale. "You see weight from scale?"

Fathom squinted as he slowly read. "Weight is…four-ten-two kilograms?" he asked uncertainly. The dragon may have had a nearly-perfect memory, but he often needed to pause between words as he recalled the correct ones to use, resulting in a slow, hobbling cadence to his speech.

"Yes," Pryce nodded, letting go of the scale's hook. "My weight is four-ten kilograms. You use scale now?" he asked, gesturing towards the scale's hook.

Fathom gave the scale a dubious look, and he gave the chain a few experimental tugs before fully stepping onto the hook with his hind claw. The chain and scale barely creaked, which was to be expected – it was rated for several thousand kilograms, far more than Fathom could have possibly weighed.

"Two-hundred and six-ten-six kilograms," Pryce read. He'd already suspected that the dragon was lighter than he seemed, what with him being capable of flight, but it was still surprising to see how little he weighed. It certainly led credence to his theory that dragons were most similar to avians, who possessed numerous air sacs throughout their body to facilitate efficient gas exchange and to reduce the weight of their bodies.

"Scale is good," Fathom commented, apparently impressed by the device. "Humans measure big things," he said, likely meaning 'many things'.

"Yes," Pryce said, unpocketing the chronometer. "Now I teach you 'time'. You hear this?" he asked, holding up the timekeeping device.

"Yes. Tick. Tick. Tick," Fathom said, miming the sound of the chronometer.

"Yes. One tick is one second. Two ticks is two seconds, understand?"

"Yes. How chronometer make sound?"

"Chronometer is complicated. I teach time now, okay?" Pryce asked, and waited for the dragon's reluctant nod. "Six-ten seconds is one minute. Six-ten minutes is one hour. Twenty-four hours is one day."

"...why six-ten? Why no use one day, ten hours?" Fathom asked, flattening his spines in annoyance.

"I not know this," Pryce shrugged.

"Hrrrm," Fathom rumbled, turning his attention back to the chronometer. "How I read chronometer?"

Pryce took a minute to teach Fathom how to read the device, which the dragon picked up as quickly as everything else, though he seemed to exhibit particular interest in the chronometer.

"Chronometer make sound. Like live thing," Fathom said, cocking his head as his spines stood up at attention. "Like…thing inside, go bum-bum."

"Thing go bum-bum is heart," Pryce answered after a moment. "Bum-bum is heartbeat."

"Chronometer tick is like heartbeat," Fathom nodded.

"Hmm. This is ear," Pryce said, gesturing to his organ of hearing. "Eye see things, ear hear things. How you hear things?"

"I hear with this," Fathom said, flaring out the spines along his jaw. The webbing between the spines stretched taught with the display, much like a frill. Being able to stretch and loosen their 'eardrums' probably meant that they could dull or sharpen their hearing at will, though Pryce wasn't sure why they would have evolved this strange type of hearing in the first place. Perhaps it was some form of auditory protection, to protect themselves from their own roars?

"Yes. Wait here," Pryce said, and returned a minute later with a stethoscope. "This is stethoscope. I use this on you chest, I hear heartbeat." He demonstrated the device on himself.

Fathom drew his head back and looked askance at the medical instrument. "Gharrum use this, you hear heartbeat?"

"Yes," Pryce confirmed.

"Rrr...Okay," Fathom said, and allowed Pryce to approach by warily settling down on all fours. The doctor gently pressed the stethoscope against Fathom's chest, and closed his eyes to listen for a heartbeat.

Lu-lub-du-dub…Lu-lub-du-dub…Lu-lub-du-dub…Lu-lub-du-dub…

Pryce knitted his brow as he listened to the odd rhythm. It almost sounded like the dragon had arrhythmia, except one set of beats was far more distinct and powerful. From this he could only draw one possible conclusion. "Y-You have two hearts?" he stammered.

"No," Fathom snorted, tossing his head.

Oh, right, there was probably a more mundane explanation-

"I have three hearts."

Pryce had to sit himself down.

"Where?!" He asked a little faintly.

"Small heart, big heart, small heart," Fathom said, using a wing-thumb to tap the base of his throat, his upper chest, and lower chest. "Gharrum not use stethoscope, can not hear heartbeat?"

"...no?" Pryce answered, confused.

"Hrrm," Fathom rumbled, and wrapped his wings around his head like a great funnel. "I hear you heartbeat. Bum-bum. Bum-bum. Bum-bum. Humans have one heart. More heartbeats, less seconds."

"Oh," Pryce said, feeling oddly unsettled. "Heartbeat is faster. More things in less time is 'faster'," he explained, once he had gathered himself.

"I have organ, make 'beat' sound," Fathom said, interrupting Pryce's thoughts. "Organ make…air fire. Organ make beat…is not heart."

"Oh!" Pryce exclaimed – Fathom was finally talking about how he made fire! "Wait, air fire?"

Fathom blinked. "I have air fire, water fire. Yesterday Gharrum see air fire. This is water fire." There was another snap as the dragon opened his jaws, and a burning glob of liquid splattered onto the sand.

"Oh," Pryce breathed. He knelt down to inspect the burning fluid, which appeared to be some sort of oil. "This is 'liquid' fire.I see yesterday is 'gas' fire. Liquid is like water, gas is like air."

"Good," Fathom nodded. "My organ make beats, make gas fire."

Pryce had to scratch his head at that. An organ that made hydrogen, but also made beating sounds? "Organ name is hydrogen heart," he said after some indecision. It wasn't the most elegant name, but he could always change it later.

"Good," Fathom nodded. "Dragon time is hydrogen heart beat. One hydrogen heartbeat is twelve seconds."

"You use heartbeat for time?" Pryce asked dubiously.

"Four time?" Fathom asked, flicking his nictitating membranes in confusion.

"Er…no," Pryce said, shaking his head. "Why use hydrogen heartbeat? Heartbeat change. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Slow is the opposite of fast," Pryce added.

"Hydrogen heartbeat change if I use fire," Fathom explained. "If I not use fire, hydrogen heartbeat not change."

"...understand," Pryce said. He was still skeptical of such a timekeeping system, but it wasn't as if precision timekeeping was necessary if they didn't have much technology to begin with.

"Good," Fathom said. "I have question. What is number of humans on Mainland?"

"...I need new words," Pryce said. "You know ten tens is hundred, yes? Ten hundred is 'thousand'."

"Understand," Fathom nodded. "Thousands of humans on Mainland?"

"Need more words," Pryce repeated, holding up a hand. "Thousand thousand is 'million'."

"Thousand thousand?" Fathom echoed blankly. "Why Gharrum need this big number?"

"Mainland has one hundred million humans."

"One hundred million?" Fathom hissed, drawing his head back in shock. "Gharrum know this, very yes?"

Pryce frowned, and decided to interpret the question as 'are you certain about this?'. "Number is maybe nine-ten nine million, maybe one-hundred and two million, but number is close to one hundred million."

"This number?" Fathom asked in disbelief, drawing a '100000000' into the sand.

"Yes," Pryce confirmed. The dragon's face wasn't very expressive by human standards, but he was still obviously quite stunned by this revelation. "How many dragons on Loahm?" he asked, quite curious to know the size of their population.

"...number of dragons is ten thousand," Fathom said, his spines falling back down to a mostly-normal position.

"Ten thousand? How you know this?" Pryce asked.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Less than ten thousand," Fathom amended. "Number over ten thousand…not can happen."

"Cannot happen?" Pryce asked in confusion. "Why?"

Fathom tilted his head, and seemed uncertain as to how he should explain. "Can not happen," he repeated, shrugging helplessly.

"Understand," Pryce said, making a note to ask about it later. It was fairly obvious that it was some sort of cultural rule, though he had no idea how or why they enforced a population limit onto themselves.

"One dragon…ten thousand humans," Fathom murmured to himself, evidently still grappling with the sheer quantity of humans. At the same time, Pryce took note of the Fathom's use of division. He supposed it wasn't very surprising, considering that dragons already invented the concept of numbers.

Math – that was something he could teach soon, but in the meantime he had some more important questions to ask.

"New word: sleep. Sleep is this," Pryce said, closing his eyes as he laid down upon the beach.

"Sleep when night," Fathom said, nodding his understanding. "Why Gharrum teach sleep?"

"Need sleep to teach new word," Pryce replied. "New word is home. Home is place you sleep."

"Hrrn," Fathom rumbled. "Gharrum home is ship or Mainland?"

"Both. Mainland is home there. Ship is home here."

"Understand. Why you teach 'home'?"

"I have question. Where is you home? What is number of seconds you fly home?"

"Understand. My home is there," Fathom said, pointing at the mountain to the west. "I fly home, maybe…three hundred and six-ten seconds."

Pryce blinked at the oddly specific number, but after a moment he recognized it as a multiple of 12 – Fathom must have converted it from 'beats', his native unit of time.

"You fly home, three-ten beats?" Pryce asked.

"Yes; I fly home, three-ten beats," Fathom confirmed. Pryce wasn't certain, but the dragon seemed slightly pleased that Pryce had understood his thought process.

"Understand," Pryce said, and took a moment to do some arithmetic. He didn't know how fast dragons could fly, but three hundred seconds was only five minutes, and he suspected that Fathom's home was at most five kilometers away. "Where is other dragons?" he asked, hoping to gain some insight on their culture. He was quite certain that Fathom lived alone, but it just wasn't possible for all dragons to be solitary; if that were the case then they wouldn't have a language at all.

"I have…small land," Fathom said after thinking for a moment. "Other dragons not have my land."

"Territory. Land you have is you territory."

"I have territory," Fathom nodded.

That answered one question, but that only furthered Pryce's confusion. If dragons were territorial, why would they have language? Why invent math? Everything he learnt about dragons just led to more confusing questions; it would be frustrating if it weren't so fascinating. Perhaps he was thinking about things in the wrong way. He might have defined one's place of living as a 'territory', but the Draconic concept probably didn't have the connotations it did in Murian.

"I…in you territory, is okay?" Pryce asked hesitantly. Fathom hadn't shown any sort of hostility or territorial aggression towards him yet, so either he was fine with visitors, or it was simply because he didn't deem Pryce a threat.

"Yes," Fathom said, flicking his nictitating membranes at Pryce as he did so. The gesture felt quite dismissive, as if the answer were obvious.

"My territory?" Pryce asked, pointing at the ship.

"…" Fathom did not respond, and instead turned to stare intensely at the Horizon. As the silence continued to grow, Pryce nervously began to wonder if he had said something that he should not have.

"You territory, my territory," Fathom finally muttered, glancing away from the ship.

Pryce nodded, exhaling in relief and a little amusement. It was good to see that Fathom wouldn't just take whatever he wanted, and the clear sign of restraint he displayed held good implications for the rest of dragonkind – clearly they had some sense of morality, at least when it came to possessions.

"What is number of dragons in you territory? Is number one?" Pryce asked, hoping to learn more about dragon culture.

"Yes. Most close dragon maybe 100 beats away."

"Understand," Pryce nodded. That meant that the nearest dragons were probably about 10 to 20 kilometers away. "Why you territory not have more than one dragon?"

Fathom shrugged. "I not want other dragons in my territory," he vaguely replied.

"...understand," Pryce said. Perhaps there was a personal reason for living alone, but he wouldn't push if Fathom didn't want to talk about it. "What is number of dragons like you, not live with others?"

"Maybe…three thousand?" Fathom rumbled uncertainly. "I not know. Number can change."

"Okay…what is number of dragons in big territory?"

"Big territory has…maybe one hundred."

"Understand. New word: more than one dragon in territory is clan. Clan is family, yes?"

"Clan is sometimes family," Fathom corrected. "Many clan not family, and clan can change." He paused and tilted his head. "Human clan is all family?"

Pryce paused, uncertain of how to answer. It was true that human clans were by definition family, but the way he'd defined clans made them sound more like cities or towns. "Human clans and territories is…different. Place where group of humans live is 'city'. Some city have millions of humans."

"...understand," Fathom snorted. "If city is place where group of humans live, what is 'clan'?"

"Clan is…word for human family. Clan can have over one hundred humans," Pryce replied, causing Fathom to look rather surprised.

"What is number of childs human have in one time?" Fathom asked, giving Pryce an odd look.

"One, maybe two. More child at one time is very rare."

Fathom narrowed his eyes, taking a moment to formulate his response. "What is number of years humans live?"

"Old human is eight-ten years. Why you ask?"

Fathom drew his head back, looking very surprised. "Why not live more than eight-ten years?" he half-asked, sounding almost…concerned? "Eight-ten years is…very small time."

Pryce shrugged. "Humans live eight-ten years. How many years dragons live?"

Fathom tilted his head as he considered his answer. "Most dragons live one hundred years? But if dragon not die, can live five hundred years."

He blinked in confusion as Pryce stared back at him in disbelief.

"You mouth open," Fathom noted.

"Er…yes," Pryce stammered. "You…know dragons live five hundred years?"

"Yes. Is rare, but not very rare," Fathom casually replied.

"...Understand," Pryce said faintly. A thought abruptly crossed his mind: was Fathom even an adult? "What is number of years from egg to adult?" he asked, a little anxiously.

"Ten years," Fathom answered, surprising Pryce. He'd expected them to have a prolonged developmental period, but perhaps it wasn't fair to compare them against the extreme neoteny of humans.

"What is number of eggs dragon can make?"

"One. Two is very rare. Female can make egg in one month."

"Understand," Pryce nodded. "Human female need eight months to make child."

"Eight months?" Fathom murmured, looking somewhat disturbed. "Very big time. What is time for human child to be adult?"

"Ten-six years," Pryce answered.

"Humans live eight-ten years, need ten-six years to be adult," Fathom murmured. Pryce was still a novice when it came to interpreting draconic emotions, but the dragon sounded quite disappointed, and maybe even a little pitying.

"Humans like that," Pryce shrugged.

"Mmm. I have question from past," Fathom abruptly said. "If human child slow, and if human live eight-ten years, why human clan big?"

"...This is complicated," Pryce said, scratching his head. "Clan is word from past. Clan in present is rare."

"Understand," Fathom nodded. The dragon opened his mouth, but then he seemed to change his mind as he glanced at the setting sun. "Is night soon. I go eat and sleep now. Talk tomorrow?"

"Yes, we talk tomorrow." Pryce stepped back and watched as Fathom sprinted down the beach before leaping into the sky.

[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]

Day 23,

We made good progress today. Every bit of progress makes it easier for us to teach and learn new words, and I suspect the language barrier won't be much of an issue in a week.

…

Perhaps it goes without saying, but dragon biology is fascinating. The cut on Fathom's wing membrane appears to have shrunk by about 1 cm in ~24 hours. Perhaps this was a measurement error – the tissue is malleable after all – but I'll be keeping an eye on it.

Another organ of particular interest is the 'hydrogen heart' Fathom mentioned – that's the name I decided on for the organ that produces and stores hydrogen gas. It's a bit of a mouthful, but I can always change it later.

A thought occurs: hydrogen is notoriously difficult to store. The atoms are just so small that they can even diffuse through a variety of materials, even steel tanks. I haven't the faintest idea as to how dragons are able to prevent diffusion from their hydrogen hearts, but I suspect the beating of the organ is somehow vital to the retention of the gas.

…

On another note, I entertained the possibility that hydrogen might act as a lifting gas, but Fathom's torso – excluding his neck and tail – is only about 2 meters long, and the mean diameter of his chest is certainly less than one meter. One cubic meter would be a generous estimate of the volume of hydrogen in his body. How much lift would that give him?

Lifting weight is determined by the difference in density.
Density of air at STP is 1.838 kg/m³, while the density of hydrogen at STP is 0.135 kg/m³. That means Fathom would only experience a mere 1.703 kg of lift – nowhere near enough to provide any sort of meaningful benefit.

I can therefore safely conclude that the production and storage of hydrogen exists mainly as a source of fuel. It is possible that the gas may serve another purpose, but nothing comes to mind at the moment.

…

Fathom appears to be nothing but good natured (at least to me), but I'm not sure about his motivations. It is possible that he merely views our relationship as transactional, especially considering the value that human commodities hold in dragon culture.

At least my understanding of the dragon life cycle has improved, and with it my grasp of their culture and values. Like humans, they're clearly K-selected organisms, meaning that they invest great effort into raising the few offspring they produce. Fathom was notably baffled by the existence of large human families, which implies that dragons are different. Perhaps it is simply not necessary for them to place as much emphasis on familial relations as humans do, which certainly has interesting societal implications.

On that note, Fathom also mentioned that only ten thousand dragons are allowed to exist at a given time, which means that they must have some way of managing their reproductive rights. Perhaps they have some sort of caste system? That could explain things, but it's still a rather baseless assumption. I'll have to ask Fathom about this later.

Note for tomorrow: Ask Fathom about his family, or if he has any children.

Notes:
Fathom's weight: 266 kg

Body language:
Nictitating membrane* blink: Annoyance/disdain. Similar to eye-rolling.

Wing shrug: Equivalent to human shrug

Flattened spines: Dislike/disdain

Flared spines: Excitement/agitation/shock

Rapid pupil dilation/contraction: Excitement/happiness(?)

Drawing head back: Disgust/dislike

*Nictitating membrane is a bit technical for common use. Perhaps I should refer to these as 'flight membranes' instead.