Here Be Dragons: Book 1 of the Emergence Series

"You want to sit on my back?" Fathom asked, his spines raising in confusion.

"Yes. How else I fly with you?" Pryce asked, equally confused.

"I carry many things with my hands. Will be easy to carry you," Fathom sensibly replied, flexing a powerful foreclaw to emphasize his point.

Pryce scratched his head. It might have been a good idea, especially for a short trip, but would feel much safer with some strong rope holding him in place. "I made this thing, you wear, then I can sit on your back and not fall."

"I 'wear' this? Like clothing?" Fathom asked, and sniffed skeptically at the pile of rope. "You want to sit on my back very much," he commented, eyeing Pryce suspiciously.

"Okay, you carry me with your hands," Pryce sighed, trying not to sound too disappointed. "You can carry this too, right?" he asked, gesturing to his backpack.

"Yes, is easy," Fathom said, lifting the bag off the ground with ease. The dragon fed a foreclaw through the straps of the backpack, then turned to face Pryce. "Your arms go up," he said, gesturing upward with his muzzle.

"Okay…" Pryce said, and awkwardly raised his arms above his torso.

Fathom was gentle for all his strength, and his two foreclaws easily encircled Pryce's torso as he lifted the human with ease.

"Oh," Pryce involuntarily murmured. It wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but it felt very strange to be bodily picked up like a doll.

"Are you hurt?" Fathom asked, easing his grip a little too much.

"No, no," Pryce hurriedly said, "I was surprised – this is very strange. Grab stronger like before, I don't want to fall," he added a little nervously.

"Okay," Fathom said, adjusting his grip accordingly. "I fly now, yes?"

"Yes, we fly now." Pryce braced himself as the dragon's powerful muscles began to coil and tense, and all that force was released in an instant as Fathom sprang into the air.

The acceleration was so abrupt as to be almost painful, and by the time Pryce regained his bearings they were already some fifty meters up in the air, with the ground falling further away with each passing wingbeat. Pryce tore his eyes away from the ground to fix his gaze upon the horizon, which helped quell the rising wave of nausea – he doubted that Fathom would appreciate it if he got sick all over his talons.

Fathom spent the first leg of the flight gaining altitude, and only once did he comfortably clear the surrounding canopies did he begin propelling himself forward in earnest. Normally Fathom would get a running start before leaping into the air, but this technique wasn't possible with both of his foreclaws occupied, which was why he'd been forced to resort to this more laborious method.

Pryce gradually calmed down as they settled into a glide. The feeling of his legs dangling in the open air was rather distressing, but it was remedied in part by the truly spectacular view of the towering mountains and sprawling forests from their place in the sky. Airplanes were naturally far faster than any flying creature, of course, but it was another thing entirely to feel the full force of the wind on one's body. At some point Pryce realized his face ached, and that he was smiling.

"This is good?" Fathom asked, curling his neck to look down at Pryce, with his head upside down.

"This is great! Er – very good!" Pryce shouted over the winds, and Fathom made a pleased rumble in response, a noise that Pryce felt through the foreclaws more than heard with his ears.

Fathom flew at a decent pace – about twenty to thirty kilometers per hour, by Pryce's estimate – and it didn't take long for them to reach the base of the mountain.

"Is this your normal speed?" Pryce called out over the wind.

"No, if I fly normal speed I shake you," Fathom said, huffing in mild annoyance.

"Oh, thank you," Pryce said, appreciatively patting the dragon's index talon while the dragon turned to focus on landing.

Several unfamiliar creatures fled into the forest as the dragon descended, leaving the surrounding area completely deserted by the time Fathom folded his wings. Perhaps it was due to the cargo in his foreclaws, but Fathom landed a bit clumsily, jarring Pryce before gently setting him down.

With his feet on the ground Pryce could finally take in the details of Fathom's dwelling, which wasn't like anything he'd ever seen before. The dragon's description had led him to believe that he lived in a simple den, but each of the several subterranean entrances were carved and decorated to the point that it didn't feel quite right to call them that. The stone entryways appeared to be chiseled and sculpted, with any missing sections filled in with precisely fitted pieces of wood. Interestingly, the design philosophy seemed to value physical symmetry while naturally incorporating irregular patterns.

"You make your home like this?" Pryce asked, quite impressed by the display. It was a strange but pleasant aesthetic, and the rock carving alone must have taken an awfully long time.

"I make some parts of my home," Fathom replied. "Other dragons make changes in past. Caves are very old, and have many dragons in thousands of years."

"I see…" Pryce said. So the caves were 'passed down' through the ages, with each dragon making their own modifications throughout their ownership. In that case some of their dwellings must have been truly ancient indeed, and the sheer history that these remnants represented filled Pryce with an odd sort of wonder.

Walking over to examine the nearest piece of decoration, Pryce noted that a few designs appeared to incorporate twisting vines or lapping waves (which might have been flames), but they were largely stylized, not appearing to depict any specific animals or plants in particular.

Off to the side sat a small pile of apparently discarded carvings, most of which resembled animals that Pryce had never seen before. "Did you make this?" he asked, pointing at one carving in particular that appeared to depict a triceraphant.

"Yes," Fathom said, scratching his neck in an awkward manner. "That is old carving. Not good. I can use it to make fire. You want to eat food now?" he asked, sounding oddly hurried.

Pryce raised an eyebrow. "You make food before you bring me here?"

"Yes," Fathom said, and began walking towards his home.

Pryce took that as the cue to follow, though he needed to jog a little to keep up with Fathom's much longer strides. Soon the dragon led him to what appeared to be a kiln, though it was actually revealed to be an oven as Fathom pulled out a roasted…something that Pryce couldn't identify.

"Take," Fathom said, offering Pryce a leg.

"It looks hot," Pryce said, his attention split between the clay oven and the fact that Fathom held a steaming haunch in his talons without issue.

Fathom blinked, then glanced down at Pryce's scaleless hands. "...How you eat things?"

"Like this," Pryce said, bringing out a bowl and some utensils. He forked a few chunks of meat into his bowl, and noticed Fathom staring at him as he blew on the hot meat. "...What?"

"...Is food good?" Fathom asked, sounding oddly tentative.

Pryce bit into the meat, which was quite delicious despite the relative lack of seasoning or salt. The meat had been roasted to a golden brown crisp, and the meat was juicy despite being relatively tough.

"Is good, thank you," Pryce said through a mouthful of meat.

"Good," Fathom nodded, sounding a little relieved as he tore into his share of the meal.

Neither of them spoke for the next few minutes as they focused on their food, though it wasn't exactly silent – Fathom's powerful teeth crunched through bone as if it were barely an inconvenience.

"Why didn't you tell me about this before, when I ask about dragon cooking?" Pryce asked once he finished his portion.

"I did," Fathom simply said, his voice unimpeded by the mouthful of meat. "Use tool like rock," he said, gesturing to the clay oven.

"Ah," Pryce said, remembering that Fathom had indeed mentioned this earlier. He'd been so preoccupied with dragons being able to smelt metal that he'd glossed over that piece of information.

Fathom licked his chops as he finished his meal. "What things do you want to learn about?"

"I don't know, this is your home, you show me things."

Fathom took a moment to mull over his options. "Okay, follow me."

The interior of the cave was properly sized for a dragon, which made it quite spacious by Pryce's standards. The insides were as elaborately designed as the outsides, maybe even more so. The general 'architecture' of the cave seemed to be a mix of practicality and design, as evidenced by the stylized struts and supports, and the interior was not quite as dark as he'd expected. Holes were also carved into certain sections of the ceiling, which allowed sunlight to stream into the cave. The floor of the cave was visibly uneven, but that might have been a feature – long furrows were carved along the edges of the cave, which presumably acted as gutters whenever it rained.

"I can fill hole with wood if rain big," Fathom explained, seeing his observations. "If rain short, I wait in other places in cave."

"Understand," Pryce nodded.

Most of the cave walls had been carved with something or other; in effect it was a historical mosaic, with contributions from dragons who lived across the ages. It was awe-inspiring to behold, though it was a shame that the full history was likely lost to time.

"Do you know who made these carvings?" Pryce asked, just to be certain.

"No. Last dragon live here get sick and die. I and one other dragon fight, I win, so I live here. That was ten years ago."

"Ten years ago? This is different home from where Anvonh hatched?"

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"...Yes," Fathom said, looking away. "That territory is better than this one. After Anvonh leave, I lose fight to dragon named Vhaka-ǂ, and Vhaka take my territory."

"Oh," Pryce said. "Do…you want to take your territory back?"

"No," Fathom said, surprising Pryce. "I first see Vhaka when I was ten-five years old. He is strong, and is a good dragon. This territory is not good like Vhaka-ǂ territory, but this is good, and it…has good location," Fathom finished vaguely. "I show you other places now?"

"Wait, why is there a coconut here?" Pryce asked, pointing to a hollowed out shell. It sat on a stone shelf as if deliberately placed, though Pryce had no idea what purpose it might serve.

"That is a thing that makes sparks," Fathom said, and shook the coconut to show how tiny sparks danced about the dark cavity.

"Oh, it's quartz!"

"You know this rock?" Fathom asked, then flattened his spines in embarrassment. "Stupid question."

"No no, it's a good question. Quartz is a very interesting rock – it can make electricity."

"Electricity?" Fathom echoed.

"Oh, sorry. Lightning and your sparks are both electricity."

"Ah, understand," Fathom nodded. "Do humans know much about electricity?"

"Yes, but it is complicated. I will explain more later."

"I am not surprised," Fathom said, chuffing wearily.

"What do you use this for?" Pryce asked, shaking the coconut around. He doubted the sparks would be enough to start a fire, and it wasn't as if Fathom needed such a tool anyway.

"It…is interesting. It does not have a use," Fathom said, a little awkwardly.

"Oh, so it's a toy," Pryce nodded, placing the coconut back down. "What else do you have to show me?"

It was a good thing that Fathom had Pryce bring the lamp, as many sections of the caverns would have been pitch black without it.

"How can you see in here without light?" Pryce asked.

"I use sound," Fathom simply replied. His eyes glimmered brightly in the lamplight, and he seemed a little confused by Pryce's question.

"Use sound?" Pryce echoed. "How does sound help you see?"

"Sound can…hear distance," Fathom awkwardly explained. "Can humans not do this?"

"...No, we can't," Pryce sighed, shaking his head. Evidently a dragon's sense of hearing was keen enough to make some degree of echolocation possible, though further elaboration revealed that small objects were rather difficult to hear.

Pryce made a mental note to ask more about this later, but for now he focused on the tour of Fathom's home, which consisted of a decently sized cave network, large enough to comfortably house a number of dragons. Despite this, each section was dedicated for one purpose or another, and with a surprising variety. The kiln he used to make breakfast was indeed something that he crafted himself, along with a collection of handmade ceramic containers which he used to store the aforementioned goods. Other tools were largely made of wood, bone, and rock, and demonstrated a surprising level of craftsmanship. The wood furniture and tools that Fathom used were markedly different from the human analogues; instead of metal nails or screws, dragons used tight fitting wood joints in addition to glues derived from tree pitch and charcoal.

The tour of Fathom's home took a few hours to complete, mostly because they frequently stopped to explain and discuss the various questions that they both had.

Once that was done they returned to finish the rest of the roast that Fathom had prepared, and Pryce took the opportunity to ask a few cultural questions.

"Celebration is what people do when something good happens," Pryce said later that night. "Celebration means having fun with other people, eating food, and sometimes drinking alcohol together. Do dragons celebrate anything?"

"What is 'fun'?" Fathom asked, confused at this new word.

"Oh, right, fun is…when you do things you want, like flying, or winning fights, or getting shiny things," Pryce said, guessing that these things were probably what the dragon considered to be fun.

"I understand," Fathom said. "What do humans do when 'having fun'?"

"…Humans do many things to have fun," Pryce answered, realizing that perhaps he was not the best person to ask about 'having fun', given his tendency to be a bit of a workaholic. "Many humans like to drink, or to…play games. Games are like…competitions."

Fathom perked up his spines curiously at this. "What games do humans play?"

"There are…many different games," Pryce said. "I will tell you about games later. Do dragons have any celebrations?"

"Dragons celebration is longest day in a year. Do humans celebration this too?"

"Humans celebrate this too, yes," Pryce replied, correcting Fathom. "Longest day of year is called 'summer solstice'. Shortest day of year is 'winter solstice'." He paused as a thought occurred to him. "Humans celebrate 'birthday' too. This is the day you are…hatch, so you have one birthday in one year."

"If birthday is day you are hatched, then why is this name not hatchday?" Fathom asked, flattening his spines. "What is 'birth'?"

"Oh," Pryce said, suddenly feeling rather awkward. "Humans do not have eggs. Human mother makes baby, not egg."

"...Oh, I know animals like this," Fathom said, drawing his head back in moderate disgust. "Is…very strange."

Pryce shrugged.

"Dragons do not celebrate birthday," Fathom went on to explain. "Is not important. Why do humans celebrate birthdays? Birthday is not like competition, is not thing that you can do," Fathom said, which confused Pryce a little.

"If birthday is not important, then what do dragons celebrate?"

"Win competition, win territory, have egg, and find rare thing," Fathom listed.

"Hmm…I see," Pryce said. He understood Fathom's perspective to some extent, as there was a time when Pryce had felt birthdays to be a pointless exercise.

"Hmm. You tell me about human games now?"

"Okay," Pryce said, an idea coming to mind. "Do you want to play a game?"

Fathom blinked in surprise, but his eyes seemed to sparkle with interest. "Okay," he agreed, bobbing his head excitedly.

"This is a simple game – hit that big rock with small rocks. But you can't move away from here, understand?" Pryce waited for Fathom to nod, and then he threw a rock at a boulder some distance away. He missed twice before a clear crack bounced back from the rock. "You try now, if you use less rocks, you win."

Fathom wordlessly picked up a few pebbles, each about the size of Pryce's fist, and threw one – missing wildly.

Five rocks later, he was almost growling in frustration.

"This game is ghan," Fathom muttered under his breath.

"We can play another game-" Pryce tried to suggest.

"No!" The dragon hissed, whipping the last rock in his immediate vicinity at the boulder, which struck the tip of the boulder before careening off down the mountainside. "Good!" Fathom cheered, loud enough to make Pryce's ears ring.

"Most humans say 'yes' when they win," Pryce suggested, lips quivering as he fought back a smile. "Do you want to try a different game?"

It took a few minutes thanks to Fathom's enthusiastic pitching of the surrounding rocks, but soon Pryce had gathered several fist-sized stones along with a few pebbles. Next, he got Fathom to scratch a 3x3 grid into the rocky ground and explained the rules of tic-tac-toe.

"What is the meaning of the name tic-tac-toe?" Fathom asked.

"I…don't know, actually," Pryce said, realizing he had never thought about it.

"How do you not know the meaning of your own words?"

"It's an old game, now are you going to play or no?"

Fathom grumbled and placed a large rock in the center grid.

Pryce followed suit, and they quickly reached a draw.

"…Who win?" Fathom asked uncertainly.

"No one win, this is a tie." Pryce said.

"This game is not good, person who go first win or tie, person who go second lose or tie."

"You learned that fast," Pryce said, impressed.

"Dragons have same game."

"Oh. This is a simple type of tic-tac-toe, we can use a more complicated one," Pryce offered, sketching a 4x4 grid.

Fathom cocked his head. "Dragons not have this type."

"You can move first," Pryce offered.

"I won," Pryce said as Fathom stared at the grid, frozen in indecision. "Anything you do, I can win."

"…Again," Fathom grumbled.

"Okay," Pryce shrugged.

Several losses later, and Fathom was picking up on the strategy. Several more after that, and he tied Pryce more often than not. Many games later, he finally won, resulting in much celebration.

Then they moved onto a 5x5 grid, where Fathom repeated this pattern of rapid improvement.

"One last game," Pryce said, clearing away his pebbles.

"…Yes," Fathom said after some thought. "What do you want to…trade?"

"Trade?" Pryce asked, looking at the board and back up at the dragon. "Oh, loser gives winner something? That is a bet. What will you bet?"

Fathom hummed in thought, "What do you want?"

Pryce…wasn't sure what he wanted from the dragon. "Hmm…I want you to show me new animals? You can hunt them, then we eat."

"This is good," Fathom agreed. "I want…camera?"

"Camera is too small. You can't use it," Pryce pointed out.

"Hrrm…You give me chronometer?" Fathom asked.

"No!" Pryce refused, his hand gripping the device in question.

"Why?" Fathom asked curiously. "Is chronometer very rare?"

"I am not giving you the chronometer," Pryce said tightly, enunciating each word clearly.

"Hmm…you can go first, and if I win you give me chronometer for one minute. After one minute I give it back to you," Fathom offered.

Pryce furrowed his brow. "Why do you want the chronometer for one minute?"

"I want to touch, see chronometer. Is shiny."

"…You promise you will not hurt chronometer?" Pryce asked warily.

"I promise," Fathom replied, nodding earnestly.

"…Okay," Pryce sighed, and picked up a rock.

"Son of a bitch," Pryce breathed, then glared at Fathom. "You were pretending to be bad?"

"I do not know what 'bitch', and 'pretending' means," Fathom said innocently.

"Smartass," Pryce muttered, and reluctantly removed the chronometer from his pocket. "Be careful, chronometer is fragile."

"Yes, I promise I be careful," Fathom said, and Pryce reluctantly set the precious device onto the palm of the dragon's foreclaws. Fathom tilted his head to listen intently to the rhythmic, cyclical ticking of the chronometer, and even unfurled his wings to listen more closely to the device. "Is amazing device," Fathom murmured in tones of wonder.

"Yes, it is an amazing device," Pryce said. It was true that other modern machines were far more complex, advanced, or visually impressive, but the chronometer had an elegant simplicity to it – at least in his admittedly biased opinion. It produced no waste and required no fuel except the potential energy stored within the brass winding, and was remarkably accurate in its timekeeping.

"Okay, one minute is over," Pryce said, making an impatient beckoning motion with his hand.

"No, it has been 4 beats," Fathom corrected, jerking his foreclaw away and causing the chronometer to slide off the smooth scales of his palm.

Before Pryce could shout, Fathom's other foreclaw whipped out to catch the device, but in doing so the chronometer bounced off his palm and just barely slipped past the gap in his talons. From Pryce's perspective the device seemed to fly through the air in slow motion until it hit the ground with an alarming crack, and then the device began to bounce down the rocky mountainside.

Fathom leapt down the mountain to chase the device at the first bounce, but the chronometer was already far out of his reach. Pryce watched in dread as Fathom half-ran, half-glided down the steep mountainside, but it was already too late. He could only stand and watch as the mechanical marvel bounced one final time before it smashed into the side of a boulder, producing a sickening crack that echoed throughout the mountains.

Fathom's head and spines drooped wretchedly as he offered the remains of the chronometer to Pryce, who could barely register anything other than the sight of the shattered device. The once-pristine casing was dented beyond belief, crimping the device shut. Pryce raised the chronometer to his ear; the device was silent, save for the clinking of shattered glass.

"…I can not catch-" Fathom began.

"Stop." Pryce's voice was completely devoid of emotion. "It's late. Please take me back to the ship."

Fathom bowed his head, and the trip back was stilted and awkward. Pryce did not say a single word in the air, and the dragon kept his eyes trained on the skies to avoid looking at the human's face.

Pryce stumbled onto the deck as Fathom gently set him down. The human only stiffly turned to say, "Thank you. Goodnight," before turning and walking away.

Fathom opened his mouth, but he didn't know what to say, and Pryce didn't seem to be expecting an answer either. The dragon watched as Pryce stiffly made his way below decks and closed the door behind him, all the while tightly clutching the chronometer to his chest, as if the piece of broken metal and shattered glass were the most precious thing in the world.