Fantasy Genre

Dragon Born

It was dark in the cave. A soft huffing was Heather’s only warning.

“It’s okay, Korro. It’s me. I’m here to check on Mari and the kits.”

The huffing subsided and Heather heard scale shifting on rock. Satisfied all was safe, she lit her lantern, flooding the space with honeyed light.

Curled up against the far wall was Mari, a young female dragon. Her yellow-green scales shimmered in the dancing light. She lifted her head to regard the human woman who approached her with reflective black eyes.

“How are we doing today, Mari?” Heather asked, sitting the lantern down.

Mari’s head bobbed up and down, moving with serpentine grace. She slid her tail back, exposing six eggs in a small nest of sand and rock. The first generation of dragon kits to be born in this world.

Before approaching them, Heather stopped by Mari’s head. She pressed her forehead against the dragon’s, scratching behind the eye ridge. “I am glad to see you’re feeling well today. Korro is taking good care of you, isn’t he?”

A snout bumped her shoulder. She turned and pressed her forehead against the mighty Korro, a beast of red and purple magnificence. “Yes, yes, Korro. It is good to see you again, too. Now, let’s take a look at the kits, yes?”

Under the watchful eye of both parents, Heather dropped gently and slowly to her knees, holding her own full belly. Matthew didn’t like her traveling so close to the coming of their child, but Korro and Mari needed her. They were the only dragons with a clutch of viable kits and she was only dragonologist.

Heather bent close, her green eyes making careful note of the changes since her last visit two weeks ago. The shells were still intact and showed no signs of stress. The colors were lighter, taking on an almost translucent hue. If she angled the light, she was sure she’d be able to see the tiny kits inside.

“I’d say we’re getting close, aren’t we, yes?” Heather asked. She sat back on her heels, wincing and rubbing just below her ribs.

Korro’s head snaked down, coming even with Heather’s. His head tilted slightly to the side and he blinked.
“I’m fine, Korro. Just my baby. He’s active and space is at a premium.” She turned to Mari, “There are many a day lately that I envy you, Mari. No lie.”

She took several deep breathes, breathing through the discomfort as her baby kicked. He always seemed to be more active when she visited the dragons. She sat, putting herself closer to the eggs and pulled a log book from its satchel. “May I?”

Mari settled down, relaxed and at ease. It was the closest thing to permission she’d get.

Heather smiled. “Thanks.” Her fingers trailed over the eggs, feeling their smooth, almost silky texture. “Soon, soon, yes?” She decided to start with the orange egg she called Vela.

There was still so little known about dragons. One day they had been no more than stories and myths. The next, the world woke up to their existence. Scientists were still scratching their heads at that one. Heather, for her part, was content to let them do so. She was satisfied living her childhood dream. Who else in all of history got to study real live dragons for a living?

She picked up each egg in turn. Inside she could see each tiny kit, perfect miniatures of their parents. “As far I can tell, they are doing beautifully well, you both….Weights have increased across the board for the most part. Shells are getting thinner. Hatching could be any day now.”

Korro and Mari looked at her with their endless eyes.

Heather reached out to pick up the last egg. It was pure black, even now, making it all but impossible to see the kit she called Armon inside. This one intrigued her, and the rest of the growing dragon community, the most. Armon lacked the jeweled tones seen in the other eggs. Of all the dragon’s cataloged, none had black in their scales. Speculation buzzed across the chats. Was it a new color variation, something within norms, birth defect, or sign of illness? This egg was also the smallest and lightest of its siblings. Was it possible for dragons to hatch runts? So much they did not know. So much to learn.

Her fingers brushed over Armon and her baby jerked, bringing on a contraction. Heather doubled over, mouth gaping. Her baby kicked again. And again.

Armon began to rock in time, matching her baby’s movements.

The second contraction hit.

Her water broke.

Heather tried to push herself up and fell backward against Korro, who had come up behind her. Mari’s head rose, her eyes regarding her. Heather glanced over to the eggs.

They were all rocking. Were they hatching? Now?

Be at ease.

Heather started, looking up into Korro’s eyes. Did he just speak? There were no records of dragon’s speaking. Dragons were intelligent creatures like dogs, yes. But none had ever spoken. They didn’t have the physiology to allow it.

Be at ease, the words rumbled again in her mind, rocks tumbling down the mountainside.

It’s time, another voice said, as lightning flashes across the deep ocean.The Dragon Herald is coming. And our kits are eager to greet him…Especially Armon.

Heather looked at Mari.

The dragon’s snout brushed her shoulder. We are with you, Heather. As you have been with us.

Heather’s lips parted to speak, but another contraction stole her words.

Be at ease. Let the Herald come. We have searched the worlds and waited long.

Heather moaned, fingers digging into the soft dirt. Her whole body shuddered as her mind fought with what was happening. Dragon’s didn’t talk. They were nothing more than massively overgrown lizards.

So why was she suddenly hearing voices? Why did they seem to be coming from Korro and Mari? What was going on?
The birthing grabbed her, commanded her, and ended all further thought.

Time unmarked later, Heather rested against Mari’s flank. She was weak and exhausted, but content. She and her son had made it through the birthing journey safe. In her arms, he slept, sated from his first meal.

Circled about her were Korro, Mari, and the tiny kits. All had hatched during her son’s birth. Closest was Armon, jet black from tip to tip. His snout brushed against her son’s arm. Heather had tried to push him away, to give some space. But each time, the kit had come back as if he could not stand being parted from her son. Since he caused no harm or panic, Heather relented.

Watching them, she knew, a new had era dawned for dragons and humans both. At the center of it, all would be her son and Armon. And his would be a life filled with dragons.

Dystopia Genre

All For a Drop

It was wrong to steal. And Jazel was not a thief.

So it was with little difficulty that he shoved back the random thought that he could easily slip an extra water pod or two into his jacket pockets and not be caught to the recesses of his mind. He was an honest, upright, and faithful citizen to the GenTech Company. Which was the least he could do for all that the company had given him. In the years following the last of earth’s natural freshwater supplies being exhausted, it was GenTech that had stepped up and quite literally saved the world. With their water trees that needed only air to live and ability to produce precious pods filled with clean, drinkable water, they had managed to prevent the nations from rending each other apart. They gave generously from their massive and carefully cultivated forests, providing with seeming ease enough fresh water for every man, woman, and child to not just survive, but thrive. All they asked for was peace; for all to share their wealth and resources just as they had done.

The world willingly complied.

One by one, nations merged with each other. Currency and money became a thing of the past. Crime began to go down. What need was there to take or force from another when all one had to do was ask? Patriotism, nationalism, racism; all those ills of society began to move from daily life to the realms of history books and museums. It was a new era for the world, for mankind; and it was golden.

GenTech continued to be the sole guardians of the water forests. They were the ones who monitored, cared for, nurtured, and distributed the water pods. It seemed like an impossible task and to someone like Jazel, a logistical nightmare. But GenTech had been a profitable company in the years before and thusly showed little difficulty with adjusting to managing the populations of the very world. They ran with a precise science and formula, everything carefully calculated and overseen to ensure that everyone got exactly what they needed; no more and no less.

Every day, people like Jazel loaded pallets onto trucks. And trucks hauled the precious pallets filled with water to the different distribution sites. Every day, the people of the world would arrive at their appointed times with their baskets, bags, buckets, and arms ready to receive their alloted amount. So it was, and so it would continue: the world finally, truly at peace.

For a company that gave so much good for so long, there was no question at all that they would continue to do so in Jazel’s mind. The company would always give just what was needed. All he would ever have to do was ask.

Then Shara became ill.

It started innocently enough, nothing more than a normal childhood illness. His wife kept her home from day care, more to keep the other children from falling ill than anything. Then she stayed home a second day, followed by a third. She lost her color, her appetite, her energy. Jazel stayed home that third day, his wife needing a break from the constant care. Shara remained in bed, clutching her bunny rabbit as she tossed about in fitful sleep. Jazel sang softly to her. Songs that his mother and his mother’s mother used to sing. He soothed back her hair. He painted her nails in her favorite lime green. And he read her her favorite book over and over without compliant or suggestion of her second favorite book.

Then the fever hit.

He took water from his own supply and gave it without question to his daughter once her daily allotment depleted. His wife did also.

They called the doctor who came without delay. He poked and prodded, took measurements and readings, all the while scribbling ferociously in his little book and muttering to himself words and phrases that made no sense. When Jazel asked him what his daughter had and what she needed to recover, the doctor only bobbed his head, flashed an apologetic smile, and said that he had to run some tests. He promised to call as soon as he knew anything and felt certain that all would be well. In the meantime, continue to ensure that Shara got her rest and that she drank her daily water. GenTech would, as always, provide exactly what the family needed, no more and no less.

Jazel never doubted.

The fever grew worse in the night.

Shara’s skin almost glowed red, flushed with heat. Her curls clung to her head, limp and wet. When Jazel dared to touch her, she burned.

That day, he gave her everything he could spare of his water, leaving just enough for himself to take off the sharp edge of thirst.

The following day, his gaze lingered on the pods as he packed them away into their crates. His hand held their weight a little longer. He was thirsty and surrounded by water, but unable to take even a drop. It would be taking from another. It would be wrong. It would be stealing. He would not steal or take from another.

Finally, two days later, the doctor called back. Shara needed water for her fever and medication for the virus which ravaged her body’s ability to regulate its temperature. He had already called in the request for supplies and GenTech would no doubt respond by the end of day. They would provide exactly what Shara needed to ensure the quality of her life, just as they had for every other human on the earth over the years. There was no reason to fear or be worried.

GenTech responded quickly. A currier arrived within a few hours with a small bag and an official notice.

Jazel disregarded the notice. It would be nothing more than words of affirmation of what he already knew. Inside was everything Shara would need. GenTech was generous and gave freely to those who asked. In the bag would be both the medication and all the water she would need. It never crossed his mind to doubt.

Inside was one small vial of mysterious green liquid.

He frowned at it. The vial was so small. Barely a mouthful for even a child as Shara. Surely she would need more medicine than that. And where was the water?

He picked up the notice and quickly read the words. It fell from his fingers.

There would be no water.

There would be no medicine.

The vial contained not life, but death.

Surely there had to be a mistake. It had to be a simple mix up. The company would not condemn a child like Shara to death. This had to have been meant for someone else. Someone else who was old and already so near death after a full life. It could not be meant for his little daughter.

Jazel called the company. He was granted an appointment for that evening. Everything would be fine as soon as he could speak to them. He would explain what had happened and he would return home with the proper supplies; medication and water. He promised his wife and his daughter, kissing Shara’s fevered brow. She was so hot she no longer sweat at all. She only burned.

He was greeted promptly by name upon his arrival to the large glass building. While he waited, he was offered a glass of water while he waited. Jazel accepted with many thanks. He had drank nothing that day, giving all to Shara. He took nothing for himself but enough to wet his lips.

The rest he slipped into a small water tight bag and slid it into his pocket. Shara needed it more than he.

The company man who greeted him was polite and cordial. He listened well and nodded sympathetically at all the right moments. Yet when the time came and Jazel asked for the correct supplies, the man shook his head. There had been no mistake. They had sent exactly what they had meant to. After looking at the results of the test, an expert panel of doctors had concluded that Shara was too far gone and too sickly to survive and recover enough to achieve any means of acceptable quality of life. Giving her medication and water would only take from another who would benefit more from it. And that would not be fair to that person. Surely Jazel could understand. While it was sad to see one so young have to leave this earth so soon, it would be for the best. And after her burial, he and his wife could apply to have another child. They were young enough yet that the man stated he felt confident they would be granted permission to conceive again.

Jazel left empty handed but for his one small bag with water.

That night, every single drop was given to Shara.

The morning light brought the dismal realization that no help would be coming.

Jazel’s mouth felt like pure cotton and his head felt made of stuffing. He needed water but there was none left in the house. Everything had been given to Shara. And their daily supply would not be given until that evening.

He went in to kiss his daughter’s forehead and could hardly believe what he felt. Her skin was cool. The fever had broken. Though weak, her eyes were clear and was she able to smile and ask for her favorite book.

He returned to the company building. Surely things would be different now. The doctors had misread the tests. They had been wrong. Shara would be well. All she needed was some extra water. No more than a pod or two for a few days. GenTech surely had enough to spare. They had given him an extra glass only yesterday had they not?

He was turned away. The company man refused to listen; refused to even see him. The answer would be the same. There was no water to spare. They would receive their daily allotment at its appointed time, no more and no less. It was advised that he return home and bid his daughter farewell. It was also advised that he remember just what happened to water thieves of old. They were executed on sight.

He went to his work, watched, and waited. Supervisors walked the rows. They counted the boxes. Machines weighed the pallets. Everything was checked and double checked to ensure not a single ounce was missing. He had never paid attention before to how closely everything was monitored and guarded. Not a single movement was lost to the watchful eyes of those who guarded the water pods.

Jazel picked up a water pod and it slipped from his hand, falling to the floor. It hit with a slosh. Supervisors rushed over in a swarm, everyone on alert.

It was then that he noticed the gun. He caught the quickest flash of it under the jacket of one of the supervisors as he leaned down and over to pick up the unbroken pod. Jazel only recognized it because of the old movies he had watched. He had thought they had been all destroyed years ago. At least that was what the teachers had said.

Before he could say or think anything, another was asking him if he was alright. Was he ill? Did he need to go home and rest?

No, Jazel assured them. He had been merely lost in thought. His wife’s birthday was approaching and he was struggling to figure out what to give her as a gift. It would not happen again.

The answer seemed to satisfy. The pod had not broken so no harm was done. After admonishments to be more mindful and a few gift suggestions, the supervisors left back to their original posts and watches.

How was he supposed to get the water he needed for Shara? With supervisors that watched this closely and guns to kill, it looked hopeless.

Perhaps the company man had been right. Perhaps the kindest thing he could do would be to go home, hold his daughter tight, and give her the vial. Who was he to argue with doctors; with the company? If they said Shara would have no quality of life after her illness, would they not know best of all? Had GenTech not saved the world? Were they not versed in making decisions such as this?

And he was no thief. If he failed, he would be killed before he ever reached Shara with the water. What would it gain her? Nothing but a father to mourn before her own death. And where would that leave his wife? But childless and without a husband. Was it not better to grieve only one instead of two?

His daughter. His only daughter. He could not shake the images of her from his mind. He could not silence her laughter that echoed in the shadows of his memory. She was but a child; so young, too young.

He had to try.

He signaled to a supervisors. He was feeling faint, he explained. He had drank all his rations from the day before due to excessive working out in the yard, and now he was incredibility thirsty. Could some of his rations from later be given early now? In the state he was in, it was not hard to convince the supervisor that he did indeed some some water.

A small glass was provided to him. It would be noted and what he was given this evening would reflect the deduction he took now.

Jazel nodded his understanding and took the smallest of sips. It was hard, but he forced himself. Shara needed the water more than he.

He waited until the supervisors were turned away, then dropped to tie his shoe. In his palm were two water pods. He slipped them into the sides of his shoes, pulling pant legs down and over.

He repeated the process twice more. Each time he felt certain the pounding of his heart would give him away. Surely the supervisors would be able to hear it from their posts? He could hear nothing but. With each drop, however, he managed to slid the pods away. The last time, he pocketed the glass of water, dropping it into a small bag.

At day’s end, he went to file out with the rest of the workers. Jazel fought to keep his head up and gaze forward as he walked out of the door. If he didn’t look like he had anything to hide, then perhaps he just might make it through without notice.

Sunlight hit his face as he passed under the double doors.

He heard his name called along with the directions to stop.

Slowly, he did as directed, hoping his face looked suitability confused and not guilty.

Did he have any water pods on him? The sensors had detected water when he passed under.

The water from earlier. Jazel reached into his pocket and pulled out the small glass. He had but taken a sip. Not wishing to drink more than he needed, for water was precious, he had pocketed the remainder. It must have slipped his mind.

It was hard to tell if the supervisor believed him or not. He did not know if the sensor above the door told them how much water was on him. If it told quantity, all was lost.

The supervisor checked a read out on his tablet. He tapped the screen a few times. Asked to hold the water. Made a few more notes. Then handed the water back. Next time, he should declare such things before leaving. It threw the senors and caused more work.

Jazel apologized profusely. It would not happen again. It was one of those days. Tomorrow would be better.

Yes, the supervisor agreed, tomorrow would be.

Jazel left unable to believe that he had managed to do it. He had actually walked out with six extra pods of water for his daughter. That night, when added to the regular ration, there was finally plenty of water for all in his home to drink and be filled.

Jazel repeated the process over the next few days. Each time, he was successful. And every day, Shara grew stronger.

It came to its end.

Jazel had slipped ten pods away in specially concealed pouches he had brought for the day. It was to be his last day taking this risk. Shara was almost fully recovered. He had his water in hand and declared it before leaving that night. He passed the supervisor and his heart did not pound at all. The sensor he knew, read only that water existed, not how much.

He saw the company man walking towards him, two supervisors flanking, and knew he had been found out. Jazel didn’t even bother trying to defend himself. Instead, he asked just one question. If he was found guilty and killed as the law demanded, would his daughter be able to get his water rations?

The company man nodded.

Slowly, Jazel leaned down and pulled out the water pods, sitting them gently on the ground before him.

That night, a young water tree was delivered to his home.

*Winning Short Story on Reedsy