Voices of Dragons

by Carrie Vaughn

  She was cleaning up her dishes when the phone in her pocket rang. Tam’s voice over the connection was panicked, which made Kay’s gut turn with worry, sure that something had gone wrong, until she made out the words.

  “I saw him,” Tam gasped. “He was there. I saw him. Neither of us crossed the river, but he was there and we talked. Kay, he talked to me—”

  Kay rushed back to her bedroom and closed to the door, cupping her hands around the phone as if the sound would leak out and her mother would hear.

  She wished she’d been there to see the look on Tam’s face. “I told you you’d be okay.”

  “He said he couldn’t stay, he was being watched, but that he understood. Kay, he said he understood. Does that mean what I think it means?”

  “It means everything’s going to be okay.”

  They had a plan. It was going to work.

  “Jon came with me, he showed me where to go, but he’s being watched, too, so he went the other direction to throw them off. I don’t know if it worked. Kay, does Jon know? Does he know what you’re planning?”

  “Yeah.” Her heart was racing. Scared, but excited—there was something amazing about having a plan come together. “The press conference is at noon. Can you be there?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. Kay—I talked to him. I trust him. I don’t know why, but I do.”

  “I told you.”

  Kay had a few more things to get together. She found the book Dracopolis and the notebook with the translations. Most recently she’d worked on the final page, because she wanted to know what happened, how it all finally turned out—not that it was a story and not that it had an ending. But, obviously, the dragons leaving the world, going into their secret caverns and into hiding, hadn’t been the end or the book wouldn’t have been written, and the dragons wouldn’t have returned.

  The last page, or what she could make out of it, didn’t explain it all. But it explained a little.

  There is a haven for those tired of this war. There is a haven, out of view, where dragons and people still keep peace. It will always be a haven, and we pray that those who need it will find it in time.

  Kay tore the sheet out of her notebook, folded it up, and put it in her pocket, along with the extra, hand-drawn map that had been slipped between the pages. She didn’t want anyone to find it. She didn’t know what keeping it secret was protecting, but she was going to find out.

  She left the book on her bed, open to the page depicting the virgin sacrifice, so people would understand.

  In her closet she found her homecoming dress, wrapped in plastic, destined never to be worn again. It sparkled white, shimmering even in the closet’s shadows.

  This part of it was probably just like the virgin part—it didn’t really matter; the tradition had just built up over the centuries: The virgin always wore a white gown, a bridal gown, when she went to the sacrifice. She took it anyway, folded it as carefully as she could, and put it in her backpack. The weather outside had turned warm. Maybe she wouldn’t be too cold.

  “Kay, we should get going,” her mother called from the living room.

  So this was it. It was time. She had everything she needed—she hoped. Her cell phone was fully charged. “Just a minute!”

  She looked around her room one more time, then the hallway, then the living room. She looked over the house where she’d lived her whole life and tried to remember. On one of the bookshelves in the living room sat the family picture from last Christmas: her, Mom, and Dad. All smiling, laughing almost. Dad had cracked a joke right before the camera clicked. Something about this maybe being their last formal Christmas picture together because Kay would be going away soon, to college and the ends of the earth to climb foreign mountains.

  His image seemed to be looking at her. “Dad, I hope this is okay,” she whispered.

  Her mother drove them both to the press conference. Kay watched the house slip away.

  She turned to her mother, who in her pantsuit and pinned-up hair, looked more put together than she had since the funeral. She even wore makeup for the cameras. “I don’t want to just answer questions. I want to say something. I have a statement. Can I do that?”

  “Yes, of course. Do you want me to check it over for you?”

  “No, no—that’s okay.” She was kneading her hands in her lap. Mom glanced at them and smiled another tight-lipped smile.

  “Maybe they’ll make you an ambassador,” Mom said, full of false cheer. “I’ve talked about it with the director. I’ve given him all the arguments why we shouldn’t prosecute.”

  “You’re biased—they’ll never buy it coming from you.”

  “But what sounds better, putting a cute seventeen-year-old girl on trial or making her into an ambassador? This is all about PR. It’s all about public opinion. I know which option will make the bureau look better.” She quirked a smile. PR indeed.

  They drove a little while longer. Then Kay said, “What would that involve, being an ambassador?”

  “Nothing, if we can’t get the dragons to talk to us.”

  They were about an hour early. Mom wanted to be early. She said it would give them the high ground. Let them control the situation better. Maybe she was even right. Kay let her go on her PR kick. Kay had one of her own.

  Jon and Tam were already there, waiting in Tam’s car, lost among all the news vans. Kay spotted them on the drive to the middle school gym.

  “Mom, stop! There’s Tam. I want to go talk to her.”

  Mom looked hesitant, but Kay pleaded with a longing expression she hadn’t used since she was thirteen.

  “Okay, but just for a minute. I want you out of sight of all those cameras until the press conference. I’ll wait by the doors there.” She gestured to the gym doors, where two men in army camouflage stood guard. Just seeing them made Kay’s stomach knot.

  Kay ran out, and her mother went to park. She went straight to Tam’s car, and Tam saw her just before she pounded on the window. Jon, sitting in back, opened the door for her and slid over to give her space. Almost the whole gang—they were missing Carson.

  Longing and anxiety furrowed Jon’s thin face. If anything was going to make her change her mind, that would be it. She leaned toward him and threw her arms around him, holding tight.

  “I can’t believe it,” he murmured. “I can’t believe this is all happening.”

  None of it should have happened. From Kay falling into the stream, all the way back to the atom bombs dropping, to before that to when the first battles between dragons and humans took place. A cascade of terrible events.

  And she was continuing the cascade. But the alternative was ending up in jail and watching the world burn.

  “Are you really going to go through with this?” Jon asked.

  “I don’t know. I guess I could still chicken out,” Kay said.

  Jon stared at her. “I’m right on the verge of telling Tam to drive away. We could kidnap you. For your own good.”

  Tam shook her head. “I couldn’t do that.” Kay met her gaze in the rearview mirror. She should have kept them out of this—how much trouble were they going to get in because of her? But she was glad they were here.

  “Jon, I need you to hold some stuff for me. Wait out by the football field, that’s where he’ll land. And can you look out for my mom?”

  “Okay.”

  Kay swallowed. “Tam, can you drive out toward the border? Keep a watch out for him. Call me when you see him, so I know when he’s on his way.”

  “This isn’t actually going to work, is it?” Tam said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You’re bringing your phone on this adventure, right? I expect you to call me.”

  Kay got out of the car, and Jon followed. “Totally.”

  “Be careful!” Tam said out the window.

  “You too.”

  Tam pulled out of the parking lot and drove away. Kay and Jon watched her. He grabbed Kay’s hand and squeezed; she squeezed back. />
  “Where’s this stuff?” Jon said.

  Kay went back to her mother’s car and found the backpack. Before giving it to Jon, she pulled out the dress. The gesture was starting to seem overly dramatic. But she didn’t want there to be any misunderstanding.

  Jon touched her hand, holding the gown. “Is that your homecoming dress?”

  She was kind of thrilled that he recognized it. She doubted Carson remembered what Tam’s gowns looked like. “Yeah.”

  “You’re not the only virgin around here. I should do this. I’ll do this. Why does it have to be a girl in a white dress?”

  “Tradition?” Kay said.

  “That’s sexist bullshit and you know it. I’ll do it.”

  “Jon. You don’t know how to ride. Artegal doesn’t know you. I don’t want to you get hurt.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I won’t. That’s why I have to do this. I’m not afraid.” And she realized she wasn’t.

  “Kay. When are you coming back?”

  She looked at him, the worry in his eyes, a tightness in his jaw. He looked at her so intently, and she wondered if it was love. She said, “I don’t know.”

  They kissed. None of their kisses had ever felt like this, long, intense, rough almost, as if they were making up for lost time. She gripped his shirt in her hands, and he held her close. When she had to catch her breath, she turned away and rested her head on his shoulder. She was crying.

  It was almost noon. She was running out of time. She pressed the backpack and her heavy coat into his hands. “Wait for me, okay?”

  He nodded, and she pulled away. As she slipped through the door to the school, she glanced over her shoulder to see Jon looking back.

  Mom came toward her, as if on her way to meet her. Kay scrunched up the dress and hid it behind her back.

  “Where are Tam and Jon? Did they come with you?”

  “They wanted to watch from outside.”

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “Can I hit the bathroom first?”

  As she’d hoped, her mother gave her a look of sympathy. “Come out the gym doors when you’re ready.” She walked off in that direction herself, toward the hubbub and chatter of the temporary offices.

  Kay ducked around the next corner, into the bathroom, and into the gown.

  She was going to freeze in this thing.

  Temporary, she told herself. It was only temporary. As a compromise, she kept long underwear on and wore her hiking boots. It wouldn’t look great, but she had limits she’d go to in the name of fashion.

  Squaring her shoulders, she looked in the mirror. Her hair was in a quick ponytail, coming undone, brown strands loose around her face. The dress looked lumpy rather than sleek, with thermal underwear and without heels. With all those cameras out there, she was going to end up on every TV channel and a million websites looking like this.

  But it didn’t matter if she looked glamorous. It was the symbolism that mattered; she looked like the image in the book. People wouldn’t need to be able to read to understand what was going on. They’d look at her and know, from that deep tribal memory of the stories.

  She pulled the elastic out of her hair, shook her head, and smoothed her hair out anyway. It looked a little better.

  A knock came at the door, and Kay’s mother asked, “Honey? Are you okay? We can still call this off if you don’t want to go through with it.”

  “No, Mom. I’m fine. I’ll be out in a couple more minutes.” Pacing now, avoiding the mirrors so she wouldn’t keep messing with her hair, she waited for the call. She wouldn’t be able to stall for much longer. What was taking Artegal so long?

  Even though she was expecting it, when her phone rang, she still jumped and fumbled when she answered it. “Hello? Tam?”

  It was Tam, in a panic. “He’s on his way! Oh my God, Kay, he’s flying so fast.”

  Which meant she didn’t have much time. “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Kay?” Tam said, when she was about to hang up. “Be careful, okay? Whatever happens, be careful. I want to hear the whole story when this is all over so you have to be there to tell me, okay?”

  Kay couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, I promise.”

  Head up, chin out, copping all the attitude she could muster, she marched to the gym and to the press conference outside. She hadn’t figured out how she was going to explain why she was wearing her homecoming dress for this, so she just wouldn’t explain.

  When she entered the gym, where the temporary FBBE offices still resided, the bustle fell still. It wasn’t an immediate thing. Instead, one person noticed her and stared, then another, then a few more who looked up to see what the others were looking at, until the whole room was quiet.

  Kay’s mother was waiting by the outside door, where Kay could just make out another waiting crowd.

  “Kay?” Mom said, confused. “Kay, what is this? Why are you dressed like that?”

  “I wanted to look nice,” she said.

  Her mother looked quizzical but didn’t say anything else. As much as Kay tried to act as if this were all normal and nothing were wrong, this was too weird. She wasn’t fooling her mother. She wasn’t fooling herself.

  Mom glanced out the door and pressed her lips together in an expression of satisfaction. “Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready,” she said, breathing too fast, then marched past her mother and through the door.

  On the pavement outside the gym, a podium, microphones sprouting up from it like a spiky mechanical flower, had been set up in front of several rows of folding chairs. Reporters sat in many of them, while many others stood, gathered in clumps, talking.

  She went to the podium and tapped on one of the microphones. An echoey thumping noise came from somewhere. She couldn’t see where the speakers were. Reporters looked up, looked at her, and made their way to their seats, murmuring.

  “Hi,” Kay said, and winced because it sounded stupid.

  Everyone sitting in the two dozen chairs must have raised their hands and shouted at the same time, asking questions before she had a chance to collect herself. Kay stepped back, assaulted by the aggression of it. Mom came up beside her and took charge.

  “My daughter has a statement she’d like to read,” Mom said, and the crowd settled.

  Her hands shaking, Kay unfolded the paper on which she’d written her statement. Her throat was dry; she had to swallow before she could speak. She glanced at the sky; Artegal wasn’t in view yet, but he would be any minute now. She wanted to do this carefully. She wanted to make sure people heard every word.

  “I’m not going to stand here and tell you war is bad or wrong, we shouldn’t do it, and we should work for peace instead, because it would be too easy for people like General Branigan to say I’m naïve, I’m just a kid. To blow me off and act like nothing I say could be important. But if you think about it, I have more right than anyone to talk about what’s going on here, to have an opinion about it. I think if I’m allowed to stand up here and talk at all, then I’m allowed to have an opinion that matters.

  “My father died because of a misunderstanding. Because of laws and a border that exist because we couldn’t be bothered to try and get along. I’ve spent the last several months crossing the border and talking to a dragon. I know that dragons and humans can talk to each other.

  “I’ve thought, I’ve wondered, if maybe it was my fault.” Here, her mouth grew dry again, and she paused to wet her lips before continuing. “If what happened to my father was my fault. If this whole war was my fault because of what I’ve been doing. If me crossing the border and talking to my friend somehow started this or made it worse, then maybe the same thing can maybe make it better.

  “The history of people and dragons goes back thousands of years. There used to be a tradition where human settlements would show they were serious about negotiating for peace by offering a symbol. A sacrifice. A virgin in a white dress.”

  “Kay, no,” he
r mother whispered in a harsh voice. Kay couldn’t look at her, not even a glance.

  Somebody screamed and pointed up. Artegal had arrived.

  He moved like one of the jets, soundlessly, almost too fast to track. His wings tilted like oars, and he banked into a circle over the school. Half the crowd ducked; the other half ran. More people screamed. A couple of guns fired, then stopped, because there were too many people around.

  Kay shouted into the microphone, “Stop it! He isn’t doing anything wrong!”

  People looked at her, then looked back at the dragon, as if they were trying to keep both in view at the same time. But Kay was right, and Artegal wasn’t doing anything but circling, dipping a lazy wing to bank his silvery-gray body, keeping one dark eye on the proceedings below. Maybe people would pause to notice that he was beautiful.

  Three more dragons approached, flying fast and hard, their wings swept back, their necks stretched forward, heading for Artegal. They’d followed him, or chased him rather. People scattered, leaving news crews with their cameras pointed to the sky and soldiers aiming their rifles.

  The dragons weren’t heading for the now-fleeing crowd, the news vans, or the buildings. They were heading for Artegal. Artegal responded, banking sharply, swooping, altering his flight. But they followed his erratic path, made their own swoops and maneuvers to surround him. Artegal was smaller than the others, younger, less experienced. No matter how much he dodged, veered, and changed his course, the others stayed with him. He might have escaped by flying high, straight, fast—away, in any direction. But he wouldn’t leave the area. He was waiting for her.

  His pursuers stretched their hind claws forward, bared their razor teeth, and prepared to pounce on him. Then the familiar sounds of jet engines roared overhead: A pair of the F-22s, flying close, swung in a wide arc overhead, as if preparing to attack the dragons. The trio of dragon warriors veered and scattered. The jets looped around them in a circle that seemed to encompass the entire town.

  “No!” Kay shouted. This gave her and Artegal even less time. She tried not to be angry at Captain Conner for this; it wasn’t his fault. But she wanted to be angry at someone.