Revelation

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the light. The pink surface of the Great Blight stretched before me, alien and ethereal. The sunlight made it glitter like billions of gems, orange, red, and pink. I could not have named the color that spread before me, but that color covered hills, rocks, and mountains. Gnarled trees grew from the fungus, along with thin, tube-like reeds in massive fields, swaying in the breeze. There was not a sound of life — only the wind, and a strange sighing that was not natural to Earth.

Behind, the Xenolith was twisted and dead. I wondered what the Elekai would do now that it was gone. The Wanderer had said they would plant a new garden. I was just sorry that their old one had been uprooted. It wouldn’t be long now, I imagined, until this small part of the Great Blight reverted to the Radaskim.

I was startled from my thoughts when a massive creature swooped over my head from behind, landing with extended claws right in front of me. A gust of wind buffeted me back, sending me sprawling to the ground. The soft fungus broke my fall.

When I stood again, I saw that it was the same dragon that had transported me here. It let out a mighty roar, and with one foot gently pawed the ground, stretching its six long claws into the xenofungal bed. The dragon lowered its head, shutting its eyes for a moment before reopening them. Those white orbs stared into me, almost pleadingly. As strange as it may sound, I saw something almost human in them. The Wanderer had said these dragons were intelligent. Now I believed him.

“I guess you’re here to take me back, huh?”

The dragon gave no reaction. It folded its gigantic wings to its sides, a deep rumble emanating from its throat. I suddenly became awed by the magnificence of this noble creature. It was probably about forty feet long, its long tail increasing its length even further. Its scales were a pink so light that it might have been mistaken for white at first glance. Low ridges trailed its back, sharpening as they neared its tail. By the time the ridges got to the tail, they transformed into wicked spikes. The largest spike was mounted at the end of the tail — a curved, organic blade that could easily rend men asunder.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

The dragon remained silent. I closed my eyes, trying to think of what to do. Maybe I had to tell it where to go.

“Take me to the army,” I said. “Where you picked me up before.”

Still the dragon did not move. I was starting to grow frustrated. Apparently, I was doing something wrong. I stood there for a moment, feeling like an idiot. I wondered if I was mistaken in my assumption. Maybe the dragon had just landed beside me for some other reason.

The dragon stared at me with neutral white eyes, each eye about the size of my hand. I noticed the details of its face. Unlike the dragons I had seen in the Empire, this one was not blind. It had eyes that I suspected could see in much greater detail than my own. Crimson spots speckled the face. The face was smooth, and appeared soft to the touch. I wasn’t going to reach out and touch it, though, even if a part of me wanted to. I was not that stupid. This thing could bite off my hand, or even my entire head, if it wanted.

I didn’t know where the thought came from, but for some reason, I felt that this dragon was young. That it was like me.

“I’m Alex,” I said.

The dragon gave a strange, chortling sound that was very jarring to hear from a creature so large.

The dragon closed its eyes, and kept them closed. It lowered its head again — I didn’t know why. For some reason, I reached out and touched it. The skin was warm and soft. Below my hand, the dragon’s skin vibrated, and then a flood of thoughts entered my mind in a chaotic stream. I saw the dragon flying around the spire, being chased by other dragons — younglings at play. I saw the pool beneath the Xenolith, from which the dragon had come into the world. Then I felt emotions — sadness, anger, confusion, shock — as the Xenolith exploded and fell in brilliant, fiery hues. The memories suddenly stopped when I lifted my hand.

I realized that these were memories — the dragon’s memories. Somehow, the dragon was transmitting its thoughts directly to me. When I pulled my hand away, losing touch with the dragon, the stream of thoughts ceased. So: I had to be touching the dragon for the thoughts to enter me.

I wondered why these thoughts were coming. Then I realized; the dragon was showing me who he was. It was no longer an it. Somehow, I knew this dragon was male. This meant that they had both males and females. That gave them at least one thing in common with humans. What the pool beneath the Xenolith had to do with that, I had no idea. Maybe the pool was important to their mating or giving birth. Which would mean this dragon youngling would have a mother somewhere, and, I supposed, a father.

The emotions I had felt from the dragon were shocking, just as great and full and colorful as any human being’s. This was a creature of intelligence — a creature that was, perhaps, smarter than humans. Maybe the Radaskim dragons were different, but at least the Elekai dragons had thoughts, feelings, intents, sorrows, and joys.

“Do you have a name?” I asked.

The dragon, not understanding, closed his eyes and lowered his head once more. I couldn’t just talk to it. I had to touch it. I placed my hand on its head once more, thinking my question.

Askal.

The word returned clear, so clear that it startled me. I wasn’t sure if this was what his name would actually sound like, or if it was my brain’s way of turning Askal’s thought into something it understood. Then again, if my brain was trying to do that, it probably would have picked a name less weird than Askal. Like Dave.

“Askal?” I asked.

The name was very similar to what the Wanderer had called the Radaskim Xenomind — Askala. I wondered what the connection was. Perhaps Askala was just the name for their entire species. Maybe they had no need for names. After all, the Askala did not communicate with language, but with direct thoughts and images. There it was — I was now beginning to think of them with that name. Even if Askala was what they were called, why shouldn’t I be able to name my own species? The only confusing part about it was the other Askala — the Radaskim Xenomind. But this could be easily differentiated by saying “the Askala,” or “an Askala;” then people would know I was talking about one of the dragons. But, if I just said, “Askala,” then they would know I was talking about the Xenomind.

I noticed that the dragon was looking at me while my mind rambled on. My hand was placed on his head. I wondered what he thought of that jumble of thoughts circulating around in my mind, or if he even understood it.

I realized at that moment that I still had to tell Askal my name.

Alex, I thought.

Alex. The Askala repeated the word in my mind, as if it were unfamiliar.

I remembered how Askal had shown me his life with images. I decided to do the same thing. I gathered my thoughts, trying to think of how best to tell my story. Then, I realized, I was already telling it. Any thought that crossed my mind could be read and interpreted by the dragon instantly. So I thought my story from beginning to end, everything coming out in a whirlwind. A minute later, I had gotten the hang of it. It was like remembering — when I remembered something, it was communicated. Mixed in with my thoughts were Askal’s reactions — his interest, his sadness when I talked about Khloe and my father, his fear any time I thought of Howlers. For some reason, it made me feel better that this giant, powerful creature was just as spooked by those ghouls as I was.

Once finished, I took my hand off Askal’s head. The creature gave a long sigh, pained by what he had heard. Was my story really so painful? Well, I guess it was. When my story would end with my death, I guess it couldn’t be any other way.

Askal nodded, as if telling me to put my hand back on his head. When I did, Askal transferred a thought to me.

We need to go back.

“Go back? Go back where?”

To your friends.

“They’ll shoot you.”