Voices of Dragons

Mom had taken sleeping pills. She was still asleep, curled up on her bed in her clothes. Kay had taken her shoes off, put a quilt over her. She didn’t know what else to do. The phone had been ringing all morning. She finally turned it off. And her cell phone and her mother’s.

A trio of news vans were parked on the street outside, and a crowd of reporters milled around them, everyone wanting interviews with the family of the first person killed by dragons since the treaty. Sixty years of tension stretched to the breaking point.

She scrolled through the missed calls on her cell phone and on the house phone, wondering who she should talk to and what she would say. She didn’t know how long her mother was going to be out of it, and she didn’t want to be in charge. She wanted to talk to her dad. Her parents may have been workaholics, both of them, always out doing their jobs. But they always answered their phones when she called. Her father had always taken her calls. She almost called him now, just to see. Maybe it had all been a mistake.

Kalbach had set up a rotation of deputies to stand guard outside the house and keep the reporters at bay. She could tell him if she needed anything. She could call any of the deputies. Some of them had already stopped by to deliver food, casseroles and salads, dishes covered in tin foil with instructions for heating. Kay wondered why. She wasn’t hungry. Kalbach said that was just what people did when something like this happened. When she was hungry, she wouldn’t have to think about what to eat, the food would be right there. It didn’t make sense to her.

Jon and Tam had called. She didn’t call back because she didn’t know what she’d say to them.

She finally lay on the sofa, wrapped herself in a blanket, watched the news, and waited for her mother to wake up. The world would start moving again when her mother woke up and told Kay what happened next.

Her father hadn’t hurt anyone. He hadn’t bothered anyone. He’d worked to keep the border safe. The dragons should have burned the air force base. They should have talked to people. They should have been talking all along, like her and Artegal, and none of this would have happened.

Now, none of them would talk with each other ever again.

That afternoon, the air force started bombing, almost as if they’d pla

Kay could hear it. If she hadn’t known the cause, she might have thought it was thunder—a distant, roiling storm, part of dark clouds lurking on the horizon. But this was too steady to be thunder. She could almost time it. Jets flew overhead from Malmstrom, and thirty minutes later, rhythmic thunder echoed from the mountains. At night, the glow of fires burned on the distant, mountainous horizon.

The day after, many families not only kept their kids from school, but left town entirely, cars packed with essentials—computers, pets, clothing, whatever would fit. Everyone assumed that the dragons would retaliate again and that they’d come to Silver River first.

And the dragons did strike again, but not at Silver River.

The news cha

No one could tell if the military’s bombing had any effect. The news cha

Kay started to understand about people bringing food. After she woke up and emerged from the bedroom, Mom looked in the fridge at all the casserole dishes and Tupperware, and for a long moment, she just stared. She took a breath that sounded a little like a sob. Then she retrieved a tray of lasagna, spooned out a couple of servings, and heated them in the microwave. They had food without having to think about it. Otherwise, they may not have eaten at all. With all the food that Dad’s coworkers, Mom’s coworkers, the neighbors, and even a couple of Kay’s teachers had brought over, they wouldn’t have to think about what to eat for a while. There was something comforting about that.

It had only been a day. Kay had to keep reminding herself of that.

Mom spent time on the phone that evening, some of her friends stopped by—and brought more food—and they spoke in hushed voices in the living room. Kay retreated to her bedroom. Right before she did, her mother called to her, gestured her closer.

“If you need to talk, if you need anything, you’ll tell me?” She squeezed Kay’s hand, rubbed her arm, like she hadn’t done since Kay was little.

“Okay,” Kay said, her voice soft. Her mom was acting weird, which wasn’t at all surprising, but Kay didn’t know how to behave. She almost said, What do I do? How do I act? I don’t know how to act. People kept looking at her with gazes of terrible pity, and Kay didn’t know how to respond.

She fled to her room. There, she retrieved Dracopolis from its hiding place under her bed. Lying on her bed, she turned the pages, studying them, the pictures, the vines and flowers that wound around the text. She had an urge to run her fingers over the lines, over the stiff parchment, but didn’t dare. She wished she could read it but didn’t know how much further she could get on her haphazard translation. The pictures showed towns being burned. Did the words tell why the dragons did it? If she could pick that apart, maybe she could understand what was happening now. The pictures, which had seemed so beautiful, so benign, now seemed as cryptic as the words. I should be angry, she thought. I should be angry at them.

She studied the manuscript, searching for some kind of wisdom. This had happened before; people and dragons had been through this before. But she couldn’t translate enough of it to learn what it said. She had only the pictures to study, and she couldn’t tell what she needed to know from the ornate drawings. Why would dragons do this? She couldn’t tell if they started burning towns before or after people started hunting them. It seemed important.

She should never have gone back to talk to Artegal. Then she could just be angry.

Kay knew she should call Jon and Tam, but she still didn’t have anything to say. Nothing at all. They’d say they were sorry, they’d ask if there was anything they could do, and Kay would just shake her head. But while she didn’t call them back, she left her phone on. They’d call again, maybe. She wouldn’t ignore them next time.

Turned out, Jon stopped by with Tam and Carson.

A soft knock came at her door, and Kay shoved the book under her pillow before her mother came in. “Kay. Do you feel like coming out for a few minutes? Your friends are here.”

She followed her mother back to the living room. There they stood, the three of them together, looking as round-eyed and lost as she felt.

They apparently didn’t expect her to say anything. Jon took a step toward her; she took one toward him. Then they were hugging. Tam put a hand on her shoulder, and Carson, looking sheepish and sad, stood with his hands shoved in his pockets.