Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology Read online

  Rashida tried to pull her hand away, but the dragon's whiskers wrapped around her wrist and held her gently but firmly. It started purring again, loud enough to drown out the baby's noise. The baby stopped hissing and folded its wings back, cocking its head to one side. It padded to the tip of its parent's face, close enough to have the whiskers holding Rashida's hand wrap around it as well. They were soft and supple, and caressed Rashida's hand rather than binding it in place. The baby cooed and started purring, nuzzling into the touch of its parent.

  The dragon's whiskers took hold of Rashida's hand and the baby dragon, and guided them towards each other until she could feel the baby's downy fuzz. She had no idea what the dragon was doing until she met its gaze. She'd never interacted with a dragon before, but even she could tell it was expecting something from her.

  She looked at the dragon's eye, then back at the baby dragon. The baby looked up at Rashida and back at its parent, apparently listening to something before turning its own golden gaze onto Rashida.

  “Why are you …” was as far as Rashida got before the whiskers started glowing red. Rashida felt a wave of warmth rush through her arm and up to her head, bringing with it a cascade of emotions. Pain. Fear. Sadness. Regret. Hope. Desperation.

  “What … what happened to you?” Rashida asked, unsure how the dragon was pushing emotions into her like that. Her query was met with an overwhelming barrage of pain and fear that made her fall to her knees. It was quickly followed by a feeling of regret, and hope again.

  “I don't understand. What are you asking me?” Rashida gasped as she recovered from the emotional onslaught.

  Different emotions flowed through the whiskers to her arm and head. The love of a parent to their child. The desire to protect. Trust. Hope once again.

  Rashida looked back at the dragon, then to the baby. It was looking at her with bright gold eyes, pleading almost as much as the dying dragon. “But why me? I don't know how to care for a dragon!”

  Curiosity. Trust. Compassion. Empathy.

  “All … all right. I will. I'll do my best. I promise, to Allah and to you both,” Rashida swore through fresh tears. She had no idea where to even start raising a dragon, but this baby needed help and she was at least in something of a position to give it. What else could she do?

  Relief. Gratitude. The sadness of goodbye.

  The dragon unwrapped its whiskers from them both and released one long breath before its purring stopped and it became still. Its body relaxed, its whiskers flopping to the ground, and the clearing became still and silent for a moment.

  The baby dragon nudged its parent's whiskers before dashing into Rashida's arms and unleashing a loud wail that she felt through her entire body. Rashida sat next to the dragon's still-warm head and sobbed as she cradled the baby dragon, her own cries echoed by the baby's wailing. They stayed together for what felt like hours, falling into silent, red-eyed mourning once their voices ran hoarse and her tears ran dry. She could feel the baby dragon's comforting purring, like having a dense, fuzzy cat in her lap.

  Rashida was so focused on her sadness she didn't notice the ornithopter land until she heard the baby dragon hiss.

  “Over here, Bassam!” Eng called.

  Rashida opened her eyes and saw Bassam and Eng at the edge of the clearing, staring wide-eyed at the dead dragon. They were quite the contrast—Bassam the massive brick wall of a man and Eng, who was shorter than them both and would probably snap in a strong wind. Bassam tried to approach Rashida, but the baby dragon hissed again and lunged at him, succeeding only in tripping over Rashida's apron pocket and falling over.

  “It's okay, it's okay! They're friends,” Rashida said as she picked the baby dragon up. It stopped struggling towards Bassam but gave him another hiss and fixed its gaze on him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Rashida nodded. “It … Dad, it was so badly wounded, I couldn't …”

  “That's not your fault. It would have taken Allah Himself to come down and save this dragon,” Bassam told her. “It's a pity to lose such a noble creature. I wish I knew what brought it down.”

  “I might have an idea,” Eng called from somewhere past the tree impaling the dragon. The baby dragon let out an indignant chirp as Bassam helped Rashida up, and scurried into Rashida's apron pocket once she finished standing. She waited for it to settle down before she followed Bassam. Once she was next to Eng, she could easily see several long cuts on the side of the dragon, the source of much of the ichor.

  “Look at those,” Eng said.

  Bassam shrugged. “Dragon fight, maybe?”

  “They do look like claw marks,” Rashida added.

  Eng shook his head. “Dragon claws don't make such neat cuts, nor are they hot enough to cauterize the wounds' edges. Something shot it down.”

  Rashida gasped. “Are you sure?”

  Eng nodded. “Grandad was an ornithopter pilot during the war, and he told me about some of the aerial battles. I was going to be a pilot before I did my Wandering and wised up. Most of your smaller 'thopter classes, like the Raven we have, wouldn't be able to fly and mount a weapon with enough power to even scratch a dragon this size. You'd need at least Eagle or Albatross class to do it. Someone was trying to bring it down.”

  “But why?” Bassam asked.

  Eng shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Do you think they'll be nearby?” Bassam asked, looking at the sky.

  “I don't think so,” Eng replied. “We'd have seen them by now if they were, and those things wouldn't be able to land in here.”

  “Then how far did this dragon fly injured?” Bassam asked. “It's almost like the damn thing flew itself to death.”

  Rashida stared at the dragon's body, her gaze fixed on the blasts that had torn the dragon open. Dragons were proud, smart, majestic creatures, and she was struggling to think of reasons why someone would want to shoot one down. She could still feel what the dragon had projected into her, lingering like an old scar, and it sent a shiver through her.

  She jumped when she felt Bassam's hand on her shoulder. “Rashida, what's going on with you and the baby dragon?” he asked. The dragon stirred and popped its head out from the apron pocket, blinking sleepily.

  It took a moment for Rashida to find the words to reply. “The dragon was dying when I got here, and … and I made a promise, Dad. I promised I'd take care of the baby for it.”

  “How?”

  “I don't know yet.”

  “No, I mean how did you know that's what the dragon wanted you to do?”

  “It … it told me, Dad.”

  Bassam and Eng made no effort to hide their confusion. “What?” Eng asked.

  “It wrapped its whiskers around me and let me … feel what it was feeling. I … put it together from there,” Rashida explained, realising how strange that sounded. She hadn't even known dragons could do that.

  Bassam smiled. “You learn something new every day. Well, we'd better make some time to find out how to raise a dragon, hadn't we?” he said, gently patting Rashida's head. “For now, you can head back home. Let everyone know where we are and that we're going to need some help. Take the bike and mark a path with this,” he added, handing Rashida a large piece of pink glow chalk.

  “Will you be okay?” Rashida asked.

  “We'll be fine. You focus on yourself and your new friend.”

  * * *

  It was just after sunset by the time Rashida got back to the village, having stopped every couple of trees to make a large, glowing arrow with chalk. She also adjusted the sleeping baby dragon in her apron pocket so it wasn't all bunched up to one side.

  Everyone was gathered at the edge of the village, just near the bee yards, under the cover of a luminescent tree. She could see the paths glowing in the dark as well, a variety of soft blues and greens to light the way.

  Amelia, the village leader, was at the very front of the group. She was a mountain of a woman, covered with scars and calluses, with a coun
tenance that would intimidate a dragon. This time, however, she looked worried, and wiped her sweaty hands on her leather apron as Rashida slowed the bike to a stop in front of her.

  “Is everything all right?” Amelia asked. “You had the whole village worried the way you tore through on that bike. I was going to go after you myself until I saw the 'thopter take off. What happened out there with the dragon?”

  Rashida shook her head. “The dragon died. Dad's going to need help bringing things back. I've marked a path through the trees to where they've landed.”

  Amelia nodded. “Have they done the service?”

  “They should have by now,” Rashida replied.

  “Good. All who pass beyond deserve memory and dignity, dragon or human alike,” Amelia said before turning to the assembled villagers. “I'll go and saddle my cart up, and anyone else who can help should do the same. The sooner we get everything harvested, the sooner we can finish houses and improve more things around here. Now hop to it!”

  Rashida walked the bike back through the village, ignoring everyone else as they gathered carts, bags, containers, light sources, and wheelbarrows to help Bassam and Eng. She made it home undisturbed, parked the bike, and went up to her room before she got the baby dragon out of her apron.

  The dragon made a “mrrp” sound as she scooped it up and placed it on her bed. Her room was small and glowing a pale blue from the flowering vine she'd let grow through a crack in the ceiling. She turned on a light and let it wash through the room, lighting up her bookshelf in dire need of organising, her desk strewn with pages of garden designs, and a closet full to bursting with clothes.

  The dragon bounced on the bed a few times before it took off, furiously flapping its wings to investigate a flower on the ceiling. Rashida lay down on the bed and watched the dragon sniff at the flower before dropping onto the mattress next to her and starting to glow a soft green. She reached down and stroked the dragon, eliciting a soft purring that was more felt than heard, and she looked out the window.

  She could see most of the village heading out towards the wood, some with carts, others with barrows and bags, and all of them with light sources. There was likely going to be a large pile of dragon scales and other useable parts on their doorstep in the morning, and a lot of work to do.

  Rashida's thoughts drifted back to the dragon in the wood while she changed into pyjamas. She still couldn't figure out why someone would want to shoot down a dragon, let alone who would have access to an armed ornithopter capable of doing so. And how far had this dragon flown from where it had been attacked?

  She reached over and scratched the baby dragon's head, and the intensity of both its glow and purring increased as it curled closer to Rashida. “Are you okay, little one?”

  The dragon climbed onto Rashida's chest and pressed its face against her cheek. She felt the warmth coming from its whiskers and flowing into her head. Uncertainty. Sadness. Trust.

  “I'll do my best to care for you, don't worry. I'm sorry if I make mistakes.”

  Gratitude.

  “What should I call you?”

  The dragon reared up and cocked its fuzzy head to the side.

  “Well, I can't just call you 'dragon' all the time, can I? How about … Lumina?”

  The dragon blinked slowly before settling back down, brushing its whiskers across her face. She felt warmth and contentment coming from them, accompanied by a gentle purring.

  “Fine. Lumina it is,” Rashida said as she stroked the dragon. “I'll figure out how to take care of you. I promise.”

  About Danny Mitchell

  Danny Mitchell is a nurse from Australia who, while new to getting published, is no stranger to solarpunk. He is a regular participant in (and winner of) National Novel Writing Month, is a member of The Solarpunk Network on Tumblr, has a keen interest in social justice, and is sometimes forced to try and use his keyboard around a cat.

  Morelle and Vina

  by Sam Martin

  “It was up here, right?”

  “Yeah, at that rock that looks like a bird.”

  “… Not seeing it.”

  “Well, kind of … if you turn your head? Whatever, just trust me.”

  They had left the causeway a mile back to bike the rest of the way in its shadow. The seashell-made road was suspended in the air, just above the tops of the trees, with a conveyor belt system at its heart to move travelers along at an increased speed. It followed the curves of the shoreline, gently pulling bikes and pedestrians along with the same solar panels that shaded its length, connecting the small coastal communities it slithered between. It was the fastest way to get from one to the other, as the dense forest and eroding cliff side proved tough and treacherous for both bicycles and transport animals. It also afforded an incredible view of the ocean; travelers and commuters alike were stopped at the benches jutting out at its sides, watching the sunset.

  Getting off her bike, Morelle flinched at a particularly loud burst of laughter from above. They had stopped directly under one of the benches; she could almost catch their conversation.

  Vina stopped beside her. “Relax,” she said, unlatching one of the many baskets hooked to her bicycle. “No one's going to notice us.”

  “What if they see our bikes just sitting here?”

  Vina craned her neck to look up. The causeway was almost directly over them. “Unlikely. Anyway, we could easily be any two kids, just here to check out the ruins.”

  Morelle nodded.

  * * *

  It had been kids from their neighboring community who had originally found the entrance to this section of the ruins, though they were unaware of the great beast hidden within. Morelle had wandered off while they were all exploring, following a small train of hermit crabs through a warped doorway, open just a crack. One good kick and it gave way. Morelle entered, sprinkling the glowing spores of a rapidly growing fungi to light the way.

  On the other side of the door was a large pile of shells, varying in size and color. The leading crab picked through them until he found a suitable new shell, abandoning his own. The second in line, slightly smaller, swooped in to take the one he'd cast aside. The third did the same. Morelle watched until the last crab snatched up its new shell and skittered away.

  It was only then that the glowing fungi she'd released around her had spread far enough to cast light upon the behemoth in the corner.

  She had assumed the door opened to a cavern, much like the one they'd passed through to enter the ruins of the building. Now, however, she saw it was a room. The fungi had climbed up the walls to a partially caved-in ceiling and along the damp corners of a rough concrete floor. It was at least as big as several town blocks, perhaps even as big as the central garden.

  The thing crouched in the corner took up only a small portion of that space, but it was still formidable. It was as big around as her house, and at least a story tall. She squinted in the low light as she approached, gingerly touching its skin—a rust-pocked metal. Through its dingy windows, she could see into an inner compartment, filled with the glass boxes and knobby surfaces that were the telltale signs of old technology. There were rows of seats within, like those in the aerial buses that ran on cables above the causeway. What looked like windmills were perched at either side of it, to generate power, she supposed. And the thick arms stretched out on either side of it … were they wings?

  She ran back to Vina, pulling her by the wrist. Vina fought and complained until she set eyes on the thing. She stared for a moment before running to stomp out the glowing fungi, hushing Morelle's protests.

  * * *

  “I still don't see why we couldn't tell the others,” Morelle said as they hoisted their equipment down the side of the cliff. “We could definitely have used the help carrying all this.” The biomass was heavy, and though they could grow some of it inside, they'd need a lot of it.

  “You can't trust just anyone with this kind of find,” Vina said, carefully placing her feet as she made her way dow
n the crumbling path. “I've gone out with the scrappers tons of times and have never seen anything close to this. Do you even know what it is?”

  Morelle shrugged. In her mind, it was already more monster than machine, with wings that billowed and lungs filled with fire.

  They reached the foot of the cliff. Vina set her baskets down and swiped at a thin, purple band around her wrist. After a few seconds it began to project images, and Vina flicked through them until she reached the one she was looking for. Though it was a bit hard to see in the orange light of sunset, it was clearly the metal beast, or something like it, only without the rust and wear of years spent underground. “I took a picture and reverse-imaged it. It's an aeroplane. People used them to fly around. To find one in such good shape … it's basically unheard of.”

  “Do you think we should have told someone, then? Maybe someone at the university?” Morelle paused in front of the crevasse that led to the ruins. They'd been buried beneath the earth by a quake, and then covered by waves for decades after the sea level rose.

  Vina glared at her. “You know if we tell them they won't let us touch it. They won't let us use anything good as a base.”

  “I know, but is it irresponsible, to keep this a secret? We're already skipping our community work to come out here and that's the classic way to—you know …”

  “Morelle. They won't cast us out. First of all, we're minors. They're not going to kick two teenagers out into the wilderness.”