Wings of Renewal: A Solarpunk Dragon Anthology (6 page)

Hurt, alone.

“You don't have to be alone anymore. We're here with you.” Marisol felt the presence in her mind reaching out, tentatively opening. She braced herself and reached back.
 

Connection, joining.
Bond.

Marisol felt the Dragon's consciousness merge with her own. It was unlike the books, unlike the dreams, unlike anything she could have imagined. She was not just talking to the Dragon, she was the Dragon. With her strange, double senses, she felt herself breathing with the algae tanks, absorbing the tingle of radiation on her wings, feeling the ache of sorrow for her last bondmate, and joy at no longer being alone.
 

Marisol laughed with relief. She had not lost herself. She had become more. Flexing their wings, she raised the lights and powered up the quantum drives. She turned their senses outward, seeing the void of space dotted with millions of diamond-bright stars. Marisol saw their destination in her mind, and the Dragon showed her the hyperspace window to jump.
Together
, Marisol thought.

We go on.

About Stephanie Wagner

Stephanie Wagner is a freelance sci-fi and fantasy writer from the beautiful Pacific Northwest. When she's not imagining better worlds, she spends her time catering to the whims of a huge veggie garden and a horde of greedy chickens. In the Hearts of Dragons is her first published work.

The Shape of the Sun

by Marianne L. D. Drolet

November 3rd

Sometimes it seems like there is no end to our ingenuity. We think we've backed ourselves into a corner, that all hope is lost, that there is nothing left to do but wait for the end of the human race. And yet, it never comes. Someone always has an idea, something far-fetched, something we didn't even think of trying before, or that we didn't want to try.
 

And we always come back from the brink. We've been through every calamity, every disaster, every announced extinction of our race. It wasn't easy. But we pulled through. Every time. And we're still here. Not what I'd call thriving, exactly, but steadily going for something more than just “surviving.”
 

But now, I think we're really done for.
 

I'm going to write down what happened, because I need to form words with this ball of despair that has lodged itself in my stomach and won't leave. I can't talk about it. I can't talk about it like everyone constantly does. I'm afraid of screams coming out instead of words.

On the morning of October 12th, three weeks ago, a volcano—a big one—did what volcanoes do. It exploded, filling the air with dust and gas and soot and all that good stuff. From what I've heard, everything next to it was annihilated in a matter of minutes. Pompeii style. If we had a future, archeologists would clap excitedly at the instant devastation it wrought. Life crystallized in a tragic diorama.
 

But there is no future. Not unless a miracle happens. Because the volcano didn't just kill those around it. It's killing all of us, albeit slower. Those closer to the volcano, but not enough to die instantly, will perish by smoke inhalation, by water contamination.
 

The rest of us will die the slow death. Starvation. Hypothermia. Overheating. Benign sickness gone very wrong. Respiratory distress. Lack of general resources.

It sounded so dramatic at first. But it is true, and it is undeniable. On that day, the scariest thing wasn't the rumbling and grumbling of the earth. It was this brownish wave that covered the sky, blotted out the sun.

The volcano has hung a literal dark cloud over us. Our scientists fear it might not dissipate for years. It separates us from our most vital resource. And there is nothing we can do. In the face of this, we are so small.
 

The solar panels saved us in the past. They are no help now. The pitiful rays that reach us are barely keeping us alive a little longer. We don't have enough wind turbines, and not enough energy to make more. Everyone is searching through every bit of knowledge they have. Everyone wants to find a solution, fast. I feel like we all know there might not be one, but nobody wants to admit that. We are not used to leaving so many things unsaid, and it shows. No one is dealing well with this. Our closeness is usually an ally, but this time, it makes every one of us liars. We don't want to hurt each other, even with the truth.
 

November 9th

Something new happened the other day. Nothing good.

It started with the rumbling. Rumbling again. I thought the volcano was at it once more, that this was the day it finally got us, that it had missed us the first time, that this time, we would definitely suffocate. I know I wasn't the only one. I heard my neighbors scream and wail the same thoughts I kept silent. They just didn't want to come out. They got stuck in my throat, like the air now, thick and dusty.
 

As I listened I realized the rumbling was not the same. That's when the screeching and roaring came. I ran out on my balcony, the need to know taking precedence over the need to be safe. There was nothing to see at first but the dark, suffocating sky. A few of my neighbors had also run out, and there we were, craning our necks, eagerly searching the horizon, but also looking terrified of actually finding something. I exchanged a quick look with Cait, whom I share my left wall with. Neither of us said anything. I was shaking, and there was a painful tightness in my stomach. I stayed put. I was afraid of seeing but felt I had to.
 

We waited. For hours, maybe? I can't tell. Time seemed to stretch and distend, and reality had this sickly taste of anguish.
 

I know that by the time I went back in, everyone else had gone inside. And that my face was wet and grimy with soot. I didn't remember crying.
 

They made their appearance the following morning. For hours the screeching had gotten louder, and closer. I barely slept. Without the clear separation of night and day, without seeing the sky go from light to dark, I barely sleep anyway. I'm getting used to feeling dazed and absent.
 

I dragged myself out of bed and went back to the balcony. Cait soon joined me, as did many others.

 
I don't really remember how I reacted when I saw the things, up in the sky. I do remember some screams. Not mine. I don't think so.

We're calling them dragons. Because that is what they look like, what they are. Of course dragons are not supposed to exist, but
they
exist, and they look like dragons. Wings. Claws. Scales. The whole shebang. They're easy to see against the darkened sky. Most of them are black or brownish, but it's like there's a light shining under their scales. It seems to come from the inside, and makes them stand out against the thick clouds. There's gigantic ones, little ones, elephant-sized ones. But more importantly, there's a lot of them. They're circling overhead. Some people are afraid they're going to kill us. I think they're more like vultures.

They're waiting for us to die.
 

November 11th

I never thought I'd miss the sun this much. I don't mean just what it does for us. I mean as a presence, as this entity we notice without noticing. The sky feels empty. Empty, oppressive, and hostile. I feel as if those heavy clouds are glaring at us. I feel hated. The sun made me feel safe. Welcome. Proof that the world wanted us to live. Now that it's gone I know what is missing.
 

The truth is, at this point, I don't care if I die. We've had our run, all of us. I feel I've played my part. I'm okay with it. Just make it quick. I don't want to linger. Please don't make me watch it all fall apart. I'm not strong enough for that. I can't watch them die. I can't watch them suffer.
 

I just want it to be over.
 

November 12th

I've noticed my breathing getting more labored. All our breathings. The old and the young will probably be the first to go. My body is tenaciously hanging to life. I wish I could ask it why. What's the point if we all end up the same, in the end? Why take the long, painful road?

Everyone is joining up, huddling together. I prefer to be alone. I can't look at them, knowing what's going to happen to them, what is already happening. I am selfish, in a way. Even if I am not here to see it, it is happening still.
 

The dragons are still circling, up there. Their mournful cries are driving me crazy. Or maybe it's the absence of the sun. Night and day have blended together in a sort of thick, dark, bland eternity.
 

I wonder if they're crying for us. I wish I could screech, too. But I don't want to upset anyone.
 

November 14th

Not much is new. We have noticed our solar panels picking up a bit of energy. A tiny amount, but for some, that's all that's needed to reignite hope. I think it's just going to prolong our agony. It feels terrible writing that down, yet this is how I feel, and I can't help it. If only I had the same force in me that others do.

Cait, the neighbor, brought me some soup today. She apologized because it was cold and she said it was not as good as she usually makes. It tasted great. Way better than what I cook now, and way better than what I cook usually, with all my abilities. I did feel a bit better after eating it. I've barely had the energy to feed myself since this happened. It's a little jarring to see someone else expend more energy on me than I do. It kinda twists my heart. I know I can't do anything in return.

I had the impression there was something else Cait wanted to say. She stood in my doorway a long time, but finally left without a word. There was something painful in her eyes.

I should have asked her to stay. Maybe if I was stronger, I would have.

The heaviness of the air is still unbearable. I can hear everyone coughing through the walls.
 

November 17th

I think I tried to kill myself yesterday. I'm not sure if that was my intention, but it looked like it. I'm … glad I didn't succeed. I wouldn't want to go that way. Hopeless, disillusioned. If I have to die at least let me die with something beautiful still in my heart.
 

Or maybe I don't want to die at all. Maybe I want to hold on. For the first time in the last weeks, I have this tiny hope in the back of my mind. A little sliver of faith that maybe, just maybe, we will get through this. I'm a little bit readier to at least try.
 

I didn't feel this way earlier. I felt like I was in a waiting room for death, and the doctor was running infinitely late for my appointment. Maybe I tried to take matters into my own hands. To be honest, I was on autopilot. My intentions were unclear, even to me, even now.

The dragons have started to land in the middle of the streets, on buildings, everywhere. They sniff around a bit, and then they take off again. People are hiding, even more terrified of going outside lest one of them decides they're hungry.
 

I'm like everyone. I find them intimidating, unnerving. And when an enormous one, the size of an old-time house landed in front of my apartment building, I definitely held my breath. For what felt like several minutes, it did nothing. Just sniffed lazily around. Then it let out a few cries, maw to the sky. Or maybe it was aiming them at us, up high in our homes. I stood there, frozen in my window, knowing I should probably hide, but unable to take my eyes off it.
 

And then I
needed
to get closer. I
needed
to
know
what it wanted. This waiting around in terror, it never suited me. It makes my imagination go wild with cruel inventions. So I went outside. I ignored Cait's door opening, her strangled whispers asking me where I was going. I couldn't answer her. To the others who asked me on my way, I just said one word.
Outside.

The farther down the stairs I went, the less I could sense my legs shaking. My body felt dull and distant. It was still painful, but in a weird way, like it belonged to someone else.
 

By the time I reached the front door, people were calling to me, exhorting me to get back. “Rosemary, don't do this! Come back! It'll kill you!” I walked straight ahead, trying to silence my guilt. I didn't want anyone to worry for me like I worried for them. It gnaws at you, to be so powerless. I guess I could have turned back, ran to the imagined safety of our homes. I looked at the dragon instead. It was looking at me too, its reptilian eyes passing over me.
 

It looked even more terrifying from up close. And much, much more real.
 

I froze. I had made a mistake. I almost turned back, ran away. It probably would have caught me, if it had wanted to. I wanted to run, but I realized that I felt … good? I felt comfortable. My body was still wracked with pain, my lungs were still burning. But there was this pleasant warmth in the air, a warmth unlike anything I'd experienced, not since the eruption covered the sky. After I don't know how long, I located its source. It was radiating from the dragon.

I closed the distance between us. Ignoring all my instincts, I lifted my arm, as high as I could raise it. Slowly, the dragon bent his neck down and sniffed at it, as a dog would. This reassured me, and I dared my next move. I laid my palm on its snout. It took me barely a second to place the sensation this caused. The sweet heat of sun on skin on a bright afternoon. Intense, but not unpleasant warmth. A myriad of other sensations seemed to come to me then. The pleasant slickness of scales. The soft breeze of its breath on my hand. Contentment. A deep contentment. The knowledge that no matter how bad you feel, the sun will rise tomorrow, and that someday, somehow, things will get better, you will feel better. A certainty that you take for granted when it's there, and that you forget when it disappears.
 

After a while, I got bold. I caressed the scales, hesitantly at first, and with more confidence when they warmed under my touch, like the dragon was inviting me to go on. I looked into its eyes, ready to stop and maybe scurry away at the first sign that my attention was unwanted, but it only blinked almost sleepily. Something about this expression chased away most of my fears. Its presence was comforting. I didn't need to say anything to it. Unlike with the others, there wasn't the weight of things unsaid between us.