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Dragons were a funny business. Hidden away from the modern world, they lived in a totally different dimension that catered to their needs better than any safari reserve could. Where there was no danger of being peppered with bullets from the mouths of machine guns; where they could spread their wings without the risk of them being shredded by arrows; where they could sunbathe without the fear of ropes constricting around their necks. Where the skies were a blinding blue, as though the ocean had loaned its water to it, and where the hills were high and sloping and bore plenty of prey for the dragons to hunt, cut in half by roaring river bellies full of the sweetest water.
Stephen had never seen such beauty on Earth.
The dragons, like any species, had multiple breeds living together. None had names, unlike dogs, but they were each defined by a certain characteristic. Some, which seemed to be the oldest dragons with the most authority, had long whiskers trailing from their nostrils with wings full of feathers. Others were small, about the size of a pony, with wings that were like silk to touch and with a horn extending from their nose; these dragons seemed to be hoarding dragons and their eggs in their nests were nestled amongst pearls and silver. The smallest were around the size of large birds, and were full of frilled skin, mostly around their heads and wings. Some had long bodies, like giant pythons, and with wings that didn’t seem physically able to lift them off of the ground, however they did. And there were many more besides them.
The respective breeds seemed to flock together, though there was little to no hostility between the groups.
The hostility came from other dimensions.
The water, sweet as it was, had been infiltrated with a toxic parasite. Each of the dragons that drank from any body of water in the land held in their stomachs a pool of spitting acid that would burn infant dragons in their eggs, killing them even before they had a chance to take their first breath. Though it seemed that not all of the eggs were affected; most of the clutches that were laid saw one, and only one, egg hatch successfully. However, the toxin in their blood soon drained the life out of their small bodies in under an hour. And the mother would pass away soon after laying her eggs, and the surviving infant would usually hatch to the sight of their dead mother. It had depleted the population of the dragons until they had looked extinction in the face. And so Stephen had been called.
He had been researching where the toxin had come from and how it had managed to infect so many of the dragons so quickly. It had taken him mere weeks to figure out the parasite had originated from another dimension and had passed to the dragons in their water. It had taken him a further week to find the spell to cure expectant mothers and any eggs that were waiting to hatch. As dragon eggs took only one or two months to hatch, it was more manageable to cure the eggs than it was to cure the mothers, whose lives were usually claimed within hours of laying.
As the sorcerer climbed the mountain to the dragons’ main water source - a sort of volcano but with much friendlier contents - his stomach was doing somersaults, praying that the cure would actually work. The Cloak carried him up the rest of the way, as he started to find the climb too taxing for his no-longer-youthful body.
Inside the volcano was silent. Trees and bushes with all sorts of coloured flowers surrounded a pool of water that dived down three hundred feet and spilled out into the rivers and lakes that littered the land of dragons. Stephen sat at the side of the pool and peeled off his honey-coloured gloves that had protected his hands from the many cuts and rips that the mountain would have gifted him. He dipped his hands under the surface of the water, and shut his eyes as his hands were relieved from the pain and the shaking.
The Cloak rippled behind him, carried by an invisible breeze, as Stephen murmured incantations in an unknown language. Pure, organic power the colour of the setting sun dribbled from his fingertips, swirling into the water like the Milky Way. As it spread through the crystal clear depths, it purified and cleaned, expelling the toxin from its belly. Sparkling stars pulled from the sun skittered across the surface of all of the lakes and rivers that spread out from the volcano, dusting away the scorching acid that had been infecting the lands.
Regretfully, Stephen pulled his hands out of the water, grimacing as his nerves tore themselves open again and sent tremors through his fingers and pain rocketing through his tendons. He pulled on the gloves again and descended back into the forests. He scoured the land for mother dragons and their eggs.
He found several mothers with infants in their stomachs, not yet covered by the shell of the egg. He explained to them in Dravanian, the language of the dragons, what he was going to do and what it meant for the mother. That day, he prevented the toxin from reaching over one hundred unborn clutches.
On his journey, he found a handful of mothers that had passed away, leaving their surviving eggs to hatch without guidance. These eggs he took to some of the other dragons that he had cured and asked if they would adopt the orphaned eggs. The dragons were kind enough to take the eggs under their wing.
And there was one dragon that had just laid her eggs that he chanced upon. She was a beautiful ocean blue, as though the waves had crashed upon her scales, with the sea salt leaving speckled patterns in its wake. Her eyes were half-shut, pained from just laying her eggs and now the toxin was eating away at her organs. She was one of the hoarding dragons, the horn on her face the dark blue of a whale, and her eggs were cuddled up to pearls and shining rocks in her nest. She was much smaller than he was, but he could see in her weakened eyes the burning flame of maternal protectiveness; she would, and could, end his life if she attacked him.
A risk that Stephen would have to take, if her surviving egg was to breathe for more than a few hours in a month’s time.
He made as much noise as he could as he entered the clearing, making her aware of his presence. Her head lifted and she snarled, starting to struggle to her feet, her tail curling over her nest protectively. Stephen raised his shaking hands. ‘No, no,’ he said in Dravanian, ‘I’m not here to hurt you. I’m the Sorcerer Supreme, the one that’s been curing this land of the parasite that’s killing your species.’
The mother dragon narrowed her eyes at him, though she lowered herself back down onto her stomach. She said nothing, but made a noise akin to a pigeon’s coo, encouraging him to come closer.
He took tentative steps over to her and stood near her head. He reached out a hand and settled it on her head. ‘Which of your eggs is still alive? I can cure it so that the infant will be able to live,’ he said quietly.
She pointed her tail at the smallest egg, pure white, almost identical to the pearls that lay around it. Keeping an eye on the mother, Stephen took the egg in his hands, taking care not to lose his grip on the precious item. He muttered the same incantations as before, and hot magic sank past the shell, cleansing and healing in its wake. When he replaced the egg in its place in the nest, it glowed; a warm fireplace glow.
The mother had shifted herself to lay her muzzle on the edge of her nest. Her eyes were sad; she knew that she was leaving her only son or daughter to fend for itself, and there was nothing that she could do. Not even Stephen was able to do anything for her, as the toxin had claimed too much of her to be beaten away.
The sorcerer sat cross-legged next to the nest and put his hand on the mother’s neck. She looked up at him and started to speak. ‘Please… would you take care of my egg?’
Stephen blinked in shock. ‘I don’t think I’d be qualified to do that. Maybe one of the other dragons would be better?’ he asked.
‘No… I can sense that you are capable,’ she groaned, ‘you’d be an excellent parent to my baby.’ Her eyes were slipping shut and her words becoming quieter and quieter as her heart beat slower and slower.
‘Alright, I’ll care for it,’ he said, gently running his hands over the smooth scales that had been touched by the ocean.
‘Thank… you.’
And her heart ceased to beat.