The Beast

Orion was used to strange islands. He had seen what felt like thousands of them, though he knew dozens was a more accurate description, and this one was nothing special. As his ship had landed on its shore, the ocean sparkling in the light of the sun, all he had seen were grains of sand, deep green grass, clusters of trees and bushes, bunches of flowers, and a small mountain towering over it all. It was beautiful, but not unique. 

But as he had walked along the shoreline, instructing his crew to start setting up camp on the edge of the trees, he had heard a deep, rumbling sound coming from somewhere off in the distance, somewhere in the direction of the mountain. It had produced a small vibration in the ground beneath his feet, and he had looked around to see if anyone else had heard or felt what he had. Nobody had. They were all too busy talking and laughing as they gathered berries and cracked open coconuts. He knew they thought he couldn’t see that they had also opened one of his barrels of rum. He could, but it was the least of his concerns.

Before long, they had finished setting up and settled in for the night, but he couldn’t sleep. The fire had long gone out, and it was growing cold. He couldn’t lie down. His body wouldn’t allow it.

Orion got to his feet and wandered away from the camp and into the trees, making as little noise as he could manage. He could hardly hear his own boots on the ground.

He had heard the rumble three more times since the first, each time stronger than the last, and each time coming from the direction of the mountain. Not once had anyone else given any indication of hearing or feeling it too, but he knew it was real. And letting it rest wasn’t something he could do.

The mountain wasn’t far away, less than an hour’s walk away from the camp, and he was at the base of it in what felt like the blink of an eye. It was too quiet, as he began to circle it in search of a cave or a way up. Until, again, there was a rumble, low and long. He followed it to a mess of vines and brush on the side of the mountain. Something was behind it; of that fact, he had no doubt.

He approached with caution. The rumble sounded like a growl, and he knew whatever was making the noise was not necessarily going to be friendly to him. He also knew that he should be approaching it at all, much less alone, but he couldn’t help it. He needed to do this. Whatever it was.

He thought of his twin sister, Ophelia, back home. This was something she would do. She would wander off and do something because she felt like she was supposed to. She would do stupid things, dangerous things, and he would get angry with her about it. Stupid choices had cost their family too much. But now, here he was, doing exactly what he hated to watch her do. He supposed, though, that maybe this wasn’t the first time he had taken a risk of his own. After all, he had chosen to spend his life at sea. That alone was a risk of its own breed.

He pushed the vines aside and found that behind them, there was an opening, an entrance to a small cave. It should have been dark inside, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was lit by a soft blue glow, and as he heard the rumble once again, he knew he couldn’t deny that this was where it was coming from. He stepped inside.

There was a cutlass at his hip and a small dagger in his boot, but he didn’t reach for either. There was no need to. He could feel that even before he came across the streaking puddle of rank, green liquid on the stone floor. It was thick, almost goopy, and there was a trail of it leading to a figure lying up against the wall not twenty paces away. 

The figure had a long body and small legs, with a tail nearly as long as Orion was tall. At the end of it was a spike that looked almost like an arrowhead. Many similar-looking spikes ran up its back to the horns on its head. Its eyes were closed, and small bursts of air were coming from the nostrils on its snout as it groaned again. It wasn’t asleep, Orion knew, as much as it may have looked like it was. It had wings that were wrapped around its body, but not enough so that he couldn’t see the glaring gash in its chest, the source of the green blood. It wasn’t sleeping. It was dying.

Orion approached slowly, but even as the creature’s eyes cracked open, it made no attempt to deter him. Its shimmering blue and green scales may still have been bright enough to light the cavern, but the light was already gone from its eyes. He wasn’t certain what he had expected to find, but it wasn’t this. It couldn’t possibly have been this.

He reached out and pressed his hand to the creature’s cheek. It was rough like the skin of a snake. The creature followed him with its eyes, but all it could do was huff. The puff of air it released was hot and smelled vaguely of smoke. 

Orion hadn't dared to give the creature a label, but he couldn’t deny it now. He had found a dragon.

Its breathing was slowing and becoming increasingly labored. It wouldn't be long. Orion settled in at its side, leaning against its neck and listening to the faint beat of its thunderous heart.

He sat, and he listened until he could hear the beat no more. The dragon was dead.

He sat up, staring at the creature that he knew was supposed to be a monster. He had heard stories, myths, about the dragons that leveled villages and sunk ships. They killed people, sometimes for food and sometimes for fun, and hoarded treasure. The stories were meant to scare children and entertain adults, but Orion’s parents had always told them as if they were definite truths. 

Orion knew now that truths weren’t something the stories could possibly be, not because dragons weren’t real but because the beast he had stumbled across was no beast at all. When he looked at it, lying there helpless, monster was one of the last words that came to his mind.

There was no way for him to know exactly what had happened. He couldn’t know if there were other people on the island who had injured the dragon or if it had been the work of another animal. Maybe the dragon had simply had an accident on the mountainside. Whatever it was, the cause of the death was not entirely natural.

Orion moved the dragon’s wing aside to get a closer look at the wound that had killed it. It was a gash that went as deep as the bones of its ribs, but the wound wasn’t all he saw. Beneath the dragon’s wing was another dragon—purple, green, and blue and the size of a small basket. His heart nearly popped out of his chest.

He reached out and pulled the sleeping form of the baby dragon out from beneath what must have been its mother and held it close to his chest. It stirred but didn’t wake. Its breathing was soft and light. It was unharmed.

There hadn’t been anything he could do for the adult dragon, but maybe there was something he could do for the baby. He wasn’t familiar with this island or dragons in general, but he knew it was unlikely the baby would survive on its own. Most likely, it would be dead in weeks if not days. He could give it a chance to live, and maybe, as it grew older, it could become a protector for his crew on their adventures across the sea.

He got to his feet. He was a sailor—a pirate, if he was being honest with himself—and he was the captain of his own ship. Feelings were supposed to be part of his job, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t abandon this baby. If anyone asked, he supposed he could tell them he had simply seen it as an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. An opportunity to train a weapon so lethal most didn’t believe in its existence. 

The baby dragon in his arms, he started on his way back to camp.