City Aflame

By Elizabeth Dunbar

Sweat dripped from my brow as I arrived at the top of Kresden Mountain. I dropped onto a stony outcrop and turned toward the west to watch my city burn. Dark smoke plumed into the sky, spreading like a giant umbrella. I choked back a laugh. An umbrella was the opposite of what they needed. Fire engulfed the city from one end to the other, ravenous flames devouring buildings. The center of the city burned dark red, like a beating heart. If I listened close enough, I believed I could hear screaming, but it could have been the torrid wind.

The first stars began to appear as pinpoints of light when a young man crested the mountain, a messenger bag crammed with scrolls resting at his hip. The bag fell to the ground as his sight landed on the city’s destruction in the distance. He collapsed to his knees. I tapped my fingers against the cool metal of my canteen, waiting for the man to recover from his state of shock.

“What happened?” he managed to ask after several minutes.

“It appears as if Laharga is on fire,” I said, voice bland. I sipped from my canteen and flicked my eyes to the golden-yellow sun hovering over the ocean. It turned the waters an oily orange, almost as bright as the flames heading toward the shore.

The man’s fists crumpled against his bag, his gaze fixed on the flames, the dark smoke disappearing into the night sky. His eyes, large and blue, sparkled with tears yet to overflow.

“How?” He dragged his attention away from the flames, to me.

“A dragon.” I bent to ignite my lamp with a match, casting the rocky outcrop in warm wavering light and leaned back against granite, stretching my sore legs. As the sun sank farther, orange hues expanded, gradually absorbing the midnight-blue canvas of the sea. Pink arcs spread high above accenting wisps of clouds.

“Dragons don’t exist.”

I eyed his bag of scrolls. “Too scholarly to believe in the legends?”

“We use logic to understand the world. There is nothing logical about the legends. Dragons simply do not exist.”

“You can tell survivors your pertinent logical conclusions while they are digging through ashes looking for their families.”

He rocked on his heels, his expression sorrowful. “Did you have family in Laharga?”

“Oh, no. Friends.” I wrapped my finger around a lock of my auburn hair, sniffed it, and wrinkled my nose. Smoke. I reeked of it.

His eyes narrowed. “And why aren’t they with you?”

“Have you ever been inside a city on fire? It’s not easy to stay together.”

“You don’t look injured, or concerned… about your friends.”

“I was well protected.” I patted down the edges of my unmarred russet leather jacket. “If I were injured, I wouldn’t have made it out. And they weren’t quite my friends. They were acquaintances. Terrible tragedy though.” I looked toward the city, afraid he would see the glee shining in my golden eyes.

“My mother lived there, and my brother. I worked as a scholar at the library with my mentor, delivering scrolls between him and his collaborator in Sahran. He was a good man.” He shook his head, the amber light of my lantern glistening in his wide eyes. “Is a good man. They have to be among the survivors…”

The young man clutched his face as he began sobbing.

I sighed and held out my canteen. “There was a group gathering outside the city on the northern road to Sahran. Perhaps a few hundred people.”

He nodded, almost gurgling, and raised the canteen to his lips, swallowing a heaving gulp. His eyes flew open and he released the canteen. I swooped forward and caught it before it dropped to the ground, frowning as I tightened the lid.

Coughing, he stared at me with repugnance. “What is that?”

“Fire whisky.”

“It’s abhorrent.”

“Only to a novice,” I took a sip, reveling in the sharp burn. “The city is gone and there is no point staying any longer. I suggest you return to Sahran.”

“How can you be so callous? Thousands of people could be dead or in need of assistance.” He began to gather his scrolls and wiped tears from his face. “I need to find my family and help them journey to Sahran. I hope they escaped the city with the others. If not, I will search the shores and the rubble for them. Whatever the cause of the fire, they have to be alive.”

“Perhaps you should start believing in the legends and teach your fellow humans to believe as well. Anger a dragon and the results may not be favorable.” I gestured toward the glowing city.

He shook his head. “It’s impossible.”

I stood, arched my back, and leapt onto the outcrop of rock I had been leaning on. I stepped to the edge and peered at the black forest far below.

“Laharga was funded with stolen dragon gold. They melted ancestral relics passed down over generations to build a city within a decade.” I took another step, my toes dangling precariously over the abyss. “The city’s founders destroyed a dragon’s cavern, blasting into stone until nothing remained. You can understand the shock when returning after many years away to find your home destroyed. It seems fitting Laharga should meet a similar fate.”

His face blanched, he started toward me. “Get away from there. You’ll fall!”

“Heed my words. Tell everyone of a dragon’s wrath.”

I stepped over the edge, twisted my body, and released my hold on the illusion. My jacket and trousers vanished, my limbs lengthened, rust-colored scales spread over my skin. Copper tinted wings expanded from my back, catching the wind as my jaw elongated and my toes curled into claws. I glimpsed the man staring at me, clutching at stones, awe and horror carved on his face.

I soared over the burning city and turned toward the burnished bronze horizon to chase the sun.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Elizabeth Dunbar resides in coastal Maine where she works as a laboratory technician. She graduated from the University of Maine with a Bachelor of Science degree in Marine Biology and a minor in English. She obtained a Master of Science degree in Marine Biology at Northeastern University. She spends her free time working on creative writing projects, reading novels, and playing piano.