Phoenix by Finley Aaron Read Free Book Online Page B

parents fought to the very end, to their last breath, but by then they were outnumbered.”
    She falls silent.
    For uncounted minutes we sit in silence, observing the leaping flames of the bonfire before us, munching the last of the bear meat when Ram shares it around.
    Ram sits beside Nia and asks, “How did you survive?”
    “Hmm.” Nia tears meat with her teeth, chews, swallows. “Do you know what happens to a dragon when it dies?”
    “It burns?” I whisper the rumor I’d always heard, though I’ve never personally seen it. I’ve never seen a dragon killed—and killing is the only way we die. Dragons don’t die of old age or sickness. We’re essentially immortal, but we can be slain.
    “Yes.” Nia’s voice sounds thick. “When a dragon dies in dragon form, the last of its fire wells up and overcomes it. That’s why you never find dragon bones or carcass, or anything you can trace back to the dragon.”
    “Everything is consumed?” Ram clarifies.
    “Everything that is dead is consumed. In the case of my mother, when she was slain in a battle in the air, the faithful people of her tribe marked the place where she fell. They traveled to that spot and reached her shortly before she drew her last breath. When she burst into flames, they mourned her, but in the midst of the fire, they saw something that was not consumed.”
    Again, we’re silent, watching the raging inferno in front of us as it consumes the fuel I provided and dies down to ashes.
    Nia draws in a shaky breath. Her words are heavy, but clear. “It was my egg. She had not yet laid it, though I was fully developed and hatched not long after. The tribal elders told me that in times of trial, such as the wars that killed my parents and the last of the dragons of our kingdom, a dragon can retain her egg for the safety of the baby inside. So it was with me. My mother had not yet laid my egg when she died. The tribal elders raised me. They taught me about my heritage and even helped me learn how to assume my dragon form. I loved them. I loved them dearly. But they could not replace what I’d lost, and I longed to find more of my own kind.”
    Ram rises, finds a branch nearby, stirs the fire, sending sparks leaping skyward, and then tosses the branch atop the renewed fire. He sits again. “Is that what drew you to the one you call the white witch?”
    “In a way, yes. I had always wondered if other dragons might still exist somewhere. Knowing we can dwell in human and dragon form, I began to travel, hoping to find others living among their humans as a human, in secret. I searched first the region near my homeland, and eventually traveled the world in search of my own kind. Generations came and went, and soon my tribe no longer knew me. My sojourn grew. A few decades ago I first encountered the mamluki—or yagi, as you call them. They were easier to kill in those days.”
    “What do you mean?” Ram asks.
    “They’ve grown more sophisticated. There are more of them. I began to encounter them more often—first once every couple of years, then every year, then many times a year. I observed them and realized they were targeting me specifically. But why? Because I’m a dragon?”
    “Yes,” I whisper the answer, not because I don’t think she knows it, but because I want to communicate that we know it, too. That we understand. That we have fought these same enemies, and pondered their motives, just as she has.
    “Yes,” Nia echoes. “Once I realized that, I wondered if my enemy might be my greatest benefactor—that is, that those who were bred to kill me, might help me find others of my kind.”
    “Because they track down dragons.” There’s awe in my voice as I make the realization aloud. Nia is brilliant. We’ve been searching for dragons all these years, but never thought to follow the yagi to find them. “Yagi are bred to find dragons—they can locate them better than anyone.”
    “That’s what I hoped.” Nia sighs. “Instead,