Two dragons from very different worlds meet on a windy mountaintop, and the results are fiery. Raven and Penny White courtesy of Chrys Cymri, A'a'shanto courtesy of Jane Jago

Setting: A mountain plateau. A green-black dragon landed a few minutes ago, and a thirty-something woman slid down from his neck. She is wearing a black shirt with a dog collar–clearly a Christian minister. Another dragon is coming in to land. He is twice the size of the earlier dragon, and the scales on his back are so black as to seem to absorb light, while his underbelly gleams pearlescent white.

Penny: Hello both. I’m Penny White, and Raven asked me to come with him for today’s meeting. Perhaps you could both tell me, and each other, a bit more about yourselves?

A’a’shanto: My name is A’a’shanto. I am the master dragon. My function is to protect dragonkind at all costs. I am bonded to the very stones of Dragonheart itself and it is from those stones that I take my power.
My mate is T’i’asharath and together we uphold draconic law. We are shifters, having both human and dragon form and we are newly mated. Sometimes my mate finds the necessary betrayal of other species in the service of dragonkind hard to take, but every betrayal makes the next a little easier.
Until I was mated I was as much of a sexual predator as any other male dragon. Now I do not dare. T’i’asharath would kill me.
As Raven is a dragon, although not of my world, I will not lie to him. Unless I swear an oath, other species should not trust my words.

The smaller dragon snorts.

Raven: Well, that’s comfort. A dragon who won’t lie to another dragon. You wouldn’t think much of my family, though I don’t think much of them either.
My name is Hrafn Eydisson, I only call myself Raven for those who can’t cope with my name. I have the tendency to flame those who can’t pronounce Welsh properly, which leads to very short conversations.
I’m an out and out dragon. I have no desire to be a were, which is what we would call a shifter. I am also a search dragon, which means I can find, and find out, anything. Makes us search dragons rather unpopular with our families, which is why our mothers try to eat us upon birth. I managed to escape and joined a colony of other search dragons on a volcanic island.
I’ve had various dalliances during my life. Female dragons eat their mates after several clutches of eggs, which has rather put me off my own kind. Whereas human females, well, there’s something rather alluring about a powerful woman.
But she has to be able to defend herself. I will stand at her side, but I won’t fight her battles for her.

A’a’shanto laughs and bulks his muscles, showing off his much larger size.

A’a’shanto: Little dragon. You have courage at least. If you would not shift I can understand that. Though that ability brought me my mate, who is the other half of my soul. But if you have such contempt for us why the interest in the lady priest? Would you discuss theology with her? I myself have often wondered about the followers of the White Christ. Do they really believe they eat and drink the body and blood of their mashiach? Perhaps your lady love will explain.

Raven: Size has little to do with the ability to tear out your enemy’s heart. Grotesque dragon.

Penny: And we’re trying to keep things civil. Raven, please shut off your flame chamber. A’a’shanto, Raven and I are just friends.

Raven: And I have no interest in her Christ. Although I do respect a religion which has their followers eat their God. At least that gives a deity some purpose.

Penny: It’s symbolic, Raven, and you know that. A’a’shanto, do you follow any kind of spiritual practice? You mentioned something about ‘Dragonheart’?

A’a’shanto: Dragonheart is a place, and a symbol. In my world all dragons are bonded to Dragonheart but only the master dragon and his mate draw power from the stones. We commune daily with the stones in an attempt to understand the wisdom of being unchanging. The stones have seen and understood more that any mortal creature can comprehend. They saw the One God make all that lives and moves. They spoke with your maschiach and with the prophets of all the other faiths that rule your world. And they sent the dragon to the Mont of Olives to rescue Maryam and the child of Yesua.

Raven is laughing, and A’a’shanto snaps his jaws shut. Then the larger dragon turns to Penny.

A’a’shanto: But I would know more of the lady priest of the White Christ. How does it come that one so young and so charming is married to your church? Or is it that your priests are no longer celibate?

Penny: That’s all very interesting, A’a’shanto. Thank you for sharing that with us. Your belief that stones saw the creation of everything is fascinating. I don’t quite recognise your story about the Mount of Olives, but I also know there are many interpretations of stories about Jesus.

Raven: For one who so fears his wife, you do seem overly interested in another female.

Penny: It’s called flirting, Raven. Don’t worry about it.

Raven: It’s called something else in my family.

Penny: A’a’shanto, I’m in the Church of England. Our priests don’t have to be celibate. I happen to have a very nice boyfriend. A human boyfriend. Anyway, you said you uphold draconic law. What does that mean?

There is silence as A’a’shanto looks at Raven for a long moment. It is as if he is weighing something up in his mind.

A’a’shanto: Hrafn Eydisson I wish you would tell me more of being a search dragon. I think in my world we would call you a seeker, and you would be respected for your talent. I have sorrow when you say your mother would have eaten you. That is a great wrong. Draconic law is very clear that the protection of hatchlings is incumbent on all adult dragons.

A’a’shanto turns his attention back to Penny.

A’a’shanto: This is strange to me. It seems our society is more simple. I will tell you both our laws. The first law is that all dragons are subservient to Dragonheart and to the master dragon and his family. The second law is that golden queens and their hatchlings are sacred and all dragons must protect them. The third law is that no dragon may lie to another dragon. And that is the whole of the law.

Raven is laughing again.

Raven: Protection of all hatchlings? Even the weak? This from a dragon who enjoys looking down at me. Our clans have secrets, and we guard those closely, even from our own kind. We protect those secrets by lying, and sometimes even killing our own. Why should the unworthy be protected?

Penny: Different cultures, Raven. Their society obviously values individual draconic life. Your laws are interesting, A’a’shanto, as it seems these only apply to dragons? What about other beings?

A’a’shanto looks at Raven for a long moment.

A’a’shanto: Why do you say I look down at you? Is it because you are a bitter creature? I wonder why that is. Perhaps because your society does not value hatchlings as ours does. You should understand one thing. Protecting dragonets is not a matter of looking out for the unworthy. It is a matter of accepting that every dragon has the right to become what he or she is to become.

A’a’shanto smiles at Penny, but it’s the smile of a cat watching a mouse.

A’a’shanto: Our laws do indeed only apply to dragons. Other species, my dear, must look out for themselves. Dragons look after dragons. And that is something you need to remember.

Raven: Yes, indeed, all creatures must look out for themselves. I value Penny for her courage, but ultimately she must fight for herself. We dragons demand the same of our pufflings. If a young dragon cannot defend himself, why should he join our society? There is no right to a life which cannot be fully lived. Do you allow weaklings to survive? For what reason? Aren’t they a burden on your society?

A’a’shanto: It isn’t that simple, young dragon. When an egg hatches nobody knows what the hatchling has the potential to become. I, myself, was the smallest hatchling from the smallest egg in my clutch. But I grew to be the biggest and the strongest and the most ruthless. Besides which, Dragonets who have no potential fade and die anyway, that is the will of the stones. You speak of what you call pufflings as if there are too many of them to be sustainable in your world. If that is a truth, then Dragonheart dragons differ from you in that way as well, we do not have an unlimited supply of hatchlings. Only golden queens are fertile. And to fly a queen in her mating flight is both difficult and dangerous. Therefore, only the bravest and strongest males may fertilise the eggs. In my generation we have three adult queens. And thus far only one golden hatchling. Does that explain?

Raven: If a youngster with no potential is going to die anyway, much better than someone at least gets a meal out of him. And I have no idea how many dragons live in Lloegyr. Our clans live in longhouses and we keep separate from one another. What happens in another clan is no concern of ours. And it’s not safe to be chosen as a mate by a matriarch. When a matriarch tires of her consort, she hunts and eats him before choosing another. You don’t fear your queens in the same way? Are male dragons safe in your world?

A’a’shanto laughs and stretches.

A’a’shanto: No, Hrafn Eydisson, our queens are not necessarily safe, although actually eating another dragon is frowned on in our society.
But I grow weary of questions, and I hunger. I will hunt now, I think. Before I go there are two things I would have you ponder. Ask yourself if you only lust after the woman because she will not eat you. And you may also want to reconsider your contempt for shifters if you give some thought to just how many more possibilities for pleasure there are when mating in human form.

A’a’shanto leers at Penny for a moment and gives her a glimpse of his human form. Seven feet of sex on legs. Then he unfurls his wings, which are night black and wholly without the iridescence one thinks of as dragonish. As he is tensing the muscles of his huge hindquarters preparatory to leaping into the sky he turns his head to look into Raven’s eyes.

A’a’shanto: Would you hunt with me, Hrafn Eydisson? I know a place where the meat animals run free on the rich grasslands. and where there is warm sweet water in which to wash the blood from one’s snout and talons.

A’a’shanto leaps into the sky. Penny turns uncertainly towards the remaining dragon.

Penny: Raven?

Raven: A hunt with A’a’shanto. That, my dear Penny, is the first of his invitations I plan to consider.

Then Raven launches himself after the larger dragon. They spiral away into the dark blue sky, leaving the human woman to stand on her own.

To read further about Raven.

To read further about A’a’shanto.

To read further about Penny White

The latest Penny White novel Penny White and the Nest of Nessies is out now!

 

We never had a inquest in town before, but Ole Man Roper died in ‘suspicious circumstances’ so it had to be done. 

Once the jury was swore in, the coroner hustled proceedings along.

Doc Baker and one of the redneck deputies give evidence. Then the sober-faced jurymen showed hands and the coroner give the verdict.

Me and Pa and Theo went home to Ma.

“That ole man musta had powerful long arms.” Pa chuckled as he sat down to Ma’s chicken dumplings, “Seems like he suicided his own self through the back of the head with a ten gauge.”

©️jj 2018

A frog he would a’wooing go
Armed with his dating app
But so far all he has to show
Is two black eyes and a slap
Yet nothing daunted froggy pays
To join another site
He’s sure he’ll find a girl some day
Or maybe on some night
The frog he made a dinner date
With loving on his mind 
Sadly his new carnivorous mate
On cuisses de grenouilles dined

©️jj 2018

Tales From The Underground is available free 26-30 September. 'Tongueless Caverns' is a Fortune's Fools short story by E.M. Swift-Hook, one of the stories in this Inklings Press anthology.

At last.
It had been longer than he ever believed he could endure. Soraya had not endured it. She brought him food, that last day and sat watching him eat, the child asleep in the crib, sucking her thumb.
“She’ll need a bigger bed soon,” he said, knowing from her eyes that was not going to work. Normally, anything he said about the child would turn her mind from other things. But not this time. So he tried again. “And the new child will need that crib.”
“I don’t want to have another child,” she said, her face set into determination. “The result will be the same, we both know that and I don’t want to condemn another life to… to this.” She moved her hand to indicate the cavern.
“I am working on that,” he told her, knowing he probably sounded sharp, as sharp as his sister. “Without the kind of state-of-the-art tools we had in the lab, we can’t grow what we need, we will have to use live samples. And from the results of those tests, it can’t be done from our own offspring. Only a new mix, a new generation. Another child would give more chance of that.”
He could never forget the expression on her face in that moment. As if something grotesque and hideous had reared out of the ground and slid into his clothing.
“Live samples?” The horror and disgust she put into the two words made Yris afraid. “Our children are not live samples. What kind of monster are you?”
He struggled to understand her anger and shook his head wanting to clear it.
“You don’t understand. Without it, we are trapped here. All of us. Unless we can change the coding in my genes, wherever I go she will hunt me down and take me back and she will destroy you. Our grandchildren – maybe our great-grandchildren – can save us from that.”
“And how would it affect them to save us?” she demanded, her whole body trembling. In the crib, the child had woken, disturbed by its mother’s raised voice and sat up, clutching the side with pudgy fingers.
“I don’t know. That depends on how much I can harvest–”
“You would kill your own children to keep yourself alive?” The child started crying then, great gulping sobs, face made ugly by the process. It was pulling itself up on the side of the crib and wailing.
“Of course. I am the only one who can do this. I am needed so much more than they are. My knowledge, my experience, my–”

The child gave a loud cry, cutting across time.
“You ‘urt me, Gran’pa.” The dark eyes and black hair framed the soft-featured characterless face, which was set into a frown.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I did. But that is all for now. You can read your story.”
The test was quick to run and as he checked the results, matching mark for mark against his own DNA he felt as if the sun was rising within him. No, it was not perfect, but it was adequate. More than adequate. It was the key to unlocking his captivity. If he could harvest enough from the small source available.
With trembling hands, he unlocked the storage box which held the final dose of his life. He had been putting off taking it for the last decade, knowing it would serve no purpose until he had both the tools he needed to defeat his sister and the means to escape her long enough to make use of those tools. He took the final vial from its cradle, each precious drop refined from the stem cells of the embryo Soraya carried under her heart. He had lifted it from her as her heart was still beating, before he stilled that from its useless task and let his sanity roll deep into the wells that sank below the habitable levels of the caverns. He remembered the words she left on the small tablet gripped in her hand: I am sorry, but I can’t live like this any longer.
He used the intravenous clip and felt the life of his unborn infant flow into his blood.

E.M. Swift-Hook

To read the rest of this story and some more awesome cthonic tales by brilliant authors pick up your e-copy of Tales From The Underground today for free!

West wind was in a dangerous mood. 

Elkhorn and her dog crouched in a cave in the lee of a big hill, when the cries of a creature in peril called them forth. Without Cerberus’ nose they would have failed, but he scented the feral cat and her young in time for them to be carried to safety.

The storm screamed his frustration to the raggedy sky. 

Then passed.

Leaving silence in his wake.

The cat family walked away, pausing only for mother to swipe a sharp claw across Cerberus’ face. 

His resigned sigh echoed Elkhorn’s bewilderment at such gratitude.

©️ jj 2018

Father brought Alib to the Temple, where the boy sat cross-legged on the floor and watched a procession of sweet-faced young nuns making their obeisance to the Idol. As each passed she dropped something into a huge glass jar.

Alib felt the torment of the girls as they dropped their offerings into the shining vessel. Each gift made a high, sweet note as it passed the neck of the glass.

He touched Father’s sleeve.
“What do they offer?”
“Time, my son, each offers a moment of her life.”
“And why do they look so sad?”
“The pain of rending a moment from yourself.”
Alib nodded.
“May anyone make such an offering?”
“They may.”
“Then may I?”
“If you will. I cannot say no.”
Alib made his obeisance to his father and joined the line of worshippers.

He looked very small, but his back was straight, and his eyes were clear, and the priests let him pass. As he approached the bottle of time his lips could be seen to be moving as if in prayer.

Instead of dropping something into the bottle, Alib threw himself through the wide neck of the glass. For a nanosecond nothing happened, and then the vessel burst, filling The Temple with shards of glass and high keening music.

A voice from the very earth lamented. And then there was silence. Alib walked back to his father, with glass sparkling in his hair and the knowledge of a thousand lifetimes filling his eyes.

Jane Jago

End time came. Mother’s skies grew dark as the giver of life-giving light and warmth turned away. 

The creators of north, south, east and west saw that their child was dying and clasped their hands in sorrow. Each entity shed a single tear – and from that tear was born a pale rider to oversee the destruction of that which had been the fairest child of them all.

The riders breathed fire and toxic fumes, while their wild steeds were crafted of smoke and mirrors and wasted plastics.  

And the names of the riders were Lechery, Gluttony, Politics and Algorithm…

©️jane jago 2018

.... or 'How To Speak Typo' by Jane Jago

actuslly – (adverb) oozing artificial affection after the manner of actors and other artistic types

anaywa (noun) the indigenous people of the hooflungdung islands whose national sport is easily guessed

andenoid (noun) – a gland in the hypothalamus excreting the chatter hormone: over action of this gland is the direct cause of verbal diarrhoea

buhher (noun) – a person with an unhealthy interest in poo 

hig (noun) – small mammal of the genus typographicus which subsists entirely on eggcorns

installmetn (noun) – the nasal parts of an anteater

learb (verb) – to batter the ignorant into submission with the sheer weight of one’s intellect

madochism (somewhere between a noun and a verb) – pertaining to the action of persistently hitting one’s thumb with a hammer to distract oneself from a blinding headache

marjeting (noun) – decorative wall embellishments created when children throw their breakfast at the cat

mis recall (noun) – one of the lesser known pipes on the Great Organ of our Lady in the Cathedral of the Tiny Redeemer

repvious (adjective) – having scaly skin and an aversion to cold

stopopid (adjective) – having very hairy feet

suppoding (adjective) – of wounds excreting green slime smelling faintly of ouzo

tnaks (noun) – small, hard balls of mucus found in elderly handkerchiefs

toe nagging (verb) – when one treads hard on a partner’s toe at a social event to remind them not to mention something

Disclaimer: all these words are genuine typos defined by Jane Jago. The source of each is withheld to protect the guilty. 

Blenkinsop Blenkinsop was a draffkul, a winged lizard, although unlike more common dragonfolk his weapon was poison, not fire. He was also lonely. He considered his options. Should he insist on purity of lineage and leave this place? Or take up the comfort offered by a very pretty female dragon who lived in his valley? Their offspring would not be pure draffkul or pure dragon, but…

He stretched to his full height exposing his vulnerable white belly to the evening sun.

He never saw the arrow that took his life. And he never knew that his species died with him.

©️jj 2018

Twenty years ago, Colm Brady broke her heart. Tonight she expected to see his handsome face again.

The reunion was crowded, but he materialised at her side.

“It’s been too long, Finnoula.”

She gave him her serene smile.

His black eyes took in the maiden name on her tag, and the narrow platinum band on her finger.

He looked puzzled.

“Are you single then, or what?”

“Or what.”

He snorted. “What sort of a husband allows his wife to keep her maiden name and come to a shindig like this unaccompanied?”

“I don’t have a husband. I have a wife.”

©️jj 2018