From the Mouths of Dragons

by Jolene Dawe

My defining moment?

It could have been graduating from college--the first person in my family to go all the way through undergrad. It could have been the day I got that job at the law firm in the city--I was just a lowly receptionist, but it was a cushy job. It could even have been the day Harold proposed to me--we'd been dating for five years and I couldn't wait to be his wife.

But, no.

The defining moment of my life was none of those things. The defining moment of my life was the day I walked into the mouth of a dragon, was deposited into a new world, and became a dryad.

Yes, I mean that literally. Well, most of it, anyway. Three months before the wedding date. A year before I was due to start graduate school. I walked into the ladies' room, opened the bathroom stall, and was sucked into the mouth of a huge yellow dragon, past teeth and meal remnants and giant tonsils. I had no time to scream, no time to fight, no time to escape. Open, in, and out. I landed on a harsh, fragmented gravel road in the middle of nowhere, slick with dragon saliva and other unmentionable nasty things.

The terrain alone led me to believe I wasn't anywhere I'd been before. Aside from the utter lack of skyscrapers, office buildings, and smog, there was also the oddly green-tinted sky and the three suns. The gravel underfoot was an unnatural blue color, and the trees moved.

Yes, moved.

As I sat there, damp and dumbfounded, a deer came running down the road. Before I could move, before I could blink, a tree rushed from the woods, grabbed the deer, and swallowed it whole. Then, it turned and went back into the woods.

I have to admit, I lost my mind for a few hours. I sat where I had landed and cried. And screamed. And cried some more. Then, as two of the suns descended toward the horizon and the light of the third seemed to wink out, I realized that I did not want to be left out in the open on this alien road, at the mercy of meat-eating trees. It would behoove me to find shelter. Or help. Or anything.

I walked toward the dimming sun, and just before it flickered for the last time that night, I found a village. A cluster of houses, made of the same odd blue stone the road was made of, with smoke rising from chimneys. A three-foot wall ringed the village. All the ground inside was paved. Sheep, goats, and chickens were penned in front yards. Most important, the villagers were people. Normal-looking people. Normal eyes. Two arms. Two legs. Ten fingers. It wasn't until I saw them that I realized I expected aliens. Which was absurd.

Except that I had been swallowed by a dragon not half a day before. And the sky was green-blue. And there were three suns. Well, none, now.

A woman spotted me first. She was beating out a rug on a clothesline, and intent on her work. Only when she was finished did she turn in my direction, but she started when she saw me.

Yes, I was afraid. But I was more afraid of the approaching night than I was of any country housewife. I lifted my hand and waved. "Hullo!" I called.

She lifted her own hand and copied me. "'Allo!"

For a moment I thought I was in a labyrinth, speaking with blue worms. The moment passed. I crossed the distance between us, grinning like the fool I'm sure I looked to be.

"I am so glad to see you," I rambled, almost crying with relief. "I'm Amelia, Amelia Corsica. I think that I'm a bit lost--"

"It's a good thing you reached here before the last sun went out." The woman set aside her rug beater and offered me her hand. "That's when they hunt, it is. Being from off-world, you wouldn't know that. Which one are you from, dear?"

"Uh." I blinked. Who hunted? Which one what? "I'm from Boston."

"Never heard of it. That makes no difference now, I suppose." She turned back toward the rug on the line. "Help me with this, will you? Marcel should be done with the roast by now. Some food in you and you'll feel better."

I followed her into her tiny home and found it crawling with life. Six children, from barely crawling to running around playing, created a chaotic racket. Just inside the door a man stood over an oven, carving steaming meat into pieces. He looked up when we entered, spotted me, and said, "The boys aren't back yet?"

"Haven't seen sign of them," the woman said. "It's only been three days, Marcel. There's time yet."

Marcel set the carving knife down and wiped his hands on his pants. "Not much time. Harvest moon is naught a week away. If they expect to be back before--"

"They will be back. Enough of this talk. Marcel, this is Amelia of Boston. Are you familiar with that world?"

Marcel's dour expression disappeared, chased off by a radiant smile. He seized my hand and shook it vigorously. "Boston isn't a world, Ylena. Boston's a vill, like this here vill. Only larger. Much larger. How you do, Amelia of Boston? Pleased to meet you. Yes, indeed. I'm from Albany, myself, but originally from Braintree. Been here some twenty-odd years."

As he talked, his R's dropped away, revealing a much unused accent. He released my hand and embraced me like a long-lost relative. Used to New England standoffish-ness, I was unnerved and annoyed by his embrace. I patted his back and pulled away, rattled.

"We should eat. I bet you have questions. Was it the yellow dragon, or the green, that swallowed you?"

"I . . . the yellow. So, you aren't from here, then?" What can I say--I'm a bit slow.

"No, of course not," Ylena said. "No, no one that lives here is from here. Well, but the children, a'course." She dished out the chunks of meat. Screaming children raced by, grabbed their bowls and disappeared into another room. "Rumor is there are some natives, in the woods, but I don't believe it. How could they survive? We barely did, when we first got here. Only three of my crewmates made it out of our ship alive. Ronoh died seven years back. It's only Deneal and me left." She gazed toward the door. "Who knows."

"Your ship? You mean a boat, right?" My shock was easing up, and I was beginning to feel again. I wanted to keep that. If she meant anything other than boats, I didn't think I could hold on to it.

"She means a spaceship," Marcel informed me. "Ylena's an alien. Well, I suppose we're all aliens here. They were fleeing oppression of their home world--not unlike the colonists, eh?--and found this planet."

Ylena shoved her bowl away. "The planet found us, is more like it. It pulled us in, somehow. We crashed. Most of the crew died. But there were already people here. From all over. Other planets. They either flew in, crashed, or . . . ." She shrugged.

"Or the dragons brought them. Like they brought you and me. Ylena doesn't believe in the dragons. Not that she thinks we're lying, but she doesn't believe they're actually dragons. Too mystical for her. She likes science. Of course, there are the trees, and I don't know how she can explain those."

I shuddered.

"You've seen them, then." Marcel finished his meal and cleared away the bowls. "Nasty. You should have seen them when I first got here. Used to have to ring the vill with fire every night just to stay safe. It's easy, now, compared to how it was then. Culled their population down quite a bit, didn't we? The real threat now comes with the harvest moon, and we've even gotten that more or less under control."

"What happens at harvest moon?"

"The eggs hatch."

"Pardon?"

"The eggs hatch."

I still didn't think I was hearing him right. "What eggs?"

"The trees' eggs."

"The . . . trees' eggs." I felt faint. I wanted the shock back. It was comfy. It was cozy. This was insane.

"They keep them buried in the soil, until after the sowing moon passes. Then, they have to air them out. Harvest moon they hatch. And they swarm. And they feed."

"The trees?"

"The hatchlings. Which yes, are trees. I know. Believe me. I thought much as you did, when Ylena first told me this. And then, I saw it. They breed like alligators--dozens of hatchlings per clutch. Most don't make it to the food sources, and those who do barely live past sapling stage. But, some do. And in their starving desperation, they fear no fire. They get everywhere. I've lost three sons to them, and compared to others, I've gotten off lucky." Marcel shook his head.

"Ronoh and Deneal found the first clutch. Since then, they've led hunting parties into the woods. They destroy as many as they can before harvest moon rolls around. Then they return, and we wait in the bunkers. Harvest moon's fast approaching, though. They should be back soon. If they make it back at all."

"So . . . how do I get home?"

Ylena stared at me. Marcel gave me a sad look. "This is your home, now. Come, you can sleep in the bunker tonight. You'll want your privacy, I imagine."

Like a sheep being led to slaughter, I followed him outside. I'd missed the bunker on my way in. It was a square building, half buried in the ground. The doorway was a bulkhead made of rusty metal. Inside, an oil lamp sat on a single shelf, illuminating the room. There was a single cot with a moth-eaten blanket and a dusty pillow. I stepped inside.

Only after he closed and locked the door did I notice that the ground was dirt. Loose dirt. Soft dirt. I thought of the trees pouncing on the poor deer and shivered. Yelping, I rushed at the door and pounded on it. No one answered. Feeling like a fool for trusting these people, I climbed onto the cot and waited.

I didn't have to wait long. The soil quivered. In the soft yellow light of the lamp's flame I saw a branch poke through, questing for fresh meat. I sobbed, clasping a hand to my mouth. The branched grew longer, until a head of leaves emerged. It kept coming, despite my silent prayers, until the tree filled the room. Rough bark grabbed my arm, tightening until the pain distracted me from my fear. It pulled me until I was thrust against the trunk, and then the branches coiled around me, holding me tight. I could barely breathe.

It pulled me into the earth with it. I stopped paying attention then. Unable to see, barely able to breathe, I closed my eyes and waited for death.

Of course, death didn't come. After some time, we stopped moving. The tree uncoiled its branches, shifted me around so that I was facing away from it, and held me aloft. I didn't dare scream. I didn't dare move.

Far under us a small army of people moved. With them, they carried fire in the form of torches. From my high vantage point I watched as they entered a small grove. The grove was a brilliant green, glowing in the night. The torches were lowered to the ground, and the flames grew. They spread. A terrible screaming filled the night. The trees around the grove rustled violently, but the men held their torches as the flames spread, keeping the trees at bay. When the flames grew too high and too hot, the men retreated. They kept to one another, retreating in a tight ball, protected by the fire. The screams rose to a terrible pitch, and then, slowly died out.

I was held until the last of the fire was gone, and then I was dropped. I hit the ground the tree stood on, fell on my side, and began to roll. I rolled, head over heels, until I came to rest at the bottom of the hill, just before the grove. The ground was hot under me, singing my arms and hands. My eyes burned from the smoke. I stood up and pulled my collar up over my nose to keep from choking.

Around me, a dozen burnt saplings lay about the ground. Their slim trunks were blackened by the fire and smoldering still. Their branches were bare of leaves. Ash moved under my feet as I walked through the grove, horrified. Eggshells crunched like bone under foot. I shivered. I couldnt stop shivering.

One sapling moved. Its trunk was riddled with cracks that glowed orange in the dark. I knelt beside it and took it into my lap. Crazy, I know, but I could feel its pain and fear and confusion. Surrounded by so much death, it reached out to me with burnt branches and touched my arm. The wood burned my skin, but I didn't pull away. It didn't mean to hurt me. I knew that, somehow. I held the sapling as it died.

Once the smoke dissipated and the ground began to cool, the trees entered the grove. They moved with their branches sagging low, their heads drooping. A mournful groan took the place of the screams, chilling my blood. My tree came for me. I didn't fight this time when it picked me up. I didn't want to stay.

It brought me to the yellow dragon.

Except it wasn't really the yellow dragon. It was a statue. And sitting in the statue's mouth was another woman.

She looked more like an alien than Ylena had. Her skin was purple--not black-purple, but really purple. Her irises were yellow, glowing like a cat's in the darkness. Purple hair exploded from her head in long, twisting braids. She sat with her legs crossed, regarding me from on high.

We stared at each other for a long time. I was in shock once more--I expected to be dead. I don't know what her reason was. I don't think she was surprised to see me.

She uncurled from her seat within the dragon's mouth and jumped down, her tail reaching out to for balance as she landed. She smelled like soil--or was that me?

"So," she purred, "You're the new sacrifice."

I barely heard her. "They lied." I stared at her and I could hear the screams in my mind. "They were defenseless. They were helpless."

"Of course they lied. Do you think they would admit to being murdering fiends that kill helpless infants? That's not something to be proud of, no matter what world you're from."

"I don't understand." I had never in my life meant those words as much as I did then.

"Not many of us do understand why he picks us. The dragon." She nodded back at the statue. "He picked you. He picks all of us." She extended her hand. "I won't bite."

The claws at the end of her fingers suggested otherwise, but I didn't want to appear rude. I took her hand, letting her help me up.

"They filled you with the 'evil tree' nonsense, right? And Marcel told you all about how he's from your world. He's not, you know. He's native. They are all native."

"You're not?"

She snorted. "Do I look native?"

"How would I know?"

"Good point. I'm not. None of us here is."

"None of us?"

"Look," she said, and pointed. I looked.

We were surrounded by six dozen people. They formed a ring around us, a myriad of sizes and colors. A few sported multiple heads. A few stood on four legs. Many had fur. I saw three or four that looked like they could have been human.

"They were recruited too. By the dragon."

"Recruited for what?"

"To protect the trees. There are other groves, deeper in the forest. The trees can't protect them, because fire kills them as much as it kills the babies. You've seen what they've done. You've seen their lies. Will you help us? I--there isn't time for this. Come with us now. Decide later. You can't return to your world, but we won't keep you with us if you want to go elsewhere." She turned to the crowd. "You know where you are needed. Go."

It was bizarre. I followed the purple skinned alien with braids, but I didn't need to. I knew where I was going. I made my way through the woods, passing more drooping trees with their mournful cries, knowing exactly where I would end up. The grove, smaller than the other, was familiar, not to my mind, but to my body. The burn on my arm was already healing, a dull ache, a reminder of what I had witnessed. The trees that had once, just hours ago, filled me with fear, were now a comforting presence, even with their pain thick in the air. I brushed trunks as I situated myself around the grove. Twenty of us formed a circle around it, facing outward. Within the circle, eggs were hatching, sending out seeking tendrils that rooted into the ground. Roots dug deep, anchoring the trees to the rich soil. Leaves, a vibrant green of new growth, picked up the light from the stars and the moons and illuminated the grove. In the distance we saw fire approach. The trees around us pulled back, until the grove was surrounded by nothing but us.

We stood as the men approached. All they carried were torches. No other weapons

. The purple alien was at the front. She stood before them, tall, invincible and proud. The flames did not frighten her. I could see her grin in the dark, canines flashing.

"You will not have these saplings this night, Deneal. Take your children and return to your vill."

"Filthy tree wives," their leader, Deneal spat. He menaced the flames at the alien. She didn't shrink back. Instead, she growled.

"There are more things than trees that hunt in these woods," she said. "Did you leave enough men at home to protect the farms? Did you leave enough men at home to protect the children?"

"Deneal . . . where are the rest of them?" one of his fellow hunters whispered. I was near enough to hear him.

It was a good question--only two dozen of us were present. That left sixty or so unaccounted for.

"There must be other groves."

There were. It was madness, but I could feel the others guardians, miles away, forming tight circles around the other groves.

"Are you sure?" the alien purred.

Deneal seemed sure, but his fellow hunters looked worried now. Their circle began to widen as one after another they looked toward home.

"If you are going, I suggest you go now," the alien said. "And if you are going, I suggest you run."

Deneal was reluctant, but he was not going to stay here alone. They started to retreat at a brisk walk, but by the time they were out of sight they were running for home.

The trees returned, sheltering us once more. We stood, not moving, not speaking, for hours. I felt as if I could stand there for days. I knew the moment the men left the territory of the trees. I felt a sigh of relief ripple across the land.

The alien smiled knowingly at me. "I'm Rakkal," she said. "Welcome to the team."

And that is how I became a dryad. We protect the trees. We keep the natives away while they hunt. We keep them, as best as we can, away from the vill and the livestock the natives keep. We guard the groves. It's not a posh job in a major city. It's not a perfect wedding to the man you love. It's not earning a doctorate. I can't say I don't miss those things. I do.

But then I wake up in the morning, cradled in the branches of a tree, safe from the lower predators that share their territory. I inhale the fresh air of a world free of air pollution and noise pollution and all pollution. I share breakfast with friends--freshly gathered nuts and berries, cool, clear water. I visit the groves, where the saplings grow, and I know that they are there, growing, because I'm here to protect them. I know that they're safe because of us. I can feel their gratitude, trust, and love. Yes, they are hunters, but they are not evil. Family means something to them, and, crazy as it sounds, we are their family.

And they are ours.