“Wyoming?” Aaron asked. “What the hell kind of lame-ass Labors of Dragoncules is going to be in Wyoming? Do I have to beat Old Faithful in a fist fight or something?”
“I can’t rightly say,” Barrett said with a chuckle. “I’ve made a study of history since I came into my position, but a lot of information is either lost or never got written down.”
“Can you give me any idea of what I’m facing?”
“Sure can! We’re going to meet some people — one of them knows more about rites and ceremonies and such — and then you’re going for a moonlit swim somewhere in Yellowstone.”
“A swim?”
Barrett shrugged. “That’s as much as I can tell you. It might be as much as anyone can tell you about this particular Tribulation, regardless of their position.”
“You keep mentioning your position…”
Barrett ran a hand over his steel gray hair. “Ah, well, I’m the Cordus Draconis, you see — the heart of the dragon. Some might call it the arm, scales, or body of the dragon, but the heart is the strongest muscle, after all.”
Aaron smirked. “Isn’t the butt the strongest muscle?”
“I think it’s the tongue,” Alice offered.
“It’s a metaphor, you hooligans, and a complicated one, at that,” Barrett complained. “Cordus means ‘heart’ in Latin, but it also means ‘second’ and ‘aftermath.’ Each is a good descriptor for my role in the Triumvirate of Flame.”
“Sounds military in nature,” Aaron mused aloud. “If you’re the heart and the animus is the mind or spirit, I’d guess the other one is more academic or magic-oriented?”
“That’s the gist of it,” Barrett said, tapping his nose. “Now, are you familiar with the phrase primus inter pares?”
Great, Aaron thought. More Latin.
It was a familiar phrase, but Aaron wasn’t sure what it meant. It wasn’t just Latin, though, it had something to do with the politics of Rome. Aaron had a vague idea that it was a concept that had started in the Republic and survived into the Empire. He latched onto that and tried to prise the information from his memory. It took him a few seconds, but he dredged up something he thought was at least close to the proper meaning.
“It means ‘first among equals,’ I think.”
Barrett, grinning, tapped his nose again. “That is what the Primus Draconis is. The word itself has many varied meanings, but they’re all roughly related to the idea of behind ‘first,’ like the chief or head of something.”
As Barrett explained it, the specifics were lost to the passage of time but it was known that the entire structure and society of the Drakon had been formed around the Primus. Drakus had not always been united under one banner and had been a deeply fractious lot — because of course they were, they were dragons — but at some point in the distant past, they had been brought together under the auspices of the first Primus Draconis.
“If our history is anything like what you find in other civilizations, odds are there was a knock-down drag-out and the first Primus was the winner,” Barrett said. “Then he sets up the Triumvirate as some kind of concession or power-sharing compromise to stabilize the coalition, but had still triumphed decisively enough to be instilled as the ultimate authority among the three.”
“And it’s been like that for, what? Thousands of years?” Aaron asked.
“The precise balance of power among the Triumvirate fluctuates, but it’s been stable in the broad view. The Cordus remains second to the Primus, acting as the right hand, or dextera, and the Animus as the third, being the left hand, or sinistra. My guess is the original Animus had been an especially bitter or recalcitrant enemy and the dynamic was created as a kind of punishment, but it might’ve just been the necessity of establishing a hierarchy.”
Dragons and ancient legacies, wild, Aaron thought. At least no one’s telling me I’ve got to kill Wizard Hitler or anything, though it’s still early days.
If all those old stories were more fact than fiction — or significantly less fiction, at least — then Aaron had to ask himself: was he falling in with a bad crowd?
Dragons were awesome and powerful, but they were rarely positive or benevolent influences in those stories. Eastern dragons were more of a mixed bag, as far as Aaron knew (which wasn’t nearly as much as he knew about western dragons). Barrett had suggested most of the old stories were propaganda, both for and against dragons, but they were consistently portrayed as arrogant, greedy, selfish dicks.
What does it say about dragons that those qualities shine through even in the favorable tales? Aaron wondered.
On the other hand, it was hard to picture the people opposed to this Drakon Society as the good guys, considering they were sending assassins solely on the basis of who Aaron might turn out to be, not anything he had done to earn that kind of enmity.
In the real world — the one Aaron had thought he knew until recently — there were situations that sometimes demanded moral ambiguity. Things were rarely black and white, right or wrong, but sending the shiv brigade after a stranger lacked the kind of nuance needed to make even half-assed justifications for acting like some kind of gritty antihero; it was just murder, plain and simple.
Still, it was hard to think of dragons as good beings, no matter how awesome they might be. Aaron considered himself a principled person, so he wanted a better idea of what he was getting into. If nothing else, maybe a leadership role would let him be a force for positive change in the Drakon.
“So what does the Drakon do, exactly?” he asked.
“From an organizational perspective, we try to maintain infrastructure to help our fellow drakus pursue their own goals,” Barrett said.
“That’s super vague. Can you be more specific?”
Barrett described the Drakon as a kind of community organization that tried to facilitate the desires of each drakus, within reason. What they considered ‘within reason’ bordered on ludicrous from Aaron’s perspective. If a drakus joined and wanted to do nothing but be a rich layabout, for instance, the Drakon would provide them a large annual salary. The only stipulation was the recipient move their money through channels that benefitted the Drakon; they’d use a Drakon-owned bank and buy things with a Drakon-affiliated credit card through Drakon-sponsored merchants and brokers. When done properly, every dollar spent traveled through multiple associated channels and generated several dollars of revenue. It was like some kind of magical communist utopia.
But their efforts went far beyond something as pedestrian — Barrett’s words, Aaron wouldn’t have described the amount of wealth they were talking about nothing more than humdrum boring minutiae — they connected people with similar interests or goals, provided training and help with research, and tried to arrange some form of aid or guidance to every drakus that wanted it.
There were limits, of course. The Drakon tried to keep drakus from antagonizing other factions and avoided serious or harmful criminal enterprises. Barrett got cagey when Aaron pressed for specifics on the criminal thing and would only say that the Drakon maintained a presence in the underworld for protection against hostile actors.
“Let’s say I’m a drakus who wants to aim a laser at the moon and hold the world hostage; what would the Drakon do?” Aaron prompted. “Would they help me build a volcano lair and get me an unnecessarily slow-moving dipping mechanism over a pool of liquid hot magma?”
Barret laughed. “Why the hell would we do that?”
“To dispose of any womanizing, alcoholic super spies who showed up to thwart my nefarious plans, of course.”
Alice laughed quietly as she continued to watch the night sky through the window and Barrett chuckled, as well.
“Empire-building and world domination are things of the past,” Barrett laughed. “Although there is plenty of espionage and intrigue among the eidolons.”
“Well, at least we’re not supervillains,” Aaron said. “That’s something, I guess.”
They were interrupted at that point when a guard entered the cabin and told Barrett he had a call. The old man left the cabin for the weird, science fiction-y control room near the front of the plane. Alice, content to daydream, inspired Aaron to use the time for contemplation, as well. He relocated to another seat — where he wouldn’t be distracted by her magic-enhanced hotness – and tried to remember all the stories he’d heard about dragons. Maybe they’d give him some idea of what his future would look like.
Barrett returned a few minutes later, but he just sat back down and started reading some very old book. A little over an hour later, the jet began its descent. The landing was uneventful. The smaller jet taxied into the hangar as they disembarked. Not long after, the collected security personnel led them to several vehicles waiting for them outside. It was the first time Aaron got a clear view of their surroundings.
Even at night, he could make out the silhouette of mountains all around. They were jagged patches of deeper darkness against the night sky shaped as much by the absence of stars in the clear mountain air as the depth of their shadows. Aaron had lived his entire life within driving range of Sierra Nevadas and he’d traveled into them a number of times, but he’d never been in a valley where the mountains felt so close on all sides. It was an impressive sight.
The airport wasn’t exactly small and it was built on a broad, flat plain, yet the looming mountains everywhere Aaron looked couldn’t have been more than a few miles away from where he stood. It reminded him of visiting the redwoods when he was younger, arboreal behemoths so massive and present you almost couldn’t stop yourself from ignoring the forest for the trees.
Fascinating as the view was, they wasted no time getting into the trio of nondescript, dark sedans and moving out. With the security personnel, there were a full dozen people spread between the three cars and there was barely enough room for all of them.
They took a maintenance road along the edge of the airport. After a short trip of no more than a few minutes, they passed a large sign announcing the Teton Helibase. Aaron had never seen a helibase, heliport, or anything more advanced than a single helipad, so he was picturing a vertical bay, or maybe rows of roofless hangers. The reality, as was so often the case, was nothing like an imagination influenced by science fiction, superhero movies, and video games.
The helibase — at least the one next to the airport in Jackson Hole, Wyoming — consisted of five separate helipads placed in a row along a maintenance road with no other significant structures nearby. They didn’t even have chain link fences around them. The first helipad was barely a hundred feet from the entrance and was quite small, the next two further back from the road and slightly larger, and the last two were significantly larger. Both of the last helipads were occupied, though by very different helicopters.
The nearest helicopter was huge — fifteen to twenty feet high, even wider than that, and three times as long. A row of porthole windows lined the side, suggesting the helicopter equivalent of a private jet. The second helicopter was smaller, sleeker, and looked more military than civilian, though it lacked any visible mounted weapons. It had large panel doors on either side. These were open, with a person sitting in each carrying a large machine gun.
I’m pretty sure those are actual machine guns, the kind you need to mount to fire, Aaron thought. Only those guard people are holding them like they’re hunting rifles or something.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Aaron leaned towards Barrett. “What’re the guns for if we’re supposed to be basically bulletproof?”
Barrett patted him on the shoulder. “We might be, but a hostile aircraft won’t, so it’s a good plan A before we have to pull out the big guns, figuratively speaking.”
“Are you expecting hostile aircraft? In Wyoming?”
Barrett shrugged. “I don’t know what to expect. We’re flying without a map or radar. I mean shit, it’s usually a different Tribulation that’s done first, but this was on the way and there’s no set order for them, so we’re switching things up.”
“Sounds a little desperate,” Aaron said.
Barrett shrugged as they walked to the large helicopter. Three of the security detail split off towards the military-style helicopter and the others boarded with them.
Once aboard, Aaron’s initial impression of the big helicopter proved to be true — it was basically an opulent lounge, all leather and wood. There were sections to the fore and aft of the passenger cabin that Aaron got a glimpse into as most of the guards split off from the group. Like the jet, the forward compartment was filled with workstations and electronics. The rear compartment looked like a cargo bay, complete with a big, angled panel that Aaron was pretty sure would open outward and make a ramp.
Two of the guards stayed with them and took seats at opposite ends of the passenger cabin. They weren’t the only people sharing the seating area with them; an old man and a young woman were already lounging in the plush seats when they boarded.
The old man had pale skin, a shock of wispy, white hair, and he was slightly stooped with age, even sitting. He wore a suit that wasn’t as finely tailored as Barrett’s and looked a bit out of date, but was still of very good quality. That was Aaron’s guess, anyways, but it was based mostly on the presence of cufflinks on the shirtsleeves instead of buttons.
The young woman was Asian, barely over five feet tall, and dressed in a style Aaron thought of as 90s grunge. He’d been little more than a toddler at the tail end of the grunge era, but an older cousin had introduced him to a ton of pop culture stuff from the 80s and 90s, so it wasn’t completely alien to him.
Both of the people evoked the same sense of familiarity that Barrett did, although the young woman produced a much stronger sense of déjà vu than the older man, whose presence felt almost muted.
The elderly man rose from his chair while the young woman remained seated, apparently uninterested in their arrival, reading from a tablet.
“Ezekial Mallory,” the old man said, extending a hand to Aaron. “I am informed Cordus Freeman has explained something of our nature and society, so I trust you are familiar with the position of the Animus Draconis.”
That’s the magic dragon, Aaron recalled. No wonder he doesn’t feel the same as the others, he’s probably got some kind of mystic shroud of secrecy going on.
Aaron took the thin hand somewhat gingerly and was surprised to find the grip was quite firm.
“Yes, the, uh, spirit of the dragon, I think? I’m Aaron Abrams. Nice to meet you.”
“My preference has been to translate animus as the dragon’s mind, but heart, soul, or spirit are all sensible interpretations, given the context,” Mallory said, then gestured to the seated woman. “This young lady is my apprentice, Tia Kellogg. I hope you’ll excuse her churlishness; it is a hallmark of youth.”
The young woman, Tia, lifted one eyebrow at Mallory, but barely looked up from whatever she was reading on her tablet. “Pfft. Just call me Tia. Nice to meet you. Very exciting. Et cetera.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Tia. I’m Aaron.”
The helicopter was lifting off before everyone had taken their seats, rising smoothly with the slightest sway to the sides as it lost contact with the ground. Aaron had expected way more noise from the rotor or propeller blades, but the cabin was practically silent.
Probably an inconvenience people who can afford an aircraft like this pay good money to avoid, he thought.
“So,” Mallory said, lightly clapping his hands together, “I imagine you may be wondering why we’re in one of the most famous national parks in the world.”
“I am. Barrett said something about going for a swim…”
Mallory turned a stern gaze on Barrett, but the other man just smiled back at him. Whatever the nature of their disagreement, it seemed minor enough for Barrett to shrug it off.
“Yes, well…” Mallory said. “There are three tasks a candidate for Primus Draconis must perform to confirm their identity and be recognized as the legitimate successor to the position. These tasks are deceptively simple and may have become somewhat more complicated due to the passage of time and the circumstances of the last Primus Draconis’ departure.
“Each task, or Tribulation, has a somewhat poetic name, owing largely to the romantic nature of many drakus, but it also generally describes what the candidate must accomplish — escape the vault, enter the depths, and assemble the sceptre.”
“And these are supposed to be simple?” Aaron asked.
“We haven’t much time, so it would be prudent to explain each Tribulation in greater detail as you face them,” Mallory said. “You should, however, be made aware of the central premise of all three — only an individual imbued with the essence of the Primus Draconis, who has awakened to their nature, and has accepted it, can accomplish these feats. No one else — drakus or otherwise — could hope for success.”
“I just have to be me? That sounds too easy.”
“The specific methodology for each Tribulation is largely unknown, but one thing is certain — anyone who doesn’t meet the criteria I listed will fail, and likely perish.”
“Methodology?”
Mallory nodded.
“This Tribulation you are about to face, for instance, is commonly referred to as ‘entering the depths.’ All I can say with confidence is that there are certain necessary ritual preparations and, after that, you must enter a lake, do something in its depths, then return to us.”
Again, that seems too easy, Aaron thought. Couldn’t I just jump in the lake, hang out for a while, then come back?
“We know it’s not as simple as treading water,” Barrett said. “It happens deep in the lake, where even magic senses can’t detect it, and usually takes several hours. What happens down there, we’ve no idea.”
“To that end,” Mallory added, “we shall await your return for one full day. If you haven’t surfaced by then, it is likely you will have met your end and failed the Tribulation.”
“So no pressure,” Tia, the young Asian woman, said with a smirk.
Does it say something about my ego that I already think I meet Mallory’s requirements? Aaron wondered. It’s only been a few hours and I’m already comfortable thinking of myself as the dragon version of King Ralph.
A thought jumped out at him from somewhere deep in his memory. Only those who do not seek power are qualified to hold it. That was something Plato was supposed to have said, although Aaron couldn’t remember ever reading those specific words from his time as an outraged teenage ethicist. Still, the distinction between being a leader and seeking power was important.
A leader should want to lead, but shouldn’t seek to lead for the sake of power or personal gain, he thought. That’s where despots and tyrants come from.
“So, I dive into a lake, do some mysterious shit, and if I fail I die. All based on coming to terms with whether ‘I’m a lizard, ’arry’?”
The women in the cabin — Alice and Tia — both laughed at that, though Alice’s laugh quickly soured and turned into a frown. Aaron’s stomach twisted at the thought he might have been too flippant and annoying, then it twisted right back around the other way as he wondered if her magical aphrodisiac was influencing him.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Abrams, who is Harry, precisely?” Mallory asked.
Aaron waved a hand dismissively. “Just a stupid joke, nevermind,” he said. “What everyone has said about this Primus business doesn’t feel wrong to me and I’m on board, but is there danger if I have any doubt at all? Like, even if it’s just self-doubt thinking I might not be cool enough for all this myths and legends stuff?”
“How firm your conviction must be to persevere is another unknown, I’m afraid,” Mallory said.
Something else to worry about, I guess, Aaron thought. Nothing I can do but worry, which I will do, but I can at least keep moving forward.
“Alright,” Aaron said, slouching back in his chair. “So, tell me about these rituals.”
“Relatively few and simple; they will dispel illusions or temporal- and dimension-warping effects. As you have none, the rituals will be swift,” Mallory said.
“Does magic that screwed with my memories qualify as an illusion?”
Mallory leaned forward in his seat. “Something has tampered with your memories?” he asked. Tia set down her tablet and was paying close attention.
“I think there was a second assassin; or maybe it’s more accurate to say a first assassin since it was before the hospital. I don’t exactly remember it happening, but I have these, like, flashbacks.”
“Oops,” Tia said flatly. “I mighta forgot to pass that message along after our last call, Barrett, on account of I’m supposed to be a student, not a secretary.” She turned to Mallory. “Hey, Zeke, Barrett says someone probably messed with our guy’s memories and I say you should get your own damned phone.”
Mallory rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Yes, well, we shall need to make sure we look into that, then. If you are experiencing moments of recall, you are most likely resisting the enchantment on your own and it will break in time. My apprentice can help speed the process along… after the first two Tribulations. The rituals required for the imminent task won’t interact with that sort of magic.”
“Memory stuff, added to the list,” Tia said, going back to her tablet.
“Well, that’s something,” Aaron said. “So, if I’m going to be jumping into a lake somewhere in Yellowstone in the middle of the night, I don’t suppose we have a wetsuit, SCUBA gear, and a pair of infrared goggles?”
Mallory and Barrett exchanged a look that, to Aaron, clearly meant they’d never taken such simple, practical concerns into consideration. Barrett pursed his lips in thought.
“I don’t think there’s any records of equipment being offered to assist in the Tribulations,” he said.
“Indeed,” Mallory added. “The last time this Tribulation was attempted, neither electricity nor natural gas had been effectively harnessed, yet, let alone even newer technologies. Nor do I believe such implements would be appropriate.”
“Okay, well, can someone at least throw some buffs on me or something?” he asked hopefully. “Darkvision, underwater breathing, maybe, uh, transfigure me to have gills?”
“You’re mixing your mechanics, friendo,” Tia said. “What kinda weird homebrew shit do you think this is?”
Mallory scoffed. “While the specifics are lost on me, I take your meaning to be that you would like us to imbue you with various enchantments to make your task less challenging. As with the technologies you mentioned, I believe to do such would be most inappropriate.”
Barrett’s response was more considerate and measured, but no more helpful. “The purpose of the Tribulations is to prove you’re the legitimate successor to the Primus Draconis; external aid could seriously undermine that.”
Anger wasn’t the right word for the emotion Aaron was experiencing — he didn’t get angry — but he was… vexed. In more than two hundred years, the Drakon had not considered the very obvious practical limitations of this Tribulation. It was one thing to ask someone to stand on their own two feet and another entirely to tie a rock around their neck. It was not only throwing someone in the deep end — literally — but also expecting them to completely shatter the world record for holding one’s breath. Yes, Aaron was vexed.
His musing on what, exactly, he should say to express that vexation was interrupted by Tia’s raucous laughter.
“That is the most kkondae shit ever, not thinking of how someone’s going to breathe underwater because it’s not mentioned in the ancient scrolls or whatever.”
That phrase, kkondae, sparked something in Aaron’s memory, but he wasn’t sure what. He’d heard it before and associated it with music, but nothing more specific came to mind. The tension, at least, diffused a bit with Tia’s snarky observations. She was funny and cavalier in a way that reminded Aaron of his friends — or the friends he used to hang out with, anyways.
Barrett chimed in with a more ameliorative tone. “I’m sure it will work out, Aaron. Your predecessors have done this innumerable times in the past. The capability is in you.”
Aaron closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled through his nose. “My grandpa used to have this question he’d ask me sometimes and I’d like to pose it to you, Barrett. What has more value — a wish or a worm?”
The older man had only had a few seconds to consider the odd question when Aaron provided his own answer, in a sense.
“Don’t worry about the answer, but try to catch a fish with a wish, then tell me what you think. Here’s another pertinent question — do these ancient traditions say anything about flying in fucking helicopters?”
Barrett held his hands out in a gesture that suggested he wasn’t going to push the issue and Aaron flopped back against his seat with a frustrated grunt.
“Okay fine,” Aaron said. “Let’s jump in the lake in the middle of the night in the middle of a national park in the middle of September and just hope for the best.”
“That’s the spirit! Embrace the horrors of the unknown,” Tia said. For all her glibness, she still gave him a reassuring smile.