The cry

The far side of the chasm turned out to be closer than I’d thought. The rock here is very different to the smooth limestone in the rest of the tunnel. It’s gritty, and crumbles under my claws. And the tunnel is higher. The floor slopes upwards towards the light, which is much brighter. Altogether it’s a much more inviting prospect than diving blind into an unseen chasm. So I’ve made up my mind to go on.

But before I do, I have to go back. There’s something I have to see. Because, not long after I landed, I heard a sound from the other side – the side I’d left behind. A scuttling sound, and a long, drawn-out cry. Almost a scream. Then silence.

I think that whatever – or whoever – has been following me slid down the same slope I did. Did they fall over the edge and into the chasm? I don’t know. Part of me wants to ignore the thought and just keep going. But another part wants to go back and take a look. Perhaps they fell. Or perhaps they stopped short of the precipice and went back the way they came. Or perhaps they’re hanging on to the edge, unable to climb back, certain to fall, just as soon as their strength gives out.

All I know for certain is that if I don’t find out I won’t be able to live with myself. For better or worse, I have to know. So I’m spreading my wings and flying back the way I came, back through the darkness, to face my pursuer.

I hope I don’t regret it.

Chasm

It happened so fast I had no chance of keeping my grip. The tunnel floor started sloping away. My claws slipped on the smooth limestone and suddenly I was sliding. At first I was scared, then exhilarated. The air’s stale in here, but the rush of it on my face was overwhelming.

Then the floor dropped away.

Instinctively I opened my wings. They caught the air, and I suddenly was flying over a black chasm. I’m soaring there still, glad of the press of the air under my wings, glad I lived through later times, when all dragons were natural.

Once all dragons were charmed. Their wings were small and their throats were filled with fire. Then the world turned, and the charm went away. The few dragons left grew wings that were long and supple, and learned to fly without charm. To live without charm. I was one of those dragons. Later, everything changed …

So my wings are now the wings of a natural – broad and strong. They’re rooted deep in my breastbone. Blades along their leading edges move to modulate the airflow. I’m a creature built for flight. And so, in the darkness I fly.

Ahead is the light, still beckoning. Below is a chasm. The touch of the air rising up from the chasm tells me it’s deep, unfathomably so. And there’s a scent. Something familiar. Something down there.

So my choice is a simple one: which way to go?

Rain of stone

The noise behind me stopped a while ago. I've stopped too. I'm hungry, and too tired to go on. Also I've started thinking about questions I've been avoiding. First on the list is where am I? Close behind that is how did I get here? Against those, the question of what I do next seems irrelevant.

Where am I? Well, that'll have to wait until I've gone a bit further. As to how I got here ... where to begin? The real beginning - if there is such a thing - happened a very long time ago. But time has always been my ally. We have what you might call a special relationship, time and me. I think that's probably part of how I got here: I think I may have travelled through time.

I've done it before. It's an ability I discovered I had during the Siege of Cylderak, many aeons ago. It happened like this. There was a skirmish just south of the colony. Cylderak, like a lot of dragon colonies in those days, was built inside a troll skull. It had a population of around three thousand charmed dragons. That should give you some idea how big the trolls were.

I was trying to lead a group of dragons to safety. The trolls were breaking each other apart, which meant rocks were raining like meteorites out of the sky. A rain of stone. We tried using charm to clear a path through the rocks, but it was hopeless. I started thinking, what if I could predict exactly where each rock was going to be at any one time? So I closed my eyes and ... threw my thoughts ahead of me. That's what it felt like anyway.

Slowly I began to see lines in the darkness. Trajectories. Some were brighter than others - these were the paths of rock that had just fallen. The darker lines were the ones that were about to fall. Lines from the future.

Eyes closed, I flew out into the rain of boulders.

The others called me back, until they realised I wasn't getting hit. Cautiously they followed me out. I followed the dark lines through the rain, tracking the empty places where the rocks were not destined to fall. It took us one hundred wingbeats to fly to safety. The instant we landed, the warring trolls finally tore each other apart, and their remains crashed like a landslide on to Cylderak, destroying the entire colony - and all the dragons inside - in a single breath. Ten dragons, me included, survived.

You might not think that sounds like time travel. But it was. That's how it works: I close my eyes, and see the future, and in seeing it I see the way to get there. Sometimes I choose to go, other times I don't. That first time, all I did was look, and follow the clues. But later ...

And that's the thing. Since I've been in this cave, I've realised I can't see the future any more. When I close my eyes, there's nothing. Just the dark. It's frightening, like waking up blind. The future is more uncertain than it's ever been. I just hope that, sooner or later, I'll see the light again.

Progress

There's water in here. It trickles down the walls - not really enough to quench my thirst, but it'll keep me alive. Nothing to eat though.

I had that sensation again, the one I had when I woke up yesterday (I guess it was yesterday - keeping track of time in this cave is impossible). The feeling that my thoughts are somehow soaking away through these stone walls. Going somewhere. So I've decided to order my thoughts like a diary, just in case there's anyone out there reading them. It might keep me amused until I can work out where I am, and what's going on.

The main thing I have to report today is that the light I'm heading for is a little brighter. It still looks a long way off, and keeps disappearing behind outcrops of limestone, but it's definitely getting nearer. Also, the tunnel is widening, so it's easier to make my way. I've even managed to stretch my wings fully (only a dragon would understand what a big deal that is, and I don't imagine there's many of us left). All in all, I'd be feeling optimistic, if not for one thing ...

There are noises. Far away, very faint, in the opposite direction to the light. Scrabbling sounds, maybe. Or maybe something breathing.

Something's following me.

Bones in the ceiling

I feel more awake, so I've decided to explore. I'm in a cave. Actually it's so long and narrow I might as well call it a tunnel. There's barely enough room to move at all, let alone stretch my wings, but I've made some progress. There's a light ahead, you see, and I'm keen to see what it is. I'm about halfway there now, and worn out - time to take a rest.

The tunnel walls are smooth. Limestone, maybe. Worn by water, certainly. Once upon a time a river ran through here, eating away the rock. Now there's just me. Me and the bones. The bones stick down from the ceiling. Their sole purpose seems to be to get in my way. At first I thought they were stalactites, but they're not. There are whole skeletons up there, embedded in the rock. I don't know if embedded is the right word. It feels like the bones are sweating out of the rock.

There are all kinds of skeletons, large and small. The largest has bones bigger than anything I've seen: each rib is as long as I am from snout to tail. The smallest is the size of a snowflake. It has two arms and two legs, and the ghostly imprint of wings. Maybe it belonged to a faery. It's hard to tell. They look like fossils, but I'm not convinced they are. The way they're pressed into the rock tells me they were put there. And now they want to get out.

Which is exactly what the little faery skeleton did as I forced my way passed it. Maybe I dislodged it. I don't know. What I do know is it dropped to the tunnel floor and shattered. Then, slowly, each little bone joined on to its neighbour again. As soon as it was complete, the faery skeleton stood up and danced. I watched, fascinated. Somewhere distant I seemed to hear music. And there was a taste in the air, something I hadn't tasted for a long time: the taste of charm.

The skeleton danced for the time it took me to take ten breaths. Then it came apart again. This time the bones didn't come back together. So I moved on until exhaustion got the better of me. As far as I know, they're still lying where they fell. The thing is, I can remember every move that little faery skeleton made. Every step. It's branded into my mind. It's a dance I'd like to perform myself, if only I could. But there's no room in here. Besides, I'm only a dragon, and what do dragons know about dancing?

I'm tired. I'll sleep a while now, and see if tomorrow I can't reach the light.

Moon rising

I don't know how long I've been asleep. The moon is up. I can't see it, but I can feel its gravity tugging me. The world seems different, somehow. I stretch my wings; they feel like stone. There's stone all round me. I can't move. The sounds of the world seep into me through the stone. And my thoughts seep out.

I wonder if there's anyone out there to listen to them.

It'll take some time, I think, to get my bearings. I've been here a long time. Things have changed. So I'll just wait, gather my strength and see what happens next.