Sunny
Days (7 Hunters)
“It was a giant fish? I never heard of any fish that big!”
The little girl next to him elbowed him in the ribs. "If Uncle says it was a big fish, then it was a big fish!"
"How could a fish be bigger than a boat?"
"Maybe it was a magic fish."
Another little boy piped up. "Yeah! And it was in the Copra Sea. Everybody knows there's lots of giant monsters in the Copra Sea."
The first boy crossed his arms, glaring at the others. "My dad says that's a lot of hooey."
"Well, you're dad's a carpenter. He don't know nothing 'bout the sea. My dad's a fisherman and he says there's lots of weird stuff out there."
"Is not!"
"Is too!"
"Is not!"
Martin, a teenager who'd been writing frantically in his journal away from the group, spoke up for the first time. "Settle down, guys! It really is true. When the Hunters killed it, they brought it back to the city and there was a big feast. Everybody was there and not a one of them went hungry."
"Those are just stories."
"True stories. If you want the proof, they actually kept the bones for a trophy. They're in the Royal Museum, second floor, third room on the right."
Eight sets of little eyes widened with excitement.
"Go on over if you don't believe me. Have Chronicler Lawrence show you. He knows everything about everything in the museum."
Eight eager children jumped up and raced off down the street. Martin turned his attention back to his writings.
Uncle sighed and stretched his legs. "Thank you for that, young Martin. I don't have the energy to deal with such exuberance these days."
Martin stopped writing for a moment to give Uncle a teasing smirk. "You? You could run rings around any warrior in the castle!"
Uncle snorted, a puff of smoke escaping his nostrils. "Your faith in my abilities is heart-warming, if completely mislaid. I fear these old bones would collapse in the attempt."
Martin laughed at his friend and mentor. "You sound like my grandmother. She always talks like she has one foot in the grave, but she's tougher and stronger and healthier than anyone I know half her age." He put pen to paper and started writing again.
"Yes, well. I'm definitely not half her age. Far from it and feeling every day of it." He lumbered over to where Martin sat against the wall, moving with the careful steps of the aged.
Martin slapped his book shut with a flourish. "Done! I really need to learn how to write faster! Or maybe I could just get you to talk slower."
"Still jotting down all my exploits?"
"Of course! I think I must have written down every story you ever told! And a few that you didn't. Don't worry. They were all from reliable sources."
"Hmf! I didn't think I was that interesting."
"You've got to be kidding! You were a Hunter! One of the famous Seven! I know all your stories. Like the time the Seven were captured by the elves, or the time you fought the Goblin King, or when you guys went to Shaddus after those mercenaries, or..."
The dragon laughed, a deep rumbling sound like a quiet volcano. "Okay. We had a few adventures." He was delighted by the spark in Martin's eyes when he got so animated about something. It reminded him of another dark-haired young man, long ago. "So you're still determined to become a Chronicler?"
"What else is there?"
"What else, indeed." Uncle turned his head and felt a pain in his neck. He had those entirely too often these days. "Well, Martin. I think it's time for my afternoon nap, so I will take my leave of you. The sun is calling me."
"Okay. Don't forget, you're coming to our house for supper. Grandmother Helsa is making her famous apple tarts so you'd better be on time."
"I would never disappoint a woman of such charm and culinary expertise."
"Or such a bad temper and strong broom."
"That, too." The old dragon moved off down the street.
Martin watched with a frown. The young man had a feeling that despite his frequent, light-hearted complaints about his age, Uncle was hiding a lot of his aches and pains from everyone.
Uncle walked down to the beach. He really shouldn't have. The long, winding path had him panting for breath by the time he got down to the sand. He was glad no one was around to see him struggle so. Everyone thought he was doing well enough for his age. Perhaps Martin suspected something. That boy was sharp--just like his ancestor had been. Martin would miss him more than anyone when he passed on. The young man had attached himself firmly to the dragon's side and become his good friend and companion over the years.
The withered dragon plopped down into the warm sand. It was getting harder and harder for him to get about lately. And keeping warm was a chore. He had a feeling he wasn't long for the world. And he was so tired.
His lay his head down on his claws, noticing how pale his skin was. The years had washed away his beautiful forest-green coloring, leaving behind a sickly yellow-green that made him think of dying grass. How appropriate. He wondered what he'd look like as a human. Would he have white hair and a hunched back? It would be interesting to see, but he'd lost the strength to change shape long ago. Along with some of his other abilities. Flying was definitely out. Fire-breathing, too. All he could manage now was a puff of smoke or two.
The thought had crossed his mind that he should've gone to the dragon resting place in the Tenereth Mountains a few years back. That's where dragons went to die. But this was his home. These were his people. Despite the many friends he had in Itreya Proper, though, there was still a hole in him that nothing seemed capable of filling--a place his brothers had occupied.
The other six. The sharp memory of a dragon could be both a blessing and a curse. His thoughts turned to those days often. Sometimes his memories were so strong, that he found himself looking for them in the city, in the castle. Sometimes it felt like they were so close that if he turned his head fast enough, he would find them standing there. He was having that feeling more and more lately.
He was only about five hundred or so. That's why people thought he still had so many years ahead of him. Humans were generally under the illusion that dragons were practically immortal. He might have believed that himself once before he'd actually met and talked to some of them. It was hibernation that allowed them to live so long. Uncle remembered one dragon elder who lived to be almost a thousand years old. That was because he hibernated every couple hundred years or so. In hibernation dragons barely aged. If Uncle had slept for three hundred years on and off, he'd be in better shape, too. But there had been so much to see and do and he hadn't wanted to miss a thing. So here he was, having lived to the fullest his every year. And it showed.
Uncle lifted his eyes to look up at the sky. Little clouds dotted the blue above him. It seemed like there were less sunny days. He shifted further into the warm sand, letting his thoughts drift. The days seemed much sunnier back then. Warmer, too. Several shadows passed over him.
"Napping again? You're going to sleep your life away."
"That sounds like an imminently delightful way to go. I shall consider it."
"When the tide comes in, you're going to get all wet. Then what are you going to do?"
"A bath would be nice."
"Mighty agreeable today, ain't he?"
"Sure. Now that we're not around he decides to be easy-going."
"Now, now, gentlemen. I was always agreeable...provided, of course, that the terms for agreement were in my favor."
"Mouth ain't changed much."
"Still says in ten words what five would do."
"Now, brothers. Should we condemn a person for his speech? Sometimes many words can say more eloquently what a few words cannot."
"Figures you'd say that, Preacher."
"Aw, don't give him such a hard time. Most dragons talk like that."
Uncle couldn't keep his eyes open, but he was afraid to close them, afraid that they'd be gone when he opened them again.
"It's alright, Son. We're not going to leave you. In fact, it's you who is going somewhere."
The old dragon perked up at that. "Really? Where am I going?"
A warm, young voice piped in. "With us!"
"And where are we going?"
The man in black leaned down next to him. "On the greatest adventure of all."
Martin ran down the beach, looking for Uncle. The young man was worried about him. The dragon had been acting strange all week. If something happened to him...
He spotted him laying close to the water's edge. Uncle must have fallen asleep or he'd have realized that the tide was coming in. Martin bent down to wake him and was alarmed when the dragon didn't respond at first. Unlce finally opened his eyes to look up at the young man. He was looking straight at him, but his gaze was elsewhere. There was a broad smile on his face and a light in his eyes.
"We're going on an adventure. The Seven of us. The greatest adventure of all." The dragon closed his eyes, a long slow hiss of breath escaping.
"Uncle? Uncle? Uncle Ezra!"
Epilogue
...and mourners came from all corners of the country to pay their respects. Even the elves came from their hills and glens to line the streets. And the sky was thick with dragon wings and spurts of mournful fire.
The last of the Seven had passed on, but I think their story had really just begun. With his last breath, Uncle Ezra told me that they were going on the greatest adventure of all--and I believe him. In that moment the Seven were together again. When I looked into his eyes, I could see them, too. The legend lives on.
from The Personal Memoirs of Chronicler Martin Dunne
dedicated to his good friend and mentor, Ezra Standish.