The Guide stared toward the sunrise over a sea of smog just four hundred feet below his homestead. He scuffed at the ground with his boot and watched dust skitter across the clearing. Long shadows punctuated every pebble.
They were late. Why were the damned pilgrims always late? They needed an early start to reach the summit and return before dark. And there was Zoola to face at the top. It wasn’t wise to keep a dragon waiting.
He brushed hair out of his eyes—when had it gone so grey?— and shoved his hands into his pockets. He’d been guiding the annual pilgrims for thirty years now, almost half his life. Sixty pilgrims up, thirty pilgrims down. It was a nasty business, but if he didn’t do it—
The crunch of tires on gravel announced Jim’s electric pickup finally arriving. Zoola didn’t allow internal combustion on the mountain. Hard to believe people down-below still pumped that poison into the soup they tried to breathe.
The truck rolled to a stop right in front of him, and his friend waved from the driver’s seat.
Friend. That was a stretch for someone he saw one day a year for drop-off and pick-up. But he did like the man. He didn’t ask questions or express many opinions.
“Hey, Old Man. Sorry I’m late,” Jim said.
Again, he thought, but he waved it away as his friend got out. “Glad to see you’re still on the job.”
He took Jim’s offered hand and held onto it, savoring the pressure of palm against palm, the warmth of the flesh, and of the gesture.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jim said. “Sunshine and clean air one day a year. But, I envy your position, Old Man. When you gonna retire and give someone else a chance?”
“Not gonna happen.” And you’d thank me for that if you knew. He dropped the handshake and looked toward Jim’s passengers.
“So, who are our lottery winners this year?”
The pair were already out of the truck and gaping at the sky. Jim held out the dossiers, but the young woman…. His throat clenched. She was practically the image of— No, he wasn’t going there.
She wore grey homespun shirt, pants, and jacket and a wide grin. A single braid, black as the dragon’s heart, hung nearly to her waist. Dark eyes were crinkled with smile lines. So like—
“Old Man?”
“Sorry, Jim.” He took the documents.
The young woman was Nadie Charlie from Polson. Twenty-five. A scholar of the collapse and the rise of the dragons. He hadn’t realized there was still a settlement up on the big lake. Or scholars anywhere.
The man was Frederick Vider, a fifty-one-year-old merchant from Missoula who apparently owned a good portion of the city. He looked just as he imagined one of Missoula’s wealthy jerk-offs would. Baked on frown, thinning brown hair, stout but reasonably fit. His clothing appeared manufactured. Probably had it imported from Kansas City or some such outlandish place. Probably ate imported real food, too. And lived in a climate-controlled home while his neighbors struggled to keep air scrubbers working and choked down vat-grown algae.
He already knew who he was rooting for. But he also knew Zoola’s preferences. This was going to be a hard one.
“Odd pair,” he said. “But that’s the lottery. I get why folks would enter for the chance of a day in the sun. But why anyone would want to upload into that bastard of a dragon is beyond me.”
“You don’t live in the down-below,” Jim said. “It’s bad and worse every year. If I didn’t get my annual dose of fresh air, I might enter myself.”
“Are you about done, Gentlemen?” Vider said. “I’m here to see a dragon. Shouldn’t we be getting on with it?”
He knew he wouldn’t like this guy. “Hold your horses, Buddy. We’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“That’s Mr. Vider to you.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the truck.
“Right,” the Guide said. “Come on, Jim. Let’s get you unloaded. We don’t want to keep Mr. Vider waiting.”
Jim dropped the truck’s tailgate and flipped off the tarp. There, behind the uninspiring crates of compressed algae, was the Guide’s yearly splurge. A keg of Missoula’s best beer.
He grew much of his own food in his greenhouse, but the algae packs would round out his needs. Most folk down-below, the algae was all they got.
Jim hefted a crate and carried it to the storeroom. Before the Guide could grab the next one, the young woman was beside him, pulling it out.
“That’s not necessary, Ms. Charlie.”
“Let me help. And please call me Nadie.”
He let her take it and watched her walk away.
“A bit young for you, isn’t she?” Vider said.
The Guide shot him a look, then lifted the next crate. Jim took the next and Nadie the next, and they had the algae unloaded and stowed in a few minutes. Vider watched, like a man used to watching others work, as Jim and the Guide wrestled the keg into the spring house. The Guide ran a hand over the cool metal. Tonight.
Back at the truck, he shook Jim’s hand again. “See you later for pickup.”
“If you’re still alive, Old Man.”
Jim waved out the window as he turned a circle in the clearing, then headed back down the road.
“Hey, Old Man. Let’s get going,” Vider said.
“That’s Guide to you, Mr. Vider.”
“Whatever. Just do your job.” He already had his City-of-Missoula-issued pack on his back.
But Nadie…She stood in the center of the clearing, smile gone, pack dangling from one hand. She faced the trail, but her focus was miles beyond.
“Nadie?”
She shook her head and turned toward him, her smile back in place. “It’s so beautiful here. I mean, I knew it would be, but…It makes me feel hollowed out. And present, as if I’ve just stepped out of a dream.”
Vider snorted, and the Guide ignored him. He supposed he’d be doing a lot of that today. He scanned his homestead one last time, then shouldered his pack. “All right—”
A shadow swept the clearing.
All three looked up as a sixty-foot-long silhouette circled back. The dragon soared on motionless wings, neck outstretched, and serpentine tail trailing. They banked and rose, turned a higher circle, then flew off to the south.
Vider had backed up under a big pine. Nadie stood with her head tilted skyward, her mouth open in a silent oh.
“All right, Pilgrims. Let’s head out.”
“About damn time,” Vider said and took off up the trail.
Nadie followed, adjusting her pack straps, and the Guide brought up the rear. It was best to keep an eye on the pilgrims, keep them moving and on the trail.
The grade eased after a short, steep stretch, and Nadie fell back to walk beside him. “Is that chittering sound off in the woods a bird?”
“Squirrel.”
“Oh. I’ve seen pictures. Do you think we’ll see one up close?”
“Likely, we will.”
“I’ve never been above the smog before. It must be wonderful, living up here under the sun.”
He glanced at her. “There are trade-offs, but yes, it’s pretty nice.”
“Trade-offs?”
She was a chatty one. This was going to be a long day.
“I live alone here, which suits me fine most days, but sometimes—” What the hell? He had just met this person, and here he was, blurting his feelings.
“There must be plenty of people who’d love to share this life with you. It’s so beautiful up here. And it’s such noble work.”
There was nothing noble about this. He wished she would just shut up and walk. “Zoola won’t allow it.”
“That seems cruel.”
What did people think dragons were? “They don’t permit visitors except for the pilgrimage.”
“But—.”
“It’s Zoola’s rule. I can’t say how other dragons run their…their uploads.”
The word stuck in his throat. He’d heard that other dragons uploaded additional human minds—beyond the twenty or thirty of their creators—but he’d never seen Zoola upload anyone. Never. Sixty pilgrims up, thirty pilgrims down. After today, sixty-two up, thirty-one down.
“I hadn’t realized there was that kind of variation among them. They all require annual inputs of human consciousness and DNA, right? I’d have thought that would kind of level them out socially.”
DNA was a nice clinical way to put it. What they required was human flesh to keep them from going feral. Apparently, additional human minds were optional.
He’d heard from Zoola themself that more and more dragons were choosing to abandon whatever was left of their humanity. He knew Ogden had gone feral just a couple of years ago and murdered their guide. Who knew what they were up to now?
“This is so exciting,” Nadie said. “I can’t believe I actually won the lottery and get to talk to a real guide. And before the end of the day, I’ll see a dragon up close.”
He stopped and grabbed her arm, looked her in the eye. “Listen—”
She was so like her. He knew Zoola, knew how this would go. Just as it did on that first ascent.
“What is it?” She asked.
“…Never mind.” He released her arm. “Talking takes energy. We’ve got a long climb ahead of us.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just…. We need to catch up with Mr. Vider.” He pushed gently against her pack, sending her up the trail.
Vider was out of sight around a bend. If Zoola caught him off-trail, this pilgrimage would end early.
“Mr. Vider. Wait up.” He didn’t like shouting on the mountain. More to the point, Zoola didn’t like it. Vider was going to be trouble all the way up. And Nadie…
Why would a bright young woman like her sign up for the lottery in the first place? Most pilgrims were older or ground down by conditions below. Nadie didn’t seem ground down, but he’d seen that look back at the homestead. Something was eating her.
That was a poor, poor choice of words. He ought to tell her the truth and send her running back down the mountain. But Zoola would see, and she’d die on the trail instead of at the summit. At least this way, she’d get her day in the sun. And he’d live to guide next year’s fool to their death.
They caught up to Vider, leaning against a tree and out of breath. The man couldn’t be worn out yet. He’d had to attest his fitness and have his health certified like everyone else when he’d entered the lottery. Unless the son-of-a-bitch had just bought his way up here.
Plenty of folk down-below were smog-sick. Vider better not be one of them. Zoola wouldn’t accept a sick pilgrim, and he’d be pissed to be presented with one.
Nadie stepped close, her fingers light on his arm. “Are you OK, Mr. Vider?”
He shook her off. “Leave me alone, girl.”
Sick or just out of shape, he wasn’t going to coddle him. “Come on, Mr. Vider. Miles to go.” He waved Nadie on past and watched Vider grunt off his tree and follow.
The Guide ambled along behind, shoved regret to the back of his mind, and savored the scrunch of boot on trail. Piney air filled his lungs, and the long whistle of a thrush pierced forest shadows. It was a good life all-in-all, as long as he maintained his detachment.
Most years, that wasn’t a problem. People were fools at best, and they weren’t often at their best. Like those long-ago fools who’d decided it would be fun to be a dragon.
Up ahead, Nadie paused to gaze at a squirrel scolding from a trailside tree. Then, a flash of feathered wings through the forest snagged her attention. Vider trudged, head down.
After about an hour and a final bend in the trail, they arrived at the lake. Still water reflected the ridge above the far end and the larch and pine crowding its shore. Dark birds circled up high.
Even Vider, at water’s edge, seemed to appreciate the beauty of it. And why wouldn’t he? The Guide never tired of this place, at the limit of his dragon-imposed territory.
“We’ll rest here for a few, Pilgrims. Drink your fill and top off your bottles. It’s the last water we’ll see.” He shrugged off his pack and sat on his usual rock.
Vider took a long drink from his bottle, refilled it, and stretched out on the ground, his back against a fallen tree. Nadie knelt and drank straight from the lake. She came up dripping and grinning, dried her face on her sleeve, and settled on a stone beside the Guide.
“How many people have you brought up here, Mr. Guide?”
“Sixty pilgrims up, thirty pilgrims down.” Why couldn’t she leave him alone?
“That must be gratifying.”
He stared across the water.
He’d been surprised when that other young woman had shown up as one of his first two pilgrims. But, life in the smog was a constant struggle for a grim existence, and humans were forbidden in the up-above. The dragons rigorously enforced that.
The upload was the only way out if you weren’t a guide. To ply the clear sky and breathe the clean air. To take sunlight into those green wings and never worry about your next meal. On that first pilgrimage, it had seemed a reasonable aspiration.
“Tell me something about life on the mountain, Mr.…Do I have to call you Guide? Don’t you have a name?”
“Not anymore.”
“No? But that’s like resigning from the human race, like giving up. Don’t you—” She pressed her lips together as if to keep more words from spilling out.
And there was that look again. “Listen,” he said. There’s not much to tell. How ‘bout you tell me what a scholar of the collapse does.”
She looked away across the lake. “We study whatever old documents we can find and try to assemble a coherent narrative. Most electronic media has degraded, but here and there, paper records have survived.
“Did you know,” she said, meeting his eyes, “that the first dragon was engineered in Japan? They called themselves Fuji, and they’re said to be host to hundreds of human minds by now.
“The world was much better connected in those days, and soon, most wealthy communities had engineered their own dragons in their new mountaintop hideaways. They could have moved people up out of the smog, found better ways of producing energy, something. But they chose to play lords and ladies and dragons in their citadels. They—”
She looked down at the ground between her feet, opened her mouth, closed it, then drew a deep breath. She spoke without looking up. “Last year, we located the site of the old Federal Building in Missoula and tunneled into a storeroom. We found tons of well-preserved paper records.”
He leaned forward. “So, what did you learn?”
“I…nothing really. Nothing of interest.” She worried a crease in her pants.
Vider pushed himself to his feet and planted hands on hips. “Why don’t you two just crawl off into the woods and have done with it?”
Nadie turned a stoney face toward him and crossed her arms.
The Guide stood, “You watch your mouth, Vider.”
“I told you it’s Mr. Vider. You work for me today, Old Man. And it’s time to get on with this.”
“Once more, with that Old Man crap, I’ll tie you to a tree and leave you here, Mr. Vider.”
“You wouldn’t do that. The dragon expects two pilgrims to choose from, and I think I know how he’ll choose. Dragons respect power, and I practically run Missoula.”
“Vider—”
“And I’ll tell you something else. Once I’m uploaded, that dragon won’t be acting so kindly toward you.”
Kindly? When had it ever been that? “Fuck you, Vider.”
He was right that he wouldn’t leave him behind, but he was wrong about what Zoola respected. Himself, that was all. As to his meal preferences.… He glanced at Nadie.
What the hell was he doing here? Any decent man would have gone back down-below to spend his life among the ragged remnants. But, if he didn’t do this job, someone else surely would. And if no one else did, there’d be a steady stream of volunteers up the mountain. So much more pointless death. He could tell them the truth, but who would believe him? No matter how thin the thread of hope, the fools would cling to it.
Truth was, he was too old and set to move on from this. What would he do down-below? How would he live? He had his life under the sun and his stipend from the City of Missoula. No, he’d die on this mountain. One way or another.
A swoosh of vast wings and a speeding shadow. He didn’t even look up. “Time to go, Pilgrims.”
The way from this point was less well defined, more a route through open forest than an actual trail, so he took the lead. Nadie followed, and Vider puffed along behind through tumbled boulder fields and over broad slabs of pale stone. Up and up through the now silent forest and eventually into a steep talus-filled gully. That was a bit of a grunt, and Vider visibly struggled.
Old Man, huh? The Guide picked up the pace.
He felt alive up here. Just sky above and stone below. Right foot up and push, left foot up and push. No doubts, no guilt, only the ascent.
Finally, he pulled himself onto a ridge aimed at the summit. Nadie was close behind, but Vider lagged. If the man was sick, that would certainly be motivation for uploading. But he had to know Zoola would never accept a sick pilgrim. And if he thought he could hide it….Well, you can’t hide anything from a dragon. No one was that stupid. Right?
He took Nadie’s hand and pulled her up. “Thank you,” she said, then, “Oh.”
Every pilgrim reacted differently to their first view of the world above tree line. Some cowered before the naked immensity of it. Nadie spread her arms as if to embrace it.
Mountain peaks north and south were giant stepping stones in a sea of smog. The sun blazed high in a sky that stretched forever, and talus slopes rose toward the summit.
They sat side by side on a long, low boulder and watched Vider huff up the last bit of gully. The Guide almost felt sorry for him, and when he finally arrived, grasped his hand and helped him up.
“You OK, Old Man?”
Vider glared, but before he could respond, his eyes peeled wide, and he sucked a panicked breath, then another. Then he coughed as if he’d spit his lungs up.
When he got hold of himself, he resumed his glare but held his tongue. He leaned carefully back against a boulder, breathing deep, slow breaths.
The Guide shook his head. If this son-of-a-bitch is sick, I’ll kill him myself.
He looked to Nadie, then back at Vider. “Come on, Pilgrims. I want to show you something.”
He led them off the ridge and onto a finger of rock pointing across a great gap of air toward the next stepping stone. He liked to bring the pilgrims here, and Zoola had never objected. One small act of kindness, even for Vider, before…well, before.
At the far end, Nadie knelt with her hands on the lip and peered over. Vider stood back a few steps. Below them, forested slopes fell almost two thousand feet into the wooly blanket of smog covering the world of men and women. Water cascaded somewhere in the trees, echoing up.
“You two rest here. I’ll be right back.” The Guide walked off the ledge and around a boulder to relieve himself. He’d let them enjoy the view for a few minutes before the tough haul up the final slope.
When he returned, Nadie stood at the edge, her back to a too-close Vider.
“Hey!”
Nadie turned and flinched away from Vider as he stepped back and shoved his hands into his pockets. She looked at him, then at the drop, then back to him, slit-eyed. Vider looked at the ground.
“Let’s get out of here,” the Guide said. “We’ve a ways to go yet.”
Nadie walked off the ledge, staring straight ahead. As Vider passed, the Guide grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. “I saw what you were about to do there. Do you think if you’re the only one left, you’ll be the one uploaded? Damnit, I’d throw you off the edge if Zoola weren’t expecting two pilgrims.
Vider jerked himself free. “You’ve got some nerve talking to me like that. I’ll—”
“You’ll nothing, Vider. I know you’re sick. How do you think Zoola’s gonna take that insult?” That got his attention. “Now, move it.” He shoved the man back toward the ridge.
Nadie stood facing upslope, hands on hips. She turned hard eyes toward them as they approached, then looked back toward the summit.
He went hot-empty inside. Emptier than usual. How could he be going through with this? Zoola would throw a fit over the sick man, and he’d eat this bright-shining girl. Chomp her in half, suck up the bits, and lick his teeth. Just like her, that first time. But this was different. He hadn’t known then.
Nothing for it. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
“All right. Vider, you go on ahead. Nadie, follow me.”
He drove Vider straight up the talus slope. Progress was at the sick man’s stumbling pace, but he no longer cared.
They slogged. They scrambled. They scraped palms and shins. Vider finally hauled himself over a protruding slab and collapsed on top. The Guide helped Nadie up and over, and there it was.
The ruined citadel sprawled over the summit plateau like the corpse of the old world rotting in the sun. Tumbled heaps of shattered buildings and stumps of towers surrounded a wide stone-paved courtyard barely bound by a broken remnant of wall. Glass shards glinted everywhere.
The power and rage of the creature they were about to meet became real right here, and many pilgrims had second thoughts at this point. Vider sat where he’d fallen, pale as the surrounding stone. Nadie stood with her thumbs hooked under her pack straps, the hint of a trace of a smile on her lips.
“Zoola sure did for those that birthed them, didn’t they,” the Guide said.
The idiots who built this place likely never imagined their creations would turn on them, destroy the citadels, and drive humans into the smog. Or that they’d demand annual sacrifices from down-below, not that those rich bastards would have cared about that.
As Nadie squinted into the glare of sun on busted stone, he measured consequence against compassion, reason against…what was it? Love? Regret?
“Nadie, it’s not…it’s not what you think up here. It’s—”
“I don’t care. Listen, you wanted to know what we found in the old Federal Building? We found humanity’s true nature.
“The people in the before-time, they knew. They knew what was coming and did nothing to stop it. They valued wealth over life, so millions died in the smog when the crops failed. They valued patriotism over cooperation, so millions more died in the resource wars.
“Humans had their chance on this world, and they blew it. They’re still blowing it, and I want no part of what’s left of them. I’m not going back down there.”
He sighed. Hard to argue with that. I’m not going back down there, either.
“OK, then. Time to meet the beast.”
Vider looked up at him. “I’m not coming with you.”
“The hell,” the Guide said and dragged him to his feet. “You’re not hanging your fuck-up around my neck.”
He pushed him forward. “Move.”
Vider did as he was told, with the Guide close behind. Nadie followed along the narrow path twisting through tumbled masonry to the courtyard. They stepped through a gap in the wall. He tried not to look at the stain on the paving.
One minute. Two. The sun stalled in the naked sky. Silence and hard shadows. Then, between one breath and the next, a whoosh and pulse of air from above and the scraping of claw on stone. Zoola alit in the center of the plaza.
The dragon shook themself and folded chlorophyll-green wings. Iridescent scales flashed starlight and sunsets as they flexed their neck and sniffed the air. Then they turned toward the humans standing hard against the ruined wall.
“GUIDE, WHAT HAVE YOU BROUGHT US THIS YEAR?” Their voice rumbled and echoed from the vocal organs deep in their throat.
“As you see, Zoola. Two pilgrims for your choosing. One to join you, one to send home in sorrow.” Such bullshit, but the dragon loved their ceremony.
“THE MAN WILL APPROACH.”
Vider cowered against the wall, but the Guide grabbed his arm and propelled him toward the dragon. The man stumbled and froze for a moment. Then he clenched his fists and straightened. He took a deep breath and a few steps forward. He spread his arms. “Zoola, I’m a powerful man down-below. I—”
“SILENCE.”
The dragon stretched that long neck toward Vider. Their massive head dwarfed the man. They sniffed and narrowed their eyes, leaned closer, and sniffed again. Then they snorted and recoiled. They reared back, towering over the humans.
“THIS ONE IS SICK, GUIDE. WHY HAVE YOU BROUGHT US A SICK ONE? I SHOULD KILL YOU ALL.”
The Guide didn’t flinch. “This man deceived us, Zoola. I don’t possess your wisdom. I’m not at fault.”
The dragon cocked their head. “I SUPPOSE NOT.” Then, with a flick of their tail, they swept Vider away. Smeared him across the courtyard and crashed what was left against the broken wall.
Nadie gasped and turned away, but the Guide held her in place with a hand on her shoulder. He watched as she raised her head, set her jaw, and fixed her gaze on the dragon. He tightened his grip.
Not this one.
He strode forward. “Not this one, Zoola. Accept me instead.”
“WHAT’S THIS?”
“On the day we met, I brought my daughter to you. My own daughter. She thought the upload was a way we could be together on the mountain. But you killed her and ate her, and there is no upload.”
“YOU FORGET YOURSELF, GUIDE.”
“My name is William.”
“OH? HAVE YOU GROWN A SPINE, GUIDE? IT DOES NOT SUIT YOU. NOW MOVE ASIDE.”
“I won’t.”
Nadie stepped around him and put a hand on his chest. “I want this.”
“But, you don’t—”
“It doesn’t matter.” She turned and faced the dragon.
“This one is ready to join you, Great One.” She strode right up to them, shoulders back and long braid swinging.
Zoola bent down and sniffed. They leaned one huge eye in and scrutinized. Then they pulled back slowly and blinked. “WHAT ARE YOU CALLED, GIRL?”
“My name is Nadie.”
“THERE IS NO FEAR ON YOU. AM I NOT SUFFICIENTLY GRAND AND TERRIFYING?”
“More than sufficient, Great One. But there is more to fear down-below from my fellow humans.”
The dragon seemed to consider this. “AND IF I SIMPLY ATE YOU?”
“Then I would have nothing more to fear.”
Zoola exhaled, hot breath riffling her jacket. “YOU WILL DO, YOUNG ONE.”
Their eyes never left the young woman as they spoke past her. “YOU HAVE DONE GOOD WORK TODAY, GUIDE. THIS ONE WILL JOIN US.”
They pushed their head against Nadie, and the young woman leaned into it. The dragon closed their eyes, and her body whiplashed. Then, for a beat, she and the dragon were as still as the stones they stood upon. Silence rang in the Guide’s ears.
Nadie crumpled to the ground, and Zoola reared back. Their limbs jerked, pounding the paving. Their tail whipped back and forth, and their neck twisted to the side. The ground shook, and stones fell from the wall. The Guide toppled.
As the fit passed, spasms faded to tremors then to nothing. The Guide hauled himself to his feet as Zoola shook themself, then looked down at Nadie’s discarded flesh. They sniffed at it, then delicately lifted it with their front teeth, tossed their head back, and swallowed it whole. They turned to the Guide and grinned, their eyes half-lidded as if sleepy or drunk.
Zoola turned away and unfurled their wings. But before they leapt, they looked back over their shoulder. “THANK YOU FOR THE LOVELY WALK, WILLIAM. WE’LL BE SEEING YOU.”
The beast sprang forward one step, then another, and with a casual flap of their great wings, rose into the sky.
He watched until they disappeared in the distance, then began the long walk home. It was past time to tap that keg.
Scott lives in a yurt, in a fen, in end-of-the-road Alaska with a very patient wife and the world’s oldest puppy. When he’s not splitting wood or hauling water, he spends his time making up stories and cutting pictures into rocks.
His fiction has appeared in MetaStellar, NewMyths, and The Nightmare Never Ends Anthology.