The Arrival of the Drakons

By Francis Gerard

The arrival of the Drakons offers readers a glimpse into an extraordinary human future, although one where the past is not quite the same as history books would have it. Marvelously detailed and vividly imagined, Drakons tells the story of Zade McDonald a San bushman teenager living in the wilds of Botswana’s Okavango swamps. He’s a shaman who can speak to animals, read minds, and connect with forces much greater than himself. His powers are both a gift and a curse; and they haven’t gone unnoticed.

Someone has been watching him. Someone who’s been studying humankind for millennia, just waiting for a person as astonishing as Zade to come along.

Someone who needs him for a task that could prevent the destruction of the entire universe.
But this kind of power attracts both good and evil – and dark forces already have a hold on Zade. Will he choose the right path in time to save the people he loves?

The history of Earth as you know it is a lie. The future is upon us. Only Zade has the power to change it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Francis Gerard
• Release date: Nov 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005058173

Book preview

Prologue

Like so many disasters, it began unexpectedly, in perfectly peaceful surroundings. The automatic feed showed a scene that was as regular and common as any. A long valley dipping down into the distance, behind which the majestic Olayan Mountains rose into the sky. The valley was in the Hutiun galaxies, as far flung as it’s possible to be, right at the extremities of our Ozrathian settlements. In the field closest to the automatic recorder a young Siem mother and her two pups were doing what all breeding animals do: the pups playing with one another around and all over their patient mother.

At first, in the distance, it looked very much like a storm approaching. The mountains viewed in the rear of the scene began to fade, then disappear.

Had this been a normal storm scene, the view would show parts of the mountains dipping in and out of the thunderclouds. But as this ‘storm’, or whatever it was, came closer, it simply erased everything in its path. The Siem mother was the first to react, calling her pups urgently to her. They did what they were told; clearly, they recognised the terror in their mother’s call. The nothingness was moving at tremendous speed, reaching the field in less than the time it would take to sing the opening line of our Ozrathian state hymn.

There was a cry and a few words from one of the little Siems: ‘Mama, I can’t bre….’ Then the three Siems disappeared from view.

The feed was managed by one of Ozrath’s distant colonies who immediately realised the value of the recording, selling it on to Ozrath’s main public broadcaster where it caused a momentary sensation before the colony itself vanished.

That was many, many years ago. Naturally Ozrathian central government set up a unit to investigate. What they found shocked everyone: parts of the distant universe were literally disappearing. Probes revealed that whole sectors of the deep universe that we’d surveyed and carefully mapped were, quite simply, no longer there.

Of course, we know that the universe is constantly changing. It's like any story: it has a beginning, a middle and an end. But the Hutiun observation was not alone. Records of similar observations together with data from exploding stars in the distant universe suggest that the death of sectors is accelerating astoundingly fast. At first, we were assured that our mother planet Ozrath itself was safe. All distant colonies were brought back into our immediate solar system and central government began contacting intelligent beings throughout the universe that might want to join us in understanding the shocking nothingness and its threat to us all.

There are now nine partner species working in concert with us to understand this universal threat and how we might stop it - or at least avoid it. Further projects are underway to provide new sources of help and understanding.

Yet, despite all this cooperation, the problem is spreading, and we still haven’t a clue why.

Chapter One

Many eyes watch me, willing me on. Pain is building throughout my limbs. My head is about to explode, but I know I mustn't stop dancing. It seems the entire village is here for my initiation, and I don't want to let them - or myself - down.

I knew this might happen. I knew I couldn’t just dance. That I would need to query the point of the dance and its validity. But that’s me, always questioning everything. Grandpa has tried time and again to get me to do things, to go for it, and to question later. But what can I say, that’s just not me! In the end, in this dance, I decided it would be simpler to just do it. Grandpa wasn’t about to give up on his dream.

Here I am in the middle of around twenty-five dancers, surrounded by a circle of clapping, singing women. Older women take it in turns to sing the solo, and the rest join in harmony. Smoke and sparks billow up from the great fire at the centre of the circle as someone throws another log onto the flames.

Our dancing group are mostly wearing shorts, and sweat drips off us as we surge forward, feet stabbing the ground, shaking the rattles tied to our ankles, making a circular dance track in the dirt. The ankle rattles and the clapping drive us dancers on, providing the energy that’s powering us all.

I choke, and my eyes run as I gasp for fresh air, but I know I mustn't leave the dance track. Ahead of me is Bao, an experienced shaman, as is my grandpa, Kao who follows me.

I feel safe having them on either side of me. Ndo has the go-pro and is recording the dance for my blog.

I tune in and let my body feel the rhythm. Grandpa Kao's words are alive in my head: ‘Don't concentrate, just open up your mind and let the dance suck you in. Remember it's a shared experience, not a personal one.’ It’s been all too easy to hear this from Grandpa in training, but it was his next instruction that had me really freaked out, ‘To heal others, a shaman must die and be reborn into the state of !Aia.’ Now I’m really petrified. How do you deal with your own death aged fifteen?

Time is losing meaning for me. I’m so tired I’m ready to quit, but it would gut Grandpa, and I can't let him down now. The dance intensifies, keeping the n/um, the spiritual power, hot. I clip Bao's heel and stumble towards the fire. Grandpa Kao's gruff voice barks from behind me, and I'm just able to stay upright and away from the flames.

I look up, steadying myself, and smile as I see old Ma Nunka standing behind the singers. But then I realise that her body appears to be shredding and falling to pieces; her aura is black and badly decayed.

I don’t have time to wonder what it means. My legs tingle and my calf and thigh muscles jump and twitch. Sweat is pouring off me. I know that trance isn’t far away, and the terror is getting to me. Unseen knives slash and peel away whole parts of my body. Then the n/um, the power, boils over and trance proper begins.

The chanting women begin to elongate and bend out of shape as I pass them. Kao and Bao are now dancing alongside me, watching intently. Bao holds out her hand. I grasp it, but it's like ice, and I shy away from her.

Bursts of jagged lightning blind me and there's a most horrible stench, like rotten meat. Everything has gone into slow motion, and I can hardly breathe. Kao and the other dancers are melting away, as is my body. I yell but hear nothing. In the fire at the centre of the dance circle something huge, dark and coiled writhes with menace, screaming to be released.

I’m about to reach into the flames when I'm suddenly sucked upwards into a tunnel of blistering bright light, spinning into the air, up, up into a sky throbbing with lines of white dots and circles that stretch away into the night sky. These are the powerful ‘n/um lines’ that I’ve been looking forward to seeing, hundreds of them: lines that connect everyone and anyone worldwide.

All sound has become muffled. Everything around me is stretching, like a gigantic rubber band and it seems about to break. It's as if time itself has slowed to a crawl.

As the dancers fall away below me, I float upwards, now gloriously at peace.

From far, far away comes a hum. The vibrating power line I'm holding onto stretches northwards above the Tsodilo Hills. In the far distance, the powerline appears to end in sudden darkness. It’s not night: it’s a more complete darkness than that – a huge, devastating nothingness that exudes terror and menace.

As I watch, two extraordinary creatures break through boiling clouds, hurtling towards me as if fleeing the darkness.

One is ten times the size of the other, as long as a football pitch and as tall as a marula tree. The creature's vast, dark-red body weaves and flows as it soars through the air. Massive, outstretched silver wings slowly beat up and down.

Its companion is much smaller. It's a delicate pale blue and green, with red stripes along its back. It dances and spirals without effort around its colossal companion. I'm mesmerised, because these two beautiful creatures are straight out of ancient mythology: tearing through the sky towards me are two dragons.

I’m uncertain if they are fighting one another or it’s a game they’re playing, but they approach and sweep me up into the night sky between them.

As the large dragon circles me, a forked tongue flicks from an open mouth filled with razor-sharp teeth, below which hangs a bright orange beard. Two curled horns crown a vast grey, reptilian head; piercing slanted eyes the size of soup-plates bore into me.

I turn to the smaller creature whose delicate face is wreathed in a sublime smile, full of joy and life. Of love and affection. And it is a smile that is as familiar to me as my own heartbeat: the smile is on the face of my long-dead mother, Xumi. My mum! I shout and scream and find myself laughing and crying all at once. This is … incredible!

But there’s something else. Something unsettling. The smile on my mother’s dragon-face wavers, and I somehow know that she’s frightened. Is it the larger dragon – is that what she’s scared of? Mum, I want to say. Are you safe? Are you OK?

I try to reach out for her, but behind her the darkness has grown larger and thicker, and now the powerline and the whole night sky, together with the Tsodilo Hills, are being obliterated – they’ve just, gone.

Then, with a bang, everything stops. It’s as if an almighty metal door has been slammed shut. The dragons disappear, and I begin to fall, spinning out of control into the darkness. I know I’m in trouble but can’t see or feel anything. I’m rudderless, directionless, and truly afraid.

The shock of impact snaps me awake. Very slowly things come into focus. I’m lying alongside the fire. Above me Kao, Anu, Bao and Aunt Shira all look down at me. As one, their concerned faces break into a smile.

I try to smile in return, but I can’t move; I've never felt so tired. The dance is now over, and most importantly I can now call myself a shaman.

Chapter Two

This is the first of a series of entangled quantum particle transmissions that I, Second Level Archivist/Recorder, Zaærah C., have been asked to submit to the newly appointed Special Ethics Committee of the Ozrathian Council. In order to remind the committee of the rising fear and panic that existed on Ozrath in the days before the team headed off on the ‘Earth’ project, I attach First Level Aaæñoøw's account of her officiating at a ‘sacrifice ceremony’.

From HTZ4629-42 - Volume 441,287

Produced from archives by Second Level, Zaærah C.

As we continued to study the death of the universe, what had initially seemed like random events began to assume a greater sense of pattern and purpose. The universe was not just dying – it was being actively destroyed, by something. Some thing. We named this the Entity.

The Entity – whatever it was – was so very alien to our understanding that it was almost impossible to discover its purpose, or why it was devouring the universe. All our efforts at communication had failed, and a rash of cult-like fears and beliefs blossomed quickly in those first, terrifying times. Destruction seemed to be what the Entity wanted; and there were some on Ozrath who felt that we should somehow make an offering to it. In fact, my last public duty before leaving Ozrath was officiating at the third - and thankfully the final – sacrifice ceremony.

The site chosen was a vast plateau overlooking a deep rift valley with snow-capped mountains in the distance. A river meandered its way through green fields below. The air was clear, and I could see for leagues. Sunrise was ten minutes away, and the glow from below the horizon showed where our twin suns would rise.

I stood on a podium with several other local dignitaries, while down below waited the ten thousand individuals who had offered to sacrifice themselves for the greater good of Ozrath – indeed, for the good of all conscious beings in the universe.

We were in the distant rural province of Brazin. The local prefecture had erected a centre of remembrance to contain memories donated by those who were ending their lives. These were stored in databanks for all to access.

Watching, I felt tears welling up: so much for all my training. My position as an official prevented any outward emotional response; I had to maintain order and decorum. I recollected being admonished by my Tutor when in a training session I had become sentimental. ‘Remain rational and detached,’ was her rule for all problematic situations. ‘Getting involved makes it worse for everyone. Always remind yourself of the reasons you are doing things.’

So, with my old Tutor's words ringing in my head, I did as I’d been instructed by her all those years earlier and brought my emotions under control. I thought about why we had gathered there: ten thousand Ozrathians, sacrificing their lives. And who knew whether it would even work? Personally, I felt supremely sorry for them, because I couldn’t see how this could begin to settle the underlying problem. To me, it was nothing but a terrible waste of life. But these were free Ozrathians, and it was what they had chosen.

A voice began singing a haunting song. It was one I knew from childhood; its origins many thousands of years old, from a pre-religious time; an animist hymn to life. A strange choice, I remember feeling, but given the circumstances perhaps it was apt.

I looked down into the row upon row of Ozrathians that stretched to the edge of the plateau. When I finally located the singer, an Izaki adolescent male, it shocked me to my core. Why would a healthy being want to die, when an entire life stretched out in front of him?

As the song ended, a low, ululating moan reverberated around the assembly. I heard what sounded like a military order: the instruction to the masses to ready themselves. I knew from the plans that they would take flight in the next thirty seconds. I could hardly breathe, and yet I had to do my duty and salute them first.

I stepped up to the podium and gripped it with my foreclaws, folding my wings behind me. ‘Ozrath loves her children and salutes your courage,’ I heard myself say, my words booming out across the assembled masses. It felt as though my voice belonged to someone else.

The retort from the ten thousand echoed back: ‘We thank Ozrath for life, now let us be free.’

With that, they extended their wings, and ten thousand drakons took flight. Thousands of dazzling sizes, colours, and shapes, swelling up into the sky, a kaleidoscope of form and beauty that will stay with me forever. They remained in formation as they circled up overhead, rising higher and higher over the valley before a high-pitched signal was given and as one they dived back down.

There was a sudden flash, a tremendous bang, and all were vaporised.

First Level Aaæñoøw

Chapter Three

Yet again, I’m dripping with sweat. It’s the height of summer here in the north of Botswana, and it’s around the middle of the day after the dance. The drama of last night’s trance weighs heavily on my mind, and to be honest, I haven’t quite come down to earth yet.

For the past couple of hours, I’ve been sitting at the garden table behind the house, a captive. I’m in a well-worn pair of khaki shorts and my dad’s old Scotland rugby jersey, now a very faded blue. But that’s not all I’m wearing: my head is encased in something that resembles Dad’s rugby scrum cap, with a forest of electrodes sprouting from multi-coloured wires attached to every part of the cap. The chaos of wires trails down behind me into Anu’s plastic briefcase that contains a computer and a printer spitting out a roll of paper that folds itself down over the table edge into a box.

My scalp is itching terribly. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying my damnedest not to think about it: I mustn’t move or fiddle with any part of my head because if I do, I risk unplugging some of Anu’s wires and the entire last hour will need to be repeated. It’s happened before, and I won’t let it happen again. So, I hunker down, keeping my eyes scrunched shut, and don’t move, feeling like a lab rat. Just how many times have I been tested by Anu - seven, eight? Na must be at least double figures.

Anu’s sitting across from me studying the printouts, trying to see if there are any changes in my brain patterns since last night’s dance. She’s a pale, slight woman with cropped blond hair, and startling green eyes - somewhat Scandinavian, although I can’t remember if she’s ever spoken of her background. We sometimes tease her about her bizarre dress sense – today she’s paired acid-green tracksuit pants with a gaudy florescent pink top. Grandpa guesses she’s in her sixties, despite having few lines on her face, because of the way she speaks and the occasional odd historical reference. None of us is brave enough, though, to ask how old she really is.

She marks a point on her printed readout with a red pen and shoots me a quick glance. For as long as I can remember she’s been coming to Tsodilo as part of her research into the understandings of shamanism. The tests have always been a pain, but now that I’ve tranced there’s a real chance that this could be the final one. And, says a little voice inside my head, maybe you won’t have to trance again, either.

I hear movement, open my eyes, and see Anu highlighting more of the readings. With luck this means it won’t be long before she unplugs me. A great smell of meat cooking drifts across from Aunt Shira’s braai in the distance, and my stomach growls. Aunt Shira sets a plate in front of me, and I crinkle the corners of my eyes in thanks. The plate contains some of my favourite foods - pap and wors, Auntie’s homemade sausage. Sadly, I can’t touch it until the scan is complete.

As I wait, I drift back to the dance to the moment I was airborne, in trance and flying with dragons, not just with dragons, but with my mum, my dead mum. My unexpected joy is tempered by feelings of shame, because over the past year I’ve remembered her less than the fingers on just one hand. She died in a car crash when I was a toddler, and all my memories of her have been made and shaped by photos. I’ve no personal memory of her at all. So why has she appeared to me now? And why as a dragon?

I look at my aunt, who’s been mum to me for as long as I can remember. She and Mum look so similar in all the photos I’ve seen. Mum was four years older than her sister and she led the way, was outgoing, bright, and inquisitive whereas Aunt Shira is the total opposite, shy and retiring, and (so I’ve been told) a touch jealous of Mum, although I’ve never felt that myself.

I watch my aunt cooking as I stroke Solo, my genet friend, who’s just come back from hunting. She’s climbed up into my lap and wrapped her long-banded tail around my left arm for comfort and security. Her cat-like face nuzzles my hand. Do you think this is the last time? she asks me telepathically.

I grin: Solo has always been suspicious of how many tests I’ve been subjected to. Now, sitting here zoned out and exhausted, I wonder if my small friend might not have a point.

‘Still, if you’re worried about your seeing your mum during your trance, then have a chat to Anu: she’s sufficiently strange to understand you talking to dead people!’ Solo adds.

From the corner of my eye, I see Grandpa walking past the house dressed as he always is in his khaki safari shorts and short-sleeved shirt. Grandpa waves at Aunt Shira who is now tucking into a plate of lunch. She waves a piece of meat at him in return.

‘Smells wonderful, Shira,’ Grandpa says, rubbing his tummy. ‘I’d love a plate when you have time to dish some out.’ Then he wanders away again, which is good - I don’t want to talk about Mum in front of him, it would just upset him.

When Anu clicks her fingers in front of my face, I realise I’ve zoned out again. ‘Sorry to have kept you from your food, Zade,’ she says as she releases me from the sweaty scrumcap and hands me a towel.

I stretch my arms, then towel my damp head vigorously before pulling my plate of food close. I gather a small amount of pap in my fingers, firm it up into a ping-pong sized ball and dip it into the meaty gravy then take a long slow bite, following it with a piece of wors. I close my eyes: heaven.

Across from me, Anu is beginning to pack her equipment away when suddenly, she stops and gives me one of her direct, disconcerting looks. ‘By the way, Zade, those dragons you encountered in the trance: had you ever seen them before?’

I chew my food slowly to give myself time to think. Then I swallow. ‘Not exactly – although, there was this one time when I was a kid, when I saw a dragon in Loch Ness ... Dad always said …’

Anu raises her eyebrows at me, and I expect her to make some joke about the Loch Ness Monster. But she continues packing her bags in silence, waiting for me to carry on.

I clear my throat. ‘That was different, though. These dragons, last night … I knew one of them. The smaller one, the one that was being bullied.’

‘Really?’ Anu frowns.

‘Yes, she … she was my mum! I know you’ll think it’s crazy but …’

Anu stops putting stuff away and stares at me. Then she says something unexpected. ‘How … how did that make you feel? And what about her? How did she seem?’

‘Well, I was frightened for her, especially since she was so much smaller than the huge aggressive dragon.’ I think for a moment. ‘But I’m certain she recognised me. And … she was happy and smiling at first, then something changed. There was this … darkness ... It’s like she wanted me to rescue her.’

‘Well, I have to say, for a first full trance experience, your visions were pretty spectacular. It’s no wonder they’ve left you feeling uncertain. Perhaps …’

Before Anu can finish, Aunt Shira interrupts, her face shining with pride. ‘Yes,’ she says, then drops her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘I think your grandpa might be a little jealous, Zade. Be kind to him; I think the old shaman is feeling a touch upstaged by your experience.’

I nod. ‘OK, I’ll do my best.’ But there’s a lump in my chest that feels like a stone. A little earlier