Of Books and Paper Dragons

By Vaela Denarr and Micah Iannandrea

How to run a successful bookshop: Change careers at thirty-eight, suffer from anxiety, make friends with the local artists, and don't get eaten by the draconic overlord.

 

In the Lightless Sea, the Black Sands Desert that can only be traversed beneath the stars, scavenging the wrecks of ancient starships is the most prestigious and exciting profession available. And for Voa, who has spent the last twenty years amassing knowledge for the hoard of a great and terrible dragon ruling over their city, it is now a thing of the past. Scavenging has lost its luster, and a new life, the calm and comfortable existence of a bookseller, calls to them. But a lifetime of delving into the bowels of metal behemoths has left Voa ill-prepared for the social anxiety and laws found in a dragon's city.

Jet, a local artist in a similar position of changing careers, takes pity on Voa. What begins as an act of kindness quickly becomes a personal battle as she and Voa grow closer. Voa has the resources, and Jet has the people skills. All they need now is to convince Keeper Yirrin, Lord of the Archives, to support their budding passion project

But the somewhat enigmatic and introverted dragon may just have their own designs for the little bookshop, and for the orc running it…

Of Books and Paper Dragons is a cozy, low-stakes fantasy about ordinary people leading ordinary lives, selling books, doing their taxes, and battling social anxiety in the quiet safety of their book collections.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vaela & Micah Books
• Release date: May 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781998085019

Vaela Denarr

Vaela is a nonbinary, transfemme polyamorous lesbian working as the primary writer in her partnership with Micah Iannandrea. They write full time in order to someday be able to move to their datemate and build a queer bookfort with them. Her writing usually focuses on sapphic, nonbinary, trans or genderqueer characters, and portraying different relationships of love (familial, platonic, romantic or physical).

Book preview

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Chapter 1

The Black Sands Desert hid many secrets, and Voa had been excited to unearth them since they’d been just a child. They’d dreamed of traversing the great, lightless expanse, following in the footsteps of the countless orcs before her, illuminating that dark with the light of knowledge. Her people had always followed a culture of taking what the land gave them. Just as they used every part of their prey, they would use the wisdom of those who had come and passed before them, when the orcs had still been lost beyond the borders of this world.

The Black Sands had many names. Lightless Sea was one of them that Voa thought was quite apt. Cove of Stars was the one most people knew. Though Voa hardly ever ventured beyond the Black Sands into Red or Gold Sands territory, she understood that most people took this name to be figurative. Since the glittering black dunes were near invisible at night and blended in with the starry sky like no other place in the desert, it seemed sensible to passing travellers. But the true reason was another, of course:

Like a cove along the shores of the oceans Voa’s guardians had taught them of, the Black Sands were a place of shelter and safety for ships. Starships, that is. At least that was how the story went. In truth, nobody knew why the Lightless Sea bore the wreck of so many metal behemoths, still and quiet save for the creak of the metal hulls under the weight of accumulating sand. Some claimed that the passengers of said ships had set down here, in the darkest, most hidden part of the world, to escape some threat. But was this truly their reason? Why here and not anywhere else? And where had they all gone after?

All these were mysteries familiar to any child who grew up in the Black Sands, Voa among them. They had spurred her on, making her set out at the age of eighteen to join their very first scavenger crew, despite not liking the constant chatter of the other members much. Still, it had been the first crew heading out that summer, and though they’d been headed for a long since picked-clean area, Voa— tinctures packed and hammer at the ready —had been eager to come along. Surely, they’d thought, surely they would find something among the ancient wreckages that others had missed! Perhaps they’d even discover another wreck, and neither natural perils nor the threat of hungry beasts would deter them!

Now, a solid two decades later, Voa sat in a surprisingly comfy chair, tired of both scavenging and adventure. Before them, her recorder floated, a pyramidic, triangular device of crystal with metal tips. Its usual light blue colouration had changed into a golden orange, shedding dim light as it rotated slowly. Green light glowed within and sent thin beams down through the tip, somehow reading the information contained within the glass and metal surface before her.

Voa wasn’t well-versed in the arcano-technological side of scavenging, but she knew the orange colouration was a clear sign that the recorder’s storage was pretty much full. If this wasn’t enough to buy her her rest, they didn’t know what was.

They sighed and leaned back in the chair. It was a comfortable size, made of a material she’d never seen before. When they’d first sat down in it, they had almost resolved to remove it and take it back to Sanctuary. But it was bolted to the floor too securely. Voa didn’t have the time nor the patience to remove it, and she didn’t simply want to rip it apart. Besides, it was heavy.

Voa sometimes wished she was like the scarlet orcs of her ancestral tribe. Eight feet tall, built like mountains, capable of enormous feats of strength.

Only sometimes, though. Being that tall probably would’ve made getting around derelict ships pretty difficult.

The recorder flashed blue along its many crystal circuits before returning to golden, having absorbed all the knowledge from the lit-up screen beneath it. Voa reached out to it and drew a symbol on the flat screen of one of the pyramid’s sides. A green glow spread through the crystal, and it fell into her waiting hand. All recorders were easily voice-activated, but Voa didn’t like to speak while inside a wreck. You never knew what might have made the empty metal hallways its home.

Leaning over the side of their chair, Voa made sure to securely stow the recorder in their pack. Then they stood up, breathing a few flickers of flame from her lips against the cold deep in the bowels of this metal behemoth, and stretched. Carefully, of course. After two decades of scavenging, her muscles very easily got sore, and her body protested. Sometimes they wished they had less muscle capable of cramping, but scavenging was a labour intensive line of work.

That was one of the main reasons Voa was quitting it. Simply put… she was done.

Not with this ship, though, some part of her mind whispered as they reached for their bag. Decades of scouring every inch of wrecked ships had left their mind in a state where it couldn’t sit still and simply let things go. Curiosity, you might call it, but much, much more than that. A drive, a need, a compulsion to be entirely sure that nothing was left behind, to double-check every corner… They could tell their siblings about the chair. The younger ones would love to take such a haul. But what about the last room?

There was only one more. Just over by the wall. Voa knew it was firmly sealed. They’d thought better of it earlier, taking a moment to rest just in case there was something dangerous contained within. And now… she really wanted to know what was inside.

She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. She had enough, she always had enough. There was no reason for Yirrin not to dissolve their contract. One more old trinket wouldn’t make a difference. Nothing was worth spending more time down here. Not even a book! Voa preferred old books to printed information extracted from recorders. It was silly. Books were rare, taking up unnecessary space on a vessel like this, when their contents could easily be stored in one of the dozen devices Voa had already recovered in their bag.

But if there were more books, they would get access to them immediately upon their restoration…

Before she could think better of it, they already had their pick in hand and drove the tip of it into the metal door at the seam, trying to leverage it open. It was hard work. Voa frowned at the door giving her trouble and searched the satchel on her hip for a rectangular vial of crystal. She broke the seal with one of their large, ring-pierced tusks, using their impressive bite strength to uncork the container, then downed the contents. They hadn’t been out hunting in a while, and she wouldn’t be doing so after this. It would have been a waste not to make use of her tinctures.

Their skin hardened. The scales on her neck, shoulders and arms, dark earthy red, grew tougher. Her fingernails too, extending into claws that glowed at the tips as she pushed them between the parts of the sliding door. Their heartbeat pulsed in their ears, powerful like a large drum. Their muscles tensed, enhanced by the tincture. Voa squared her feet and tore the door open with a grunt. Air from the room behind her rushed into the one she now faced, tugging at her black, tied-back hair. The glowing red ends fluttered around her field of vision like flames.

The opening before them was dark. Voa let out a soft whistle, and her recorder rose into the air and floated over from her pack. One of the metal tips glowed and sent a beam of colourless light into the room, following the movements of their hand. It was a small room, but it was lined with bookshelves. Each of the tomes was secured to their spot behind transparent doors.

For a moment, Voa felt the joy she’d once felt when scavenging. The utter excitement at discovering something new. Even with the firebrand tincture making her breaths quick and laboured, her heart beat a little quicker. She reached into her other satchel and checked her number of green stasis crystals. Well preserved as these books looked, they wanted to be sure they could take them all with her without damaging them. If not… she might have to come back after all.

But she had enough, so she quickly went to work placing each green crystal to the spines of the book, carefully, as if they could turn to dust. At a quick glance, she could see titles referring to poetry, adventures, philosophy, and a few about the nature of strange worlds, as well as a set of what looked like personal journals to them. Voa couldn’t wait to have all these in their shop… always provided they made it back. And survived the meeting with Yirrin.

They put it off as long as they could. But eventually Voa returned from the bowels of the ship and into the starry night, scavenged treasures laden on her back. They loaded them onto the crystal shell of her strider, which had been half buried in the dark sand, and prepared to set out towards the nearest scavenger outpost. It was too late to head back to Sanctuary, and Voa could feel a storm coming in the ache of their knee. She wrapped her white cloak tighter around herself, hoping to escape at least some of the heat of the rising sun, and clicked their tongue. The sandstrider raised its blocky narrow head, eyes glowing with their inner light, and then dashed off at breakneck speed, toward the large, treelike glow in the distance. With any luck, they’d make it back before the sandstorm hit or the sun rose.

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Sandstorms in the Black Sands desert were deadly. Or so Jet had been told. To her, they were mostly inconvenient. They couldn’t enter the city, thanks to its dragon’s protection, but they sure could block out the sun, which quite bothered Jet, since she really did need that. Still, most people were wary of them for a different reason.

The black grains of sand were actually tiny pieces of crystal. Therefore they could only really scratch things that were softer than them, and Jet was not soft in any way. Her skin was black and smooth as glass, because Jet was a glass jenari.

And as such, beyond needing to sleep, she needed to spend some time in the sun to recharge her strength.

Which meant going outside.

Which meant having to be around people.

Jet groaned and rubbed her face. Please don’t make me go alone, she begged Ciri, who watched her across the breakfast table. You know I hate having to talk to people. It wouldn’t be so bad if they didn’t all mingle in the streets, enjoying that the darkness of the storm had passed.

That’s a shame. You’re so good at it. Ciri smiled pityingly, arranging their meal platter of sliced pears, goat cheese, bread and tomatoes, all seasoned with dark vinegar. "Your clients love talking to you."

I hate it when they do. Jet’s tail flicked angrily behind her, fuzzy, white light tip glittering prismatic in the movement. She wasn’t really angry, of course. I just don’t see why tattooing has to involve more talking than ‘Hey, does this look good?’ and ‘Yeah, looks exactly like we discussed.’

She would know. After all, she had gotten several intricate sun, moon and star patterns chiselled into her skin. They appeared just like the rings around her irises and pupils behind her large, round-rimmed glasses. Like white, prismatic lines of light. Similar to her hair, though she was too drained to have it glow, so all that was visible right now was the fuzzy black buzz on her head. When her hair glowed, it extended into a mass of light to arrange for her however she wanted. There was some pressure when you touched it, though, like the tuft at the end of her tail, it was mostly incorporeal.

People like to chat, Ciri chuckled, having arranged their meal on some flat, sour bread. Now they cut it with dark metal cutlery and lifted a piece to their dark lips. If you dislike it that much, maybe you should look for something that suits you a bit more?

Jet sighed and played with one of the uncut opals on her plate. I’ve been looking… She liked her job. She really did! She enjoyed tattooing and apprenticing with different tattoo artists from other cultures. The artistic parts of it were great, but the social ones could get… draining.

She ate a little listlessly. Ciri was so good at their job. They could perfectly adapt to a client, no matter if they preferred silence or talking. Sometimes Jet wished she had their endurance and strength.

Your tail is flickering, Ciri said, finishing their meal and delicately placing the cutlery on the empty, black stone plate. Come on, eat your food. I want to be back in time for Fia’s delivery.

Jet rolled her eyes at her friend and popped an opal into her mouth. Yes, mom…

Ciri, who despite the relatively early time of day looked like they’d gotten up hours ago, rose from the table, one hand on the folds of the loose green and golden embroidered tunic. They sighed at her, ever so softly.

You know I don’t know what that means, they said.

Means you’re annoying, Jet clarified, grinding the opal to dust between her teeth and swallowing before giving Ciri a smile. But I love you anyway.

They sighed and rolled their eyes theatrically. You have until I’m ready to go, they said, running a hand over their jaw.

So, right now? Ciri really did look perfect. Their smooth, white hair fell perfectly down to their waist in artistically interwoven braids. A green and golden cloth, matching their robe, covered their head, and golden eyeshadow somehow made their dark brown eyes shine.

Nevertheless, Ciri headed into their bathroom to get ready. From where she sat, Jet could see into it, down the corridor past the kitchen, and got to witness Ciri stripping their robe off before the door fell shut. Intricate white, crystalline glittering tattoos covered their broad back. In the middle, an artistic arrangement of a tree wandered up the back, branching out around moon imagery on their spine, and fading into the luna moth on the nape of their neck. Flowers pulled up their sides, following an arch that led up the defined traps and into the hair. Jet knew there were more on their scalp, interspersed with geometric patterns but right now Ciri liked their hair long.

She sighed softly, picking at her food. Ciri had been so kind to offer her work in their tattoo parlour. Their suggestion that Jet should go look for something else to do was good-natured as well. They had her best interests at heart. Jet had come to Sanctuary to learn about art, and she’d fallen in love with tattooing, but now she was falling out of love and didn’t know what to do.

It wasn’t that she desperately needed a job in the first place, but she liked having priority access to the Archive Ward, and working provided her with connections to people who held similar interests.

Which sounded good in her head, but…

People can just get so tiring after a while. Jet sighed deeply and ran a hand through her hair, between the two black horns that rose up from her hairline, curved back and then ended in a gentle upward slope. She felt like there was something wrong with her sometimes. Everyone always loved hanging out with her. Even when she’d still lived in Jewel, beyond the Black Sands, everyone had clamored for conversation with her. She was good at it. But her social energy got drained far too quickly. It made her feel fickle and selfish, and—

I’m almost done shaving, so that grinding I’m hearing better be you devouring your food! Ciri’s sharp voice made Jet shoot up straight in her seat.

YUP! she yelled and stopped grinding her knuckles over the faint growth on her horn. It bothered her when they weren’t symmetrical and smooth.

She quickly shovelled the last of her opals into her mouth, flushed them with some goat milk, and got up. She took her plate and the last of the bread, butter and fruit out on the table and hopped to the kitchen on her one leg to put them away in the metal and wood preservation chamber. The emeralds on it flashed from blue to green as she opened the hatch, nearly dropping the butter in its brown paper wrap— just as Ciri rounded the corner.

Ciri looked at Jet, balancing on her one leg (Which she was very good at, thanks to the dragon-like anatomy of her digitigrade leg and her tail!) and raised an eyebrow.

You good?

Perfectly fine! Jet beamed, flinging the butter into the preservation chamber in revenge. It submerged in the green shimmer covering the opening and stayed hovering in the somewhat chilled space.

Please never move out, Ciri sighed, sporting an uncharacteristic shaving nick on their jaw. I don’t know how you’d survive without me.

Says you. Jet booped their nose and let a little of her light run through her body, along the finger, and into Ciri, healing the tiny cut. Being made of glass had its uses, though Jet was hardly as adept in crystal magic as her parents or siblings.

Let me put my leg on, and I’ll be right there! She dashed off before Ciri could notice, hopping away. Maybe a jacket and loose pants? Or something more revealing, to help light exposure? She did feel like showing off her leg today. Speaking of…

Um, Ciri? she called a little sheepishly as her roommate put on their sandals with the little golden chains on them. Do you remember where I put my leg?

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Sanctuary wasn’t actually a city, to be quite honest. It was a hoard. Specifically, it was the hoard of Keeper Yirrin, High Arbiter of Sanctuary, a dragon who hoarded knowledge. Jet had met them once, in the depths of their palace, when she had come to live here several years ago. Dragons were as enigmatic as they were rare, but everybody knew dragons liked to hoard. However, some were happy to share their hoards in exchange for certain… services.

In the case of Sanctuary, this arrangement presented as a symbiotic relationship. Yirrin could focus entirely on their hoard, which was added to by traders and scavengers. Anything old and lost, any cultural, literary or even technological knowledge and information found its way to the archives, to be preserved with as much context as possible. Practice and teaching of cultures facilitated other trade as well. Knowledge was currency here as much as scales, if you knew how to barter. The dragon presided over their hoard, and the humans got to partake of it.

Additionally, Yirrin made certain the place was livable. In the middle