It’s hard to believe April has arrived. I hope you all had a blessed Easter. Here in the South, we’re planting gardens and soaking up spring sunshine… and sneezing.
April’s newsletter is a bit different, as the entirety of the letter is the short story I told you about. “Dragon Harvest” won Clean Fiction Magazine’s Windows into the Multiverse writing contest and was published in the magazine on March 20th. I’m thrilled that I can share it with you!
To all subscribers, thank you so much for connecting with me here. I hope you enjoy this quirky little story.
DRAGON HARVEST
Jen Booth
Through the window, I saw my doom reflected in the pink petals of new spring tulips. Harvest Day always ended in blood.
What I wouldn’t give for gloves that withstood tiny dragon teeth—maybe full tulip-picking armor. Each year, the creatures hid under petals and leaves or wrapped around stems, changing their color to match the flowers so perfectly, even our trained eyes missed them.
Until, Chomp.
At least whisp dragons don’t breathe fire or steal livestock—just bits of skin and peace of mind.
I sighed and pulled on the thickest gloves I owned, then stepped out and rang the bell. My workers trudged from their stations, faces tight with the same dread I felt.
Except for one.
Marianne, the new girl, smiled as she looped her leather case across her shoulders. When I hired her, I warned her of the seasonal dragon discomfort. Now I wondered if she misunderstood our conversation, or if the poor girl was daft.
“Beautiful morning!” I let my voice carry over their heads.
A groan went through the group.
“Be fast, but precise.” I swallowed my urge to cringe. “We cannot afford to break a single stem. Marianne, since this is your first time, you’ll go with me.”
I thought the child would start dancing right there.
“I’m afraid you missed the part about dragons when I hired you,” I said as I walked to her.
She shook her head vigorously. “Oh no, Miss Capple.”
“Alys,” I reminded her.
She blushed. “Alys. They’re the reason I wanted this job. Do you know how rare it is to see even one whisp dragon in your lifetime? And you have hundreds!”
No question now—she was daft. I rubbed my scarred arms as we began walking toward the rows. A warm southern breeze hit my face, teasing the brim of my straw hat, and making the tulips bob their heads. She pushed her blonde curls from her eyes and squatted at the first patch we came to. Bright pink and soft peach surrounded us, like the colors of the sky at dusk. It would be beautiful if it wasn’t painful.
“I’ll start here. Maybe one will show itself.”
A yelp from the next row confirmed that would not be a problem.
Marianne looked the flower over before grasping the stem and snipping the base. Just as she started to pull it free, a tiny green dragon leapt from between the thickest leaves, straight onto her wrist.
Chomp.
Marianne flinched. “Let go,” she said, with unnatural calm.
The creature bore down harder.
“That will be quite enough. No one wants to hurt you, so you shouldn’t hurt us, either.”
The whisp dragon dislodged its bite. “Liar!”
I nearly fell to the ground. Did that creature just speak?
Another green peeped from the next flower and jumped on her hand, teeth finding her finger like lightning.
Marianne stiffened. “Stop.”
Her voice was firmer now. She would resort to slinging them off soon enough.
The dragon growled as it sank its teeth further, shaking its head like a dog with a rope.
“You’re quite ferocious,” Marianne said.
The whisp let go and looked at her with disgust.
“I am ferocious, you patronizing, daisy-haired liar.” He squeaked as he spoke.
Marianne gave a gentle smile. I’d hoped she’d slap them away.
“I do have daisy hair. And I didn’t mean to patronize. But I am not a liar.”
“You said you aren’t here to hurt us.” Another dragon, pink like the petals it emerged from, slid down the stalk and hopped across the soil to the toe of Marianne’s boot, baring her teeth.
“We have to work,” I told the whisp. “Go away.”
Marianne plopped down in the soil. If this girl was going to waste valuable time talking to flesh-hungry dragons, I was going to terminate her employment. Instantly.
She leaned toward them. “Why do you say I am lying about not wanting to hurt you? Unless you mean after you’ve bitten someone, in which case you simply must accept that as a normal reaction to pain.” She looked at the first tiny dragon and raised a brow. “And it does hurt.”
“Good.” He tilted his head. “This is our home. The tulips are where our babies learn to color change and hop between flowers. There is no better home in the world for whisp dragons.”
Marianne bit her lips, then glanced up at me.
“How long has your family owned this farm?”
“Three generations.” I did not know where she was going with this, and wasn’t sure I liked it.
She turned to the dragons. “How long have your kin lived among the tulips?”
“We came when they did.”
“And prior to that?”
The dragon tilted his head in the other direction. “The forest. There’s not much to practice color changing there. Just forty shades of green and brown.”
Marianne grinned. “If you still had a home, would you bite?”
The pink dragon, whose skin was fading to a peachy silver, huffed. “Of course not! You taste revolting.”
Marianne looked up at me again. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
I crossed my arms. “They need to go back to the forest and leave my workers alone?”
Now Marianne grinned at me, as if I was the child and she the wiser. I narrowed my eyes.
“I was thinking something different, actually.”
Two more yelps rang from opposite sides of the field. She turned back to the whisp on her hand.
“You seem like a dragon who knows how to get things done. A leader of dragons.”
The creature stood taller, while the pink one coughed and the other green covered his face with a wing.
“I think we can all be friends,” Marianne continued. “What if we leave half the tulips—”
“What?” I nearly shouted.
That was it. She was fired.
“And in return, you allow people to come and see you? Most humans don’t believe your kind exists at all, and I’d wager Miss Alys hasn’t let word spread beyond the farm, because the prospect of tiny biting dragons hiding in one’s table decorations could slow business a bit.”
I stared, the gears of my mind churning. This girl was brazen, bossy, and—brilliant.
“I’d have to charge for visitors,” I began, and Marianne nodded.
“Yes, like for a carnival.” She swept her hand across the field, crimson trickling down her first finger. “But here, you’re bringing people in to pay for the experience of walking through the tulip fields in all their natural splendor, while offering the chance to find hidden dragons.”
“I suppose they could take a flower home as a souvenir,” I said, watching the vision come to life in my mind. Yes, this could very well work.
“And you dragons must promise never to bite again unless someone is trying to harm you. Otherwise, you’ll be treated like the trespassers you are.”
The dragon on her hand tilted his head again, one ear twitching.
“I would have to convince the others.”
Marianne stood, still holding the dragon. “Tell your fellows to hop on.”
“Hop on?” I did not want to be a tiny dragon carriage.
A swarm of whisps burst from the tulips, latching onto us with stunning speed. I had a green atop my hat, a fading pink perched on each shoulder, and several more clinging to my satchel and dress. I was hesitant to move and accidentally knock one off, thus starting the dragon war anew.
Marianne, covered in a coat of squeaking dragons, beamed at me like sun melting snow.
“Here goes!” She sidled closer and lowered her voice. “I hope I wasn’t out of line. When I see a solution, I pounce.”
I was too afraid to speak. She took my silence as agreement and turned, nearly dancing down the rows, the dragons bouncing along with her steps. I gingerly picked my way to where the nearest group of harvesters was cutting, yelping, and swatting. When they saw the two of us covered in happy dragons, they dropped their tools and stared.
A brown one dislodged her teeth from my foreman’s hand and spat. “Does this mean a truce?” she chirped.
I thought the man would faint.
“Turns out they’re talking, biting dragons.” I smiled an apology to him.
The pink on my right shoulder gave a little laugh, then stretched her wings and walked toward my face. Next thing I knew, she was nuzzling my chin with her rough, scaly nose, but in such a gentle way, I couldn’t help but smile and lean into her.
Another wave of dragons emerged from the flowers and lighted on my harvesters. Marianne threw her head back and laughed. I marveled at her ingenuity and courage, my heart filling with affection I never knew I could possess in all my childless years.
The prospect of bloodless revenue helped, too.
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