A Plague, A Cull, The Fires Weep

20260205

Written for Bradley Ramsey’s “Flash Fiction February Day 5”.

Calvin wished he’d been assigned to one of the big dragon hunts. With those majestic beasts, you could pretend it was a fair fight. With these little forest dragons…
Thank goodness most of the eggs hadn’t hatched yet. Gathering them up, packing them into crates, knowing that eventually they’d be used to bring the species back, that didn’t feel so bad. But cornering a dragon and discovering it had a live clutch it was desperately trying to defend, despite having as much chance against you as a fox against a wolf…
His uniform was starting to feel unclean. Even fresh sets he’d never worn in the field. The insignia he’d always polished with pride weighed heavy on his breast.
Necessary. That fact hung over them all.
Dragons were the conduit of magic. Nobody knew where they pulled it from, but everyone knew that the amount of magic in an area was related to the dragons living there. When dragon populations dropped, the magic faded.
And now… with this fiendish plague sweeping the land… the more magic an area had, the more dead got back up as insatiable, impossibly resilient ghouls. Not only people, either - any creature, from insects to bears, was equally susceptible. Anything except, it seemed, dragons.
There was no cure. Putting a ghoul to rest just meant another rose. The only way to stop it, before the entire land was laid waste, was purging all ambient magic.
So the guards’ grim, bloody work began.
“That’s it for this sector.” The squad’s wizard announced. His face lined with more than exhaustion - as the magic ebbed Calvin swore the man was ageing before their eyes.
No celebration. Just dull nods. Then as one the squad holstered their gear and turned back towards camp, towards the fetid smokestack which acted as a signal and indicated that the home crew hadn’t finished burning all the corpses.
Calvin steeled himself to help. It was the least they owed the poor creatures. And besides, leaving that many corpses scattered about to rot would be a bad idea without a plague already raging. Nature was reeling enough as was.
A whole stretch of the forest had been stripped bare for fuel. Axes never rested around here. The woodcutters nodded sombre greetings without pausing their work.
Beyond that ever-growing clearing were the fires. Dozens of them, lined by walls of bricks to try and contain the scorching heat, each fed by a crew of four. Two to keep the fire burning high and hot, and two to lay out the corpses.
They looked so frail, like this. Curled in a final sleep. Eyes drooped open, as if asking why.
Oh, how everyone wished it was possible to explain. But even if the creatures had the wits to understand, would that make it better? Honestly, it might be worse.
Calvin paused at the side fire, far smaller, where a cook was working away industriously. A sniff raised his spirits - good herby stew. Without meat, he suspected. While the guards weren’t much affected by the scarcity sweeping the land, after spending all day with the acrid stench of the fires coating your nostrils, well… Calvin knew he wasn’t the only one who’d started struggling to get cooked flesh down. Even the finest cut of beef wouldn’t be a temptation.
The wizard was talking with the commander. Probably be upping sticks and heading to the next assignment as soon as the burning was done.
On the one hand, Calvin was keen to be out of here. On the other… wherever they went next, they would bring this same destruction with them.
He picked up a waiting log and set it on the fire, across the crackling, peeling body of what had not long ago been a mother dragon. Tenderly watching over her clutch. Living as nature intended. Entirely innocent - and yet, through no fault of her own, a lynchpin of wicked destruction.
Join the guard, they said. Help people. Save the world from evil.
Nobody warned you that you’d end up wondering whether saving a world which demanded this was worth it. That being a hero meant not being able to look your comrades in the eye, and contemplating throwing yourself on the fires to get the suffering over with.
We’re saving the eggs. Calvin wordlessly told that murdered mama. A silent, impotent apology and plea for absolution. Wizzes reckon we can keep ‘em chilled long enough for the plague to fade, and then…
And then what? A generation of baby dragons without parents. How would they help the poor things survive?
But what else could they do?
Calvin grabbed another armful of wood, tears making the smoke stick and sting his eyes.
‘Be a hero’. Feh.

Prompt was “Write a story or poem set in a world where dragons are being hunted to extinction”.