Firebox

By LM Therrien

---

Years working on the Sunshine Labor Train condensed into two realities, there was waiting or there was burning. Firebox sat next to the train’s boiler system striking flint rocks in the dark. Sparks skittered across the fireroom floor without a trace of interference. He looked for signs of magic though everyone knew it was gone.

Beyond his room there was a long succession of slamming doors and jingling keys. It could only be Commander—no one else would be entitled to such noise. The door squealed open and light flooded in.

“You’re the only one who looks worse after a 3-day break,” Commander said. She blocked the doorway, letting fresh air from the coupling platform funnel past her oniony stench.

“Most people aren’t locked away,” Firebox whimpered toward his flint.

“People? I don’t see any people. All I see is a prisoner; and you’re going to get me to Centerville in two days.”

The natural light and talking started to give Firebox a headache. He wished the conversation would stop. He didn’t care where they went.

She slapped him on the back. “The idea came to me this morning, with everything stripped from Four Corners to the coast I’m never going to get out from under the general. Why spend years looking for scraps when I can find my own big prize?”

She’d presumably been assigned to the Sunrise Labor Train when she turned down the general’s wandering hands and then promptly slept with his lieutenant son. While Firebox was the least interested person in rumors, perhaps this one had merit.

“Straight through the desert into Centerville,” she said. Then Commander grabbed Firebox by the chin and inspected his eyes, ears and fumbled his jaw open with her greasy fingers to check the inside of his mouth. “You look fine. Fit for work duty.”

She wiped her hand on her pants. “I’m counting on you. If we make it there and find something good I can get off this god damn train and away from this criminal stink.”

She pulled a crumpled paper out of her pocket and knelt. “I know all about you, what you did. Make me look good and I’ll submit this release paper at the Clerk’s Office.” She wafted the paper close, letting the lightness of freedom flick around his nose. “Heat up the boiler. Keep us at full power.”

The door closed and Firebox was alone again. The thought of freedom uprooted memories from a magehood long gone. How he would conjure in a forest in the early morning, channeling the energy out of himself under damp spider webs. How his concentration could transmute dragonflies out of mud, despite the irritating calls of rutting fairies. How spider silk clung to his face and neck and arms, and he set them all ablaze in a fit. Webbed orbs, funnels, and spirals all ignited at once, decorating the forest in chandeliers of fire.

A disaster that depowered everyone with heightened powers, more than half of all people. All his natural born talent perished, leaving him dried out and briny. Apparently, magic wasn’t as innate as everyone had assumed. Ever since, he lived, breathed, waited for the next salvage trip. Firebox slumped under the thought of any more freedom.

---

There was a knock on the door before it swung inward. Two prisoners stood on the outdoor platform that coupled the engine to the rest of the train, each holding a bundle of gangly wood. A breeze ruffled their oversized clothes like flags at half-staff. The endless days had a way of reducing everyone to the same sunken faces and sharp shoulders.

Firebox pointed to the side where the tinder was stored, giving his mind time to unwrap itself from solitude. He watched their slow pace, his breathing matching their footsteps. There were always details, something that a person hides a piece of themselves inside. Forager was a woman with enough suspicion to permanently narrow one eye who kept a red ribbon pinned to the inside of her shirt collar. As she came and went delivering the fuel, Firebox directed her to unload near the door. Then there was Assistant who had a rat-like devotion to the Commander and the presumed cheddar wedged up her ass. He would, no doubt, scurry to the top control deck as soon as this task was done. Firebox saw the weightless string bracelet around his wrist and directed him to a different corner, three steps farther.

When they were done, he lit a fire. He spread the coals to an even burn, listened to the whistle blow, and felt the chuffing wheels as they made their way out of the station.

Sweat mixed with soot and dripped down his face, blurring his sight. There was no separation between fire and the rest of the room, so when he opened a flue vent, he braced for the backdraft to kick everywhere. He liked the heat, how the fire was always in view. He opened the bottom vent farther. The flames gave dimension to the room and himself; when it was fed, he grew; when it raged, he was consumed.

He held his breath and leaned close, feeling the heat singe his arm but not flinching away, never flinching away. The flames drew him in and made him hungry for something deeper that any belly could know. He set his hand down on the hot metal floor.

The sear on his hand broke his concentration. It was for the best, sometimes the space in this room made him confused. He rolled his lucky rock out of his shoe. It was gritty and oval and had bulged the leather sole out of proportion. But none of that mattered because this was a dragonstone. With a long branch, he scooted it as close to the fire as he could, anticipating when it would heat to a bright green glow.

He took a break and leaned against the water barrel, waiting for the glow cycle that signaled the end-of-day replacement. Someone had to tend the fire to keep the train’s engine running, but this long without a rest pushed him into wooziness. He spit on the floor near the fire and watched the water bubble away. It evaporated too slow. He shoveled more wood, six steps from fuel to fire.

At last, he banged on the ceiling, “I need a break. Send someone.” His stomach grumbled over the wheel noise and his hands shook. The whistle wailed from above, signaling a bridge. He covered his ears until the shaking became the loudest thing in the room. He opened the door for himself. Now that they were past any town the doors would remain unlocked until their journey complete. They were crossing a wood trestle that barely clung to the cliffside and felt ready to shake itself into splinters. Immediately he gripped the side of the train afraid to fall into a dizzying blur of height and rocks. The blazing, overhead sun added to the unease. This was farther out than the other trips, and he slammed the door closed before he passed out.

---

Assistant shook him awake. In the same moment Firebox realized coals were burning against his leg. He jumped up and kicked them back into what little fire remained on the scorched floor. He would need time and fuel to build it back up.

“Commander said we’re going slow. The orders are to keep us moving,” Assistant said, pacing around the room.

The train rattled in waves and more of the coals rolled around the room. Firebox went up to the pinging noise, touching the wall. Pellets seemed to be denting the metal from outside, little pock marks appearing everywhere. “Is there a storm?”

“It’s an attack.”

“Who can keep up with this train?”

“Don’t know. Someone wants us gone though. There are smears all over the outside. They’re really pounding. Don’t you hear it?”

“Where’s my replacement? I need a rest,” Firebox changed the subject.

“No, it has to be you. You’re the best, Firebox, that’s what Commander says,” Assistant flared with all the importance of the repeated words.

“Well, what do you expect me to burn? I’m almost out of wood.”

“We can’t run out here, we aren’t even halfway through the desert. It’s longer than Commander expected. All the towns have disappeared.”

“There’s nothing left to burn, look for yourself. If there’s nothing in the corner, we won’t be moving anywhere,” Firebox snapped. He noticed the way Assistant fidgeted with his bracelet, how it now held the weight of a key. What good was a key on an unlocked train?

“Cook sent this. I’ll see what I can do about more fuel.” Assistant kicked the few branches that were left before handing a dirty rag to Firebox.

It was a food bundle. The biscuit under the checkered cloth relieved most of his irritation toward Assistant. He took a bite, feeling the satisfaction of his teeth biting into hard dough.

It was short lived. The train tilted onto one side. Wheels squealed under pressure. Both men slid and fell to the ground. The train fell back onto the tracks as more pellets hit. Firebox looked around the room and saw several holes in the wall.

Light streamed through. Dust particles almost as thick as smoke seeped in and curled around Firebox. There was a lurking in this smell, like sulfur.  It stung inside his nose and sent a prickle down his arms. Some of the dust made its way to the coals and the flames crackled and gained more height than natural. The fire leaned toward the holes, reaching for the dust funneling in.

Firebox tore a strip of cloth near the ankle of his pants and stuffed it into the biggest hole. The dust dissipated and the coals glowed normally. Firebox looked to Assistant, “Get me more fuel. I don’t care what it is, I’ll take anything that burns. Hurry!”

Firebox broke the last stick into pieces and tossed it onto the dwindling fire as Assistant returned with Forager and a third prisoner who was unfamiliar to Firebox. They crossed from dining car to fireroom, arms full and wary of the moving ground below. Paneling, chairs, and any other splintery wood bits were dumped on the floor. Metal tacks skittering in every direction. Back and forth they went, a mystery of salvaged décor. Soon the pile was high enough that they went back to assigned duties, except the new prisoner.

“Why are you standing there?” Firebox asked as he jostled a piece of paneling loose.

“I’m waiting for instruction,” the woman said, unmoving.

“Break up wood. Put it in the fire.” He stepped around her, having to increase his rhythm by three full steps.

She approached the pile and pulled on a chair that jammed the other three legs. He looked past her ineptitude searching for details. Her shirt was faded but clean and the label signifying her role aboard the train was missing. This bothered Firebox the most. His eyes trailed up to the missing embroidery more than he cared to admit. “What do you do?”

“I’m Savoy. I transferred from town.”

“Ok, but what do you do? You know.” He made a shoveling motion then tossed more wood onto the fire.

She thought for a moment, stopping altogether to luxuriate in this single question. “I guess I’m helping you. So, what’s your name?”

“No one here has a name.”

“Well, that’s not true. My name’s Savoy and this is the part where you share your name.”

Firebox touched the name patch on his shirt feeling the subtle rise and fall of the stitches marking his job title. “Firebox.”

“Alright.” She shuffled some nails back toward the fuel pile with her shoe. “What’s your story then?”

“No one here has a story either.”

“Ah hell, that’s just sad, man. I think they kept you in here too long.” She coughed in the smoky air. She turned in a slow circle trying to fan the hot, flying ash away from her eyes.

“Don’t breathe in so deep,” Firebox warned. “Maybe you stand back and break down the pieces.”

“Everyone has a story. Even you,” she said.

He ignored her and surveyed the fire. It was at a good height, but they had lost a lot of speed. The flames needed to be high. His eyes flit from the woman to the fire, happy to have his six steps back.

“I’m willing to bet they charged you with Abandoning Magic, didn’t they?” She poked his shoulder as soon as he was close enough then went on, “I don’t know a single person who deserves their sentence. You’re in here day after day, working, sweating, wasting away. We’re not exactly shoveling sunshine out here. Doesn’t that fire you up?” She was snapping through the wood almost as quickly as she was talking. “It makes me so mad. Especially when I think back to who I used to be. All that practice and study to boost my natural talent. All I cared about was beating my sister’s score.” She laughed, inhaling the smokey air too deeply, stifling a cough. “I didn’t even know I was part forest. You’d think there would be something left, some part of me that wasn’t borrowed. I didn’t abandon anything. But who can I blame? Maybe it’s the arsonist fault, or the fire.”

“Fire makes things new. Anyway, that’s not a story. That’s feeling sorry for yourself,” Firebox said.

Savoy was focused on the fire. Her intensity matched the heat in the room. He knew there was strength between the heat and ash, and it was settling in Savoy, giving her power. He knew the feeling well.

“But I keep trying, you know. Sometimes, just for a second, I feel it. It’s like the sluggishness eases in my veins.” She sat on a small wood crate and pulled a long scraggly feather out from underneath her hair. “I still have my token.”

She held the tip of the black feather near the floor and stirred it in the air. A mixture of smoke and debris gathered to form the silhouette of a bird. She let the shape dissipate back into the room and she relaxed a little. “If I learned it once, I could learn it again.” She stroked the black feather, most of it bald along the ridge except a patch in the middle. “I like to remind myself where I was; where I can be again.”

Firebox gravitated close, finding a place to sit on the pile despite it splintering under his weight. “Let me see that.”  He held it in his open palms. There was a deep black sheen. “This is a crow’s feather.”

Savoy took it back. “It is not. It’s an eagle. I saw the bird that dropped it.”

Firebox scrunched one eye. “Eagles are brown.”

“How would you know? I bet you haven’t seen one since the forest days. She smeared ash into her forehead.

He wiggled his toes and felt the roughness of his own secret. He took off his shoe and let the dragonstone roll into his hand and held it out for Savoy to see in the fire light. “There is still magic. This is a dragonstone. See how the color is different from a normal rock.”

“You mean, you have a dragon’s egg?”

He passed the stone to Savoy. She held the stone in her palm.

“When it heats it up, it glows green. Any day now it’s going to hatch,” he told her.

“And then what?”

Firebox stopped talking, the excitement of the moment started to droop.

“It hatches and then what?” she repeated. “Are you going to fly out of here? Keep it as a pet? A baby dragon has got to be ten times the size of this rock.”

It had been a long time since he thought beyond the dragonstone. He disliked the general malaise that big questions brought on. He swiped his prize back, examining the rock with faraway eyes and fought against the rising embarrassment. “No, it is definitely from the dragon realm. It glows green. An ordinary rock doesn’t do that.”

Savoy tucked her feather back into her hair then held up her hands. “Alright. I’m just saying no one’s seen a dragon in years.”

“I don’t see how your crow’s feather is any better.” Firebox put his rock back into his shoe, out of sight.

She started another coughing fit. Firebox looked at the fire which had burned itself down into a smoldering mess. The room was filled with smoke. He added more wood and then directed Savoy to the water barrel in the corner. She leaned over and made a gagging sound. She vomited. The splatter reached the fire and steamed into crispy chunks.

“Sit on the floor, will you,” Firebox told her as he got back to work.

“How do you live in here?” Savoy asked between coughs.

“I don’t know why everyone hates fire. I’m the one getting burned, don’t need to hear you complain about it.”

The fuel ran low, until finally there was nothing left to burn. He could feel the chuffing wheels drag out longer and longer under the floor. The slower the train ran the louder the control room above became. Swearing turned into banging on the metal pipes until Commander burst in.

“What the hell’s going on? Why have we stopped?” she barked.

“We’re out of fuel,” Firebox replied.

“We can’t stop. This is bad territory.”

“There’s nothing to burn.” Firebox motioned to the empty room.

“Ok then.” Commander grimaced and pointed to Savoy who was looking small beside the water barrel. “Get your ass ready for foraging.”

Savoy stumbled out of her hiding place. Firebox tried to follow but was pushed back by Commander. “You stay here.”

“I can help,” he said, “I know exactly what we need.”

“I don’t think so. Can’t lose my lucky charm,” Commander sneered.

---

He tore off pieces of his shirt to feed the dwindling flame. The outside shouting coupled with the motionless train made him nervous. When his curiosity became too great, he opened the door and faced the world.

Firebox’s heart fell, even from this distance it was clear there was nothing to burn. Assistant, Forager, and Savoy wandered on barren ground. No trees or bushes or blades of grass, only boulders a long way off. Untouched dust rippled like waves. Every step the foragers took kicked up plumes that swirled around their ankles. Their deteriorated, leaned-over bodies looked like fence posts guarding oblivion.

There was nowhere for his eyes to rest, just endless scanning. He distrusted it and closed the door on emptiness. There was a slight tremble in the door handle. He felt a heightened pressure, whether from outside or within, he couldn’t tell. This urgency gave him a chill. He released the handle and held the dragonstone to calm himself.

Light from the holes in the wall speckled the floor and drew him to the largest peephole. The desert acted strange. Dust swirled in conflicting currents above the small, sandy burrows that were everywhere. All the flyaway things collected as one and surged forward. The air became clouded with dust and malice.

Growing vibrations tickle his nose as he pressed his face to the wall, watching, ignoring the buzzing sound. Outside, two of the prisoners fell to the ground. A swarm swooped in, muffling a scream. Everyone tried to duck under the surge that threatened to shroud them from view. One of the prisoners tried to conjure a spell, most likely Savoy, but little more than static fizz left her fingers, until they were lifted upward. She kicked and swung the shapeless attack, managing to lock arms with someone close by. The combined weight kept everyone on the ground. All the prisoners retreated in a tight huddle back toward the train.

Firebox yelled and banged on the wall, trying to still the world. The swarm targeted the fireroom. Dust seeped in through the peepholes and irritated his eyes until blurry. He moved away as small creatures flew in through the air vent and the punctured cracks. He swatted the air as they pulled, yanked, and bit — these were no wasps. Varmint-sized fairies buzzed around him. Several of them, pale from the dust, darted around the room at a dizzying speed. The ones with tattered wings crawled across the floor, vibrating in hatred.

A fairy attacked his ankle. Its shrill voice summoned energy in a crude conjuring. Firebox kicked it against the wall. Swirls of magic began to gather behind him, but he swatted that puny fairy to the floor too. He stomped on one and then another, his foot slipping a little from the innards. There were only two remaining. They worked together to conjure something out of the nothing. The dust obeyed their voices swirling around him in a suffocating density. He choked on the grit, coughing on the particles that pricked his mind and brought a rush of excitement to his veins. A forgotten rage woke up inside him. He threw the dragonstone across the room and hit both fairies. The dust dropped to the floor, the attack now over. But it was the shatter that echoed in his heart. The stone had split apart. He ran to it, tears welling up.

Not the dragonstone. Anything but his dragonstone.

He grabbed the broken pieces, squeezing them in his hand. The heat from the last fire faded from the brittle remnants. It was all funneled into his shoe. Where there had once been a solid stone was now lifeless fragments displacing the rest of his foot.

He looked around to reorient himself. With shaking hands, he picked up one of the dead fairies, turning it over. Underneath the dust was a familiar tuft of hair between the wings. They were forest fairies somehow living in desert hovels. He licked it. The desert-grit coated the back of his throat. His dehydrated tongue hardly got a taste of the dirty, chafed skin, except for that sulfuric jolt.

Just then the door swung open. Assistant and Forager rolled in rocks. One was quite a bit larger than the rest and barely fit through the doorway. Firebox peered out to make sure the air was clear of the swarm.

“You made it,” he said, still winded.

“Yes,” Assistant answered.

“All of you made it back?”

“For now, yes. Everyone is on the train.”

He was relieved until registered what was being loaded into the tender corner. “Where’s my fuel?”

“Don’t you see us rolling it in?”

“What am I supposed to do with rocks?”

“That’s your problem, Firebox,” Assistant said without his usual sneering energy.

Outside, the hum of another swarm was growing.

“Get us out of here,” Forager said as she retreated with a slight limp.

He didn’t need to be told twice. The threat of another attack without any other fuel was enough motivation to try anything. The problem was combustion. There was absolutely nothing on a rock that was flammable. He involuntarily wiggled his toes as he touched the new rocks. They had the same smelly residue that was on the fairies. He struck a spark with a small pebble and the flame caught. The rock couldn’t be flammable, but the residue embedded in it was. Even his dusty finger held a dancing flame for a moment.

Firebox took a deep breath. This was enough for now and he rolled the largest rock into the burn corner. The rock started to glow in the new fire. He sat close to the green hue in much needed comfort. It heated up fast. The sweat took him by surprise. He drank more water and had to stand farther away. The train whistled and chuffed and soon sped down the track.

The fire was self-sufficient, but he paced anyway. Six steps from fire to empty tender. Back and forth he skimmed along like a water spider whose fragile legs never broke the tension of the present moment. The events of the day and his old self bubbled under the surface of control. And so, he paced.

---

The cracking sound took him out of his suppressive meditation. The largest rock in the fire pile had been left to smolder since it was too big and too hot to move once the dust burned away. Another crack.

A beak emerged, wiggling and creating more cracks. It was biting itself out of the rock. Scaly skin glistened against the glowing broken pieces.

It slithered from the shell. The tail unfurled, whipping through the room, spreading heat and coals. Firebox jumped out of the way. The dragon snarled as it stretched its legs and revealed folded wings pressed to the belly. It unfolded five long fingers while the veins pulsed throughout the wing’s thin membrane.

Every time it made a turn it took more space in the fireroom, forcing Firebox against the wall. He tried to take it all in. He wiggled his toes in his shoes. Somewhere along the six steps of the fireroom he’d been worn too lean. The misshapen soul was never going to be enough to hold onto a dragon. The truth was he had only ever wanted the hot stone. He crouched, trying to get out of the way while it growled.

The dragon snarled and snapped, almost taking his hand. Firebox cowered behind the stacked rocks; the ground was still hot from where a fire had burned minutes ago.

The dragon called out again and again with a retching in its throat. There was a click, like two rocks striking each other. The dragon lapped up the dust on the floor and called out again. The throat flickered, something inside ignited.  

A knock made Firebox go very still. Assistant emerged holding a bag of food. “Cursed serpent! How did this dragon –”

Firebox wasn’t expecting the sudden arrival of Assistant or the tail whip as the dragon turned around.

“I’m here.” Firebox called from the corner, but his voice was covered by the dragon’s noise and a flame erupted, enveloping half of the fireroom.

Assistant ran out before he was roasted. Within moments Commander stormed in with heavy chains and a smile on her face. “Well, you’ve finally outdone yourself, boys. I’ll take it from here.”

She slapped the chains against the metal floor, creating her own sparks. Firebox was shoved out of the room.

---

Firebox was promoted to a forager, Forager Two, to be precise. He frequently touched his old name patch. His fingers worried the thread letters loose. He rested in the dining car with everyone else, quietly eating a bowl of soup with bread in his lap. There was plenty of space now that all the chairs and tables had been burned.  Savoy was laying on the bare floor cradling an injury.

Firebox concentrated on the train, trying to find a discontinuity in the vibrations. He shivered in the drafty car. Even his sweat was cold. He tried to mind his own business, focusing on his fingertips and the scorch marks that were already healing.

“Did your rock hatch?” Forager asked without looking up from her bowl.

“No, not my rock. That was smashed, damn fairies.”

“It was that boulder from the desert. The flames cracked it open. Got it chained up as the New Firebox,” Assistant said, leveraging his brief sighting of the dragon to answer all the questions.

“I see. Hatched and already firing,” Forager said. “Doesn’t seem right. How big is it?”

“Shoulder height.”

“What color?”

“Red.”

“Is it ferocious?”

“Almost ate Firebox. I mean the old Firebox.”

The whispering dragon-lore draped around Firebox’s shoulders. He rubbed the soot that had been a permanent part of his forearms. The overhead light gave his skin a sallow tinge. He didn’t recognize himself outside the fireroom. He kept looking over at Savoy, the only person that didn’t grate him.

Cook walked in holding a basket of biscuits. “A celebratory second helping.” Cook elbowed Firebox in the shoulder, “Look alive, she’s coming in,” then passed the hard, palm sized food to everyone.

Commander filled the doorway, in the way that people with appropriate meals can. “Eat up, everyone. Compliments of myself and the old Firebox.” Firebox got a big slap on the back. “Like I always say, my lucky charm. Only the most famous arsonist would think to burn a dragonstone. Enjoy your redemption. I’ll be dropping off that paperwork in Centerville after all. As for the rest of you scum, enjoy your desert.” Commander left with haughty quickness.

Everyone gnawed on their biscuits, the chained baby dragon getting farther from their thoughts, except for Savoy. She locked eyes with Firebox.

“You? You burnt the forest?” Savoy stood up. The celebratory bread squeezed in her hand until it turned to crumbs. “You ruined everything. I hope you never light another fire in your life.” She shoved what remained in her mouth, not bothering to retrieve any of the smaller bits and limped out of the room with the rhythm of the train.

“A baby dragon,” Forager went on. “I wonder if I could see it?”

Cook stood nearby chewing his own biscuit, the largest of any handed out. “Volatile creatures. The whole train feels off.”

Firebox pulled the checkered bandana out of a pocket and handed it to Cook.

He was visibly relieved. “Maybe our luck will change. A lot can happen by morning.” He retreated to the kitchen car.

---

It was late. The sleeping quarters were dark and he wasn’t used to the sleeping sounds of the other crew. Usually he rested near the food, waiting for the soup pot to go unguarded in the lull of the meal rush. But this was no usual night. It was so cold, he laid on his mat shivering under the weight of dread. The speeding train sounds did nothing to drown out the collision of his suppressed remorse.

He had sacrificed all the memories of a magical life and the person he was just to survive. And now, in the absence of fire, in the absence of the dragonstone, he was the casualty. Apprehension stacked up, a slow smothering from the inside out.

Far away bellows drifted from the front of the train. The dragon cries focused his attention, awakening a sliver of strength.

He got up and walked to the furthest cot. “I need your help.”

“You don’t get to talk to me,” Savoy said in the dark. “You ruined everyone’s life.”

“The dragon needs your help.”

“I can’t help anyone. I can barely walk.”

“The train needs your help.”

“Go away,” Savoy told him.

“I know how to transfer the pardon papers to you.”

“I don’t have any extra muffins to pay for your martyrdom.”

“I want to make it right. I have…” Firebox flexed his toes in his shoes. “I found it. I have magic.”

Savoy turned in her bed but didn’t get up.

“I can give you some,” Firebox whispered.

“Why?” She sat up. “Why not keep it for yourself?”

“I’m only good for one thing, but you can leave. Let me show you.”

She followed him out. They crossed the coupling platform through the kitchen car, then past the dining car. They moved along in silence until they reached the fireroom. On the other side of the door were monster cries. The pitched screams were drawn out. Firebox unlatched the door and saw the restrained dragon. It was wrapped around in layers of rope and metal chain. One manacle was much tighter than the others, the back foot was so squeezed that its skin bulged on either side. The dragon convulsively cried out in fiery breath directly toward the boiler.

Savoy gasped. “It’s hurt.”

“Everyone is hurt.” Firebox breathed in the heat. He let it caress his face and he stretched his arms closer to the dragon. “Hurt is the only way to make this train run.”

“What do we do?”

He leaned against the wall and took off his shoe. He felt the weight of his dust and stone fragments pour into Savoy cupped hands.

“Taste it. It’s sharp, like it used to feel,” he said.

Savoy put a fingertip in her mouth. Her eyes grew bright, and she stood a little taller. Firebox thought he could see a glimpse of the person she had been.

“I feel it. It’s in the dust! How did it get to the desert? Never mind, it doesn’t matter.”

Firebox reached to taste some for himself, but she pulled away.

“No. I need it all. This is a big beast,” she said.

Firebox understood, a person only gets so many resurrections in their life. He stepped to the side as she tasted a little more then pulled the feather out from her hair. She made a little pile on the floor and stirred the dust. Her shoulders loosened and her eyes closed, summoning her magic-intention.

The air began to flash and flicker. The dragon calmed. Its throat stopped firing. For a moment Firebox felt the dizzying effect of the room expanding, but no, it was the dragon shrinking down in size. He leaned in as the dragon compressed. The chains fell off and clattered to the floor. When it was the size of a palm, he picked it up and ran his finger down the spine and tail. It’s little snapping mouth felt like kisses. How many nights had he imagined this?

“Put it outside,” Savoy snapped. “It’s already getting big again.”

Firebox leaned out the door and threw it into the night air. With the train still cruising at top speed it disappeared into the night. “That’s it I guess,” he said.

A screech shook the walls, and the full-size dragon flew past the open doorway. It was free. Firebox smiled. He turned to Savoy. “Can you do that again?”

Her face became steely, and she folded her arms.

Firebox emptied his other shoe. It was a much smaller amount, just barely enough to hand over to Savoy. “You’re not like the rest of us.”

Savoy looked down at the dust. “A way out,” she murmured.

“Maybe things are my fault, but…”

Savoy snorted it at once. The dust covered her mouth and nose, but it didn’t hide the high that was taking root somewhere in her center.

She shivered and trembled. Her arms shook out until she sprouted feathers of her own. She stepped backward shaking her head until she became the shape of a giant crow and dived out the door. Firebox jumped out of the way and when he looked around there were only a couple crow feathers twirling down around him, silky and soft. He picked one up and smelled the sulfur scent.

The train dropped speed, the voices calling from car to car became clearer. He didn’t want to be found in here alone, with two missing crew. He would leave for now, smiling, knowing he would be back.

Cook stopped him in the dining car. “What happened? Why are you here?” He looked down at the token feather in Firebox’s hand. “You look yourself again.” He dabbed his own forehead with his checkered bandana, then returned it to a pocket. “Get yourself back to bed. I have a feeling it will get noisy before we return to normal.”

---

Firebox was back in the fireroom with a generous pile of dust. After the dragon escaped, they were forced to collect more desert dust. Everyone experimented with the magical properties, and more than a few prisoners had a slight smearing under their nose. But more importantly it proved to be highly combustible. They loaded as much as they could before the malevolent fairies swarmed the train again.

While Commander took credit for the discovery of the new fuel source, she did not forgive the betrayal of the missing dragon and repaid everyone with an additional ten years to their sentence. But Firebox just smiled because the dragon was out of the way and Savoy was elsewhere with real freedom, and that was enough.

They pulled into the Centerville station. Firebox leaned out the door, which hadn’t locked properly since the attack, and looked upon the town.  Huge plumes of black smoke billowed in the sky.

He called down to a kid running past, “Hey, what’s going on?”

“We’ve been attacked by a dragon! There are fires everywhere,” he said trying to retain as much water in his pail.

Firebox nodded in indifference, content with his portion of dust and redemption. There being a dragon attack on the dawn of his releasing one could have no connection with him. The outside world was a stranger, and he, exiled, was confined to the flames. He wiped the dust from his nose and went back into the fireroom to wait for the next trip.  

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LM Therrien (she/they) loves to adventure in the dense forests of the Pacific Northwest with their family during the day and sneak off to a small desk to craft stories late at night. She’s thrilled to be writing fantasy and exploring the truths we sometimes find. You can find them on BS @therrien.bsky.social or X @lm_therrien 

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