The old man's scent precedes him--spice laced with bloody meat and a hint of sharpness. The moment he walks in, anger sours the air.
       I whimper. Another angry two-legger. I still remember the sailors' voices as they loomed over me. The pipe clangs as it strikes my scales.
       Sore muscles screaming, I retreat to the end of my chain, but instead of beating me, he drops a bucket of meat and hums a song as he holds his hand at my nostril. "It's alright, my fair Kelekona. It's not you I'm mad at."
       His scent mellows as he strokes my nose. This is the first time he has done more than bring me food and walk away. "I would never hurt a child of the volcano."
       No one has ever called me anything other than Furnace. I lean into his touch and let out a low rumble of approval.
       "I shouldn't be doing this, but I can't stand by and watch anymore." He leaves me to eat, and when he returns for the empty bucket, he sings to me. I don't understand the words, but some I recognize. Kelekona. Pele.
       He runs his hands across my back and neck. The calluses on his fingertips catch the sharp edges of my scales. He repeats the song until I calm enough to stop shaking.
       A few days later, when the damaged scales come off, he brings a little bottle. "For you, my Kelekona. To keep your skin from drying out." He lets me smell it before rubbing it onto the sore spots.
       His oil-slick hands roam my sides as his voice washes over me. His low murmur is softer than the turbines as he pours oil onto his palm. It smells warm, spicy--like him.
       "There was a time when something like this was unthinkable. Most men feared the Kelekona. Fought them. But at least your kind was free." He sighs as he stoppers the bottle.
       "Later, when they realized your power, they came for nests and eggs."
       He sits with his back against the outer wall where the steel panels vibrate when the wind is strong, his smile a sad ghost of his usual expression.
       "The invention of firearms made it easy." He rubs his eyes as his smile falters altogether. "The kelekona almost went extinct in the wild."

       He often sits with me as I eat, telling stories woven through with words from his songs. The words themselves sound like music--soft and fluid.
       Then, one day, he's not there. Not even to say goodbye.
       In his place stands a trembling two-legged hatchling, steeped in the scent of terror, with that sour-smelling bucket in his tiny claws.
       The meat is spoiled, but I'm hungry enough to eat it. The taste will coat my tongue for hours, rancid and sharp like the oil the sailors use on the turbines. The boy feeds me every day, but never enough.
       His eyes dart back and forth, rarely straying far from the door or meeting mine. The heat of his body glows a soft red, pulsing to the rhythm of his racing heart.
       With the curses of the sailors still ringing in my ears, I pull away as far as my shackles let me. Maybe I can show him I'm not dangerous.
       He drops the bucket and bolts, slamming the door, the ringing of tin against steel floor plating echoing through the engine room.
       Holding my breath, I quickly swallow the meat before breathing more heat onto the copper boiler. If I want to eat tomorrow, I need to keep the turbine going.

       The door opens, and the scent of meat fills the room. My mouth waters. I move to the far corner, but the hatchling stands frozen, staring.
       The handle of the bucket rattles in his white-knuckled grip. My stomach rumbles, and he turns even paler. He's come many times now to bring me food and water, but the stench of fear is still there.
       Averting my eyes, I make myself as small as I can and wait.
       He takes a step forward, plants the bucket on the floor, and stands by the door.
       I blow on the boiler one more time before turning to my food, but the pipes clang, and a wisp of steam escapes from a tear in the metal.
       "Stop, Furnace! The pipe's busted."
       He's gone before I can blink, shouting as his bare feet pound down the corridor. "Captain! A pipe's burst in the engine room!"
       I no longer have to wonder what his voice sounds like. It's sharp and high-pitched like the whistle of escaping steam.
       Doors open and close, and footsteps enter the corridor--several sets of them booted feet far heavier than the boy's. "What did you do, you runt?"
       "I didn't do anything, sir." The child runs back into the room, pointing at the broken pipe. "I was feeding the furnace, and it just happened."
       The first mate marches in and heads straight for the broken pipe. He's been here before to oil the engine. It was him that taught me not to look.
       Another man enters, but he stops in the doorway. His fear stinks worse than the boy's--a bitter, acrid note drowning out the usual sweat, smoke and oil.
       The first one crosses his arms. "Don't tell me you're scared of the bloody furnace."
       "D'ya not see the fangs on that thing?" He shuffles along the edge of the room, staying far beyond the reach of my chains. "If you mean to leave that beast without a muzzle, can we at least put on some protective clothing?"
       "No worries, mate. Trained it myself, I did." The first mate saunters over and shows me his teeth.
       They're brown, crumbled, and missing in places--useless. And yet, shivers run down my scales at the sight of them.
       I turn away.
       "Stop that. If you scare it too much, it might stop producing heat." The other man closes a valve by the turbines, shutting off the steam to the broken pipe. "Let's get this thing fixed so we can get the hell out of here."
       "Fine." The first mate grabs the hatchling by the scruff of his neck. "And you, boy. You're going to tell me exactly what you did to this pipe."
       "I didn't do anything, sir. I swear! I--"
       The first mate backhands the boy. "You're a bad liar, just like your granddaddy. Copper pipes don't go breaking themselves. And the furnace can't have done it. Its chains ain't long enough."
       He yells at the other man, face redder than his body heat should be. "Well? What are you waiting for? Them tools won't bring themselves. And fetch the pussy whip while you're at it. We'll teach that runt to mess with our airship!"
       He slams the door shut after the other man has scurried out. The walls shake from the force. "Last chance to confess, boy."
       The child's bottom lip trembles as he looks up at the first mate, three times his size. "I was feeding the furn--"
       His head snaps to the side as the first mate slaps him again. The hatchling hits the floor with a thud and curls up, whimpering and wrapping his arms around his head.
       The first mate grabs his scrawny wrist and pulls him to his feet. He hits the boy hard enough to throw him at my feet. Terror emanates from the hatchling, sharper than the rottenest meat.
       The boy stares up at me. One eye is swelling shut, and his cheek is turning purple. The first mate's swearing almost drowns out his whimper.
       The boy scuttles away only to bump into my leg.
       "Nowhere left to run, boy." The sour stench of the first mate's anger is laced with the pungent liquid he often drinks. He smelled like this each time he beat me.
       Before he can reach the boy cowering between my front legs, I pick the child up and wrap my body around his, covering us both with my wings. Bones stick out at his hips and shoulders. His pulse races beneath my paw.
       The sailor curses and steps closer. "Let go of him, Furnace, or you'll be sorry."
       I don't move. He'll make me, sooner or later, but for now, the hatchling is safe. His trembling subsides, and the flutter of his pulse settles into a slow, steady rhythm.
       "Thank you." His voice is so soft I almost miss it.
       Footsteps approach, bringing the stink of more sweaty, half-drunken sailors.
       "About bloody time. Did you have to forge those tools or something?" The first mate moves around. His heat pulls away from me, but not as far as I'd like. "Give me that pipe. No, the thick one."
       They won't damage me too badly, or there will be no steam, no way to fly the ship. Still, I squeeze my eyes shut as he comes closer.
       The first blow lands across my right flank. A second cracks on top of my spine.
       Every time he hits me, he lets out a nasty grunt. The pipe clangs as it strikes my scales, and I can't hold back a groan.
       "Hear that, Higgins? Growled at you, it did. You better show it who's boss. Give me that pipe."
       Feet shuffle around. The first mate steps back and makes way for a different heat source. Its red glow shines through the membrane of my wing, wider and closer to the ground.
       The pipe sings as it flies through the air, finding all the spots already screaming with pain.
       "That's the captain," the hatchling whispers. "You've got to let go of me. I'd rather face a beating now than something worse later."
       I cling to him as the pipe slams into my wing. A jolt runs all the way to the tip, followed by numbness.
       My wing falls to the ground, and rough hands pull it away. The man with the pipe takes a few steps to the side--towards the wing still shielding my head.
       He hits me at the joint and pulls the wing aside. Pins and needles race down my wings as he strikes at my unprotected head.
       The world begins to spin.
       "Stop!" The boy's trembling voice rings out above the sounds of the men. "I'll come out, sir. Please stop beating her. You'll let go of me, won't you, Furnace?"
       Wrapped up in my body, he pokes at my armpit, but I tighten my grip.
       "Please, Kelekona." He strokes the softer scales of my belly.
       When he uses the old man's word, how can I refuse him? I sigh and let go.
       Head held high, he steps forward, facing the first mate. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to break it. It was an accident. It'll never happen again. I swear."
       His voice sounds farther and farther away. Black spots dance across the room until my eyes close.

       I wake in the darkness, the rumble of my stomach louder than the rattling of my chains. The engine is so cold I can't even see it.
       There's not much fire left in me, but I breathe what I have onto the boiler. It warms up but the glow is not strong enough. What steam there is won't be enough to drive the turbine. Not tonight.
       A brighter source of heat comes down the corridor and stops at the door. The hatchling.
       I shouldn't call him that anymore. His courage deserves more.
       I limp back as far as my chains will allow and lower my head. He opens the door and walks through, no longer trembling. The scent of fear is gone. Replaced by a softer one--warm, like the old man.
       "My tutu was right, Kelekona. He always said your kind would never hurt me." He lays a warm hand on my nose. "I didn't believe him. Your teeth are so big, so sharp. You could swallow me whole."
       I lean into his touch. No one has touched me like this since the old man stopped coming.
       "But you protected me last night. I never thought anyone would after I lost Tutu." He rubs my nose.
       I close my eyes and purr. My nose follows his fingertips as he pulls back, and I give him a gentle nudge.
       He runs his hands down my neck and sides. "You're warm, but it's a good warmth. Like a fire on a cold night--nothing like a furnace."
       It tickles when he touches my wing membranes and I snort. He makes a series of strange squeaky sounds, short and repetitive.
       The sailors do it too but in his high-pitched voice, it carries nothing of their malice.
       "We need to find you a new name. You're not just a furnace, but I can't keep calling you Kelekona either. You deserve your own name." He frowns, chewing one of his puny flat claws. "How about Kona? It means lady. You are a girl-dragon, right?"
       I nod and he flashes his teeth at me. White and clean, but as flat and useless as his claws. Maybe being so defenseless as infants is what makes these two-leggers so mean. But the old man was different. The boy is too.
       He makes more squeaking sounds. "Kona. Do you like it?"
       Not even the old man ever asked me this question.
       Kona. The name is--
       I don't know what it is. But it's mine. I purr and lean my forehead against his chest.
       "I'll take that as a yes." The boy wraps his thin arms around my muzzle. "I'm Ahe."

       The door creaks, and Ahe's spice floats into the engine room. "Kona?"
       I nudge him as he comes near. He leans into me. "Can I sleep in here tonight?" He doesn't wait for a reply but curls up against my belly where my skin is the warmest and pulls one of my wings over him. "I dreamt of my grandfather again. He scolded me for getting you in trouble."
       He sighs--mouth opening wide on the exhale.
       It's another two-legger thing. Ahe calls it yawning. "Then he told me about the Kelekona--how they first hatched in the hearts of volcanoes. At the end of his story, he grew scales and men chained him to a steam engine. He begged me to free him."
       Ahe falls silent and I hum the old man's song.
       "That's one of Tutu's songs." He sits up, meeting my gaze.
       Burrowed against my side, he takes a deep breath and looks away. "He kept trying to bring me along when he fed you. But the thought of going near you--"
       Water leaks from the corners of his eyes. "I was a disappointment to him. He said it was our duty to help free Kelekona like you. But I wouldn't even go near you, and you're not nearly as big as most grown-up dragons."
       I nuzzle him and hum the song again.
       He strokes my nose and lays his head against my shoulder. "He was the only family I had left."
       Family. It's a strange word. But he uses a lot of those. He sighs. "I miss his stories and his songs. How he ruffled my hair if I did something he was proud of. I miss his smile."
       The old man's voice--soft and musical. I miss it too.
       "They never would have punished us if he were still alive." His eye-water, warm and salty, drips onto my scales. "I can't wait for your spikes to grow in, Kona." He pulls my wing up underneath his chin. "No one will dare touch us then."
       His breathing slows and his eyelids flutter.
       My scales will come off again in the bruised places, and they're already itching. His warmth pulses against my side, but he's not hot enough to account for the warmth inside of me. He says I'm his friend.
       I've never had a friend before.

       Yesterday, the first mate ordered more heat. With the turbines working harder, the metal floor plates vibrate. Ahe leans against my side, eyes closed. "I had to carry a message to the captain on deck when the sun began to set. It was breathtaking. The sky looks so much bigger up here. I saw another airship on the horizon. So small I could fit all of it between my fingers." He forms a ring with his hands and stares through it at the ceiling.
       The sun lights the world. Like a lamp, but brighter. At sunset, it goes to sleep on the other side of the world. Ahe told me. He's small and not very strong, but he knows many things.
       I shift and ruffle my wings. My scales are growing back, but they itch.
       His flat pink claws find a spot where my skin is bare. When he scratches me, I moan, close my eyes, and rest my nose on top of his legs.
       "You'd have loved it, Kona. All the colors of the volcano, painted across the sky. Streaks of grey, red and orange from the fire. Pinks and lavenders from the flowers at its foot."
       Someday Ahe and I will watch a sunset together. I'm strong and he's smart. We'll find a way.
       "We're turning North. We'll get to see snow. And the ocean. I can't believe how long it's been since I saw the ocean." He shakes his head.
       He told me about snow and oceans too. No matter how hard I try, I can't imagine that much water, but even that seems more believable than water turned solid from the cold.

       The days grow colder. Ahe sleeps tucked against my side more often than not. His skin is soft and thin. Two-leggers don't have a thick hide or scales to protect them. They wrap things around themselves to stay warm.
       The sailors wear more layers of cloth now, sometimes even furs, but Ahe has to make do with what he has. He's got some of his grandfather's clothes, but it's not enough.
       Slime drips from his nose and his voice is scratchy. Without me to keep him warm at night, he'd have gotten sick weeks ago.
       The wind whips around the hull of the airship and creeps in around the edges of the turbine. I've curled myself around Ahe to shield him from the worst of the drafts.
       He's asleep in his favorite spot, head resting in the crook of my leg, back against my belly where I'm warmest. All he has to cover himself with is a tattered blanket and one of my wings.
       Sailors march through the corridor, their body heat glowing a dull red--like rust on iron. One of them towers a head above the others. The first mate. He stops outside my door as someone approaches him, body heat muffled by thicker clothing, only his head and hands visible through the wall.
       "Captain." The first mate gives a slight bow. "Funny I should see you here, sir. I was on my way to find you."
       "Ah, Higgins. What was it you wanted to discuss?"
       "Quartermaster informs me the furnace has been eatin' more food, sir. It'll outgrow the ship before long."
       "Hmmm. It was bound to happen." The captain nods. "We'll manage, as always. After Salt Lake City, we reroute to San Francisco. Ocean liners will pay a hefty price for a well-trained dragon."
       They move along, heads bent and voices fading to a mumble.
       Ahe sits up, shivering as he throws his blanket back. "We have to do something."
       I tilt my head and look at him. His bottom lip trembles. "They'll never let me go with you. I'll be alone again. And they'll get another egg to hatch."
       Growling, I coil myself around him. I won't allow anyone to take Ahe away from me.
       "They won't send you away right now, Kona." He pats my nose and laughs, but it feels different somehow.
       "We'll think of something. Just need to keep our heads down and stay out of trouble."

       It's already dark when Ahe slips in carrying a burlap bag, eyes shining. He pulls out a dented tin. "Phosphorus to feed your fire. We'll need to keep putting it in your food after we escape.
       "When the Atalanta docks in Salt Lake City, most of the crew will get shore leave. We've got to have a plan by then." He puts the tin back and folds the bag around it. "I'll try to get some more supplies for us."
       I nod before nuzzling him. He places both hands on either side of my nose. "Don't look so worried, Kona. Everything will be fine. Promise."
       He pulls a little shiny stick out of a pocket. It smells like iron. "I think this is the right one."
       He pokes at my collar with the stick, and it clicks open.
       Cool air touches the scales underneath, and I shiver.
       "I knew it. Mr. Higgins hid this key too well. It had to be valuable. Sorry, Kona, but you'll have to wear it a while longer." Ahe reaches up, puts the collar back on, and wraps his arms around my neck.
       I don't mind. It's strange, not wearing it. Scary.
       "We're really going to do this," Ahe whispers.

       Ahe's sleeping next to me--out of sight of the door--and purring. He only purrs when he's asleep.
       Booted feet thump back and forth throughout the entire ship. "All hands on deck! We're under attack!"
       The first mate opens the door and sticks his head inside. "You get that turbine running, Furnace, you hear?"
       The wall shakes as he slams it shut behind him and his footsteps and stench disappear down the corridor.
       Ahe sits up as the freshness of hope tempers the fear in his scent. "Kona! This is it. If the Atalanta has to land, it's our chance to escape."
       He shows me his teeth and I can't call it a smile this time. The gleam in his eyes is feral. "If you let the boiler cool down, it's only a matter of time. The Atalanta only has enough ammunition to fire some warning shots while she adjusts her course to make a run for it."
       I lean my head into his chest, and he hugs me.
       "We're going to make it, Kona." With one last squeeze, he releases me and picks up a supply bag. "I'm going to see what's happening." He reaches for my collar, unlocking it before turning away. "Don't let anyone in unless you hear my voice."
       He runs out, and I brace the door. His bare feet thump down the corridor. Away from me and into danger.
       I start counting my heartbeats, but when I've counted as many as I've got talons, I have to stop. The door shudders as someone pounds on it. "Open up, Kona. It's me!"
       I step aside and he tumbles in, closing the door behind him as more feet stomp in our direction. "What's taking so long? Get the engine running, Furnace!"
       The door trembles beneath their fists, but they can't get to us. I have to keep them out until Ahe and I find a way to escape.
       The floor tilts, throwing us both against the boiler. Metal twists and shrieks under me and Ahe clings to my neck. Lukewarm water runs over us from the remains of the engine.
       I crane my neck, straining to make out what the sailors are shouting.
       "Load aft cannons! Fire at will!"
       The cannons fill the air with a thunderous rhythm and the burnt-sulphur scent of gunpowder.
       "That's no pirate! They gotta be after the dragon!"
       "Get those bastards off our tail. Shoot them out of the sky, boys!"
       A shiver runs through the ship, and the men's voices turn shrill.
       "We're leaking hydrogen!"
       "Captain! Someone's slashed the gas bags!"
       "Cease fire! Cease fire! If the gas ignites, we're done for!"
       The Atalanta lurches. My stomach tingles as if I swallowed a creature whole.
       "We're losing altitude! All hands, brace for impact!"
       I roll over, pulling Ahe with me and wrapping myself into a ball around him as he laughs. "It worked."
       The flutter inside me speeds up as wind whistles past the outer walls. I scrabble backwards, lodging myself into a corner so we don't get thrown around again.
       The world stops moving with a boom that jolts the entire ship, rattling my teeth. The relentless shriek of the wind has made way for gentle rustling sounds and high-pitched chittering noises–like music, but wilder.
       Behind the engine, a massive crack spans the distance between floor and ceiling where rivets gave way under the force of our fall and the hull plating curled in on itself. Bright light streams into the room through the gap. There's colours outside, brighter than I've ever seen before. Big round flaps stick out of the hull, attached to the turbine I've been powering all this time.
       Ahe's warmth pulses against my skin, and I let go of him. I don't smell any blood, but I poke at him with my nose, checking for wounds.
       The sailors are on the move--shouting orders at each other.
       "Abandon ship!"
       "Wait. Get the damn furnace 'fore those bastards make off with it! And bring me the traitor who ran us aground!"
       Someone bashes on the door. "Bloody engine room door's stuck!"
       Huge clouds of white puffy smoke roll past the tear in the hull. It's a steep climb, but Ahe and I will finally be free.
       He crawls onto my back, clinging to my wing joints.
       Humming the old man's song, I dig my claws into the floor and clamber to the opening.
       Outside, the light is so strong it makes my eyes drip. As I blink away the water, foul scents--smoke, the first mate's pungent liquid, and oil--invade my mouth and nose. "Well, what do we have here? The furnace and the runt. Bet it was you sabotaged the ship."
       He shows me his teeth again--brown and crumbled--and I shiver.
       The bags with our supplies bang against my chest as Ahe shifts his grip on my neck.
       When I take a step back, the first mate advances, picking up a long piece of metal from the ground. "Don't know how you did it, son. Don't care either. But you sure as hell ain't going to do it again.
       "Should have thrown you overboard along with your granddaddy when I caught him fraternizing with the damn furnace."
       I close my eyes and think of the old man--his papery skin, face always folded into a smile. His kindness--his refusal to call me Furnace. Looking into the first mate's eyes for the first time in my life, I lift my head and make myself as tall as I can. He keeps baring his teeth at me, but his eyes shift to one side.
       Those rotten, useless excuses for fangs don't scare me anymore. I'm not chained and helpless now. As I take a deep breath, I flare my nostrils and rumble. A deep vibration rolls through my body.
       On the exhale, I tighten every muscle and force out every last bit of air. With the boiler, it's a trickle of heat, a whisper of a breath.
       This time, I create a flame bigger than the first mate, bright white, orange at the edges, and blue at its core. He throws himself at my feet just in time to avoid the brunt of the blast, but the back of his coat catches fire. It's thick, but he screams, sharp and shrill as he rolls back and forth.
       "Wow, Kona! I didn't know you could make fire this big." Ahe's voice trembles as he speaks.
       I look back at him and snort, blowing dark hair away from his face.
       He turns around, gasps, and points ahead. "Into the trees. Hurry! There's more men coming."
       One jump and we're on the ground. Rocks and pebbles slide under my feet, but it's not nearly as slippery as the engine room floor.
       Ahe points at a group of tall brown things--those must be trees--so that's where I go. Their green tops block the high blue ceiling from view in most places.
       Above us, a big, dark grey thing circles as ropes drop from it. The Atalanta's attacker is twice its size.
       The ground is soft in places and my claws sink in. I pick my way through, looking for rocky spots that won't give way.
       Behind us, sailors are shouting and pointing their guns up at the enemy airship as white-hot flames lick at the ruins of the Atalanta. They won't be chaining any more dragons to its engine.
       The air is rich with layered scents, all of them clean and fresh. A breeze tickles my wings and cools my scales. Little bits of the high blue ceiling peek through the green looming over us.
       Musical whistles echo through the still air, and little fluffy creatures glow red among the branches of the trees, flitting from one to the next. They flap their wings to fly. They don't even have engines, as far as I can tell.
       I try it too. If I could fly, we'd be safe from these vicious two-leggers. But when I flap, all it does is blow sticks and thin green tree scales around. The little flying things seem to tilt their wings as they move them, so I go a bit more slowly and try to mimic what they do.
       The wind caresses both sides of my wing membranes as if it has fingers. Some warm, some cooler, and some outright cold--pushing up or down, or a bit to the side.
       There are too many to count, and they keep shifting directions. As I close my eyes, images form of how the air moves around us.
       I flap one more time--following the streams of air around my wings--and my feet leave the ground. It was over before I had time to think, but I did it.
       Pressure builds in my chest, impossible to contain. I open my jaws wide and make another multi-coloured flame as my roar joins Ahe's whoops in the free air.