Precious Stone

2: The Dragon

"Lance!" I glanced up from the table. My mother was talking on the phone. She twirled the string of her apron in one hand, staring up at the ceiling as she talked. "How are you, dear? Really? That's good to hear!" She smiled at nothing. "Sure. Boston would love to see you. Yes, Crystal too… All right, dear. Bye bye!"

Minnie mooed from her spot on the chair beside me at the table. She steadily watched me work on my drawing—it wasn't very good, so I crumpled up the paper and pushed it off to the side along with all the other drawings that weren't to my liking. Minnie snorted. "Did you like that one?" She nodded. "Oh well. I'll do a better one."

My mother sat down at the table across from us. Minnie didn't much like my mother, nor my mother Minnie, but they tolerated each other. My mother was always telling her to stay off the furniture; to go outside; to get off the table. Miltank hated being told what to do by anyone but me, so she rarely listened when the old woman bossed at her. She didn't mind my brother or father, though, and rather liked Boston. He gave her treats and knew a thing or two about taking care of Pokémon. He had no intention of becoming a trainer, but he appreciated the art, and often encouraged me to teach Minnie to battle.

"Min," I said, "hand me that orange, will you?" She picked up the crayon in her teeth from down the table and dropped it in my palm. "Thanks."

My mother cleared her throat, but I didn't look up. "A family friend will be visiting us soon," she told me. "Do you remember Lance?"

I sighed. "You know I don't, mother," I told her with a significant lack of patience. I was turning twelve in a week. It had been almost five years since I fell into the river and lost my memory, and the silly woman still asked me questions like that. "Mother" was only a title she had; the word carried no real meaning for me. She was simply another person who told me what to do. I had no attachment to her whatsoever.

"He'll be coming sometime next week."

"You're not going to make me pretend I know who he is, are you? I hate that."

I could feel the frustrated look my mother was giving me. "No. Your father talked to his family a while ago. I think you'll like him, though, Crystal. He's a Pokémon trainer—a good one, I hear." I yawned and finished my drawing. I showed it to Minnie, who gave me a nod of approval, and I smoothed it over with my hand.

"Okay," was all I said, before we got up and went to my room to hang up the picture.

My brother came in, not knocking on the door. My mother said he was acting more and more like a "teenager." He didn't look much different to me: he was still more than a foot taller than myself, and all the girls who lived near us came over to see him all the time. But he talked back more often than not to my parents, and while he was still perfectly the same towards me, he couldn't stand being around them for very long. We often went on long walks, or visited Olivine, or went surfing. He told me that he wanted to be a Pokémon doctor, but didn't know where to start. I liked my brother more than any other person. When he suggested that I try training Minnie, I considered it only because I trusted his judgment; if he said I could do it, then I thought, maybe I could.

"So Lance is visiting?"

I glanced up at him and nodded. "Who is he?"

Boston laughed at me and came in, sitting down on my bed beside Minnie. She gave him an indignant look as he took up most of the space. "Lance is a big-time trainer. He's been taking down gym leaders left and right. He was on television the other day." I gave him a surprised look. "No kidding. If you really want to do this training thing, he's the guy to talk to. You met him when you were little, but you wouldn't remember. His parents live on some islands real far away, but his mother knew ours when they were younger."

I shrugged my shoulders and finished pinning my drawing to the wall. I came over and picked Minnie up, sitting down where she had been and putting her back down on my lap. I played with her ears. "Whatever. I just want to get away from here. I'm sick of this house and these people I don't know. If becoming a Pokémon trainer is what it takes to leave, then I'll do it." Boston nodded his head in understanding.

We were silent for a few moments, until he said, "I saw that boy."

I gave him a quizzical look. "What boy?"

"Remember that red-haired boy you mentioned a few years back?" I tried to remember what he was referring to.

Minnie had just rolled down the hill when I saw him. He was standing in the trees, partially obscured by the shadow they cast, right on the edge of the meadow. He was watching me, and so when I saw him, I pretended that I hadn't and went on playing.

He disappeared for a few moments, and then reappeared closer to the road. Men in dark clothes and white undershirts (you could see them under their vests) were with him, all talking. A few wore dark hats, too, and had an indecipherable letter printed on the fronts of their shirts in red. Most had Pokéball belts, and there were one or two Pokémon with them, tied up to trees with ropes. The boy was no longer looking at me. He was arguing with someone—a tall man with dark hair, who wore a long, white suit. Suddenly, the man slapped the boy, sending him sprawling; a few of the others laughed (I could only tell by their movements, for they were too far away to hear) while one, a shorter woman, came over and helped him up. The boy, without looking at the man again, turned around and walked off.

I tried not to look at him as he came towards me. I was a good distance from my house. He looked about the same age as me, maybe a year or two older; he didn't seem to notice me until he was a few yards away, when we locked gazes.

"H-hello," I said. Minnie came closer to me. Something about his eyes struck me; it was ridiculous and touching, something that slipped deep into me in a way I'd never felt before. Here was another strange, foreign thing that was more familiar to me than the people who called themselves my "mother" and "father." I was paralyzed. The boy said nothing, and pushing some of his wild red hair away from his face, he turned on his heel and walked off into the woods.

"You drew me a picture of him," my brother said. "It wasn't great, but I kept it in my mind. When I saw him, it came to me right away." Reaching into his pocket, he took out a picture. It was of a man in the same garb as the men I had seen that afternoon. As long ago as it was, I remembered as clear as day. "Is this what they looked like? The men in the woods?"

I slowly nodded my head, feeling a little nervous, like I was incriminating someone. "This is a member of Team Rocket. Whoever that boy was, he was associated with them, somehow." He shook his head. "When I saw him, he was battling another trainer outside of Olivine City. He won handily—but it bothered me. He was very rough with his Pokémon. I just thought you would like to know."

"Did you find out his name?" I asked abruptly.

Boston shook his head and pocketed the picture. "No. But I think that if you go on with this path—with becoming a Pokémon trainer—you'll come across him. When you do, I want to know what happens." He smiled, and got up off the bed. "We'll go surfing tomorrow, so make sure you've got your stuff together."

"Yes, sir!" I said, giving him a mock salute. Boston laughed and left.

--

When I thought of a nationally-recognized trainer, Lance wasn't quite what I expected. He was a boy of seventeen. He had thoughtfully brought me a birthday present, one day early. I never much looked at boys, but as far as they went, he was handsome. He had unrestrained black hair, and was very tall—taller than my brother, and almost as tall as my father. He wore dark jeans and a tight shirt, and to a girl of twelve, he was stunning. But, like everyone else except Boston, he treated me like a child—at least, at first. I resented him, and took my present up to my room to keep unopened until my birthday.

That night, I was tossing a ball up and down as I lay on my bed. Minnie was passed out beside me when I heard a knock at the door. "Come in," I called, not moving to sit up.

The door opened, and Lance came in. I didn't greet him, and he stood there awkwardly for a few moments before he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Annoyed, I tossed the ball faster and higher. He walked over to my desk and took the chair, sitting on it reverse-side so he could support his arms on the back and his knees were propped up to either side.

"Your brother tells me you want to be a Pokémon trainer." Minnie snored. I said nothing, and didn't look up. I was still bruised from the condescending pat on the head he had given me earlier that day. "Did you open your present?"

"No," I said.

"I see." He didn't say anything for a few moments, then: "I think the bond you have with your Miltank is unique. Even though you're young, I definitely believe that with your strength, you could become great." This made me sit up. I put the ball down and looked critically at the boy (who was almost a man) sitting in front of me. "It takes a lot of practice and a lot of commitment, but if you wanted to do it, I know you could."

It took me a minute to calm my sense of dignity and reply, "Really?"

Lance vehemently nodded. "Open it." I gave him a quizzical look. "My present. Open it," he said.

Raising one eyebrow, I got up and went over to my desk, where the unopened gift was dejectedly sitting. I picked it up and gingerly unwrapped it.

Inside was a Pokéball. At first unimpressed, I looked closer and realized it wasn't like any Pokéball I had seen before; it had intricate engravings over the front, with a color pattern of green, black, and white, instead of a simple red and white. When I glanced back over at Lance, he was smiling.

"I had this ball custom made. It's a friendship ball—it symbolizes your relationship with your Pokémon and will allow you to always be strengthening that bond. Your Pokémon can draw power from it." I sat back down on the bed, holding the ball in my hands gingerly. "You can use it tomorrow. Then, I can show you a few things, if you want." He looked almost… nervous?

I only nodded at him and quietly said, "Thank you."

Lance grinned. "Don't worry about it, kiddo. I know you don't remember, but when you were really small, I asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up. You said, 'A trainer! I want to get to the top!' I was listening."

--

I discussed the Pokéball idea with Minnie the next morning. When Lance came outside, I was just testing it out. I picked up the ball and held it up to my ear, wondering if I could hear my Miltank inside of it. Lance laughed at me from the porch. "Let her out now, won't you?"

I held out the ball and called, "Come out, Minnie!" In a flash, my Pokémon was sitting in front of me, a little dazed. We exchanged looks and I laughed. "How was it?" She waved one hoof in front of her nose, like she had just smelled something awful.

"Some like it, some don't," said Lance. "You can probably keep her out most of the time—but other times, you'll have to use it."

For all of the morning and a part of the afternoon, Lance began to teach me how to train and battle. "Try this exercise," he would say, or "Always try to get a one-up on your opponent, if you can."

By lunchtime, I was exhausted. Lance promised we would work more on it tomorrow, before he left. My mother seemed pleased that we were getting along. I think she had been worried that I would shun him like I did to everyone else I had to "meet" after my accident. My father enjoyed talking to him about his advancement as a trainer.

"What is your goal?" he asked.

"I don't have one," Lance replied. "I'm going to get as high as I can go. I'm battling every person who is up for a fight. I figure that will get me somewhere," he said with a laugh. My father agreed, and laughed along with him. I thought it was a little ridiculous that my parents were sucking up to him, but I said nothing and ate my dinner.

--

When I went outside to meet Lance for training, he was different. He had slicked his hair away from his face and looked very serious when I met him.

"What are we doing?"

"We're going to battle." I gaped at him. He couldn't be serious. I wouldn't stand a chance against someone as experienced as he. "One on one."

"But…"

"Ready?"

It didn't look like I had much choice in the matter. "The best way to get better is to test yourself," Lance told me. "Anyway, I think you will be surprised at your own power."

My brother came out to watch as we went a little way away from the house. We stood apart from one another, our expressions serious. He took out a Pokéball and with a deep voice he called, "Go, Dragonair!"

It was the biggest Pokémon I had ever seen in real life. I felt my face grow white as it appeared, running at least ten feet from the end of its blue nose to its thin tail. The round jewels on its neck and tail glimmered in the early sun, and it fluttered its ears.

I quickly recovered myself and took out my own Pokéball. "Come on out, Minnie," I said, and my companion appeared in front of me, less disoriented than before. When she saw Lance's Dragonair, however, she gave me a plaintive moo and took a step back.

"Don't worry," I told her. "I believe in you."

Though this didn't much reassure her, she squared her shoulders and stared down her opponent. Without hesitating I commanded, "Tackle it!"

Minnie was just as quick as I was, and lunged at Dragonair. The force of her body so surprised the snake-like dragon that it easily collapsed under her weight. "Slam it back!" Lance retaliated.

Minnie cried out in surprise as Dragonair lurched, sending her flying back; as she landed on her rear end, the world probably spinning, the dragon lifted its enormous tail and brought it down hard on top of her. "Minnie!" I cried, wanting to run to her aid, but not wanting to end the battle without her permission; she managed to get to her feet, and glaring at her opponent, she lunged again. "Use your Stomp attack!"

Dragonair howled as the blows landed. Minnie got a little carried away, but Lance retaliated with a twister. The dragon's summoned tornado whipped up my little Miltank, spinning her around a number of times before unceremoniously depositing her back on the ground. She swayed back and forth, dizzy; "Defense Curl, Min!" She obeyed, hunching her back and putting all four feet on the ground. She glared at Dragonair, daring it to attack. She was ready.

"Try your Dragon Rage, Dragonair," Lance commanded. The Pokémon raised up its head and with a long half-roar, half-dragon cry, it breathed out a long, green flame. It enveloped Minnie, but I heard no noise; when the foggy lime smoke cleared, she was in the same position as before, nearly untouched. "Now! Tackle again!"

Before Dragonair had recovered, Minnie was on it; the impact knocked the air out of its lungs and it fell back down to the ground. "Summon another Twister!" Lance cried. He wanted to get my Miltank at long range again, I could see—"Stomp while it's down!" I called out.

Dragonair was defeated. It languished on the ground for a moment before Lance recalled it. He took a deep breath and looked up at me. "I'll be honest," he said quietly, "I didn't expect you to beat me. I was going to… I was going to give you a 'learning experience.' But that was arrogant of me. I deserved to be beaten."

I couldn't agree more. I took Minnie inside and patched up the few bruises she had—she was mostly fine. With a short goodbye, Lance took his leave of us. "I know we'll be meeting again very soon," he whispered in my ear. I nodded my head, and watched, wondering, as he left.