Rise of the Shadow Dragons Page 3

  They all had to wait painful long minutes, while it slowly fought its way free and the little girl scooped it up. She had to go past Joe, Conor and Amina, and he saw his friends’ expressions, as crushed as he felt. At least they were in this together. Just for a moment, he let himself picture the three of them afterwards, talking it over, comforting each other.

  Joe didn’t look at Noah.

  Two young people held two young dragons, cooing and feeding them scraps of chicken from a tray, and letting them drink spring water from little silver bowls. Isak watched everything, his blue eyes unreadable behind his glasses. Almost halfway there. There was a hushed murmur from the crowd: relief still mixed with anticipation. This was a sacred ceremony and no one would move until Isak spoke the closing words.

  Joe looked again at the other Potentials, all except Noah. They were huddled in their places in the circle: some looked desperate now; others determined. He couldn’t think of them. He fixed his eyes on the final three eggs. He wiped his damp forehead and realised his hands were trembling, so he sat on them.

  He could hear something: another one of the eggs was hatching.

  With a sharp tap from within, a large zigzag split the yellow shell.

  Then, with a crack, the egg broke into three pieces. A small damp body was wriggling there among the fragments.

  ‘Oh!’ Joe gasped.

  Slowly, slowly, the dark yellow dragon pushed itself up onto four legs, and lifted its little head to listen. It turned in Joe’s direction.

  Through glittering green eyes, it gazed right at him.

  What could he do? What could he say? What did this creature need? Joe prayed it would be him. He had so much to give.

  Before Joe could do anything, Noah started whistling a three-note tune, and the dragon turned away from Joe to stare at him instead. Noah’s face was transformed by con­centration, leaning forwards, his honey-coloured hair falling across one eye, his cheeks pulled tight as he whistled.

  No, it couldn’t be. Not him. Anyone but him.

  Surely this dragon wouldn’t listen to Noah?

  Noah was just pretending. He must be.

  Joe tried to remember a tune, any tune, something from music class. His mind went blank. No, not now, when he needed it most.

  ‘Please?’ he begged in a whisper.

  The world held its breath. Everyone in the whole city watched and waited.

  The yellow dragon inhaled.

  Joe could see its scaly ribs, glistening with egg sheen.

  It chirped the three notes back at Noah.

  Noah laughed and opened his hands, as the dragon started crawling towards him. Then he spared a moment to shoot a glance at Joe: full of triumph.

  Joe knew he should feel some compassion. Noah had lost his father: didn’t he deserve a dragon of his own? He inhaled slowly, trying to smother his envy and kindle some kindness for his classmate.

  There were still two eggs.

  Joe stared at them. He poured all his thoughts in that direction: all his focus, all his love, all his strength.

  The pale purple eggs waited on their cushions.

  Come on, eggs. Can you hear me? He willed it, harder than anything he’d ever felt before. Surely one of these was his? His dream had told him so.

  Just then, the purple eggs started to move.

  It was time for the remaining two dragons to hatch.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  There was a pause. It lasted years. Joe’s heart thumped painfully in his chest.

  He stared at the lilac-coloured eggs. They were rocking slightly. He wasn’t the only one who noticed. An excited ripple passed through the crowd. The rocking increased. Both eggs were moving rhythmically, back and forth, back and forth.

  Joe stole a glance at Isak: even he looked surprised. This hadn’t happened before.

  Suddenly the pale purple eggs rolled towards each other and collided with a crunch, shattering apart. Joe craned his neck to see.

  ‘Oh!’ That was Conor, over to Joe’s right, sounding more excited than he’d ever heard him.

  ‘Careful!’ That was Amina, sitting to his left, her face more tender and gentle than he’d ever seen before.

  From the broken shards, the dragons emerged and this time they headed for each other. Their bodies became entwined, squirming, damp, palest purple.

  As one, Joe’s best friends responded, calling out two different names in the same instant.

  ‘Maric!’ said Amina.

  ‘Ariel!’ called Conor.

  No, no, no. Joe’s heart twisted violently, in envy and bitter disappointment.

  The dragons listened to his friends. Like mirror images of each other, they lifted their heads and opened their mouths to mew hoarsely in reply.

  Isak glanced at Milla, who gave a tiny tilt of her head, then Isak nodded to Amina and Conor in his turn. Joe’s brother awarded the purple dragons to his friends.

  Amina and Conor scrambled up and lifted the two lilac dragons to their hearts.

  And just like that, it was all over.

  Joe’s dreams were over.

  Five children nursed five baby dragons.

  Joe sat there, his hands empty, feeling his heart crack. No dragon wanted him.

  Lanys threw herself at Ravenna, tears pouring down her face. ‘Ravenna, you’re back. Oh, well done, well done, you brilliant dragon.’

  ‘Lanys, you were supposed to await my word,’ Isak called out, sounding tense. ‘Now you may welcome back your dragon.’

  Lanys scowled at him mutinously, but then Ravenna pressed her huge black scaly head against her person’s chest, to be embraced, praised, thanked, and she was lost in the reunion.

  Joe found himself on his feet, swaying slightly.

  The others turned to him, puzzled. There was a heartbeat of time when he teetered there on the edge. He could pull back, sit down, apologise, let the ceremony continue.

  But he didn’t.

  It wasn’t fair. What about him? What about his dream?

  Why didn’t any dragon want him?

  He would have done anything, given everything. He needed a dragon so badly it hurt. He’d never wanted any­thing else. He couldn’t do anything else, or be anything else. He was born to be a dragonrider. So why did none of the dragons want him?

  His future was a slammed door, leaving him bewildered.

  He couldn’t bear to see Conor and Amina sitting there, their lives secure for ever now. And they didn’t even need this! They had other plans, working with their families, all laid out. And most of all, he couldn’t look at Noah.

  ‘Sit down, Jowan!’ Isak ordered.

  No one ever used Joe’s full name.

  ‘We’re not finished.’ Isak looked stonily at him.

  Joe hardly heard him. He stood there, legs trembling.

  Noah sniggered in the silence, and whispered, ‘Happy birthday, Joe,’ just loud enough for him to hear.

  From that spark, Joe’s fury and disappointment swelled, then exploded. It burned like wildfire, out of control. He felt rage, fiery and vengeful, boiling up like lava and poisoning all his thoughts.

  ‘I’m going!’ The words were out before Joe knew it. He heard all the other Potentials gasp, heard it echo round the wider crowd.

  ‘You must sit down, Joe. Right now,’ Isak said tightly.

  ‘I’m FINISHED!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve had enough!’ Joe saw his parents’ faces in a blur: aghast, humiliated, the opposite of proud. Well, they didn’t need to worry about him any more: he was leaving.

  He started blundering away, blinded by tears of anger.

  ‘No!’ a voice squeaked by his feet. It was Flavia, the little Sartolan girl, huddling away from him, clutching the cream-coloured dragon to her chest.

  For one awful moment, he imagined stamping on the girl and her dragon, pictured his feet crushing the hatchling’s tender limbs. He wanted to make someone hurt the way he was hurting, lost in the white-heat of his rage.

  The little girl whimpered in fr
ight, and the tiny dragon tumbled from her arms, right into Joe’s path.

  Joe snarled in response, standing over the baby dragon. He drew back his right leg.

  He heard a deep growl behind him and felt the air grow warm as Ravenna kindled flame in her chest. No! How did she know? He hadn’t done it. He hadn’t done anything. The heat built up, but Joe couldn’t move.

  ‘No!’ a new voice shrieked. ‘Stop her kindling, Lanys! Do it now. Stop her!’

  From the corner of his eye, he saw his cousin Milla rush­ing forwards, putting herself between him and a potential blast of flame from this protective mother dragon.

  ‘Hold, Ravenna!’ Lanys cried to her dragon. ‘Stop it.’

  But it was too late: the black dragon had already kindled and her chest was blushing with flame. She opened her mouth and the fire burst out.

  Joe was glued to the spot. The flames rushed towards him. At the last moment, he flinched away, bending low, hands over head. He felt the heat bite his skin, smelled the sharp acrid stink of burning hair. He rolled and slapped the flames out before real damage was done.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Milla leaning in and pushing the black dragon’s head upwards, so that the jet of flame shot straight up into the air.

  ‘Aie!’ Milla screamed, ducking down and plunging her fingers into a bowl of spring water. She’d burned herself, touching Ravenna’s throat. She’d burned herself saving Joe’s life.

  The other dragons crowded close, circling Milla, while Iggie sprang to her defence. Iggie growled and bared his teeth, furious with Ravenna for hurting Milla. They faced off: blue dragon and black dragon, wings spread, jaws open.

  Ravenna flamed again.

  Iggie ducked his huge head, just in time, and the flag behind him caught fire.

  The sacred ceremony fell into chaos. Children started crying. People turned to flee, screaming, bunching up so tightly that some got crushed in the stampede.

  Isak was gathering all the newly bonded and their hatch­lings to him, and his dragon, Belara, joined him now to protect them, golden wings spread wide.

  Duke Vigo was bellowing for calm, but the smoke made him cough and his words were lost.

  Tarya and Rosa both had their swords drawn. They were shouting orders to their troops, marching in from the sides of the square, but the dragons blocked their way. They couldn’t reach those who needed them most.

  ‘Help!’ a desperate voice cried. ‘My son! He’s getting trampled! Get back. Oh, help us!’

  But no one listened as the crowd surged away, trying to escape the dragons and the fire.

  And suddenly the Brotherhood were there, black-clad men at the back of the marketplace. Some were hauling people up to safety, while others shouted insults at Duke Vigo and Joe’s sister.

  ‘Some duke you are!’ one called. ‘Letting this happen? You’re not fit to rule.’

  ‘A general who can’t calm her kid brother?’ yelled another. ‘She can’t lead an army, not in her state, not ever!’

  One of them stood apart, watching Joe, watching the chaos.

  Joe had done this. Shame filled him and fuelled his escape. He pushed through the panicking crowd, moving against the tide, away from the city. People turned from him. Their faces told him he was a monster. Horrified, he shouldered his way through, faster and faster, his breath coming in gasps, his whole body surging with fiery anger and remorse.

  His new white jacket ripped. He was glad. These ridiculous clothes marked him out for what he was now: a failure. A waddler. He was leaving. He couldn’t go home, not now, not after seeing his parents’ horror-stricken faces. He couldn’t ever follow his friends to the dragonhall, not without a dragon of his own.

  Joe rushed away from the ceremony he’d ruined, knowing that what he had done was something he could never take back.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Joe didn’t know where he was going. Driven by anger and guilt, he ran on, on, on, through the deserted docks of Arcosi baking in the hot sun. He’d never seen the city so quiet. The only noise was his clattering footsteps, echoing round the narrow, twisting streets.

  He reached the edge of the city, where the houses and shops gave way to warehouses overlooking the harbour. His father still owned some of these. He couldn’t think about him now. He pushed on, further west, to where the buildings ended. He crossed the shallow beach where he’d learned to swim, his tired feet slowed by the soft golden sand. He had only good memories of this place – playing in the surf; chasing shoals of little silver fish through clear blue sea; swimming right out to the ancient weathered rocks that edged the beach, their worn arches like a sea serpent’s coils turned to stone. But today the beauty of the place only taunted him. It belonged to his past life, and that was gone.

  He turned and began to climb up the rocky headland, till he knew he was invisible from the beach. He didn’t stop till he was deep in the wildest part of the island. There, perched high on the steep slope, he finally stopped. He had used up all his anger. He felt finished.

  He could hear nothing except the cries of distant gulls. He could see nothing but sea and sky, feel only the springy grass and rock beneath him. Then he curled up in a tight ball and covered his head with his injured hands. His skin was on fire, burning with agony, but it felt like a fitting punishment. His hope was crushed. His future was gone. He didn’t even know who he was any more. Someone who turned from his friends? Someone who couldn’t be glad for them? Someone who thought of killing a baby dragon and caused harm to innocent people? He couldn’t forget the look in their eyes as they ran in terror.

  Joe lay there for hours, till the sky turned violet and full of shadows, warning of a storm.

  Eventually he found the energy to sit up, feeling like a sea-scoured shell; so empty, he was barely there. He swal­lowed hard. His throat hurt. His lips were cracked and dry. He was hungry and desperately thirsty. He felt through his pockets, but he had nothing to eat.

  He looked around him. Further to the north, there were some small, shrubby bushes. He crawled over, and saw with relief the orange clusters of sea-buckthorn berries, cling­ing to the wind-gnarled branches. He tore them off – bitter sourness bursting in his mouth – till his stomach ached and his burned fingers were bloody from the spikes between the fruit. His head cleared after he’d eaten, just enough to think about the next step. If he was going to survive – and a small stubborn instinct told him he must – he had to find shelter for the night.

  Above him there was a rocky overhang with black shadows pooling underneath. Was it a cave? As he looked, a fragment of shadow detached itself and flew in a crazy, skittering loop in the dark blue sky. A bat! So it must be a cave. It would be dry and safe.

  Joe clambered up, towards the dark mouth of the cave. The last part was very steep, and he didn’t dare look back. With burning arms and wobbling legs, he dragged himself up, till grass became gravel then rock under his fingertips. The cave mouth was larger than he expected, so he stood up and walked in. Eyes wide in the pitch-black, he could see nothing. He felt as if he’d gone blind. But it was dry and cool inside, sandy underfoot. He stopped and listened. He felt the quality of the space change. The air on his face was moving. Beyond the entrance, this cave was large.

  ‘Argh!’ Something brushed past his face. His heart was pounding so loud he couldn’t think past it. It’s a bat, he told himself. Just another bat. When his heart calmed, he heard them from over to his right, a busy, distant sound. A thou­sand high-pitched squeaks. There must be a whole colony of bats in there. He didn’t mind. He liked birds and animals; he’d always found them easier than people.

  Joe had no light and he didn’t want to get lost, so he didn’t go far. The cave widened and there was a bed of sand to his left. He knelt and patted his way round the curve in the rock. It was just big enough for him. A boy-shaped bed for the night. He let himself collapse on it. Finally the terri­ble day was over.

  When Joe woke, moonlight was streaming in through the entrance to the cave
. He groaned, stiff and cold, the burned skin on his neck and hands still flaring painfully. He made himself crawl back outside, then stood and stretched the cramp from his legs and shook himself awake again. It was almost as light as day, the full moon shining down, casting a pearly reflection on the inky-dark sea. This was the perfect chance, he realised numbly. He could go back home without being seen.

  He felt like a ghost, slipping through the empty streets. He saw only a cat and, once, a shadow flickering at the corner of his eye, but when he turned there was nothing there. He avoided the main gate by climbing up the back wall, into the garden. He fell on his knees by the kitchen well. He thrust his hands under the pure cold water and kept them there till the burning finally stopped. Then Joe filled a bucket and drank the whole thing greedily, spilling it down himself, till his stomach complained. Afterwards, he stood and looked around.

  He could hear the quiet murmur of the night watchman talking to someone at the main gate.

  The house was quiet, the lights out. Everyone must be asleep.

  He could go to his parents and beg forgiveness.

  But then he remembered what he’d done.

  And what he’d almost done.

  No. He found himself unable to move.

  Today, he’d meant to make them proud. Instead, he’d brought shame on them, and on his sister and brother.

  After today, his family was better off without him.

  He saw it now. He was the odd one out. His parents had Tarya, the island’s general. They had Isak, its Head Dragonguard. They had Milla, heir to the ancient blood­line of Arcosi, who’d planned the revolution that brought Duke Vigo to power. They didn’t need a disgrace like Joe, a spoiled, angry child. No. Until he had done something worthwhile, something to make up for today, he had to stay away.