Rise of the Shadow Dragons Page 7

  Then he saw the eggs.

  Winter picked up her lantern. Her hand shook, causing the light to flicker.

  Two scaly eggs lay nestled against folds of dark blue velvet, glowing slightly in the near darkness. One had a pattern of purple spots; the other was green, with stripes like a brindled hunting hound.

  For a moment, Joe could barely breathe. He blinked and checked again. It was real. Two eggs lay shimmering in the gloom.

  His eyes jumped straight to the purple spotted one. It was a deep dark violet. This was the purple from his dreams. He leaned forwards and ran his hand lightly over its ridges. Something sparked against his fingers, and he gasped.

  ‘What?’ Winter asked. ‘Did it hurt?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, pulling back and studying his hand. ‘It felt like … like pins and needles.’ He reached out again gingerly, but this time nothing happened.

  Winter joined him, staring down at the green striped egg with wonder and longing.

  Two of them. Two eggs.

  For a heartbeat, Joe dared to dream of a future where this purple egg hatched and whatever was inside it belonged to him. They weren’t dragon eggs, though: they were too small, and ridged all over, not smooth.

  He didn’t care if it wasn’t a dragon. He would love it anyway.

  A smile spread across his face. It was true, he realised. He cared desperately about this egg, in a way that hadn’t happened at the hatching ceremony.

  He memorised its pattern, its strange glittering lumines­cence. He’d seen this kind of light before, out at sea one evening on a trip beyond Sartola with his father. At night the ocean had been full of lights, as if the stars had fallen into the water. It was the same kind of glow, a moonlike night-time brightness that had nothing to do with the sun.

  He wriggled his fingers deeper, round the egg, and care­fully lifted it up.

  He was vaguely aware of Winter doing the same with the other egg, and gasping when she must’ve felt that tingle under her fingertips.

  ‘Hello, you,’ he said. It was heavier than it looked. It felt charged with potential. It wasn’t alive exactly, not yet, but it could be, Joe felt sure.

  He stared down at it.

  This egg was his.

  Suddenly everything made sense. Of course he’d failed at the ceremony! If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t be here now. He felt calm. He felt happy, for the first time in weeks.

  They stayed there for a long time.

  When they’d placed the eggs safely back in the casket, Winter and Joe turned to each other.

  ‘What do you think?’ he asked, gripping both her arms, giddy with excitement. ‘What are they?’

  ‘Not like any dragon eggs I’ve ever seen. Not like Jin’s egg – that was smoother and larger.’ Winter grimaced with pain then, her eyes full of shadows.

  ‘We need to find out. We need to know what they are, what they need, how to look after them.’ Joe’s head was spinning with new energy and ideas. He dropped Winter’s arms and started pacing up and down.

  She was nodding. ‘The city library, at the palace.’ Her voice was soft and faint. ‘We should try there.’

  Joe was about to agree with her. Then he remembered. ‘I can’t. I’m supposed to be dead, remember?’ But in the next moment, a new sense of purpose washed over him, and it was stronger than fear. For this egg, he could do it. He could do anything. ‘Wait. The tunnels go that far, don’t they? Could they get us into the palace grounds?’

  ‘Of course,’ Winter said, retreating and huddling against the wall as if she were cold. ‘You know the maps.’

  ‘Then we’ll find a way. Even if we have to break in. We’ll—’ He stopped dead, suddenly noticing she didn’t share his mood. ‘What’s wrong?’ He paused, taming his excitement. He took in her fearful expression, her hunched posture.

  From the moment she’d compared this egg to that of her lost dragon, Jin, Winter had seemed to slip away from him, battling against the shadows in her past.

  He should have realised. This was different for her. She’d lost one dragon. It was natural she would be anxious as well as protective of another egg.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he told her quietly. ‘They’re safe here, aren’t they? Let’s go home to our cave and make a plan.’ That’s how he thought of it now. As home.

  ‘Can you walk?’ Winter said, sounding worried.

  Joe stretched up in the warm damp air, surprised at how well his injured shoulder moved. He turned his head, this way and that. Nothing hurt any more. He felt better than ever.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I can. I don’t know how, but I can.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  They were too excited to sleep much, talking all night about the eggs and dozing lightly. Winter slipped out again in the early morning and returned a while later with a mismatched set of clothes for Joe. ‘Bought from four different stalls!’ she said, eyes wide and cheeks pink. ‘Will they fit?’

  ‘Let me try them on,’ Joe said, and, when she didn’t move, ‘on my own?’ He had to spell it out, feeling his face grow warmer.

  Winter shrugged and left the cave, returning when he called. She burst out laughing.

  ‘That bad?’ he said ruefully. ‘I’m tall, but not that tall.’ The fisherman’s trousers were baggy and faded blue, sagging softly over his feet, while the shirt came down almost to his knees. The large jacket was grey linen, finely tailored, though it swamped him, hiding his hands completely. His hair always curled up at the front like a duck’s tail – he’d never been able to tame it – but now he squashed it flat and tugged the navy cap low. That fit perfectly, at least. He didn’t mind; he was just glad to have something clean to wear.

  Winter hid her smile behind one hand. ‘I’ve got an old belt you can have. If we trim the trouser legs, fold back the sleeves, you’ll be fine. Mostly.’

  He couldn’t help laughing too, as he looked down. It felt good to be out of his old clothes, now piled in a stained heap in one corner.

  Winter held up her lantern and gave him a long glance, head to toe. ‘I can’t say no one will notice you, but – eyes down, walk slowly – they will never recognise you as Jowan Thornsen. Here, have some breakfast.’ She sat and unwrapped fresh cheese, crusty bread and dried apricots. ‘I changed one gold coin for coppers.’ She spoke with her mouth full and patted the bulging leather purse at her belt. ‘It’ll last for ages! We’re going to be eating much better now.’

  Joe sat down to join her, tucking the dragon-handled knife from Conor and the woven silk from Amina into the pockets of the jacket. They felt like good-luck charms: a connection to his past, even if he could never see his friends again. At the thought of them, his stomach churned, but he made himself think of the eggs and focus on their plan.

  Soon they were ready to head up to the library. They chose to go early in the day, to make the most of the daylight and spend as long as possible reading.

  They walked through the tunnels for what felt like hours. Winter led the way with her lamp, and Joe was pleased to note he’d learned the route by heart too, from memorising their maps.

  ‘We’re here!’ she said finally. She bent to unlatch a small iron door, only waist-high, and light streamed in. ‘When we go through, we’ll be in the palace grounds, near the stables.’ She put out the lanterns and placed them on the ground.

  ‘You do mean right inside? Beyond the walls?’ Joe had to double-check.

  ‘Joe, you know this, you carved the map,’ Winter said. She tapped the wall impatiently. ‘Are you ready?’

  His heart was beating fast. ‘Ready.’

  But he wasn’t. The daylight was dazzling as he stumbled out; after all those weeks underground, it hurt his eyes and sent tears streaming down his cheeks. He tripped and fell to his knees.

  ‘Quickly, before anyone sees us,’ Winter hissed, pulling him upright. ‘Just walk, can’t you?’

  Somehow Joe made his feet obey. His shirt stuck to his back, damply. His legs were wobbling. He squinted
against the sunshine, shading his face with his hand.

  ‘I can’t … I can’t. It’s too much.’ His chest felt tight, like a water flask about to burst. He gripped Winter’s arm, as if he were drowning, sucking in cool air.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said. Her voice was steady and warm, as if she were calming a spooked horse. ‘Not far now. One more step. And another.’

  Slowly, the panic receded. Joe stood a little taller and looked around them for the first time. They were walk­ing through the palace gardens, past the dragonhalls – the ancient one from the olden days, and the newer ones that made up Arcosi’s dragonschool. The gardens were full of city folk taking a break in the shade. People were sitting on benches, or strolling through the gardens, past the fountains splashing cool water and the late-blooming roses that filled the air with their rich sweet scent.

  Normal life was happening, to other people. Joe felt like a ghost, watching the living. His old life was gone, and he felt miles away from all the ordinary people of Arcosi.

  The dragonhalls were built in a horseshoe shape with the oldest one in the middle. Its door was open, and Joe could see his sister Tarya’s red dragon, Heral, dozing there. The newer halls had their doors closed and Joe heard Isak’s voice in the middle of a lesson.

  Isak! His brother was right there. Where Joe had longed to be for so long.

  He remembered how angry Isak had been on Hatching Day. Joe had shamed him in the worst possible way. He’d ruined the sacred ceremony that Isak had so carefully organised, people had been injured, Milla had been burned. Any of the hatchlings might have been hurt, or killed in the stampede, all because of him. And since the Great Loss, every baby dragon was more precious than ever.

  He stood still, fighting the urge to run to Isak and beg forgiveness.

  No, Joe had to stay dead. He had to keep up this sacri­fice, for his family’s sake.

  ‘Come on, Joe,’ Winter whispered. ‘Let’s keep moving. Remember why we’re here.’

  She was right. He was on a different path now, and it had led him to his purple egg. He held his head a little higher and started walking.

  The library was in one of the turrets of the palace itself – that ancient stone castle with four towers, the palace of the four winds. Even though he’d been coming here all his life, it still took Joe’s breath away: the curving stone buttresses that braced the main building like ribs; all the stone carvings of stars and dragons, fishes and flames; and then, as he headed for the steps, he crossed the famous black dragon mosaic that dated back to the time of the old kings.

  They slipped inside, walking softly across the polished floors.

  Going into the library felt like coming home. Joe had always loved it here. He’d spent hours as a small boy leafing through the old books that Isak let him touch – the ones with the vivid paintings of other lands, of high seas or frozen mountains, tangled forests and stalking tigers. He loved its curved walls lined with books, the way light slanted down from the high windows. He loved the odd stepladders built on two wheels, to be moved from shelf to shelf, so he could reach even the highest books, and he’d tested those ladders to their limits. Why had he stopped coming? He couldn’t remember. Only that in recent years, there had been other things to do.

  There was a large grey-haired woman in flowing robes reading at the librarian’s desk. She smiled a warm greeting. ‘Come in, come in.’

  ‘Hello, Susanna,’ Winter said.

  ‘Morning, Winter, we haven’t seen you in a few weeks.’

  ‘Been busy,’ Winter mumbled and shuffled off inside.

  Then Susanna turned to Joe and asked brightly, ‘First visit?’

  Face burning, throat dry, Joe gulped. ‘Er, hello. Yes, yes, it’s my first visit,’ he lied.

  ‘Let me know if I can help with anything,’ Susanna said, peering over her eyeglasses.

  ‘Thank you!’ Fizzy with relief, he said, ‘Please can you help me? I’m, er …’ What could he say? ‘I’m researching … rare animals!’

  Susanna looked quizzical. ‘Can you narrow it down?’

  ‘I mean, myths! Or maybe a mixture of animals and myths? Things that hatch from eggs, but not typical dragons.’ He was babbling again.

  She pointed towards the back of the library and Joe scut­tled away in that direction. People of all ages were dotted around the room, poring over books. It had that special, in­tense kind of quiet: a mixture of calmness and concentration.

  In the old days, Duke Olvar had kept the library a secret, hoarding the books for his own use. Now every person in Arcosi was welcome to visit here and read anything they liked. Joe’s brother, Isak, had added to the old duke’s collec­tion, buying more books and scrolls from around the world, travelling with his golden dragon Belara to trade for rare manuscripts in distant lands.

  He’d added an inner circle of smaller shelves, and it was behind one of these that Joe found Winter, lying on the floor reading, concealed in the shadows.

  She showed him where she’d just started her research, and he set to work on a different section.

  They spent the whole day leafing through old books and papers.

  ‘Have you found anything?’ Joe asked after a few hours, daring to lift his hat off and scratch his head, checking no one was looking in their direction.

  Winter’s head drifted up and her eyes lost their faraway look. ‘Maybe.’ She put her book down, stretching till her shoulders clicked. ‘I’ve been reading one legend … have you heard of shadow dragons before? It says they hatch from eggs, like other dragons, but they’re linked somehow to volcanoes.’

  ‘Volcanoes? That doesn’t sound good.’

  ‘Where is there a volcano, anyway?’ Winter asked. ‘Not on the island.’

  ‘Out at sea, maybe?’ Joe said vaguely. ‘I remember some­thing from school: Mount Bara – isn’t that a volcano?’

  ‘Surely a volcano would destroy everything. I don’t understand …’ Winter said. ‘Let me ask the librarian for help.’

  Joe watched her from the other side of the room, keeping his face low. He could just hear them murmuring.

  ‘Hmm. Shadow dragons. Yes!’ Susanna sat taller. ‘That’s a rare one. Now where have I heard that before? Bear with me. Let me check something, and I’ll come and find you in a moment.’ The librarian started looking through a huge catalogue behind her desk, intent on her search.

  Winter returned, and they read and read until it started to grow dark.

  Eventually, Susanna came to find them, holding a book bound in soft honey-coloured leather, with one finger marking a particular page. ‘Here! I found it at last. I’ll leave it with you. Bring it back to me before you go, please.’

  ‘We will. Thank you.’ Joe took it carefully, as Winter’s hands were full of books.

  ‘I need to go and light the lamps. We’ll be closing soon, all right? Not long now.’

  He gazed down at the book in his hands. The spine was stamped in gold, and its pages were thick and yellowed with age. He opened it. The first page was hand-lettered in old script, with gorgeous scarlet flames encircling the words: Rare Beasts of the Ancient World.

  Joe spoke and read both of his parents’ languages: his mother’s Sartolan, which was spoken all over the region; and Norlandish, from his father’s distant homelands. This book was written in an old-fashioned kind of Sartolan.

  He found the page that Susanna had indicated, and traced his fingers over the image. Finally!

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ‘Look! Look at this picture!’ Joe whispered to Winter.

  The page was quartered, and each of the four parts was vividly illustrated. One was full of fiery flames, with its sunset-tinted sky giving way to clearer blue in the other top quarter. The lower left had surging waves, leading to a rocky shore with deep caves in the last quarter. The long-dead scribe who’d created this page had painstakingly lettered a little banner on each section.

  Joe read out: ‘Fire. Air. Water. Earth.’

  I
n the watery section, the ocean was finely coloured in blue, green and grey, teeming with underwater life: fish, a huge whale and a dragon.

  A dragon, underwater? An indigo dragon, dark purplish blue, swimming with its wings folded on its back.

  ‘Look, there’s an egg.’ It was Winter who saw it, in the rocky cave section.

  They studied it hungrily, passing it between them and holding it close to focus in the dim light.

  Joe peered closer. ‘It looks like our eggs. We’re on the right path!’ He could clearly see a pattern on its surface, a zigzag, in orange this time, and the ancient artist had managed to convey the strange luminous colour. ‘Do you think … our eggs might be … shadow dragons?’

  ‘Shadow dragons!’ Winter breathed. Their eyes met. Hers were dancing with excitement. ‘Is there more?’ she asked, and he turned another page.

  Joe stared, running one finger along the lines.

  ‘What does it say? Read it out,’ Winter urged him. ‘We need to know everything!’

  Joe whispered it slowly, puzzling out the old-fashioned language:

  ‘In the island’s secret heart,

  From liquid flame, there comes a spark.

  With fire and water, earth and air,

  Forged in the ocean’s hidden lair,

  A broken heart will dare it all,

  Take the leap and risk the fall.

  From ash and bone, new life will rise,

  Shadow dragons roam the skies!’

  ‘What does it mean?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know …’ Joe read it again. He didn’t like the sound of ash and bone – it sounded too much like dead things. He muttered the words again, trying to carve them on his memory. Then he recalled a half-forgotten lesson from school, wishing he’d paid more attention. ‘These are the four elements. Didn’t the ancients believe everything was made up of them?’

  He looked at Winter. She’d gone to the city school once too, like all the children of Arcosi. He guessed that Winter was about eleven when she bonded with her dragon, Jin, and moved into the dragonschool. So she’d had a whole year at the dragonschool before Jin and the other dragons got sick and died.