Rise of the Dragons, Page 2

  Bellacrux settled onto the cushions, hooked a delicate talon around a lamb’s tongue, and dropped it into her mouth, while excited thoughts went spinning through her mind: A Silver! A Silver would change everything …

  Joss Moran woke with a start. He lay on his narrow plank bed in his shepherd’s hut and stared, terrified, up at the roof. A synchronized swish-oosh, swish-oosh, swish-oosh of wingbeats was making his wheeled hut rock like a boat at sea.

  There were dragons overhead.

  With his heartbeat thudding in his ears, Joss lay stone still, afraid that any movement he made might somehow attract the dragons’ attention—and the dragons flying above were not the kind you wanted any attention from, ever. For Joss knew from the rhythmic, military timing of their wingbeats that this was a flight of Raptors.

  Joss thought of the sheep he had corralled at twilight and hoped they didn’t panic and break out of their camouflaged pen. A flight of Raptors could destroy a flock in minutes—and take their shepherd with them. Although Joss figured that if the Raptors got his sheep, it would be best if they got him too: He didn’t care to think what would happen to him if he lost Seigneur and Madam Zoll’s precious sheep.

  To Joss’s relief, the Raptors passed quickly overhead, and soon the air was still and quiet once more. He pulled his scratchy blanket around him and thought of happier days, when not all dragons he encountered were vicious Raptors. When his parents were alive, he had known many gentle dragons who had actually liked humans. There had been a young Yellow, a delicate sand dragon, who had taught him the basics of dragonsong, but on the very day that the Yellow had offered to give him his first dragon flight—something Joss had longed for—a flight of Raptors had killed his parents, the sand dragon, and all her baby siblings.

  Joss pushed down his longing for the old, happy times and closed his eyes—but as soon as he did, a terrifying image came into his mind: the three-pronged tattoo on the white underbellies of the Raptors as they dived onto his mother and father, and the shine of their sharpened talons as, curved and lethal, they emerged from their sheaths for the kill. Joss wriggled down beneath the blanket and began to chant the soothing sounds of dragonsong to himself. Soon the lullaby that the sand dragon had once crooned to her baby sisters sent him tumbling into a deep, and happily dreamless, sleep.

  It felt like only seconds later when the light of the rising sun pouring in through the gaps in the hut’s planks woke him. Joss tumbled blearily out of bed, splashed some icy water over his face to shock himself awake, and pulled his fingers through his tangled dark curls. Then he opened the flimsy door to his hut and looked out onto a beautiful morning.

  The hut sat in the center of an ancient stone circle. Joss had pushed it there himself, because he had felt safe there, as if the great standing stones were guardians watching over him—although when he thought about it, that made no sense at all. But not a lot in Joss’s world did make sense when he thought about it, and he generally made a point of not thinking if he could possibly help it. And in particular, Joss did not think about the nineteen years of indentures that both he and his sister, Allie, had still to serve the Zolls.

  Joss smiled at the scene before him. The air was clear and crisp and there was a dusting of frost on the ground. Five great standing stones rose up some twenty yards in front of him, catching the first rays of the sun, the tiny crystals trapped within them glittering like diamonds. Beyond his sparkling guardians a series of gentle hills rose up, sprinkled white with frost, their tops tinged with the pink of the sunrise. Joss shivered; he was skinny and felt the cold badly, and his threadbare jerkin and trousers were no match for the morning’s icy chill. He grabbed his blanket and tied it around his neck as a makeshift cloak and hurried down the steps, touching his worn circular doorstep for luck. Then he set off toward the sheep pen.

  Joss was walking across the open ground when, to his horror, he saw dark in the pale morning sky the telltale arrow of the Raptor flight returning. He hurled himself onto the short, springy grass and curled up beneath his blanket, shaking with fear.

  The air began to shudder with the vibrations of synchronized wingbeats. The flight was so low that Joss could hear the wheeze of dragon breath and the creaking of the wings and he braced himself, convinced that the next thing he would feel would be the stab of the razor-sharp claws—he knew only too well that no Raptor would pass up the chance of easy human prey. But Joss was lucky; the Raptors had their claws full. If he had dared look up, he would have seen that each dragon carried an iridescent green egg—except for the youngest dragon, a Blue, at the rear of the flight. His egg was a delicate silvery gray.

  At the head of the flight, Edward Lennix felt triumphant. “Well, Decimus,” he said. “That was a grand night. We cleared that nest right out.”

  Winged a few Greens too, Lennix, his Lock replied.

  “The flight must have their fun,” Edward replied. “And I do believe we got D’Mara’s Silver trinket. I saw that young Blue pick it up along with a pile of dragon dirt.”

  Ha! Dragon dirt, came his Lock’s chuckle. That will teach him to be so timid. You raid a nest, you go in fast and focused. It’s no good hopping around the edge like a constipated chicken.

  Edward smiled. Decimus had a fine turn of phrase that always amused him. He glanced back at the old shepherd’s hut rocking on its chassis and the terrified shepherd boy cowering under his cloak pretending to be a rock, and Edward Lennix laughed out loud—on a morning like this, it felt good to be a Lennix.

  As the flight cleared the hills beyond the stone circle, the young Blue, whose name was Ramon, looked down at the spoils clutched in his talons. It had been dark when the Raptors had raided the nest, and Ramon had not noticed the difference in egg color. But now the rising sun revealed the awful truth—he had made a terrible mistake. He had picked up a rock. He thought of the ridicule that returning with a rock would attract and, deciding that he would rather be thought slippery-taloned than stupid, he decided to get rid of it. And so, as Ramon flew over the hill that rose up behind the sheepfold, he let go of his burden and flew on, hoping no one had noticed.

  From beneath his blanket, Joss felt a distant thud upon the ground. He froze. Had a Raptor landed? Was it now thundering down the hill, wings outstretched, teeth shining with dragon spit at the thought of its breakfast waiting for it on the grass? Joss felt weak with fear. He knew he should get up and run, but where could he go? There was nowhere. He was alone and defenseless and there was nothing he could do about it. He lay waiting for the terrifying roar of a Raptor about to feed, but after a little bit Joss grew brave enough to warily raise the edge of the blanket and peer out. He gave a sigh of relief: There was no slavering Raptor waiting to eat him. Indeed, the flight was miles away now, no more than a distant V-shaped speck in the sky heading toward the dark, jagged line of mountains on the horizon.

  Joss stumbled to his feet and, shielding his eyes against the slanting rays of the sun, he saw to his astonishment a large rock hurtling down the hillside toward him. Spurred on by the steep slope, the rock was gathering momentum, bouncing its way rapidly down the slope, somersaulting as it went. Fascinated, Joss stared, and it was only when the rock hit an outcrop and launched itself into the air that it occurred to him that he ought to get out of its way. And so, with the rock winging toward him like an ancient cannonball, Joss at last sprinted out of its path. There was a heavy thump, and the rock landed in the grass and came to a halt.

  Intrigued, Joss hurried over and knelt down to get a closer look. The rock was shaped like a huge egg but was rough and pitted, with a deep crack running across its middle, caused, Joss guessed, by the fall. He looked more closely and saw that it was not just a boring gray, but was covered with small silvery speckles that glinted when the sun caught them. Allie would love it, he thought. Joss was stroking one of the speckles, thinking how smooth it felt, when he snatched his hand away as if stung and leapt to his feet. Something inside was moving. As Joss hung back, staring at the rock, he he
ard a sound from deep within: tap-tap-tap … tappity tap tap … tap tappy tap …

  Fascinated—but also just a little bit scared—Joss watched the deep crack begin to widen and saw within its shadows a flash of brilliant silver. Then, shockingly, a sharp blade like a dagger was thrust out into the sunlight. Joss jumped backward, lost his balance, and sat down hard on the ground, but not once did he take his eyes off the rock. Rapt, he watched the dagger saw its way along the crack, up and down, up and down, slowly opening up the space. The sensible part of Joss told him to run, to get out of the way fast before whoever or whatever was holding the dagger jumped out of the rock, but something held him there, enthralled. And then, when the silver dagger pushed its way out and revealed itself to be a sharp egg tooth on the tip of a tiny silver dragon snout, Joss knew exactly why he hadn’t run—the battered gray rock was a dragon egg.

  Now the smooth head of a silver dragon began to push its way out. Joss knelt down, cradling the surprisingly heavy head and supporting the infant dragon as it struggled to push the thick shell of the egg apart with its two short front legs helped by its shockingly long, curved silver claws. And then, in a sudden, slippery rush, the silver dragon was free and Joss was right there, catching the tiny damp, shiny creature before it hit the ground. Feeling happier than he could ever remember, he gazed into the silver dragon’s deep green eyes. “Hello,” he whispered. “My name’s Joss.”

  Joss. Like an echo, his name came back into his thoughts. It felt, Joss thought, as though the dragon was saying it. But he told himself that was not possible. Joss, the voice came again. And then, more excited, Joss, Joss! Hello.

  Joss smiled at the little dragon in his arms. “Hey, is that you?” he asked.

  Yes, yes, it’s me! The voice came, fast and squeaky, tumbling into his thoughts. Joss, it’s me—Lysander!

  Just before dawn Sirin woke, cold and uncomfortable on the sofa. And alone. She leapt up, suddenly fearful that Mum had already gone. “Mum … Mum. Are you there, Mum?” she called out, hurtling down the corridor.

  “Sirin?” Her mother’s voice came faintly from the tiny kitchen. Sirin pushed the door open to find Mum sitting at the rickety little table with Sammi ensconced happily on her lap. “Hello, sweetheart,” her mother said. “What are you doing up so early?”

  “I woke up and you weren’t there,” Sirin said. She saw her mother’s eyes tear up and she hurriedly added, “So I came to find you. Shall I make us a coffee—a real one? The kind you used to have back home when you were little?”

  Her mother smiled wistfully. “That would be lovely, sweetie,” she said, “but I don’t think we have any.”

  “We do!” Sirin said triumphantly. “I got some yesterday. Specially for you.”

  Sirin reached into the back of the food cupboard and took out a small brown paper packet. She peeled back its dark blue sticker and opened it up. With the rich smell of ground coffee filling her senses, Sirin took the packet over to her mother. Mum’s sense of smell was almost gone now, but Sirin knew she could still smell coffee if she breathed in very deeply. Sirin watched her mother lift the open packet to her face and inhale luxuriantly. A smile spread over her face. “Ah, Sirin. It’s a lovely blend you’ve got there. It smells of … mmm … sweet things and sunshine.”

  Sirin glanced up at the window at the gray dawn light trying to filter through the grime. They needed all the sunshine they could get, she thought.

  Sirin set about making coffee just how she and Mum liked it. Confidently, she put the finely ground coffee and three spoons of sugar into their tiny copper pot with its long handle and topped it up with water. And then, just as Mum had taught her, she held the pot carefully over the gas flame and watched the thick mixture bubble up, taking it away just before it overflowed. Three times Sirin did this, contentedly aware of her mother’s approving gaze following her every movement.

  And then, with Sammi purring quietly, Sirin and her mother sat together in the little kitchen—warm now from making the coffee—sipping the thick, sweet liquid from a pair of delicate cups that had once belonged to Mum’s own mother.

  If Sirin could have frozen time right then, she would have done so. But coffee grows cold and time moves relentlessly on and Sirin knew that every second was taking them closer to the buzz on the door phone and the ambulance men coming up in the elevator, bringing their chair to take Mum away.

  Joss’s sister, Allie, was also up before dawn. She slept in the kitchen outhouse in the backyard of the Zolls’ compound, and if she did not get up to give the yard geese their grain, they began honking at sunrise—and there was nothing Madam Zoll hated more than to be woken from the depths of her feather bed by disagreeable geese.

  Allie fed the geese and then began on her mountain of tasks for the day. She lit the range, fetched water from the well, set and lit the big fire in the great hall, and then began the only task she looked forward to: preparing the shepherd’s basket. Allie had strict instructions about what was to go in the basket: no meat, no bread less than three days old, no butter, no fresh milk, and absolutely nothing sweet. Scared as she was of Madam Zoll, this was the one time Allie defied her. Whatever good things she could find for Joss, he would have. This morning the basket was an especially good one: a thick slice of ham, two pickled onions, three bread rolls only a day old, a huge slab of cheese, two small apples, and the end of a fruit loaf.

  Smiling, Allie wrapped up the treasures in a cloth, fixed the top onto the basket, and hurried out of the kitchen only to run straight back in again—she had heard the unmistakable sound of an approaching flight of Raptors. Allie cowered in the shadows of the doorway as memories flooded her. Fiercely, she rubbed her eyes, telling herself that it was the dust swirling from the downdraft from the wings as the flight swept overhead that was making the tears prickle against her eyes, and she forced herself to look upward. She saw the trident tattoos on the white bellies of the dragons and the glint of stolen dragon eggs. I hate you, I hate you! Allie thought, with some difficulty pushing down the urge to scream it out loud, sending it up into the sky.

  Allie watched the flight until they were safely past Joss and his sheep and clearly heading home, then she took a deep breath and hurried across the wide, deserted compound in which the farmhouse sat within its high, metal-spiked walls. She glanced up at the watchtower, which Seigneur Zoll had built the previous year so he could shoot wolves—and anything else that annoyed him—from the comfort of his own armchair. To Allie’s relief, the tower was empty. She hated it when the seigneur followed her every step with his beady little black eyes.

  It was just over a mile across undulating open grassland to the stone circle, and Allie walked fast, watching the treacherous skies. But it was, despite the Raptors, a beautiful morning. The light frost crunched beneath her feet and the last of the stars were fading, leaving the sky pale and clear apart from a few pink clouds on the brightening horizon. The air smelled fresh and Allie’s spirits rose at the thought of seeing Joss. As soon as she rounded the foot of the hill that hid Joss from the prying eyes of the Zoll watchtower, she stopped and gazed down at the mysterious stone circle with Joss’s ramshackle old hut parked incongruously in the middle. A low shaft of light from the rising sun shone suddenly through a gap in the surrounding hills, illuminating the magnificent tall stones, making the crystals within sparkle. Allie was fascinated by the ancient stones, some of which were linked together like giant doorways, which she sometimes imagined as gateways to another world. And today, Allie thought as she breathed in the stillness, the place felt even more magical. It was, however, deserted. Usually Joss would be running to meet her, starving hungry and anxious for a fellow human being to talk to.

  A wave of fear washed over Allie as she headed down the path. Where was Joss?

  Allie broke into a run. Maybe, she told herself, just maybe he’s overslept. Her heart beating fast, she raced across the stone circle, her eyes locked on the hut. As she drew near, she saw the hut rock slightly upon its wheels. Re
lief flooded through her: Joss was in there—no doubt in a panic over waking late. Allie ran up the steps and threw open the door. “Hey!” she laughed. “You lazybones, you …” She stopped dead, her mouth fell open, and not another word came out.

  Joss looked up and grinned. At first, all Allie noticed was how happy her brother looked, as happy as when their parents were still alive. He was kneeling beside the pile of straw that served for his bed, and on the straw was a … a thing. All she could see was a brilliant silver metallic glint of smooth interlocking surfaces, which formed the shape of a creature. Maybe, Allie thought, Joss had found a suit of silver armor made for some kind of animal. She loved the brilliant green emeralds set in its little headpiece; they seemed so bright and natural that she could almost believe they were real eyes … Allie screamed. The eyes were real. They were looking straight at her.

  “It’s a dragon,” Joss whispered. “A silver dragon.” The glittering emerald eyes turned from their brief inspection of Allie back to the person they were really interested in: Joss. “He’s called Lysander,” Joss said.

  Allie stared in amazement—a dragon. A baby dragon so small it must be just out of its egg. And it was silver. Allie had no idea that a dragon could be silver. “But how … I mean where … where did you find it?” she stammered.

  “He was in an egg!” Joss said. “And it came rolling down the hill, straight to me. It was like he came to me specially. And you know what, Allie?” Joss’s eyes were shining. “After he hatched, I heard his voice in my mind. I really did. He said, ‘Hello, Joss!’ And he told me that his name is Lysander.”