Rise of the Shadow Dragons

by Liz Flanagan

  She wouldn’t want to talk about it. But he had to ask.

  ‘When you were at the dragonschool, you must have learned things like this. What do you remember – about other kinds of dragons?’

  Winter’s face was illuminated by one of the ornate metal lanterns hanging in the window: half was lit by soft orange light; the other half was lost in shadow. ‘Don’t. I can’t speak of then.’

  Joe felt his excitement turn to frustration. She’d been one of the lucky ones, one of the dragonbonded. Why couldn’t she share those secrets, for the sake of these eggs?

  Winter’s eyes filled with tears. She looked at him, plead­ing, as tears overspilled and ran down one cheek, like molten gold.

  Joe remembered the egg, waiting for him. He already knew he would do anything for it. His mind made a leap, daring to dream of a future with a dragon. How would he feel if that dragon died? He couldn’t even imagine. It was too much. Darkness and dust. Would he be strong enough to keep living? He wasn’t sure. ‘I’m sorry.’ He let out a long slow sigh, feeling his anger subside. He looked at Winter, not sure what to say. If it had been Amina or Conor, he’d have tried a joke, but this was Winter – a mysterious girl, cloaked in shadows.

  Winter’s face crumpled, and she jumped to her feet and fled, leaving Joe to curse himself yet again.

  Joe ran after her – earning a glare from Susanna as he thrust the precious book at her, mouthing thank you – but Winter was faster than him.

  Outside, in the cool night air, he watched her disappear into the shadows, heading for the stables and the secret door to the tunnels.

  Should he follow or not? He decided that Winter prob­ably needed to be alone, without his clumsy attempts to apologise.

  Instead, he used the cover of darkness to go somewhere he knew he shouldn’t. He began sneaking through the palace gardens, listening out for the guards’ footsteps.

  Three times he heard the guards approaching; three times he hid. It wasn’t hard to avoid them. His sister was usually more strict with her patrols than that. Was the island’s army growing careless? Today it suited him, but Joe worried what it meant for Tarya. Was her pregnancy stopping her from working, or had Rosa taken over already? Either way, things were different.

  Without admitting to himself where he was going, Joe tip­toed closer and closer towards the dragonschool of Arcosi, its tall wooden buildings looming in the darkness. Each was home to a clutch of dragons. Each clutch and their people shared a special bond, like a family. He wondered which one Winter and her dragon Jin had lived in.

  The nearest dragonhall had its doors ajar and Joe peeked inside. A large brick stove burned in the centre of the room, casting a blaze of heat. A metal perch curved round the stove and Joe counted five small dragons basking there. He almost missed one, because Maric and Ariel were so tightly coiled together, a bundle of scaly purple limbs and tails. There was the green one, the creamy one, and finally, Noah’s dragon. It raised its yellow head and growled in Joe’s direction.

  Typical.

  ‘What’s wrong, Della?’ Noah asked.

  Joe flattened himself against the outside of the dragon­hall and held his breath, blood pulsing in his ears.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  No one came out of the dragonhall to see what the disturbance was, and soon Joe dared to peep back in. He needed to see what he was missing. It was like picking at a scab – he knew it would be painful, but he couldn’t resist.

  The five new dragonbonded children were finishing their meal at a table behind the stove. Then they pushed their chairs back and went to collect their dragons, greeting them tenderly.

  Noah’s yellow dragon nuzzled herself against his hand, and hissed, showing tiny sharp teeth.

  They all settled down on large cushions near the stove, speaking sometimes to the dragons, sometimes to each other.

  Joe listened, without moving. They were discussing a lesson from Isak earlier that day.

  ‘Why is he working us so hard?’ Noah was grumbling.

  ‘There’s a lot to learn,’ Conor said mildly.

  What were they learning? Joe wished he knew. How hard he would’ve worked, if he’d been given this chance.

  ‘He’s just doing his job, I guess.’ That was Tiago, with the little green hatchling called Lina. ‘Anyway, he’s leaving for Sartola in the morning, and we’ll get one of the other teachers.’

  ‘Isak blames us for Joe’s death,’ Noah said now. ‘I bet that’s why he’s leaving. It’s nothing to do with us!’ He bent down and cooed to his hatchling. ‘It’s not our fault none of you wanted his brother, is it, Della? Turns out you chose right in the end, eh? You’re mine, aren’t you?’

  That stung, like salt in a wound, but Joe couldn’t seem to drag himself away. He pressed his face against the gap between the door and its frame, a little crack of light that he could see through.

  ‘Noah! That’s not true,’ Conor was saying. ‘Course he doesn’t blame us.’

  ‘Just cos you’re Isak’s favourite,’ Noah snapped. ‘And I wonder why that is? Only cos you were friends with his brother.’

  Without speaking, Amina went to Conor’s side. They both wore pale lilac clothes now to match their hatchlings: trousers, shirts and loose jackets.

  Amina shook her head, telling Conor not to react. Their dragons touched noses.

  ‘Isak is grieving,’ Tiago said. ‘That’s why he’s been dis­tracted lately.’

  Tiago seemed to be the peacemaker in this grouping, Joe saw.

  ‘We’re all grieving!’ Amina cried, her voice catching. ‘Or would be, if you even cared.’ Then, catching a frown from the youngest girl, she broke down, near tears. ‘You didn’t know him like we did, Flavia.’

  The little girl only looked down and cuddled her dragon.

  ‘Oh, so now you’ve lost someone, the world has to stop and listen?’ Noah muttered.

  Conor and Amina stood side by side. Conor rubbed his eyes with one hand, as if he fought back tears, too.

  Joe was about to step out and run to his friends – I’m alive! It’s all right! But he stopped himself just in time. Going to them now would be selfish. They were better off without him. His anger made him a danger to them. Hadn’t he just got frustrated with Winter? So much for his new start.

  ‘What he did on Hatching Day wasn’t like him at all,’ Conor said. ‘Joe wasn’t like that. He was kind.’

  A horrible mixture of guilt and relief rushed through Joe, hearing his friends defend him. He wanted to be the person they thought he was, the person they mourned. Maybe, one distant day, he could be.

  ‘I only know what I saw.’ Flavia shrugged dismissively. ‘He was about to hurt me and Elias. Ravenna knew, didn’t she? She flamed him.’

  Joe stood there, burning with shame. That was true: he’d been so close to hurting Flavia’s hatchling. That was why he had to stay away. So he didn’t endanger anyone. He could do it: he could let them live their new lives without him. They had their dragons to comfort them now.

  He stayed still. He stayed silent. It was better that Amina and Conor should remember him well, than live with him and come to fear him.

  ‘Joe’s our best friend,’ Conor cried then. ‘He wouldn’t—’

  ‘Was,’ Noah interrupted. ‘Was your best friend.’

  Joe bit his lip to stop from crying out.

  ‘It’s all right, Della,’ Noah crooned to his dragon. ‘Joe’s gone, and he won’t be able to hurt anyone any more.’

  The words landed like blows. Joe staggered backwards across the grass, towards the palace stables, not caring who saw him now. With tear-blurred vision, somehow he found the small iron gate, yanked it open and threw himself into the tunnels. They’d left a couple of makeshift lamps to use on the return journey: Winter’s was gone already.

  He stumbled through the tunnels, his thoughts spinning faster and faster, like a whirlpool.

  Because of what he’d done, Joe was dead to everyone who’d loved him. He’d caused them
terrible pain. He’d hurt them, shamed them, risked their dragons’ lives on Hatching Day. Noah was right; that was why it hurt so much. To pro­tect them, he had to stay away from his friends and their dragons.

  Even the thought of his egg didn’t soothe him now. Of course he was drawn to some weird egg that no one had ever heard of, a strange egg that belonged underground in the shadows, just like him. Maybe the creature that hatched would be angry and dangerous, just like him, while his friends lived in the light with the proper dragons.

  He felt hot and breathless, desperate for air. He lurched forwards, one hand holding the lantern, the other patting along the rough tunnel walls, until finally he found himself in the huge cave with the underground pool. Stopping to catch his breath, he dipped his free hand in to take a drink.

  He spat it out immediately.

  The water tasted strange – acrid and sour.

  But there was another difference, which changed every­thing: today the water was warm.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Joe slept in the large cavern. He woke when the shaft of sunlight from above reached his face. He heard footsteps and realised he wasn’t alone.

  ‘Morning,’ Winter mumbled.

  ‘Morning.’ Today, Joe felt like a snail without its shell, raw and exposed. He hid his face under one arm and wished he could just disappear. He took a deep breath, as if he could breathe in strength along with the muggy air. He had to start doing better. He had to start now. He dragged himself into a sitting position and blurted: ‘I’m sorry about last night.’

  At exactly the same moment, Winter said, ‘Sorry I ran off.’

  They exchanged small, hopeful, slightly shaky smiles.

  ‘Joe?’ Winter said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Food.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He reached over and took the lump of bread Winter was offering. He nibbled it, trying not to think how much he missed his mother’s cooking, or Matteo’s fresh cinnamon rolls. He was too thirsty to swallow the dry crumbs, and suddenly he remembered why.

  ‘Winter!’ he burst out. ‘I tried to drink from the stream last night, but it’s gone hot, and it tastes weird.’ Grabbing the flask of spring water, he drank deeply.

  Then he stumbled back to the stream and dabbled his fingers in the rushing water. Still hot. ‘Come over. Feel this!’

  Winter looked at him as if he’d lost his mind entirely, but she picked her way across the rocky floor of the cave and scooped up a little water. She sniffed it and touched the end of her tongue to it, before wrinkling her nose and scattering the drops on the floor. ‘Urgh! What’s wrong with it? It’s never done that before. Not in two years.’

  ‘It’s coming from underground. It’s hot. And smelly. Do you think it could be …?’ Joe knew it sounded unlikely.

  ‘What?’ Winter looked wary, half-hidden behind her shining black hair.

  ‘Something to do with volcanoes?’

  ‘They have lava, not water,’ she said.

  ‘Maybe it’s the lava heating the water, down below, and then it bubbles up …’

  ‘You just want it to be true’ – she spoke quite gently – ‘because we read about shadow dragons and volcanoes yesterday.’

  Joe felt slapped down. Even her mild disagreement was too much, today. To his horror, he felt his fury rising in response. Not again! He had to defeat his anger. This was supposed to be his new start!

  He couldn’t, he mustn’t. Not with Winter. Never with her.

  If he couldn’t control it, at least he’d contain it. He ran out of the cavern, blindly stumbling the route he’d memo­rised, till he found himself back at the egg cave.

  He walked straight into the rocky platform, banging his shins, but when he opened the casket, a faint glimmering light filled the cave. He picked up his egg, cradling it care­fully, and slid down to lie on the floor, curled around it. There was still this. He might not have anything else, or anyone else, but he had this egg.

  It was warm in there again, and without meaning to, he let his eyes close and drifted off to sleep. In his dreams, he held a dragon, not an egg.

  When he woke up, Winter was sitting next to him, cradling the green egg. Her black hair fell over her face as she whispered quietly to it.

  Joe felt better. His head was clearer. He sat up, being careful not to jolt the purple egg. ‘Winter, I’m sorry,’ he said again.

  ‘Yeah?’ She made him wait.

  ‘For acting like a selfish kid. I mean it. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘S’all right.’ She put one hand on his arm.

  ‘Thank you.’ He realised it was the first time she’d done something like that. ‘Why are you so kind to me?’ he asked.

  ‘You’ve lost your life, from before,’ she said softly. ‘It’s going to hurt.’

  His loss was nothing, compared to hers. He didn’t dare say anything else.

  ‘And my life has been better since you crashed your way into it.’

  ‘Same,’ Joe whispered gratefully. And then he almost dropped his egg in shock. ‘Oh!’ He stared down at it. He waited, listening. ‘No, I must still be dreaming. For a moment, I thought I felt something move, inside.’ He spread his fingers over the egg, sensing hard, but it didn’t happen again. After a while, he carefully carried his egg over to the casket.

  ‘So,’ he asked, when Winter had done the same, ‘are you coming?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Back to the library.’ Joe felt utterly determined now. ‘We need to find out about the hot water and volcanoes and what these eggs need.’

  ‘Joe, you slept all day. It’s dark now. The library’s closed.’

  ‘So?’ he said, ‘I’m not quite as useless as I look: I can get us in. If we bring lamps, we can still read. It’ll be harder, but it will work.’

  They retraced their steps from the day before, bringing the storm lantern along, taking extra care when they un­latched the secret iron door into the palace grounds.

  There was a little light from the fingernail moon, and Joe’s breath shone white like dragonsmoke in the cold air. It was the first hard frost of the autumn.

  A patrol was just returning to the barracks that lay to the east of the palace on a plateau like the palm of a hand. He heard the call and reply of the sentries.

  They waited, keeping the storm lantern dark, and stole across the grass, avoiding the paths, circling round to the library in the northernmost turret.

  This wasn’t just the palace to Joe. It was his sister’s home, and Tarya had let him explore every inch of it since he could walk. Now he crept underneath the library windows, in case there was a guard patrolling inside too.

  There was a delivery entrance just beyond the rounded curve of the turret leading to the body of the main build­ing. He remembered Isak excitedly pacing just inside, one warm summer day last year, waiting for a shipment of new books to arrive. Joe reached up and tried the handle, just in case, but as he had expected, it was locked. He took out the dragon-handled knife and studied its slender point – slightly too large, but it might do.

  His mother had taught him some useful skills from the days before the revolution. She always said he needed to be able to defend himself, needed to be able to escape. He used to think she was over-protective, but now he was grate­ful to her.

  ‘What are you doing? Don’t break it!’ Winter whispered, sounding scared.

  ‘Shh. I won’t!’ Joe tilted his head, holding his breath, feel­ing for the subtle mechanisms of the lock. The blade slipped, but he started again, patiently wiggling the metal point to push back each point of the lock inside. With a tiny click, it opened.

  He breathed out, satisfied.

  Carefully, carefully, he pressed the handle down, easing the door open without a sound. They crept inside, onto thick, dark carpet in a wood-panelled corridor. It was dark, but Joe opened the storm lantern a crack, casting a soft golden light on the polished wood. He headed confidently down the corridor, found the library door and opened it.


  Inside the northern turret library, they both relaxed a little. Moonlight was filtering faintly from the high windows.

  Winter crossed the floor and pointed at a brass label. ‘If there’s any more information, it’ll be here: Animals, Real and Mythological. Last time we reached as far as there.’

  So that narrowed it down, Joe thought, eyeing the broad section of shelves she was indicating.

  ‘Start at the bottom, work up?’ he asked Winter in a whisper.

  ‘Top down. We’ll be tired later.’ She went to wheel over one of the stepladders and climbed up to reach the highest shelf.

  They spent the night scampering up and down the ladders, pausing to read – hunched over the lantern – waving each other over if they needed a second opinion. It was much more awkward, sharing the light, squinting at the page in the dim glow of the lantern.

  As time went on, and they still had no new facts, Joe grew more anxious. He read till his eyes hurt. He read about animals he’d never heard of, and some he wasn’t sure were real. He read about the sphinx, the lion, the centaur, the cheetah, the phoenix and the elephant. He read about long-dead giant lizards, snakes, frogs, newts. But not a word about shadow dragons.

  He was ready to give up. He sat there, wriggling the stiff­ness from his shoulders and blinking the dryness from his eyes, when he saw the moment that Winter found something.

  She was sitting on the floor in her usual tatty grey dress, her cloak pooling around her in dark folds.

  It was as if she had scented prey. She sat taller, reading quickly, her lips moving as she did.

  ‘What?’ Joe called, forgetting to be quiet.

  ‘I’ve found something. This is it!’ She clasped the book to her chest, eyes glistening. ‘It says: the life cycle of dragons and others of the genus.’

  ‘What’s a genus?’

  ‘I don’t know, maybe a grouping of animals? But listen: eggs are laid by mature dragons. In their dormant state they may survive decades – even up to one hundred years in the case of the rare shadow dragon.’