The Summer Dragon

by Todd Lockwood

  “The qits were sleeping! And we’re supposed to check the tr—”

  “That’s a poor excuse and you know it. Today of all days.”

  I groaned and set my head on my knees. “I know. We just needed to have a moment to ourselves.”

  Jhem crossed her arms. “So tell me what happened.” I couldn’t tell if she was curious or angry. Probably both.

  I took a deep breath, but then the familiar sound of Shuja’s giant wings cracked on the air. Jhem and I looked at each other fearfully, buffeted by blasts of wind as Father and Shuja landed in the paddock. No one spoke as he dismounted and turned to the saddle jib.

  Trembling, I started forward to help, but he held up a hand. “Wait there, both of you. We’ll have words in a minute.”

  Tears glistened in Jhem’s eyes as her hand sought mine. She squeezed my fingers hard enough to make me wince. Father climbed back onto Shuja to hook the saddle rings, then down again to swing the saddle into the tack house. Finally he rolled the center door on the brood platform open wide enough for Shuja to enter. The big male seemed to understand the mood in the compound and said nothing at all as he passed inside. Chirps and sleepy barks greeted him. Then Father rolled the door shut again.

  Hands on hips, he stared at us, his dark eyes flickering. “Fren is alive, no thanks to either one of you. Mabir ministered to him the entire time we were gone. If I didn’t have other important duties today I’d have stayed at the Temple.” He pointed at Jhem. “You have got to get Audax under control. He’s not your pet—he’s a predator, the offspring of wildings. If you don’t show strength to that animal you are going to lose him. We are going to lose him. I can’t have that. I need to grow these aeries. The fact that our largest brood ever might not be sufficient for the Ministry is proof enough of that.

  “And you . . .” His eyes locked onto mine. “Every time I turn around you’re engaged in some sort of qit-play. You’re not a little girl anymore. By Korruzon, you’re old enough to be wed! I need you to pull your weight. I’d hoped you would show some of your mother’s strength and passion by now. I’m disappointed, not only in the lack of focus and the tragedy that has come of it, but because afterward, you disappeared into the forest for hours. What in Gadia is the matter with you?”

  “I . . . Darian and I—”

  “No talking! Darian has received his earful from me, too. Mabir wants to hear your version of this story in the morning. In fact, he doesn’t want you to tell your tale to anyone else until he can hear it. He wants it unspoiled.” For an instant his face was questioning, but then it became overcast again. “So I stand here in the dark. I have no idea what is going on in my own aeries! All I know is that I have a community to hold together. People depend on us for their livelihoods. I can’t do my job and yours, too.” He crossed his arms, looking back and forth between Jhem and me. A distant rumble of thunder made me shiver.

  “I’m sorry, Father.” I was afraid to wipe the tears from my cheeks.

  “And I am sorry, Magha.” Jhem finally released my hand.

  “Sorry won’t knit Fren’s wounds or calm a wilding broodsire! I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to be responsible.”

  I nodded weakly, blinking away tears.

  Father’s expression softened, if only a tiny bit. “Tomorrow is still a big day—perhaps now bigger than a Brood Day has ever been. I don’t know what your experience means, Maia. I hope there’s some good portent in it. We need it.

  “Finish your work. Then get some sleep. We rise early.” He turned and stalked across the bridge toward the manor.

  I crumpled onto the parapet and stared at the ground. Jhem brushed hair out of my face. “You okay?”

  I laughed once, more of a sputter than anything. “I actually thought that would be worse!” And then I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I did both.

  Jhem sat next to me. “Maybe that’s because of what you saw. Dare I ask what happened?”

  “Apparently I’m not supposed to tell.”

  She shrugged. “You don’t have to.”

  I don’t know why—perhaps because she looked so sad, or because I desperately needed someone on my side—I told her. If I trusted anyone to keep a secret, it was Jhem. She was an outsider, adopted as an infant from the Temple orphanage by a local farmer. Even she didn’t know where she was from. Somewhere north and east, most likely, judging by the light skin and unusual red hair that had set her apart all her life. Maybe that’s why she withdrew from everyone. Teased, accused of tainted blood somehow, she gravitated to animals—they didn’t care what color hair she had. She gained a reputation as a horse-handler as she grew older. Maybe that’s what drew Tauman to her. When he started courting her she began to work with dragons, and she seemed like a natural. Eventually he asked for her hand.

  He got a bride, and I got a big sister. I’d felt a kinship with her early on, even though I wasn’t an outsider like her, really. But all our places were so well defined. Tauman: heir. Darian: next in line. Me? Kid sister. Jhem: Wife of heir. We were the afterthoughts.

  She didn’t like to talk about her past, and I didn’t press. Our kinship was enough, though I sometimes wondered if Tauman only wanted a wife who would be grateful to him. He’d rescued her from her torment, after all. It wasn’t clear. I always knew that his future as Broodmaster consumed him. Sometimes he seemed to adore her, other times he was such a shit. Dragons are not horses, so she had a lot to learn. I thought she did well, but Tauman pushed her hard.

  In this moment, I needed her friendly ear. I sniffled, wiped my nose on my arm, then slowly recounted my version of events: the mauling of Fren, the news that I wouldn’t receive a qit this year. But when I came to the sighting of Getig, the Summer Dragon, it all started to spill out of me, every detail. It felt good to let it out, better to have found a confidante in Jhem. But I didn’t mention the sensations of a planet alive and moving beneath me, or the unfathomable scrutiny of the Summer Dragon. It was too new and too personal to put into words. The emotions defied translation. I kept to basic actions: I saw, I climbed, I ran, I followed.

  By the time I’d finished, the plains east of the aeries were deep in shadow. Only the tops of the thunderheads remained in light, branded with the last of the sun.

  I was surprised to see Jhem studying me with an intense look. “What do you suppose it means?” she asked.

  I wiped my eyes. “Darian said that Getig is a sign of change, that we will . . . that we might get our dragons after all.”

  She smiled and patted my hand. “You are persistently optimistic, aren’t you? I understand, Maia. It’s in your blood. Your family has been breeding dragons for longer than anyone can remember. You were born to it. But don’t get your expectations up.”

  “I want a dragon of my own. I want to fly! Despite what Father might think, I’ve worked hard, and I’ve earned a qit. It’s my time.”

  She brushed something off my cheek. “Well, at least you know what you want. Listen to me: Everything is going to change, has changed already. Imagine—Getig, the Summer Dragon, in our mountains. Something tells me that this is the last normal night of your life, of all our lives. Everyone will have an opinion about what it means. The dhalla will throw his bones, and no doubt the Ministry priest will have a say tomorrow. And Father and Tauman, even Darian, will have questions and answers as different as earth and cloud. Maybe they’ll figure it out. But things happen for their own reasons. Sometimes you can’t make sense of them until much later. Or too late.” The color drained from her face, and I realized that she was fighting back tears.

  “Maia, just do this: Whatever happens, stay true to yourself. Don’t stop being Maia. Trust your instincts. That’s the only way you’ll ever make sense of it. Okay? Promise me.”

  I must have been making a funny face, because Jhem started to laugh, even as a tear ran down her cheek.

  “I . . . promise
?” I said.

  She wrapped her arms around me and kissed my forehead. “Don’t stop being Maia.”

  I returned the hug, happy for this bit of comfort. “Did Tauman give you a hard time?”

  She wiped her eyes and looked up. She seemed to be considering her words. “I messed up. I can’t deny it. I . . . I don’t want to speak ill of your brother.”

  “He can be a bastard sometimes.”

  “He’s trying to live up to your father’s example, and to his own expectations. That’s not easy. So he tries too hard. He has good qualities, too.”

  “Not being a bastard would be a good quality.”

  She laughed out loud but squeezed my hand painfully.

  A distant rumble turned our faces to the east. The thunderheads had faded into the purple darkness, but lightning within their bodies made them flicker like enormous, billowing lanterns. We watched for several minutes as flashes illuminated the cloudscape one column at a time. The centermost one had become an anvil-topped monster, stretching higher than even dragons could fly. Lightning occasionally arced outside the cloud or licked the prairie below. Every now and again a low roll of thunder reached our ears. It was spectacular, beautiful. A summer show worthy of the Summer Dragon.

  Jhem whistled low. “Wow. Someone is getting pummeled. I hope the Ministry train escaped that.”

  Odd that Jhem saw a storm where I saw beauty.

  She stood. “They’ll be here tomorrow. Come on, let’s finish the night’s work.”

  FIVE

  FATHER SHOOK ME AWAKE. “Up! Maia! It’s Brood Day. Work to do.”

  I sat up, looked around dizzily. The window was dark, but light burned my eyes—Darian with a lantern. Father threw my work clothes at me. “The Ministry wagons are just east of town. Let’s go. Let’s go!”

  “Why aren’t you yelling at me?” I asked, with sleep-deprived bluntness.

  “Time enough for that later. Mabir forbid me to ask you questions, so I’ll have to settle for working you like a dog. Come on!”

  Then he was gone. Darian turned his back while I pulled my clothes on. “What happened, Dare? When did you get back? What did Mabir say? Is he coming today too? Did you—”

  “Do you want me to answer one of those questions, or do you want to get them all asked at once?”

  “Just tell me what’s happening!” I fastened my last buckle and pushed Darian out the door. We trotted out into the chill dawn and started across the bridge to the paddock.

  “I don’t know how much trouble we’re in. We might have caught a break when we saw the Summer Dragon. Mabir asked Father not to punish us. Yet. I’m still worried, though, because . . . now I’ve already said too much. Mabir told me I couldn’t talk about it with you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he wants your story unspoiled.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? Does he think we’re making it up?”

  “Maia, get off my—”

  “What happened with you and Mabir?”

  “He asked a lot of—Maia, I can’t talk about it!”

  He took off at a run and left me sputtering behind him.

  When we arrived, Father had already rolled open one of the doors on the paddock side of the brood platform so the broodsires could step out to stretch their legs and wings.

  “Come on,” Father shouted. “Let’s get this show started!” Something in the mood had changed overnight; the immediacy of the work, maybe, the comfort of familiar routine, or the excitement of the day. Brood Day was here! Father’s face was focused, but open, unclouded. Tauman and Jhem opened the tack house doors together and readied the saddle jib. Tauman even gave Audax a comforting pat on the cheek. Our dragons had a cheerful bounce in their gaits and nodded excitedly. They would wear their best gear, brushed and polished—Rannu’s shiny brown leather set with studs that sparkled in the lantern light, Audax in white leather with silver details, and Shuja in black, nearly invisible against his black scales. The adults wore harnesses and clothing to match—Tauman in brown and tan, Jhem in white with her striking red hair swept up into a bouncing horsetail. Father wore his black armor from their time long ago in the Dragonry. This was real pageantry—a show for the villagers and Ministry alike.

  While Tauman and Father maneuvered Shuja’s saddle into position, I came up beside Darian and punched him in the arm. “Why won’t you tell me what’s going on?”

  When he didn’t answer I punched him again. “Darian!”

  He turned to me. “There’s going to be some kind of meeting today between all of us—you, me, Father, Tauman and Jhem, Mabir, the Ministry merihem and buyers. Then they’re going to decide what it all means and what to do. All right? Now I’ve told you more than I was supposed to, so stop hitting me and let’s get to work.”

  He stalked into the broodhouse, his face troubled. It was unlike him to pass up the pomp and spectacle of the Brood Day flyover. He seemed scared, which stoked my worries again. What else did he know that he wasn’t telling me? Why was I always the last to know?

  I helped to harness the broodsires. When all three riders were strapped into their saddles, I stepped back to look with pride on my family and their dragons. Father was grinning. He actually looked relieved. Shuja was stepping proudly, tossing his head and making his frill snap. Tauman gave Jhem a thumbs-up when she smiled hopefully at him.

  Audax stamped his feet. “Up!” he said, an easy word for a dragon’s mouth to master. He knew what was next, and his clear anticipation made me laugh out loud. Father caught sight of me, but he laughed too, as if the burden of yesterday’s events was forgotten. The brood was readied, the hard work done. Soon the Ministry’s gold would flow into the village through our aerie. Brood Day was a release, the culmination of months of hard work. We all felt it. Even the cooks and servants from the manor house were crossing the bridge to watch the spectacle from the high vantage of the aeries. I felt a weight lift from my shoulders.

  Father caught my eye. “Maia, let the babies out. It’s time!” I started to roll the heavy paddock-side doors open. Suddenly Darian was there with me, unable in the end to resist the moment. Together we opened the broodhouse completely.

  Dragonlings spilled past me and into the paddock, excited to see this open space for the first time. The broodmothers shepherded the tumbling horde deftly with the gentle touch of paw or wingtip. This outing served two purposes: the qits needed a good romp to wear them out, but they would also see adult dragons saddled for the first time and observe that humans rode on their backs.

  “Preen!” Father commanded, and Shuja stood up on his back legs, wings stretched straight back, his neck arched and his chin down, forelimbs clawing the air in rampant pose. Rannu sat up straight as well, and even Audax made an attempt to mimic them. The babies huddled closer to their mothers, but barked and mewed in excitement. Father laughed aloud.

  My chest swelled with pride and longing. Father had taken me on Shuja’s back for many rides, but to fly on a bondmate of my own would be completely different. I tried to spot the little brown-and-buff, but there was too much movement and not enough light.

  Father held a hand up. “The dawn is breaking. Any moment now.”

  A horn sounded in the village, then another and another. The sound echoed from the cliffs, multiplying. The wagons of the Ministry had arrived.

  “That’s it!” Father clenched his upraised hand into a fist. “Shuja! ROAR!”

  And Shuja roared, a magnificent, rumbling bellow of power and authority that rattled the broodhouse doors and trembled in the stone beneath my feet. Rannu and Audax added their voices and found a harmonic that resonated off the cliffs and reverberated through the canyons. I cheered at the top of my lungs, unheard. The babies all retreated under their mothers’ wings, but the broodmothers joined the song too. I faintly heard Darian’s laughter beside me.

  Then, before th
e echoes of that majestic symphony began to fade, Father shouted “HAI!” and all three broodsires leapt into the sky.

  Darian and I ran to the parapets to watch. Far below, the Ministry wagons wound through the village streets, their white-painted roofs winking amber in the dawn light. The great, lumbering taarku that drew them seemed freshly washed—perhaps they had been caught in a downpour last night after all. The caps on their nose-horns and tusks gleamed gold. Cheering throngs lined the avenues in their best apparel. Children ran and skipped in front of the wagons. Soldiers in the van were shadowed by young boys bearing wooden swords and sticks for pikes. Above the rooftops elaborate kites flew, with long colorful tails.

  Later, the best cooks in Riat would prepare delicacies on numerous outdoor grills, and the finest local wine and beer would pour freely. Trinkets would be sold, and gifts given out to the children: wooden dragons with flapping wings, ceramic eggs containing stones painted like hatchlings, dragon masks, soldier dolls, noisemakers, and sweets. Kites of all sizes. There would be bonfires, music, and dancing late into the evening. It was Brood Day!

  “Look how many cages there are this year,” Darian said. “More than last year.”

  He was right; I counted twenty-two. Each might hold as many as twelve qits. “Wow! I wonder how many are already full.”

  “Good question. Riat is the third or fourth stop on their tour, I think. It looks like we weren’t the only aerie with a large brood.”

  Four Ministry dragons circled above the train, though still below our vantage on the clifftop aerie. We could clearly see the sigils painted on their wings—the marks that identified their place in the Dragonry. Three were nurse dragons—older females whose function was to calm the qits soon to be separated from their parents.

  The fourth one stood out—a white behemoth with dark stripes on his neck and shoulders, wearing the armor of a Dragonry lancer. He would be the officer in charge of the acquisition.

  “Look, Maia!” Darian said. “Who’s that? Someone new?”