The Summer Dragon

by Todd Lockwood

  “It’s beautiful!” said Jhem, the breadth of it reflected in her eyes.

  “Hurry!” said Father, but we didn’t need encouragement.

  Kaisi thrust hot meat rolled in flatbread into our hands as we started toward the bridge. I wasn’t the least bit hungry. I ate half and gave the rest to Keirr.

  She and Aru received their favorites for breakfast, followed by a mop bath. Then we rubbed them down with oil, in part to polish their hides for show but mostly to warm up their muscles. And ours. And perhaps to calm us down too. My hands shook so much that I stopped working to stare at them. Darian spotted me, but held up his own hand, trembling like a spider’s web. I smiled, and he gave me a wild-eyed grin.

  Finally, we led our bouncing dragons to the paddock and under the saddle jib. Shuja, Athys, and Coluver already wore their best gear, and pranced eagerly nearby. It reminded me of the Brood Day flight—Jhem in her white, with hair knotted high, Tauman polished and ready, Father in his service black. But this was different. I was part of it. The day I had dreamed of. Fought for. Risked my life for. The hairs on my neck shivered.

  Rov, Bellua, and Addai stood together by the bridge. Nice of them to stay out of our business today, I thought. Cairek and Addai had agreed to ground all their fliers while we took our first flight. “They’ll be a distraction to the qits,” Father had explained to Rov.

  But they weren’t going to miss the show. Every last one of them had an identical moment in their past. They knew what Darian and I were about to experience. They lined the clifftop. The roof of our storehouse too.

  Father inspected our harnesses, tightened our laces, buckled our coats at the neck. “Listen up. The Morningtide isn’t like other cloud formations. It will push you high, fast. It’s a powerful thrill for even a seasoned flier, but I can’t deprive you of the experience. You’ll be safe as long as you follow my instructions.”

  He finished adjusting our gear, then put one hand on each of our shoulders. “Here’s the most important thing: you know the tooth on Mt. Zurvaan we call the Crag is a peril in a Morningtide. The currents will push you up, and if you get too close to the Crag at too great an altitude, you won’t be able to escape before the swirling winds suck you down into it. The key is to exit before you reach that height, then glide back for another run. We’ll stay well away from Zurvaan. Just follow me. Got it?”

  We nodded.

  “Darian will go first. Aru is stronger, and he’ll be easier to stabilize. Then, Maia, you’ll come at my signal.”

  “Count of two,” I said.

  “Remember your drills, and you’ll be fine. Believe it or not, we’ve done this before. We know what we’re doing.” He winked at us.

  Tauman shouted from the parapet, “Father, I think you should see this.” We joined him at the wall and looked over the edge.

  Every street and square in town was filled with people. The banks of the river Wilding were packed shoulder to shoulder. Balconies and windows. Even rooftops.

  “Look!” said Darian, pointing back across the village below. “Like last night.”

  On the far side of town, where the refugees were encamped, two kites like dragons’ wings with long streamers rose above the distant rooftops. A cloud of smaller kites bobbed up beneath them.

  “I’m not sure whether that’s touching or dangerous,” I said.

  “Why?” said Jhem with a puzzled frown. “They’re only cheering you and Darian on.”

  “Because Bellua will see it as a sign that they hold Darian and me in some sort of reverence. I have no clue how Addai will react.”

  “They honor themselves, under the circumstances,” said Father. “Holding to tradition in the face of catastrophe, despite Rov and Addai trying to run them out, judging their every word. Cuuloda was proud, and we should be proud of their tribute.” He clapped his hands. “Now, they’re here for a show. Let’s give it to them.”

  Darian and I leapt into our saddles and buckled in, checked every buckle twice. Father inspected each three times at least, repeating his instructions. I barely heard. I already knew them all by heart anyway. Keirr pranced with anticipation.

  “Let’s go!” shouted Father, and he ran to Shuja. Tauman and Jhem were already harnessed in; Athys and Coluver launched into the air. Shuja turned around and looked at our young dragons and said something in the click-rumble speech of dragons. Then he leapt straight over the broodhouse before ever opening his wings.

  “Showoff,” said Darian. I shared a look with him, and he grinned like a maniac, then slapped Aru on the neck and shouted HAI! He compressed himself close as Aru leapt, filled his wings with air, and pushed to the roof.

  I leaned close to Keirr’s ear, pulling tight the lower grips on the forward sweep of the saddle on either side of her neck, and felt the chrysanthemums tucked in my coat rustle. “Are you ready?”

  She turned her head enough to fix me with an eye that twinkled silver. “Yes,” she said, dipping her chin. Her diction had become so good.

  I rubbed her bond mark, bent my legs tight against the laces, and took a deep breath. “Okay, girl. HAI!”

  Keirr launched, pressed down against the air once with her wings, and lit easily on the roof next to Aru. “Hey, Buk Buk,” she said. Aru joined me in laughter, lashing his tail and nodding. Darian grimaced at the chicken noises, but in the end he shook his head and smiled with us.

  The rush of wind on wings grew behind us, and suddenly Father shouted, “ONE!” as he led Tauman and Jhem in a pass over our heads. They swept across the valley and then up again.

  Darian nudged Aru up to the edge of the roof, with nothing but valley and village below, as Father and the rest came about for their second pass. “This is it!” Darian said aloud, pressed close to Aru’s ear.

  Shuja’s black form streaked close overhead.

  “TWO!”

  Darian shouted HAI, and Aru leapt into the air like an arrow from a bow. I felt a moment of panic when he dropped out of sight, but soon he glided out over the valley on a flat line, with Athys and Coluver to either side and slightly ahead, aiding him with the draft off their wings. Darian let out a war whoop that echoed from every cliff.

  I watched closely, observing how Athys and Coluver shepherded Aru higher into the sky. Coluver separated slightly to the right. Aru instinctively moved left to stay in Athys’s wing draft, and together they drifted toward the cliff to the north, past the Roaring. If Athys got too far ahead of Aru, Coluver was poised to descend into her place. Occasionally they allowed Aru to flap on his own. Over it all I heard Darian’s cheers and Aru’s happy barks.

  They guided him into an updraft and nudged him into the spiral. He rose high above, where Tauman circled with him at the top of the column.

  I looked for the others. Jhem dived toward the aerie, but I couldn’t see Father and Shuja.

  “ONE!” he shouted as they streaked past over my head, startling me.

  “Holy crap balls!”

  Father’s laughter followed him up and around.

  “Get ready, Keirr,” I said. My pulse quickened.

  Keirr stepped to the lip of the roof, then nestled into a crouch like a cat poised to spring. Wings up and bent, ready to catch a volume of air. Head tucked down and back. I laid forward on the saddle, pulling tight on the grips. She was ready. More ready than I was, I thought, when I looked over the drop and saw the landscape far below. My stomach tightened. The aeries plunged straight down for hundreds of feet. Compost pits graced the bottom of the pinnacle.

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. Then I adjusted my goggles and grinned. Ha! I wasn’t about to die in a hill of dragon shit.

  I looked back for Father. He streaked toward me. I took a deep breath, timing his arrival.

  “TWO!” he yelled as he flashed by.

  “HAI!” I shouted, bending tight against my laces.

  Keirr lunged
across the point of no return with a powerful leap and pressed into the void. She fell at first. I rose weightless against the harness straps. Vertigo wrapped me for a brief, frightening instant as she opened her wings and the landscape rushed up at us. Keirr was half the size of Shuja, less stable, more vulnerable to wind, and completely inexperienced. But she filled her wings and flapped once, then again. We rose abruptly. My stomach dropped, then Keirr found a smooth, descending glide line. A shout escaped me that was not fear, but the release of fear transformed. My laughter greeted Shuja and Coluver when they pulled in ahead of us.

  “HAI yes! Maia, yes!” said Keirr.

  Our trajectory took us over the village. Children chased us in the streets far below, cheering and clapping. Then Jhem peeled off and Keirr followed Shuja to the left, toward the cliff face warming in the sun. She struggled only once, but Coluver ascended beneath us with a perfectly timed nudge that pushed us back into Shuja’s draft. We rose quickly.

  “Yeeeeees!” shouted Keirr. Shuja answered with a happy roar.

  Keirr answered in kind—the first time I’d ever heard her roar. I cheered and laughed, and heard my echo’s joy.

  We reached the cliff in no time, where the sun’s warmth created a swift updraft. Spiraling, we rose higher, Coluver guiding Keirr away from the rock with gentle buffets of air from her wings. If Keirr seemed to falter, Shuja would roll over and give her a boost from beneath with a wingblast. Between them, they kept Keirr’s flight path smooth and steadily upward, past the clifftop and higher still. This was a dragon’s own knowledge, I realized. Something they simply knew how to do. How many people got to witness such a thing, let alone be a part of it?

  The compound receded. The village became a collection of gray boxes, a patchwork of farms and fields blanketed the plains to a horizon lost in mist. I remembered the dried flowers tucked in my coat, but this wasn’t the time or place. Not yet.

  To the west, the vertical face of the Morningtide rose higher still. Father whistled to get our attention as we banked in circles at the top of the rising column of air. “Listen everyone! We’re going to rest here for a minute, then we’re going to ride the wall! Follow behind us until we get there, then Darian, you follow me. Maia, you follow Tauman, and Jhem will come behind. Go where we go. Remember to stay away from the Crag. This is it! The ride of your life!”

  I’d have been content to stay on top of this spiral, circling endlessly, but soon the adult dragons tucked in three abreast before us. Darian and I fell naturally between them and behind, where their drafts would assist us. Together we turned toward the Morningtide, traveling south along its face. It obscured anything beyond our own ridge, from the distant south along the escarpment, all the way north where it was pierced and torn by Mt. Zurvaan’s ragged teeth. Cloud filled the valley of Cinvat, pouring upward; the winds from our side of the ridge met it and were drawn skyward. When I looked up at that amazing wall of churning air, I worried that Father had lost his mind.

  He whistled and separated with Aru right behind. They banked together toward the wall. Tauman whistled next, and I followed with the sharp wind braising my cheeks. The rising tide filled Keirr’s wings and we floated with it effortlessly, higher and higher. Shuja and Aru soared far above, wings outspread, riding the mounting wave. Currents pushed us slowly northward as we vaulted higher. The roiled face of the Morningtide, only a hundred yards away, shined brighter in the growing light.

  The wind became strangely silent. It didn’t rush past us but rose with us. We were part of it. Calm filled me. For the first time in my life, I could see beyond the mountains that framed our valleys to high mountain lakes, towering scarps, and deep hollows. My heart soared at the thought of exploring them with Keirr. I had never been so high on a dragon before. Never. I looked down at clouds. The plains were almost invisible in the morning haze. The feeling the Summer Dragon had inspired in me awoke again in my heart, the sense of place and connection, of time and purpose.

  But no, it wasn’t the same. Bigger still. The world from this vantage had no horizons.

  I pulled the dried flowers from my coat. They were wrapped in paper and not too terribly damaged. What better way to honor Mother’s memory? I was flying. The words found themselves.

  “I think I know you now, Mother. You were like me.”

  I smiled and let my bundle of chrysanthemums go. The blooms and stems separated in the current and swirled around us as we mounted higher, laughing, into the tallest canyon of the sky.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  WHEN THE MORNINGTIDE finally crashed, its wave poured down as rain for days. We couldn’t fly in such weather so we gathered in the winter stable to relive our first flight, talking and laughing about it ’til late into the night. Jhem and Father and Tauman joined us. Rov, Bellua, and Addai left us mercifully alone.

  At one point, Darian recreated his first war whoop, laughing.

  And Keirr said, “WHOOOHOOO hooHOOoo hooHOOoo hooHOOoo . . .” Imitating Darian but adding the echoes off the cliffs as well. After a moment of stunned silence, we broke into laughter. Even Keirr and Aru lashed their tails and nodded. Her impression was so good that I almost felt the presence of bluffs on either side of me.

  Something about the way Keirr looked at me afterward made the memory persist. She looked engaged.

  Late in the second day of rain, I came across Cairek sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the brood platform, unconcerned with the drop in front of him, a breeze ruffling his blond hair. I had a pail in one hand, a mop in the other, and a broom pinned beneath one arm. I was disheveled and exhausted, and I really didn’t want to be seen. But he turned at my footstep and smiled. “Hello, Maia,” he said.

  I was trapped. I dropped the pail, sloshing cold water on my leg. Cairek suppressed a laugh. “You look like you could use a break. Care to sit for a minute?” He patted the stone beside him. “You’ve got a wondrous view of the valley from here.”

  I set the mop and broom down and sat next to him. I ached all over.

  “I sneak in here sometimes just to find some quiet,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I do it myself sometimes.” I smiled to let him know it was okay.

  “So, I watched your first flight. That very first drop is unnerving. I remember it well—a life-changing moment. But my first time on Taben was my first time ever. You’ve flown before. You’re a natural, even considering you were born to it. And of course no one doubted your bravery. You rode that tall sky well, my lady.”

  I shivered with the memory, and felt a glow at his casual praise. “It was scary, but fun.”

  He chuckled. “Aye. Most impressive, that cloud. I can’t tell you how badly we all wanted to ride that. I’m glad your da’ turned you home when he did. Some of my men would never have forgiven him.” He winked at me. Once again, his easy manner put my apprehensions at ease. He fell silent, and I had nothing to say, so we let the stillness envelop us. He labored at something with his hands. Whittling on a piece of wood. He saw my interest and held up his work for me to see.

  He’d carved a stylized dragon, wings folded together above the torso, head pulled back against them, tail curled along the feet on one side. A rider was indicated between wings and neck, with her hands on the dragon’s frill. “Hey, that’s good,” I said. “You’re an artist.”

  “Me? Nah. But my father’s family have been carpenters for generations. My da’ makes furniture, an’ he always had a good eye, liked to embellish his pieces. I guess I picked up some of his talent.” He began scratching in lines to indicate scales.

  I watched for a minute, fascinated to discover this hidden side of the Dragonry sergeant. His freckled hands moved confidently and easily over the wood. “I could carve you a stick figure,” I said, “if I started with a man-shaped stick.”

  He laughed, a warm and hearty chuckle that bled tension out of the air like magic.

  “Where
are you from?” I asked.

  “Born an’ bred in Tenny. That’s a village in the far end of Idwal. The conscription teams came an’ swore me in six years ago. My older brother stayed to carry on the trade, but I was born to be a dragon rider. They said I ‘had an aptitude.’” He looked at me with a dimple and a twinkling eye.

  “What’s it like, your home?”

  “Well, not so different from Riat. Colder in the winter, hotter in the summer. Definitely drier. Pretty. Stone buildings though, mostly. Friendly people. Lots of craftsmen, like here, only they don’t breed dragons. Woodworkers like my da’. They build weapons there too, an’ produce arrows and quarrels.” He worked quietly for a spell. “Last time I was back there, it had fallen on difficult times. The forest was just about lumbered out, not that there was much of a forest to begin with. But it made things hard for the craftsmen. You know that lumber is one of the things Gurvaan covets in Harodh? They have some of the biggest trees you ever saw.”

  “Is it hard? Being so far from home?” I asked.

  “Oh, sometimes I suppose it is. But I’ve made the Dragonry my home. Taben has become my most constant friend.”

  “Will you go back when the war is over?”

  His expression grew ever so slightly less cheerful then, and he paused in his whittling. “Over? This war is more than twenty years old. I doubt it will be over any time soon. An’ when it ends, there will be another.”

  “Are you career, then?”

  He looked sideways at me, perhaps realizing that Father might have taught me that term. “Nay. I’ve only a short time left, but first I have to live that long.”

  I didn’t know how to respond to that. It was cold and pragmatic.

  “The crispies will have something to say about that, of course.”

  “The what?”

  The flicker of a grin tempered his frown. “The crispies. A name we have for the Horrors, because they look burnt. But of course you know that already.”