6. SIX

six

THE JOURNAL

We are moving slow. Too slow. I toss a look over my shoulder to see how far behind Daeja is. Her strides are far too short. And as more time goes on, her movements drag in exhaustion.

After deliberating, I turn around and place her in my satchel, but as I attempt to shut the flap, she hisses and climbs out. In liquid fast movement, she snakes up my arm and perches on my shoulder. My skin burns in the wake of her sharp talons.

The next attempt to place her back in my bag is just as unsuccessful. This time, she wraps herself around my neck. Despite the vulnerable position it puts me in if she decides to attack, it’s...oddly comforting. Like a warm, dragon scarf. This may be the closest I ever get to being wealthy, since only the rich wear scarves. And fur ones at that.

Guess I have them beat with my scaled one.

I give in to her preferred spot wrapped around my neck—at least this way we can travel faster. She nuzzles into my neck with a chuff, and I flinch at her touch. It would be easy for her to sink her fangs into my throat from this angle.

But she doesn’t.

And part of me lacks the depth of fear I should feel if she did.

The sun dips low behind the tree line stretching out before us. Soft hues of greens and golden light bathe the forest around us. My entire body groans against the effort to walk. Daeja is fairly quiet, aside from her head shifting against my neck as her gaze darts around at every little noise. We eventually stop at a rocky overhang for the night. As we settle in, I reach for the journal tucked into my satchel and set it on my lap.

A leather strap ties the two front folds closed. I trace my forefinger over the insignia etched into the weathered brown cover, leaving a thin layer of dust coating my finger. The silhouette of a dragon perches on top of a capital A. The dragon’s long whip of a tail finishes out the crossbar of the letter. I edge open the cover, and my breath catches at the first page.

A Comprehensive Study of Dragons

By Leland Blackwind

Fire incarnate.

Flame in flesh.

Blood of power.

I slam the cover closed with both hands, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. I press my hands down on the journal’s cover, as if it might fight against me and spring open at any given moment. Sweat coats my palms, and as I glance to my left I catch Daeja’s bewildered gaze.

Leland Blackwind—my father.

My father’s journal.

And at that, a rebel’s journal.

A snort escapes me at the absurdity of it all.

If the King himself were here, the last thing I’d worry about would be a rebel’s journal. The dragon hatchling herself climbing into my lap would be damning enough. Daeja nuzzles into my ribs as my breath slows. I stare at the back of my hands keeping the journal closed. The ring of white encircling my middle finger is so faint, I almost wonder if it was a trick of the waning sunlight.

Everything I thought I knew…I didn’t.

With shaky hands and a burning curiosity, I pry open the journal again and read.

There is much we have discovered about dragons over the years, and yet, so very little we do know. The origin of dragons is one of the biggest conundrums and is widely speculated. Most believe that the gods who created this world once resided here and created man and woman in their image. But they created dragons to embody the elemental forces. And to maintain peace and order amongst humans and creatures.

Man and woman were commanded to live in peace with dragons, trusting the dragons to provide a cosmic balance. And the dragons were to trust the humans’ laws.

A system of checks and balances.

This collection of my dragon research has been accounted for by elders and first-hand experiences. The names of these elders have been redacted for the safety of their persons and loved ones.

Shall this journal exist outside of the libraries of Agonsreach and I deceased, I beg the reader to burn this journal and all of its contents. Abstaining to do so could mean the death of many innocents, both human and dragons alike.

I stare at the page. Unsure whether I should read on or toss it into the river gurgling nearby. But there it says: to burn this journal and all of its contents. Knowing I can’t grant my father’s request, I turn the page to continue reading.

Dragons of different forms are sketched across the pages. Some of which I’ve never seen before: ones with no wings, ones without front legs, and others that resemble a snake.

Various measurements of wingspans and detailed illustrations of eyes and skulls litter the page alongside sections of scrawled notes.

Fire dragons:

All dragons of this breed breathe fire. They typically live near volcanoes and cannot tolerate colder climates. These dragons avoid water and cannot swim. Other atypical abilities observed in fire dragons: telekinesis of earthly matter such as rocks, triggering earthquakes, and manipulation of fire.

Earth dragons:

Dragons of this breed are quite stationary and sedentary within forested areas. These dragons are normally ingrained in their environments, so much so that it’s often hard to locate them. It’s unknown if they consume other sources of energy outside of solar. Myth has it these dragons can accelerate healing and control plants. Similar to their preferred environments, earth dragons are incredibly sensitive to fire and ice.

Water dragons:

Water dragons are hard to observe, considering many of them live in the depths of the ocean for a majority of their lives. They are mostly seen when they travel to shallower waters in the bays, lakes, and rivers for mating season and to lay eggs. It’s a mystery as to how long they can survive outside of water. These dragons have a myriad of abilities: echolocation, spouting jets of boiling water, camouflaging their scales, and producing electric shock waves.

Air dragons:

The most elusive of the breeds, these dragons are rumored to dwell within the northern hemisphere of the Dragon Lands. These dragons were executed by King Aaric when he came into rule. The last air dragon spotted by humans was at the castle of Vitalis shortly after the Great War.

Dragon hatchlings haven’t been observed often, due to the danger of getting close enough to collect any data.

We do know dragons are considered hatchlings for the first few months. It can take months to years for their scales to completely harden. Due to the lack of hardened scales, the vulnerable hatchlings typically stay with their kin until they’re able to defend themselves.

Hatchlings are not born with the ability to fly but learn over time. Should they have any magical capabilities, they usually don’t surface until well into their adolescence.

Females are notorious for being the biggest, strongest, and most territorial of the species. Additionally, they seem to have a deeper connection to their magical abilities. Females with hatchlings or eggs are especially dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.

As far as we can tell from books rescued after the Great War in Vitalis, dragons have roamed the earth for thousands of years. But the first time a human bonded a dragon was centuries ago.

The very first dragon rider.

It’s rumored the first dragon rider had blood of magic and that was why the dragon bonded them. Dragons are especially sensitive to magic, and bonding a human was undoubtedly a massive risk. Bonds between dragon and human far exceed any other emotion. A bond that surpasses love itself. It is of sacrifice, justice, and the essence of what makes this world good.

But with such a bond, comes a price.

Once bonded, a pair cannot be separated. They become intrinsically one. Shall one die, the other shall too.

The generations before us whispered only elites and those in their blood lines could bond dragons. After Queen Elara and her dragon died, her brother King Aaric took the throne. Under the new King’s order, all dragon riders were captured and executed. The bonds between humans and dragons were severed.

Causing a war between man and dragon.

I turn and steal a glance at Daeja as she frolics through the tall grasses nearby. A blue butterfly floats past her, then circles back and lands on the tip of her nose. Daeja’s eyes widen, and her gaze flicks to me, her stance cautiously rigid.

I give her a reassuring smile, and she looks back at the butterfly, its wings twitching in the breeze. In the blink of an eye, the butterfly lifts off her nose and flutters back through the clearing. Daeja chases after it, her immature wings flaring and disturbing her balance. She topples over then quickly rises again and stumbles as she continues her chase.

I can’t imagine Daeja growing into the gruesome, vicious beast I’ve grown up believing her kind to be.

My thoughts wander to that morning in Padmoor and the man racing down the street. The fire. If dragons weren’t dangerous, why else would the King outlaw them? Especially when his own sister was a dragon rider.

I set down the journal and rub my hands together, breathing warmth into them to melt the sharp sting of cold.

“Stay here,” I tell Daeja as I turn on my heels to find some branches.

She bounces after me— so much for that.

She sniffs around as I collect potential kindling in the darkening forest. A creak and snap from behind me catches my attention. I swivel to find Daeja seesawing toward me, stumbling every few steps with a branch double her length protruding from her jaws. She drops it at my feet.

“Great find, thank you,” I chuckle. Stacking her branch on the pile I have clutched in my hands, we return back to our makeshift camp.

Cole showed me how to start a fire long ago when he lit our fireplace one cold winter. Thereafter, I couldn’t help but request he help almost every winter night. Admittedly, it was an excuse to see him.

The first time we touched was when I tried to replicate him striking a flame. I was miserably bad at doing so. He gathered my hands in his and delicately showed me the motions to create a spark. He flinched at our initial touch. At how cold my hands were in his. He brought my hands up to his lips and breathed on them. My hands warmed, almost as much as my cheeks. When he realized the intimacy of it, he apologized and quickly shifted to explaining that if my hands were too cold it would be hard to grip the stone the right way. At the time, I told myself it made sense.

He couldn’t possibly be interested in me.

As I recall the memory, my heart tumbles down a flight of stairs. Each drop more painful than the last. I miss him. I miss the glowing amber of his eyes that reminds me of a cozy fire on a frigid winter night. His smile like when the sun emerges after a rainstorm. How his heartbeat hums like the rhythm of my own. I’ve always craved every existence of him, whether he was here standing in front of me or tucked into the memories of my mind. But I can only have the latter. It terrifies me that more time will pass and I might forget the shade of red his hair is. Or the pattern of freckles staining his cheeks. Maybe misremembering how he felt pressed against me, when it was just me and him. Here I am, without him. Living in a reality where we said we would never be.

I start breathing into my own hands, warming them before I pick up the rocks. The only thing sparking with each unsuccessful strike is my frustration. Daeja watches me with a tilted head, her head flopping from one side to the other with every scrape.

A small spark flares and bounces over onto the piled branches. My hope rises, before it sinks again as the ember fades.

Daeja creeps forward and nudges the collection of branches, one of them falls to the ground.

“Hey, stop!” I try to pull her back.

She noses my hands away with a chirp, turning back to the branches and opening her mouth. A soft glow burns in her throat, traveling up and out of her mouth in a small spurt. A ball of flame, no bigger than the size of my palm, barrels forward and past the branches. A bush nearby catches fire, and I scramble to throw the water I have in my flask on it. By the time I’ve expelled the fire by smothering the flames with my cloak, I glance over at Daeja who sits near our collection of kindling. Now glowing with fire.

“You did it.” I breathe in relief. Even if she almost caught the rest of the forest on fire. I push away the whispered thought it might have been her that set my home on fire. That she was the reason why my mother died.

Daeja curls into a ball in my lap, and I stretch my hands out across to the fire.

I should destroy the journal. My father specifically wrote to burn it. But my longing for him makes me pause. The journal is all I’ll ever know of him. The last thing I’ll ever have of my heritage. Will it really matter if I keep it when I have a dragon hatchling? Perhaps I can burn it once I’m done reading. Why else would my mother want me to have it?

A loud pop of burning wood splits the air. My heart jumps at the sound. I attempt to level my breathing, struggling to avoid the memory of the raging fire in our home just days ago. Closing my eyes, I shut out the creeping anxiety and delight in the warmth of the fire kissing my skin. My body relaxes with a sigh.

We will live to see another night.

A raging fire disrupts my dreams, the red flames transforming into blue and then white. My mother’s voice haunts me, echoing around me as if I were stuck in an infinite cave.

Find Cole.

You aren’t safe here.

Trust no one.

Kit!

A scream splits through the repetitive warnings, but I can’t tell if it’s hers or mine.

My eyes flash open, and I fling forward. The sudden motion dislodges Daeja from the crook of my chest, and she flops to the ground with a squeak. Sweat cakes my hair to my face, and I’m struggling to catch my quickened breath. The looming dread of premonition fogs over me.

Ground yourself…five things…five things.

I scan the darkness for five things I see, when Daeja shakes her body like a dog beside me, her wings slapping against her sides as she wiggles. The movement momentarily distracts me from my panic. She rubs her cheek alongside my sleeve, nudging her snout underneath my elbow to lift my arm and wriggling her way between my arm and side. Her wide eyes stare up at me, her head cocked to the side. I scratch under her chin. The stroke melts her into a light purr, and her eyes flutter closed.

I scan the pile of soot where the fire was earlier tonight, but any semblance of flame is long gone. Part of me anticipates it coming back to life as soon as I look away. For the flames to creep up and consume me. I lie back down and watch the heap of ash until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.

It’s been days of traveling near the river. I think. I’m starting to lose track of the time.

Every chance I get, I read another page of my father’s journal. And when I’m not reading, I theorize what his face looked like. My blue eyes and silvery blonde hair are from my mother. Since my brother had brown hair, I could only guess my father had the same shade. I trace my features with my fingertips as I read, clinging to every word he’s written.

The Elders decided my time as a researcher in the realm has concluded.

We have sent several requests over the years to King Aaric to discuss peace between our lands. All of our correspondence has gone unanswered. But last month, the King finally acknowledged us.

With the severed head of one of our messengers.

Shortly thereafter, the King’s guard attacked our southern post near the border. Our outpost gained the victory and managed to capture a King’s guard.

This morning, my mentor sent me to the outpost. It wasn’t until I met with the elders that I was briefed on the recent attacks. They explained the dire need of why I was to stop my research on dragons. That I was needed for a new mission.

I am to return to the kingdom disguised as a King’s guard. To do research, even more critical than the study of dragons. This study is to ensure the survival of the Dragon Lands.

Of our realm.

To find out why our requests for peace are ignored.

We gathered what important information we could from the guard. Enough for me to practice the knowledge so I can blend in seamlessly. Next week I set out on my new quest.

Only one rule has been made urgent to me. One that can mean life or death.

Avoid direct interactions with the King himself at all costs.

He is unstable.

He is unpredictable.

He must not be trusted.

And if that’s not enough to scare me: he killed his own sister to rule.

I shut the journal. My father was sent as a spy?

My mind reels trying to piece together how he could have met my mother. All I knew growing up was my mother was a fantastic archer. So much so, she was drafted into the military at a young age and stationed at the northern outposts. Archers were well paid positions, considering they were our best defenses against dragons. One pierce of an arrow in the correct spot could bring a skyward dragon to the ground.

My father, a rebel.

My mother, a loyalist to the King and kingdom.

Why did my mother never tell me how he died?