Rise of the Shadow Dragons

by Liz Flanagan

  ‘What if they are already dead? What if they drown because of what we’ve done?’ Winter said. ‘Or, what if they actually live under the water?’

  ‘I can swim,’ Joe said firmly. ‘Can you?’

  ‘Yes, but … not just that, also, what do we feed them? What if they need fire? What if …’

  ‘Winter,’ Joe put a hand on her arm. ‘We’ll work it out, whatever it is, when they hatch.’ He paused. ‘When Jin hatched, you said it was natural as breathing, like catching a wave?’

  ‘That’s true,’ she said, sounding stronger. ‘It was scary, sure, but I got carried along with it. There was no choice, no time to worry.’

  ‘So maybe this will be the same,’ Joe said, hoping desper­ately to be right.

  It was so hard to sit and wait, not knowing how long it would take or if anything would happen. But when he compared it to the Hatching Day on his birthday, Joe knew this was better. There was no one to see, no one to judge him. Just him and his egg. Just Winter and hers. They could do this.

  And then something changed.

  The eggs’ light started fading.

  Joe noticed first. ‘No, don’t go! Winter, look!’ he cried. The glow dimmed, gradually but undeniably, the way the sun slipped below the horizon, taking the light with it. So the luminescence slowly faded, faded, and went out.

  They were left in candlelight. The water looked darker now. Winter leaned over, holding the candle as low as she dared. It was hard to see, with the golden reflection bounc­ing off the surface. She pulled back and stuck the candle on a ledge, so they both had a clearer view of the eggs, sitting there in the pool.

  Joe leaned over, his heart pounding. Was this what he’d dreamed of, or his worst nightmare?

  Long moments slipped by in silence.

  ‘Look!’ He gave a yelp. ‘It’s cracking – it really is!’

  His egg had a deep split on the surface. Something flick­ered in the gap, he was sure of it. ‘It’s moving. It’s alive!’

  Painfully slowly, as if it took huge effort, the purple spotted egg was gradually pushed apart from the inside.

  ‘Come on, little one. Let me see you!’ He breathed on the water, leaning right over the pool in his excitement. Nothing else mattered, just this little creature, working its way out.

  Finally, the egg cracked into three large pieces, rocking gently in the water, and Joe saw for the first time what had grown inside. There was a small shiny body, a blunt flat head and four skinny limbs, flailing around.

  ‘It needs to breathe!’ he gasped, not stopping to question how he knew. He shoved both hands in the hot water and took the wriggling creature in them, lifting it carefully to the surface. It was so slippery he almost dropped it, just managing to cup his hands and lift it up into the air.

  The hatchling’s head was slick and dark. It took a deep, hoarse breath.

  Joe laughed, feeling tears pricking at his eyes. It was so small. Like a baby bird. Like a little wren.

  And just like that, he knew who she was.

  ‘Hello, Ren,’ he said, bending his head low to see better, to drink in every detail.

  The baby dragon was about as big as his hand: her body was slender, with four sleek limbs and a long purple tail that twitched from side to side. Her wings were still folded, lumpen masses of darker plum on her back. She lay there, sides heaving, breathing in-out, in-out.

  Joe waited, hope and fear swirling through every part of him. Was she more like a fish? Did she breathe in the air, or the water? Was this the right thing to do?

  Then she opened her eyes. He forgot to breathe, lost in her beautiful, golden eyes. They were oval, full of intelli­gence, full of questions. He felt himself observed, weighed, judged. He waited, hoping, hoping, hoping she would find him worthy.

  Finally the hatchling opened her mouth and gave a little croaking mew. She had tiny needle-sharp teeth, white as bone.

  ‘Hey, you.’ Joe grinned and let out the breath he’d been holding, as relief flooded through him. ‘Hungry yet?’ He twisted his head, hissing, ‘Winter? What do we have that they might eat?’

  ‘I’ll check.’

  From the corner of his eye Joe could see her rummaging through the backpack.

  ‘Fish. Dried out, but they should do.’

  He knelt back on his heels, bringing the hatchling away from the water and closer to his chest, nestled there on one hand. He took a little dried fish from Winter’s outstretched hand and held it near the dragon’s mouth.

  Ren sniffed, a little haughty, then snapped and swal­lowed the dried fish in one gulp. Then she stood up properly, strength growing. She stretched her whole body, seeming longer every second – how could she have fitted in that egg? Then she shivered and her wings sprang open: astonishingly wide, smooth and strong, the skin stretched tight between the delicate bones. Joe could see the tiny veins carrying blood to each part of her wing.

  Ren flapped a few times, raising a draught, then folded her wings back and mewed for more food. Joe laughed and fetched another fish, glancing over to see he had left enough for Winter’s hatchling, when it came.

  He peered over. Winter hung over the pool, her face pinched and desperate.

  Joe knew better than to ask. There was no sign of life from the green egg.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Joe held his hatchling against his neck so Ren could be warmed by his bare skin and he could feel her wrig­gling body and know she was all right. Inside, his thoughts swished in opposite directions: relief at Ren’s arrival; concern for Winter and her egg.

  Winter hunched over the pool at the eastern edge of the large cave, tension in every inch of her body. She was still dressed in the dragonrider blues Milla had lent her – a dragonrider with no dragon.

  Yet.

  But as he watched, something changed. She straightened up, lifted by an invisible string.

  ‘It moved,’ she said softly. ‘I saw it. It cracked.’

  Joe peered down, praying it wasn’t just the flowing water nudging the egg. No, there it was, an unmistakeable zigzag fissure across the ridges of the green egg. It was just harder to see because of the stripy markings.

  ‘It’s hatching!’ Expressions flickered over Winter’s face, hope and fear and grief and love, like a stormy sky split by shafts of sunshine.

  Joe could only guess how hard this was for her, with all the echoes of the past. ‘It’s coming!’ he said. ‘Your dragon will be here soon. Come on,’ he urged it.

  He felt Ren notice it too. She lifted her head and chattered encouragement, and he caught sight of her tiny sharp teeth again. Joe cupped his hands and she hopped down onto them, leaning forwards to see what was happening below the water.

  Then, all at once, Ren dived off Joe’s hands and back into the pool, vanishing under the flowing water.

  ‘Ren!’ He swore. Where was she? Would she be swept away by the current? He couldn’t see anything in the dark flowing water. ‘Ren!’ Had he come all this way, only to lose her now? ‘Where are you?’

  He saw a darting shape under the surface, swimming strongly. He lowered his face, so his chin dipped right in the water. Ren was using her limbs and her folded wings worked like fins, her body undulating, powering through the water. She circled the other egg and then surfaced, taking a deep breath and diving again.

  Joe’s panic receded a little. She knew what she was doing. He moved his attention back to the other egg, which was taking longer to hatch.

  A bigger crack appeared.

  ‘That’s it,’ Winter encouraged it. ‘Come on, nearly there!’

  It seemed to get stuck then. There was a long pause with no more movement. Ren swam in agitated circles.

  ‘Maybe it’s resting?’ Joe said.

  ‘It needs air!’ Winter sounded frantic. ‘What if it drowns?’

  They stared at it, feeling helpless.

  ‘Can’t you do something?’ he asked.

  ‘They have to do it themselves,’ Winter explained quickly. ‘They
build strength through the hatching process – I remember that from last time. If you help them, they might not survive.’

  ‘But if you don’t help it, it might not survive either.’

  ‘Don’t you think I know that?’ she snapped.

  Joe fell silent, flicking his gaze between Ren and the green egg, praying with all his strength that it would hatch safely – and soon.

  Then, at last, the egg cracked in two and fell open.

  Winter plunged her hands in, and Joe’s view was blocked for a time. When he could see again, she was pulling out a shiny dark green hatchling.

  Ren surfaced, mewing loudly as she struggled to climb up the slippery sides of the stream.

  Joe lifted her out too. He and Winter were both half-soaked now, shivering as the water cooled, holding their hatchlings close.

  ‘Is it alive?’ he asked.

  Winter held the creature in one hand, stroking it with the other. She breathed warm breath over its body, crooning encouragement.

  Joe remembered the fish. He draped Ren on his neck again to free his hands, asking her to be patient. Then he knelt back and rummaged through the backpack till he found more dried fish in a paper wrapper.

  When he looked again, the green hatchling was moving. It lifted its head and opened its eyes – that intense gold glare! – and growled lightly, greeting Winter.

  She had tears rolling down her face and could barely speak. ‘Hello, you. Hello, little one.’ She sniffed and coughed, laughing through the tears. ‘I know you. I am so glad to know you, Fidell.’

  Joe said, ‘Fish?’ offering one, and watched with satisfac­tion as Fidell crunched it up and swallowed, looking round for more.

  When both hatchlings had eaten enough, they set to preening themselves. Afterwards, Winter held Fidell out in her cupped hands and Joe mirrored her. The hatchlings called to each other, with chattering chirpy noises. They touched noses, and sniffed each other all over. Then Ren wrapped her long neck round Fidell’s and curled up to sleep.

  ‘Maybe we should rest too?’ Joe said.

  Trying not to disturb the hatchlings, they made a nest between their bodies and laid them in it. Joe curved his body in a semicircle on one side; Winter did the same on the other. Then the four of them fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Joe woke in total darkness. For a long blank moment, he didn’t know where he was, one cheek pressed into a cool sandy floor, an intense ache across both shoulders. Then he remembered: Ren!

  His hands fluttered around, feeling for her little body, trying not to squash her.

  ‘Mrrt?’ Ren squirmed, nestled against his stomach, tell­ing him he’d disturbed her sleep.

  Joe listened carefully, holding his breath, till he was sure he heard Winter’s steady breathing and Fidell’s answering growl. ‘Morning,’ he greeted Ren, her claws needling up his arm as she climbed onto his shoulder. His mouth felt sticky and sour, his head pounding. He shook the water bottle and found it almost empty, so he took only a small swig, saving the rest for Winter.

  Next, he felt around for the backpack. It took him a few moments to fish out the fire-makings and another candle, longer to squeeze out enough tiny sparks to ignite some kindling and light the taper.

  Ren watched it all with great interest, leaning forwards. Her massive eyes reflected the flame: deep gold and so wise. Her head was flatter than a typical dragon, with larger triangular ears, pricked forward now. Her scales were irides­cent purple, larger on the top of her head, tiny on her legs. Her neck was elegant and strong; her body neat; her wings unbelievably fine, silken and shiny. She was perfect.

  Winter stirred then. Joe saw the moment she came to wakefulness and a wide smile lit up her whole face as she reached for Fidell.

  ‘Morning. We need food – for us and for them. And more water,’ he said, passing the flask.

  Winter greeted her hatchling tenderly, and then stretched, with a loud yawn.

  ‘I’ll go,’ she offered. ‘You’re injured.’

  ‘Take more of the gold coins,’ he reminded her, ‘so we can get lots of food. Maybe that’s why it’s there – to provide for them.’

  ‘I’ll be quick,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to be away a moment longer than I have to. Will you guard him for me?’

  ‘With my life,’ Joe said.

  She bent her head to the little green hatchling, talking to Fidell in a soft whisper. His shiny head drooped, showing he’d understood.

  Joe held out his hands to him. ‘Will you stay with me and Ren?’ Still perched on Joe’s shoulder, Ren let out a stream of eager aark aark noises, welcoming Fidell. The green dragon walked from Winter’s hands onto Joe’s, climbed up oppo­site Ren and flopped down heavily. Joe sat very still, hardly daring to move, realising he was responsible for both hatch­lings now.

  ‘The quicker I go, the sooner I’ll be back,’ Winter said. She looked miserable but determined. She lit another candle, hoisted the backpack on her shoulder, and left.

  Joe tried to ignore the gnawing ache of hunger in his stomach. He was glad when the shadow dragons jumped down and started to play with each other. They looked something like the sea otters he’d seen on the western beach. They rolled around, growling and play-fighting, then went back to the pool. Ren put her nose in the water, twitched, sneezed, and then dived right in, smooth and sinuous. She swam deep into the pool, rising for air, rolling on her back to see where Fidell had got to, and then diving again.

  The green dragon joined her, tumbling in with a splash.

  Joe tried to keep an eye on both hatchlings at once. It took all his concentration – and he felt the anxious weight of the responsibility. What could he say to Winter if anything happened to Fidell on his watch? To his relief, the two hatch­lings soon got tired of swimming. They climbed out, stronger today, and shook the water off, preening a little and then coming to roost on Joe. They scampered towards him, making little cries of excitement, very pleased with themselves.

  ‘Oh yes, didn’t you do well? Fine swimmers! Come on then, come and get warm!’ He gestured for them to climb up, laughing at the feel of their tiny claws as they swarmed up his body.

  Ren lifted her head up and touched her nose to Joe’s, greeting him as her person, telling him she was his. Joe’s heart melted. He’d never felt anything like this before. His love for Ren felt vast and limitless: as big as the world.

  Ren and Fidell grew sleepy. Ren yawned widely, showing tiny sharp teeth and a dark purple tongue. The shadow dragons curled up, one on each collarbone, and Joe cupped a hand over each of them, blinking hard.

  Finally! A dragon had chosen him. He would build his life around her. He wouldn’t let her down. He would prove he was worthy of her trust.

  Winter returned soon after, with as much water and food as she could carry, dropping it all to scoop up Fidell. He watched them, realising it was the same for Winter and Fidell as it was for him and Ren. They belonged together, and they always would. Winter’s face had lost that anxious, pinched look. There was still sadness in her eyes, even now, but it was overlaid with loving attention and delight in her dragon.

  So began their winter underground.

  Over the next few months, Joe and Winter took it in turns to forage or buy supplies, using the hoard of gold they’d found with the dragons. Joe learned the tunnels by heart till he knew them as well as the streets above ground. He man­aged to stay unrecognised, always pulling his hat low over his face. He felt like a different person now, walking with pride and purpose – maybe that helped.

  He sneaked into the Yellow House to visit his parents regularly, and his mother always loaded him up with as much food as he could carry. Sometimes Milla was there too. Now his family and friends knew he was safe, he asked them to let him stay down here a little longer, just till Ren was fully grown. The new dragons – and the new Joe – could be introduced to the city another day. For now, Ren filled his mind entirely and he couldn’t think about anything else.
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  The shadow dragons grew sleek and strong, doubling, then tripling in size, again and again, astonishingly fast. They missed the winter storms and Joe and Winter kept warm in the cavern underground, focusing on their young shadow dragons.

  Joe was happier than he’d ever imagined he could be.

  Somewhere deep down, he knew it couldn’t last.

  Joe was minding Ren and Fidell in the large cavern one afternoon in spring. ‘Hey, Winter, I hope you brought some more rabbits, these two are ravenous after their swim,’ he called out, hearing footsteps.

  Now large as hunting hounds, the young shadow dragons were always hungry.

  Something was wrong. Usually Winter hurried lightly down the stone steps, but these footsteps were slow and uneven, with a strange accompaniment as though something heavy was being dragged along.

  Joe sprang up, drawing his dragon-handled knife, which he always wore at his belt now. ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It’s all right. It’s me,’ Winter mumbled, not sounding like herself.

  Fidell streaked across, with a loud alarm call. Winter struggled down the final few steps, emerging into the circle of candlelight, with Fidell winding himself anxiously round her waist, almost tripping her up.

  Joe cried out in horror. Winter’s face had a streak of red down one side, clotted blood over her bruised left eye. Her dress was torn at the neck, and stained with something dark and shiny.

  ‘What happened? Are you all right?’ He darted over and took her arm. ‘Easy now.’

  ‘The city. It’s been taken.’

  Joe’s mind felt slow and stupid. He couldn’t make sense of the words. ‘What? Taken? Who’s taken it?’

  ‘The Brotherhood.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Joe felt cold. His thoughts flowed sluggishly.