Origin Exposed: Descended of Dragons, Book 2

by Jen Crane

  “It’s good that you have friends to help you,” I said. “Is there anything I can do?” I blame my dang Southern compulsions again. That offer was far more generous than I felt.

  “No, but thank you,” he said with a tight, gracious smile. “We’ve more than we need.”

  Once I noticed the nervous energy, it became apparent in their every movement. Both Bay and Eiven were tightly restraining themselves. It was more than being on their best behavior. They were both rigid with nerves, the simplest actions seeming to take a mountain of restraint. I swallowed to wet my dry mouth. Are they hiding something? Are they volatile? I jerked at the thought. Are they preparing to attack me? Where’s Stryde?

  Instinctively, I thought to trace from danger—score one for this new Thayerian—but then I noticed Bay’s hand shaking as she worked to pull the turkey from the spit. It took her every concentration to maneuver the bird to a nearby platter.

  Understanding struck. They were still fighting to control their human forms. They’d been dragons so long that manipulating arms and fingers were no longer first nature to them.

  I took a shaky breath and helped Bay with the food.

  “Where’s Stryde?” I asked once we entered the cabin and he wasn’t inside.

  Bay and Eiven shared an inscrutable look before she replied, “Burning off some extra energy, dear. He’ll be along shortly.”

  I let the ‘dear’ pass, cognizant of other, more tangible concerns.

  The cabin was stale. Somewhat dark, naturally, with no electricity and only a few windows thrown open to facilitate an earthen breeze. Apart from the cleared garden, the trees were so large and thick that sunlight barely made its way down to the forest floor, where layers of old leaves formed sodden paths.

  Eiven and I were seated at the farm-style kitchen table. He slammed another home-brew and I took an extra-large swig of my own. It seemed we all needed a crutch to calm our nerves.

  Bay wasn’t exactly homemaker material, I was pleased to note, as muffled curses floated from the kitchen. Bay was hard, capable, calloused. At home in the kitchen, but in a utilitarian way.

  “Did you teach my mother to cook?” I asked before I even considered the question.

  She started at my unexpected question but turned toward me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. She nodded nostalgically. “I did at first. But she was more comfortable in the kitchen than I ever was. Her talents surpassed mine while she was still young.”

  “I can attest to her skills,” I said with a smile. “I loved her cooking. I would choose her pot roast or homemade mac and cheese over going out most times. Which was fine with her. She was something of a homebody.”

  Bay and Eiven smiled at my fond memory, but their looks soon turned regretful.

  “I’m sure she did the best she could,” Bay said. “It’s hard to be around people again…after.”

  We fell silent, the mood having taken a dramatic turn for the depressing.

  “Who’s hungry?” Eiven forced out.

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Stryde?” I asked. “Or was he really not keen on getting to know me better? You don’t have to be nice for him. This situation is difficult for all of us.”

  “No, he wanted to be here,” said Eiven as he passed me the platter of turkey. “It’s just…things were harder for him. He’s having difficulty adjusting. Bay and I led full lives before our imprisonment. Stryde, he was so young when we were taken. And things were so hard for so long. Somewhere along the way he forgot there was more to life than manipulation and pain. More than bitterness and revenge. It’s hard for him to imagine a new life for himself.”

  “Oh,” I breathed. “I’m sorry.”

  “He’s getting better,” Eiven assured me. “Every day we try to help him find something positive. Something to look forward to. But he’s still fighting a tougher battle than we are.”

  “When it’s just us, he’s free to be himself; it’s all right if he falters,” Bay added. “But with you here, I think he fears he’ll fall apart.”

  “I see.” And I did. The extent of my hardships had been a little emotional instability—a mother on the far side of wacky, daddy issues, and, okay, recent uncertainty about my otherworldly parentage and magical abilities. Not to mention my mother’s abandonment. But by then I was a grown woman. I hadn’t faced centuries of physical torture and manipulation that had nearly driven me to madness. I was still quite sane. Fairly sane, at any rate.

  “Tell us about your childhood,” Bay asked. “If it’s not too sad?”

  “No, it’s all right. My mother…she was nurturing and sweet. She made my Halloween costumes by hand, helped me with my homework. Encouraged my independence by making me feel safe and loved. The only home I ever knew was a small town in the southern U.S. I had a lot of friends...a typical childhood, despite being maybe overly focused on church and religion. I guess she found religion after the tragedies she lived through. It’s probably what helped her survive them. She committed her life to God, to her church. She walked the walk. Or maybe tightrope is a better term,” I added with a sad grin.

  “It sounds lovely, dear,” Bay said. “I wish I could have seen you grow up. I’m sorry that I didn’t.”

  “It was lovely,” I ducked my head, staring into my lap until the threat of tears passed.

  I cleared my throat and looked up to find Stryde’s bulky body occupying the doorway.

  “Hello, Stryde,” I croaked.

  “Stella,” he said, nodding formally and taking a seat at the table.

  “Wheeell,” Bay said cheerily. “Best make a plate, then. The turkey is excellent.”

  The remainder of dinner went on uneventfully. We made small-talk about my classes at Radix and their daily habits. On a couple of occasions I caught Stryde staring at me. He was so zoned out I doubted he heard a word of our conversation. I easily looked past it once I grasped how difficult everyday life was for him.

  After dinner and a bit more conversation, Bay hugged me goodbye. There’s no denying I relished it. Eiven patted me roughly on the back with a meaty hand and asked me to visit again soon.

  “Goodbye,” I said and stuck my hand out awkwardly to shake Stryde’s. A lock of long black hair fell over his eyes when he looked down, bewildered, as if my arm had morphed into a groundhog. He may not have gotten the familial hair, but he had the eyes. The green orbs shot wildly back and forth to mine before he looked down again.

  “I… May I walk you home?” he asked stiffly.

  “Sure,” I said slowly. I had planned to trace back, but a short walk in the woods wouldn’t hurt.

  We walked in silence for a while. I enjoyed the small noises of the forest, though they were louder and more clear now that I had embraced my animal form. I could discern a rodent shuffling through nearby leaves, an owl shifting restlessly overhead.

  “Have you enjoyed your education so far at the Root?” Stryde asked.

  “I have. I’m having more difficulty grasping some parts of the curriculum than others, but overall I love it. I’ve learned so much already. Did you go? To Radix?”

  “Not for long. I went until...well, until the fighting. When he captured my mom and dad I thought I could save them. I was stupid. Young. He just caught me, too.”

  “Your mother? I never knew. I’m so sorry, Stryde.”

  “Yes. She... She died in the fights after the… After.”

  He couldn’t even say the words ‘Steward Massacre.’ At least I knew that my own mother was still alive somewhere. That she hadn’t been killed during a battle she wanted no part of.

  “Oh, Stryde,” I said and hugged him, trying to communicate my sorrow and support through the gesture.

  He didn’t return the hug, but stood stiffly, hands at his sides. I stood back from him and thanked him for escorting me.

  “Goodbye, Stella,” he said with a brittle bow.

  Chapter 8

  Stella Stonewall

  Student Journal Entry #8

  Logged via Pia<
br />
  Monday, June 30

  I’ve just returned from dinner with my newfound fam…

  “Pia?”

  “Yes, Stella?”

  “Is this journal private?”

  “In what way do you mean?”

  “I mean,” I said, and rolled my eyes. “Is what I write in my Student Journal kept between you and I, or is it uploaded to some Radix cloud somewhere? Is there a chance that someone besides you and I read it?”

  “Oh, there’s always a chance of that, Stella. Best not write down what you don’t want seen. But you know that.”

  “Mph,” I grunted, suddenly nervous. “So, are you saying that anything I’ve written in my Student Journals already isn’t private? That it’s subject to inspection or something?”

  “I do not think there’s anyone out there scouring Student Journals for deets on your love life, if that is what you mean.”

  “That is not what I mean.” I huffed out an agitated breath. “Why the hell isn’t what I write in my journal private? And did you really just say ‘deets?’”

  “It’s a Student Journal, Stella. Not your super secret diary.”

  “You really get on my nerves sometimes.” I made a face at Pia, fully aware that I was conducting an argument with an electronic device.

  “Is that so?” she replied. “I think you are just a peach!”

  “Is that sarcasm, Pia?” Maybe I could accidentally drop her in the toilet.

  “Affirmative. What is your concern, Stella? Is there something you wish to keep secret?”

  “Oh. Ah, no. That last journal entry just included some things I’m self-conscious about, that’s all. No big deal.”

  I breathed deeply and prayed for patience. It was totally a big deal. I had laid out a first-hand account of the existence and continued transgressions of the Drakontos dragons. On top of that, I had stated very clearly that I possessed a dragon form. I revised the old entry at once, hoping against hope that nothing had or ever would come of it.

  Chapter 9

  “Who sent you flowers?” Gresham asked when he picked me up from my room at Sabre Hall.

  At his question, the tiniest of pangs plucked my little heart.

  “Oh. I don’t know,” I said. “No message, just my name on the card.”

  His brows drew together in disapproval. “No idea who sent them?”

  “No. I…ah… I really thought they were from you.”

  “Hmph,” was all he said.

  * * *

  Aemon Lochlain lived just outside of town in a small craftsman-style cottage. I had expected him, a small person, to live in a proportional home, but his could have housed any family. He welcomed Gresham and I into a den that at some time over the last century had drowned in books and papers. Though we were expected, he nonetheless scraped piles from a sofa to accommodate us.

  “I made tea,” he announced as he rounded the corner with a brass tray. The contents rattled and clanked as he looked over his glasses, scouring the sitting room for a flat surface.

  “Thank you, Professor Lochlain,” I said as he sloshed my tea into a ceramic cup. His small hands made every regular-sized thing he handled seem colossal by comparison. It was difficult not to stare, so I forced my attention to the titles of books strewn about the room.

  Once he’d filled his and Gresham’s cups half full he hefted a bottle of golden-colored liquid and topped the two off before offering it to me.

  “Oh… Ah… Thank you. What is it?”

  “What is it? Drambuie, child, of course.” His thick brows knit in disapproval.

  Gresham must have seen the incomprehension on my face. “Drambuie is a liqueur made from Scotch, heather honey, and spices,” he said. “It’s a delicacy here from your world. Try it. You’ll never see tea the same.”

  “All righty.” I nodded my approval before adding a dollop of Drambuie to my own cup with great ceremony.

  Scotch had never been my thing. I know I would be a lot more cultured and refined if it was, but to me it was like liquid fire. And maybe that’s the point.

  But Drambuie…dangerous. It warmed me from the inside out, like tiny fuses had been wired from my belly to my extremities, and when those fuses were ignited the liquid fire ran the length of my body. Instant comfort. I breathed a bit easier, relaxed just a notch.

  Perfect. Just perfect for a serious conversation with a scholarly gnome and my enigmatic older lover about my fate as a wolf-dragon love child.

  Professor Lochlain—I had never received permission to call him Aemon—clasped the arms of a green suede chair with knobby fingers before hefting onto an ottoman and backing into the seat with a grunt. “Stella, Gresham has told me what happened at the crater. Your wolf. Your dragon. Your discovery that you’re an omni.”

  My stomach bottomed out before rolling into a hard knot at his casual declaration of my circumstances. I didn’t speak; didn’t know where to start. When I began to fidget Gresham cut in. “Aemon is a trusted friend, Stella. He and I have worked together to find you from the beginning.”

  “I know,” I squeaked and took a long breath before directing my attention at the gnome. “Professor Lochlain, Gresham told me you’re wise and level-headed and will be a great resource in determining my way forward. This is all just very difficult. And terrifying.”

  “Aye, I know it is,” he said with a sympathetic nod. “But we’re here to help you. And to do that, we need to lay all of our cards on the table. We must try to consider the facts without bias so we avoid mistakes. The more honest you are with yourself, and the more realistic we are about your situation, the better this will all work out in the end. The road ahead is going to be tough for you, Stella, but we’ll help you find your way.”

  “Thank you,” I croaked, both gratitude and fear producing a lump in my throat.

  “Don’t thank me yet, child. We’ve a ways to go.” He took a long sip of his doctored tea before continuing. “Now, let’s first consider the primary problem: public perception as it relates to your safety. We know that the public fear of dragons, any dragon, is visceral and not linked to rationale. Certainly anyone that knows you understands you would never be a threat to Thayer.”

  I nodded, pleased by his synopsis of my character. “My thoughts, exactly. Can’t we just tell people, show them that I’m not a danger? That I didn’t grow up in Thayer and had no knowledge or interaction with those dragons that attacked?”

  He sucked a breath before twisting his mouth in regret. “I’m afraid publicizing you’re an outsider is probably not the best course of action right now. And as to you not having contact with the Drakontos dragons, well, that’s not exactly true, now is it?” His glance turned pointed. “Edina, the most infamous and feared of the dragons, raised you.”

  “Yes, but..but” I sputtered. “She wasn’t Edina Drakontos. I knew her as Elena Stonewall. I’d never even heard her real name until a few weeks ago. I sure never knew she had such a horrifying history.”

  “Further,” he said as he cocked a furry eyebrow, “you recently freed three of the dreaded Drakontos, who willingly endured humiliating mutilation at the hands of Brandubh rather than betray you.”

  “No.” I groaned and shook my head. “It’s not like that. In the end they helped Brandubh set me up anyway, despite having their wings clipped.”

  “I know that,” he said. “And you know that. Gresham, too. But everyone else will see you as one more dragon with very close ties to Thayer’s most hated enemies.”

  “You know what I don’t understand?” I said, my voice rising with each word. “Dragons didn’t kill people. Brandubh killed people. He’s the one who enslaved the dragons, he’s the one who manipulated them and used them as his own personal weapons of mass genocide. The Drakontos were victims, too.”

  “And now she’s a dragon sympathizer,” Lochlain said and nodded smugly to Gresham.

  “Oh, screw you,” I spat before I remembered I was working for a letter grade from the gnome. At that moment, I d
idn’t care that he was my teacher. “Why haven’t you people been able to find and prosecute Brandubh? He’s the real enemy, and you know it. You’ve had hundreds of years, but he’s still out there and here we sit, trying to establish a defense to something I haven’t even done. What exactly am I guilty of? Being born? If you two hadn’t sought me out and dragged me here, I wouldn’t be facing this nightmare in the first place.”

  Gresham’s jaw ticked with irritation, with anger. As Thayer’s director of defense, he was certainly the man who shouldered the responsibility for Brandubh’s extended freedom.

  Professor Lochlain’s weathered face held a goofy grin as he looked back and forth between me and Gresham. I suspected that he had provoked me to anger in order to see if I would defend the dragons, and I’d played right into his hands.

  “I get your point, Professor,” I conceded. “I’ll never be seen as unbiased. I’ll never be trusted.” I couldn’t help but add a mumbled, “Even though I’m right.”

  He nodded and picked the conversation back up before Gresham and I lost our tempers. “The unknown here is Brandubh, of course. In addition to being seen as a dragon, a dragon sympathizer, and an outsider, as long as he’s still on the loose you’ll be viewed as vulnerable to his machinations, just like your mother and her family.”

  “But I’m not. I proved that when I was able to change to wolf and attack him.”

  “Exactly. I’ve given this some thought, and I have come up with a two-pronged offense.” Professor Lochlain used the chair arms to push himself back in the worn seat. “First,” he ticked a finger, “pursuing the dissemination of knowledge that you inherited your father’s thayerenthropy is key. We must show people that you have multiple forms…before they discover that one of them is a dragon.”

  “Thayerenwha?” I asked.

  “Thayerenthropy.” He grunted his disapproval of my ignorance. “It means, literally, mankind of Thayer. As people who can manipulate any form, omnis are known to be the most evolved of us.”