Dawn of the Dragons

by Sarah J. Stone

The roar of her Maestro made her jump. He was the one authority figure in her life she actually respected.

  She turned her eyes dark and stopped her magic. Nathaniel could already see her frightened opponent cowering by the wall, and the damage she had done to the walls in a circle around the room.

  "Nathaniel, your Tiro is out of control," her teacher started, but Nathaniel put his hand up to silence her. He pointed to Prada, snapping his fingers to indicate she should come to his side.

  She stared him down and he growled.

  "Now," he said, and she agreed at last.

  There was no point in trying to make her apologize. Outside of a very select few people, Prada spoke to no one. So, instead, he turned toward the door, withdrawing her from the class with a sigh.

  They were alone in the hallway, classes in session all around them, when he turned to her.

  "He started it," she said, referring to her opponent.

  "I don't care who started it," Nathaniel cried. "You do not use your powers like that. Did you see the damage you did?"

  Prada crossed her arms, looking away, and Nathaniel considered giving her a magical shock. But anger was not a witch trait, it distracted from the magic.

  "Prada, I'm talking to you," he said. She didn't answer, and he shook his head.

  "Fine. You are not fighting in tomorrow's showcase."

  "You can't do that!" she cried.

  "Forget it. I'm not sitting there wondering whether you're going to win or just kill someone," he said. "I better find you in your room in an hour, working on homework."

  "No!" she argued. "I trained for months to—"

  "Silence," he said. "Go."

  Her eyes flashed, but eventually she went. It was only when he was alone in the hallway that he put his head against the wall with a sigh.

  He thought he was prepared for this. After Sienna, he thought he was prepared for anything.

  Sienna had been his first Tiro, and his previous one. In an unprecedented move, he and his former Maestro, Desmond, had both taken on Sienna as a Tiro. She suffered from the locust gene, which meant that her unrivaled power was consumed by her body. Her autoimmune illness meant that anything natural, including magic, attacked itself and nearly killed her. They thought that between the two of them they could find a way to harness her power and make her a great witch.

  But instead, they found that her life was not compatible with magic. After years of battling, of caring for her, Nathaniel made the decision to block her magic with chemical infusions. She was healthier than ever, lively and rosy-cheeked, but she was no longer a witch.

  Desmond had abandoned her as a Tiro not long after that, knowing they were stuck between a rock and a hard place. He retired from the academy, pledging himself to his long-time forbidden love, Mariah, and both of them now lived off-world, enjoying their retirement with each other.

  Nathaniel had made the heartbreaking choice to end her training soon after. The Jurors, the body that governed them, had made him take a Tiro of their choosing, as was the promise when he took Sienna.

  Sienna's future was bright, living on Jeffro with her own love story. Devon, another former witch, and her childhood sweetheart, lived with her in the palace of the Queen of Jeffro.

  Eliza, coincidentally, was Nathaniel's childhood sweetheart. And every time Prada made him want to put his head through the wall, he considered retreating there for the rest of his life.

  Eventually, he tore himself away from the wall, trying to keep his face serene. He was supposed to be sitting on the Jurors for the afternoon to review new initiates. Sitting on the Jurors was a lifelong dream of his, and it was finally starting to come true.

  Having a difficult Tiro was not helping his case, even if they had chosen her for him.

  He often wondered where he would be had he not been such a talented warrior. Would they say his mind was bright, his approach serene? Or was he just known because he could kill many in a single blow?

  Not that he could do that so quickly anymore. He wasn't old, but he wasn't exactly young either.

  He tried to keep his face serene as he walked toward the chamber of the Jurors. Of course, with the use of magic, they could sense anything that was wrong. But he hoped that they would have no reason to probe, to look for something that they didn't need to see. They had given him a difficult assignment and he wanted to be worthy.

  Even if he wasn't sure that he was worthy of much, since abandoning his Tiro. Witches were taught not to dwell in the past, for it always distracted them. Nathaniel felt the weight of that lesson more than anything as he pushed open the doors to the Juror chambers.

  To his surprise, only Thomas was there waiting for him. Nathaniel looked at his time piece in confusion.

  “Am I late?”

  “You are not,” Thomas confirmed. “But I have asked the others to arrive a bit later in order to be able to speak to you.”

  Nathaniel’s heart rate rose.

  “Have I done something to offend, Maestro?”

  “No,” Thomas said. “But there is a delicate situation that I wish to assign you and your Tiro to.”

  “Delicate?” Nathaniel raised his eyebrow with a chuckle. It wasn't a humorous one, unfortunately. “I'm not sure we are the best ones to tackle delicate, especially as of late. Mass displays of power and carnage, yes. But delicate?”

  “It may require both,” Thomas replied. “There is a rebellion on Dramoon, and the weapons they have acquired threaten the galaxy. We have tried negotiation as long as we could, but it appears to be raging into a civil war.”

  “Dramoon?” Nathaniel said in surprise “That's a lost planet. I didn't even know that we had anyone who could work there. The population is so hidden, so…remote.”

  “And yet their weapons are advanced, and no one knows which allegiance they will choose. Our negotiations have been based on computer translation, but we have lost touch with the regime that governs. Their civilians are in great danger, and if they set their sights on the galaxy…”

  “I know what remote planets can do,” Nathaniel answered. “Especially if they have been hoarding fire power for decades. You have reason to believe that it might escalate?”

  “Yes,” Thomas said, without doubt.

  “As I said, Maestro, delicate negotiation is not the strength that my Tiro and I brag about…”

  “Not this Tiro…” Thomas said and Nathaniel paused.

  “What?”

  “Your former Tiro has the capabilities in language to communicate with them. Very few could with such a difficult language, but Sienna…”

  “Sienna has left the order,” Nathaniel pointed out. “And even if she hadn't, she doesn't have the power to defend herself in such a situation.”

  “You may see where my mind is headed, Nathaniel,” Thomas said and Nathaniel's eyes widened.

  “Asking a former witch to return…”

  “I'm not asking her to return, Nathaniel. I'm asking her to assist the order that she once dedicated her life to serve. And that she would still serve, had it not been for the fault in her stars.”

  Nathaniel wanted to tell Thomas that it wasn't the only reason that she left, but he knew that wasn't true. Had he and Desmond trained Sienna better, told her to focus on her magic, and remained faithful even when her body failed, she would likely still be here. But instead, they had backed away.

  “I can ask her,” Nathaniel said. “It's only right.”

  “There's more,” Thomas said, and Nathaniel bowed his head. “Your former Maestro, Desmond, served on Dramoon for almost two years.”

  “He did?” Nathaniel said, in shock. “When?”

  “Before he took you on,” Thomas said. “But no one else has even come close to that kind of service there. With her language, his experience, and your fire power we should be able to contain whatever threat they are conjuring. You would spearhead this quest, of course.”

  Nathaniel couldn't believe what he was hearing.

  “You want me
to ask my former Maestro and Tiro to join me on a quest?”

  “I want peace in this universe, Nathaniel,” Thomas replied. “And you know what happens when a rebel, rural planet gets out of control.”

  “I do,” Nathaniel answered, remembering many cases in history when countless lives had been lost.

  “Are you opposed to asking your former team to work with you?” Thomas asked.

  “No,” he replied. “I'm just…surprised.”

  “They could turn us down,” Thomas answered. “But I have a feeling that they won't when they both know what is at stake. I would not ask this unless the situation is desperate. Where are they?”

  Nathaniel drew a deep breath.

  “Sienna lives on Jeffro, in the royal palace, that's easy enough. Desmond may take a bit more searching. He has been enjoying the quiet life, as far as I can tell. She'll know where he is, though.”

  “And her health?”

  “She has kept her magic blocked,” Nathaniel answered. “As far as I can tell from afar, and so her health should be strong.”

  “So be it,” Thomas waived his hand. “Let nature guide you, Nathaniel, for this is a situation that some may not come back from.”

  “Nature will guide me,” Nathaniel answered, as he rose. “I'll go to them at once.”

  “One more thing,” Thomas said. “Your Tiro. I heard about her today.”

  He shook his head.

  “I wish I could say it was out of the ordinary,” he said. “But Prada's powers have always been more than any of us have known.”

  “And yet she trusts you,” Thomas said. “She will learn the ways Nature can guide her.”

  “Yes,” Nathaniel replied, although he felt like he was lying. His mind was also whirling into the future. Sienna and Prada had only met once, when Sienna was still a witch. After that, he had only visited without his young Tiro in toe, trying to keep his lives separate How would Prada, fiercely jealous of anything that ever held his attention, react to the Tiro he once had a strong bond with? And how would Desmond react when he saw what had become of the Tiro that the Jurors had forced on Nathaniel?

  Chapter 2

  “Two minutes,” Nathaniel knocked on the door frame of Prada's quarters. She was packing, but she didn't look like she was packing fast enough. “I want to get this transport to Jeffro, or this won't be another one for a while.”

  “I don't see why we can't pilot ourselves,” Prada answered, throwing things into a rut sack “We've gone that distance before.”

  “Not for many years,” Nathaniel said, not wanting to tell her that he'd rather not pilot for twelve hours by himself if she was going to have a meltdown and refuse to do anything. “Come on, Prada.”

  “Nathaniel,” he turned suddenly as Sybil, his childhood best friend, came up behind him from the hallway. “I heard you were rushing off.”

  “Top secret,” Nathaniel turned to Sybil, a weary smile on his face. When they were young, they were top of their class, ready to take on the world. And for many years, they had done just that, taking the peak quests and laughing all the way. Now, approaching middle age, they didn't work together as often, taking quieter quests. Still, their friendship remained strong, and Sybil often wished him well before quests. “Are you off, as well?”

  “Not until tomorrow,” she replied. “Prada, how are you?”

  Prada's eyes flickered up, but as predicted, she had no words, even for someone who had been in her life since she was a child. Her hands rose, and she signed quickly. Sybil no longer needed translation and her eyebrows rose.

  “Well, transport is much better than flying yourself,” she said. “Besides, you'll probably pick up something lovely on Jeffro. The Queen Eliza has so many ships. You'll like it.”

  “Out of time, Prada,” Nathaniel said, as he looked at his time piece. “Pick up your rut sack, walk out the door.”

  But… her thoughts bounced off his head.

  “Now,” he said, and she groaned, walking out the door. “Go, I'll meet you in the hanger bay. Go now.”

  She glared at him, but obeyed. Only when she was gone did Sybil turn Nathaniel.

  “She's cheery today.”

  “Promise me you'll never take another Tiro,” Nathaniel answered, as he shut Prada's door. “Life is easier that way.”

  “Nathaniel, you do know that without you, she would be sent to the colonies, banished from the Order?” Sybil said, her tone taking on a serious note. “There is no one else who can control Prada's power like you can.”

  Nathaniel sighed.

  “Then why do I feel like I'm failing?”

  “Every Maestro feels that way,” Sybil replied with a soft smile. “Go on, you'll be late. Say hello to the others for me.”

  “You should come,” Nathaniel said and she shrugged.

  “One day. Go save the world like we used to.”

  “Let Nature guide you,” Nathaniel said, by way of parting, and followed Prada down the hallway. There weren't many public transport ships that came to their hanger, so his other option was a cargo ship that was stopping on Jeffro. It would be comfortable enough, and he was glad that he didn't have to take Prada on a crowded ship. She did better alone, in open spaces where her powers could lash out without much recourse.

  Once aboard, they were assigned quarters for the long ride. It was two bunks, and a sitting area, clearly meant for the crew. But as witches, they were often treated with dignity and respect, given the best arrangements.

  Prada threw herself onto a bunk, pulling out her tablet. Nathaniel settled their bags by the door, seating himself on the couch.

  “Do you have homework to do?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Then you don't need to be constantly staring at your tablet,” he answered, looking around the room. The walls were reinforced, and the space was wide. “We could spar if you want.”

  Prada glanced at him.

  “Now?”

  She loved anything to do with sparring, or to fighting in general. She was a miracle in combat, so much power coming out of a tiny body. Nathaniel had done his best to teach her everything he could, but she surpassed him in brute strength. It was technique, control, she lacked.

  “If you'd like,” he replied, and she put her tablet down, getting to her feet.

  “I'll knock you to ground,” she said and he stood, with a smile.

  “Will you now?” he said, thinking back to what he was learning in combat classes at this age. “Have they taught you an arrow yet?”

  “Wha—” Prada only got the first three letters out before he flexed his palms, and flipped them, sending her a blast of magic she was barely prepared her.

  She blocked it, and then shot back a powerful, but wild stream back. Nathaniel grinned, tensing his shoulders, and squaring his feet.

  In the end, both of them were left equally out of breath, their magic feeling depleted, and their room in tatters. It was easy enough to fix, levitation and repair spells were taught in first year. But as they picked up after themselves, Prada broke their panting silence.

  “She couldn't do that,” she said and Nathaniel knew what she was getting at.

  “No,” he said, picking up her thoughts. “When I took Sienna to Jeffro, we flew ourselves. And Sienna didn't spar, ever.”

  “Why?” Prada asked. “Why couldn't you teach her? You are a warrior. Desmond was a warrior. Why did you not force her onto cargo ships?”

  “Flying with Sienna was difficult,” Nathaniel replied softly. “We chose to fly ourselves because of how ill she was, we could manage on our own schedule if we needed. As for her magic, you know it made her sick. Once we figured out there was no sparring. But far more homework in other subjects.”

  “She should not have been a witch,” Prada said, and Nathaniel tried very hard not to get angry.

  “That is not up to us, Prada.”

  “Had she not been a witch, you could have trained me sooner,” Prada said. “Maybe…”

  “Woah
,” Nathaniel had not heard these words from her before. “Prada, there was no way. No way I could have stopped what happened to you, even if I didn't have a Tiro.”

  He knew, of course, that his young Tiro had experienced violence and horrors almost from birth. But even if he didn't have a Tiro, he hadn't been aware of her existence to save her.

  “You don't know that,” Prada cried, and Nathaniel tensed his palm. She was either going to cry or rage and he had to be prepared for both.

  “I don't,” he answered. “But we cannot change the past. I am training you now, and that's all that matters.”

  Prada bit her lip, and looked away.

  “What are you afraid of?” he asked. “What can I do?”

  “You do not let me do what I am able to do, because of her,” Prada answered. “I am not fragile, I am not weak. I can be more than this.”

  “You will be a great witch,” Nathaniel answered. “But you are still in training now, do not forget that.”

  “What I am supposed to do?” Prada asked. “Around so many that aren't witches? She can't use magic, Desmond is old, and we are supposed to—”

  “Prada.” He put his hand to his face. “Can you just trust me, that this quest will be all right? Please?”

  He was the only person in the world that she remotely considered trusting, and he was aware that some days that wasn't enough. However, today, she nodded, falling silent.

  “You should get some homework done,” he said, leaving her to the room. He needed to clear his head, before he said something that he regretted. The last thing he wanted was to hurt his Tiro because he felt like a failure.

  Instead, he walked the ship, trying to occupy his mind; to come up with arguments of what he was going to say when he saw his old team again. He had spoken to them both, of course, but this was a different request. Sienna knew he was coming, but she didn't know why. And whether she had Desmond's updated whereabouts was a different story. Desmond checked in often, but he did not share any details of his life. Instead, he asked about his Tiro's lives, made sure they were well.

  It was as close to a family as they would ever get.

  When they finally docked, Nathaniel could not get off the ship fast enough. It was mostly shipping containers being unloaded in Jeffro, and very few people noticed them as they disembarked.