Rare Form: Descended of Dragons, Book 1 (13 page)

B
y Friday
the entire campus was abuzz in anticipation of the Solstice Festival. More than just the longest day of the year, which was practically all the information that my Bible Belt upbringing had afforded me, Summer Solstice, or Midsummer, was a celebration of the end of planting and the beginning of harvest. It was a time to celebrate fertility, and when the mischievous and malicious were thought to come out to play.

Though the city of Caliph had many squares where people gathered and traded, like those I’d read about in Europe, Caliph Square was the largest. The open-air market was overflowing with tents and food carts…and people. I hadn’t expected that many people.

Merchants hawked beer, mead, birch wreaths, and fertility devices of all sorts. Timbra had insisted that we arrive early to check out the booths, and see some hokey rituals and performances. I soon discovered what she really wanted was to score as much festival food as possible. By noon, she had already taken down a funnel cake, some fried cheese curd, a tater twister, and jerk tofu. Vegetarian fair food was a real oxymoron to a turkey leg-lover like me.

We listened to tribal drumming, perused folk art, ate more food, and saw plenty of skin—fertility apparently synonymous with sexuality.

I
n the early
afternoon the crowd thickened. People flowed in the direction of the stage, which had been erected on the banks of the river.

“What’s going on over there?” I asked Timbra.

“Oh. Yes, you’ll want to see that,” she nodded soberly.

“What? What is it?”

“A play. A reenactment, really. Each year, the Steward Massacre is reenacted to honor our fallen and to remind us of what’s at stake…and what’s still out there.”

We made our way to the grassy seating area just in time. As the production began, Gnomes and winged Fae—they didn’t want to be called fairies, but Fae, Timbra had admonished—worked farmland together in worn tunics and breeches. Heartier built Dwarfs loaded crops onto the backs of wagons drawn by miniature beasts of burden that resembled water buffalo. The creatures worked dutifully, if happily, joining together in songs that illustrated the simple pleasures of working the soil.

When the workday concluded the creatures returned to their families, life peaceful and contented at hearth and home. A new day brought about more good work.

Then, one Fae’s ear twitched. She had heard something and looked to a male across the field who confirmed her concern. With no further warning, a monstrous dragon dove overhead, releasing a deafening roar and scorching the crops in the field. The Gnomes, Fae, and Dwarfs let out cries of terror and ran for their lives, diving under wagons and running into the forest. More dragons ravaged the sky, seeking out the hiding creatures after they had destroyed the crops and farmland. One by one the dragons ferreted out the small beings—their children, too—and set them ablaze, their excruciated shrieks filling the air before stopping altogether.

The crowd that had gathered for the reenactment sat stunned, silent,
moved
. I dragged in a ragged breath, on the verge of tears at the gruesome sight that I knew had actually occurred, yet on a much larger scale. Timbra discreetly wiped her eyes and gazed into her lap in silent despair.

The scene on stage changed. A dragon lay in a mountain lair, lethargic and desolate. The costume had been exceptionally made, the ruby eyes striking and intelligent. A young-looking man approached the beast and praised it for its work. The dragon closed its eyes in shame and turned away. The man reached to pet its mighty head.

“There, there, my beast. No sense regretting what cannot be changed. You serve me now.”

For the first time, I noticed a thick metal band around the dragon’s neck. The man ran a hand along the wide metal band as he continued, “You will continue to do my bidding. It will be so for as long as I desire. And you will live in this mountain in solitude until you can be trusted. A dragon with a conscience,” he scoffed as he left the cavernous lair.

“Years passed,” intoned a narrator. “How long, no one knows for certain. The dragon lay in wait for the sorcerer to return, relegated to the mountainous prison, and doomed to do his bidding by the immovable magic torque around her neck. She was consumed with self loathing, unable to leave the lair, unable to return to her original form, unable to end her miserable life.”

“People here are descended of dragons?” I whispered fiercely to Timbra.

“Were,” she whispered in return. “No one has seen a dragon in nearly a hundred years. She was the last.”

“The people of Thayer rose up in retribution,” the narrator continued, as did the play.

“As Edina was trapped in her mountain prison, one by one we hunted and destroyed the remaining dragons who had attacked the stewards of our land. Edina’s confinement was also her salvation, for she escaped the revenge.

“Many years later a Thayerian hunting in his wolf form followed a strange scent and discovered Edina. She was listless and ignored him. Drawn to her, and cognizant that she might be the last dragon alive, he visited for months. He slowly trusted that she meant him no harm. She told him of her enslavement, her regret, her despair. He came to care for her, and sought a way to release her from the torque. It took many more months, but the wolf found magic strong enough to remove the sorcerer’s powerful claim. When Edina was released, her dragon was replaced by a woman. The wolf took her to his home where he hid her, protected her, and loved her for many, many years.

“The sorcerer never stopped searching for his dragon, and one day discovered the two. Neither Edina nor the wolf were ever seen again. Some say they escaped and started life anew; some say the sorcerer destroyed them both. No one knows for sure.”

“We have stories like this where I come from, too,” I stage whispered. “They’re called ‘fairy tales.’”

Timbra’s smooth forehead suddenly creased with disapproval. “Everybody knows that fairy tales evolved from real stories, Stella. Even this one has a modest basis in actual occurrences.”

“Yeah, but wolf/dragon love? Come on.”

“After being in Thayer this long I’d think you could acknowledge that magic exists—that ‘unbelievable’ is often just due to a prosaic bent in the mind of the beholder.”

“Oh! Did you just insult me?”

“You got that?” Timbra smirked.

“Careful, girl. I love you, but that don’t mean I won’t cut a bitch,” I said with mock fury.

The scene of the reenactment changed again, this time to plentiful fields and wagons full of bountiful harvests.

The narrator resumed his soulful delivery once more, “It took a very long time for the surviving Gnome, Fae, and Dwarf people to repopulate and reclaim their role as stewards of our land. But with time, the pain of loss receded and the numbers within families increased.

“Today we celebrate those noble people whose knowledge and labor provides for us all.

“Today we remember the tragic loss they suffered, that we suffered.”

“Today we are reminded that we must always be vigilant, always be mindful that although it has been centuries since that tragic day, the threat remains. Brandubh lives.”

A
s evening set in
, so many bonfires were lit that the square was nearly alight with their flickering orange glow. I learned quickly that bonfires were a symbolic way to frighten away mischievous spirits, thereby ensuring a good harvest and prosperity. I loved the folklore of the festival, and was happy to know more about the world that had fast become my beloved home.

“Julianne!” I spotted a girl whom I sat next to in lab on the other side of an enchanted kissing booth. She was dressed in a white toga and sported a leafy wreath atop a full head of springy curls. Her cup of womanly bounty runnethed over, and she was having some difficulty keeping the strapless side of her toga PG.

“Hey, girls,” she hollered, waving with the hand that was not busy imitating a strap.

Julianne was well proportioned and gorgeous. Her curvy hips swished to and fro as she headed our way. She was one of those people who made you smile the moment you encountered her. Not only was she funny, but she was generous with her own contagious laughter. She was a lot of fun on girls’ night because she made keen, if tacky, observations that had me rolling in the floor. Quick-witted and catty? Come sit by me.

“Come to see me sacrificed to the fertility gods, eh?” she asked. “Well, you’re too late. I’ve done my duty and am now in a heat to shed this blasted virginity. Got any recommendations? How about that Adder guy I see hanging around you two? He looks like he swings a big stick.”

Timbra choked at the shock of the statement, and I gave Julianne a reprimanding glare. Her mischievous grin told me she knew damn well what she was doing to poor Timbra. Seemed her secret crush was not much of a secret, after all.

“This is my first time,” I exclaimed, detouring from the subject of Boone’s aptitude. “What’s with the get-up?”

“Oh, my family always puts on reenactments of the ancient fertility rituals. We dress in togas and twirl around a fire. It’s all very subdued, really.”

She narrowed her eyes, debating whether or not to tell us something, then gave a quick nod; she had decided in our favor.

“The authentic stuff, though, takes place tonight. If you’re up for it,” she finished with a smirk.

“What kind of ‘authentic stuff?’” Timbra’s womanhood had been challenged. Twice. “Trust me, if you can handle it, we can handle it.”

I bugged my eyes at my new BFF. I had no interest in getting involved in hokey rituals in the dark. Not my scene. I could not watch horror movies because they stuck with me for so long afterward. I had no desire to be scared in a theater or my own home; no way was I agreeing to a real-life spook show.

But the two didn’t care about my view on the matter, and before I knew it Timbra had signed us up for a full-moon fertility rite that Thayerians had been performing since the dawn of time.

I waved an exasperated goodbye to Julianne, who giggled and bounded away.

“Until midnight, ladies,” she called.

“Timbra Redfern! I can’t believe you’ve committed us to this nonsense.”

“Well,” she complained, “I could hardly turn her down, now could I? ‘
Swings a big stick
.’ Ugh. I shoulda punched her in the giant boob.” Her petite ears twitched with irritation.

Timbra pissed was a sight I never thought to see. She rarely uttered an unkind word, and at the boob comment, I lost it and giggled uncontrollably. I continued to giggle until a sight around the corner caught my eye.

It was Gresham, and I wanted to say hello. As we approached I could see he wasn’t alone and was, in fact, involved in a heated conversation. I was horrified to eavesdrop, but his deep voice always carried and the two were speaking loudly.

“It’s nothing. It’s not what you think,” Gresham said.

“Oh, I think it’s
exactly
what I think,”said a woman’s voice tinged with bitterness. “I know what I saw, Rowan. Your hands were all over her; your body too close to be innocuous. I’m no fool, not anymore.”

“Livia, you’re being ridiculous. And this conversation is over. If you don’t want to see things that upset you, stop spying on me. Just because you can use scrying to invade my privacy doesn’t mean you should.”

“Oh, no, this conversation is just getting started. You know what I saw in your future, Rowan. It was her. That…that child! After that little revelation, I’d be a fool not to check up on your private lessons. And I was right.”

Timbra and I exchanged a weighted glance. We both knew I was the subject of this conversation. What revelation was she talking about? What future? Also, I was getting damn tired of being called a child.

“That’s enough, Livia. Walk away or don’t; at this point I’m indifferent to either course of action. But know this—I’ll not endure any more of your allegations.”

“Indifferent,” she gasped. Her tone, previously venomous, was vibrating with pain and outrage. “Well, that’s all I need to know, isn’t it? Fuck you, Rowan. Fuck you and your
indifference
.”

Timbra and I had tried to back away unnoticed to give them what privacy we could. Unfortunately, I tripped on a tent stake and knocked a canister of artisan baby rattles onto a bongo display. Pretty much a worst-case scenario. Livia Miles swung her head in our direction, her eyes widening with fury when they met mine as I lay sprawled among the drums. Sure could’ve used some premonition about then.

“Oh, that’s just bloody perfect,” she spat before storming off in a graceful blur.

Gresham stared after her for a long moment, and then turned in our direction after a protracted blink.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “We didn’t realize you weren’t alone until it was too late. I’m sorry if I made things worse.”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Stella. It’s been over between Livia and I for a long time. What you saw was just…the end.”

I was too horrified to ask any questions about her ‘revelation,’ and the extended silence had grown uncomfortable.

“Ah, we’re headed to hear Layla Avenatio’s band,” I blurted. “Want to join?”

“No thanks, girls. I’ve had enough fun for one night, I think. Enjoy the show. Enjoy yourselves. You’ve no plans to go down to the riverbank, I hope?”

“Nope,” I said at the same time Timbra shrugged noncommittally.

At my questioning look she whispered, “That’s where we’re meeting Julianne.”

“What’s at the riverbank, Gresham? Why did you ask?” The whole thing seemed more and more like a very bad idea.

“Oh, no, Stella Stonewall,” he laughed, eyes dancing and mouth twitching with mirth. “If you don’t know, I’m not telling. This will be quite a baptism into Thayerian culture.”

And with that cryptic remark, he walked into the night shaking his head, still laughing at me. I was sure glad I was able to do something to lighten his mood.

L
ayla’s band was phenomenal
. Shiny Things’ sound was haunting and gritty, and Layla’s voice was shockingly good. She and four talented band-mates, who were all tattooed, pierced, cinched, and monocled in a steampunk/throwback sideshow freak theme, played to a rapt audience. We had connected with Boone and Ewan, and were sitting contentedly in the grass.