The Wings Above

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley! We weren’t always so dependent on these wretched creatures! I’ll return our lands to how they should be! No dragon will ever fly here again!”

These venomous words rose high in the air and fell over the low battlements of the tower; the mouth that spoke them obscured by a purposeful hood. The unknown figure shouted madly while casting his dark spell with a jeweled scepter in hand. The magic coursing through his body dyed his veins a luminous blue as his right arm stretched upward towards the sky. One could visually trace the path of magic flowing from his heart, to his forearm, then the tips of his fingers and finally into the conduit in hand. Streaks of energy and color burst skyward from the scepter, expanding far beyond the tower heights. The onlooker felt one such burst collide against his torso, and spiraling down he went.

Bart awoke in a panic. Flailing arms sought the comfort of solid ground as he sprung upward. Thankfully he was still in the barn house, not some lofty tower confronting a dark mage. It was the same nightmare again. The same ominous figure. The same grim fate awaiting the kingdom, and maybe more importantly the dragons. One such creature skittered through the hay pile, and plopped itself on the now awake boy. Its face slender, its body white like sand. It was only slightly taller than the average dog but twice as wide even with its wings retracted, still growing clearly. The creature lightly clashed its head against his chest.

Bart met her demand with his palm. His fingers rolled over her scales with expert precision. They moved into the smooth areas between the crystalline structures of her horns. She cooed in response.

“Selina, you'll have to get used to sleeping alone. By nightfall I’ll be on my way to becoming a real dragon rider. No more stables or barn houses for me!” He practically yelled that final bit.

“Until then you still have your morning chores, boy.” A familiar voice called out from beyond the gate door. “And you’re already behind on them.”

Bart arose from the hay pile, the young dragon still at his heels. He slung his upper torso onto the gated barrier between the enclosure and where the voice originated.

Ogsten Mayes. The man was tall and broad. His skin was dark and earthy, only a shade lighter than Bart’s own. The two shared the same emerald colored eyes. A black beard decorating his face, and his superior stature were all that separated the two from being identical. Even at only sixteen Bart knew this is the man he would eventually grow into. He held two buckets, one in each hand, full of fish.

“Father, attending to the infant dragons is one of my morning chores. You know Selina will whine most of the night without company, and it keeps the others awake. Do you want an entire barn full of cranky infants?”

“No. One smart-mouthed son is enough.” Ogsten retorted.

“I suppose that means you won’t miss me?” The boy said in jest.

The man motioned with his head for his offspring to join him outside the gated enclosures. Bart did so, leaving Selina alone in her pen. Scrapes along the door, and whining followed. The fish buckets hit the ground softly, and the man's hands were upon Bart’s shoulders. His lips grazed the boy’s forehead with affection and he retracted them.

“I will worry about you every morning, and pray to our ancestors for you every night. You are stepping into a world in which you do not fully belong.”

Bart almost pulled away from the fatherly embrace hearing that final sentence. The smile he’d been wearing up to this point faded. “You don’t think I can become a dragon rider?”

“My son, becoming a dragon rider is your destiny. Magic that has not been seen in our family since my grandfather’s time flows through your veins.” Ogsten’s hands moved from Bart’s shoulders to his wrists. He turned the boy’s palms skyward so that the faintly luminous veins were clearly seen. “You have your mother’s determination. And you bond with dragons like no other I’ve seen before. I only fear that others will see you as no more than a dragon steward's son. Golden Wing Academy is not just a training ground for those who wish to become dragon riders. It is a battleground for the nobility.”

“If you’re trying to scare me into staying home it won’t work.” he said only partially in jest.

Bart respectfully released himself from his father’s grip and grabbed one of the buckets below. A moment of silence lingered between the two before Ogsten did the same. Each began their work of tossing the fish into the pens of the infant dragons. They stood nearly opposite each other, both tending to five pens each that lined both sides of the barn. Four fish per pen until the bucket was empty.

“I just want you to be mindful, son. You will learn more than swordplay and how to harness the magic within you. You’ll be among the elite youth from both the minor and greater houses. There are lessons in politics and diplomacy that we just didn’t have the need to teach you out here. I just wish…”

“Father, I'll be fine. I will keep to my study and the dragons. Nothing more.” Besides it couldn’t be that horrific if his father had survived his tenure there as a steward. Though he supposed that would be much different than being an enrolled student. Bart wondered if his father now regretted that it was his excellent service during that tenure that allowed his son special privilege to become a student.

“Yes I suppose you will be.” Not at all reassured. “I’ll finish up here, you go tend to the others. And don’t forget to say hello to your mother before that. She’ll be in the main house.”

It was only at that final remark that he realized that it was odd that his father was on infant duty today. Mother and father alternated duties and Ogsten had just done it the previous day. Bart bid the small dragons and his father farewell before darting off down the dirt path toward the main house with these thoughts in mind.

The beaming sunlight interrupted his introspection. Gracefold Valley was beautiful year round, but shone especially in the springtime. The Mayes home was isolated, far away from any villages or towns, a few stone buildings in the greenness of nature. The main house, as they called it, was a large building by common standards, but far too small to be considered a manor. The Mayes and several farmhands lived in the building. It stood three stories high, just a bit smaller than the largest dragon they kept on the farm. The structure was well carved stone, strong enough to withstand the temperament of growing dragons. Ogsten always joked that the structure was made with the dragons in mind rather than the humans who would raise them. The large wooden door flung open with the energy of an excited child.

“Bart!” A feminine voice roared. She knew it could only have been him or an overeager fledgling entering with such haste.

“Sorry Ma!” He shouted back, before finding her in the kitchen. The smell of freshly cooked eggs lured him into the room. A meal of poultry and hog greeted him. Chickens and pigs were the only animals kept on the farm with the exception of the dragons. Eggs were a necessity, and pigs were feisty enough to hold their own against the growing reptiles. With the lavish meal sprawled out on the family’s old oak table he knew now why it was his father who awoke him in the barn. Dawn Mayes, a fine dragon steward in her own right, had traded duties with her husband so that she could be a doting mother for one more day. As much as he wished to attend to his other duties, and ready himself for his journey it would have been a waste of a mother’s love to not sit and enjoy the meal.

“Selina again?” She asked while sitting the last of the plates neatly onto the table. She then took her seat at the head of the table.

Bart waited for the familiar thump of her favorite chair’s short leg hitting the floor before answering. The thought that he’d no longer be hearing it every morning caused the words to stick a moment in his throat.

“Yeah Ma. You know how she gets. You’ll probably have to pen her with one of the other infants until she’s older.”

“I told your father it was a bad idea getting a single Sand Streaker. They’re used to being in pairs, but he kept saying she’ll sleep in our bed if she’s lonely. And when that became unbearable he started saying he’ll sleep in the barn with her.”

“Where do you think I got the idea?” They both laughed.

The two sat, ate, and spoke for what seemed like far too long, and yet not quite enough. He basked in his mother’s grace one final time, and soon enough it was time to attend to his other duties. His eyes lingered on her for a while as she began tidying the table. The word goodbye caught in his throat, and he dared not speak it. He left the house in silence.

Fledging duty was always the most chaotic part of the day. His trek through the wind shifting grass was always filled with anxiousness and excitement. Eager shrills filled the air as he approached the stables. The building even more so than the main house or the barn was built with the dragons in mind. Rectangular shaped hard stone pens kept the flight capable creatures from spreading their wings, but allowed just enough space for comfort. He took time to inspect each pen, assessing the state of each dragon. The fledglings were much larger than, and typically more aggressive than the infants. They were close in length to horses, and in some species similar in height. Bart was thankful their farm specialized in nature dragons who in this age range typically only grew to the size of ponies.

“Pico, Randal, Joy…” He called off each dragon’s name as he released them from their enclosure. “Minerva, Willard, Barkley…”

A stampede would ensue if he unleashed them all at once. Releasing them in smaller groups only slightly mitigated this issue. Hidden bruises and scars told the stories of stable doors opening with too much force, or of how an impatient dragon had chosen to bite the distracted steward. The freshly freed dragons raced down the narrow guided path of the stables, until they reached the pasture. There they could stretch their wings, and lift off into the air. Bart stood at the end of the pathway watching the majestic hues of gray, brown, and green take to the air. This was one of his favorite parts about the duty. There was something magical in watching the creatures take flight.

“Beautiful creatures, no?” A voice snapped Bart from his trance. He turned abruptly expecting a farmhand, but instead found an unfamiliar man in full imperial armor. Messy red locks laid across his forehead despite his helmet’s best attempt to keep everything in order. ”Most prefer the flashier draconic lineages, but I love the patterns of the nature dragons.”

“The patterns are meant to blend into their natural environments, but most people don’t notice them at all. You must be well acquainted with dragons.” Bart replied, having decided he liked this stranger already.

“As a Golden Wing Academy guard captain it would be a shame if I wasn’t. My unit is assigned to the protection of the stewards. Mikhail Crawford, and you?” He asked, stretching out his hand in a gesture of comradery.

Bart met the man’s hand with his own. “Bart Mayes.”

“Ah, the stowaway.” Regret tinted the man’s face as the word left his lips.

“Stowaway?”

“Perhaps I shouldn't have said that.” The captain retracted his hand from the boy and placed it on his own neck. His onyx colored eyes avoided Bart’s own emeralds. “The men and I are typically accustomed to accompanying the academy stewards to retrieve dragons. This is the first time we’ll be taking back a human too. So some of the men have affectionately granted you the title of stowaway. Try not to hold it against them.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.” He said with a false laugh. He’d not even left the farm yet, and already he could see the wisdom in his father’s warning. He was little more than a steward to these people, and he would remain so until he proved himself. New determination lit in his belly.

Eager to change the subject, “Well if you’re here for the dragons you should probably be off. My father should be making the final preparations now.”

“Yes, you’re right.” The captain glanced once more at the soaring creatures and took his leave.

Though the farmhands and the pack mother would oversee the fledglings he lingered a while longer. The man hadn’t meant to offend, but still Bart had decided he didn’t wish to share the walk back with him. He took his time returning to the main house. He could see the fanfare in the distance as he approached. The caravan that would transport the dragons and himself to the academy, and the small fleet of knights who were tasked with protecting them. Among the crowd he spotted his father.

Ogsten stood near the first in the line of wagons, and was speaking with yet another unknown figure. From what Bart could make out it was a woman; short, stocky and wearing a hat that resembled a muffin. She wore the imperial red and gold, but was not in a suit of armor like Mikhail. He could see his father handing paperwork over to her, and he assumed it to be the medical charts of the dragon shipment. Meticulously documenting the behaviors of each dragon was another duty of the stewards. When he finally approached the pair both turned to him.

“Bart, I heard you’ve already met captain Mikhail. This is Glenda.” His father gestured to the woman beside him. She gave a wave that Bart thought was far too enthusiastic. “She’s an old friend from my time at the academy.”

“Friends? It is more accurate to say your father was my mentor. I wouldn’t be the current head of the academy stewards without his guidance.” She proclaimed proudly.

Bart supposed that made two of them that wouldn’t be at the academy if it wasn’t for his father. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Don’t be so modest! You’re a fine steward and would have grown just fine without me.” Ogsten insisted. “Though now I’ll be entrusting you with my children, and my child. You’ll have double the work and I’m sure you can handle that too.”

“The children I’m not too worried about. The child on the other hand.” The two shared a laugh that excluded Bart.

He used the opportunity to slip away from the conversation. His attention turned to the caged dragons. All of them he’d raised since infancy. He slipped a hand between the iron bars to stroke the head of a Green Glider they’d named Aloe. They were all adults now. Sky-ready and properly trained for the riders. Typically at this point he’d never see them again. A farm steward’s duty was to raise efficient stock, and sell them to the nobility. It was a melancholic thing to raise them, and never see them again, but it was rewarding in its own way. Now he’d be at least acquainted with this batch at the academy. Excitement swelled in his chest at the possibility of seeing other generations of dragons he’d raised at the academy, since they were of course his father’s most frequent client.

“I took the liberty of giving your things to Glenda. They’re already on her wagon.” His father said, now finished with his other conversation.

“Are you sure everything is gathered? What about the...”

“Bart, you have been packed for two days. I’m sure you’ve covered everything. You are ready, my boy and I will miss you.” Ogsten wrapped his arms around his child for a final embrace, and released him unto destiny.

Bart gave a silent nod in response. His father was right, and it was the nerves getting to him. With the charts given to Glenda, and the dragons all properly caged it was nearing time for his departure. The closer it was to that time, the more his thoughts whirled. Could he actually become a dragon rider? Would he actually be able to channel the magic that ran through his veins? These thoughts followed him to the wagon where he took his seat. Glenda finished her business with his father and took a seat beside him.

“You know this caravan is reserved for stewards and the dragons only right?” She remarked.

“Yeah.”

“And starting today you’re no steward. You’re a rider.” She gestured over where the knights were stationed. Mikhail and five others dressed nearly identical to him were standing near their mounts. Six knights and seven dragon mounts.

“Ready to prove you’re no stowaway?” Mikhail yelled over.