I open my eyes slowly, small bits of broken sunlight filtering through my bedroom window. It is Monday, I am sure of that, and I should be gone…away at Soldier Academy. Then a thought slams into my head, causing me to bolt upright. I have the Dragon Assessment today. I don’t know what Bello and Entho have done, what strings they had to pull to get me to this point, and I really don’t care. But I still have to pass the Assessment before I can go to Dragon Academy.
Not many make it to Dragon Academy. Those who do have usually spent their entire lives with dragons… feeding them, caring for them, and training them. I know I am at a huge disadvantage. I also know what I am up against – that it is almost a birthright to be a dragon trainer. My years at Weapons will not help me pass this Assessment.
By the time I am dressed, Entho is already in his clinic. I open the door. When was the last time I stepped foot in here? I close my eyes and think about when I was a child, back when I still called him daddy – I loved to sit by him, watching him work with his patients. His soft voice asking them questions, his slender fingers touching, probing, healing.
He already has a patient, a short woman in a blue cloak who is telling him about her ankle, how she fell and twisted it. I don’t want to disturb them. I try to sneak up on Entho, but the dragon bracelet jangles with each movement I take. He lifts his head, turning in my direction. “I am going now,” I quietly tell him.
He halts, still keeping his hand on the woman’s ankle and continues to peer at me with his caramel eyes. His lips curl up, and I can’t help but move my own lips in the same way. “Good luck. And I truly mean that.”
“Thanks…it means a lot to me.” I turn from him, stride out the side door to the clinic, and trek to the street in front of our house. I will have to take a dragon and cart to the Assessment Center, which is across the city.
I plunk my body on what is left of the curb, sucking the salty ocean air into my lungs, waiting to hail the first dragon cart that comes by – it is a long wait. Finally, a blue dragon, an Azure with golden eyes stops in front of me. The driver hops down and opens the door for me. The cart at one point was white, but now stains cover it like battle wounds – dingy and grey and ugly.
I step in and settle on a hard wooden seat. There are two others sitting across from me – a man and a woman dressed in green cloaks. Middles – neither rich nor poor. They both gawk at me. I stare out the window, doing my best to ignore them. I have developed this skill well. Absently I fondle my mom’s charm bracelet.
It is quiet except for the cart’s steady rhythm – creaking back and forth, rocking us as if we were infants in a cradle. Then, my stomach tightens into knots – the excitement of getting to take the Assessment has worn off, replaced by fear and dread. I know a lot about dragons, but will it be enough?
I have read about dragons most of my life. After Entho enrolled me in Weapons, I would come home every weekend. Still, he had patients and I would get bored. One day I snuck into his bedroom. I don’t remember what I was looking for, but I found a metal box locked up under his bed. I searched through his dresser drawers and found a key that fit perfectly. I opened the box and discovered a stack of dragon books – they must have been my mother’s. I grabbed one, tucked it into my cloak and hid it in my room.
It was simple after that. I devoured the books at night when Entho dropped into bed, too exhausted to even tuck me in. I would light a forbidden candle and read about dragons – their different breeds, temperaments, colors, wingspans. Dragon anatomy was my favorite. I memorized every bone and muscle that a dragon has.
I didn’t think about the repercussions then, but now I shudder, wondering what would have happened – to Entho and me – if someone had found out I was reading the banned books. Why did he even keep the dragon books?
The cart jolts and then stops abruptly.
“Fourth and Geary,” the driver flatly announces. It is my stop. I step out of the cart, pay the driver and walk toward the Assessment Center. It is almost sunny out, and warm. Sweat trickles on my forehead, but I am not sure if it is from the heat or my nerves.
I scan this area of the city. There are empty, broken buildings, remnants of sidewalks, a dilapidated upturned bus, and more people in brown cloaks than I have ever seen in my life. I speed up, jostling through crowd of dark faces, doing my best to ignore their stares – not sure if it is my red cloak or the fact that I am a Light Skin that they are gawking at. Maybe it is both.
When I reach the Assessment Center, its grey stone surface shines, a jewel in comparison to the surrounding buildings. I enter the front door and search for a receptionist. A stiff looking woman is seated behind a solid oak counter.
“I am here for the Dragon Training Assessment,” I tell her in my most proper voice.
She is writing something and without looking up asks, “Name?”
I clear my throat. “Teak…Teak Frain.”
She looks to another pile of papers, pages through them and then says, “Room 5. Go down the hall and turn right. It’s the third door down.”
“Thank you,” I respond, spiraling toward the hallway.
I walk down the hall, feeling naked without my bag of weapons slung over my shoulder. I turn right, noticing a beautiful carved dragon statue perched in the corner, so real I am almost startled. It is bronze and a little taller than I am with huge outstretched wings. As I admire the dragon, a tall, thin man with a bald head passes by, wearing a silver cloak – an Administrator. I wonder if he will be the one to give me my Assessment. I continue on, find Room 5, and open the door, not knowing what to expect.
The room is empty and quiet. There is a plain oak table with a piece of paper and a pencil next to it. A bold sign on the table tells me to sign in. I write my name on the paper, printing the letters carefully. It is the only name there. Is that good or bad? A row of chairs is lined up against the wall. I take a seat and wait.
Almost an hour passes when a woman appears wearing a silver cloak...a different Administrator. She has dark hair pulled up high in a knot on her head, full cheekbones and a small, upturned nose. She is tall, taller than me even, and carries a pile of papers in her arms. I swallow nervously, the ticking of a clock in the background my only form of distraction.
Without smiling she asks, “Are you Teak Frain?”
“Yes,” I answer, forcing my voice to be stronger than what I feel inside.
“Follow me,” she announces, turning around.
I trail behind her and enter a sparse room, small and bare. There are no pictures on the walls, and the paint is an ugly beige color…like cooked sausage. There is a table with two chairs, identical to the table that was in the lobby. The chairs are hard, stiff, and look very uncomfortable.
“Have a seat.”
I sit in a chair, feeling a drop of sweat leak down my cheek, quickly wiping it away with my hand.
“My name is Dondee. I will be administering your test.” She settles the papers on the table and looks at me with dark eyes that are almost black. “You are to answer the questions as quickly and honestly as possible.” She reaches into her cloak and pulls out a small watch. I hear it clicking, each tick a judge that will decide my future. I press my lips together, a feeling of uneasiness settling into the pit of my stomach.
She daintily sits in the chair opposite of me, arranges her papers, and without fanfare starts firing questions at me.
“What are dragons fed?”
My mouth is dry. I clear my throat. “Domesticated dragons are fed a mixture of hay and grain. Dragons in the wild are carnivores, eat meat.”
“What side do you mount a domesticated dragon on?
“The left.”
“Why?
“Because the dragon is trained to expect that, so it won’t get surprised. Dragons’ eyes are set far back on their heads…it is difficult for them to see a human mount them. By training only one side, the likelihood of spooking the dragon lessens.”
“What is the incubation period for a dragon egg?”
; “Ten to thirteen months…depending on the breed.”
“How are dragons kept from flying?
“Their wings are clipped. It isn’t painful for them. It is done when they are dragonlings.”
“What is the penalty for having a dragon with unclipped wings?”
“Imprisonment. If the amount is over five dragons….the owner is…destroyed.”
“Why don’t domesticated dragons breathe fire?
“They have been trained not to. They still can.”
“What training methods are used to keep a dragon from breathing fire?” Her voice is constant, hammering at me without emotion or intonation. After every one of my answers, she checks the timepiece and makes a mark on one of the papers.
“A form of behavior modification is used. Hatchlings are allowed to breathe fire until they become dragonlings. Dragonlings are rewarded with food when they don’t breathe fire. Their food is taken from them when they do breathe fire. After that, either negative or positive pressure is applied to the dragon. For instance, once a dragonling is halter trained, negative pressure on the dragon is applied with the halter when it breathes fire. It doesn’t hurt the dragon, but usually the dragonling is uncomfortable. The dragonling is rewarded by taking the pressure off when it stops breathing fire. This training continues until the dragonling doesn’t want to breathe fire anymore.” I wonder if I have said too much, but I add, “This training they receive as dragonlings is learned behavior and holds throughout adulthood. The dragon forgets it can breathe fire.”
“What is the wingspan of a dragon?”
“Forty to sixty feet.” I notice the slightest nod of her head.
“How did dragons originate?”
“They were first thought to be mythical creatures from long ago. But a dragon skeleton was unearthed in northern regions…before the Great Wars…when there was still technology…and a process called cloning was used to create a live dragon…it was a Crimson.” I take a long breath. I am not sure if I am supposed to know this or not, but I continue anyway. “Years later another dragon skeleton was discovered and breeding of dragons began. It wasn’t until after the Final War that large scale breeding of dragons took place. They were one of the few animals of transportation that were able to survive the Final War…their tolerance to radiation and chemicals is superior to that of other larger animals.”
“What are the seven basic dragon breeds?”
“Crimson, Emerald, Metallic, Ebony, Mottled, Azure, and Finny.” I breathe in deeply, not sure if I should add more. “But there are hybrids and other combinations of these breeds.” I stop, look up at her. She meets my gaze. “There is another breed, though, one that doesn’t fall into the typical category.”
“Elaborate.” This isn’t a question. Her ebony eyes glance down as she reaches for a paper and starts writing…quick furious scribbles.
“Lavs,” I blurt out, not sure if I should mention the purple dragons. Dondee’s head snaps up, as if someone has pushed her from behind. “These dragons are rare – purple in color. They are used solely by the Alliance and Lord Gareth will only ride a Lav. Lavs still fly, are physically the largest breed, and they can breathe fire. Lavs are believed to be the most intelligent of all dragons.” I pause for a moment, wishing I could stop, but I seem to be sailing madly down a stream in a canoe without oars. “And the most brutal.”
“I see,” Dondee replies. I feel as if I have done something wrong, said too much. “And which breed is the least brutal?”
“Crimsons and Ebonies have the gentlest dispositions overall. They are the easiest to train and domesticate. Although Finnies are smaller and appear to be less fearsome, they often have poor dispositions and are stubborn, high strung, and difficult to train. Mixed breeds will also offer combinations that are less vicious.”
We continue like this for about an hour, maybe more. Then I am given a break. I stand up, feeling stiff and sore. My mind is buzzing from the questions. I am used to movement, not sitting. I follow Dondee to a room where I am given a snack – some grapes and cheese along with a bag of water. The water soothes my throat and I nibble on the cheese even though I am not hungry.
Then I am led back to Room 5, where a gigantic drawing of a dragon now covers most of a wall. Dondee is holding a long stick, her back facing me.
She wastes no time. “I will point to each part of the dragon. You are to give me the correct anatomical name.”
She points the stick to the middle portion of the dragon. This is easy for me.
“Flank.”
She continues to point and I call out the specific names. “Hip. Loin. Phalanges. Withers. Stomach. Metacarpals. Esophagus. Pastern. Elbow. Alula. Knee. Gaskin. Ulna.”
Abruptly, she stops, and I am breathless. It went so fast, and I wonder if I missed any of the terms. Without turning around she says, “Thank you, Miss Frain. You will receive a letter within the week with your score.”
“Thank you,” I stammer back to her, standing up to leave, deflated and disappointed. I was hoping to receive my results when we finished.
I stumble out of the room, crane my neck to find the clock on the wall. Over four hours have passed. I am tired and suddenly hungry, anxious to get home. As I turn the corner of the hall, thinking about the Assessment, wondering how I did, I crash into another person. We collide like two hateful fists. I step back, apologizing, awash in crimson – a matching Red Cloaker.
“Well, if it isn’t Teak the Freak.” I freeze, staring blankly at the boy…his all too familiar face and stocky frame. I swallow hard, mustering up a glare. It is Reese.
I can tell he has been following the tall, bald man in the silver cloak. Quickly, Reese turns his head toward the man, who continues down the hall, his back to us.
Before I can think, before I can move or even understand why Reese is here, he reaches both hands out, and shoves me in the chest. I sail through the air, like a child’s flying toy, and with an uncanny force smash against the bronze dragon statue, hitting the back of my head and then collapsing onto the floor.
Everything turns black.
Chapter 8