Chapter 8 Liz
Liz
Agrippa suffers no ill effects from eating two swans, so before we leave, Phileas manages to find a deer. I look away as he eats it, but it doesn’t seem to bother Norm.
He’s on cloud nine.
I wish he’d go back home to work more of his connections, but he insists he can still find people via phone, and he won’t leave Phileas for a second.
I don’t blame him for that, I guess. Being bonded by a dragon really is his dream come true, and as he already told me, he has no children. His parents even have six other kids they’re way prouder of than him.
I can relate to that a little bit as well.
When we return that night, every single partially-bright human insists on coming with us. They all said they’d brought what they needed—they did all have backpacks or shoulder bags, at least—and they didn’t have people to tell goodbye.
I think they were afraid Azar would change his mind.
Another ten bright humans insisted on coming. Three dozen non-bright humans are also tagging along, most of them family or friends of the brights and semi-brights we’re taking. The others went back out into the world, pledged to find us more humans like them to collect tomorrow.
They’ve all sworn to use discretion, but any way I look at this, the risk of a leak is high and will just grow higher.
One disgruntled human is all it takes.
One military or former military person who feels more patriotic than fascinated. Technically, what we’re asking people to do is treason.
Before I came, I was hopeful Norm would have friends he could reach out to.
I figured we might find a handful of humans within a day’s distance who would want to bond a dragon, but I didn’t expect this kind of reaction, and I assumed very few of them would be brights.
I’m so encouraged when Azar makes the return portal that I’m almost giddy.
Once it’s open, Phileas and Agrippa fly though first, their newly bonded humans on their backs. If Karen’s slipping and yipping a little bit, well, no one’s likely to be critical.
Her halo of green fuzz looks like a mossy helmet, and I like it.
Twenty humans? Hyperion’s been waiting for us, apparently, and he doesn’t look impressed.
We found twenty more, Azar says, but they’re out searching for others as well. We’ll go back tomorrow to see how many others they can contact.
You do know there are ten thousand and four hundred of us, yes?
If I were blessed, I’d probably love Hyperion. As it is, I spend most of my time wishing I could clock him in the head with a two-by-four. Not that I could ever pick up one that would be long enough to leave a mark.
Many blessed are gathering, having felt the portal. It makes a kind of sucking then exploding sensation when Azar opens one. The first time I felt Hyperion’s, I thought we were under attack.
We’ve found brights willing to be bonded, Azar says. And two earth blessed have bonded humans—and eaten successfully. It was a successful trip all around.
Dragons trumpet, roar, and shriek their delight.
The humans who came with us freeze in place. I imagine the idea of dragons is one thing, but being confronted with thousands of them all at once of various colors, shapes, and sizes is quite a different matter.
“The ones who are shades of blue, seafoam green, or lavender are usually water blessed,” I say. “The shades of earthy green, brown, amber, orange, gunmetal grey, or even occasionally black are earth blessed.”
“And we all know the strike blessed.” Norm points at the sky where they’re dipping and diving in and out of strikes of lightning.
“The strike blessed—shameless showoffs,” I say.
Hyperion laughs. Ah, Liz. You’re more trouble than you’re worth, but you are always entertaining.
She’s not wrong about them showing off, Azar says.
That’s what makes it funny. Hyperion sighs. He’s a real drag, newly reborn baby Azar, huh? Bonding with Hyperion about his brother’s cluelessness is unexpected.
I kind of love it, but we have more important things to do.
“Some of the humans we brought back are semi-bright,” I say. “We’d already found humans for Agrippa and Phileas when we realized a few weren’t quite as bright as the others.”
We only need brights, Hyperion says.
“But they do still shine, and they can hear the dragon-talk in their heads. We should probably test whether they can be bonded sooner rather than later, since we might encounter the same thing again tomorrow.”
Oh good, Hyperion says. You brought deficient ones. What blessed wants to risk being shackled to a human who might not allow them to eat?
“I hadn’t even considered that my semi-bright light might cause harm to one of the blessed.” Andre was the first semi-bright we identified, and he’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. “I—they don’t have to risk bonding me.”
“Surely one of the dragons around here is brave enough to try.” I leap into the air and take off, joining the throngs of dragons who are now flying in slow circles around our new group.
“Wow, that’s amazing,” Norm says. “I wanted to see you fly all day.”
“Can we get some?” Karen asks.
“I would love wings,” Norm says.
“We’re not exactly sure why I got them,” I say. “But who knows?”
I’ll try bonding one of the lower-light humans, Elizabeth Chadwick.
Plumeria slides out of the river bank and walks toward the humans slowly.
Even her movement on land reminds me of the flow of water—shining scales and shimmying motion.
She’s such a bright, light blue that it lifts my heart just seeing her.
I’m not the only one who thinks so.
For centuries, the earth blessed have been the weak ones among us, Plumeria says. They had no wings. They could take human shapes. They could consume food, and because they were weak, the rest of us ate them.
I hadn’t exactly shared all of this story.
Some of the humans look horrified, but a few look fascinated. They might be too dragon-blind to even process what she’s saying.
Now the water blessed are the weak ones.
We have no wings, and we have no prince of our people who also rules as the Recovery Leader.
She pivots, sliding right between the twenty-something semi-brights and ten brights we brought back.
I understand how it feels to not be quite what everyone else wants.
I can’t fly, but if you’re willing to join me, and if you like water, I’ll try bonding you.
You can always kill them if it doesn’t work, Hyperion says, and bond another human who can help you.
I plunge toward him, furious, my hands reaching for my hilts while my wings flap rapidly.
We won’t be killing any bonded, Azar says.
I wouldn’t do that anyway, Plumeria says. We’re both taking a risk here—I’m willing to accept the consequences of it.
It’s probably for the best that I don’t attack Hyperion. As I swing wide, I notice he’s smiling. Clearly my anger really worried him.
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did kill me.
” A curvy woman steps out of the crowd, right in front of Plumeria.
“I’m here because I have dreamed every single night of my life, almost, that I’m a dragon rider.
I’ve read every book I could find. I’ve watched all the movies.
The only time I really felt right in my own skin was at Disney World when I rode the Avatar ride.
If I ever harmed you in any way—” She shakes her head. “I’d rather die.”
What’s your name? Plumeria, without having witnessed the scene between Phileas or Agrippa, lowers her head, her eyes on level with the curvy woman. And are you afraid of water?
“I’m scuba certified,” the woman says. “That means I love to spend time underwater, but I’m limited by the weight and timing of my heavy oxygen tank.
And my name’s Candi.” She smirks. “My parents had a weird sense of humor. Apparently my mom gained a hundred pounds when she was pregnant with me—she ate candy nonstop. My grandma raised me after my parents died when I was ten. She died last year.” A tear rolls down her face.
“I’ve been eating too much candy myself, because there was nothing that brought joy to my life.
Until now.” She raises a hand toward Plumeria’s face.
And then I watch it happen.
I can’t see the light or whatever the dragons see.
But I watch Candi stiffen, and I watch her head fall backward. I watch the rapturous expression on her face as she squares her shoulders. “Thank you.” Now she’s crying in earnest.
The leaking of the humans is out of control, an earth blessed behind me mutters.
Human pain causes it often, Azar says. It’s a strange phenomenon.
“Crying,” I say. “You know it’s called crying. You lot could use a little crying yourselves. You’re like walking, talking, stone-hearted monsters.”
The dragons all laugh. As if we’d ever leak. Azar, especially, thinks it’s funny.
Now she must eat, Hyperion says. Let’s see whether this not-really-bright human can still keep us safe.
The other twenty-five semi-brights watch with rapt attention as their future’s decided.
How do you feel about fish? Plumeria smiles.
“I prefer it cooked.” Candi’s smile is a little concerned.
I can help with that. Hyperion’s getting funnier.
“I’m assuming she doesn’t want to eat a pile of ash,” I say. “How about I help with it? Candi can wait, though. The one who needs to eat right now is Plumeria.”
Do you want to come with me? Plumeria’s still just looking at Candi.
Hurry up, Hyperion bellows. This is taking forever.
“You’re such a bully.” I land beside Azar. “Haven’t you ever done anything important? The beginning is the slow part—you have to line up everything else.”
“I write books,” the tall man with big teeth says. “My outline takes me almost as long as writing the book.”
“See?” I point at him. “Listen to big teeth. The outline takes a while. Then the book just falls together.”
A book? Hyperion snorts. We’re not talking about humans’ boring little paper scribbles, Liz. That’s your issue. You get all distracted and confused, worrying about things that aren’t relevant.