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Chapter 1
I walked down a dimly lit hall, the slap of shoes on concrete reverberating off the walls. My heart felt as though it was lodged in my throat, rendering me speechless from the moment I descended the airplane. And if that weren’t enough, my head was spinning from all the mad thinking I’d been doing lately. I couldn’t help but feel worse the closer we got to our destination. Should I have come here?
“Renée?”
I glanced to my left at my uncle, only then realizing I’d ceased moving. He simply stood there, as silent as the grave, watching me. Having gone through the same thing as I was about to – if I got there – he knew there was nothing he could say that would reassure me. Time was the only thing that could help; time to think things through.
Unfortunately, several months had passed since I found out I was a DracoScion and I still wasn’t sure what to do. This wasn’t like going to a faraway college for a couple of years; if I took part in this ceremony, it’ll change the rest of my life.
Suddenly Uncle Jim grabbed my arm and pulled me roughly to his side. I glanced up at him, but his green eyes were focused elsewhere. Then two men, one in his forties and then other more or less my age, passed beside us and stopped.
“Moylan,” the older one greeted with a slight bow of his head. Uncle greeted him in return. “I’d like to introduce you to my son, Drake,” he indicated proudly.
A snort escaped me before I could hold it in. Naming your kid, a dragon descendant, Drake, knowing full well it means “dragon”? Very tacky.
Drake and his father, however, did not share my amusement. “And who are y-” Drake started, but his father interrupted him.
“You’re one of the half-springs.” A creepy smile spread across his and his son’s face.
I didn’t know what that meant, but by their reactions you could tell it wasn’t a compliment. What's more was that Uncle didn’t deny it, which seemed to make them all the happier.
Drake took a step closer to me. “Make sure to let me know when it’s your turn; I want to see your face when you’re rejected.” And with that, they both chuckled and moved further down the hallway.
I watched them go, wishing I could rip their hair out of their sockets. “What’s a half-spring?” I asked Jim.
He scratched his beard and looked away from them. “It doesn’t matter.”
Yet I could tell in his tone that something was wrong. “Yes, it does,” I said as fiercely as I could.
“Forget it.”
“No! Tell me!”
“I’m not going to!”
“Well I-“
Suddenly Jim threw his hand up, halting what I was going to say. Three young adults, two girls and one boy, passed by us. Once they were out of earshot, I pushed away his big hand. “Just tell me, will you?” I hissed. Normally I’d never get angry with my Uncle, especially at the size he was, but today I was making an exception.
With a sigh, he looked at me. “It means impure. It’s diminutive of ‘half the offspring’.”
“Huh? But how am I-“And then it dawned on me. “It’s because of mom, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Scions usually marry and mate other Scions, to keep the dragon bloodline. To wed a regular human is considered beneath us.”
I noted that he said 'us' and not 'them'. “Should I even be doing this then? I mean, if I’ve got only half the bloodline, I might not even be chosen-“
Jim bent down to meet my eyes directly, putting a pale hand on my shoulder. “Your father gave up his upbringing for your mother; that was his choice. However this is your decision. You can go through with the ceremony or not.”
I thought about it. My dad had told me great stories of dragons when I was a little girl. I’d been in love with them, a fantasy I’d hoped would one day come true. But now, now that I was an adult and could become part of their world, I was scared.
I hadn’t been brought up as other scions had, conscious of my bloodline and destiny. I’d been told less than a year ago, in my tiny living room, by an uncle I barely knew, what I really was. I knew only what I’d been able to get out of him, which was very little as I seldom saw him. From the way Jim talked though, I had the feeling that this could be the best thing I ever did with my life. If I was chosen.
“I’ll do it.”
Jim looked somewhat relieved, yet still he pushed. “Don’t feel obliged; nobody’s forcing you.”
I inhaled deeply. “I know. But I’ll regret it forever if I don’t.” With that, I restarted my walk down the hall, this time much more determined.
As we finally reached the end of the “almost-never-ending-hall”, an enormous door rested there, guarded by two guards. And when I say ‘guard’ I mean the complete opposite of what you’d normally imagine. These were average looking men, not big muscled bald brutes. I guess power of this kind isn’t measured by physical strength.
As we approached, Uncle saluted them both and they returned the gesture, obviously recognizing him. I was a different story though.
“We’ll need some identification,” the one to the right said, extending his hand.
I was surprised by the request. “O-okay.” I fished through my purse and wallet, grabbed my driver’s license and handed it to him. “I wasn’t expecting something so...”
“Human?” The second one said with a chuckle. “We are only Whisps; we don’t use our powers for everything.”
I would’ve pressed the issue, but the first guard cleared me and opened the door for us to move along. Bye bye too-bright hallway and hello... one hell of a dreary room. I grimaced. Whoever designed this place must've been bipolar.
Entering the area, we found ourselves in what looked to be a show room. Straight before us was a platform stage, too little to bear many people and several feet high. And as you’d expect, rows of chairs were lined up in front of it, most of them already occupying people. Although those things were normal, the eerie vibes coming from the people were not. Everyone was huddled into little groups, talking gravely to one another, always casting worried glances over their shoulders. You’d think we were in a political meeting with all the paranoia bouncing off the walls.
We moved into the circulation, zigzagging through the crowd until we reached chairs. We settled down and waited for a few moments before Jim left to greet some friends. I remained seated, preferring to watch the fifty or so people around me then make conversation I cared nothing for. Then something came to my attention; they all looked alike! Fair complexions, pale hair and eyes, plain clothing and the same stoic expression, although some had it better than others. Very few had other physical traits, and I guessed that they were half-breeds like me.
I, on the other hand, resembled my mother; dark curly hair and light mocha skin. The only things I took from my father were his narrow jaw and blue eyes. I was usually considered a “cute” kind of girl, someone who usually blended in easily. However, in this particular mass, I seemed to have a large “Freak” sign stuck to my face.
Within minutes the last people arrived, and guard number 1 followed them inside the room and shut the door. As soon as he closed it, everyone scrambled to their seat, like students would at a teacher’s arrival.
Once every person had gained their place, the guard turned his attention to the door. He pressed a palm against it and chanted softly. I sat too far away to hear him, but could see well enough the bluish glow escaping his hand. It was like ice, slowly freezing the wooden door and then its frame. In seconds the whole thing was covered.
It was only the second time I’d witnessed someone using magic; the first time being when Uncle Jim had frozen my cat to prove to me dragons really did exist. Then and now still, I watched, too enthralled to allow myself to miss a single detail. It was over too soon.
I scrutinized the guard as he turned his back to the door, looking straight at the stage. As if on signal, an old man, dressed in large navy robes, marched up on stage. He held a microphone in hand and prompted to screech “Welcome!” through it as he reached the center of the platform. After a collective cringe, he was kind enough to speak on a lower level.
“Welcome, brethren, to another Season of Choosing!” At that there was excited cheering and clapping. “For those Chosen in years passed, I bid you enjoy this precious evening and pray you keep your members to yourself.”
Many among the crowd laughed, although I found nothing humorous about what he said. Uncle leaned into me. “One of the Whisps, a couple of years ago, used his powers to make us believe his son was Chosen, when he was clearly not going to be. He was stupid enough to think we wouldn’t notice the trail of ice on the floor coming from him.” He chuckled deeply. “It was pathetic, really.”
I glanced at Jim, surprised at his reaction to the event. The man had obviously wanted to make his kid part of this society, and he was being humiliated for trying to do so. I'd think of it as loving.
“However, we are not here for you old-timers,” the elderly man continued. “It is time for us to greet the next generation and convey a new world to them.” He paused for a short time, adding a nice touch of drama to his speech.
“As well you know, the Season of Choosing is a period in which the Draco Occidentalis Maritimus deem worthy certain of their scions with pieces of themselves. There are three elements to which they can transfer onto you should one choose to do so. The third title is given to Whisperers. As users of the most instinctive powers, they can call upon dragon power to protect the treasures of life.”
Dozens of people stood then, displaying themselves as Whisps. With a small pat of the elderly man’s hand, they reclaimed their seats. He carried on as though nothing happened.
“Then there are the seekers of information, the Astrals, who can journey to their dragon’s plane of existence.” And just like the time before, several people –including Uncle Jim- rose up, although not as many as the first time. I figured by then that it was traditional to have the Chosen recognized among the younger ones.
Seconds later, everything was calm again. “And finally there are Souls, the most formidable of us all, vessels for the very dragons they descend from.” This time, only one man and woman arose. They both thanked everyone for the soft clapping they received, before turning praise of their own to the man on stage. Everyone else followed suit. He was obviously a head honcho here.
“Thank you,” the old man said softly. “Except now is not the time for applause. We have scions that are patiently waiting to be Chosen. However,” suddenly the lightness in his tone disappeared, “if you are not Chosen, you are to depart this area immediately and never approach any of us again. Failure to do so will entail grave consequences.” I could practically feel the nasty vibrations he was giving off.
Then he plastered a large grin on his face. “Shall we begin?”
Now you've got me hooked and waiting for the next part.
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