Firebeam: A Dragonian Series Novella

HERBERT WATKINS

Music blared through the speakers as I danced around the kitchen. “Just like the white-winged dove,” I sang along, out of tune.

Three months. Ninety days.

I had promised Elena this time would be different. I would try to make this our home. I’d protect her right here.

Next year promised be hard on her. We were returning to Paegeia.

I needed to try again—no excuses this time—to tell her about her hidden identity, where she came from, her roots, her destiny.

I needed to take her to a restaurant, maybe, break it to her easy. Unlike last time.

She was old enough to grasp it now.

Sure, she’d be upset when she learned I was the one who got Tanya to erase her memory, but she would be okay. She needed to be okay.

The memory of that day ten years ago felt like yesterday.

She had bawled when I told her that the stories about the Rubicon and his princess were not fairy tales, that they were real, or were meant to become real. The fear in her eyes when I told her she was the princess, that one day the Rubicon would need her to help him reject his evil side, the fear when I told her what I truly was.

She became hysterical. Cried for days. I couldn’t bear it. I came to the conclusion that I’d popped the bubble too soon. I should’ve waited. And now I feared she would never accept the incredible reality I’d sheltered her from.

The time had never felt right, and I never wanted to see that fear in her eyes again.

“Dad?” Her voice came from the front door. “I’m home.”

I looked at my watch. I hadn’t realized it was so late.

“Kitchen,” I yelled over the loud music.

She laughed, a sound I’d never stop loving. I grabbed the wooden spoon and lip-synched along with Stevie Nicks.

Elena smiled, shaking her head at my pathetic attempt to lighten up her day.

Dinner was almost ready. A crazy thought hit me. Maybe I should tell her the truth right now, over coq au vin. It was her favorite, or at least in her top ten.

Flakes of old white paint tumbled to the counter as she opened the shabby cabinets. I winced. This house hadn’t been my best pick. Ignoring the plates and set the table as I waited for the ping of the oven timer. I handed her the pot of rice for the table.

We did this in total silence. It was amazing how we rarely needed to verbalize things. But I sensed something on her mind. Was it the fear that we would need to flee again, or was this angst I detected something all typical teenagers went through?

It worried me that she never got to be normal. Never got to feel like a normal kid, have friends, play outside. We were always on the run from the bad men, which was the story I told her when she was little. Even now I feared we weren’t safe.

I still doubted trusting the unknown entity who’d warned me the last two times. I was afraid my source was evil, only playing games. Part of me didn’t want to trust the mysterious entity, but whoever it was had saved our butts.

I sighed and took the coq au vin off the burner when the timer went off.

It smelled divine. Rich aromas of chicken, reduced red wine—the alcohol long burned off—and vegetables, with notes of garlic, rosemary, and thyme.

I placed the Dutch oven on the trivet she’d set in the center of the table. I grabbed her plate and dished up for her, then helped myself. Before claiming my usual chair opposite her, I spun the knob on the old sound system, dropping the volume from strident to chill.

Elena broke our comfortable silence. “So, I take it that today was a good day?”

“The best.” I cupped her oval face in my big hands. She looked so much like Albert, but all I saw right that second was Catherine. She was her mother through and through.

“I, my little bear, just sold my uniflex idea to Google.”

Her eyes grew wide. “For the love of blueberries, you’re kidding, right?”

I laughed. She always said that.

“That’s brilliant, Dad! I’m so proud of you.”

I blushed at the role reversal—weren’t dads usually supposed to be the ones telling their little bears they were proud, not the other way around? But I knew she meant it. We were staying put. Even though my scales were vibrating deep within human skin.

She needed at least one year of normal teenage life before plunging into the real destiny she’d been born to fulfill.

“Since we don’t have to move,” she said excitedly, “can I ask you something?”

“Does it involve a boy?”

She blushed. “You could say that.” She gave a dreamy sigh.

I didn’t like this. It’s only a year, Herbert. Whatever she wants. I joked, “Okay, who do I have to kill?”

“Nobody.” She chuckled. “But there’s this dance on Friday, and I want to go.”

Oh, no, not a dance. A grunt left my mouth. Calm down, Herbert. You can monitor her safety from a distance. “Will I at least meet this boy?”

“Whatever, I guess” she mumbled.

We ate quietly for a while. I brooded over how to handle this sudden dance, and she no doubt was simmering over my achingly slow response.

I smiled as a riddle popped into my head. “You can go on one condition.”

Around a forkful of chicken, Elena whined, “Please don’t make it a stupid riddle. I suck at those.”

“It’s not a difficult one. C’mon.”

“Fine. Let’s hear it.”

I took a swig of my wine—the dregs from the bottle I’d used for cooking. “What weighs a ton when moving forward but not when you move it backward?”

“What?” She gaped. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“It’s easy, Elena. It’s in the answer.”

She set her fork on her plate, now empty save for a few grains of rice. “Do I have at least a couple of hours?”

“Sure, but you know the rules. No Google, Bing, or Yahoo. I’ll know if you cheated.”

“Fine.” Scowling, she got up and mumbled, “I might as well kiss this dance goodbye.”

I chuckled as she stomped upstairs to her room.

It’s just a dance, Herbert. She deserves this. She’ll be okay. You will be close by. Three months. It’s going to be okay.

Uniformed figures chased each other across the TV screen—last Sunday’s football game, which I’d recorded and was finally getting around to watching. I couldn’t articulate why I followed this silly sport; it was nowhere near as interesting or dangerous as Warbel.

It was exciting in its own way, though.

“You stupid Patsy!” I shouted at a player as if he could hear me, hundreds of miles away and a few days in the past.

His jerk move could easily have cost his team the game. Why did humans play team sports even though they preferred hogging the spotlight for themselves? Why were they thick-skulled like that?

Elena was still in her room. Her MP3 player, connected to her external speakers, churned out song after song in the background. I’d taken great care to familiarize myself with the ones she played most often. P!nk. No Doubt. Flyleaf. Evanescence.

I promised myself to honor her privacy. She was a teenager, after all.

My mind slipped to the dance again.

Did all father figures feel this way?

Sure, Elena wasn’t my biological daughter. But I was the closest thing to a father she’d ever known. I’d raised her. As far as she knew, she was my daughter.

I shuddered to think how she’d react if she discovered the truth before I was ready to try breaking it to her again.

Would it be like last time? Or would she just accept it now that she was more mature? Did she nurture a kernel of ancestral knowledge deep in her heart, some suspicion that she was destined for more? Sometimes I thought I saw that in her eyes, but always convinced myself that I was just imagining it.

She had to suspect something, though. Otherwise my Cara died for nothing.

A huge sigh left my lips.

I held no grudge against Elena for Tanya’s choices. The plan had worked, even though it broke my heart when I figured out the truth. At first it was hard to be around Elena, knowing my Thunderlight had been sacrificed so she could live.

But as time progressed, Elena opened my heart. No one could resist her magnetism. I shouldn’t have been surprised by this. She was a Malone, after all. They had a way of inspiring people to care about them—not some surface-level, platonic connection, but sincere devotion.

The love they had for everything around them changed me irrevocably. It sort of made me whole again; though I still felt the void in my heart when I thought of Cara, I wasn’t sad. She’d died for something great.

The sound system stuttered. The commentator’s droning play-by-play cut off mid-word. Of its own volition, the input changed and the radio took over. Saccharine pop music filled the room for two seconds, followed by eerie static.

I jumped to my feet in a ready stance. I stared at the speakers as if they might morph into Wyverns right there in the living room.

Instead, a voice arrived, carried on static wings. It was barely audible at first, but it strengthened, soon as clear as if the speaker stood right beside me.

The same four words repeated like a mantra, like an alarm. “Herbert, they are coming. Herbert, they are coming.”

With four giant strides, I reached the speakers and stooped low to press my ear against the dusty black fabric and listened hard. This was mad. “Who is this?”

The chant ceased. The voice—definitely male—responded. “There’s no time. They are coming. Fast.”

They? No. “Please, I’m begging you. Tell me who you are.” I had to know. I closed my eyes, knowing he wouldn’t answer. But then…

“I’m a friend. Someone who would never hurt her.”

My eyes flew open. A friend. Someone who would never hurt her. The speaker was young, in his late teens or early twenties, tops. Then it hit me. A cold finger rushed up my spine. It can’t be. But I said it anyway, and it didn’t come out as a question. “Blake.”

“Do as I say.” Then, with reluctance: “Please.”

Holy crap. How does he know about her? But one thing was certain: I could trust him. Blake was the Rubicon. The dragon Elena was fated to tame one day, somehow. How was this possible, him speaking to me over radio waves from across the Wall?

There was no choice: I had to do as he said. No questions. Later, I could puzzle it over. But right now, they were coming. They. The ones who had ruthlessly hunted us for thirteen years and would never stop.

“Okay,” I whispered, though the static had returned and it wasn’t clear if he was still listening.

I rushed to Elena’s room.

Blake Leaf? How? I shook my head to clear it even as I bounded up the stairs three at a time. Not now, Herbert. They are coming.

I burst into Elena’s room without knocking. She sat up in her bed with a jolt.

“Pack your bags.” I rushed to my own room without waiting to see if she obeyed.

She was disappointed. My enhanced hearing picked up her weary—maybe heartbroken—sigh.

But to keep her safe, I had to break my promise that we could stay put for a while. Safe and disappointed was better than assassinated.

I crouched and grabbed the bulky army bag from underneath my bed, unzipped it, and went to my closet.

I pulled out a stack of folded clothes and chucked it into the bag.

A loud thud came from Elena’s room.

They’re here.

Panic igniting every muscle, I rushed back to her room and found her on the floor.

Nothing out of place, no other living creature in sight. The tension in my shoulders relaxed a fraction. Oh, Elena. She was so clumsy, always tripping over her own two feet.

I helped her stand. “Are you okay?”

Tears pooled in her eyes like thick shrouds that threatened to burst at any moment.

“Don’t give me that look, Elena. Please, we need to hurry.” I pulled out her suitcase and tossed it onto her bed. “We need to go. Now.”

“Dad…” she started.

I hated this so much. I want to give her more of a life than this incessant running for our lives. She deserved it. Paegeia… Maybe it was time to go home. It wasn’t the plan, but there, at least she would be safe. Well, safer.

My hands were already grabbing stacks of her clothes from her dresser and jamming them into her suitcase. Meanwhile, my mind started devising a plan to get us safely back home—our real home.

Maybe I could start with Matt. He was a council member on this side of the Wall. One of the few dragons who might be able to assist us. I’d never registered us, of course. But he would help if I called him for backup, for safe entry to Paegeia.

Elena’s eyes were on me. I didn’t have to look. She thought I was paranoid, crazy. She didn’t understand any of it. My fault. I was too chickenshit to try tell her the truth again. Too much of a coward to stick to the original plan.

I stilled and faced her. I never wanted to do it this way.

Herbert, they are coming.

My lungs expelled a huge breath. I leveled my gaze on her with the kindest eyes I could muster. She didn’t deserve any of this.

I stroked her cheek. “This…” How do I tell her? “…wasn’t the right place, bear. Please, you’ve got to trust me.”

I carried on. I would tell her later, when we were en route to Paegeia. I needed to call Matt. Even though he had no idea we were here, nor had he ever enjoyed the dubious honor of meeting me. He was the one who would help us to safety.

“Trust you?” Elena yelled.

“Elena, we don’t have much time.” My voice was stern. “Pack your bags! You can ask questions later.” I left again to finish my own packing.

Herbert, they are coming. How far are they?

Blake? How?

My body switched to autopilot, allowing my mind to obsess fruitlessly. I knew the drill and was now skilled at packing up our entire lives in a matter of minutes.

Once my closet was empty and my drawers bare, I opened the safe and grabbed the tidy stacks of cash concealed within. The green bundles went in the bag with everything else.

I zipped up my army bag. Home. I’m going home.

I barreled through the doorway and almost plowed into Elena.

“It’s almost over, bear,” I mumbled. I shouldered her bag and ran down the steps.

It wasn’t easy for me to make her leave. For once, she’d been enrolled in a school long enough to get excited about an event—the dance. She was fuming as she stomped along in my wake. Three minutes. That was all I needed to make that phone call.

I put the bags in the bed of the truck.

All day it had been spitting raindrops in a noncommittal sort of way, but as I opened the driver’s side door, the clouds made up their minds. The gray sky opened up and poured rain in blinding sheets.

I climbed in and dialed Matt’s number on my cell. I had memorized it, knowing eventually the time would come when I’d need his help to get back home.

It rang twice. “Matt Longchester.”

“Matt, you don’t know me, but I need your help.” My words tumbled out. “I am responsible for crucial cargo that must arrive in Paegeia safely, no matter the cost. I need your assistance. Please.”

“Whoa, slow down.” He sounded calm but not flippant. “What kind of cargo are we talking about here?”

“Not over the phone. Just know it’s imperative for the future and survival of Paegeia itself.”

Matt was silent for a beat. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Herbert, Herbert Watkins. We are not on the registry because of the secret I carry. Please.”

“Fine,” he said. “Where are you exactly?

As I gave him our general location, careful not to be too exact, I rejoiced internally. He had the right instincts, this Matt.

A keyboard clacked in the background. “There’s a hotel a few miles off I-40, five exits from you. I’ll meet you there, say, in two hours?”

“Less. Fly if you have to.” I put the phone down before he could pepper me with more questions.

Glancing up at the house, I honked the horn. What is taking her so long?

Elena finally emerged. She hopscotched to avoid all the puddles.

Then her body just crumpled.

I closed my eyes.

Who was I kidding? She was so clumsy. I should’ve trained her. I should’ve been honest from the start. How on earth could this klutzy, sensitive girl I’d raised break the Rubicon? I’d done her a great disservice. I’d been too soft.

I opened my eyes. Like an apparition, she stood right next to the truck. Soaking wet. She yanked open the passenger door.

I reached over to turn on the heat.

She had barely slammed her door when I floored the gas pedal. The tires squealed and sprayed gravel before they took hold and we were off.

On our way home. To Paegeia.

I didn’t look back. She had to reach Matt safely, even if they arrived and ensured that I wouldn’t.

Elena was Paegeia’s only hope.

The gravity of the situation slammed into me like a well-oiled battle-axe. This girl I had loved and nurtured from infancy? This girl who pouted in the seat beside me? She spelled Paegeia’s survival… or its utter annihilation.

She was the one true princess, the Rubicon’s rider. I had made a grave mistake, choosing to raise her in ignorance, thinking this could somehow protect her. I’d chosen the wrong path. I had raised her with my heart as if she were my own. But this was a mistake; she never had been.

Herbert, what have you done?

I had sheltered her, pampered her, raised her in ignorance of her past and her world and her future. She was untrained, unaware, probably unable to even cope with the strange reality she would soon be thrust into.

What had I done?

I had doomed us all.