Chapter 1
A thousand years after the Wandering, 10-year-old Astria Sannfjaer learned her world would end. The news came with the rattle of grax skulls and chicken bones that called Astria to the split door of her tiny cottage with her sketchbook. There, along the cobbled path to the village center, came a cart pulled by donkeys whose eyes were painted with the heavy brows of hawks. And Astria sketched them in charcoal. On the cart rode the Oracle of the Seers in a linen toga, her gray hair braided and curled across her shoulders and waist like a dragon’s tail. Around her neck hung a chain of wooden blocks with runes of sacred mysteries cut into them. Along her wrinkled arms, tattoos of spells and curses protected her from evil and influence. From long willow branches at the back of the wagon fluttered paper kites fashioned after the dragons that soared above in the late afternoon sun. With her arms outstretched, Astria imagined she rode one. In the Oracle’s wake drifted scents of sandalwood and the dark capes of Seers. From among them came a girl perhaps a year younger than Astria, with a kerchief covering her eyes. At the split door of the little cottage, the girl held out a doll of straw with a skirt of wheat spikes the color of Astria’s hair. With nothing else to offer, Astria removed her favorite woven hair tie and placed it in the girl’s hand to trade for the doll. The girl rubbed her fingers along the tie, grinned, and gave Astria the doll. She placed her palm on Astria’s cheek and reached into her own pocket to offer a handful of wicker trinkets. “Please,” the girl said. Astria’s father joined her and took a wicker mandala from the collection. “Thank you. That’s all we need.” A Seer dragged the girl back to a procession of adults and children with beaded hair, their ghostlike faces covered in chalky clay. Bones of small animals and colorful feathers dangled from sticks lodged in their belts. “Who are they, Papa?” “Druims,” Jorie said. “They’re Seers who venerate the dragons.” Astria’s mother, Skye, leaned over and dropped her voice. “They say they’re witches.” “They haven’t been to Invernell for years,” Jorie said. “Why do they come now?” Astria asked. Jorie smiled. “Let’s find out.” He gave each of them a stick of fragrant stenifer and hibiscus. After lighting them, he opened the lower door, took their hands, and joined the villagers who followed the Druims. At her father’s side, Astria walked in sunbeams as villagers nodded with respect for him, a Rider of dragons. Past small, thatch-roofed cottages of stone and wood, the procession of Farmers in coveralls, craftspeople with leather aprons, and women in pinafores marched to finger drums and pan flutes. Along their path, Seers and acolytes brushed leaves from the shrines and trimmed the overgrowth around the rune stones. As they passed, the shutters of craft halls and taverns slammed closed, hoping to avoid an evil eye from the Oracle. The procession stopped at a stage beneath a red canopy of stenifer branches. There, acolytes in sackcloth sprinkled incense into a firepit from which blue smoke swirled. In turn, the Seers and Druims filed past, leaned over to inhale the smoke, and took places by the stage. To one side, the musicians sat cross-legged. Opposite them, Seers led the Oracle to a chair adorned with flowers. The dry leaves of fall crackled underfoot as the audience arrived and made way for Jorie near the front. From the edge of the stage, Astria’s friend, Yana, waved for her to come. Astria turned to Skye. “Mama?” “Go, hon,” Skye said. Behind the stage, children donned capes of green and red to match the trees or deep brown with fox ears. Like five others, Yana wore a colorful outfit with long sleeves and a grotesque, horned mask. “Hurry,” Yana said and handed Astria a similar costume of even brighter colors. “Our dragoness is sick. Put this on.” “They look like dragon colors,” Astria said as she slipped on the costume. “That’s the idea. And yours is the female, Aeterna.” “What do I do?” “Wait here,” Yana said. “When I wave to you, enter and flap your arms.” With a thumbs-up to an acolyte, the flutes stopped, and when the rhythm changed to a heartbeat, the Oracle spoke. “Welcome to a time beyond remembering, when everything under Helios was born,” the Oracle said. On cue stage right, a child held high a bright yellow circle the size of his head, while other children in dragon costumes followed Yana onto the stage, their long sleeves fluttering like wings. “Dragons are the children of the Worm,” the Oracle began, “born at the Source when time began. From their birthplace deep within the highest peaks of the Spine, they flew over Juro to instill order for Goddess Fairma. Dragons are elementals, at one with the rocks and the sky. We know them by their actions, for actions do not lie. “Dragons were the first. And after they tamed the Worm of the World, other plants and animals appeared: forests of pine and stenifer, butterflies and flitterbies, wolves and graxes, and after them, humans.” The other children joined onstage, each portraying a tree or prancing about like animals. The Oracle continued. “Among them, dragons live in a state of grace, at peace with all life on Juro, except man. From the seasons to the cycles of the three moons, the dragons keep Juro in balance and everything as it should be. Under their protection, all life prospers. But that will not be forever.” One at a time, the boy holding the yellow circle of Helios eclipsed it with other disks representing the three moons—one larger than Helios and gray; another smaller and white; and the third smaller yet and red. As the rhythm of the finger drums slowed, a black lace curtain fell across the stage, casting the actors in a dull red. The children dressed as trees wilted, and Yana and the dragons lay down to sleep. Around them, acolytes in black robes jabbed spears at the animals as the clouds hid the sun. “Chaos will come to threaten all life on Juro, and dragons must rise to defend it,” the Oracle warned. “But they cannot defeat the Darkness that brings the End Times without Aeterna.” Yana waved to Astria, who fluttered among the cowering animals and sleeping dragons. In the audience, Skye and Jorie smiled. The Oracle said, “Together with Aeterna, the dragons will defeat the Darkness so Juro can live in harmony once more.” The dragon actors rose and pushed the spear carriers offstage. And as they tore down the dark lace, the trees and animals came back to life, and a gust fluttered their costumes. High above the stage, dragons circled. When they hummed, Astria’s eyes rolled back. Her jaw went slack, and she stood with her arms wide. The stage and actors faded from her awareness and the fall day disappeared. In a vision, she flew with the dragons above, chasing the sun west to the horizon through orange-and-yellow clouds, thrilled with the freedom of flight. River of White asks Young Sun of my fate, And Moon asks Old Sun if I am the last, But Sun does not answer our questions. The setting sun turned the sky red, and she swooped low over the glaciers. Blood stained the pristine snow as men in heavy furs screamed like animals and hacked at one another with axes. As she circled lower, the shadow of her wings swept over them, and she roared, but they did not stop. “Blood,” Astria whispered onstage. As the audience and the Oracle stared at her, the winged costume slipped from her shoulders, and she fell to her knees. Through grumbling Farmers, Jorie and Skye ran to her. “Asti?” Skye said and took her hand, but her daughter only moaned and trembled. “Astria!” Jorie picked Astria up and hugged her tight. “I’m cold, Papa,” Astria said, shivering in his arms as they hurried away. In a clearing a half-mile past the cottages and craft shops, where Lake Norven discharged into the Blois River, Skye spread a picnic blanket. “You saw the glaciers?” Jorie asked as he built a fire. Astria sat and hugged her knees, watching the sun drop behind the high cliffs surrounding Invernell Valley. “When the dragons hummed,” she said. “What does it mean?” Jorie shook his head. “Nothing good. We don’t use weapons like that anymore.” “It felt old, Papa. Like the memories of someone long . . . gone.” She shivered again. “Dragons live much longer than people do,” Skye said and handed her chestnuts from a basket. “Much older than any dragons we know,” Astria said as she scored the nuts for roasting, but stopped and turned to Jorie. “Papa, will the Darkness come?” “The Oracle sees further ahead than we can,” Jorie said. Her mother scoffed. “No one knows the future, hon. What we care about is a good harvest and food on the table.” “What if we can wake Aeterna and stop the Darkness before it comes?” “You’ll have to find her first,” her father said. After placing the chestnuts around the fire, Astria lay back and watched the dragons fly west and smiled. One was her father’s dragon: Klokbror, her first friend, the first mountain she climbed, the first island she circumnavigated, and the first to sing with her. And even at hundreds of feet, his wings hid the moons. “Where do they go, Papa?” He looked up. “To find a vantage for the sunset. It’s still daylight where they fly.” Astria sat up straight. “Teach me to ride, Papa. And I can fly with you.” “Tell her,” Skye said. Jorie shook his head. “We’ll begin when—” “They won’t let her.” “They won’t be able to stop her,” he said with his jaw set. “We’ll begin as soon as I return.” Astria frowned and threw a pebble to splash into the river. “Where will you go?” He sat by her side and tipped his head to the glaciers of the Spine. “North.” “Do people live there in the Wild where Klokbror hunts?” “No. It’s too hard to live outside the valley,” he said and put his arm around her. “But that’s where the wonders lie. To the west are the glaciers and the crystal spires that rise from them. Beyond lies the Source where dragons go to die.” His eyes gleamed as he spoke, and Astria captured his face in her sketchbook. “Wise kings live farther to the west and evil ones to the south. And to the far north live fierce barbarians who will make a necklace from your ears.” From her vision, images of ferocious men in animal skins came to life in the fire, and she jumped when her father pinched her ear. He pointed east where the brightest stars of the winter constellations gleamed through the twilight. “To the east, the Worm of the World, whose spine forms our mountains, dives into the Ocean of Daggers and leaves his back-plates in a sea of islands.” Jorie held out the silver-gray half coin that hung from a cord around his neck. “And that’s where I found this.” Astria touched the intricate reliefs that sparkled in the firelight. “What do the runes mean?” “I’m not sure,” he said and held the coin near her nose. “But if you look close, this might be the sun and these plants.” His smile disappeared. “The Seers believe it has something to do with the failing harvests.” Astria dropped her gaze. “I don’t want you to go, Papa.” He glanced at Skye. “I must. But I’ll be back soon.” His words did not cheer her, and with a finger, he turned her head back to him. “When I come home, you’ll ride.” Above the peaks, two moons set, and the stars glittered as bright as candles. Jorie pointed to the sky. “See the star above the constellation Nidhogg, the dragon? That’s your wishing star.” She whispered, “How do you know?” “Because our stars are fixed there next to yours,” he said and hugged her again. “Olim willing, you will ride. And when you do, the world will never be the same.” “How, Papa?” “Together, we’ll explore the world from coast to coast and meet kings and emperors. And everywhere we go, everything we touch will change.” His eyes glinted as he pinched her nose. “But first, you’ll need a dragon.”
