Page 57 of Destined Dawn

“Yes,” I say. Because that must be right. Why else would it have happened?

“I don’t like it,” Azlan says sternly.

“Me neither,” Stone adds.

“Seems like we’ve run out of choices, though, my dudes,” Renzo says.

“And you know she’s going to go whether we like it or not,” Tristan adds.

I pout at him. “I want us to be happy with this decision.”

Azlan stares into my eyes. “I’m not going to be happy with it, but I will go along with it. Just …” he lowers his voice, “be careful, Rhianna.”

I think that’s asking a lot – when am I ever careful? – but I make the promise anyway, and then we’re all trudging over the sand towards the dragons.

The golden dragon watches me come and when I reach her, I lay my hands on her cool scales.

“Hello again, Gwenhwyfar,” I say, testing out her name and smiling at her, Pip giving his own little squeak, “thank you for rescuing me. I guess we’re even now.” She rumbles a second time, lowering her head to the sand. She’s too big for me to climb up onto and there’s no Renzo here to help me now – he’s too busy climbing onto one of the smaller dragons with Stone, who is looking mighty unhappy aboutbeing the one stuck with the assassin as his travel companion.

Furrowing my brow with concentration and with Pip in my arms, I manage to lift myself up into the air with my magic, just like I’d done that time in the gym with the rope. When I reach the top of the dragon, I grab ahold of her scales and scrabble up onto her back.

The butterflies continue to flutter around my stomach and I don’t know if it’s excitement at the prospect of riding her again, or nerves that I’m making another bad decision.

The other dragons lift up into the air. Spencer whoops with excitement and even Azlan appears to be struggling not to grin.

I screw up my eyes and steady my nerves. This is the right thing to do. It has to be.

The dragon spreads her wings and drags us high into the sky, sweeping after the others, until the convent is a mere dot in the distance and the Gray Isle is far far behind us as we fly out towards the West.

It takes us most of the day and into the night, but I’m not even a little bit tired, buzzing too much as we soar across the countryside, past all the places we passed weeks and weeks ago on the motorbikes and in Winnie’s car. Up here the wind is fierce and cold and would be keeping me awake even if the adrenaline wasn’t.

Pip isn’t loving the ride as much as I am. In fact, I think he hates it even more than he did Winnie’s driving. His body quakes like it did when he was unwell, and he screws up his eyes and buries his face in my lap. I try to comfort him, stroking my hand down his back and narrating everything there is to see from up here, but he’s having none of it, and in the end I give up and enjoy the flight. It’s a million times better than flying the broom, even if my thighs and my coreache and my eyes water. The dragon is graceful and the way she moves through the air is incredible.

Renzo said my dad was descended from dragons themselves and I begin to believe it. It’s like I belong up here, far away from all my problems on the ground, the wind sweeping through my hair and the stars sparkling around me.

The other dragons soar alongside us, taking turns to lead us, swooping in and out of position and my mates call to me with delight, our bonds thrumming with excitement.

As day breaks, bright golden light racing along the crack where the sky meets the earth, we fly over the border. A huge barracks stationed right below us, tanks, trucks and other equipment parked in neat rows, soldiers like tiny ants swarming between them. They must see us up above, and one or two magical bolts come tearing our way. The dragons dodge them deftly and then we pass over land I don’t think belongs to anyone. Empty like a ghost town, dead trees like skeletons staking the scorched earth, great craters pockmarking the ground.

No-man's-land.

And then, as the rays of light chase up into the sky, hitting the dragon’s body and turning her golden, we pass into the west. More barracks, more soldiers. No difference. Except no one seems to notice us here, or at least if they do, they don’t care. No bolts of magic, no warning shots. The busy little ants continuing their duties, until we’re beyond them all and out into the west.

I don’t know where I’m going from here. The West is a huge mass of unknown land. I don’t know where the people live, how they live.

We fly over desolate land, dry and bare, only dust and sand in all directions, not a single scrabbly bush or even alone cactus in sight. No trickling streams or racing rivers. Nothing. Nothing at all.

This is the West. Desolate and dangerous. Where men struggle to survive. Where the dark magicals were exiled in punishment.

The winter sun bears down on the cracked earth, roasting further and we fly onwards until finally we spy something in the distance. The first signs of life.

First a farm, cattle chewing on spindly grass, sparse yellowing crops clinging to the earth.

Then a town. Rundown like so many in the republic. Empty and boarded up.

Then another and another, becoming bigger, packed closer together until they spill into one another, one continuing urban sprawl across the land, the tall towers of a city out on the horizon.

This is where we’re headed, I feel it in my bones, and I wish Pip would stop sulking and talk to me.