Real Dragons

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  About The Author

  Books by Rebecca Shelley

  Real

  Dragons

  Rebecca Shelley

  Wonder Realms Books

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any print or electronic form without permission. All characters, places, and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual places or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Rebecca Shelley

  Cover art © 2017 Emily Shelley

  Interior art © Fernando Cortés | Dreamstime.com

  Scene break art © Irina Shishkina | Dreamstime.com

  Originally titled Black Dragon © 2011 Rebecca Shelley

  (The title was changed to avoid confusion with Dragonbound VIII: Black Dragon by the same author)

  Published by Wonder Realms Books

  The roar of traffic echoed along the city street, bouncing from one brownstone building to the next, rattling between the streetlights, and thundering like a waterfall on the heads of the four children on the narrow sidewalk. One of the four, a twelve-year-old boy named Weldon, sat on the stoop with his English homework and a pencil in his hand. He coughed in the cloud of exhaust from the cars and watched the three younger girls playing jump rope.

  Phillis, the boy's sister, stood in the center of the twirling rope, her short black braids bouncing with each jump she took. A spiderweb of cracks spread across the sidewalk beneath her feet. Into these cracks, the waterfall of traffic noise tumbled and dripped onto the realm below.

  One drop, the rumble and hiss of a city bus, splashed through the seventeenth crack and splintered the air above a field of grass so small that only a scientist's best microscope could see it clearly, though no scientist would ever admit to such a discovery.

  The sound of the bus rumbled like the thunder of an approaching storm over the grass, bending the delicate stalks. Barthelme stood at the foot of a long slender blade of grass, resting his hand against the silver side of the blade while the green side whipped about over his head. He paid no mind to the ever-present waterfall of noise from above. He knew no other air than that thick with particles of exhaust, which were sometimes as big as him, but more often floated around him like downy flies. His world smelled of green grass, asphalt, earth, and smog.

  He lifted his face to the rays of sunshine that shimmered down on him from the crack overhead. His wings buzzed with excitement as he thought about his plan. A plan he'd considered for the last two years and come every day to this spot, fully intent on carrying it out.

  The crack fell into shadow for a moment, and then the sun returned.

  Barthelme's wings buzzed so frightfully that they dislodged a shower of sparkling dust from his shoulder. The little flakes fell until they mixed with the bubbles of exhaust in the air and floated back up around Barthelme's head. He swatted them away. The satchel of supplies he'd secured around his waist for the journey thumped against his legs as his wings beat faster.

  "Today," he muttered. "Today." His wings lifted him almost to the top of the grass blade. Then they slowed, and he sank back down. "But why today?" he thought. "What makes today any different from yesterday or tomorrow or last year?"

  It seemed to him his ascension should have great importance and meaning and should happen on an important day. But days in the Realm Below stretched on in an endless march of light and darkness with nothing to mark one from another besides all the best holidays such as the Celebration of the Deluge and the annual observance of The Great Awakening: that moment in time when all life in the Realm Below first sprang into being.

  Barthelme thought that Awakening Day would be the perfect day for his ascension, but that day was so filled with singing, dancing, meeting with friends, and feasting that he never could tear himself away long enough to make the flight.

  Barthelme gritted his teeth. Now or never. He rose a fraction from the ground, but his friend Haley zipped through a tuft of grass and landed beside him. The sunlight glimmered across Haley's black velvet face, catching on his radiant smile. His midnight wings sent showers of silver sparkles into the air around him.

  "Barthelme, Barthelme, come quick. The dragons are hatching. You don't want to miss it."

  Barthelme's heart fluttered. The dragons. He'd been waiting for this day. He took one last glance at the crack of sunshine overhead and then flew with Haley in and out of the blades of grass to the lake that lay like molten silver in the middle of their world. A sheen of rainbow colors rippled across the lake as Barthelme and Haley landed on the gritty black beach.

  Already a crowd had gathered around the small lump in the ground where the clutch of eggs had been buried by its mother. The lump of sand shifted every few heartbeats, like something below longed to break out into the light. Some said it would be the old dragoness's last brood, she being older even than those who were born during the Great Awakening, though she'd flown into the Realm Below several decades after.

  A crooning sound echoed across the lake, and the dragoness came. Her body hung in the air over the lake, glowing a pearly black. Her tiny tail and torso undulated with each flap of her wings. In her claws she carried a pair of red mites—their mandibles twitching in agitation.

  Barthelme stepped back with the other spectators to give the dragoness room. His wings buzzed along with the other fairies' wings, filling the air with a symphony of harmonious noise.

  The dragoness hissed at the spectators and snapped at the ends of their noses.

  The fairies fell back behind Barthelme, trying to protect their noses with their arms from the angry dragoness.

  "There now," Barthelme murmured to the dragoness. He lifted his hand palm-up in greeting to her. "Do not fear. We have come to protect your babies, not to harm them."

  The dragoness crooned and settled onto his hand. The mites, still clutched in her talons, tickled Barthelme's fingers.

  "Yes, the babies will be hungry, won't they?" Barthelme stroked her pearly black scales. "And where is your mate? Bringing more I hope. I'd hate for the babies to bite off my toes."

  The dragoness rolled on her back, flapping her wings across her stomach in laughter. The mites thrashed about but could not free themselves from her clutches.

  After her laughter died out, the dragoness lifted from Barthelme's hand and settled onto her clutch, twining her tail around herself so she looked like a perfect black pearl against the moving sand.

  Her mate, the ruby dragon, sparkled with an inner red fire as he zipped across the water and landed beside her. In his talons he carried a maggot almost as big as himself. The crowd clapped and cheered as he wrestled to keep the maggot in his grasp.

  His movements kicked up the sand and burst the already breaking egg sac. Soon hundreds of baby dragons—so small that a strong puff of Barthelme's breath could have sent them spinning across the lake—squirmed out of the egg sac and inundated the maggot with their translucent bodies. The two mites vanished quickly to the infants' huge appetites. The biggest babies getting the most food, growing bigger. The smallest barely getting a nibble before being pushed aside and forgotten. As the bigger hatchlings ate,
they grew and took on color until the black sand was spread with an array of sparkling, moving jewels.

  The dragoness and her mate chirped loudly, and the little jewel dragons rose into the air, a swarm of flashing beauty. Some two dozen of the hatching had survived and zipped around their parents in a whirl of color and noise. The fairies, except Barthelme, scattered. The little dragons were still plenty hungry and liable to bite everything around them, just to see if it might be food.

  Barthelme pulled a loaf of mold from his satchel and hurled it as far as he could down the beach. Smelling the rich aroma, the baby dragons zipped after it. The dragoness gave him a grateful coo and followed her young while her mate settled onto a blade of grass and trumpeted in pride.

  Barthelme knelt next to the broken egg sac, still partially buried in the sand. Tiny translucent bodies littered the ground. Out of hundreds, only dozens had gotten enough food to survive. It was the way of dragons. But Barthelme had been watching the clutch for a long time, thinking and planning. With intense care, he stuck his finger down into the pile of bodies on the sand. There appeared to be no movement, no life. He moved his finger carefully, bit by bit passing it through the minute bodies. A prick of pain stabbed his finger. Then another. Gritting his teeth, he held his hand in place.

  A third prick, sharper than the first two, caught him off guard, and he jerked his hand away. His finger continued to prick and burn. He looked down and found three tiny translucent dragonets devouring his flesh.

  "That's it, my hearty fellows," Barthelme whispered through gritted teeth. "You're not so much smaller than your brothers and sisters feasting over there. You can still make it."

  He eased his finger down into the satchel where another loaf of mold waited to entice the three hungry dragons off of his finger. He closed the satchel flap and tied it down then took swift flight away from the dragoness and her brood.

  He went straight to his house, for he knew that the little dragons needed flight as well as food to grow strong and survive. His house was a frame of sticks, lashed together and then covered with dried grass. It was a grand house, which had started small and grown as he'd added to it over the years. He was especially proud of the great hall at the center of his home. He'd made it big enough so that he and his friends could play dodge-the-mosquito without running into each other or the walls. Glowing dewdrops glimmered in basins attached around the walls for light.

  Barthelme carried the satchel into the great hall and released the flap. Three little dragons, now grown to tear-drop size, gazed up at him. He grabbed what was left of the loaf of mold and shook it, forcing the creatures into the air.

  The biggest of the three, a sparkling sapphire blue, flapped her wings and snapped at his nose. He blew her away from his face with a puff of breath. The second largest, a ruby like his father, zipped high into the air, trumpeting and somersaulting. The third and smallest clung tooth and talon to the mold. Her body remained translucent, her wings plastered to her back.

  "Keep eating," he whispered to her. She raised a feeble head to look into his eyes.

  "You did it." Haley flew into the hall and landed beside Barthelme, startling him. "Two beautiful dragons." He watched the pair fluttering around the room. "Do you think you can tame them?"

  "Hope so," Barthelme said. "Though I don't suppose tame is the right word. I still think the dragons are probably a good deal smarter than we are. I'd say befriend them instead."

  Haley rolled his eyes. "Dragons aren't intelligent. They can't even talk. All they do is chirp, fly, and eat. Though I am grateful for that, mind you. The refuse would sure build up around here if they didn't." Haley laughed.

  Barthelme turned his back to his friend and looked once more down at the smallest dragon. She'd given up eating and lay with her head against the loaf, her eyes closed.

  "That your English take-home test?" Phillis grabbed the paper from Weldon's hand and stared at the picture of fairies and dragons that covered it.

  Weldon snatched it back. His heart rattled in his chest. If he didn't do something quickly, the last baby dragon would die.

  Phillis put her hands on her hips. Her round chocolate eyes flashed. "Mama gonna kill you. She told you to stop drawing on your schoolwork."

  "Well I don't got no other paper right now, do I?" Weldon said. He jumped to his feet and sprinted toward the far intersection where the broken traffic light flashed always red.

  "Weldon!" Phillis's shrill cry chased him. "You supposed to watch me. I'm a gonna get kidnapped!"

  Weldon dodged around the corner and slammed into Alice, the quiet old widow who lived above the shoe store. He knocked her flat over on her rump and dropped his pencil in shock and dismay.

  "Weldon," Alice huffed.

  "Sorry Ma'am. So, so sorry." He tried to help her up, but when he clutched her outstretched arm, the paper in his hand crumpled with a dreadful rattle.

  He let out a cry of despair, grabbed his pencil from the rough cement and abandoned the stricken old woman. "Sorry. I got to go," he yelled over his shoulder. "It's a matter of life and death."

  In his mad rush, he tripped and fell over a jagged fragment of broken cement. He hugged the precious paper to him and landed on his knees, tearing his jeans and the skin beneath. With a cry of pain he jumped back to his feet and dodged behind a rusty dumpster. The smell of curdled milk and used cat litter hung over him as he squatted amid the overflowing trash and pressed the pencil to paper once more.

  Barthelme stroked the little dragon, taking care not to smash her fragile body. "Come on, little one. Wake up." Behind him Haley took to the air and began zipping around the room encouraging the larger two babies to fly, much like the dragoness had with her other hatchlings. Of course Haley was far bigger than the dragoness and a lot more clumsy.

  The little translucent dragon blinked, but did not raise her head. A pang of worry shot across Barthelme's chest. The little one seemed to him the most beautiful dragon he'd ever seen: a shimmering diamond worth more than all the others.

  "Don't die," he cried as he fumbled with his free hand to unclasp the brooch that held his traveling cloak. The clasp came free, and the cloak fluttered to the ground at his feet.

  Barthelme jabbed the point of the clasp into his finger. A prick of blood welled up. He moved his finger to the dragon's head. The liquid touched the dragon's thin mouth. She sniffed, blinked at Barthelme in surprise, and then opened her jaws, eagerly lapping up the blood. Barthelme hoped that Haley was too busy playing to see the dragon feed. He might not approve.

  The little diamond dragon drank Barthelme's blood and grew stronger. He wiped more blood on the mold loaf, and she began feasting. Her body swelled to the size of her siblings and her wings unfurled, but she remained colorless, a glittering diamond.

  Barthelme shook the mold loaf to urge her into the air. Still she clung to it. Wings flapping. Her talons locked into the mold.

  "Come on now," Barthelme said. "Flying is fun." His own wings buzzed so they lifted him off the ground.

  Haley zipped over to hover next to him. "She's beautiful. Imagine, three dragons of your very own." He spun in the air, did a flip, and landed on the floor. "I can't wait to tell the others." He flew out of the hall.

  "Never mind him," Barthelme told the diamond dragon. "He has the attention span of a flea. But come now. You must fly." He shook the loaf again. Still the diamond dragon clung to it.

  The movement caught the eye of the other two dragons, and they returned to the loaf, picking at it with dainty bites, keeping their eyes on Barthelme the whole time.

  "Hello. My name is Barthelme," he said, nodding to the dragons. "This is my home, and yours too if you wish to stay in it. There is plenty to eat here. I have a mold garden out back and mites are always crawling up my walls and trying to squeeze inside. Here there is lots to eat and lots of space to fly."

  The three dragons stared at him. They seemed to understand what he said and were thinking it over. Haley and the other fairies insisted that
the dragons weren't intelligent, just because they did not talk or write, grow crops or build, or create art and music. But Barthelme had been the first to meet the dragoness and her mate when they entered the Realm Below. He felt that she had always understood when he spoke to her, though she seldom cared to listen or respond to any of his questions.

  Now her children stared at him and blinked their glowing eyes.

  "It's a lovely home, and I'm happy to share it with you."

  The little ruby let out a shrill cry and zipped to the edge of the hall where bark shutters closed over a window. Barthelme flew over to the window where the ruby tore at the bark and chittered in a frenzy.

  "So that's the way of it," Barthelme said. "I had hoped we could be friends, but I see you want your freedom." He lifted the brass catch and pulled the shutters aside. A light wind gusted in and blew around the hall. The ruby dragon trumpeted and zipped outside. He somersaulted in the air and glided back to the windowsill as if to say he'd be happy to stay as long as Barthelme wouldn't keep him a prisoner.

  The sapphire dragon cooed, walked across the mold loaf, and stroked Barthelme's hand with her wing.

  "I like you too," Barthelme said.

  The sapphire chirped, flapped her wings, and zipped out the window followed by her brother.

  "What about you?" Barthelme said to the diamond dragon.

  She flapped her wings, but kept a firm hold on the loaf.

  "Will you not fly?"

  She chirped, folded her wings against her back, slithered over to Barthelme's hand, and curled up against it. He might have taken her for nothing but a still silent stone, except for the rhythmic swell of her body against his hand as she breathed.