Page 114 of Tailwind

I nodded. ‘That’s right. Eventually every dragon flies north into the Winds.’

The great mystery of where dragons went to die was something everyone considered at some point, and kids who wanted to fly, they were the most curious of all. All we humans knew was that a dragon, one day, felt the Pull – an irresistible urge to fly north and never return. Or that’s what I’d thought until meeting Ascil. Regardless of their age, it was considered a great loss, but also a revered calling. Their time was done.

‘You’ve been to their home, haven’t you?’

My heart spiked as the kid asked, but he’d been asking Theo. It took me a moment to realize that he wasn’t talking about Bach’s ranch, but the Sky Pillar. The lone floating island covered with ancient monuments, presumed to be the birthplace of dragons.

Theo swung up into the saddle of the drake. ‘I have raced there, yeah. And if you want to see it too, you’ll pay attention to this race. You could learn a few tricks from us, you know.’

We mounted the drakes and I was transported back to childhood.

The dire drake was uncanny. I was so used to seeing them as strong, bulky creatures, yet there I was sat on the back of one and feeling for all the world like I was eight years old again. I could have been riding Runt, the drake my uncle’s hatchery had loaned me.

It was an easy transition, going back to a drake. I locked my legs into place, stooped my shoulders and held the reins over my lap.

Theo lined up next to me and we shared a glance before the flare sent us racing. Through my visor – one lacking any kind of augments – I could see the creases around his eyes as he smiled. I got the feeling this wasn’t a spontaneous suggestion – he’d been planning it.

The pop of the flare sounded and we were off. No longer watching each other’s eyes, but instead the movement on track. Neck and neck around the first corners, taking the slopes at a blistering pace. The circuit had felt much wider back in the day, back when I wasn’t so focused on the crumbling edges as I spiralled downwards, taking the drake right to the edge to gain an advantage.

Glee bubbled up inside. I may not have had wings under me, but I was still racing. Theo and I pushed and pulled against one another. Taking the lead and conceding it, overtaking every lap at the fastest corners and losing it on the slower inclines.

By the time the end of the race neared – counting the laps myself without any comms to rely on – I’d disappeared into the joy of it completely. There may not have been Volitant points on the line, there may not have been a trophy waiting at the end, but I still needed to win. I needed to win so I could have bragging rights.

That’s all that mattered. When the race was over and the helmets came off, I needed to be able to hold the victory over Theo’s head. Nothing more and nothing less.

So when he cut me off as we raced along the downward curve of track, using an old move from our Junior Drake days to squeeze me against the wall, I smiled. Smiled because my muscle memory kicked in. I tilted with the dire drake and nudged him up the wall proper, not stopping to consider if the plan would still work when the drake and I were twice as big as the last time I’d tried.

Then we were running parallel to the ground. I whooped with joy as the drake picked up speed, overtaking Theo. By the time we returned to flat ground I was laughing and leaning over to watch Theo try to catch up behind.

I crossed the finish line, only a few strides ahead of Theo. I detached from the saddle and slid off, pulling off my helmet as I went. Immediately I crossed over to him, offering him a hand.

‘Congratulations on being beaten by me, still the best drake rider of the south.’ It was a long-standing rule of ours: never give in to the temptation to be humble.

He clapped his hand into mine. ‘How does it feel knowing you peaked at twelve years old?’

The familiar mischievous sparkle in his brown eyes was back, unwavering as we grinned together, our hair sweaty and plastered down.

There was nothing else like it. The feeling of a race hard fought. Competitive spirit overflowing. Racing for the fun of it. Knowing that regardless of the outcome, I would be smiling afterwards.

My heart pounded as our old mantra found the tip of my tongue: fast and fair.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

‘I hate being nervous,’ I told Surquet as I buckled on his saddle. ‘It ruins everything. My focus slips, it unsteadies my hands and gets in the way of having fun.’

I tugged the last strap through the loops and stepped back to admire the beautiful dragon. He was fifteen years old, older than the known living dragons on the continents, but still younger than the likes of Ascil and Aloux. Of all the dragons at the ranch, he was the only one from an exclusive Volitant Forge team.

Sure, Aloux was a metallic dragon too, but Victrolia was, at its heart, a southern Chroma team. Surquet was an Adviant rose-gold racer – graceful, streamlined and built for the extreme heat of the northern continent. He was also staring at me, turning his neck into a U-bend to make sure I saw the sharp look from under his hooded eyes.

‘What? It’s been four weeks and I’ve barely gotten close to tagging Bach.’ I walked up to his head and patted his snout. ‘The guy is injured and he still flies like he’s my age. That said, he was still a better rider than me at twenty-three too. And thirty-three, when he flew with you.’

Surquet made a throaty honking noise. Even though I’d heard it plenty on race casts of Volitant Forge, it had still taken some getting used to. The best equivalent I could think of for the southern dragons was the hot huffs of air they blew when impatient.

‘And that means what exactly?’ I peered into his eyes, trying to understand. Dragons were, broadly, all similar in their body language and communication, but the more time I spent at the ranch the more I realized how different the older ones were.

Surquet’s pink eyes flickered back and forth as we stared at one another, just like Josie’s did when she was puzzling out some numbers. He bumped his nose into me with far more control and gentleness than Gottyk ever managed, then honked again.

‘Ah,’ I said, humbled. ‘You’re annoyed at me … for being nervous?’