The Bond

Flags of the nine Houses flutter above, imitating my heart.  The crimson and gold of House York flies the highest because my House is hosting the Bonding Ceremony.  The roaring black lion at the flag’s center stretches comfortably, waiting for the horn to announce the start of the bonding.  My father, the king lion, watches me from the covered stands.  His black beard contains more gray than it did the last time there was a ceremony.  My mother sits by him, the calm and confident lioness.  She watches the arena with her assessing topaz eyes—my eyes.  I know she cried last night.  I know she fears for my life.

But there is nothing left to do now, as the Master of Ceremony lines us up according to age.  I am eleven years old, so I am in the middle.   At the end of the line to my left is the youngest of us, a seven-year-old boy from House Carolina.  At the other end of the line is the oldest, a fifteen-year-old boy from House North. 

As the Master of Ceremony passes by me, he gently lifts my chin up.

“Keep your eyes on the prize, Ander,” he said.

I smell the incense he always burns in our library and wonder if it’s the last time I will smell it.  When he finishes putting us into position, he walks out of the arena.  I pretend to be brave, but I desperately wish I were walking out with him. 

The crowd quiets.  Everyone waits.  The only impatient thing out there is the wind as it continues relentlessly.  From somewhere in the crowd, the horn blows. 

And I see them.  They fill the empty sky with the expanse of their powerful wings, beating back and forth, distracting the wind.  Abran of House Carolina rides Goliath, a golden beast with whom he had bonded almost half a century ago.   Kai of House Marion sat upon the spiky neck of Snake, a long, green youngster.  Like always, my breath stops at the sight of the Dragon Guard.  These men are my heroes. 

A swarm of awe swims across the crowd as two smaller dragons rise into the air from behind the stands, their tiny wings beating to keep afloat.  Although small, they are still twice the size of a full-grown man.  One is gold with green-tipped wings, one red with dark spots.  Both are female.  They are the hatchlings of Lady, a green dragon who protects the fishermen in the north from serpents. 

I take a deep breath as Goliath and Snake lead the two baby dragons down to the arena.  Around me, the other Prospects shift on their feet nervously.  I know the feeling.  I want to run out of the arena, but at the same time, I want to know.  Will I be chosen?

Goliath and Snake are calm as they land on the arena floor.  Their wings send dirt flying all around.  The hatchlings land unsteadily.  The moment they are balanced, they start purring and biting each other.  I try not to think about how powerful their playful bites are, and how easily they could take a man’s head off—not to mention a boy’s. 

Sensing the calm demeanor of their elders, the two hatchlings eventually calm down.  The gold one coughs, sending flames flying from her mouth.  I feel the heat of them on my face, but I don’t flinch. 

“Don’t be scared,” my father said when I started training.  “They will sense it, and you are as good as dead.”

Goliath lets out a deep cry.  The two adult dragons launch into the air, leaving behind a cloud of dust.  They land on the arena towers.  They are not to interfere, no matter how many children die.  Only when the hatchlings are bonded can they fly down to pick up the survivors.

The dust clears.  The hatchlings watch their surroundings quietly.  Unlike us, they have not received training.  Everything they do next will be out of instinct.

“Don’t be the first one,” my father had said.  “Few dragons bond with the first Prospect they encounter.”

The oldest boy steps forward.  He catches the hatchlings’ attention right away.  His courage—or stupidity—allows some of the others to be more daring.  They follow cautiously toward the hatchlings.  I am the oldest one left in line.

The hatchlings eye the fifteen-year-old as he approaches.  He chooses the red one, his hand stretching out for it to sniff.  The hatchling sniffs it, and the boy moves closer.  His confidence is building.  He wants a dragon just as much as everyone else.  The dragon rears back and cries—a screech that goes straight into the center of my ears.  Her mouth shot down, baring blade-like fangs.  She snaps the boy’s head off with one bite.  Blood marks the arena floor.  A hushed gasp travels through the crowd.

“Don’t wait too long,” my father had advised, “or you risk the chance of the dragon bonding with someone else.”

The younger Prospects run toward the arena gates.  Their small fists pound against the red-painted wood.  They cry, they scream.  They change their minds.  The commotion gets the attention of the gold hatchling.  Her wings flap, and she lifts into the air and lands not far from the young Prospects.  They stare at her with fear-filled eyes, their backs against the gate. 

I don’t think.  I run and throw myself in front of the group.

“No!” I yell.  My arms stretch out to block her from the youngsters.

She screeches at me, sending my chin-length hair flying.  I don’t move.   Instead, I step forward. 

“Leave them alone!”

Her lime green eyes spark with anger.  She rears back, ready to tear me apart. 

“No!” I yell again.

This seems to catch her off guard.  She sits back on the ground and watches me curiously.

I feel my heart begin to hum a song.

Slowly, I stretch out my hand to let her smell it.  She sniffs.  Her eyes regard me, waiting.

Now for the test.  Heart dancing, I walk away.  She watches.

“Come,” I command.

She pauses and then slowly walks toward me.  I hold my hand up to her, and she sniffs it again.  Then her long, rough tongue comes out and licks it, leaving a sticky residue.  I smile, but I know that I am not out of danger yet.  I reach out toward her.  She bends her head.  Lets me pet her rough, moist nose.

She nudges me.

Goliath and Snake take to the air, and I know that the red hatchling has also bonded.  But I don’t look.  All I see are those lime orbs looking into mine.  I can’t help the laughter that bubbles up inside me.  She looks at me strangely, and I can see: fifty years from now she will give me the same look.  I will become a man, a warrior, a husband, a father, and she will be with me each step of the way.  When I ride to battle, it will be on her back.  I will never be alone from this day forward, for she is mine, and I am hers.  Forever.