“When I was a young boy, I’d sometimes stand on the shore and pretend I could see the eternal storm, just beyond the horizon.” Cleeson stared out at the sea, a myriad of red and orange light spilling over his face that seemed to turn his beard pink. In his eyes glinted a fondness for the sight, so much so that Garen tore his gaze from the mage and looked out again, wondering if he was missing something. All he could see was the hazy sun, disappearing over the sea, same as it always did. Waves called out the seconds as they passed, crashing into the rocks far below, the warm breeze tugging at the Mage’s beard.
They stood at the top of a cliff overlooking the Bay of Aria and the white sand shores below, Garen’s family’s home a short way down the cobblestone path behind them. Even if the walk back from school hadn’t been so bad - only a few people had stopped to gawk at Goose after the council's order to leave them alone - going straight in had seemed a little too daunting. What would his family be thinking?
Cleeson sighed. “A cage one cannot see, is still a cage, nonetheless.”
Garen just nodded - it didn’t seem like Cleeson was really speaking to him. The eternal storm was exactly that; an endless storm that raged hundreds of leagues out to sea, surrounding Lumina in, as far as people knew, an impassable wall of mana. It was another relic of the great war, a desperate move made by a High Mage of the time to protect Lumina from the Novians - and shut them out for good. The land they called the Tusk of Novia still remained within the circle, and with it, a sizable chunk of the Novian population.
“Have you ever actually seen it, Sir?” Garen asked.
Cleeson finally looked at him. “Of course, although once you see it, you’re already too close. Slotonian vessels are the only ones that dare venture into those waters.”
Garen nodded again. He’d heard the stories on the docks - stories that would make any child not sleep for days. It wasn’t just treacherous waters, but waters infested with sea monsters as bad as any in the bloodlands. But you could never fully trust a sailor’s gossip. Cleeson on the other hand —
Something slapped Garen hard in the face. Goose’s tail. The dragon was wrapped around Garen’s neck, still asleep. Still dribbling. Garen was having to stoop forward to keep him from falling off. He rubbed his cheek, and looked over to Cleeson. He could see the man was trying hard not to laugh, one hand in front of his mouth.
Cleeson cleared his throat. “We can’t stay here all evening - are you ready?”
Garen took a deep breath, and looked up to the headteacher. “I’m ready.”
“Liar,” Cleeson said, giving him a slap on the back.
They began walking down the path, some of the stones glowing dimly as the sunlight faded, others lighting at the weight of their slow steps. Wisps of steam rose from the drains lining the path, bringing warmth into the cooling air. It wasn’t long before they reached the gate leading on to the Skye farm. Garen’s home. With a hand on the gate, he stopped for a moment, taking the sight in. A couple of days had passed since getting Goose, but it seemed like an eternity. Of course, nothing had changed. The house stood at the top of a sloping hill, its dark walls made from smooth volcanic rock, the roof a combination of slate and thick beams of wood with pillars of granite at each corner. Leading up to it were various pens of animals, mostly fowl, spread between patches of vegetables and crops. Voices and the smell of fresh bread wafted down the path. Garen took a deep breath. The smell of home.
“Honk!”
A white head poked out from one of the pens, then another. And another. “Honk! Honk!” Down the path came three geese, Hank at the front, flanked by Ori and Luna, orange feet slapping against the path. Ori was Arden’s goose, Garen’s older brother. While Hank was the biggest and strongest goose you had ever seen, Ori wasn’t far off, and had a more refined grace about him, with sharp eyes that belied a much greater intelligence. He was second in the pecking order for now, but Garen wondered how long that would last. On the other side of Hank was Luna, much smaller than them both, and far cuter. Around her eyes was a soft pink eyeshadow. No doubt Zephyr’s doing - Garen’s older sister, and the middle child in the family. Hank lowered his head as he came closer, wings flared.
“Hank! It’s me! Calm down.”
Hank gave a soft honk and tucked his wings in as if sheathing swords. Ori and Luna held back as Hank marched forward alone. The goose gave a slight nod to Cleeson as he lifted his head, beak pointed toward the sleeping form around Garen’s neck.
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Carefully, Garen slid Goose into his arms, and knelt down. Hank stuck his face right in front of Goose, making small honking noises that Garen could swear sounded almost soothing. From nowhere, another beak suddenly prodded Goose in the stomach. Ori. Hank hissed and flapped his wings at the intrusion, and Ori bowed his head.
Seemingly happy with his inspection, Hank gave a single honk and waddled to the side of the path, Ori and Luna joining him.
Garen smiled. “Looks like we have permission to enter.”
Cleeson took a wide berth from the birds as they trudged on up the path, and kept a fast pace as he walked ahead. Garen felt exhausted as he tried to keep up, and the last few steps to the large oak door felt harder than any had been on the way back from school. He moved his hand to lift the large wooden knocker, cut in the shape of two wings, and hesitated. Would things be different now?
“Garen, my son! About bloody time!” A huge man suddenly stood in the lit doorway, filling it almost to the high-beam above, Garen’s hand still reaching for the knocker. His thick and shaggy black hair tumbled down to his heavily muscled shoulders, framing a tanned and weathered face. Kind blue eyes shone out under his thick brow, glistening with a sheen of tears. With a swoop he picked Garen and Goose up in one arm and squeezed them so hard Garen could hardly breathe. “Thanks to the Mother that you’re safe and sound.”
With a drop Garen landed back on the ground, barely clinging to Goose, his father’s scent of earth and hay filling his senses.
Cleeson stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again, Griffon.”
Garen’s father took his arm by the forearm and shook it firmly. “Thank you Headteacher Cleeson, for all you’ve done the past couple of days. When we heard the High Mages had come, well, we feared the worst…”
Cleeson exchanged a quick look with Garen, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Not to worry, Griffon, all is well and in order. We simply need to keep a close eye on this one. I trust you’ve seen the reports?”
Griffon pulled Garen close again. “I have seen them, and we will keep a very close eye. Hank will stick to him like moss on stone.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Cleeson bowed his head, “now if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to back at the school. Garen, remember the exercises I taught you, and stay focused.” For a moment, Cleeson’s eyes shone with a fierce intensity. “You’ll need all of your strength for what's to come.”
“I will, thank you Headteacher.” Garen grit his teeth. He had to be ready for the test.
“Griffon, give my regards to Ayla, and I look forward to seeing Arden at the festival. May the mother shine upon you and your beautiful family.”
Griffon bowed deeply. “And you, Headteacher Cleeson, may she illuminate your path.” With that, Cleeson disappeared down the gravel track once more, dancing between the geese.
Garen’s father pulled shut the door. “He really is the size of a cat, isn’t he?” he said, pointing a large stubby finger at Garen, bits of soil still fresh on his nails. “Cute little thing, too. Not at all dangerous looking.”
Garen could see his Dad was holding back, his eyes screaming with a million questions. “Yeah, he's really not anything to be scared of.” Garen said, the last word coming out with a yawn.
Garen’s Dad ruffled his hair. “Let's get you fed, bathed and put to bed, young one.”
Through the entryway of volcanic rock they went, parts filled with dark and shiny obsidian, and into the kitchen. The smell of freshly made bread and roasted vegetables hit Garen’s senses, making his mouth water. His mother stood in front of the oven, a blue apron tied around her waist, a long golden braid slightly grey in places hanging down her back.
“Ayla, look who's home,” Garen’s father called.
His mother’s face lit up as she turned, the long braid swinging around her back. “Welcome home Garen!” She lunged in for a hug, before fully noticing the sleeping Goose. The outstretched arms retracted to fondle at the edges of her flour-splashed apron, and then she reached out a tentative hand to touch the sleeping dragon. “And who might this be then?” she managed to squeal.
Before Garen could answer, in strode Arden, ducking his head through the stone archway to his room. “Garen! You’ve caused quite the stir, little brother!” He snatched Goose from Garen’s arms and held him close to his face, which was considerably higher than Garen’s own. It wasn’t just height Arden had an advantage over him, it was everything. Looks. Intelligence. Muscles. He was basically a superior version of Garen; the same dark brown hair, brown eyes. The same nose. But better. To make matters worse, he’d just completed his first year of University in only his fourth year of education. Talk about setting the bar high.
“You know, I was the talk of Eastern Aria before this guy came along.” He gave Goose a shake, an eyebrow raised. “But if my thunder was to be stolen by anyone, I’m glad it was you, Garen. ” He handed Goose back and slapped Garen on the shoulder so hard he almost fell over. “A true Skye.”
“Thanks, Arden,” Garen managed. Arden’s face held a smile, but it didn’t reach his cool eyes. His brother always had to win, and Garen knew this would be yet another challenge to him.
“Garen!” came a gasp of a voice as Zephyr came into the room, humming some song as always. Her wild golden hair caught the light from the glow stones lining the ceiling's edge as she skipped to a stop. “He's so cute!” she said, bending to look at Goose. Goose’s eyes opened slightly at each over zealous rub she gave his forehead.
“So, son, what did you name him?” his father said, walking to put an arm around his mother. Zephyr disengaged from her frantic petting, her large blue eyes wide and waiting. They were all waiting.
Garen cleared his throat. “I named him…Goose.”
Even the geese outside the door began honking at the raucous laughter that exploded from his family. Arden nearly fell over. It took several moments before they recovered enough to breathe properly, and then Garen’s father drew them all together in a hug. Garen, for the first time, found himself smiling, tears forming as relief flooded through him.
“Well, Goose,” Garen’s father said, smiling and looking down at the black bundle of scales, “whatever you may be, welcome to the family.”
And then Goose opened his eyes.
