Dragons didn’t exist. If Nik could get his grandparents to believe that, living in the twenty-first century would be so much easier on them.
He scratched his head as his grandfather ascended the creaking wooden steps of the platform Nik had helped build earlier in the day. The majestic peaks of Mount Cook, or Aoraki as the old folks called the sacred mountain, glowed in the moonlight, casting an eerie backdrop to the ancient ceremony.
Shifting his weight, Nik bumped into one of the hundred or so onlookers lined up on the meadow as Pops lit the torches lining the stage, smiling at each of the teenage girls being offered up for the Seventeen Year sacrifice.
Nik shook his head and searched the girls’ expressions. Most of the sacrifices, barely able to call themselves women, chatted amongst themselves, smiling. One tapped on her cellphone screen, while another was brazen enough to have her phone to her ear and her back to the onlookers.
They didn’t believe in this ridiculous ceremony any more than he did. If a single one of them thought there was even a remote possibility that a dragon would swoop out of the sky and snatch them off the platform, they’d be running for the hills, screaming. They, like he, were there to make their parents happy—or in Nik’s case, his grandparents.
There were dozens of places he’d rather be on a Friday night. He counted them off in his mind and blinked them away. Pops would notice if he was woolgathering, as his grandparents called it. The old man had an uncanny ability to know when Nik was procrastinating, or daydreaming, or lying; name the sin. The creepy skill grated on Nik’s nerves, but he loved the old guy, despite his archaic religious beliefs.
His grandfather started chanting toward the sky as if the stars might actually answer him for the first time in his life. You had to give the old man kudos for his trust in the ancient ways. Nanna and Pops believed without question that dragons existed, even though they admitted to never seeing one.
They were both descendants of the ancient Maori clans that roamed New Zealand before it appeared on any modern-day maps. Every thought, every decision they made was deeply rooted in Maori tradition. Honoring the past was a duty, and not one they took lightly. Their history was a part of them, and as ridiculous as this ceremony was, Nik could afford to stand in the middle of nowhere once every seventeen years, if that’s what made his grandparents happy.
Well, normally he could afford to waste time. This, unfortunately, hadn’t been a red banner year for him. Not that the year before had been much better.
He eyed the makeshift shelters lining the outer edge of the ceremony—a crude ancient Maori village recreated every seventeen years for this event. His family’s tent rose from the ground only a few paces away. It would provide the perfect solace to get some real work done.
However, he owed his grandparents this night of stupidity after they raised him from a tot. Truth was, he would do anything for them. Except tell them the truth, that he was penniless and about to lose the apartment they’d cosigned for him. If he didn’t find a job in the next few days, he’d have to bury what was left of his dignity and move back in with them. Again.
Life had turned to crap after the plant closed two years ago. He hadn’t eaten a real meal in days, which was why the more practical side of him knew he couldn’t just stand here and watch this senseless ceremony while he should be looking for a way to earn a living.
The elders lifted their torches to the night sky and joined his grandfather’s chant in the Maori tongue. The odd words rang out in a choppy, but melodious crescendo. Nik recognized a word here and there. Among the crowd, the blank expressions told him he wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand most of it. Maori was a dying language from a dying culture. He had no idea why the elders clung to their ancient language and tradition. It was irrational. Modern ways and English had swept across New Zealand eons ago. Why they refused to adapt was a mystery to him.
When his grandfather closed his eyes and reached up to the heavens, Nik inched to the back of the crowd and slipped into their tent.
He pulled out his cell phone and held it high, smiling when he got a connection. He called up his Career Digger app and scrolled through the new job listings. At this point, he’d pick up dog crap if there was a steady paycheck in it.
A scream outside turned his blood to ice. He shoved his phone in his pocket and brushed open the slit in the tent. Someone stumbled by the opening as the teenage girls scrambled down the platform stairs, while others jumped into the fleeing crowd.
In the darkness above, a whooting sound, like a helicopter in slow motion, created a choppy breeze that fanned the flames of the torches. Nik blinked, sure his eyes deceived him when the edge of a huge blue wing caught the torchlight before the flames whisked out.
“Hold!” His grandfather was the only one left on the platform. “Hold! We have nothing to fear.”
The chaos told Nik otherwise. Above them, shots of fire lit up the darkness, as if two men floated above dueling with flamethrowers. A dark form moved overhead, much closer than the blasting flames. The breeze caused by the huge shape extinguished all but the torch held by his grandfather.
A shriek among the stars stunned the Maori, freezing most and drawing their eyes to the sky. The flamethrower fight above began anew—but something fell toward them. Something large.
“Pops get down!” Nik lunged for the platform, his heart throttling as his grandfather stood motionless, watching the object speed toward him.
He’d be crushed. God, no. He’d be crushed!
The remainder of the crowd scattered as the object, white and round, careened to the surface. The ground quaked as the projectile slammed to the Earth between Nik and the platform.
Nik skidded to a stop, choking on the rising dust. “Pops!”
The world slowed around him. The dull thud of Nik’s own heart throbbed in his ears. Pops had been his world, his everything for as long as he could remember. He’d taught Nik how to ride a bicycle, and how to drive a car. He’d been there for him through school and sports and a long line of failed relationships. Nik should have been out here, paying attention to the ceremony. He should have been close enough to get to his grandfather, to save the man who had raised him.
The powdery cloud settled, revealing first the still-blazing torch, then his grandfather’s wide eyes as he stood on the crippled, leaning platform. The old man’s gaze drew to the sky, and a horrified look overcame his consternation.
“The tarp.” Pops gestured to those who had not fled. “Quickly.”
A man wearing a traditional bright red, green, and blue mottled vest reached under the platform. A second joined him and pulled out a large, silvery-black roll. A third arrived as they struggled to unravel what looked like a thick blanket.
“Nikau, help them.” His grandmother parted the crowd gathered on the fringe of the spectacle and jostled him forward.
Blinking away his surprise, and the dust caking his eyes, Nik grasped an edge of the tarp and pulled with the others, surprised by the heavy weight of the fabric.
“What are we doing?” Nik asked.
“We need to cover it, quickly,” the man in the vest said.
Okay, not quite the depth of explanation he was hoping for, but Nik carried their burden toward the smoking fallen—Meteor? Boulder? Where in God’s name had it fallen from, and why was everyone acting like it needed to be hidden?
A roar filled the night sky. Maybe many roars. Shit.
Shit shit shit! What the hell was up there?
They unrolled the tarp, and the guy beside him helped Nik attach the corner of the fabric on the edge of a pole while another group had hastily assembled more poles around the smoking, white thing.
As he paused, the others worked as a cohesive unit, stretching out the tarp over the poles to cover the smoldering object.
What did these people do, train daily on the off chance that a giant rock would fall out of the sky?
A firm grip shoved him forward. “Come Nikau. Our time has come.” Pops led him into the hastily made structure as the others pulled seams taut from the outside.
The exterior lights went dark, leaving only the ghostly glow of his grandfather’s torch flickering against the tent walls. Pops checked the support poles, nodding as he pushed on each.
“Our time has come for what?” Nik asked.
Pops extinguished his torch, and the tent sealed shut behind him, leaving them in darkness. “Our Destiny.”