I shivered as the wind howled, ripping its way through my sweatshirt, stinging my face from the frigid temperature. A dark wall of pine trees surrounded the runway where I stood. There were no buildings, no cars, and no sign of civilization. It was as if someone had stamped this empty strip of concrete into the tree-covered mountain.
I’d taken five flights to get here—to the middle of nowhere. I now stood freezing, jet-lagged, and thousands of miles away from everything I knew, including my only parent—my dad.
I sniffed and bit my cheek to keep my emotions at bay. But a single tear—from the wind, I told myself—rolled down my cheek. I quickly swept it away with icy fingers.
Thumping footsteps on the tarmac behind me made me jump, and when I turned, I met the pilot’s eyes.
She smiled sympathetically, dusting off her gloved hands. “Honey, I can’t stay any longer. But I’ve gotten confirmation that the folks from the academy are on their way.” She hesitated before raising a hand in goodbye.
I watched her walk away and climb back up into the cockpit. The plane taxied to the other end of the runway before the engines roared, sending the craft across the icy tarmac. As it rose up into the sky, a gust of wind swept a thin layer of snow toward me like a giant broom. I stumbled backward, raising my arm to shield my face as tiny shards of ice flew at me.
My nose began to run, and I sniffed, welcoming the cold– the cold made things numb.
I was numb. I had to be.
I had to be numb or drown in my emotions.
My dad…
No!
Be numb.
The sky began to darken even though it was only late afternoon. Taking careful steps, I turned in a circle to eye my surroundings.
What was this place called? I asked myself.
I was somewhere on the border, either in the US or Canada. I wasn’t sure and wondered if that small plane had even been legal.
Fatigue washed over me as I stood there growing stiffer and colder.
A rustling in the trees reminded me that I wasn’t alone, and I spun to face the sound.
A howl.
A hoot.
An animal in the forest scurried through the brush.
The woods were alive and surrounded me menacingly.
Setting my jaw, I pushed my suitcase between myself and the trees that began at the runway's edge. A downed pine stuck out of the snow, its branches brown and crumbling. The sun above shone down on me from a pale icy blue sky, and the snow swirled in little vortexes over the runway’s pavement.
My eyes scanned the underbrush of the forest, daring something to dart out.
I’d go down fighting. Whatever it was.
I waited and waited... on bated breath, my body frozen, and my heart in my throat.
The sun dipped farther and farther until only its glow was visible in the distance.
I was going to die here.
The stranger who said she was my grandmother had sent me here—had sent me to my death.
Why had I listened to her?
Why had I done what she’d told me?
I knew why.
Deep in my bones, I knew she’d told the truth. I wasn’t sure how or why, but I believed it when she’d explained that she was my grandmother. It had been a relief to have someone there to take charge and tell me everything would be alright. I’d been alone in a foreign country, my dad unconscious, with no one to help… until she, Elise Lambert, my grandmother, walked in the room, filling it with her presence and her expensive perfume.
Now I was here, wherever here was, and that poignant smell of disinfectant and perfume was just a memory.
Off in the distance, I could hear an engine as it echoed off the mountains around me. I spun around in a circle, trying to decipher where the noise originated. However, the dense blanket of snow and trees that covered the jagged peaks around me bounced the sound or absorbed it, making it impossible to locate the source. Then, on the far side of the runway, a red Jeep popped out of the trees, sliding on the ice before righting itself and heading in my direction.
I didn’t care who this was; I was getting into that Jeep.
As the vehicle slowed to a stop, the brakes squealing, I bounced on the balls of my feet impatiently.
The door creaked open, and I stopped moving. The driver’s eyes were an odd shade of blue-green, just like my own. Time seemed to slow, and I nearly fell over myself as the woman stepped toward me. Trying to avoid a slick of ice and examine the woman, I pushed my suitcase toward the car. I hesitated too long before reaching out to grip her bony hand.
“You must be Sydney Miller, I’m Calla Moorhead—I teach history at the academy.” She said, smiling, then releasing my fingers. “You must be freezing, go get inside the car, and I’ll load up your suitcase.”
Gingerly stepping around the Jeep, I popped the passenger door open and climbed up inside.
My eyes watched the dark-haired woman as she loaded my bag into the back and then pulled herself inside next to me. I stared embarrassingly at her, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d never met anyone with my exact eye color before.
Thankfully, she didn’t notice or pretended not to, as she shifted the car into gear.
“I’m not usually the one who picks up new students, but an avalanche covered the road between here and Balaur,” her hands crossed over each other as she turned the steering wheel.
Entering the pine trees was like entering a cave, and what little light from the fading sun we’d had on the runway was suddenly blocked out.
“So, where are you from?” Ms. Moorhead asked.
I rubbed my hands together, trying to restore blood flow. “I’ve been in Vietnam the past year.”
“You sound a little British…” she trailed off, not asking outright.
I laughed, “Do I? I’m American, but I’ve never lived there for more than a few months at a time.”
She raised her eyebrows with a quick glance at me. “That sounds exciting, that was with your father?”
“Yeah, he’s a scientist.”
“Ahh…”
The narrow snow-packed road was illuminated only by the headlights, reinforcing the feel of being inside a tunnel—a tunnel made of pine trees and night.
The teacher cleared her throat. “I knew your mom, Celine. She’s my cousin—She was my cousin. I’m so, so sorry.”
“Eh... thanks. But, I don’t remember her, she died when I was a baby.” My mind was sluggishly slow from exhaustion, but finally, it dawned on me. I glanced over at her.
“We’re related?” I finally spat out, earning Idiot of the Year.
Her lips curved into a slight smile. “I noticed you looking at my eyes. They aren’t very common, are they?”
“My dad calls them fire eyes,” I told her.
“Mmmm... because of the red ring around the pupil.” She focused on the road, but I stared at her profile.
“I had no idea I had any relatives on my mom’s side until I met Elise.” Searching her face, I couldn’t find any similarities between us other than our unusual eye color. “Do you know my dad, George Miller?”
Turning back to the road, I twisted my mother’s ring on my finger.
“Your dad’s name is George Miller? No, I’ve never met him, I don’t know him. And as far as your mother, the last time I saw her was when we were girls at the academy. We weren’t very close, but even so…”
“Even so—what? I honestly know nothing about her. Nothing. But I want to,” I said, turning toward my newfound relative.
She shook her head and spoke enigmatically. “Celine wasn’t happy in the community.”
“The community?” I laughed.
Nodding, she turned toward me. “The Dragonborn are a tight-knit group.”
With her eyes back on the road, she swallowed.
I sniffed, my nose still running from the cold.
“I think my dad tried to keep me from you—all of you. Is this like a cult?”
She let out a breathy laugh. “Well... wow! I’ve never had to explain what the Dragonborn are to anyone. We all just grew up being who we were. It’s very rare for someone to join and even more unusual to leave.” She bit her lip, her mind obviously trying to figure out how to explain something complicated to me.
But it didn’t seem like it should be a complicated answer.
Just admit it’s a cult, I urged her in my mind.
After she remained quiet for far too long, I shook my head, annoyed. “Just forget it. I’m only here until my dad gets better.”
This startled her, and she turned to me, a panicked look on her smooth features. “No... Look. You’ll find out more about us during your ritual.”
“Ritual?”
“Yes, then we’ll know which house to place you in. Dragonborn look after our own. You’ll be looked after. Even if you don’t... you aren’t…” She trailed off.
I grunted, wondering what kind of bullshit ceremony I’d have to subject myself to.
“If the Dragonborn take care of their own, then why was my mom pushed out?” I set my jaw, tense, but tired.
Ms. Moorhead let out a slow breath. “She wasn’t pushed out, she left on her own.”
My head dropped to my hands. Then looking up, I shook my head. “My mother didn’t want to be here? And now, I’m here… That’s messed up.”
The teacher/relative gave me a sharp look. “It’s not like that, and you know it.”
“Yeah? What’s it like? Because it’s a little odd that as soon as my dad is incapacitated, I suddenly have a grandmother who shows up out of nowhere.”
Calla laid a hand on my knee. “Honey, stop. You’re overthinking things. You’re lucky that family found you. Elise is a good person. She’s only trying to do what’s right.”
I shoved her palm from me. “Don’t. I don’t need your sympathy.”
“Sydney?” She asked in a hard tone. “No one’s going to keep you here without your consent.”
“Really? Because I don’t want to be here. My dad’s in the hospital—he needs me, and I’d rather be there with him.” A sob caught in my throat.
When her eyes met mine, they swam with secrets and mysteries. “If you are Dragonborn, then your place is here.”
Was I Dragonborn? What did that even mean?
After falling asleep in the Jeep, the sudden quiet stirred me awake. For a brief moment, when I hovered in that space between a dream and the real world, I thought I was on yet another train with my dad.
But as reality began to creep in, my heart sank.
A large gothic building loomed outside the Jeep window, and I steeled myself for what was to come. Exterior ground lights glowed soft yellow, dimmed by the snow that nearly covered them. This place didn’t seem like America, it felt much more like Europe with this massive stone building and dark narrow windows. The shadowed wooden door at the top of the steps was held together with ancient handmade bolts.
I felt as if I’d walked through a portal into the past.
When I didn’t make a move to open my door, Calla cleared her throat. “Okay, kiddo. So, you’re starting Balaur at a weird time. The semester began about two weeks ago… And we can’t place you into your house until you’ve undergone the ritual.”
I cut her off, “Can’t you just place me without the ritual? It won’t mean anything to me anyway.”
A crease formed between her eyebrows as she said, “All students have to go through the ritual. If you aren’t Dragonborn, then you don’t belong here. I mean I don’t know if your dad is or isn’t... Dragonborn... so there’s no guarantee that you even are.”
I smirked and shook my head slightly. “Fine, whatever. Can I at least get some sleep first? This wasn’t my choice anyway, Calla.” My eyes may have also rolled on their own.
“Please call me Mrs. Moorhead from here on out. Okay?”
“Okay,” I spat. I knew I was being salty, but I couldn’t help it.
Sitting there in the Jeep, I watched the teacher as she wrangled my carry-on from the back. Guilt finally pushed me to intervene, and I opened my door. I slipped between Mrs. Moorhead and the vehicle and hefted the suitcase before setting it on the ground.
Without another word, she closed the rear door. Turning on her heel away from the stone castle-like building, she began walking away.
I tugged my case behind me as I followed. The wheels rolled along the icy, uneven cobbles loudly, making a lot of noise in the quiet night. Stopping, I picked up the bag by the side handle to carry the thing instead. When I glanced up, the teacher was gone, having slipped between a large hedge and another stone building. Picking up my pace, I found her and followed. She led us through a dense hedge of trees and over a quaint little wooden bridge. The path was a bit icy and snow-packed in places, but I managed.
Finally, the dull clomping of her boots stopped at a white picket fence. The gate had been stuck open by the heavy snowpack, but the path to the porch was shovelled, creating a narrow walkway. The house was an elegant, if a little rundown, Victorian mansion.
Mrs. Moorehead thumped her way up the ornate porch's stairs and stopped in front of the door. “This house is usually only reserved for visitors or temporary professors, but we’re making a special concession for you.” She stopped to eye me again, “No one enters the academy late... but headmistress Angeven has made an exception for you.”
I shivered, crossing my arms over my body as she pulled out a large skeleton key to unlock the bolt. The door swung open with an ominous creak and Calla waved me through into the warm, dark room.
Running my hand along the wall, I flipped on the light switch and stomped my feet to rid them of snow on a doormat inside.
The small entryway led to a living room filled with old-fashioned furniture.
“The house is set up with a shared living space, kitchen, and bath. The second bedroom upstairs has been set up for you. Ms. Popov has the third bedroom and Mr. Carrick the fourth, so please try to be quiet. You’ll be here only tonight, so don’t unpack.”
I led the way up an elegant, dark wood staircase to the landing before making my way into the wide hallway. Peeking into the first doorway, I spotted a naked mattress sitting atop an antique bed frame. An old washstand’s mirror reflected the light, and I continued down the hall.
I turned into the next doorway with Calla on my heels and flipped the light switch. Stopping in the middle of the room, I set my suitcase down and let my messenger bag slide down my arm.
A desk, wardrobe, bed, and nightstand sat prettily arranged inside the small bedroom. A thick white duvet covered the iron bed, making it look very inviting.
A brown paper bag sat on the desk, and I turned my attention toward it.
Pulling out what looked like an old-fashioned shift, I asked, “What’s this?”
The garment's thin fabric had a scooped neck, no sleeves, and the shape of a pillowcase.
“That’s for the ritual,” she answered.
An uncomfortable smile flitted across my lips, but before I had time to make a sarcastic comment, Calla held a hand up to stop me.
Moving to the doorway, she said, “Breakfast is at 7 a.m. sharp. Please get up early to shower and be ready. Someone will be over to lead you to the Main Hall at 6:40.”
I nodded, dropping the shift back inside the bag.
Just when I thought she’d left, she popped back in. “Oh yeah, before you leave here, strip the bedding and put the sheets in the hamper. Fold the blanket and place it on the bed. You may leave your packed suitcase in the living room. Six forty sharp—be ready!”
I held up the bag with the shift, an incredulous smirk on my lips. “What about this?”
“Bring it with you tomorrow. Oh! And dress warm, we’ll be outside almost all day. We’ve never done the ritual in winter, so you’ll be hiking through the snow. Dr. Weaver, myself and a few others will be with you, so don’t be afraid.”
I breathed out a laugh, “I’m not. I’ve been all over the world, seen a lot of crazy stuff. I’ve been to dangerous countries and worked with deadly viruses. I’m not afraid of some silly ritual.” I actually felt sorry for this woman—all these superstitions and silly beliefs. “We both know that I’m just biding my time until my dad gets here—which he will. This will be like living with that tribe again in the Amazon. I’m not going to buy into whatever you’re selling. I’ve been there, done that... got the t-shirt. So, don’t expect me to share your beliefs.”
I don’t like being treated like a child. At sixteen and a half, I had more life experience than most adults. However, I’m not usually this blunt and ill-mannered, and as soon as the words left my tongue, I felt terrible about being so rude.
I blame the jet lag.
But in the end, Calla didn’t look mad, she just looked worried. Her hand tightened on the doorknob, and she sucked in an audible breath. “Let’s hope for your sake that you aren’t Dragonborn.”