J. Marshall Freeman - The Dubious Gift of Dragon Blood

High schooler Crispin Haugenalready has so many identities to sort throughAsian, Scandinavian, not tomention gay. Then a messenger from another world arrives to tell him he also carries the blood of dragons in his veins.

Transported to the Realm of Fire,where dragons and humans live in harmony, Crispin falls for Davix, a brooding,nerdy scholar. But dark mysteries threaten the peace of Crispins new world.Without warning, dragons from the Realm of Air unleash a bloody war.

With everything he cares about onthe line, Crispin must find the courage to fight...for justice and for love.

The writing of this book wassupported by the Toronto Arts Council with funding from the City of Toronto.

The Dubious Gift of Dragon Blood

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Davix told himself it wasnt a scream; it was only the wind howlingoutside the Atmospherics Tower. But the windy season was not yet upon them, andthe seasonal fog was thick and still. Shaking off his worries, Davix loweredhis head and continued filling the rows and columns of the workbook withmeticulous notations. All the other apprentices had headed home for the night,but Davix had been busy with the Prime Magistrate for the past four days,helping to prepare for the upcoming festival of Sarensikar. Now he hadalmost a weeks worth of weather data to enter in the log before he could go tosleep.

Why is the sheep fog so heavy this cycle? he had asked theAtmospherics Master. Could it be spinward wind off the lava pools?

The old man had grunted sourly in response. These days, nothingis as it should be.

It couldnt have been a scream, could it? Davix rose to hisfeet, listening, every muscle taut. He tried to tune out the noises around him:the rattle of the spinning wheels that recorded wind velocity; the trickle anddrip of graduated cylinders filling with rain water; the flaps and coos of thekingsolvers in their cages. Davix knew his ears had not fooled him; there wasno wind. It had been a scream.

He stepped from the measurements room into the stairwell, closingthe heavy door behind him to preserve the stoves warmth. Descending one level,he stood on the landing outside the charting room. The sturdy chair whereLraga, the chaperone, had been sitting all evening was empty. Odd.

He leaned against the door of the charting room and called.Rinby? The Lead Apprentice did not answer. Rinby! Im coming in, all right?Looking around to make sure he wasnt observed, he pushed open the door.Notebooks like the one he had been filling were open on her desk. Drawing toolslay scattered around a half-finished chart. Rinbys cloak was hung on a wallpeg, and her pack lay by her chair. But she was gone.

Davix peered down into the stairwell. The younger apprentices hadforgotten to carry their lanterns with them when they left, so while it wasbright on the landing, the steps spiralled down into shadow. A finger of dreadrose with the cold from below. He took a lantern off the wall, the largetorchstone within glowing bright, and made the circular descent in superstitioussilence.

Halfway down, his light illuminated four parallel scratches in thestone wall, dark spots at their leading edges. He touched a finger to one ofthe spots and brought it back with a drop of blood on the tip. A terriblecertainty grew in his chest. He ran down the stairs two at a time, as if Rinbywas still arcing through the air in mid-fall and a swift enough boy might stillcatch her.

She lay twisted at the bottom of the stairwell, legs sprawled onthe last steps, blood pooled beneath her head, soaking into her braids. Davixkneeled beside the body and listened. No breath, no pulse.

He knew what he had to do. He had to speak her full name aloud soher spirit would know who it was as it crossed into the Vale of Memory. ButDavix wasnt ready to accept the finality of the act. Not yet. Not like this.

Rinby, he coaxed, touching her shoulder as if she had justfallen asleep at her desk, running formulas on wind speeds and temperaturedifferentials. He had been jealous of her being chosen Lead Apprentice insteadof him. But she never acted superior. Davix had hoped someday the Arbiter ofBlood would allow her to pair with Gsander. Anyone could see how tangled theywere. That would never happen now.

He was shivering. Just below him was the towers vestibule, and hesaw the main door was open, cold fog pouring in. At that moment, Lraga steppedinside, shoulders hunched against the damp. The chaperone screamed when she sawRinbys broken body.

What happened? moaned Lraga. Poor girl, poor thing!

She fell Davix heard himself saying as the chaperone began tosob. It was time to speak Rinbys full name and let her go.Tlexdar-inby-thon, he said, his voice choking on the last syllable, herdiscipline name, the same as his. The tears he had been holding back began tofall.

Through the pull of emotion, Davix tried to rein in his mind.Twisting around to peer up the stairwell, he could clearly imagine Rinbyslipping on the steps, braids flying, fingers scratching at the stone as shescrambled for a handhold. But Rinby was a nail biter, chewing them ever shorterwhen concentrating on her work. And even if they had been long, he thought, howcould they have made those scratches in the ancient stone? He examined herhands and found no blood on the fingertips.

The chaperone was babbling through her sobs. I was only gone amoment. I had to relieve myself! Please, Davix, you are close to the PrimeMagistrate. Tell him Im not to blame!

He ignored her. In his head, Davix heard the voice of the AtmosphericsMaster. These days, nothing is as it should be.

This book has had many lovinghands helping me raise it from infancy. First and foremost, I would like tothank the other two vertices of my reading triangle, Matt W. Cook and A. M.Matte. They read every chapter as it emerged and let me know that a characterhad died while I sputtered, Maybe hes just wounded! Matt continued on as thebooks godfather through all its drafts.

Thank you to beta readers, BlaHegedus, Laura Kuhlmann, Stephen DeGrace, Matt Gordon, Stanley Freeman, MartinCohen, Jojo Carreon, Steve Hutton, and members of the Toronto WritersCo-operative.

Much appreciation to StephanieFysh for her insightful review of the second draft, and to Jerry Wheeler, myeditor at Bold Strokes Books, for his keen eye and deep understanding of mybook.

Two wonderful authors acted asmentors: Michael Thomas Ford, who offered kindness, advice, and encouragement;and David Demchuk, who gave generously of his time, experience, and knowledgeof the publishing world.

Thanks also to author MichaelLyons of the Glad Day Bookshop for his help with market analysis.

The writing of this book wassupported by the Toronto Arts Council with funding from the City of Toronto.