The Story of Owen

Text copyright © 2014 by E. K. Johnston

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Cover and interior images: © Todd Strand/Independent Picture Service (dragon slayer); © Hemera/Thinkstock (dragon with giant teeth); © Nikkytok/
Dreamstime.com
(smoke); © Badabumm/
Dreamstime.com
(dragon with large wings); © Laures/
Dreamstime.com
(french horn).

Main body text set in Janson Text LT Std 10/14.

Typeface provided by Linotype AG.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Johnston, E. K.

The story of Owen : dragon slayer of Trondheim / E. K. Johnston.

pages cm

Summary: In an alternate world where industrialization has caused many species of carbon-eating dragons to thrive, Owen, a slayer being trained by his famous father and aunt, and Siobahn, his bard, face a dragon infestation near their small town in Canada.

ISBN 978–1–4677–1066–4 (trade hard cover : alk. paper)

ISBN 978–1–4677–2406–7 (eBook)

[1. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 2. Dragons—Fiction. 3. Bards and bardism—Fiction. 4. Fame—Fiction. 5. High schools—Fiction. 6. Schools—Fiction. 7. Family life—Canada—Fiction. 8. Canada—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.J64052Sto 2014

[Fic]—dc23

2013020492

Manufactured in the United States of America

1 – SB – 12/31/13
eISBN: 978-1-4677-2406-7 (pdf)
eISBN: 978-1-4677-3999-3 (ePub)
eISBN: 978-1-4677-4000-5 (mobi)

TO EJ, WHO HAS ALWAYS
BEEN MY FAVOURITE JEDI;

TO THE F-LIST, THE
GREATEST SUPPORT GROUP
I HAVE (N)EVER MET;

AND TO THE G.O.D.S.,
BECAUSE I PROMISED.

Before the Thorskards came to Trondheim, we didn't have a permanent dragon slayer. When a dragon attacked, you had to petition town hall (assuming it wasn't on fire), and they would send to Toronto (assuming the phone lines weren't on fire), and Queen's Park would send out one of the government dragon slayers (assuming nothing in Toronto was on fire). By the time the dragon slayer arrived, anything not already lit on fire in the original attack would be, and whether the dragon was eventually slayed or not, we'd be stuck with reconstruction. Again.

Needless to say, when it was announced that Lottie Thorskard was moving to town permanently, it was like freaking Mardi Gras.

Everyone knew the story of Lottie Thorskard. She had been one of the most famous up-and-coming dragon slayers of the late eighties, and she'd celebrated the end of her mandatory tour with the Pearson Oil Watch by signing the largest contract on record with the Hamilton Consortium of Steel Mills. It was
the dawn of a new era in corporate dragon slaying. For eighteen years, Lottie defended The Hammer against an onslaught of dragons, none of which ever seemed to understand that all the fire and smoke stacks in the region weren't actually an invitation to an all-you-can-eat buffet. Lottie Thorskard was a living legend.

Every morning, Lottie would go up to the top of the CN Tower and look out over the Greater Toronto Area, watching for dragons. Sometimes, they'd come in from over the lake, concealing their size and species in voluminous billows of black smoke that laid a trail of soot across the water in their wake. Other times, they'd come from the north, from the hatching grounds in Muskoka or the Kawarthas. When Lottie saw a dragon coming toward her beloved Hamilton, she would rush to her designated elevator, and once she was on the ground, she would make for battle with all haste.

Very little of that is true, obviously. There's no reason Lottie would watch Hamilton from the CN Tower. And if the Steel Mills had to hope for clear traffic on the QEW for the prompt arrival of their very highly paid dragon slayer, they'd never see another dragon slayed. But it makes a good story, those pictures of Lottie in the tower, watching over the city with a fond expression on her face, and without a story, there's not much to dragon slaying.

The truth was very nearly as fascinating, if somewhat less picturesque. Lottie spent her mornings on the Burlington Skyway, defending the commuters who drove back and forth across the bridge every morning. She cut an impressive figure, a high, clear note against the smoggy sky as she held her sword aloft in both hands, protecting those below her on the road or in the
harbor, but it was difficult for cameras to get a clear picture of her through the girders and beams. As far as most of the people in Hamilton knew, Lottie defended them from on high, and from far away.

Everyone knew the end of Lottie's story. It had been dramatic and terrifying, everything a good dragon-slaying disaster should be, and even though we in Trondheim didn't know it at the time, it would change our lives forever. Lottie was alone on top of the bridge, as always, the last bastion of defense between the morning rush hour below and a fiery end. She had, as she often did, forgone a safety harness in order to maintain maximum mobility, and everyone with an iPhone was able to record her leaping back and forth between the girders as the dragon flew down to harry the bridge from above.

It was nearly impossible to stop people from watching a dragon slaying, even though it was exceptionally dangerous and only made Lottie's job more difficult. The bridge was quickly closed after the dragon was sighted, but that didn't prevent the drivers already crossing from stopping to watch, and it certainly didn't stop the media from showing up. Accordingly, the whole event was exceptionally well televised, even by the standards of Lottie's usual following, and nearly everyone in the Greater Toronto Area and Hamilton saw it live over breakfast.

My favorite account came from a little girl named Amelia who saw the whole thing through bird-watching binoculars from her house on top of the escarpment in Burlington, miles away from the actual fight. Though she was too far away to see the individual exchange of blows, she wasn't hampered by the noise and chaos that muddied the perceptions of everyone on the bridge that morning. The journalists on the Skyway were
too close to the action, too terrified for their own lives to really appreciate the final act of heroism Lottie showed, taking a risky jump to bury her sword in the dragon's chest before being swatted off the girder by its tail. Amelia saw it all. So far removed from the action, she had a nearly unobstructed view of Lottie's terrible fall, which she was able to describe in tearful detail on nearly every major news channel in the following weeks.

Lottie Thorskard slayed her last officially recorded dragon on my sixteenth birthday. I didn't see it live. I was in my parents' bedroom, opening presents, and we didn't turn on the radio until we went downstairs for the one surprise my parents couldn't giftwrap, and breakfast before school. When Lottie plummeted off that girder, an entire city screamed as one choir and then held its breath for three days while she fought her injuries at the University of McMaster Hospital. Doctors from across the country were flown in to consult. The Prime Minister himself visited her in the hospital, even though she was unconscious. All he could really do was stand awkwardly by her bedside for photos and hope that no one mentioned how he'd done his level best to block the legislation that had allowed Lottie to get married. Lottie survived, but after her bones knit she was too stiff and too slow to fight dragons professionally anymore.

For a whole week, even the playoffs were a footnote in the news. Speculation of what Lottie would do next took up almost all the air time. There were rumors that the Steel Mills weren't going to let her out of her contract—that they were going to find her another job somewhere in their organization. There were theories that she would go back to the Pearson Oil Watch and run logistics for their overseas campaigns. There was even
talk of outright retirement, and retirement with honors for a stellar career cut short. There was never so much as a whisper of a town in southwestern Ontario called Trondheim.