The Story of Owen (24 page)

As I read the pages I'd printed out, my brain split focus. While I picked out bits of information that would make it easy to write five hundred words about the idea of tai chi as it was used today, I filed away the much more interesting facts about why the discipline had been invented in the first place. As I wrote the homework assignment, I planned what I was going to say to Lottie and Hannah (and my own mother, for that matter) to get them to accept my idea. If it worked out, Owen would get to play soccer and Trondheim, not to mention the other small towns in the area, wouldn't be left high and dry while Aodhan was out on patrol and Owen was otherwise engaged.

By the time I crawled under my covers, with a hot water bottle for good measure, I considered this weekend's work very well done.

Lottie went for the whole idea way too easily. In hindsight, that should have made me realize how bad things were about to get, but at the time I was just relieved that she didn't make me back up my assertions with actual research instead of the fifteen minutes I'd spent on the Internet and the car ride's worth of talking it took me to get Owen on board. Apparently he really wanted to play soccer.

“Why tai chi?” was all Lottie said, once I finished outlining my plan.

“Well, nowadays it's used for active meditation,” I said.

“I know,” she said. “We did it in the Oil Watch. It's supposed to be relaxing while at the same time keeping a warrior's instincts sharp.”

“It's based on an old Chinese style of dragon slaying,” I said. “It means
great pole
or
lance
. The idea was that the dragon slayers could practice their forms without weapons in their hands and build up muscle memory.”

“You know, if someone had just explained that, we probably would have taken the exercise seriously,” Lottie said.

“Oh, please,” Hannah said. “Like you dragon slayers ever took anything seriously.”

“We were all young once,” Lottie said, smirking. Owen did his very best to disappear. I decided I didn't want to know.

“Anyway,” I continued. “I think the kids at school could do it too. It's supposed to foster teamwork as well, so it would play well with the sports teams.”

“You did say you wanted me to be a part of this town,” Owen said, right on cue. His acting needed work, though. He was ridiculously earnest. “And playing sports isn't the only way, but it is pretty easy. I'll spend more time with my classmates and they'll get to know a bit of what a dragon slayer really goes through. While I'm gone, you and Dad will have some backup and when I get back from the Oil Watch, I'll have a support group that won't be tied to a contract or a corporation.”

It's possible that Lottie believed him, but it's more likely that she just decided to show mercy and get him to stop talking before she laughed in his face.

Anyway, that's how I ended up skipping one of my spare periods that Friday to spend it in Owen's world issues class, drafting what would become the Trondheim Dragon Guard Charter. Mr. Huffman was thrilled to death, which I suspected was because he hadn't yet found a way to incorporate Offense/ Defense Fridays into a class about current events and missed the activity. And the shouting. For posterity, we won't talk about the fact that the first draft was written on unicorn stationery, as I got all the way to the front of the classroom before realizing that my backpack was full of staff paper, and Sadie Fletcher
was the first person to offer a substitute, smiling at me for the first time since Christmas. She didn't say it, but I knew I was forgiven for whatever I'd done.

It was written by committee, by which I mean I spoke out loud as I wrote, and everyone yelled suggestions at me, the bulk of which I ignored. I won't include the whole document here, as it is readily accessible in the Trondheim Public Library archive (not to mention on the Internet), but I'm quite proud of parts of it.

“We, the students of Trondheim Secondary School, being the amalgamation of said school and also of the former Saltrock Collegiate Institute, do hereby enter into agreement with Owen Thorskard,” I dictated to myself. “In return for his participation in school sports, specifically the soccer team …”

“And cross country!” added Alex.

“I was getting to that,” I said. “I can only write so fast.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“Specifically the soccer team,” I continued, “but also in likelihood the cross country team in the fall, we will, with due permission from our parents and guardians, join in portions of his training regimen, the better to defend our homes.”

“We will become Lancers in truth,” Mr. Huffman said, and I scrambled to write down his words. “Fully realizing our mascot, St. George.”

“Our mascot, comma, St. George,” I repeated slowly.

“And become proficient in the tools, trade, and strategies of dragon slaying,” Owen said. “Even if it turns out I really suck at soccer.”

“Very poetic,” Sadie said, her tone more amused than mean. She was a shoe-in to be captain of the senior girls' soccer
team this year, even though she was only in grade eleven, so she took this as seriously as the boys did.

“Siobhan will fix it,” Owen said.

“What are we going to call ourselves?” Alex asked as I finished Owen's line.

“The Guardsmen?” asked one of the seniors.

“I don't think so,” said Sadie, beating me by a breath. “At least half the girls' team is going to sign up, if our parents let us.”

There were nods from girls I hadn't even been aware played soccer. Apparently this was going to be a banner year for tryouts, for the girls' and boys' teams both.

“Good point,” Owen said diplomatically.

“How about just the Guard?” Mr. Huffman said. “That way, there can be smaller subunits for Saltrock and Trondheim, as well as any farms that are close together.”

“I like it,” Sadie said.

“And no one gets cut,” I added. “From the Guard, I mean. You don't have to be on any of the soccer teams to be part of it.”

“Agreed,” said Owen. “Though if you aren't very good with a sword, you might be repurposed into some sort of support role.”

“That sounds good to me,” Mr. Huffman said. “I also think you should add that any member of the Guard must be at least sixteen and in good academic standing. That will help sell it to the school board.”

I added the subclauses and agreements to the bottom of the charter, writing over the top of the unicorn's sparkly horn. I was going to be covered in glitter for the rest of the afternoon, and we were definitely going to have to find something more
appropriate to write the finished version on.

“Okay, then!” I said after adding the final touches. “We'll have Lottie and Ms. Ngembi read it over this weekend, and hopefully we'll have the completed draft on Monday. Then it will be a matter of writing up permission forms, answering questions, and having everyone who wants to be a member of the Guard sign the charter.”

“Can we have some sort of official signing?” Sadie asked. “Like we're a secret society or something?”

“A secret society would never have a public ceremony to declare itself,” Mr. Huffman pointed out. “But I think it's a good idea.”

“This is going to be the best season for soccer ever,” Sadie said. “Assuming no one gets lit on fire. Does that happen a lot?”

For the first time, there were some concerned faces in the crowd. If nothing else, the idea of potentially being set on fire would probably make it difficult to obtain the necessary parental permission.

“Well, I've been to several dragon slayings now,” I said. “Including front-row seats to a soot-streaker's final moments last Saturday, and I have yet to even get singed.”

“That's encouraging,” Alex said.

“What about the Oil Watch?” That question came from Robert, a friend of Alex's who didn't play soccer but did run cross country and would probably be coming out for the Guard. “Will we have to join it?”

“I don't think so,” I said. I looked at Mr. Huffman.

“No,” he said. “The Oil Watch is for registered dragon slayers and volunteers only. This would be along the lines of a local militia. There used to be plenty of those before Vlad the
Impaler gave it such a bad rap. The government would have no legal recourse to make you join the Oil Watch.”

“Now we just have to get our parents to sign off,” Sadie said. “I think mine might have a few issues with it.”

There had been so many attacks since exams that the school board was considering banning outdoor sports altogether, which annoyed pretty much everyone except the badminton coaches. A few parents had pulled their children out and started homeschooling, even though TSS had an excellent dragon shelter, but most of the grown-ups in Trondheim and Saltrock were determined not to give any more ground. It made sense that the kids felt the same way.

“Well, you've got all weekend to try it,” I said. “Plus, once we get it approved by the school, it should be an easier sell. And our parents all really want Owen to come back once he's finished his tour. If they think this will make him do it, so much the better.”

“Why are you going to come back here?” Alex asked. “You could make a pile of money in the city, just by virtue of being related to Lottie. Most of us aren't planning to stay here after we graduate high school, much less come back after university. Why are you?”

Mr. Huffman leaned forward, and I had a sneaking suspicion that everything Owen was about to say would be showing up on the Internet this afternoon as soon as school got out. Owen shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked at me. I shrugged in what I hoped was an encouraging manner. This was one question I couldn't step in for. Every time it was asked of him, Owen was going to have to answer it himself.

“In Europe, back in the day, every town had a dragon
slayer,” Owen said. “Imagine: Trondheim, Saltrock, Kincardine, Hanover, Southampton, even smaller places like Vanastra and Chesley, each with its own dragon slayer. And they didn't get paid. Or at least they didn't get paid very much. They protected their homes, and the homes of their friends, in return for food and other simple things like that. I don't need commercial endorsements or more money than I can spend in my lifetime. I need a home, and friends I can count on to help me put out the fires.”

“Isn't that socialism?” Robert asked. He was already eighteen and had voted in our last election. Our riding was typically bellwether and had gone Conservative again this round, even though it was blatantly obvious that the government had no intention of actually carrying through with its promise of making dragons slayers more accessible to the rural public.

“Probably,” Owen said. “But you'd have a dragon slayer on speed dial instead of two and a half hours away. Or more, depending on traffic on the 401.”

“Sounds like a no-brainer to me,” said Sadie. She looked oddly content, and there was a fire in her eyes that hadn't been there before.

The bell rang, but no one moved, not even to pack up their stuff. They waited until Owen did it first. I walked beside him out of the classroom, with everyone else behind us.

At that exact moment, somewhere inside Owen, a leader, a dragon slayer, a grown-up Viking was born. I was going to have to learn how to play soccer.

Ms. Ngembi was thrilled. She had Owen try out for defense, on the basis that he could run forever, and it turned out that he was pretty good at tracking the ball across the field. It probably worked in his favor that no one on the soccer field could light him on fire for getting in their way. The senior boys' soccer team had a record turnout. Ms. Ngembi was able to field an entire practice squad who were so excited by the prospect of playing on the same team as Owen that they showed up for practice in the snow even after being told they'd probably never play during a real game. The senior girls' team had a lot of people sign up too, though more of the girls bypassed the soccer team and just signed up for the Guard instead. The junior teams, made up of players too young for the Guard, had good turnouts as well, as students hoped to join the Guard when they were old enough.

Lottie came and did a share of the training herself. This was her own idea, and I know for a fact that it helped seal the
deal for some of the more reluctant parents. Whatever concerns they had about the flammable nature of their children were assuaged by the promised involvement of Lottie Thorskard.

For about a week, we were beset by news cameras at every practice. This forced us to evolve a system a bit more quickly than we'd planned. We decided it made sense to warm up on the track, which was big enough to accommodate all the soccer players as they trickled out from the change rooms, and then everyone lined up on the field for whatever exercise Lottie was demonstrating today. Somehow, I found myself promoted to assistant coach for that portion, even though I'd only signed on as team manager for the senior girls. For two weeks, we did mostly tai chi exercises, conditioning everyone in the movements of sword usage before we added actual weight of a sword. I thought there would be complaints, or at least insinuations of impatience, about that, but the students weathered the whole thing. In hindsight, this may have been because with school, Guard training, and soccer practice, they were all exhausted. After two weeks, we added wooden practice swords, which Hannah and Lottie had made out of old and broken hockey sticks donated by the Trondheim rec center. They weren't perfect, but they'd do.

After the training with Lottie and Owen, the four teams split off for the soccer portion of the afternoon. TSS was so small that we only had one field. General practice was to have the senior teams use either end of it. The juniors were consigned to the smaller flat area by the tennis court, which meant missed balls tended to end up in the pond. This year, however, there were simply too many kids on the teams. The elementary school down the block volunteered its soccer fields, which were
small but lacked water hazards. Every day after Guard training, the boys split off and headed down the road, while the girls used the fields on campus. This stymied the news cameras, because they were forbidden from entering the elementary school grounds (it's a long story, concerning a dragon, an idling news van, and an unfortunately abbreviated Junior Farmers presentation on how to raise goats) and they didn't really care about watching the girls practice since Owen wasn't there.