Firestorm

by Mark Robson

  ‘The beast . . . Is it gone? Was it real?’ Megan muttered, as she began to surface again from her fainting spell.

  ‘Hush now, Megan. Everything is fine. Here – sip this water. It’ll help. That’s right. Now, let’s get you inside and I’ll have Elian fetch you a nice hot cup of spiced wine. You’ll feel much better with a warm drink inside you.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, that would be nice. I had the most horrible waking dream, Raim. I could have sworn I saw a dragon.’

  ‘You—’ Elian began.

  ‘Elian! Help me lift your mother inside, would you?’ Raim barked. His interruption was sharp, but his voice was not unkind. ‘Careful now! I think she might have some bruising from her fall.’

  Elian bit his lip as he lent his strength to help lift his mother. She was not heavy, being of slight build and half a hand shorter than her son. Between them, they lifted her easily and carried her through to the small living area to the right of the front door. Once sitting in her favourite chair, Megan regained some of her normal colour.

  ‘Heat some wine, would you please, Elian?’ asked his father. ‘Use the spices in the upper cupboard to flavour it; they’re fresher. A sharp taste would be best. I’ll have a cup too, as you’re preparing it.’

  ‘Yes, Father.’

  Elian did as he was bid. He went to the kitchen, poured some wine from a skin into a small pot and hung it over the fire. He was careful to hang it on one of the higher hooks to avoid scorching the pan. The wine was best warm, rather than boiling. He had not tried to get anything down from the top cupboard for some months. To his surprise, the fresh spices were well within his reach. He added some of them to the pot and returned the rest to the cupboard.

  The smell of the warming wine brought memories of good times. Spiced wine was a luxury saved for special occasions, such as midwinter feast days, summer festivals and naming days. These were good days, filled with laughter, smiles and fine food. This was a good day, too, but Elian doubted his parents were about to celebrate his change of status. The next few hours would be difficult.

  ‘It would be best to break the news to them quickly that you will be leaving, Elian. We cannot linger here for long.’

  Aurora’s voice in his mind felt more normal each time she spoke to him. What was most strange was the setting. The kitchen had been the centre of his life until now. True, he had a tiny cubicle of a room that was his private space, but life in the cottage revolved around the kitchen. There was always something to be done.

  Life in a rural household on the high plain was simple. Food was life. Whether it was being prepared for eating, storage, or to use as barter for other necessities, it was always at the centre of the day’s activities. What people did not grow, raise, catch, or hunt was bought by exchange at the local market, or from travelling tinkers. Nothing was wasted. Nothing was useless.

  The kitchen was orderly and functional. Knives, spatulas, pots and spoons all had their own special place. Strings of onions and garlic bulbs hung from hooks, while rows of sealed pots and jars were neatly stacked on wall shelves and inside the large larder cupboard that was almost a room in its own right. Two small windows gave natural light to the room, but oil lamps were often lit on poor weather days.

  ‘How do I tell them, Ra? It’ll break my mother’s heart,’ he whispered.

  ‘A wise old dragon once told me that to meet your destiny, you must first build a history. Destiny is calling us, Elian. We must leave to build our history together. Do not worry. Your father is no fool. He already knows you must go.’

  ‘He does?’

  ‘Of course!’ Ra said, her voice firm with confidence. ‘He knew the moment he saw me. There is no denying the bond between dragon and rider. Our meeting has been destined since the beginning of time. Nothing can prevent our partnership now. Your parents may not like your leaving, but neither will they try to stop you. Trust me, Elian. You must be open and honest. They will do their part.’

  To Elian’s surprise, Ra was right. By the time the wine had warmed sufficiently and he had carefully poured it into two cups, Raim had clearly had quiet words with his wife. Tears filled Megan’s eyes as Elian entered the room.

  ‘Go and get another cup, Elian. This is a moment for sharing.’ Raim’s tone was as serious as his face. He looked different – strangely old – as if the recognition of his son’s future had placed a great weight on his shoulders. Elian felt emotion swell in his heart as he glimpsed a flash of what his parents must be feeling. Tears welled in his eyes as he poured the beaker of wine. He blinked them away. It would not do to cry like a baby at such a time. If the other village boys found out . . . but did it matter what the other boys thought? No. Such things would never be a consideration again. He was a dragonrider. As such, he held status above any of the other boys.

  ‘Good. You’re beginning to understand.’

  Elian did not answer. He returned to the living area with his wine. The reality of his situation was finally sinking in. He had always loved his parents. To see them like this was heartbreaking. Emotions warred on their faces. Pride battled with worry. Fear for the future competed with joy at his good fortune. But clearly laced through every other emotion was love.

  Raim raised his cup. ‘To Elian – man, dragon-rider and son. Wishing you happiness and long life. No matter where your path leads, never forget there is a place at the table here for you.’

  They all drank. The tears in Raim’s eyes made Elian more comfortable with those welling in his own. Megan wept in floods. Before he knew it, both parents had drawn him into a hug. It felt good. Safe. Homely. When they finally broke from it, Elian felt strangely empty, as if a part of his life were dying. Then, in a sudden emotional reversal, he felt the void fill and in that instant both he and Aurora felt the click of a perfect match as their souls met. Although Ra did not say anything, Elian could feel the joy of her presence within him and he knew he would never be alone again. The feeling was not one of replacement, but of progression – almost like being reborn to begin a whole new life. His parents would always be special, but this new relationship was forged with an invisible connection more powerful than any ties of blood or friendship. It was a paradox, for though the link felt new, legends told that the connection between every dragon and rider had been written in the stars since the dawn of time. Something inside him felt the seed of truth in those old tales. The bond was predestined and special. There could be no regret.

  Nolita had never known such fear. The beast was huge, and covered in scales and vicious horns. Although she knew it was a dragon, she could not bring herself to think of it by that name. It was a thing of nightmares – the very embodiment of her deepest, most secret terror, and it had haunted her for as long as she could remember.

  She was back amongst the trees faster than she believed possible. The path was well worn and easy to follow. She flew along it, her feet hardly touching the ground. Her blond hair streamed out behind her like a three-dimensional golden flag, and as she ran, she screamed.

  It took at least a minute for Nolita to notice that her throat hurt and her breathing was hampered by her screams. Regaining a small measure of control, she clamped her teeth together in a determined grimace and forced herself to focus on the path. Details of the beast had burned into her mind and haunted her as she ran. It was hard to concentrate, but she used her fear like a driving whip, urging speed, and reinforcing the need to put as much distance between her and it as possible.

  It was about half a league to her home village. Although she and Sable had taken their time strolling through the woods, it did not take long for her to retrace her steps, running flat out the whole way. She raced to the centre of the small cluster of cottages and in through the door of her home.

  ‘That was quick!’ her mother said, looking up in surprise from the table where she was busy mending one of Balard’s tunics. ‘Did you race Sable back?’

  ‘Sable!’ Nolita exclaimed, panting heavily. ‘I . . . I don’t know what happened to her.
There was a . . . I was scared. I . . . I ran. I’m so sorry.’

  Tears streamed down Nolita’s face. Her body was shaking uncontrollably and her eyes darted about with anxious anticipation. Emotions flashed and spun through her like a tornado. Horror and fear twisted into worry and self-loathing only to spin back to horror and fear. How could she have left her sister to face it alone? She should have at least urged Sable to follow. But she hadn’t. Did that make her a bad person? Had it got Sable? Oh, gods! What if it had? How could she live with that?

  ‘Calm down, Nolita. Take a deep breath. Now start again slowly. What happened? What scared you?’

  ‘No! I must wash. I have to. Please, let me wash first.’

  Her mother sighed. Nolita’s obsession with washing her hands had become progressively worse over the last year. It appeared to be her instinctive response to a growing number of circumstances. Other little signs of ritualistic activities were creeping into her behaviour as well. It was worrying to see her daughter trapped in such a cycle, but she felt powerless to help break Nolita free of her obsession. She could not deny that the washing did help calm Nolita when she was stressed.

  ‘Very well,’ she agreed, ‘but talk to me as you wash. If Sable’s in trouble, we should send help immediately.’

  ‘Y-yes, M-mother.’

  Nolita grabbed one of the hand bowls, leaned out through the window and dipped it into the water butt outside, half filling it with water. She shook as she crossed to the table, spilling a trail of water across the floor, but she could not even think about pausing to mop it up. Her soap was in its usual place. As soon as she had it in her hands a calming sensation began to spread through her.

  ‘It . . . it was horrible,’ she began. ‘Huge. Terrible. All horns and teeth and wings.’

  ‘You met this thing?’ her mother asked, her brows drawing into a frown. ‘Where?’

  ‘We had just reached the clearing on the other side of the woods. I think it must have flown over us as we were on our way. I felt it go by. I . . . I think . . .’

  ‘What? What do you think, Nolita?’

  ‘I think it was looking for me,’ she said in a rush, tears dripping into the bowl.

  ‘Hush now! That’s nonsense and you know it. From what you’ve said, I would say you saw a dragon. Is that right?’

  Nolita scrubbed furiously at her hands. She did not look up at her mother, but nodded quickly.

  ‘Why on Areth would a dragon come looking for you, Nolita? That’s just your fears speaking. Did you see the dragon’s rider? He was probably visiting the village on a quest of some sort. Dragonriders do that, you know. Now try to calm down. Can you tell me what sort of dragon it was? What colour was it?’

  ‘B-b-blue. It was b-blue. And I didn’t see a rider.’

  ‘A day dragon. That’s good. The rider was probably in the village. Dragons are patient creatures, Nolita, and sensitive. The dragon was most likely waiting for its rider to complete his business. Well, I don’t think Sable is in any danger, but I suppose I should ask one of the menfolk to go and take a look just in case.’

  Just in case what, Nolita wondered. Just in case the beast was dangerous? Wasn’t it a bit late for that? Why couldn’t Mother see? The beast was hunting for her – Nolita – no one else. She had felt it. She had unconsciously known for years that it was coming. It had haunted her dreams and fed her fears with the promise that one day it would find her. Now it was here. Her nightmare had become a reality. She would have to leave to escape it. There was no time to lose. It would find her soon. She wasn’t safe. She needed to go, and she needed to go now.

  Nolita blinked away her tears. The washing had helped, but it was her decision to run away that gave her temporary control of her fear. She dried her hands and told her mother she would take the dirty water to the waste ditch.

  Once outside the cottage she began to think through her plan. What did she need to take with her? She could not carry much. Any weight would slow her down. She would have to forage for food as she went. The question was: where should she go? Was there anywhere she could go to escape such a beast?

  She tipped the dirty water into the waste ditch in a controlled stream. There was something hypnotising about the way the water splattered and gurgled in the mud. A shadow brushed her, moving at speed. She glanced up and her stomach instantly knotted with fear. It was too late to think about what to take. She was out of time. It was here. Without thinking, Nolita dropped the bowl and launched into a wild sprint for the nearby trees.

  Chapter Five

  Ambushed

  If Elian was surprised by his parents’ acceptance of his newfound status, he was stunned by the response of the rest of the village. That evening the men held a special raising ceremony for him, accepting him into the adult community. To his amazement and delight, his raising gift was a dragonrider’s saddle. He had not known that such a thing existed within their small community. It transpired that by law, every tanner had to make and keep a dragon saddle against the day that a rider should need one. The tanner in his village had not neglected this duty and proudly presented it to the Cleric, who prayed a simple blessing over it before passing it to Elian.

  The village elders had long ago decided that dragon lore would not be taught to youngsters. It was feared that knowledge of dragons would only encourage daydreaming amongst the young. However, it was a requirement of the adult community to know their duty to the fortunate few whom the dragons chose, so they were taught about dragons and dragonriders after their raising ceremony.

  The problem with this system was obvious. Dragons sought out their riders as they reached puberty. If one were chosen from the village, the individual would know nothing of the history and place of dragonriders in society. This was the frustrating situation Elian faced. References made to him about his newfound role were more confusing than enlightening. Worse, he knew he would not be able to stay long enough to learn what he needed to know. He could feel Ra’s need to leave, a need that could not be denied.

  When the men had completed the special raising ceremony, the women of the village joined the celebration. They brought more surprise gifts, which Elian quickly realised would prove invaluable when he left to begin his new life.

  First, a heavy, fur-lined sheepskin jacket, together with a matching pair of trousers. They were too big, but the women insisted he would grow into them soon enough. He was also given a leather, fur-lined hat, designed to cover the ears and secure under the chin; mitten gloves and a special pair of thick boots, again lined with fur. How they had such garments to give was again a source of mystery to him, for the weather in this part of Racafi rarely turned cold. ‘How is not important,’ Ra assured him. ‘Take them and relay my thanks to your people, Elian, for the gifts are well given. You will be grateful for them soon enough.’

  The village blacksmith gave him his favourite gift of the evening: a sword. It was plain with a straight blade of medium length and weight, a leather-bound handle and a simple hand guard. It was presented in a scabbard that could either be attached to his waist belt, or strapped across his back. Elian accepted the gift gravely, though he was acutely aware of the frowns of disapproval and worry on his parents’ faces. Would he have need of such a weapon? He hoped not. If he did, he would not know how to wield it. The gift raised the question in his mind once more: what exactly was his role as a dragonrider?

  ‘A question that begs much exploration, Elian. We can discuss your heritage at length when we are underway. Enjoy the moment. Tomorrow we must leave. Our destiny calls.’

  Elian took Aurora’s message to heart. He quickly realised that to be chosen as a dragonrider was a great honour, and that honour was reflected on the village. He managed to stop worrying and throw himself into the festivities, and the rest of the evening was a blur of music and dancing, laughter and tears.

  The next morning, Elian’s eyes burned from lack of sleep. The partying had continued well into the small hours of the morning – something he had never
experienced before. All he wanted to do was to stay in bed, but he could feel Ra’s desire to be under way. There was a sense of urgency in their bond that he could not ignore. He washed and dressed for what could be the last time in his home.

  Nerves and excitement warred within him as he gathered his things. His stomach gnawed with hunger, or was it nervousness? He could not tell the difference.

  ‘Good morning, Elian,’ Raim said brightly as he walked through to the kitchen. ‘Take a seat. Your mother has prepared a special farewell breakfast for you.’

  The smell of the food tightened Elian’s stomach even more. He had eaten so much the previous evening it seemed impossible that he could be hungry again already, but as he forked in the first mouthful, he realised he was. It would be a difficult balance, he realised, to eat enough to sate his hunger, but not so much that his nervousness might cause him embarrassment later. In his mind he sensed Ra’s presence. She seemed mildly amused.

  ‘You won’t think it funny if I vomit all over your back,’ he thought, directing a mental image of this to the corner of his mind where Aurora appeared to be.

  ‘If you do, then I’ll have you polishing my scales all afternoon,’ she responded haughtily. ‘That sort of behaviour is not acceptable for a dragonrider.’

  It took a great deal of self-control, but somehow Elian managed to do justice to the breakfast that Megan had prepared. She fussed around him, telling him how pale he looked, and asking him if he really felt up to leaving today. And where was he going, and how long would he be gone? In truth, he felt anything but ready, but Aurora was insistent.

  ‘We must go. We have to see the Oracle – the great Dragon Spirit who dwells in Orupee. My dragonsense tells me that any delay will be disastrous. As to how long we will be gone . . . I would not make any rash promises if I were you.’