PART 1
Chapter 1
They soared the clouds, a mass of black that obscured the sky itself, yet they brought no fear. When the people looked up they rejoiced for their salvation had come.
- Excerpt from The Dragonair Chronicles.
Wren was grinning as she scaled the cliff face– swift, nimble movements. Defiantly reaching up, curling her hand around the tiniest of grabs, she powered on, ignoring the calls of the other Climbers beneath her. The voices were lost to the wind as it howled through the mountains, a song as old as time. One she felt ring loud and true within her, as it had since the day she began as a Climber. The song from the Spirit of the Mountain, her mother said. Her gift to the people she loved so dearly.
Wren banished all other thought, forcing the distractions out – voices, doubts, aches – and climbed on, scrambling up faster, emboldened.
Her hand slipped free, sending her off balance. Her heart froze in her chest as she half hung there, holding on by one hand.
Someone below shouted up.
Freeze, you die, her teacher had snarled relentlessly.
Blinking, she shoved away the stab of fear and thrust herself back onto the rock, digging her hand into another hold. Then, using the rush of adrenalin, powered up faster than she’d ever moved – faster than anyone else, it seemed, because when she finally dragged herself over the edge, sprawling out on the flat ground, the thin air biting her skin, it seemed like an eternity before anyone else appeared. By then, her heart had dropped to a normal pace. She sat up as Vaughn, the second fastest climber in the squad, came over and stood, eyeing her like she was crazy.
“You truly have no fear,” he remarked as if there was something unsettling by that.
She did have fear – it was healthy, required. It didn’t stop her from climbing her. Fear and respect of the mountains were bound together within Wren. Fear the dangers, respect the mountains.
“Fear should be the companion of a climber, it’s guide, the steadying hand,” recanted Wren with a sly smile.
He shook his head, went to reply but the huffing breaths indicated the rest of the team had arrived; first, Flynn, a red-haired, long-limbed climber with a sharp, rigid face. Only his smile and jewel-green eyes softened his face. He was ruddy-faced when he came up, shook his head in amusement, then stepped aside as the last climber came. Mira, the smallest, newest and most unlikely climber of the group, appeared. She shook off her uniform, dusted herself off and straightened up, peering about with doll-like face and pale blue eyes.
“This is it?” She asked, frowning.
Wren snorted, then flicked a hand to the path that cut into the mountain. “We’re only at the bottom. The garden isn’t far from here, though.”
She took Vaughn’s outstretched hand and got her to feet, smiling as Mira looked even more confused. Even Flynn chuckled a little, then leaned in, the hero.
“We’re at the bottom of the old country – we be in dragon territory now,” he teased.
The poor girl’s frown fell and she jutted out her chin, a little stubbornly. “Dragons are just stories.”
Wren laughed as she set off, the others falling in behind her. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Now, let’s hurry. I don’t want to be anywhere near here after dark, so let’s get the plants and get out.”
They headed along a narrow path, faintly dusted with snow. The sheer cliff on either side, worn smooth from years of rain and wind, rose up so high that light turned gloomy. Still, Wren could see enough and pushed on, straight up to steps cut into the rock. At the top the stone walls on either side fell away, revealing a clearing, cut like a bowl into the mountain itself, with several other paths cut into the rock, veering off to other clearings, to the remnants of the ancient city far above.
The clearing before her was divided up by the fields of dark earth, one of which still held a struggling crop of red flowers. At the far end of it, a stone well. Flynn was already striding over, water skins in hand, and started to fill them, one by one.
Wren went to the plants and, with the other two, started to pluck the flowers, carefully wrapping and packing them away into their bags. Vaughn hovered by Mira, instructing her on the best way to harvest, so not to damage the plants completely. When they finished they sprinkled some dried seaweed, imported from the coast, plus some crumbled chicken manure over the plants. After that, the plants were given a brief watering from the filled pouches, a carefully measured amount per plant.
As she stood up Wren yawned and glanced skywards, holding a hand to her face as the sun slanted down, glinting sharply off the ice that clung to the cliff high above. The cloud obscured the kingdom up there that Wren knew existed, just out of reach, beyond the ability of any climbers. Even hers. How that burned in her gut.
“You’ve got that look in your eye,” said Vaughn reproachfully.
She lowered her gaze to his, smiled slyly. “What look?”
“There’s nothing up there anymore. I don’t even know why you look. As Mira said the dragons are gone,” said Vaughn.
She shrugged. “We might be there descendants, you know.”
“And now we’re humble farmers, living far from war and suffering. We may not have riches but we have all we need,” he said slowly. “It’s enough for us but you’re always looking up, like this life isn’t enough for you.”
Why wasn’t I enough for you? He was asking.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. I’ve always been restless, always been a Climber, my heart on these cliffs,” she reminded him.
He winced, lowering his gaze, hurt. She felt guilty, just for a moment. If he wouldn’t needle, trying to remind her that he was right, then they wouldn’t be at each other’s throats, she wouldn’t feel so damn tired around him all the time. Hell, they’d never been suited to marry – sure, there had been a physical attraction but they clashed in every other way. He wanted a quiet, biddable wife, and would likely expect her to surrender her duty as a Climber. Ground her, literally. She couldn’t have them, couldn’t let him. It’d kill her.
“Why can’t you pick someone else?” She asked tiredly. “My answer won’t change.”
He stilled. “I did.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Oh. Who?”
“Lilly Farthing.”
In Wren’s mind she saw Lilly, the quiet, pretty girl with dark locks and dark eyes. She was the blacksmith’s daughter, shy by nature, as far from Wren as anyone could be. She thought she’d feel a little sting of jealousy – Vaughn was certainly searching for some. Only, there was none. She nodded, approvingly. Lilly was the girl good for him, everything he wanted in a wife. That, and Wren had seen the longing looks Lilly had thrown at Vaughn. Wren only hoped that he might show the same ardent love he had for Wren to his future wife.
“She’d be happy about that. Girl’s been in love with you for years,” murmured Wren.
“What?”
“You didn’t know?”
Vaughn blushed. “The marriage was…arranged. I mean, I asked, as was proper but-“
Of course, it was arranged. Your parents never wanted you to marry me; they were just glad they had to do no work for me to say no.
“You don’t love her?” Wren finished.
His silence said everything.
They’d scarcely been friends before she became a Climber; in the time before she could count on one hand how many times they even spoke. Still, somehow, with that, she’d caught his eye and then she became a Climber. For a brief moment there had been something, a flash of fire, something exciting but it died as quickly as it had appeared for her. Apparently, the same could not be said for him.
“Wren! Vaughn! You both ready?” Flynn called from the path, Mira standing impatiently behind him, arms folded.
She was shaking. The girl hadn’t gotten used to the cold, even beneath her thick fur-lined uniform and boots. Still, the cold had never really bothered Wren.
Vaughn moved first. Wren went to follow but a sharp screech ripped through the air, a shadow flashed overhead. Wren and Vaughn froze, whilst the other two shrank into the shadows. It was Vaughn looked up first behind Wren, slowly, paled. Horror flashed in his eyes. Then he looked down and it was as though he standing at Wren’s funeral pyre, saying goodbye. Heart racing, she looked behind him, saw the fear in the other’s eyes.
Slowly, she turned and looked up. Crouched on a rocky outcrop, perched forward, was a Wyvern. She’d only seen them in stories, their pictures roughly drawn but she was sure. They resembled dragons, differing in the fact that their wings served as front legs when grounded, that they also didn’t breathe fire was a bonus. This one, it seemed, had its focus on her. She dropped her hand, flicked a signal for Vaughn to run.
“I’m not leaving you,” he hissed softly.
“Be the hero, Vaughn, save them,” she snarled. “Now, run.”
Before he could react, she bolted – straight to one of the nearby pathways leading upwards, and the wyvern leapt off the outcrop, straight after her. She didn’t see if Vaughn ran after her. Her eyes were on the path. She felt the shadow rush over her and she dropped – too late. Claws sunk into flesh, grabbing her. She screamed, felt the ground slip from beneath her feet and her bag fall to the ground. Instinctively, she struggled, trying to free herself but the claws sunk deeper – then she realised how quickly the ground was shrinking away from her. She saw Vaughn and the others staring up, screaming. Flynn was dragging Vaughn away who stubbornly fought, as if he could save her.
Tearing her gaze away she looked ahead as they rose higher, piercing the thin veil of cloud, the air growing brutally icy, biting through her thick furs. Jagged rock gave way to ancient walkways carved into the mountain way, bridges that seemed to emerge from the cloud, and connect to other cliffs and pathways – a labyrinth in the clouds. Most lead upwards which, as the Wyvern drew her up with the beat of it’s enormous wings, she saw the first hints of the old empire. She held her breath, glimpsing the first houses carved into the mountains themselves, empty shelves, lifeless. Some jutted out of the mountains themselves, impossibly perched there with large outcrops, polished smooth.
Were she not being carried to her impending death she might’ve marvelled at it.
The wyvern banked sharply, cutting through a narrow pass and into a large clearing – a small lake dominated it, pale blue water glittering against the frost-touched ground.
There, it dropped her and she hit the ground, hard. Something crunched beneath her. Dazed, she rolled to her feet and realised what it was. Bones. With a scream she scrambled away and barely had time to react before the wyvern landed, snarling at her. It’d brought her to its nest to feed.
She lifted her gaze, stared it down. Where fear had knotted in her gut something else started to kindle; slowly, little more than a smouldering spark, flickering up. She refused to die in such a place, another Climber claimed by a wyvern. She hadn’t given much thought how she’d like to die but dying in a field of bones wasn’t the way.
With a deep breath she dropped her hands, gingerly fished out her climbing daggers. They weren’t extremely sharp but they were better than nothing. She just had to not pay attention to how sharp the wyvern’s talons were and how it slowly crept towards her. It was toying with her, enjoying her fighting stance. Swallowing hard she stepped back, trying to keep distance. The more the better. In the corner of her she glanced at her options. The pass they’d flown through was her only option but it was too far away. The wyvern would catch her before that. She had to do something, buy herself some time but what?
The wyvern lunged, banishing the thought. She rolled to the side, barely missing the flash of claw and scale. She was fast, though and she was strong from climbing. In a blur she rushed at the wyvern as it spun and she launched onto it’s back, sinking the blades into the scale – to her surprise they sunk in, deep. Warm blood gushed down her hands, soaking through her gloves.
The wyvern howled furiously, thrashing her but she held on – just barely. She yanked out one blade, then sunk it again, higher. As it thrashed she scrambled up. Then she was at the neck and raised the dagger to sink in when it rolled sharply, throwing her off. She flew through the air, hit the ground with a sharp burst of pain through her body. Blood filled her mouth, pain burning through her. She got to her feet, shaky, and spat blood, staring down the wyvern as it spun to her, blood bleeding down it’s side. The beast’s silvery scales were streaked with dark red. It looked at her with feral eyes.
She screamed back. “Come at me!”
Then it launched at her – and she hurled both daggers, then spun away. Scale flashed in front of her face, inches in front of her. Her life, short as it was, flashed before her.
Then it was crashing into the ground. She didn’t wait to see if it was dead or not. She sprinted towards the pass, right pass the piles of bones. Other climbers in their tattered furs. A glint of silver caught her eye. She hesitated – then, a feral cry split the air. She spun around. The wyvern staggered to its feet and she saw the damage she’d done. One dagger was imbedded in its eye, the other in the shoulder. A wing hung limp at the side. She’d grounded it.
Whatever gods were looking down at her she was grateful and thanked them.
The silver flash beside her glinted, catching the sunlight. She glanced down, briefly, and saw it was a sword.
The wyvern screamed again and launched. Without thinking she grabbed the sword, warmth bursting through her limbs instantly, and brought it up – a wall of grey fell over her and slammed into her. Darkness swamped her as she was thrown to the ground as she thought, this is it, I’m dead.
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