by Sarah Noffke
Sophia had thought about dressing in gray and black like the men for the event. She realized that it would be utterly boring and put on her favorite outfit, both practical and fashionable.
“The coverage on the takedown of Thad Reinhart’s facilities was quite impressive,” a different reporter in the front row started. “I understand he was single-handedly responsible for instigating many global issues as well, polluting the Earth on a wide scale. Still, that was a single man and a conglomeration of organizations. How are five dragonriders going to preside over the world’s affairs?”
Hiker leaned forward, his breathing echoing over the microphone. Sophia held her own breath and hoped he wasn’t grimacing at the cameras too much.
“This is why we have decided to take back our official roles,” Hiker began, his voice excited. “It is with great honor I disclose to the world at large, after a thousand years, the dragon’s population has been restored. The Dragon Elite is now in possession of a new batch of eggs. What we had before was limited and ran out, all the dragons that were ever going to be, having been hatched. We now have a huge crop of dragon eggs and a renewed sense of purpose and hope for the world.”
A collective muttering spread across the crowd, silencing Hiker.
“Sir,” a reporter called, holding up her hand and trying to get attention over the noise. This one wasn’t dressed like the others in pencil skirts and slacks. Instead, she had her shiny black hair pulled back in a ponytail and wore a long black trench coat like she was concealing something. That would be impossible, though. The security for the press conference had been top-notch. And there were four dragonriders at Hiker’s back, ready to defend. Anyone who tried anything would have to have a death wish.
“Yes,” Hiker said, silencing all the chatter.
The woman stood. There was something different about her face. It almost moved mechanically. And her hair. It was too shiny like it was made from metal. As Sophia blinked, the strangeness began to fade, and within seconds, the woman appeared quite ordinary. Sophia thought magic was at play and what she’d seen initially had been real.
“Where are the Dragon Elite located?” the woman asked. Her voice seemed robotic but also not.
“That location can’t be found by anyone but us,” Hiker answered at once and pointed to another reporter with their hand up. “Next.”
“But, sir,” the woman cut back in. “How is it that your location is a secret? Shouldn’t we have something from you to strengthen our faith in your mission to protect?”
“Our home base is none of the public’s concern,” Hiker stated with authority, and again pointed to the other reporter.
“Actually, Hiker Wallace,” the woman interrupted, her voice firm, “I would argue it is. If you have no public interests, then knowing where you reside could be of importance. For instance, if you’re in the United States, what’s to stop you from siding with North America if there is a dispute between it and Europe, for example.”
This brought another round of collective muttering from the crowd.
Hiker sighed and cursed under his breath. Thankfully, he had pulled away from the microphone, and only the dragonriders could hear it.
“That’s a good point,” someone yelled. “How do we know you don’t have mutual interests you’ll side with if push comes to shove?”
Hiker lowered his chin, and Sophia could just picture the seething glare he was giving the crowd. She’d seen it all too often. “Because as the Dragon Elite, we are free from bias. We were chosen for our non-partisan behavior.”
“By who?” a different reporter asked.
“Mother Nature,” Hiker said at once. He pointed again toward the back of the crowd. “Next!”
“But Hiker,” the strange woman in the trench coat cut in again, still standing amongst the crowd. “Your location is still of interest. How can you not have a bias based on it?”
“Because we are in Scotland!” he boomed. “We live in an uncharted place in the middle of nowhere in a country that doesn’t create problems! Is that good enough for you?”
The woman smiled, a strange spark in her eyes. “Yes, thank you, sir.”
She took a seat as questions rang out around her.
Sophia watched the woman and tried to decipher why she appeared so strange, but her attention was soon stolen by the many reporters vying for Hiker’s attention. They were acting snotty suddenly, somehow encouraged by the rebellious reporter in the black trench coat. Sophia stepped up closer, encouraging the men to edge in with her. With each question, she suspected Hiker’s patience was waning. They’d need to pull him off the stage and deem the press conference over soon. The leader of the Dragon Elite was new to this world, and his tolerance for nagging mortals was low. He’d get better, but it would take time.
Sophia still smiled, despite the stressful situation because the Dragon Elite was at a press conference at the United States White House, announcing their role as world adjudicators. Things were shifting. Things were getting better. It was the age of dragonriders, and that was a beautiful thing.
Chapter Nine
For five-hundred years or however long it had been, Ainsley had woken in the same bed, in the same room inside the Castle at the Gullington, to the same day ahead of her. To say it got old was a severe understatement.
She wished for the opportunity to venture far outside the borders of the Barrier of the Gullington and see the world. In her distant memories, she remembered her homeland of Ireland. Remembered the way it smelled, the sounds, the familiarity. It was a distant dream.
But there were more to her memories that didn’t include Ireland. She remembered exotic lands and strange adventures and entourages and more. There were expensive gowns and diamond-encrusted jewelry and servants.
None of it made sense because Ainsley only owned burlap dresses and plain boots. She remembered her childhood, which was simple and without luxury, and she remembered being at the Gullington, but nothing in between. The memories of adventures and riches were like dreams, and they faded almost at once, slipping from her mind like slimy seaweed through fingers in the ocean.
Ainsley’s mother once told her that trusting your memory was like trusting a cat. “You can’t make it do what you want, so it does what it wants.” The old shapeshifter’s voice echoed in Ainsley’s mind as she ventured across the Expanse, toward the Barrier on her weekly errands.
Her mother, like Ainsley, had been an elfin shapeshifter. They were more than rare. Most never came out about it because they were then pursued and punished for what they were.
The only thing worse was to be a seer. Magicians, elves, giants, gnomes, and the like all feared shapeshifters because of the deception a shapeshifter could pull if they so desired. But Ainsley had been raised by a good woman, and her mother taught her never to use her talent for selfish gain. For pranks, yes. That was encouraged. Always. But no nefarious deeds should be done with her shapeshifting gifts.
The thing that always got Ainsley was that she remembered her mother, her wise words, and her dying. Yet everything in between was somehow murky. Her mother had been right. Memories were a fickle thing. After five-hundred years, why should Ainsley expect to remember anything clearly? It was all bound to run together eventually.
She tortured herself like she had done something wrong, not remembering, but when she was logical about it, it was hard to remember what she ate for breakie that day. It was better when she put it all into perspective instead of tormenting herself.
The village where Ainsley bought the goods for the Castle wasn’t far outside the Barrier, but she never lingered. The reason wasn’t that she wanted to return to the monotony of cleaning floors and making meals for ungrateful dragonriders, S. Beaufont being the exception, of course.
The reason was that after an hour outside of the Gullington, Ainsley often felt fatigued and on the verge of catching a bad cold. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been sick. The Castle kept most ailments away. She figured
being outside its protection probably brought all the mortal germs into her system. She usually returned quickly after buying her wares so the Castle could fix her up.
Ainsley always bought the same things at the market. Meat, a lot of meat. More meat. Then a side of meat. She also got regular things like potatoes, onions, and spices. The men liked the same dishes and never seemed to mind that it bored Ainsley to make the same thing over and over again for centuries.
One might think the men would get tired of the same fare, but they never seemed to. Maybe it was because they got to venture outside the Gullington. She knew they’d been trapped with her for several centuries, but the option of leaving had always been there for them, unlike for her.
The thought made her wonder why.
Why can’t I leave the Gullington, she wondered as she browsed a stall full of root vegetables. That idea led to another and then another, and all of a sudden, she felt the urge to rush back to the Castle and check on a pot of boiling water she’d forgotten about and left simmering.
Ainsley nearly dropped her packages and ran for the Gullington, the urge all-encompassing, but someone reached out for her and grabbed her wrist to stop her.
“Miss.” An old woman, her brown face draped in wrinkles, smiled up at the housekeeper. “Would you like to try my herbs?”
Ainsley smiled back and held up her bag of goods, forgetting the nonexistent pot of boiling water. “Oh, no. But thank you. I’ve already purchased my goods for the day.”
“I see that,” the woman began, “but these herbs aren’t from around here. They are for those looking for something different…something unique, exotic even.”
“Oh,” Ainsley turned about and gave the woman her full attention. There was never anything different at the market, just the same old vendors with the same products for sale. “That sounds intriguing. I have been looking for a way to kick my cooking up a notch.”
The woman waved a wrinkled hand toward her stall. “Then you should look no further. This will bring a new zest to your cooking, and I daresay, to your life.”
Ainsley’s smile faltered. “Oh, I’d like to try them, but it will have to wait. I’m out of cash, having bought all my supplies with my budget.”
A kind smile crossed the vendor’s mouth. “Oh, don’t worry. The first one is free. Then I suspect you’ll be back for more, so good are my herbs.”
The woman held out a small pouch of spices. Something strange flickered in her smile, but it evaporated almost immediately, and Ainsley decided to ignore it. There were so few occasions the housekeeper spoke to people outside the Gullington, and even fewer when strangers were nice to her for no apparent reason.
Ainsley took the herbs and smiled. “Well, thank you. I’ll look forward to using these and returning to purchase more if we like them.”
“I look forward to that as well,” the old woman sang and ushered Ainsley into the crowd as if she were trying to get her away.
She turned to wave, but the merchant was bustling off. Stranger, the old woman’s appearance seemed to be melting as she retreated, like she was disappearing.
The shapeshifter shook her head, assuming she was seeing things. Being outside the Gullington for too long always did that to her. She turned for the exit to the market and headed back to the Castle with her wares and exotic spices in tow.
Chapter Ten
The winds were so fierce in the Gullington they cut through the closed windows, adding a cold chill to Sophia’s otherwise warm bedroom, heated by the roaring fire. She flipped through an Incomplete History of Dragonriders, feeling distracted.
She couldn’t shake the feeling lately they were on the precipice of something. Hiker had made his announcement to the world, labeling them as world adjudicators. Cases were starting to come in, but nothing she’d been assigned to yet. The thousand dragon eggs were “incubating.” Everything was going along smoothly, too smoothly.
Sophia was a born optimist, but even she recognized how strange the lack of drama in her life was after it had been filled with unending adventures in the last several months. Flipping a page without reading it, she cringed as the largest gust yet pushed the windows open and sent a violent gust through her room, scattering the notes on her desk and sending her hair off her shoulders.
Pushing the giant volume off her lap, she scrambled to close the window with magic as she grabbed for the papers spiraling through the air by the chaotic wind with her hands. The archaic set of notes she’d had stacked on her desk was a challenge set out by Hiker. Since he had to start using a computer, he’d challenged Sophia to use paper and pen for recording notes or correspondence. He seemed to think he was making a point, so she agreed. She knew there wouldn’t be anyone she’d need to send a physical letter to in the twenty-first century.
When she had the papers corralled in her hands, she glanced down and thought how ironic her life was. Just like that, she was about to eat her words.
On the top of the stack of papers was one not written in her handwriting. It was a letter addressed to her from the librarian for the Great Library, Trinity. Somehow, it had magically appeared in her room as things often did, no doubt delivered by the Castle.
Dear Sophia,
I have finished reviewing The Complete History of Dragonriders. Thank you so much for allowing me to peruse the only copy in existence. As I suspected, the volume doesn’t allow for duplication, but now I understand why, so dense it is with secrets.
I’m happy for you to retrieve your book at this point, however, although I’m at the Great Library at all times, I ask that you return this letter with an appointment time so I’ll know when to expect you. I have put a lock on the portal door that connects the Great Library to the Castle after some things came to light while reading The Complete History of Dragonriders, therefore you’ll need to let me know when to expect you so I can remove the lock.
Sincerely,
Trinity
Librarian for the Great Library
She turned the letter over, expecting there would be something else written on the back like:
P.S. Just kidding. Come to the magical library whenever. Or I’ll send the book I took from you back so you don’t have to worry about going on an errand when you’re obviously busy. Or text me the time you’d like to stop by.
Alas, the page was blank.
Sophia sighed and trudged over to her desk, where she laid the stack of papers down and retrieved a pen from the drawer.
“Letter,” she muttered to herself. “I’ve got to write a letter. Cool.”
She scribbled onto the piece of parchment and arranged a time for after dinner, curious about several things. Chiefly, she wanted to know why Trinity would put a lock on the door to the portal to the Castle. That seemed like something she’d need to get more information about. And all the secrets. But she’d be getting the book back soon and then she could read the Complete History of Dragonriders for herself, not that she suspected it would be light reading or something she could finish in one night or even a fortnight. The complete volume had to be much longer than the incomplete version, and she hadn’t even scratched the surface of that book.
Signing her name to the piece of paper, she stood back and wondered how exactly she was to get the letter to Trinity. Did she need to take it to the portal? Then what was the point of arranging a time? The door would be locked, wouldn’t it? Just as her mind was trailing over these complications, the note began to fade until it disappeared entirely.
Sophia sighed. Of course, the Castle would take care of the delivery for her. It was crafty like that. The Castle could do all sorts of weird things that were unexplainable, even when she used magic as part of the clarification.
Sophia hoped the book shone some light onto the sentient building. There were few things she wanted to understand as much as the strange building designed by the thoughts of its inhabitants and fueled by an unseen force.
Chapter Eleven
“There’s the one responsible for t
his atrocious wind,” Mama Jamba said, pointing in Sophia’s direction as she entered the dining hall.
Sophia turned around, expecting to see someone else behind her. Maybe Hiker or Quiet or anyone who wasn’t her.
There was no one standing at her back, only the empty entrance hall.
Spinning back around, Sophia gave Mother Nature a confused expression. “Say what?”
“You, dear,” Mama Jamba stated and shook her head. She combed her hands through her big, silver hair. “I can’t even keep my strands in place. Would you settle down, already?”
Wilder glanced up from the table, a curious expression on his face that made his double dimples surface. “You think Sophia is responsible for the crazy winds we’re having?”
Mama Jamba shook her head. “Oh, no. I know.” The old woman patted the spot next to her. “Come sit and tell me what’s going on.”
Sophia stayed frozen. “Nothing. And I’m not responsible for this wind. How would that even be possible?”
Mama Jamba smiled politely at Sophia, but the expression sort of had a “Bless your heart” quality. In other words, the ancient woman was thinking, “Gosh, you’re dense.”
“Sophia, what elemental force do magicians control?” she asked her.
“The wind,” Wilder answered and tilted his head to the side.
Ainsley sped through the kitchen door carrying a covered disk that gave off a spicy scent. It tickled Sophia’s nose as the steam wafted by. “I don’t believe your name is S. Beaufont, is it Wilder?” the housekeeper asked as if she’d been a part of the conversation all along and hadn’t just buzzed into the room.
“It might be,” he teased, eyeing the covered disk with skepticism. “What’s that?”
“Food,” Ainsley answered and hurried back to the kitchen.
“Please stop with the lengthy explanations,” Wilder called to her back. “I don’t have time for all that.”