She was fast, thin and lithe as most young girls in this country were, but even at the young age of fourteen, Jenisia was stronger than most. She navigated through the black undergrowth not using instinct, not using vision or sound, but only feeling. Everything depended on her now, and her body knew this. She pushed herself harder than she’d ever done before, farther than she’d ever run, and faster even than the summer game last year where she won the berry pie that had smelled so good. Her feet were clad in leather shoes that were stitched and laced up over her ankles, but still the thorny brush poked and stabbed at her. She ignored it. She was close, almost home.
She tried to see the land ahead in her mind. Her senses had mapped this terrain while making over a thousand trips like this. Moonberries could only be picked at night, but they didn’t need the moon; in fact, tonight there was no visible moon due to the thick clouds that blanketed the sky. A loud, long vocalization, somewhere between a bark and a roar sounded ahead of her. Oh no. Oh gods no, oh please no. The light, I left the light on. She ran so hard she began to feel dizzy, and it was only when she stumbled out of the undergrowth, falling into the long grass meadow just beyond, that she realized she’d started holding her breath.
She took great lungfuls of air and then regained her feet and sprinted on. Her home was there, just one hundred lengths away, across the meadow, hidden from sight by a grove of trees planted right next to the structure so that their long, leafy branches would make a canopy and hide it from the flyers above. Except it wasn’t hidden, not tonight. Because she left the lantern on and hanging in the doorway. New tears streamed down her face. She could almost see it, almost... And then the night in front of her exploded in a clamor of fire and light. A fluid jet of flame poured down from the blackened sky and pooled onto the ground, dousing her home in fire.
“No!” she screamed. Jenisia didn’t stop running, not even when the great beast landed, more fire spewing from its mouth. The dragon itself was only a silhouette, visible because it was crouched in front of her burning home, the firelight casting it into backlighting so that she could see its huge wings and the jagged spines that stood out from its serpentine neck.
“Stop!” she screamed at the creature. She was fifty yards away now. Her screams were drowned out by others though. Jenisia’s throat constricted as she heard the sounds of her family burning alive in their home. Her mother and father, asleep in their beds, her young sister, curled up with the dog on the floor, cuddled up against the big animal’s furry body, cuddling for comfort and warmth the way she loved to do. Their anguished cries filled the night, and told the dragon right where to find them. Thirty yards away. Jenisia saw the dragon sifting through the burning home with its long head, oblivious to flames that could not harm it. It had found one of them. With an excited movement, the beast darted forward and caught one of them; she saw it lift its head to pass something down its gullet. Oh god. Was it mother or father? Was it her sister?
It should be her. It should be Jenisia and no one else. Ten yards from her home and Jenisia could not advance any further. The heat from the blaze was the hottest fire on earth, born of pure magic and death. She tried to push on, but could not. She couldn’t make her body go into the inferno. She fell to her knees and sobbed. The light, I left the light on, I left the light on. The air was hot and thick with smoke that swirled into her lungs and choked them. There was a loud scraping sound, and through eyes that were blurred with tears, she saw the dragon withdraw from her home. Its movements were smooth and fluid, as if it had a thousand tiny gears inside it, all machined and oiled so smoothly that they didn’t even look like they belonged in this world. With its body resting on two clawed feet, the dragon’s long neck and head swung out toward Jenisia as she cried, bawling loudly into the night as everything she loved in the world was devoured.
Its neck swooped smoothly, with only the rasp of its scales as sound. It was right there in front of her now, only feet away, so close that she could smell the stink of fire and flesh on its breath, her family's flesh, her mother's flesh. Jenisia stood slowly on legs that had no strength. She stood in front of the dragon, trembling, but held her arms out wide. The dragon did nothing, except to snort a meaty breath at her. Its eyes were large and shone with firelight.
“What are you waiting for!” she screamed. The words were choked and garbled.
The dragon’s head tilted just a little to the side, the way her dog’s had when it was trying to figure out a problem. Then the dragon launched itself from the ground, flapping its wings and rocketing straight into the air. She thought she could see a faint purple sheen to its scaly hide and then it was gone. It had left her. Jenisia fell back to her knees and watched as her home burned into the ground. I left it on, I left the lantern on, and now they are all gone.
Chapter Two
Four Years Later
“Jen! Jenisia!” Mikhael called after her, but Jenisia did not stop.
“Leave me be, Mikhael!” Jenisia yelled back. She stalked off away from the house, her black hair flowing behind her, pushed back by the cool morning winds. As she walked, she made a mental check of her supplies, and her hand patted along her wide leather belt, feeling for her weapons there.
“But I just need to talk to you!” Mikhael called again.
A moment later, Jenisia heard footsteps rapidly coming up behind her. She shook her head. He was a persistent one.
“Just for a minute Jen, come on!”
Jenisia paused in her stride, glancing over her shoulder. Mikhael jogged up to her. He was shirtless, and his muscles were hard and taught in the cold morning air. He wore only brown pants and black boots. His deep chestnut hair was long and messy, a pleasant contrast to his smooth-shaven face. He was a very pretty man, she thought.
“I just wanted to talk to you,” he said as he stopped in front of her. He was breathing heavy with excitement and exertion, his large body practically towering over her. Jenisia did not relax her stance. She stood with one hand on the short sword at her waist, the other hung empty at her side, covered up to her fingertips with the long woolen tunic she wore.
“Yes, but I don’t have anything I want to talk about with you. I must go hunt. Soon the game will be gone from this country, and we need to fatten the winter stores.”
Mikhael chuckled a little, and a sly smile crept onto his face. That smile had always grated on Jenisia’s nerves. She flexed her free hand to release some stress.
“Come on Jen, we all know what you’re really hunting for, and it isn’t the prongers.”
Jenisia narrowed her eyes at him, her sparkling blue irises becoming small and slitted. “What is it that you want?”
“You know what I want Jen, I want us to be together, properly, as a man and woman should be.”
His sly smile turned earnest, and Jenisia could read the honesty on his face. He loved her, she knew he loved her, but that wasn’t what she was looking for right now. Not yet, and maybe never. Not while she still had work to do.
Jenisia let out a sigh. “Must we always talk of this? How many times must I turn down your advances?”
“As many times as it takes for me to change your mind,” Mikhael answered quickly. His smile widened and Jenisia saw a twinkle of light in his chocolatey eyes. This was what made him look the most handsome, this smile, and she couldn’t help but feel a little smile tug at her own lips. Her shoulders relaxed just a little and she leaned toward him. She raised one hand and let her long fingers touch his face. He reached up with his own warm hands and held onto hers.
“Then ask me again tomorrow, lover, because today I will hunt and hear no more of this,” Jenisia said, and pulled her hand from him. She turned and walked off away from his little home, away from him.
“This hunt will be the death of you!” Mikhael yelled after her.
Jenisia walked on without responding, her feet already finding their rhythm, stomping quickly through the brittle grass and sparse trees.
“So I will see you tonight then?” Mikhael called agai
n. Again, she didn’t answer. Her boots protected her feet and legs against the frosty blades of grasses as she stomped along. The woolen tunic would keep her warm, as long as she kept moving. And she would, she would never stop moving. Mikhael may be a handsome man. He might well make a good husband, but Jenisia was no wife. She would always be moving, she would not rest, not until she found it, the one who took her family from her.
She fingered the hilt of her short sword, gripping and releasing the ridged handle. It was a fine blade, steel folded many times and hammered and sharpened, solid from tip all the way through its tang. The hilt was wound with fine leather over the metal surface so that it could be wielded easily with no loss of grip, even in the bitter cold of the Nevada countryside.
Jenisia ducked down under a low-hanging branch of thick pine and ventured deeper into the woods. Her bow and bundle of arrows bounced a little on her back as she moved among the trees. Still she was quiet, as at home in these endless woods as any other large predator. Her small feet made almost no sound and her thin body wove through the trees easily, as if she were made to be a part of this land. And in a way, Jenisia supposed, she was.
Each breath came out as a little puff of white. The snow wasn’t falling yet, but it was coming. If they were lucky it would hold off for another week, but the snow could come as soon as tonight. Jenisia really did need to kill something today; the people of Vegas were counting on her and every hunter in the village, lest they starve during the long winter. But Mikhael was right, she wasn’t really hunting for meat, she was hunting for dragons. Two hours passed as she hiked up from their valley into the first set of long ridgelines to the west. Jenisia could feel the change in elevation as she reached the crest. With each breath, she pulled in the same amount of air, but it didn’t quench her aching lungs, and she found herself heaving to keep up with her body’s demand for oxygen.
Atop the ridgeline, she looked back behind her. The dark green pine forest seemed to stretch endlessly until the valley rose once more into the foothills. The forest held a secret, their secret. Deep within those woods was a small village, constructed carefully and quietly far beneath the cover of trees where it could not be seen from the air. Mikhael’s house was on the farthest reaches of the village. To live outside of the canopy of protection was both brave and foolish, but Mikhael was also smart. His house was camouflaged with clever paint depicting stone and trees, made to look like its surroundings. That was probably why he had lived so long.
Jenisia turned and looked west. This was as far as anyone in the village was allowed to go. Scent could be traced after all, footprints may be followed. Beyond the ridge was another long valley, this one unlike their own vale in that it was rolling, with hillocks that protruded up like pimples rising from the earth, decorated only by yellow grasses that were quickly dying into brown. There were still a great many pines, enough to hide her passage if she was careful, which she would be.
Jenisia’s eyes were drawn south, to that place in the valley where her childhood home had been. There was no sign of the house, nor the fire. After Jenisia’s family burned, the village was tightened. All of the outliers were brought into the central village, no families were allowed outside of the ceiling. A tear formed in her eye and she blinked it away. She was grown now, she couldn’t be bogged down with childish emotions. She focused on her exploration mission. Miles ahead, across this forbidden Valley of Lost Souls, rose the next great ridgeline. This one was so tall that the top of it was already covered with snow. The trees fell away, leaving only black basalt rock leading up to its snowy peaks.
On that ridgeline was The Last Pass, a treacherous and impassable V cut out of the lip of the ridge. It was the only way through. On the other side of the ridge was where they lived, the Hearthland. Jenisia had only reached the base of the black ridge once before, but fear and hunger had driven her back. This time would be different though. It would take her many hours, perhaps days, of weaving through the valley stretched out before her, but she would get there.
Jenisia wouldn’t be returning to Mikhael tonight, and he would surely be pissy about that, but he usually softened up after a good roll in the sack.
She let out a long breath and drew another in. The air was crisp up here and bit into her lungs. She could do this, she had too. Jenisia had been training for this for years, for four years in fact, since the day her family was murdered. That far ridge was strictly forbidden.
“But that’s exactly where I’m going,” she said, and began down the side of the ridgeline.
Chapter Three
Her wings felt brittle with cold. This was late in the season for flying, but sometimes even the cold was not enough to keep Skye out of the air. She was a dragon, after all, and they needed to stretch their wings. They needed to escape the banalities of life on the ground, they needed to hunt, to soar, to burn. Her chest was filled with fire, keeping her core at the desired temperature, but soon the frigid air would start to deposit ice on her wings, and she would have to turn back, away from this cold haven and back to the motherland. She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about it. She would stay away forever if she could, riding the wind, hunting animals like her body was made to do.
Ahead and below her were pine forests, rich with life. Even from the air she could smell the rich tangy pines and the musk of animals. It smelled like life. Far ahead was the black ridge. Dragons preferred not to fly that far, for beyond the ridgeline, the elevation continued to increase and the cold became unbearable. Dragons preferred to fly in the warm coastal air, where they could soar for many miles without tiring and never worry about frostbite on their wingtips. There were many prey items farther to the east, beyond the black ridge, but being royalty, Skye had never had to fight for food; she never knew hunger, just like she never knew adventure. Still feeling good, Skye looked from left to right, examining the smooth surface of her long wings. She decided to keep flying. Like the rest of her, Skye’s wings were pure white, and silky smooth.
She was quite a prize, or so she had been told many times. A white wyvern, and a princess no less. She snorted, blowing a puff of dark gray smoke from her nose. She would rather freeze to death out here than become some pet for one of those assholes back home to stick their prick into. And the worst part was, it was expected of her. She was a princess. She had duties to perform, bridges to mend between clans, treaties to make and a country to govern. Oh yeah, and also to let some guy she hardly knew pump her full of royal babies.
Ridiculous. Her brother didn’t have to go through this shit. He got to lead an army. Prince Darion, her father’s great pride, and the future of the Lexian kingdom. Darion flew around killing things, eating them, and fucking whoever he liked. And the worst part… that was expected of him! It was a damned rip-off, and all because she was born with boobs and baby making parts instead of a great horny cock between her legs.
Bullshit, just bullshit. Skye was nineteen years old, she was fully changed, she should be able to do as she pleased. The black ridge passed beneath her. She felt a little wary, like maybe she would be in trouble for venturing out this far. But then she snorted the thought away, flattened her snout, and soared forward. It was a glorious thing, this rebellious spirit, and it was a glorious day.
Skye was distracted, so she didn’t sense the danger. She didn’t expect the scent of human, and she never heard the whistle of the arrow as it arced through the air. But she felt it, oh gods did she feel it. The projectile struck her left wing just below the elbow and pierced the elastic ventral fibers stretching over the membranous appendage before blowing straight through her ulna. The bone shattered as the metal tip crashed into it, cutting through tendons and shredding muscle tissue. Pain erupted within her and Skye cried out, loosing a tormented jet of flame. At the same time her wing fell limp, the elbow no longer able to hold its shape. Then she fell. The day had started with freedom and escape, but now she was plummeting toward the earth, and from this height, there was no way she would survive.
Chapter Four
Jenisia held the bowstring back, pulled long and taut against her cheek. Down the shaft of the arrow she tracked the white beast. The arrowhead was a design of her own making. Most hunters used a triangle-shaped tip made of sharpened steel, but Jenisia had taken the design one step further, adding a second blade that was beaten into a thin, acute triangle perpendicular to the existing tip. The extra blade ensured a faster bleed-out on her quarry, which meant less tracking for her and less suffering for the animal.
The white dragon was high as it flew beyond the Y-shaped tip of her arrow. It was an impossible shot, too far, and she didn’t even know what the wind might be doing up there. She breathed slowly again, letting her body enter a very slow, relaxed state. She only had three arrows, to waste one would be almost criminal. Still, the beast had crossed the black ridge and it was heading toward the next ridgeline, her ridgeline, and that was the edge of her village for the gods’ sake. If it discovered the village…
Thoughts of her family being burned and eaten alive leapt into her head. I left the lantern on. Her eyes narrowed and she made her decision. Wind ruffled the back of her hair from east to west. The dragon was flying out of the west. She aimed high, leading the great beast by three seconds. Then she loosed the arrow.
A Plague of Dragons (A Dragon Anthology) Page 32