Fire Rider

by T M Miller

  Sanra gasped. ‘Brill!’

  ‘Shut up, Brill,’ Liam growled at him.

  ‘Just saying,’ Brill sneered.

  ‘Well, don’t,’ Liam said.

  Jaron stared at the older boy as cold anger flared in his chest. He had got used to Brill’s jibes – but this was going too far. Carefully, he climbed down the set of small steps he used to reach Caliber’s back for grooming.

  ‘Hey… Jaron?’ Liam’s uncertain voice called through the bars.

  Jaron didn’t answer as he limped across the yard. He stopped directly in front of Brill and glared up at the tall, lean youth. Brill’s blue eyes widened in surprise for a moment before his mouth screwed up into a leer. He snorted with laughter. ‘Thinking of taking me on, Scarface?’

  Without giving himself time to think, Jaron swung his arm, putting all the force he could muster into his punch. His knuckles slammed into Brill’s jaw with a satisfying crack and Brill’s head snapped back. Ow. Shaking his hand out and grimacing in pain, Jaron was just in time to see Brill straighten up, his mouth twisted with rage. He came at Jaron so quick he had no time to jump aside. Brill’s weight cannoned into his chest and knocked him flat to the ground. Next moment Brill was straddling Jaron with his knees. Jaron struggled, hitting out and with legs kicking, but Brill was sat on his stomach, looking down at him with mad triumph in his eyes and blood on his chin. Behind him, someone shouted something but Jaron took no notice, only just managing to block the first hit to his face with his arm. The next punch landed on his side, making him grunt with pain. Another hit him on his other side, where his scars were, and he groaned aloud.

  Just as a loud grating snarl ripped the air, coming from behind.

  Brill looked up, and his clenched fist froze level with his shoulder while his face blanched in stark terror. A long, low menacing growl sounded next. Oh no. Jaron squirmed out from underneath Brill and flipped over onto his stomach despite his sore body.

  Caliber stood in the cage doorway, the broken chain dangling from his metal-banded leather headcollar and with rounded ears folded flat back. As Jaron stared, the kelpra lowered his body into a predatory crouch, his amber eyes still staring intently at Brill’s face with dark intent. His thick tail lashed back and forth, the tuft on the end raised and quivering.

  Jaron swallowed. Calm, keep calm. ‘Caliber,’ he called quietly. ‘I’m alright, boy.’

  Caliber flicked his gaze down to where Jaron lay on the floor, then back up to Brill. His upper lip lifted, revealing more of his gleaming fangs. At Jaron’s eye level, long black claws, curved and deadly, slid out from their sheaths in the neatly rounded paws.

  Jaron levered himself slowly to his knees, his eyes never leaving the kelpra. Behind him, he heard Brill whimper. Trying not to grimace from pain, Jaron carefully got his feet underneath him. ‘I’m alright, Cal, see?’ He slowly straightened up, only dimly aware of the others, who had taken refuge inside the next cage with the barred door slid firmly shut. Jaron licked his dry lips and whistled the lilting tune he sometimes used on the kelpra to calm him. Pricking his ears up at the sound, the hard light in Caliber’s eyes faded just a little as he looked at his rider.

  ‘That’s a boy,’ Jaron dared to take a step forward. Carefully, he reached for the dangling chain to grasp it. Whistling the tune again, he brought his hand up slowly and rubbed the blue blaze shaped like a question mark in the centre of the wide forehead. The kelpra blinked then huffed at him, and Jaron smiled.

  ‘Alright, let’s just back up now…’ He stepped to one side to put a hand on Caliber’s shoulder.

  He heard a scraping sound behind him as Brill chose that moment to get to his feet. With a snarl, Caliber suddenly lunged forward.

  ‘No!’ Jaron cried, yanking hard on the chain, his voice lost in Brill’s short scream of terror, a piercing sound in the metal-floored cage. Strangely enough, it saved him. Caliber’s ears flattened for protection as the beast stopped short, crouched on his haunches.

  Jaron quickly stepped between them. ‘Cal! Leave him!’ His voice came from somewhere deep in his chest and had a timbre like it wasn’t his own. To his astonishment the air between boy and beast seemed almost to shimmer for a brief moment. With all his focus on Caliber, Jaron mentally dismissed it and dared to meet the kelpra’s stare in challenge as he looked down at his rider, eyes wide. He knew it was a risk to look the beast directly in the eye but Jaron could only go with his instinct and it had never failed him before. After a tense moment, Caliber lowered his head and his whiskers tickled Jaron’s hand. ‘Good boy,’ Jaron murmured, relieved. ‘Back now.’ He pushed at the kelpra’s shoulder for emphasis and was grateful Caliber obeyed him and started to retreat from the cage doorway.

  Once in the more open space of the yard and talking softly all the while, Jaron turned the kelpra and led him back to his cage, his hand clasping the chain directly under Caliber’s chin. He took care to keep the beast’s head slightly ahead of him. Once inside, and noting the claws were now pulled in, Jaron gave him another pat. ‘There’s a lad.’ Still facing the kelpra he bent carefully to pick up the fallen steps, unclipped Caliber and slowly backed out, sliding the barred door shut between them.

  He let out a breath and turned to see the others all stood staring at him in a line.

  ‘That was… amazing,’ Tucker said in awe.

  ‘Are you hurt, Jaron?’ Sanra asked.

  ‘Is he hurt?’ Brill muttered. He was standing half bent over as he tried to control his trembling body. When he lifted his face, it was to reveal it drained of all colour, the blood from Jaron’s hit a bright red smear on his chin. ‘He started it,’ Brill pointed a shaking finger at Jaron, his voice unnaturally high, ‘and I was almost killed because he forgot to close his mad beast’s door!’ His black hair was stuck full of straw.

  ‘Cal snapped his chain.’ Liam’s voice was hard. ‘Because of what you were doing to his rider. You’re lucky Sprague wasn’t here, he would have banned you from the yard for fighting. If you do anything like that again…’ Liam stepped closer and gave him a hard stare, ‘I’ll punch you myself and it will hurt. Very badly.’ It was not an idle threat; Liam was shorter than Brill but much more muscular.

  ‘Idiot,’ Sanra added in disgust. Jaron leaned against the door for a moment as his legs started trembling; a delayed reaction as the adrenalin left his body. Sanra wasn’t done yet. ‘What did you expect?’ she said to Brill. ‘We all heard the talk about how bad that attack was, Jaron’s people died – are you so stupid you can’t think before you open that big fat mouth of yours?’

  Jaron glanced over at her in surprise, then caught the sudden look of shame in the Brill’s face just before the lips curled up into the usual sneer. It was enough. Seeing Caliber was calmly rubbing his nose on his knee, Jaron turned and limped unsteadily up the yard. As he passed Tucker he said, ‘Put some meat through the bars for Caliber, would you?’

  Staring at him, the boy dumbly nodded.

  ‘Jaron?’

  He didn’t stop at Liam’s call. He left, the weight of their stares at his back.

  3

  Jaron sat in the stronghold’s massive kitchen, set in the bowels of the palace. His mother stood across from her son, kneading a large lump of dough at the table with her strong hands.

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ she said. ‘You’re the lead rider now, so of course Lord Bell wants to show you off at the festival dinner.’

  ‘Show me off?’ Jaron waved a hand vaguely at himself. ‘Give the other riders more confidence, you mean.’

  His mother stopped her kneading and gave him one of her looks. ‘Stop talking yourself down, Jaron. You know it’s tradition, the lead riders of the Great Wake go along with the trainers.’ Something caught her eye over Jaron’s head. ‘More salt than that, Leena,’ she called. ‘Really rub it into the skin.’

  ‘Yes, Mistress Rella,’ said a girl’s voice from behind him.

  ‘And I hope you’re being careful, handling those beasts,’
his mother muttered. She had always worried about him working with the kelpra and had even gone to visit the yard to see for herself, to her son’s acute embarrassment.

  ‘You know I am.’ Jaron thought it best not to mention the fight and Brill nearly being attacked four days before. Brill hadn’t spoken to him since, and that suited Jaron just fine. Brill had never forgiven him for winning the star ride on Caliber, who had arrived in the yard unsettled and suspicious of them all. To everyone’s surprise, it was Jaron, the quiet new boy, who had won the kelpra over. For Jaron’s part, he had always been able to calm the feistiest of colts when breaking horses with Teel, who had always said he had an extraordinary way with animals. Helping his stepfather to train difficult horses had led to Sprague taking Jaron on when all the horse stables in the city had taken one look at this pale, lame boy and turned him away. That, and the scarcity of finding those willing to work with the kelpra.

  Becoming Caliber’s rider had led Brill to point out to Sprague (more than once), that Jaron would lessen their chances with his weaknesses. Yet in doing so he did Jaron an unintended favour. Determined to prove Brill wrong, Jaron had gritted his teeth and thrown himself into training. It had hurt, but inch by sore inch over the months Jaron had moved the stirrup leathers up to the next hole, gritting his teeth against the pain of the thickened scar tissue on his left hip. That little bit of extra speed meant everything in a race. Now, he could finally ride like a proper race rider – and fall like one. You didn’t want to do that, not in the Great Wake Trophy, not with all those strange kelpra entered from the other Coreland cities coming up behind ready to snap you–

  Abruptly stopping his thoughts, Jaron watched the kitchen workers, some walking past laden with pans, others bent over the work tops. Huge ovens sat against the far wall next to a fireplace so big it housed a whole skewered pig that roasted slowly on a spit. The palace kitchens were set below ground level to help keep them cooler, but it was uncomfortably hot now. Despite the heat, it was a great bustle with his mother at the centre of it all and not missing a thing.

  Her cooking skills and strong will had soon brought her to the attention of the palace chief. Now, the kitchen was very much her domain. For Jaron’s part, he was only glad he no longer worked here scrubbing pans.

  He ran his fingernail along a split in the aged wood of the table. ‘This dinner tonight…’

  ‘Again?’ His mother sounded exasperated. Tendrils of hair had escaped her bun and were stuck to her forehead in the heat. Jaron had inherited his mother’s thick dark hair and small build, but whereas her eyes were a rich hazel; his eyes were an unusual silver-blue.

  Jaron cast a cautious look at the other cooks working at the long bench where he sat and lowered his voice. ‘They’ll see me… they’ll see this.’ He lightly touched his left cheek.

  Rella banged the dough down onto the table so hard her son jumped along with most of the staff. She stalked around to where he sat and he flinched as she grabbed his arm. Pulling him off the chair she led him out of the kitchens. As they left, he could feel the eyes of the staff burning a hole in his back. His mother yanked open a door and stopped when they stood in the small area at the bottom of the stone steps leading up to the courtyard. She pulled her son round to face her.

  ‘I won’t have you do this to yourself. Never, ever feel you are anything less than them.’ Her voice was low but Jaron caught the determination in it.

  ‘Sorry,’ he muttered.

  ‘For what exactly?’ she asked in an even voice. ‘For acting like a prize gooseberry for not believing a word I say, no matter how many times I say it? Your face isn’t all about your scar, Jaron, and you are not all about your burns.’ Jaron lowered his head. He wished now his mother would drop the subject. ‘You think I would lie to you? About this?’ her voice hissed. Dough-encrusted fingers caught his chin and tilted it up so he was forced to look at her again. Her hazel eyes were glinting with anger. ‘Be proud, Jaron. You’ve earned the right to be there tonight – more than those merely born into privilege.’

  He tried to nod but it was difficult with his chin trapped. Her eyes searched his before she released him and folded her arms. ‘There’s something else troubling you, isn’t there?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he mumbled, picking bits of dough off his chin.

  ‘You hurting? I’ve got some Limpan jelly in the kitchen. I could take a look at your burns if you are.’

  ‘Mum, I said I’m fine.’

  She cocked her head, studying him. ‘It’s the Raken being here, isn’t it?’

  Jaron grimaced. ‘And what came with them,’ he admitted. ‘Doesn’t it bother you? After – after what that firedrake did?’

  ‘It was a rogue, Jaron, a wild firedrake.’ Her voice was gentle now. Reaching out, her hand gripped his and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘I still think I saw the shadow of something, or someone, on its back.’

  She dropped his hand and folded her arms across her chest. ‘It was night,’ she replied, suddenly sounding tired. ‘You told the captain of Tiara’s Guard its underside looked blue in the light of the fires – the wild firedrake are all blue. And there was no girth strap for a saddle, the captain asked you that.’

  ‘I… might have been mistaken,’ Jaron muttered defensively, ‘about the girth strap.’ He swallowed. ‘It flew over so fast.’

  ‘You have to let it go, son, for your own sake.’

  Jaron set his jaw and looked down at his feet. It was true that he couldn’t be sure. The beast had only made two overhead passes that moonless night; all it had needed to raze Harnt to the ground. The wild blue firedrake were still about, although not many were left, and the Raken firedrake were all green or red. There was no one else to ask: Jaron had been the only survivor – thanks to Teel thrusting him under the porch of their little cottage. Jaron’s mother had been away from the village that night on her monthly market run and he would be forever grateful for that. But with the Rakens’ coming it had all painfully resurfaced in his mind.

  ‘I just don’t think those beasts can be protectors,’ he said at last, still unwilling to drop it.

  His mother didn’t reply; when he looked up it was to see her face was drawn and tired. They hadn’t spoken much of that terrible night since, not once Jaron was able to give a report to the captain. After Jaron’s long recovery, both mother and son had tried to move on with their lives and carve out a new life in the city. Keep going forward. It was all they could do.

  ‘The Raken won’t allow their firedrake to kill.’ When his mother spoke again it was slowly, as though she were trying to etch the words into his mind. ‘I understand how hard it is for you but the Raken protect the lands, Jaron. They are trusted.’ She laid a hot hand on his cheek, the one unmarked. ‘Such a thing had never happened before. The Raken would have hunted down that firedrake and killed it. The captain came and told me the leaders of the Corelands had demanded nothing less after Harnt being attacked.’

  ‘Then I hope it suffered before it died,’ Jaron growled.

  ‘If only you could really know their firedrake,’ she whispered, holding his gaze. ‘The link they have with their riders, so much more than what you have now – you would see what they can be. And their coming here might just be that chance.’

  He looked away, ‘I’m sorry, Mum, but I can’t help how I feel.’

  ‘Jaron,’ he heard her voice catch as her hand slipped from his face. ‘You know they were my people.’

  How he wished it were otherwise: his mother was of Raken blood. After her own mother had died, Rella had left the Raken to go and live with her aunt. He first learnt this from his grand aunt, clutching her hand while they stared up at the huge fearsome beasts flying over; a rare sight to behold in their isolated hamlet. ‘And with you still a babe in her belly, Jaron,’ she had croaked down at him, and shaken her head. Not long after that, his mother had packed their belongings and moved them on, leaving her aunt behind. They settled in Harnt. As the years went by and he grew more i
nto his childhood his mother would talk to him about the Raken and the firedrake when he badgered her, but she never mentioned why he didn’t have a father like the other village children and he never quite got around to asking. Then big, bear-hugging, joking Teel arrived in their lives. Soon they became a family and the need to ask simply faded away for Jaron.

  Now, looking back up at his mother, he caught the sudden guarded look in her hazel eyes but he still couldn’t voice the question he sensed hung between them now; not yet anyway, not with how he now felt about the Raken and Teel’s death still so raw. ‘Teel was a father to me,’ he muttered at last.

  His mother moved closer to him and for just a moment Jaron turned away from her. ‘I miss Teel too you know, he was a good man, the best. Jaron,’ her voice whispered, pleading now. ‘Please try, for your own sake.’

  He gave it up and folded into her arms. It was stupid to allow the Raken and their beasts to come between them, he reasoned – that murdering firedrake had done more than enough damage already. When they parted he gave his mother a weak smile then turned and began to slowly climb the steps to the courtyard above.

  Her voice wafted up after him. ‘Come and see me tomorrow, I want to check you over.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Jaron said over his shoulder. The last thing he wanted was for his mother to see the bruises he still had from Brill’s battering. He carried on up the steps, head down. Behind him, he heard the door close as he stepped into the kitchen courtyard.

  A strangled gasp escaped his throat.

  The red firedrake, crouched on the cobbled stones, heard it and swung its head round to find the source as it half-opened its wings. Jaron staggered back with a low cry, only just missing falling backwards down the steps again.