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This is the dedication from Onyx Storm (new book from Rebecca Yarros)
To the ones who don’t run with the popular crowd,
the ones who get caught reading under their desks,
the ones who feel like they never get invited, included, or represented.
Get your leathers. We have dragons to ride.
400 words or less on if, and how, you or your MC would answer the call.
Dilemma
So, last night’s message warning that the Wimps were planning some sort of revolt had been genuine, despite the unlikelihood. As Jack had said, delivering it, something must’ve fired them into action, provided them with a Warrior script instead of the Wimp one their biology merited.
Frey’s eyes sharpened on noting my arrival (We’d a history which, as anticipated, she preferred to deny) as I made impersonal her twitch of revulsion, the power of which was sufficient to ricochet from shoulder to shoulder of every Wimp in the room, its path made audible by tiny shrieks as though the room had become infested with air-borne white mice. Watching, listening to Frey’s delivery, I reckoned she’d received more than the script Jack mentioned, because her voice had gained a gritty strength, her eyes the flame of conflict. She spoke of their decision – their need, insistence, even to shed subservience, in order – heaven forbid – to match our strengths. No major worry there, but on hearing her mention dragons – and having banished from my mind an image of the several dozen women in the room cavorting ,in skin-tight leather, I had to pity her ignorance. She’d clearly not caught so much as a whisper of our enhanced dragon breeding programme; had not a clue about our success in doubling both size and strength of hatchlings – to an extent where we were having to train, to build muscles and develop new techniques for their harnessing, their handling and control. No-one in this room would be capable of doing more than provide them with a a light supper.
Question was, do I warn them? Would they listen? Believe even? Knowing that to allow them to head to the hatchery would not only risk their lives, but would also betray the secrets of my fellow fighters. (300 words)
Although this started out as a response to the monthly competition and is probably moving at a much slower pace that the challenge might have intended, it has blossomed into an opening for something larger. I’ve written a lot more than 400 words and tinkered with a plot line and title too.
The old man stared into the flames. ‘There weren’t always dragons in the valley’, he said, waving away a wisp of firedrake smoke, ‘I was here when the sky darkened and they first came, like thunder, roaring over the mountains.’
Flames rose and fell, casting flickering shadows against the cave wall, as he poked the fire with a charred stick. The small drake on his shoulder shifted, puffing more thin smoke into the air, ‘You aren’t that old Kall. No one can be that old. There have been Drakes and Dragons in the valley for time beyond remembering.’
Kall smiled, ‘I was there when you hatched you forgetful little fire-snout and you can count three hundred years.’
The drake curled her tail around his neck, ‘I’ve often wondered about that. Most creatures age and die sooner than firedrakes or dragons, yet you seem the same as the day I first looked up and saw your face. You look like other two-legs, but you’re not the same.’
‘What kind of two-legs am I then, Emerie?’
‘You’re the kind that doesn’t need me to light your fires, if that’s what you mean. You carry the scent of magic on you, I’ve always known that.’
Kall shrugged, ‘Watching for signs of the oracle over the years has made me careless.’
Emerie gave a snort and fire sparked in her nostril, ‘you’re never careless, Kall, you’ve let me see what you wanted me to see.’
The flames guttered as a stray breeze blew in from outside and with it came the sound of sea on stone, sighing on the barren beach below. The air in the cave shimmered with the taste of salt and Kalls expression was unreadable in the flicker of shadows. ‘Perhaps I have,’ he said quietly, ‘but everything has been in preparation for what is coming. The time of the oracle is come. I’ve sent summons to the dragon-clans to meet at the place of burnt rocks.’
The drake gave a scornful huff and flames shot into the dark like small, bright, spears, ‘Kyesir will come, so will, Morseg, Sildree and Teldriss, but Beowmug won’t even acknowledge your invite.’
Kall chuckled quietly, ‘I have a plan, Em. He’ll come because I haven’t invited him. He’ll be so incensed his arrogant curiosity will force him to attend. He won’t want to be left out of this meeting.
We’ll be leaving at dawn-light.’
(400)
A Draconian Call in the Dark
(400 words, excluding title)
“I don’t want anything. That’s how I survive. I will never want anything again.”
I wring my head, trying to force the memories leaking out of me back down my spine. I hate the wet upon my face, the ache in my throat, the hollow in my chest. I hate so many, many things.
“YOU WILL NEVER GET ME AGAIN!!” The venomous accusation in my roar as I glare at the universe above me, alleviates a grand amount of zero of the acrimony festering in my soul. Yes. I bear a grudge against the universe itself. Ambitious, I know.
Each day I awaken, too exhausted to be grateful for it. Each day I don my faux leather combat boots, and fail to win a single war within myself. And one night, I’ll be able to attend a gig and not have a meltdown the moment the music stops, and the crowd disappears, and I’m alone in the car driving home. Not tonight though.
“I’ll never want again.”
I’d spent the night anchored by Alex, swimming in a sea of strange, smiling faces. Each drop belonging to the ocean, and blissfully unaware of the alien spacecraft that had crash landed in their waters. Like that song from Sesame Street – “one of these things is not like the other”; Or like that family photo meme with the housecats and one feral-looking raccoon. I am the raccoon. I am the ghost. I’m a creep. I don’t belong here.
Each day I lose myself in my head, in words and thought and tsunamis of feeling, spinning around the little house of me like a storming tornado of time, while I look out my window hoping for minimal flooding and the roof to stay put.
It’s the days I can’t shake the certainty I’m just waiting to die that leave me saddest.
And even with all that, it’s still there. In the bitch-black darkness beneath my skin – Hope. The thing I hate most of all. Gods know I’d rip it apart with my bare teeth, if only I could find purchase. Calling. Calling. Calling. It just won’t fucking quit. And though I can’t see in the dark, I can hear everything. Every whisper. Word. Wish. Of a dragon I haven’t the mettle to ride.
“You’ll never get me.” A rasping mantra as I drive. When all I really want is to be had.
Katherine is typing…
JohnG91 19:44
Hi Kath. I’ve been thinking about what you said. You know, about being decisive. I’ve made a decision. You’ve bullied me into it.
JohnG91 19:57
Just read that back. The bullied thing was supposed to be a joke. Well light-hearted anyway. You’re not a bully. I know when you talked about people who don’t make decisions you weren’t getting at me, but it did make me think. I mean, I can be indecisive. Sometimes. So yeah, I made some decisions. Two decisions about the same thing. I need to grasp the nettle this time. I tried that once and it really hurt, but you know what I mean. I hope.
JohnG91 20:10
Kath, are you there? I thought I saw that activity message thing. Kath?
JohnG91 20:12
Wow, that last message was a bit needy. Sorry about that. I’m not, you know. Needy that is. Well, except for one thing.
JohnG91 21:00
Did I say I got on the team for that dig in Bolivia? They’ve sorted a visa for me and everything. It’s pretty scary, six months in the jungle and there’s a lot of cartel activity and friction with the locals. But honestly, an untouched Tiwanaku city, predating the Incas. I’m not going though. That’s the nettle I have to grasp. What I need to tell you.
JohnG91 21:15
Kath. I’m just going to say it. The thing I need, it’s you. I love you Kath. I always have.
JohnG91 22:00
Kath, that was a scary thing to admit. Please reply. Please tell me how you feel. Please tell me I haven’t ruined everything. Kath please. I can see you’re typing but you haven’t sent the message.
JohnG91 23:15
Kath, you’d be proud of me. I’ve manned-up as dad says. You’ve seen what I wrote, but it wasn’t fair of me to dump it all on you. It breaks my heart, but I’m going. I’m in Heathrow now and if I really rush I can meet the guys and make the flight to Bolivia. Then, who knows? What will life bring? I may never see you again. Take care. I’ll always love you.
KatherineTrivett 23:50
Hello. I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong Kath. I’m Kath the vicar. If you’re John Gibbon, I gave you my number when you and that nice Kath Taylor helped with the fete. Was it her you wanted?
Before this competition was set I’d been thinking about the opening from The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler, specifically how it builds humour and tension in the first paragraph. I decided to use Chandler’s first two paras as a template for the story comp, possibly a daft and murderous thing to do but a bit of fun.
***
The Blush
It was the second lesson of the morning, mid-January, with the sun not shining and a hard coldness seeping through the clearness of the windows. I was thirteen, wearing my white school blouse and grey school jumper, while under the lip of my desk I held a book, pale light aslant on it. I was eyes down, rapt and tense, and caring that the teacher wouldn’t see it. I was curious, everything a schoolgirl ought to be. I was calling on something rich.
The English mistress at my school was tall and thin. From up there in her mind, which could have let in a library of books, there’d been hints that stories might rescue girls who, tied to convention, didn’t have any choices but only long and inconvenient wishes.
The teacher dipped her hand to my book to be inquisitive, and was sizing up the cover, the private eye in fedora and trench coat, my alternative self, and she didn’t ask me any questions as she walked to her desk and dropped the book in the bin. I sat there, my blush like a bruise heated high enough to bake hard the thought that I would, sooner or later, read more than she – and I might even help her solve her own life. She didn’t seem to be really trying.
221 words
***
If you want to see how terribly I’ve mangled Chandler’s original, here is is
https://gutenbergcanada.ca/ebooks/chandlerr-bigsleep/chandlerr-bigsleep-00-h.html
This is my second attempt – lesson learned in posting too hastily without allowing time to edit (not that this one fared much better). Please feel free to disqualify if this is outside of the rules.
Snuffle and the Tylwith Teg
Brittle scales fell from his body as he staggered to the edge of hanging rock. Laughter rang out all around, but I couldn’t abandon him as they had; as my Tylwith Teg sisters had me: a bald fairy, stumps for wings.
Snuffle’s claws skidded on rock-shards and we plummeted, round and round like a sycamore seed, I clinging fast to his shoulders. ‘Steady, boy,’ I urged as kindly as panic allowed.‘ Come, you can do this!’
Snuffle gazed back, his yellow eyes widening at the uncommon faith in him. Then he narrowed them determinedly. He snorted and pointed his snout skywards. In the next instant, we were soaring, my gasp of dread turning to a whoop of delight.
I grinned back at our doubters as we left: those who had turned from the pedigree red-backs only long enough to laugh at their pale sibling, and at the equally pathetic-looking Tylwith Teg who had shown him some kindness.
‘Suit one another you do,’ one taunted.
‘Have a care, if you take him. You’ve no backup if his wings fail too, isn’t it?’
‘They won’t,’ I cut through their scorn, stroking Snuffle’s trembling neck as I mounted him.
They’ll have written us both off during that dive … until out from the valley we rose, his belches of smoke turning to fierce boughs of flame.
I dared to steer him, around tall stacks, through druid’s arches, skimming hills, his skin pulsing as I praised him, turning it into a vivid red. The pulsing pushed away dull scales; in their place bold ruby ones glistened in the light. And look! His wings were growing! His rattling purr was a song of belief – a song of transformation.
On we flew, ‘til the moon claimed the skies. Snuffle glided to the shores of a lake, where he curled up by the fire he put flame to. I approached the water’s edge, peering down, ready to wash … then leapt back in shock. Had my sisters found me? Come to taunt and shatter our peace?
The Tylwith Teg copied my stare back into the waters; mimed my examination of long, silvered hair in place of brown fuzz; of delicate, unfurling wings. Goodness! – what kind of magic was this?
The magic of belief, perhaps. Whether it be in another, or in the self, it was a power which grew wings.
393 words
I was mooching around the bookstore with my daughter when I read the dedication in Onyx Storm, and it immediately brought to mind my eleven-year-old self – pink, NHS framed glasses, front teeth that I still had to grow into, and a passion for escaping into some book or other, looking for adventure. I posted the dedication as the monthly comp in the hope that it would connect with some of you the way it connected with me.
Be honest now, if someone had said, ‘Get your leathers. We have dragons to ride.’ would you have gone?
@Sandra – I know that fantasy isn’t really your thing, so I was surprised and delighted by your entry. Wimps, Warrior scripts, eyes the flame of conflict, and an enhanced dragon-breeding programme. Ooh, yes, please! Curious to know more about the history between Frey and your MC and where they go from here.
@ Terrie – Excited by this and would love to see more of it! ‘…forgetful little fire-snout…’ sold it to me, along with the setting, solid characterization, and the promise to come. I really hope this develops into something amazing.
@Knicks – your writing is so intense, so full of wonderful expression, I can feel the roar into the void. I am both motivated by it and reminded that I must dig deeper. And what a line to finish with.
@Athelstone – I commend you for taking something as simple as ‘Katherine is typing…’ to the dizzying heights of a call to adventure. In Bolivia, no less. I suspect JohnG91 is going to have a lot more to talk about than grasping nettles when he gets back from the Tiwanaku city.
@Libby – Not daft or murderous at all. I’m keen to try it for myself! Maybe it’s something to put forward for the Den as a whole, (a bit of a challenge while we wait for Ath’s next winter comp, if you see what I mean…) Anyway, I’d never read The Big Sleep so had to check it out. I think you captured the complex simplicity (simple complexity?) beautifully.
@Janette – Your stories always have heart and this is no exception. I didn’t know there was such a thing as a Tylwith Teg, but I do now, and I wonder if there isn’t room for some Snuffle and Tylwith Teg adventures for young readers?Thank you all for entering. Each of you brought something different to the ask and it’s been a tiny bit problematic trying to choose only one of you. In the end, I gave Sandra an extra point for stepping outside her comfort zone and, with more than a little relief, I pass the baton to her.
Wow, Sea, that is a surprise, especially as I felt completely out-classed by every other entry – but challenged too, which was a Good Thing. I’m away from home at the moment but will aim to post March’s compTuesday evening. Thank you all for the several inspirations.
Fabulous! I loved each and every one of these. Sandra, very well done. I’ll remember this as I tuck into my light supper tonight.
Thanks for the prompt Seagreen.
Congratulations, Sandra! I love your story.
Thank you, @Seagreen for the comp. I enjoyed doing my pastiche of The Big Sleep. I find that kind of thing a useful exercise. Recently my own sentence structures and vocabulary have seemed stuck in a rut. Studying someone else’s gives a necessary jolt.
It’s a fun thing to do if other Denizens want to give it a go. Two hundred words was about my limit, Chandler’s style being so individual. But there are loads of books and short stories on https://www.gutenberg.org
They’re out of copyright though as far as I can tell that applies in the US. I don’t know if beyond the US things may be more complicated.
Congratulations @sandradavies!! Well deserved!
I loved each dragons – real, metaphorical, and felt. This was a delicious prompt to sink teeth into. Thanks lotsly, @seagreen 🙂
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