Hello, everyone. I haven't written in quite some time, but here I am again. This is an Inheritance Cycle FanFiction, written in MODERN DAY 2015. Here's a very brief background (don't want to spoil any of the plot!):
It's 2015. The Dragon Riders are in service to the US Government, but are largely controversial to the population, and as a result, our protagonists Ruth and Saphron live a relatively isolated life. Dragon Riders are still endowed with magic, but most (including Ruth) know very little in terms of spellcasting. It has been discovered that gunpowder and firearms do not function in proximity to dragons/magic.
Enjoy.
Chapter 1
An ember soared from the center of my campfire, a little meteor cutting through the darkness blanketing my campsite, landing in the dirt beside my boot. I rested my chin on my knees and watched the color of the ember change, flickering in its dying moments, transitioning from the bright orange, to the simmering auburn, and then to the dull red death, extinguished with the invitation of a light breeze.
My eyes remained glued to the spot of the dead ember, glazed and tired. The prickling touch of hunger prodded my insides, which I ignored for the second time today. I wanted so badly to let the anger bubble up inside me, to reach a rolling boil and lend me the energy to smash my fist into one of the trees lining the clearing, or maybe to throw some rocks as far as I could, or hell, make the kill I'd failed to get so I could silence the grumbles from my gut. But exhaustion wore the crown tonight.
Heavy paws approached from my left side. My hair fell across my left face, obscuring my view, but I was very much conscious of my visitor. Something dripped down onto the dirt, pattering quietly beside me, and then the giant white head was eye-level with me. A single deer's leg hung from Saphron's jaws, dripping still-warm crimson droplets onto the soil beside me. An offering.
"No," I murmured quietly into my knees. No, it was not my kill. When he persisted, allowing the lone hoof to brush my shoulder, I raised my chin and glared at him, waving him off. "I said I'm good."
Hunger tonight makes tomorrow's hunt more trying, he replied sensibly, but not forcefully. He withdrew, laying the leg down a few paces away from me, and then settled his large white form onto the earth, curling his tail neatly over his front paws. I returned my chin to my knees and used a long stick to prod the fire for more warmth as he commenced his evening ritual of cleaning his talons and the spikes that lined his tail and back. His barbed tongue, when drawn across them, produced what resembled the sound of sandpaper against steel. I had been long used to it.
After several minutes of only the crackling of the fire and Saphron's scraping, I decided to retire into my small tent, constructed rudimentarily from a tarp slung over a few well-placed, sturdy sticks. I felt Saphron's blue eyes penetrate the layers of clothing on my back, straight inside me, but I ignored him as best I could. I untied the one triangle of tarp I'd fastened to leave an opening, and closed myself inside the little sleeping space I'd fashioned out of a wool blanket and two fox pelts I'd acquired during the previous year's hunts. I flopped down on my back and rubbed my face with my hands, the last of my frustrations giving over to my exhaustion.
Sorry, I grumbled to Saphron, almost grudgingly. I didn't have anything else to say, but I let him steep in my emotions for a few moments, just to convey to him that he was not the object of my frustrations. He hummed lowly in response. It was all I needed to close my eyes and fall asleep.
When dawn came, I collapsed my campsite quickly, scattering the remains of my fire and tent before climbing into Saphron's saddle. His white scales glistened in the warm morning sunshine, completely clean, and he fidgeted as I crammed my blanket and pelts into the saddle bags. Once my belongings and my feet were secure, he moved to the center of the clearing, stretched his membranous wings as wide as they would go, and leapt skyward.
Even five years of traveling on dragonback had not completely adjusted my gut to the force with which Saphron propelled himself into the air. I inhaled the cool air deep into my lungs, my chest expanding, and observed the countryside as I released. Golden hills rolled as far as I could see in all directions, the small valleys in between occasionally dotted with patches of green willows and other shrubbery. Slowly, Saphron began to orient himself, continuing to gain altitude very slowly until we leveled out at what I presumed to be a few thousand feet. I murmured a sentence under my breath, and then the wind battering my face ceased as the magic took effect.
I didn't have to tell Saphron where to go, and I didn't want to, either. His natural instinct for the hunt superseded my whims. After maybe an hour of flight, we descended, no longer in the rolling golden foothills of the Sierra Nevadas. No, here was much drier, much more arid. Short, dry shrubbery covered the rockier, stout, coastal mountains. He glided over the short, dead trees for another mile, until he found a suitable patch of open space to land upon. Once he settled into a low crouch, I retrieved my take-down bow and arrows from the largest saddle bag and dismounted.
I assembled my bow with practiced hands. Once the limbs were properly fixed to the riser, I strung it and secured my quiver in its place between my shoulder blades. Habit had me re-lace my boots and tighten my braided hair so it hung straight down my back, rather than over a shoulder. Better to avoid getting my hair torn out by the bowstring. Saphron watched me, albeit discreetly, from the clear patch, still sunken into his crouch. I didn't return his gaze, still surly from the previous evening.
As I half-waved a goodbye to the great white dragon, turning my back to him and marching into the tree line, I heard his distinct rumble, and the shifting of his massive frame, his leathery wings folding close to his sides. Ruth, came his voice, straight into my skull. I kept walking. I didn't need another lecture, another lesson.
Ruth.
Still walked.
His rumble morphed into a growl that vibrated the air, and this time, I stopped, and heaved my shoulders in a great sigh before I faced him. "What, Saphron?"
Saphron's angular head loomed over me from his craned neck, teeth partly bared. His hot breath ruffled the wisps of my hair not contained by the braid. Your knife and gun. Ruth, your frustration is forgivable. Your negligence is another story.
I glared at him, but was silent as I partially mounted his saddle and retrieved the two items from the saddle bag. I slid down onto the dirt, checked that the magazine in my tiny Beretta was full, and shoved both items into the storage pocket on my quiver, before turning tail and leaving my companion to stare at me yet again with those piercing blue eyes.
I popped a blueberry into my mouth. Its juices were the perfect complexion; a hint of lemon-tart, followed by an inundation of cool sweetness. Perfectly ripe.
I'd found a tiny patch of bushes during a brief water break on my hunt. They grew beside what was perhaps the only stream of clear, clean water for miles. There were no signs of human presence near the water—no trash, no empty bottles, no wads of decaying paper or cloth that normally marked an intrusion by man. This was one of the many advantages of being a Rider; a dragon could take you places that few or none have even been.
The berries quieted the ache in my midsection. It was the first sustenance I'd taken in close to three days. I sat there for a few more minutes, eating an entire handful, and once I felt reasonably full, I pulled out a cloth from my quiver and filled it with more berries. Just in case today's hunt resembled yesterday's.
I kept moving. I'd already covered a solid five miles, and over the next four hours I covered at least another ten. Ground squirrels and rabbits continued to evade my arrows. Once or twice I reached out to Saphron with my mind, but the dragon was too far away. Part of me enjoyed the solitude, part of me stirred in quiet anxiety.
Then, as I halted at the edge of a large meadow, I saw it. A wild hog, grazing quietly in the center of the clearing. The huntress within me stirred to life, and I settled into a low crouch, observing the animal silently. It was a large hog, a boar, his tusks of medium length and obviously worn. He weighed probably close to two hundred pounds. This kill could feed Saphron and myself for tonight. Patience.
I watched the boar for close to an hour. He finished grazing and laid down in the sunshine, and was eventually joined by two, much smaller females. The male laid his head onto the grass, and I decided it was my chance.
I carefully, quietly, nocked the arrow, laying it delicately onto the rest. Slowly, as to avoid producing any noise, I drew the bowstring back, back, back until the heel of my hand locked behind my jawbone. I aimed. And as I exhaled and released, a sound rang out, so close and so loud, that my arrow completely missed, and I flattened myself onto the ground. The hogs squealed, and I heard them crashing away into the trees and shrubbery, even through the ringing in my ears.
Gunshot. I processed the information as I kept my body pressed down low onto the ground. Then I heard the voices, a dozen yards to my left.
"Got 'im. Perfect shot, right behind the ears. Whatcha think he packs, huh? One-fifty?"
"Nah, I'm thinkin' more like two hundred. Fuckin' nice."
I slowly, so slowly, raised my head from the dirt and locked my eyes on the pair of hunters. I hadn't even heard them approach. They were well-camouflaged, one carried a shotgun and the other a rifle. The one with the shotgun dug into his pocket and pulled out an iPhone. "Get with 'im, Richard. The boys wanna see this shit."
The man named Richard walked over to his kill and knelt down beside it as the shotgun man took the picture. It was time for me to leave. Then:
"Ian, take a look at that."
Richard pointed to the tree opposite of my end of the clearing. My eyes followed his finger, and my stomach contracted in fear as I recognized the red fletching of my arrow, sticking out of the trunk. "A damn Indian out here?" The other man, Ian, stopped to inspect it.
"Hell, this thing coulda been stuck there for Lord knows how long. Ain't no Indians out here anymore."
"But look at it! Thing looks like it ain't been there five minutes!"
I didn't stick around to hear them argue, and discover me. I slowly backed out of my hiding place, still on all fours and low to the ground, my bow strung across my back. The ringing in my ears had all but faded. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, and for a moment, I feared that the hunters could hear it too. They had fallen silent. I froze. They were looking in my direction.
"Woulda come from thatta way," one of them pointed out. This was it. I took a shaky breath, and as silently as I could manage, I reached behind my back and delicately removed the Beretta from the pocket of the quiver. There was no safety to disengage.
I have never killed a human being before. Never needed to. In the city, there are too many people, too many witnesses, so none of the truthers—or the pacifists, or the anarchists, or whatever the hell you want to call them—none of them try anything. So I've never killed. Never been attacked, never been assaulted, like the other Riders in other areas. Out here, where it's rural, this was where those people flocked when they had something to prove, some statement to make. Out here was where people became most dangerous for myself and for Saphron.
Not all people, of course. For all I knew, these men could really just be hunters.
But if they weren't, then I was dead. That meant Saphron was dead. I couldn't have that. I'd prefer innocent blood on my hands.
Innocent blood, I thought. And I stood up, pointed, pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
Pulled again. Nothing. Two misfires? Richard and Ian had jumped back, shocked by my appearance, but upon noticing my gun, drew their own. And we stood there, all three of us, weapons pointed at each other, nobody breathing or moving.
Ruth! Saphron's voice exploded in my mind, causing me to jump. Both men pulled their triggers at my sudden movement, but both their weapons clicked and failed to discharge. Failed to kill me. The dragon's roar deafened both myself and the hunters as he swooped over the clearing, flared his wings, and dropped heavily to the ground, placing his massive body between myself and the hunters. He crouched low, snarling, all of his white daggers bared to the two men who I could no longer see. Thoughtlessly, I jammed my pistol back into the quiver and dashed to Saphron's side, leaping into the saddle. He launched himself skyward before I could even secure my feet through the stirrups; all I could do was dig my nails into the edge of the saddle and cling for my life.
Are you injured? Saphron demanded, not slowing his wild ascent until we passed through a thin layer of clouds. My hands trembled as I leaned over the side of the saddle and fastened my feet in the stirrups. I couldn't organize my thoughts, my adrenaline pumping too fast.
I gasped as Saphron drove his consciousness into mine without warning. I prepared to berate him for the intrusion, but he withdrew just as quickly, and I realized he had only done so to ascertain my physical state. I'm okay, I managed to get out to him. Let's go home.
He grunted in affirmation. I just sat there in the saddle, the pang in my gut returning, but this time, hunger was not the culprit. Those hunters would surely talk about what had transpired. It might even make the news. Not that it mattered much to me what the public opinion was about Saphron and myself, but it would mean that we would have to move. Again.
The last time we were forced to move was actually not our fault. The federal government, in an attempt to reconcile the Riders with the public, had requested that all Riders west of the Rockies convene in San Francisco for a public conference. Normally I declined appearance requests like these—for both privacy and safety reasons—but the promise of interacting with other Riders had me interested, and Saphron seldom interacted with other dragons. So we went.
It had been chaotic. We had been some of the last to arrive, and stayed in Levi's stadium. Riots had broken out in the parking lot when a group of pacifists had begun shouting derogatory things into the crowd, degrading the Riders and declaring that we were the government's "secret police force" to spy on the citizens. There were only nine Riders there, and we decided to leave before the conference even commenced. A group of the truthers managed to follow us all the way back to our first home, and while Saphron and I had been hunting, they torched it down. It was then that I realized how dangerous publicity could be.
We made it home by sun-high. Home was really just a small cabin in a small valley, dozens of miles away from any roads, towns, houses, and most importantly, other people. Saphron glided in lazy circles, descending gently and landing a hundred feet from the house. I dismounted, and we both walked to the shed I'd built to the left of the cabin, to store my hunting gear and Saphron's saddle.
Removing a dragon's saddle is no easy task. For one, the saddle is three inches thick, making it extremely heavy, because dragon scales are harder than most types of stone and would wear through normal leather very quickly. They also have an almost superfluous quantity of straps, which is unsurprising, considering that dragons fly and perform a whole variety of aerial acrobatics that require excessive restraints for the Rider, and for the saddle itself. So really, all I did was undo all the necessary straps, and Saphron picked the thing up in his jaws and placed it inside the shed. The saddle weighed about one hundred pounds; light for a dragon, but not for an adult female of my stature.
I turned and took the few steps up onto the porch, but stopped with my hand on the knob. Regret simmered inside me, for the way I'd treated Saphron over the course of the week. I faced about, and sure enough, his angular head hung eye-level with me. I laid my palm between his nostrils and gently rubbed up and down his long, scaly snout, my brown eyes locked into his blue. He hummed quietly. I allowed my emotions to roll through our bond, just for a few moments, allowing them to convey what my words couldn't. Sorry. Thank you. I will do better next time. I love you. All the things that I couldn't bring myself to verbalize in this moment. He exhaled his hot breath on me, I smiled, then turned and walked inside.
Not before I noticed the white envelope laying at the foot of the door.
Let me know what you think. There aren't many modern day references in this chapter, but the story will eventually shift into a more obviously 2015 setting.