Yes, an update after months of inactivity. I had originally planned to abandon this story as my muse had left me, but it came back after a sight I saw a few days ago inspired me to write more. Where I live its covered in snow, or it used to be before the customary January thaw came in. I woke up one morning to discover the month's old snow outside was being washed away by a rain shower, revealing still-green grass. Then of course, it got me thinking of Wolf's Rain and this story. Don't thank me for this chapter, thank the unpredictable and inspiring weather of New England! Then again, it still took me almost a month to be satisfied with the thing....
Disclaimer: The Inheritance Cycle and Wolf's Rain are not mine. However, much of the character of Calibar is, along with the rest of the original material you do not recognize from the book series or the anime.
"I'm here waiting on the edge
Would I be alright showing myself to you?
It's always been so hard to do..."
- Stray, By Yoko Kanno and Steve Conte
Dras-Leona's sewers were hundreds of years old, some parts of the system never having been touched since their initial construction centuries ago. Of course, the sewer systems in the Inner Rim were brand-new and top-of-the-line, their maintenance and repair costs funded by the money that could have been used to improve the squalid conditions in the lawless Outer Rim. Calibar couldn't complain about the obsolete sewers; they were now the only ones he could squeeze through now. The newer tunnels were too small for his growing body.
Yes, that was how he got around nowadays. Slithering through sewers like a snake and wading through human waste like a rat. What was he supposed to be doing? Flying was useless in a city where you would be gunned down the moment you took off and your body carted off to a lab to be dissected and studied. Walking in the streets, being the conspicuous dragon that he was, would yield similar bloody results. No, the disgusting underworld of this forsaken city was the only place left for him now. The wonderful recollections of the untamed wilds Auntie had told him of were long since wiped out, replaced by barren snow-covered fields that had been killed by the cruel freeze.
Calibar's last few years of life had been reduced to a petty cycle; prowl through the sewers to emerge in isolated dumps to scavenge for all of the rotten meat he could find and then wade back to the abandoned warehouse that served as his home to begin the routine the following morning.
Auntie had been there in the beginning of his life, helping out in whatever way possible. She had discovered Calibar as a young and senseless hatchling, and had reared him almost as a sort of adopted son when she realized he was sentient. Auntie had not been a dragon herself, simply a believer in the tales of the mythical beast she had been told as a child. The old stories had stuck with her, providing her and Calibar the flimsy guidance they had used to help accomplish their goals.
Their most important goal had been getting Calibar into mastering his human transformation, both assuming the unfamiliar shape and holding the magic necessary to support the spell and keep himself from reverting to his original draconic state. Years of effort had left them with little progress, and Auntie had passed away before her pupil had shown any signs of major improvement. After her death, Calibar had ceased in his efforts and had declared the transformation futile.
Even today, his best efforts could only summon up a form as solid as mist. The moment his concentration wavered or something made contact with him, the magic would be broken. Not to mention how such challenging labor left him physically and mentally drained and exhausted for days.
Calibar paused through his usual trek through the sewers, nostrils flaring at an unknown scent. While he had thought his smelling organs had long since shorted out after being delved in the reek of waste for so long, they were still strong enough to make him aware of this new predicament. Unable to place the unfamiliar smell, he snorted in frustration, raising his head to try and get above the stifling fumes.
The scent was of cherries. Not like the fresh fruit from the open-air market stands, but the sweet kind that humans put into shampoos and beauty products. The kind of stuff Auntie used to use to make herself smell nice. Below the cherry perfume was a more familiar scent, one instinct recognized immediately. How could he describe it? Fire and wind? Ash and fresh air untainted by the city's stench?
That was his scent. The tell-tale scent of a fellow dragon.
Growing giddy with excitement, Calibar hurried over to the closest storm-drain, determined to catch just one glimpse of this dragon, even if he or she was just wearing their human disguise. His only recollection of seeing another dragon were faint memories of his dead mother. Just one little look at this new kindred spirit was all he wanted. One little taste to satisfy his insatiable curiosity.
Above, the usual ragged and jaded crowds of the Outer Rim hurried along with their miserable lives. None noticed the emerald-scaled and waste-streaked dragon that peered up at them from the odorous depths below, scanning the passerby with brilliant green eyes in search of the one that had entranced him so.
Then he caught sight of them, the pair where the cherry-dragon-scent was strongest. The oldest was a woman with gray hair and a wrinkled face that somehow managed a jovial expression even in the bleak atmosphere of the slums. Her companion was also female, but decades younger. She could've had been no more than sixteen, by Calibar's reckoning, and absolutely stunning by human standards. The girl was pale-skinned with black hair she had cropped short. But it were her eyes that were most significant. They were intense violet, a shade he had never seen before in any iris. The deep pools drew Calibar in, until he thought he would lose himself in their sad and fathomless depths.
The two women each carried grocery bags, the majority of the burden shifted on the younger one. They were conversing idly with the other, the violet-eyed one somehow managing to shoot icy glares at the lecherous men that ogled at her without losing the mild tone in her voice. Obviously she was used to such behaviour, even if the old woman seemed oblivious to the perversion.
As they passed by, Calibar tilted his head to watch them. His mystery girl must have caught the slight movement out of the corner of her gaze, for the next moment the green dragon found those intense eyes trained right at him.
Immediately, panic and doubt surged up in his mind. What if his presumption of the girl had been incorrect and she was not truly a dragon? Would she scream at the sight of an oversized lizard staring up at her from the sewers? Or would she run off to alert the authorities of the large dragon lurking beneath Dras-Leona? While the politicians didn't care about the rampant crime and chaos, they had particular interest in any 'dragon sighting' that happened along their way. And it would only take a small investigation to discover definitive proof of his presence and capture him for torture in the form of 'research'.
But the girl did not seem frightened by his appearance. For a brief second she was merely startled, but shock soon gave way to exasperation of all things. Glowering at Calibar, she dropped her groceries purposely all over the sidewalk. When the old woman turned to speak to her, she waved off her offers for help with a dismissive hand. She bade her companion, Greta, to continue home without her.
Kneeling down, the black-haired girl began to pick up the dropped grocery items. Sneaking a furtive glance at those ignorant people that passed by, she lowered her head to the drain to confront the green dragon below. "What do you think you are doing?" she hissed so low only his sharp hearing could detect her words. "Do you wish to die of the diseases those filthy sewers carry? Or are you simply too foolish to care?"
While such negative words would have offended or angered any normal person, Calibar was too happy at his discovery to care about her callous response to his presence.
I knew it! he crowed triumphantly. There just had to be other dragons out there in Dras-Leona! I just wasn't looking hard enough for them.
Groaning, the girl pinched her nose impatiently. "Of course there are more of us, dumb-ass," she snapped in that low voice. "There is at least two others here in the Outer Rim, a tempermental male that keeps to himself and his petty human playmates. There was a rather promiscuous female too, but her sorry tail either already skipped town or is pleasuring those wealthy victims up in the Inner Rim. We're just too apathetic to the others to care about them much."
Oh, well then that's great! the green dragon chirped brightly. He had risen his head all the way against the bars that separated him from the surface world, his horns just jutting out from the spaces between them. My name is Calibar. What's your-
"Quiet! Now is not the time for conversation out in the open where whatever gang-banger and conspiracy theorist can hear you. Follow me. There is an alley not too far from here where you can get the proper scolding you deserve. And if you must know, my name is Elva." The girl retrieved the last of the spilled items, stuffing them carelessly into her bags. She then turned and headed toward an alley near the abandoned warehouse Calibar called home.
Intrigued by these new developments and too curious to let this opportunity pass him by, the emerald-green dragon happily followed Elva through the sewers to the spot.
Grouchy and sharp-tongued she may have been, but a dragon was a dragon. Especially a female dragon to a young male just beginning to become acquainted with his hormones.
After the rather typical day of wandering aimlessly about the twisted streets and torturing those amusing feral dog packs, Thorn found himself wandering back to his own territory to check up on his men. The Red Strikers were beginning to question his authority, challenge his power and dare to defy his orders. Such a thing had happened with the Dragon Fangs. He allowed such bad behaviour to continue until they were beyond his control, and he had been forced to dispose of them for his secret's sake. Thorn would never allow another mistake like that to pass by him again. Discipline would be kept and balance in the rankings maintained, even if the Strikers happened to view him as a tyrant for his efforts.
The base of the Red Strikers was a fenced-off compound that contained warehouses. Once it had been the headquarters of a legal storage company that had kept supplies that were being shipped in and out of the Inner Rim and the rest of the Empire. But it had been ages ago when a gang had driven off the company to use their property to manufacture and sell blackmarket drugs to the populace.
That was where Thorn and his Red Strikers had come in, ruthlessly wiping out their rivals and integrating the few survivors into their numbers. Thorn couldn't care less about the previous loyalties or associations of his inferiors. All that mattered to him was that their devotion was forever his and that they obeyed his every order dutifully and swiftly.
Many of the smaller warehouses of the compound were used to store the stash of supplies the Strikers had raided from other gangs and Imperial con-vans. Then the items, like weapons or food, were kept for the Strikers own use. Surplus or unneeded products were pawned off to interested customers wanting to pay less for items illegal or too expensive anywhere.
But the compound was huge, too large for one small operation to fully operate. (Thorn was careful to control the size of his smuggling empire, for too little business would prove usless and too much would attract the unnecessary attention of the federal law that occupied Dras-Leona.) Many of the larger warehouses at the back of the base were derelict, not touched since the days they still contained legally obtained products.
"Thorn, oh thank the gods you're here!"
The man's brow arched, noting how the man that had called his name was none other than Albriech, the petty rebel that had shouted at him the night before. Such was the fickle nature of the humans. They thought themselves to be above all others, capable of doing what no one else could. It was only when they faced something truly frightening or challenging did they become obedient, turning pitifully to the ones they thought strong enough to offer aid.
Curling his lip into a disdainful sneer, Thorn stared down at this human inferior, feeling in pleasure at having this despicable dog completely at his mercy. "What is it this time, Albriech? Have you worked up the nerve to quit the Red Strikers? Or have you mustered up the stupidity you call courage to challenge me for the leadership of my men?"
Shivering in fear, Albriech shook his head. He was actually sweating from his nerves, profusely enough so that Thorn couldn't help but mentally retch at the stench that emanated from him. "I-I would never dream of going against you, T-Thorn. Do you know how successful the raid was? How much goods we captured from the Empire? Well, you know how crammed the usual warehouses are and how many crates we need to store? Well, Baldor and I rallied some of the other men to prepare one of the back-up warehouses and..."
Thorn allowed Albriech to ramble senselessly on for a time, relishing the quiver of unease in his voice. However, his initial amusement quickly soured into impatience when the human's trembling speech failed to yield any true explanation for his sudden fear. Silencing the babbling with an actual growl, Thorn made Albriech look straight into his brown eyes, which had begun to glow red in agitation.
"Does this distraction have a point, Albriech? If not, the dogs that roam the streets at night would be pleased to meet you. Perhaps they'll even chew through the ropes that will be binding you to give you the false of escaping their jaws before they bring you down like prey. Or they'll bite your throat and have their meal incapacitated. Either way is just fine for me."
"Just come with me!" Siezing his leader's sleeve, Albriech yanked him along, sprinting in the direction of the abandoned warehouses. For a while Thorn allowed himself to be tugged along like a dawdling child, but he ripped his arm free as the pair reached their destination.
In front of one of the more intact warehouses was a cluster of Red Strikers, gathered around the door as if a fierce monster lurked within. Some nervously toyed with their guns, muttering to each other about organizing a group to investigate the strange noises that sounded from within. Others were just gathering things to barricade the door with, planning to trap the creature inside before setting the warehouse alight with fire. Most just hung back, paralyzed by some ancient fear that prevented from them creeping closer or fleeing the area altogether.
"Enough!" Thorn shouted, his loud voice startling his nervous Strikers out of their dazed reveries. Only his presence could have made them back away and drop their obstacles and guns, muttering apologies for their actions. Sharp eyes scanning the crowd, the leader and founder of the Red Strikers gestured for Nolfavrell to come forward. "Nolfavrell, in the past you have always been a reliable source of information. Tell me. What the hell is going on here?"
Wide-eyed, the youngest member of the group did his best to recall the events. "We were just trying to prepare one of the larger warehouses to store the new goods. But when Baldor opened the door, something inside growled at us. We shut the door, but we could still hear the sounds of some animal within. It keeps hissing, so at first I thought it might be some sort of python or something. But then when someone got too close to the door it roared, so it has to be some kind of bear or big cat. People were just debating what to do when you showed up."
Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Thorn cautiously lowered his mental barriers to confirm his theory. For a moment all he felt were the terrified and bewildered consciousnesses of the Red Strikers, then it hit him. A raging wall of fire, woven with pain and limitless rage at the intrusion of her resting place.
"Stay back!" Thorn ordered his men harshly. He made a show of reaching for the gun strapped to his belt, but he had far grander plans in mind for the interloper inside his warehouse in his territory. "Follow me, and you shall go the same way the beast in here will soon suffer."
Striding past the Red Strikers, and ignoring Nolfavrell's protesting cry, he ripped the door open. A roar immediately sounded from the intruder within, who unleashed an inferno of blue fire to drive him back. Thorn ducked, deftly avoided the tongue of flame. But the display was still enough to send his Strikers panicking an fleeing for the safety of the streets.
"Weak bastards!" he bellowed after them, before turning his attention to the meddlesome creature that had disturbed his lifestyle. "Face me, coward. You had the gall to intrude upon my territory and now you must have the courage to deal with the consequences."
Two bright blue eyes glared out at him from the darkness of the warehouse, and he heard the disdainful growl of the dragon within. You are one to talk, two-legs. Hiding in a body that will never be yours, denying the truth of your instincts. By the way you speak, those human men are your playthings. Mere pawns to your fleeting whims. Defeating one that masquerades as one of those filthy creatures will be no problem for me!
When the wall of sapphire scales and sharp horns surged out right at him, Thorn had already slid to the side and out of the she-dragon's way. The next moment the blue female had thundered off, heading for an open area of the compound for a proper battle. He was hot in pursuit, urging his weak human muscles to keep up with the she-dragon's impressive speed.
I smell the blood, he thought to himself. I see it coming from her wing. She must have stopped to recover her strength after a difficult flight and to heal up. But she cannot fly off easily, if she even can.
Then how the name of all the gods was he supposed to get her out of his territory and away from his life? Federal investigators had already been suspicious enough after finding the remains of the Dragon Fangs. Eye-witness reports of a dragon sighting in the base of the Red Strikers would arouse those old files, the old hunches that had almost gotten him captured the last time.
Just fight the she-dragon and beat her into submission as swiftly as possible, Thorn figured. Then she would flee his territory and out onto the streets to be gunned down and carted off to one of the labs to be studied. Like the other foolish dragons that had unwisely walked around in broad daylight in their true forms. Yes, then she would be out of his life forever and no longer endangering his secret.
When the blue she-dragon had reached an area she deemed suitable for battle she turned to face him. Wings furled close to her sides she bared her fangs in challenge, lowering her head to expose the dangerous tips of her horns. But instead of charging again she lashed out with her tail, a deadly whip headed right in his direction.
Dashing to the side, Thorn avoided lash after lash. Large as the female was, his smaller form gave him the advantage of agility, one which he used to doge past her whipping limb to her vulnerable points. Taking a running leap, he landed on her back, claws automatically unsheathing to gain a purchase on her scales. He clung to her like a burr, slowly inching his way up to her neck. Once there, he could effectively had her nullified, and her life would be at his mercy. Then it would have been a simple matter to force her to leave his turf.
The obnoxious female had other plans. Craning her head around, her fangs caught his sweatshirt and ripped him off like an irritating fly. She then slammed him onto the concrete ground, a blow that effectively stunned Thorn and reverted him back to a completely human form.
Pinning him beneath a heavy paw, the she-dragon tore through his hoodie and underlying shirt to reveal the prone chest beneath. The she-dragon then lowered her head, examining the massive X-shaped scar that marred his torso. If it were even possible, the sight made her eyes narrow even more in disgust. One claw poised to sink into his chest and pierce vital organs all th while, she addressed him disdainfully.
An outcast of the dragons, she sneered scornfully. I should of thought as such. Only one viewed in utter disgrace by his own kinsmen would seek shelter amongst the humans, let alone don one of their pitiful bipedal forms. It appears you are more of a coward than I thought, one the world would be better off without.... She raised her talon, preparing to bring it down in a decisive execution move.
"Get away from him!" Both dragons turned in astonishment, shocked to see the owner of the voice charging right toward them. There was Nolfavrell, who had somehow acquired a crowbar, foolishly heading right into certain death. He appeared blissfully oblivious to this revelation, for his only thought that currently ran through his loyal mind was to rescue his leader from the jaws of that giant monster.
"Idiot," Thorn hissed under his breath, baring suddenly sharp fangs in a snarl of rage. "This is my fight! He should know better than to intercede on his own behalf!"
Gaze snapping from Nolfavrell back to her captive, her eyes turned into icy slits of hatred. So you are more than a coward, but a selfish monster! That young one is barely beyond his hatchling years, of that! She growled accussingly at him, the insults stinging Thorn far more than her earlier ones did. I thought you of all creatures would no better than to allow an innocent child to become trapped in such a dangerous world, but apparently not. You are willing to sacrifice his life just so that you can continue to play puppet master of these humans!
He is a man by this city's standards! Thorn roared back, reverting to his mental voice so that the young Red Striker could not hear this private argument. Boys younger than him are killed every night in raids and by senseless violence. Girls his age are most likely prostitutes struggling to earn a living or not having any choice in the matter! With me at least he has a chance of surviving to manhood, and becoming stronger and tougher than the gang-bangers and drug dealers that infects these streets.
With you he is condemned to death! the she-dragon retorted bluntly. I know enough of these barbaric animals to realize that the ones that roam the streets have notoriously brief lifespands. Now he may survive, but what happens when you lead your pawns into a fight you can not control? When he faces an opponent that doesn't care he is but a misguided child? Your blood is on your claws, outcast. Whether or not is you that pulls the trigger or not.
Raising her head to her full intimidating height, she turned her icy gaze to Nolfavrell. Daunted by the sheer size of the beast, he paused in his charge with a startled yelp, paralyzed before her glare like a deer in headlights. The female only sighed in pity, knowing him to be beyond her help. Stepping away from Thorn as if he were a piece of garbage, she spread her injured wings, and lurched into the air with great effort. Barely able to mange a painful hover, she rose to a suitable height and was lost to sight as she flew over several tall buildings.
Nolfavrell stared up in awe for a moment, stunned by the amazing sight of an enormous beast being able to fly like a bird. Then his worried and relieved gaze was all for Thorn. Said leader was still on his back, glaring up at the sky with outrage. Right now he wanted nothing better than to abandon his human disguise and tear after that bothersome female, but not in the middle of a populated city. Not with Nolfavrell there to witness everything.
"Thorn! Thorn! Are you okay-" The young boy cut off in shock, noticing the massive scar that slashed across the elder man's chest. He knew that Thorn had such a mark of course but it was another thing entirely to see the notorious wound close-up. He was only able to gawk, even when Thorn finally managed to stagger to his feet.
The dragon in disguise examined himself, swiftly scanning for injuries. While his shirts were ripped beyond repair, his flesh had only received superficial scratches and bruises where he had collided with cement and had been clawed and snapped out by one irate female. He then felt his ribs, checking to see if any were broken. Breathing was a bitch, but nothing felt damage. Fortunately being crushed beneath that weight had not harmed him much. They may have been sprained, but nothing untreatable-
Brown eyes looked up from their inspection, settling down upon Nolfavrell. Realization struck Thorn when he noticed his sweatshirt had been ripped open during the attack, freely revealing the scar his old leader had so generously given him for his cowardice. The same sign weakness that was now being openly advertised to a mere human youngling.
"Thorn," Nolfavrell began quietly, timidly beginning to approach his leader. Even his oblivious soul had noticed something was wrong and some long-buried instinct whispered that the man in front of him was a threat to his very life. Ignoring the primal terror, he inched ever closer, showing only concern on his open face. "You're hurt. Come on, let me have a look at that. My mom used to be a doctor and she taught me a few things before she... left."
Rigid as a brick-wall, Thorn watched Nolfavrell cautiously approach with narrowed eyes. Just as the boy's hands were about to touch his flesh he lurched away, eyes flashing red in anger. The next words that escaped his throat did so as a bestial roar: "Don't touch me!"
This outburst caused Nolfavrell to wheel back in fright. The boy cried out and fell onto his back, the expression in his eyes one of absolute terror. Quick to regain some modicum of composure he climbed to his feet, refusing to break down in front of his leader. But nothing could stop the stammer of his response. "O-okay, T-Thorn. I'll go and g-gather the Strikers up again n-now."
Thorn nodded coldly, the only trace left of his display of rage the dangerous slant of his eyebrows. "Tell them the raid tonight goes on as planned. One mutant in an abandoned warehouse changes nothing. Those that do not show can consider themselves no longer my Red Strikers."
Managing to keep his molten temper in check, the dragon in a human's skin slowly walked to the farthest corner of the base, where his own 'room' was. The pain in his chest was immense, and he completed the journey hunched over and with bared teeth. But even if he had been on the verge of death, he would not have accepted Nolfavrell's assistance. He did not need the pity of undeserving humans to be strong. He was a dragon for the sake of the gods. And like any good draconic leader he skulked off to a private corner to lick his wounds in peace.
As for the she-dragon? Let the proud idealist die. Thorn knew her kind, the hopelessly delusional individuals that searched for their make-believe paradise. Those that refused to listen to common sense and stubbornly put their faith in a bedtime story told by long-dead elders to their gullible grandchildren who had in turn passed on the tales to a whole new generation of idiots. Like all of the others, the sapphire she-dragon would chase the dream to her death. Whether it be by the guns of Imperial soldiers or at the jaws of another dragon that tired of her disrespect, he didn't care. So long as she couldn't be traced back to him or his Strikers, she was just another drifter passing through the Outer Rim. Another of his kind he encountered only once, never to be see again after.
Thorn shook the thoughts out of his head, and the strange sapphire-scaled female that had managed to sting him with the caustic remarks about Nolfavrell's welfare was but a faint memory.
Or, at least he tried to tell himself that.
Next chapter: We go away from our dragons to a closer look at the story's other cast members. For example, a seemingly insane drunkard and his hellish but faithful dog. Or a Dr. Nasuada Hounsou and her mysterious experiment. Oh, and a certain ex-boyfriend Detective Murtagh Rider that has a crime syndicate of his own to bring down. His target: the Red Strikers, the most infamous gang of the Outer Rim, and their elusive leader that goes by the alias 'Thorn.'
1. Calibar, or Cal for short, is the 'Greeni' of canon, as in the green egg mentioned only in passing. But basically his background and personality are my own. Which means that if Paolini's Greeni is a suspiciously like my original character, you know who technically made it up first.
2. Yes, Elva is a dragon in this fic. Mostly because the only two remaining available canon dragons, Shruikan and Glaedr, already have roles of their own. One other character from the books will be made on a dragon here, the 'Hige' of the group. Here's a hint, its not Eragon, Nasuada or Murtagh. But you'll be meeting her real soon. (Who could it be? Arya? Angela? Trianna? Katrina? Maud? My grandmother? Go ahead and guess ;)
3. I know a giant dragon is a very noticeable thing in a crowded city, but you gotta remember Saphira is in the Outer Rim. There people get devoured by mutant dogs and are frequently swept in gang wars. Do you think one little winged lizard warrants much attention from civilians in a world that is literally a living hell?