Fantasy | Wyverns
The Heart of a Wyvern-rider
Tales of the Second Realm
Stormraven could not help but feel a small twinge of pride as she stood on the bare back of the forest-walker, her bow in one hand, an arrow in the other, a quiver by her side. It was not normal to ride a forest-walker while standing, but it was an important demonstration of balance.
Guiding another being through a connection with their spirit was now normal for Stormraven. It was not a connection of the mind. An individual’s spirit had its own urges and needs, and for her it was a simple matter of her spirit sharing with that of the forest-walker that she had an urge to move forward.
They walked slowly forward, out from the canopy of the forest, onto the sunlit open lands about Wyvern Inlet. Here was the Field of Trials, where she was to show her worth to her people, and most particularly to the wyverns.
The most esteemed warriors amongst the Tree-folk, Stormraven’s people, were the Wyvern-riders. Although the Tree-folk consider all creatures their siblings, even when they hunt them, they have a connection to the highly sentient wyverns that was as close as that to another of their own kind. Only the best warriors are considered for selection as a Wyvern-rider, and the wyverns themselves use a number of criteria to decide who they choose to carry.
Stormraven knew that her peaceful people had enemies. Beyond their land, across the mountains to the south, were the others. To the southwest there had always been the Tusked ones, large and aggressive, who would take them as slaves if they could. To the southeast lived the Newcomers, with their strange rounded ears, short lives, and skin that was only shades of pink to brown, and never green like the Tree-folk and the Tusked. The Newcomers were perhaps the most dangerous. They were not as large as the Tusked, although larger than the Tree-folk, but their real threat was that they wanted to cut the trees down to grow their crops and cover the land with their kind. Ten thousand years had passed since the Newcomers first came to this realm, but the memories of the Tree-folk are long.
Looking across the Field of Trials, Stormraven could see to her right, across the inlet, the mountains that were the home of the wyverns. Ships of delegates from foreign lands lay in the inlet, while the canoes and outriggers of many of the Tree-folk were drawn up onto the shore. To her left the trees of the great forest stood as sentinels. She knew that behind them the forest spread across the continent, filled with oaks and chestnuts that were the staple of the Tree-folk diet, along with many orchards and groves of nut trees. The branches of the trees overlooking the Field of Trials were filled with Tree-folk houses, while below them were the spectators, and also the judges.
All eyes turned to Stormraven, and she looked for her mother and father in the crowd, but it was still far, and there were many people. The wyverns stood amongst the throng of Tree-folk, their proud heads high above the crowd, their wings tucked elegantly at their sides.
For three days Stormraven had shown her skills. Many others had retired from the trial, now only she and three others remained. She approached the course and from a signal by an Elder of the Wyvern-riders, she reached out to the forest-walker. The creature immediately started loping across the field, rising to its longer rear legs. It was very difficult to remain standing while the forest-walker ran along the course, but she nocked her first arrow and prepared to draw.
As she approached the target she drew, and released. While the arrow was still speeding through the air, she was reaching for another, nocked it, and released. Then another as she passed, and another as the forest-walker ran to the end of the course. She slowed the creature, and turned it, to see with satisfaction that all of her arrows had hit the mark.
Of her cohort, now only one other had passed the test, so the two jumped from the forest-walkers to face the final test. Stormraven and the other remaining candidate, Rose-thorn, approached the middle of the crowd, where stood the elders of the Wyvern-riders, and the representatives of the wyverns themselves.
“I see you, Stormraven and Rose-thorn,” said the First Elder of the Wyvern-riders, Far-eagle, as she touched her forehead and then her chest in greeting.
“And I see you, Far-eagle, and the spirit within you,” they replied in unison, giving the same Salute.
“Here are Engarayn, and Kagara, Elders of the wyverns.” The two creatures gave a slight but gracious bow, the two candidates knew to bow in return, a somewhat deeper and more prolonged bow given their status in wyvern society.
There was a peculiar grumbling in the throat of Engarayn as he looked proudly off into the distance. Kagara and the other wyverns also grumbled, more rhythmically, and Far-eagle laughed gently.
“Yes, she stands like a warrior for certain, her parents rightly named her spirit. The male is more gracious, as you say.” Stormraven had a sneaking suspicion she had just been insulted. Unfortunately only by becoming a Wyvern-rider would the wyverns teach anyone their language.
“Candidates,” Far-eagle spoke. “It is now time to face your final test, perhaps the hardest of all. With this test the wyverns feel that they can more clearly perceive your soul, and judge your worthiness to be carried by them. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” the candidates replied, as Stormraven fumbled nervously for a piece of paper, she noticed with her peripheral vision that Rose-thorn had already taken out a scroll.
“Very good, you shall now read aloud some of your own love poetry. Rose-thorn will start. Thank you.” Stormraven’s stomach churned, she was hoping she would go first to get it over with. The wyverns looked at them both avidly for the first time, previously only gracing them with a supercilious glance. It made her feel like their prey and she felt decidedly nervous.
Rose-thorn cleared his throat and started to recite one of his poems.
“I think of you and my heart leaps …”
Stormraven watched him although she could not hear the words due to the blood pounding in her ears. She could tell he had a beautiful voice, in fact he was beautiful all over, with large green expressive eyes. People told her she was beautiful too, but it is difficult with a people that did not own mirrors and who could see a person’s spirit, an aspect which they held in greater esteem. She looked up to the crowd, now she could see her mother and father, her mother looked concerned, her father looked proud.
“And you,
and I,
will meet
Again.”
There was silence as the assembly absorbed Rose-thorn’s words. There was a bit of rumbling amongst the wyverns, then everyone looked at her. “Oh squirrel crap” she thought to herself.
Stiffly, she lifted up the scrap of paper to her eyes, and read.
“Upon a tall mountain I say your name,
far in the desert I speak the same.
In town and city, farm and forest,
in lofty palace or homestead modest.
It is a phrase with great effect,
and takes away all past regret.
It gives peace of heart and hope of soul,
and a great deal more if truth be told.
My eyes alight and my lips they smile,
With joy that could make me leap a mile.
I gain so much, without wealth or money,
when I simply sigh, the name of Honey.”
There was again a pause, and then the wyverns started grumbling. It was a rhythmic grumbling. Far-eagle was smiling, possibly suppressing a laugh as the rumbling continued. “Squirrel crap, they are laughing at me,” thought Stormraven. Far-eagle raised her hand to speak to the Candidates.
“Could we have, ahem, another poem? Please.” Rose-thorn calmly raised the scroll.
“It is obsidian, this wall between us…”
Stormraven looked at him again. He was wearing Festival garb, entirely made of leaves that covered only his loins, upon his head a garland of roses. It would have been useless for fighting on the previous trials, but was perfect for today. She looked down at her ranger’s attire. Stormraven was comfortable in the clothes she wore every day, but now she remembered her mother’s concern, why she fussed so much over braiding her hair.
“It is so high, so thick
That you cannot hear me say…
I love you.”
Stormraven was starting to feel dizzy as Rose-thorn finished his poem. She was barely aware of the wyverns grumbling, it seemed that they were having a discussion. Then everyone was looking at her. She would rather wrestle a Tusked, but she brought the scrap of paper up again, looking through dazed eyes she read.
“I like you more than I like pie
Cross my heart and hope to die
That I should ever tell a lie,
about how I like you more than pie.
Pie is good and pie is yummy,
it makes me happy in my tummy.
But you’re what makes my whole day sunny,
That is why I call you Honey.
Pie with berries and pie that’s sweet,
pies with rhubarb are a treat
but what makes me rise and walk the street,
Is hoping that I would you meet.”
Stormraven stopped. She could feel her knees buckling. The paper fell from her grasp. If they asked for another it would not matter, she was done.
Eventually the world stopped spinning and she was aware of the assembly. The wyverns were gurgling hysterically, heads thrown back, mouths wide open, tears were rolling down their cheeks. Far-eagle had her head in her hands, Stormraven could not tell if she was laughing or crying. Stormraven’s father looked as though he was in a state of shock.
She thought back to how incredulous she was when she was told that she would have to compose and read poetry for the wyverns. “The wyverns cannot see your spirit like we can,” she was told. “Only through your poetry can they see if you have the heart of a Wyvern-rider.”
Eventually the wyverns regained their composure. They had a brief grumble in conference, and then Engarayn spoke to Far-eagle.
“Really?” she said, for she was clearly at least surprised if not actually shocked. There was some further grumbling by Engarayn, and Far-eagle smiled, looking at Stormraven. Eventually Far-eagle walked towards the two candidates, followed by two of the younger wyverns.
“Rose-thorn, this is Kanara, she has agreed to carry you.” He bowed low in gratitude to the wyvern. “Stormraven, this is Nagarayn, he has agreed to carry you.” Stormraven stared at them both, looking at one and then the other.
“Apparently, he has an overdeveloped sense of humour, and is looking forward to many years of laughing at your truly horrible poetry!” Suddenly everything sank in, and Stormraven squealed for joy. She jumped up to wrap her arms around the wyvern’s neck. He grumbled rhythmically and with a leap took off, his great wings beating the air.
Stormraven the Wyvern-rider managed to pull herself onto Nagarayn’s back, tears of joy rolling down her face as they soared across the sky.
I have created a Medium article that contains a map which covers all the locations in my Second Realm stories. It will be updated as new locations are added.
