Wyvern Rider (A story in the Ravenglass Universe) - I
An orphan girl and an orphaned wyvern find shared a destiny...
Irina stepped outside, the wooden yoke balanced on her shoulders, with empty buckets swaying from each end.
The village was just waking up, the air still holding a hint of dawn’s chill.
She walked a well-worn path that wound its way through the village and out toward the edge of the forest.
As she approached the stream, the soft murmur of running water grew louder.
She set down her yoke and knelt by the water’s edge, dipping the buckets in.
The forest stretched out before her, an expanse of green and shadows.
A faint rustling caught her ear. She paused, straining to listen.
She set the bucket down and crept towards the sound, parting the reeds.
She caught her breath.
In the shallows sat a small wyvern, no bigger than a chicken.
The creature’s blue scales, though matted with dark scabs, shimmered in the dappled sunlight.
As she approached, the wyvern let out a soft squawk, struggling to flap its underdeveloped wings.
Irina’s initial instinct was to step back, her mind racing with tales she had heard of wyverns’ ferocity. But as she looked closer, she saw past the scales and claws to the vulnerability of the creature before her.
A deep gash marred its side, weeping black ichor.
This was not a creature of terror, but one in desperate need of aid.
“It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Irina glanced over her shoulder. The village loomed in the distance, chimney smoke drifting into the sky. She bit her lip. If anyone discovered she was harbouring a wyvern, even an injured one, there would be trouble. Yet she couldn’t abandon the poor creature.
She edged closer.
The wyvern’s black eyes narrowed, but it didn’t retreat.
“Easy, little one. I won’t hurt you.”
She extended a hand and the wyvern sniffed, its warm breath tickling her palm. She couldn’t tell whether this wyvern was a fledgeling, or fully grown. She had seen wyverns no bigger than water flies, while others stood taller than an elk.
“I’m going to call you Nim.”
The wyvern butted her hand gently and a warm tingle rushed through her mind.
She smiled as she stroked its scaly head.
Most villagers feared wyverns, but her uncle had told her tales of riders who shared a mysterious bond with the beasts.
Nim squeaked, gazing at her.
It did not shy away or snap at her as she examined the gashes marring its scales. Without help, the wyvern might not make it.
Irina scanned the reedy shallows, searching for some sign of what had happened. Splintered reeds, trampled mud, anything that might provide a clue.. But the shoreline lay undisturbed.
“What happened to you, Nim?” She wanted to help the creature, but she’d need supplies from the village. Bandages, medicine, maybe some meat to restore its strength.
She would have to hide it first. The wyvern wouldn’t be safe in the village. People feared them after last summer’s raids on the sheep pens.
Irina shivered, remembering a headman displaying the carcasses in the village square—bloody trophies to discourage more raids.
No, Nim wouldn’t be safe in the village. Not when people hated wyverns. They’d insist she let it die rather than help it heal. Just like when she’d found a snared wolf pup in the woods. Her Uncle Rurik had forbidden her to help it, warning it might turn vicious when it grew up.
She stroked Nim’s neck, feeling the rapid heartbeat under its scales. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—abandon Nim to the same lonely fate.
Her gaze drifted to the old forge on the village outskirts. It wasn’t perfect. Hunting parties sometimes passed near the village. But it might serve well enough for a temporary nest. At least until Nim regained its strength.
Nim nuzzled Irina’s hand as she continued to stroke its neck. Its dark eyes blinked up at her.
“Don’t worry, I’m going to look after you.”
She slipped off her cloak and wrapped the wyvern within its woollen folds. Nim chirped but didn’t struggle as she lifted it.
The wyvern weighed less than a turnip. Irena wondered how it had ended up so close to her village. Perhaps it had a mother missing it. Where had it come from? Did it live in the forest? Had it been shot from the sky?
She pushed the questions aside. They didn’t matter now. However Nim had been hurt, the wyvern needed her help. She would not ignore the silent plea in its eyes, the silent compulsion to help this small creature.
Clutching the bundled cloak, Irina crept from the shallows towards the edge of the village. She kept close to the eaves of the forest, avoiding the open pastures.
She wished she could explain it all to her Aunt Yulia and Uncle Rurik. Perhaps she might confide in her cousin, Mat. But she pushed the thought away. Her uncle would not approve. Her aunt would support her husband. And Mat would run to her uncle if it meant getting one over on her.
No, she alone would have to heal Nim. It was her secret now. She would find a way to make Nim well again.
Irina crept through the village, clutching the wyvern close. It had fallen asleep inside the bundled cloak, no doubt exhausted from its ordeal.
She reached the old forge and slipped inside. Her uncle had shuttered it years ago when Molotok’s Crown Prince allowed only forges to operate within city walls. Cobwebs filled its corners and a musty smell lingered beneath the scent of charcoal.
Irina laid the wyvern on a pile of rags in the corner and examined its wound in the dim light. She wondered whether the wyvern had been struck by an arrow, or attacked by an animal.
She made a fire in the soot-stained hearth and heated some water from her water skin. Using scraps of cloth, she fashioned makeshift bandages and began cleaning the weeping gashes along the wyvern’s side.
Nim squawked and shuddered at her touch, but did not lash out.
“I know it stings, but this will help you heal.” She worked as gently as she could, finally tying off the last strip of cloth.
The creature’s scales felt warm beneath her fingertips, its heartbeat a rapid thrum.
When she finished, the wyvern curled on the pile of rags, its black eyes watching her as Irina settled nearby. Her mind reeled from this whole situation—stumbling upon an injured wyvern, hiding it away, attempting somehow to nurse it back to health alone. She shook her head, pausing to gaze at the creature.
Nim’s scales shimmered sapphire in the firelight. Minute spine ridges crested its forehead and frilled its jaws. The folded wings seemed undersized on its long serpentine frame, hinting it was indeed still a juvenile.
“I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”
Nim let out a cheep in response. Then it closed its eyes, the rise and fall of its chest slowing to the rhythms of sleep.
Irina slipped from the old forge and jogged through the village streets toward her family’s cottage. As she entered, she inhaled the welcoming aromas of hearthfire and stew bubbling over the flames.
Her Aunt Yulia glanced up from the iron stove, wiping steam from her ruddy cheeks. “There you are, child. Supper’s nearly ready. Where have you been?”
Irina managed what she hoped passed for a carefree smile. “Apologies for my delay.”
Yulia waved a wooden spoon. “Never mind. Just bring buckets in. These potatoes need boiling.”
Irina snatched some slices of ham from the counter and stuffed them into her pockets. “Of course. I’ll run and fetch them quick.”
Yulia turned from the stove, her brow furrowed. “What have you been doing if not your chores?”
Irina mumbled another apology before slipping out the door.
She hastened back through the narrow village lanes, her breath misting in the cooling air.
Returning to the forge, Nim stirred and chittered. It stretched its long neck toward her, its nostrils twitching.
“I brought you something to eat.” She sat on the dirt floor, the dying firelight barely illuminating the cluttered forge.
She tore a strip of ham and offered it to the wyvern.
Nim ate ravenously and Irina wondered when it had eaten last. At least here the creature could recover its strength.
Bit by bit, Irina fed the wyvern.
Occasionally Nim would pause, fixing her with its fathomless eyes.
When it swallowed the last mouthful, Nim nestled near Irina, laying its head across her lap.
She stroked the wyvern’s neck, lost in the moment.
As dusk drifted toward twilight, Irina gave the wyvern a final pat, then headed out the door.
She glanced back at the forge’s darkened silhouette and hoped Nim would be safe recovering within.
Irina hurried along the path back to her family’s cottage.
Then she stopped. “The water!”
She followed the path back towards the stream as the night drew in. The darkened forest appeared far more ominous now than it had that morning. The sooner she retrieved the buckets and put this day behind her, the better.
As the burbling stream came into view through the trees, Irina broke into a jog. But she slowed upon reaching the bank, her breath catching.
The buckets were gone.
Irina scoured the long grasses fringing the stream, panic rising in her chest. Had someone taken them? Would they trace the buckets back to her family and question why Irina had abandoned her chores?
Each imagined scenario led back to the discovery of her secret, now wounded, and hidden away in the old forge.
The forest seemed to press closer, shadows pooling thick beneath the trees.
A branch cracked behind her and Irina jumped.
Wheeling about, she peered into the gloom. Had that been footsteps she heard? Some large creature lumbering through the underbrush? Or just a nesting bird?
The hoot of an owl set her nerves on edge.
She turned and raced headlong along the forest verge, recklessly hurdling rocks and fallen limbs.
She did not stop until the glowing windows of home emerged through the night, warm light spilling from inside her family’s cottage.
When she reached the doorstep, Irina bent double, gulping air, and massaging the stitch in her side. How would she explain her missing burden now?
She took a deep breath before stepping inside.
Yulia, her Uncle Rurik, and her cousin Mat sat around the table eating.
Her uncle glanced up, his eyes shaded by a mop of black hair. “Where have you been?” His brow creased. “Supper’s nearly over.”
“Sorry, Uncle.” Irina settled onto the scarred bine bench at the table, the aroma of cooked meat and warm bread making her stomach rumble. “It won’t happen again.”
“Matyev carried your water back.” Rurik tutted. “Leaving them abandoned like that, I don’t know.”
“I was looking for them. I thought they were lost.”
Mat leaned back in his seat and grinned. “Perhaps you can do one of my chores to pay me back?”
Irina ignored him and met her uncle’s gaze. “I really am sorry.”
“What happened?”
“Something made me start and I ran. When I went back, the buckets were gone.”
Rurik gave a nod. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm done. But you know not to go near the forest after dusk.”
Irina dipped her head. “I know. I just…I didn’t want to let everyone down.”
Yulia bustled about the kitchen, ladling out a bowl of steaming borscht from the iron pot hung over the fire. She set a plate of pirozhki before Irina and her smile deepened the creases around her eyes. “We’re just happy you’re home safe.”
Mat reached across the table to snag another piece of bread. “Maybe Irina has a suitor she’s not telling us about. A dashing woodsman from the north lands?”
Irina rolled her eyes but felt her cheeks grow warm. “I do not have a suitor.”
Rurik raised a bushy eyebrow. “No suitors yet, but Matyev is right that it’s time we start thinking of your future.” He washed down a bite of bread with a swallow of kvass. “You’re becoming a young woman now.”
“I was hoping to learn a trade for a few years first.” She dreaded being matched with some lad from the village to wed. Most were dull as stones. “You make such beautiful jewellery, uncle. Might you take me on?”
Rurik shook his head. “I’ve already committed to training Matyev. The workshop is too small for two apprentices. But we’ll find you a suitable path, I am certain.”
Mat snickered. “She could always apprentice with the tanners, or night soil collectors.”
Irina shot Mat a glare across the table and his grin widened.
“Do not tease your cousin so.” Yulia turned back to Irina. “Aleksei has been asking after you. He owns that beet farm near the western hills. He’s hardworking and could provide well. What do you think?”
Irina pictured the farmer’s wrinkled face and fists like ham. “But isn’t he…old?”
Rurik laughed. “He’s only thirty winters, or so.”
“That means he was my age when I was born.” Irina pushed a piece of bread around her bowl. She wanted to suggest something else, anything else than being some farmer’s wife. She didn’t care about comfort or money. “Is it not possible for me to work with animals somehow? To heal them when they’re injured or sick? I want to help creatures in need, like…” She caught herself short before revealing her secret.
Yulia and Rurik exchanged looks.
“No one in the village practices such arts,” Yulia said. “Those with affinity for animals often go off to the academies or sanctuaries in the big cities.”
“Oh.” Irina stared down into her bowl. Her family lacked the means to send her anywhere beyond their remote village.
Rurik wiped the crumbs from his beard with the back of his hand. “Marrying the farmer still seems a practical path. You’d be able to tend livestock daily. It’s good work.”
Mat grinned again. “Or Irina could just run off and live in the forest amidst the animals like some hedge witch.”
“Hush with your nonsense.” Yulia swatted him with a towel, but she smiled.
Rurik shook his head. “The world is not one of your silly tales, Matyev.” He looked to Irina. “We just want what’s best for you. You know that, yes?”
“Of course.” She tried to sound grateful, pushing away the creeping sensation that her fate was being decided for her.
The family finished their meal, talking of the village gossip and the next day’s chores. Rurik and Mat discussed their jewellery craft while Yulia asked for her help preparing preserves from summer’s last berries.
Irina nodded along, adding comments when needed, all the while wondering if Nim was safe at the old forge.
After eating her fill, Irina kissed her family goodnight then retired to her bedroom.
She changed into her bedclothes and eased under the blankets. She had to come up with a plan to sneak food to Nim and nurse the wyvern back to health.
And do it all without anyone finding out.
Thanks for reading!
This is the first part a completely new story I've been working on. It's still a work in progress, so I welcome any feedback or suggestions for later drafts.
You can read the full draft now on my Patreon page at patreon.com/joncronshawauthor. Even as a free member you’ll get access to regular short stories and my weekly author diaries.