Dragon Riders

Chapter Three: Part Three Myra

Chapter 3

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Myra

Isle of the Blessed: The Pits

Was the Temple Mother right? It would then make sense given that the doors have a dragon rider on them. And the Temple would never allow such things to lay about.

It is blasphemy to even think such things.

I back away from the doors and look around for a way in. To my right, I can see something in the distance shining. I go towards it, since I have no better ideas.The further I go, the more the shining thing becomes an actual shape: a bell.

I approach the bell sooner than I expect and studied the bell.

It's big, and made out of brass, with a wooden rope attached.

I use both hands to grasp the thick rope, and pull.

D O N G

D O N G

D O N G

The sound reverberates through my core, and I let go of the rope. My fingers become numb from hanging on for too long, and I make them wiggle to get the feeling back.

As the last toll goes through the pit, I watch as a small part of the wall slides back to reveal a woman.

We walk towards each other and I feel my eyes widen at her appearance.

She is wearing a short black dress, with boots that completely cover her shins. Her hair is cut extremely short, and she wears a scar scratching from the left corner of her mouth to her scalp.

I make sure to keep my movements precise, and controlled, not willing to give her an excuse to attack.

I stop once I'm at arms length from her and she does the same.

"Follow me and be quick about it."

She pivots sharply on her heel and marches off to the hole in the wall. I do as I am bid and follow closely behind her. The wall shuts behind me with a solid clack.

I follow the mystery woman down a dark and damp hallway until we come to a slightly more open room. There are two levels in this room, with one set of stone stairs leading to the upper level. There are a few candles scattered about, which give a slight glow. In the middle of the room, is a low hanging chandelier that rests above two tables with attached benches.

Everything is made out of stone.

I continue to follow the woman further into the room, past the benches, and to a door directly in the center of the room against a wall. The door is whipped open with such force that it makes me blink rapidly.

I stand in the threshold as she gathers some materials and what seems like boots. She glances at me and hurriedly motions for me to come in.

I do as I am bid and turn slightly to close the door. When I turn back around she startles me by being right by me.

"Put these on."

She thrusts the clothing towards me and I frown.

"Now."

I gingerly take them, not wanting to actually put these on.

"What's wrong with what I'm wear-"

"You can't run in them and they don't like the bells."

I open my mouth to ask if I have to cut my hair as well but she cuts me off with a sharp wave of her hand.

"Change. Now."

I stare at her and give a slight dip of my head in agreement. I start by lowering my hood, and the drop in temperature is quite noticeable. She is decent enough to give me her back as I remove my robes and change into my new clothes.

The dress actually has a pair of shorts sewn into the dress skirt, and the top leaves my arms completely bare. The boots are sturdy, and feel smooth and strange on my feet. This is the first time I've ever worn shoes in my life.

These shoes are different from what I have seen however, because they lace tightly in the back. For this the strange woman has to help me. I guess she thought I was taking too long and decided to investigate. Because I am thin, she gets a flatter piece of string and ties it around the top of the boot, to keep it in place. She takes the time to do the same to the other boot.

Once she's done she takes a long moment to look at my hair.

"Come."

She opens the door with the same force as the first time, but I follow her more slowly than before.

I'm afraid that she'll cut my hair off, like how hers is.

My vanity is another imperfection. If I was better, I wouldn't be so curious, get angry, or be so attached to something as superficial as my hair. So I mentally push myself to walk a little faster, to be a little better.

She sits on the bench and motions for me to sit on the floor in front of her.

I close my eyes as I feel her brush through my curls roughly. She parts and brushes my hair and I prepare for her to start cutting. I am beyond relieved when it never happens and she instead makes two tight braids that stay close to my scalp. My head hurts from the force of her finger but she moves quickly. I grit my teeth in pained silence.

‘These will stay in your hair until they become loose: no loose hair or clothing. Ever.”

She ties off the longish braid and moves to the other side of my head.

“Your survival here depends on you being quiet and fast; one of these things you at least seem to have down. “

A sharp yank makes me wobble. Using one hand she keeps a hold of my braid and with the other she rights me.

“We will eat after this and then sleep. Tomorrow you will learn the rules.”

Another painful yank to my head but this time I catch myself.

“And after tomorrow?” I ask.

“After that you will have to be ready.”