Dragon Riders

Chapter 1 ~=~ Myra Isle of the Blessed: Heartscale Temple “You have shamed the gods!” Says the High Priestess. She punctuates her words by knocking over the row of improperly polished plates, ornaments, and bronze bowls. The candles placed around them flicker out and die when they hit the floor, overwhelmed by her indignant rage. I watch a long thin candle roll its way to me and stop just before my kneeling form. “You have shamed yourself!” A plate of grapes is thrown across the stone room. I flinch as the crash reaches my ears, and remind myself to keep my eyes lowered. By being submissive, I get this over with quicker, and receive my punishment faster. My robes spill around me in a pool of bright red embarrassment. I should have known better; me being ineffective has led to an improper training session for the acolytes. I keep still as the High Priestess approaches me. Tap Tap Tap Tap I look up as the tapping of her approaching feet stop. “Myra you know better.” I lower my head in shame as she lowers her tone. “Yes, High Priestess. I will watch over the acolytes better next time.” “Myra, look at me.” My wide brown eyes lift to her harsh face. Her clear blue yes pierce through my soul. I let out a small puff of air as I see her face soften slightly, and she touches my hooded head. “You will do better Myra, I know you will.” I give her a small smile in thanks, but stop as she continues. “You will do better because I will make sure of it.” She offers her hand for me to rise and I lightly take the offer. The matching golden bells on my wrists and ankles twinkle ever so slightly as I do so. “You will have to be punished Myra.” I fold my hands in my sleeves to hide my displeasure and keep my face still. Showing such an emotion would be a terrible idea. The last time a member of the temple frowned in front of her the girl lost her canines. She was showing displeasure in serving the gods. “Greatness starts at the top. As you ascend you will learn this.” I watch as my mentor walks slowly away from me, and listen for any chime of the bells in her body. I, like her bells, are silent. “If we are not perfect, how can we teach perfection?” “I know not High Priestess.” “Oh course you do not know” Her pivot and her shout are abrupt, making me blink at the sudden flurry of movement and sound. Her white and gold robes flare around her as she comes back towards me. “You know not because I have said not.” She clasps her hands behind her back and walks ever closer towards me. “You will spend the next two weeks down in the pits, as punishment.” I feel a rage coil and twist inside my chest; a white-hot fury ready to lash out and strike like the snake on the wall tapestry. “You disagree Priestess Myra?” “Disagreeing with you would be like disagreeing with the Gods.” I make sure my face is neutral as I say this, even though I am enraged with such a hefty punishment. Such things are reserved only for those who have committed a severe crime; such as theft. “Well spoken.” I bow my head in thanks to the empty praise. “Praise be the Blessed.” she says and I automatically respond with: “Praise be the Blessed.” I keep my head bowed until I hear the solid THUD of the door behind me. I stare at all the metal and jeweled offerings scattered on the stone floor. They will all have to be polished again and put back in their proper places before this prayer chamber is fit to be used again. Why the gods would care if plates, bowls, and pitchers are polished is beyond me. One would think they are too busy making and destroying things to give notice to some silver plates. I approach the altar and place my hands on either side of the slab of white marble. I feel the smooth stone and let the cool feeling sink into my chest, calming the fire inside my heart. When I came to the temple, I would often do this as a child to help steady myself. I came here as a vagrant, and eventually found comfort here. Even as a woman I find comfort in this small action. I tilt my head up and let out a breath through my nostrils. I allow myself to be angry for another second, another second of imperfection. I turn around and take small strides to the door, making sure every movement has a purpose. Every movement should be placed with absolute precision. As a result, I only hear the occasional twinkle of a small golden bell as I walk, and only see my red robe move when I want it to. This has taken me years of practice, and it makes me grateful for every reliving, cool breath that I take. I open the door and see four temple maidens with cleaning supplies in their hands. They make sure to keep their eyes and heads lower and greet me with “Praise be the Blessed.” I repeat the phrase and instruct them to sweep and mop the floors. “All of the offerings must be picked up and a new group of acolytes must polish them.” “Yes, Priestess Myra,” they respond. Their hair is undone and laid exposed as they do not have the authority to wear a hood such as mine. Yet. They sport small braids with gold and red woven into their hair. Priestesses, acolytes, and temple maidens do not wear shoes. This is to teach humility and perseverance. So as we pass each other, I notice how they lightly step on their soft feet. Mine have been harshly callused since before I came to the temple as a child, but they were raised in shoes. They were raised with clothes and plentiful food. They were raised with people who looked like them, and were like them.