A Fifth Daughter [Book 1: The Dragon Rider]

Really quick history lesson; because humans didn’t start out in Fantasy, we are considered the weakest link in the Realms. We’re at the bottom of the food chain. We can be turned into Vampires and Werewolves, we can gain position in the world through class and popularity, and we can marry into magic or – because of the strangeness of this world – we can gain abilities through family linage: My uncle has the ability to heal anyone and anything with just a thought because he is the eldest son of an eldest son of an eldest son of an… you get the idea… on back to ten eldest sons without interruption. So, there’s that. But humans can never gain powers on their own. They can’t “meddle” with magic, or be a rarity and randomly be born as a Witch or Wizard. We’re not like J.K. Rowling’s wizarding world – no Muddles here – no matter how much people wish that was the way of this world.

So, what does being a Fifth Daughter do for me? No clue. But I have a feeling I’m not going to enjoy the outcome of all this. Before running into Ryler on the way home, I went to the library, but there was nothing on Fifth Daughters. The librarian wasn’t any help either, although she did try. Which means, either no one wants anyone to know about Fifth Daughters or there’s no such thing.

Which has me doubting the whole last five hours.

Maybe Warlock Glanes isn’t the only one supposedly crazy. This could all be a weird trick that for some reason Mother Tyra has decided to play on me. Or perhaps she plays it on everyone. Without asking Mom there’s no way for me to know if I’m a Fifth Daughter of four Fifth Daughters… or Pure One… or whatever. I don’t really want to ask her. She never talks about her family, which I’ve always assumed is because she ran off after her dad died and hasn’t talked to her mom since. We haven’t even met anyone from her side of the family. I have no clue if she has siblings or if her parents are still alive.

I sigh into my food.

Ever feel like the whole world is closing in on you? Like if you try to break out it’ll only get tighter?

That’s exactly how I feel as I mindlessly stir the hot soup in front of me, and they are awful feelings. I wish they’d just leave me alone.

Too much thinking will do that to you.

First; I turn sixteen, which I guess isn’t really a bad thing. Then I go and see Mother Tyra, get told that my father could come back from the dead and that I’m the fifth Fifth Daughter of four Fifth Daughters – whatever that means, I haven’t picked up the book since I deposited it on my bed – now I’m stuck waiting for my Choice. Sleeping on a nerve-cramped stomach isn’t ever fun.

I did beat Ryler home however. Of course, in his defense, he tripped… twice.

“You need to eat up, Smoke. Big day tomorrow and all.” Mom says. Yeah, thanks for the reminder. She gazes at me with a critical eye, and I have no doubt that she either knows, or can guess, my train of thought. I haven’t told her anything, other than I’ll get my answer tomorrow. She doesn’t even know about the book. I’m okay friends with my mother, but something just doesn’t feel right about telling her. As if my world will tighten even more if I tell her the truth.

I glance at all of my siblings sitting around me. They continue eating, ignoring my tired gaze. Five girls and two boys. Some of us look related to each other, but others could be adopted. Carma, Chase, Genny Grace, and Ryler all have the same Green trademark blonde hair and green eyes. Alice has our grandmother’s red hair and blue eyes, while Tempest is more related to Mom with her black hair, only Mom has violet eyes with flecks of gold and Tempest has blue eyes. She’s probably the hardest to get along with at times, but she is a very loyal friend (or sister) when you need help. Genny Grace and Alice don’t exactly exist in my life. Even with Alice only being a year older she’s always been too strange to get along with and Genny Grace doesn’t like me period. Chase and Ryler are basically my only friends and Carma just shares a room with me. Other than our love for books, we stay out of each-others hair and stick to our own lives.

For me, it’s like someone put me into a blender and hoped I’d come out sane. When I first had that thought I was five or six and my child-mind pulled up an image of a baker tossing ingredients around, and over the years the idea has strengthened and stayed as a distant memory. He throws in a pinch of black hair, a squirt of violet and a dusting of golden eyes, a little sarcasm, a bit of defiance, a fear of heights, and a bucket load of mishaps. I’m my own recipe for a somewhat pretty disaster.

“I’m not hungry.” I whisper quietly. Ryler snickers under his breath, but straightens up as soon as Mom’s critical eye hardens on him.

“It’s just nerves.” Katie – our adopted aunt and Mom’s help around the house – concludes, smiling lightly at me. Her shoulder-length grey hair brightens her blue eyes. She has a kind face, one a grandmother should have. “They’ll drain away by morning, or maybe, if you’re lucky, before you even go to bed.” Great, more reminders.

“It’s probably the fear of getting a desk job.” Ryler mumbles around a mouthful. I kick his shin under the table and he splutters on his meal.

“Ryler Hush Green,” Mom says, looking completely baffled about why he’d spit out his food. I stifle laughter. Getting reprimanding by your full name is always the worst. “If you’re going to chew your cud you are welcome to sleep with the cows in the barn.”

Next to Ryler, Chase puts a hand to his mouth to hide his laughter in a fit of coughing. I try to remain as passive as possible, but ultimately fail when Ryler looks up at me like an abandoned puppy, because now I’m coughing to hide my laughter too.

Mom huffs from the end and braces her hands against the table. “Children, honestly. You can all enjoy the hay for beds tonight.”

“Ooh… a birthday sleepover in the barn.” I say, smiling brightly. I can still sense my nerves, but slowly they’re dispersing, especially with my brothers’ help. “That’ll be fun. We’ll stay up all night and play Uno.”

Ryler nods excitedly. “I’ll play and whoop you three out of five.”

I scoff. “Keep dreaming, Ry.”

“It was a given fact, not any dream.”

“Uh-huh… sure it was. You’re going to lose.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Chase leans forward. “I’ll take you both out.”

Ryler and I share a common look then turn to Chase. “You’re on.” We say in unison. We all three shake on it, trying to look as serious as possible and failing.

“Children!” Mom slaps the table to get our attention.

“Yes.” We all turn to look at her.

She glares for a moment longer then shakes her head with a sigh. “Have fun.”

Oh, boy. Fun isn’t a big enough word to cover what’s going to happen tonight.

Exceptionally abnormal, unlawfully crazy, and – you know what, never mind, adjectives aren’t going to cover it either.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious might do it. Maybe.

Last night was terrible. Other than Ryler beating me three to two and Chase complaining about not winning any, we stayed up watching the meter shower until the sun began to rise causing the stars’ glow to soften until only a few remained. I got about three hours of sleep and was planning to get more when Mom came pounding up the loft steps commanding for chores to be done and announcing that I was already late for my meeting with Mother Tyra. I was way too tired to really care and actually went back to sleep for thirty seconds before a bucket of cold water was dumped on me. Chase was the culprit, but it’d been Mom’s idea – which wasn’t very smart on either of their parts.

Let’s just say, you get me wet, I drench you.

So, after cheering with Ryler about whooping Mom and Chase with their bucket verses our hose, and changing clothes, I’m now walking through town toward Tanglewood.

The Burrows isn’t small on any scale. In fact it challenges Folklore Capital in size – which is why it is one of the only Folklore towns named on overview maps. If you want a really detailed map, not only would it be huge, but it’d be covered in town names. Folklore has the most villages and cities out of any Realm in Fantasy. But unlike most others, which are typically just human farms living really close together that they make up a village, The Burrows harbors all types of Fantasy Folk: Elves, Fairies, Dwarves, Werewolves, not so many Vampires, a Sage, Witches, a couple Warlocks, and of course humans; we even have a few Dragon Riders that live on the edge of the town as our unofficial protectors.

My home is on Folk Bend which connects to Folk Square, where you have a choice of options to pick from. The Brewer Coffee Café on the square serves exceptional Hot Chocolate – I would know because I don’t like coffee. Walee World is down Ruckus Lane along with… well, basically anything we need food, maintenance, or otherwise, is in one of the stores down Ruckus Lane. Across from Folk Bend is Gypsy’s Walk – which is where Mother Tyra, Warlock Glanes, and three Witches I can’t ever remember the name of, live. Gypsy’s Walk ends in Tanglewood, a mass forest that draws a border line between wild Fantasy creatures and the townsfolk. It’s been off-limits for as long as I can remember, but Mom sometimes tells us of her discoveries and adventures when the wood was open to the public. No one likes talking about what happened that proved Tanglewood dangerous but there are plenty of rumors to sort through, so much so that I have no idea why it is a law not to be broken for any reason.

My foot stubs an upraised root and jars me back into reality while I hiss in pain.

Watch where you’re going, why don’t ya, Smoke?

My least favorite voice in the whole world is the one in my head. It tends to drive me bonkers and I do believe could be its own person if it wasn’t stuck in me. It’s like having two personalities, only one is always in my head. Sometimes – when I’m bored and lonely – I don’t mind it. But other times – like today – I’m just annoyed with it. Which translates to me being annoyed with myself.

That got a little trippy for a moment.

Ha…trippy. That’s funny.

What was I just saying?

Mother Tyra’s house comes up on my left. Everything looks the same from yesterday. The three steps – two of which are broken, one thanks to me – leading up to the porch that leans into the droopy willow tree growing into the corner of the house – or maybe the house grew into the tree. There’s a rickety rocking chair on the far end of the porch, which is where Mother Tyra sits, knitting and talking to a man who leans against the post that makes up for a missing column to hold the roof up.

“See, I told you she’d be late.” Mother Tyra gestures towards me with a wooden needle. “The girls always are.”

I frown. That doesn’t sound right at all.

The man turns to face me and smiles. Blonde hair falls into grey eyes. He has a strong jaw and pointed nose. He’s probably in his late thirties, no younger though.

I wish I could say I don’t know him, but I do. He’s Alex Oxford, Folklore Dragonmage; Legend’s Headkeeper. I’ve never met him personally, but being famous for the youngest Master ever to succeed to Headkeeper has its perks of popularity. He’s still considered the youngest Headkeeper at however old he is.

“I assume you know who this is but I wouldn’t be a good host if I didn’t introduce you properly. Al, this is Smoke Green. Smoke this is Alex Oxford.”

We don’t shake hands or formerly greet – maybe because I’m standing ten feet away and he’s on the porch – but there’s a respect that we both seem to hold toward each other when he nods in acknowledgment and I return the silent hello.

He says something quietly to Mother Tyra that even I don’t catch – as the youngest in a big family I have a job of learning to catch just about anything being said around me; there’s always some secret to uncover that listening will do with ease – then with another head incline my way he drops from the porch and walks toward town.

“Well, that was awkward.” Mother Tyra says, still knitting.

You’re telling me. “Why was he here?”

“Oh, Alex always comes around to visit about this time of year. He ought to come more often, but I guess he does have a job to do. Being Headkeeper always gets in the way of family visits.”

If I’d been drinking anything, I’d have spluttered it out and choked for a few hard seconds. “Family…?” I croak out, almost hacking on my saliva.

“Well, yes. You didn’t think I never got married, did you?” Considering Sages live longer than humans, no, I didn’t expect her to have gotten married. “Well, that is understandable. But I did. Alex is my grandson.”

I only nod. Everyone has family. It shouldn’t really be a surprise that Legend’s Headkeeper is related to The Burrow’s Sage.

Mother Tyra stands. “Come along then. The garden needs some tending and we need to talk.”

She leads the way around her house and to a small tool shed near Tanglewood. A picket fence boxes off a plot of land with upraised beds and a small Koi pond. Mother Tyra hums to herself while she pulls tools from the shed and hands me a spade.

“Don’t bother standing there, get on and pull up the potatoes. The beans will have to wait till after it rains tomorrow. Blasted weather and my garden never get along.”

I turn to the picket gate with an upraised eyebrow. “I didn’t know weather and gardens were supposed to get along.” I say it aloud because it doesn’t seem right to say nothing to that type of statement.

“Yes, well, the weather is always getting back at me for predicting the drought a couple decades ago. Ever since then we’ve fought back and forth over forecasts. She typically wins.”

And now the weather has been titled a female. Great, she really is looney.

I begin digging, although I can already tell that a spade is not going to help me in upturning potatoes. I need a backhoe.

“So, Smoke.” Mother Tyra sits down across from me and beats the ground with a small hoe. “Did you get a chance to read that book yet?”

“Uh… sort of.” More like I flicked through it before I left. “I haven’t gotten to sit down with it, though.”

Mother Tyra nods. “That’s okay, but I was hoping you’d at least have read to the second chapter. But that’s okay. We can still talk about it.”

“Talk about… what?”

“You’re Choice. Dragons aren’t something I know all about, but I can give you some advice on them.”

“Wait – wait. Dragons?” I blink a couple times, but Mother Tyra still has only one head covered in crazy, spiked grey hair.

“Well, yes. See that’s why I wanted you to read that far. Chapter two is all about what being a Pure One means. Um…” She taps her chin in thought. “I can’t remember the first three, but the fourth is Knowing One, and you know you are a Pure One. Pure Ones are renown in their abilities to not only have powers but to control dragons. There aren’t many Fifth Daughters in the world, or Seventh Sons, and over time other non-Pure Ones have been able to join the Dragonmage with the ability to raise and bond with dragons, but Pure Ones are the strongest.”

Mother Tyra stands and walks back to the shed. She returns with a bigger hoe.

“So, Dragonmage is my Choice?” I gnaw on my bottom lip, not at all liking that thought.

“Well, I sure hope I didn’t say all that for you to choose a desk job.” She eyes me. “You’re afraid.” Rolling her eyes like a tired mother, Mother Tyra places her hands on her hips. “What are you afraid of now?” She sighs in exasperation as I remember our conversation yesterday about my fears.

“Heights.” It’s a simple fear really. I wasn’t always afraid of the pull of gravity, but a fall and broken bones can change the most stubborn mind.

“What’d you fall from? If you say a tree I’ll slay you silly. That’s a ridiculous thing to come away from afraid of.”

“No, I didn’t fall from a tree.” Well, I have. But that’s not why I’m afraid of heights. “I was bucked off a Pegasus mid-flight when I was nine. I broke seven ribs and my arm. I’m not exactly keen on going into the air again.”

Mother Tyra clicks her tongue and cuts into the ground with the hoe. A few potatoes roll out, roots and all. “That’s an okay reason to be afraid. But horses are dumb, dragons are intelligent and don’t particularly like killing their Riders.”

My spine tightens. Dragonmage. I really hoped I’d be able to get away from that Choice. But no. Apparently I have jinxed myself.

Great.

Sighing, I return to aimlessly digging a hole. I don’t particularly feel like helping her with the garden, not when she seems to be doing just fine with her hoe.

“Do Seventh Sons have the same Pure One category as Fifth Daughters?” I might as well dig for answers while I fail at doing the same for vegetables.

“Yes. Although they’re rare. Having seven sons while being a seventh son isn’t easy for everyone. I met a family a long time ago that had twelve kids.”

“Let me guess, five girls and seven boys.”

“Correct. Although it’s even weirder than that. The mother was a Knowing One and the father a Gifted One, which means they had two Pure Ones in their family. Except that’s not all, can you guess what else?”

“They were twins?”

“Humph… You’re very good at this game.”

I shrug. It’s not that I’m good at it, it’s that just listening to her talk you can figure out what she’s going to say.

Mother Tyra makes a noncommittal sound. “For not talking much you sure do think a lot.”

“Everyone thinks, it just depends on whether they say it aloud or not.”

“Yes, but you say aloud a lot too, you just think more.”

“Thinking keeps humiliation to the smallest degree.”

“So you’re afraid of being embarrassed.”

“I never said that. I just mean that if you think before speaking you won’t have trouble relaying what you want people to understand.”

She shakes her head. “I can’t believe the teachers could tolerate you.”

“I was homeschooled.” I deadpan.

“That explains a lot.”

And silence.

I found one potato during that conversation, and that’s enough for me. “I’m going home.”

She just nods and I leave. I really hope I never see her again. I pass the Cardinal Library on the square and decide for one more look around. I’ll be studying dragons a little more as apparently I’m “destined” to bond with one.

Ah… what a wonderful Wednesday morning.