Dragon Gods: First Chapters
Chapter One: Sofia
The air in the rainforest used to be thick with humidity even in the dry season, but that was before the Dereyans massacred the dragons. Now, underneath the shadowy canopy of trees and ferns, the plants on the forest floor were dry and brittle, burned brown along the edges. They crunched softly beneath Sofia’s feet as she moved, an insignificant shadow among the towering trunks.
It took all her energy to ignore the growing number of dead trees along her route. Those that hadn’t dried out in the nearly nonexistent rainy season last cycle had suffered frostbite in the bone-chilling temperatures of the cold season. There had been a few weeks where the morning frost never melted, the sun unable to warm the frigid air. Her ancestors hadn’t even had a cold season, but the weather was only growing worse with each passing cycle. The disappearance of the dragons had been the start of the world’s end. Wueco was dying.
Sofia wasn’t even supposed to be out in the rainforest, especially not alone and armed with illegal weapons. No one was allowed outside the city wall, except for the men of the king’s army. And her people hadn’t been allowed to carry weapons for over a hundred sun cycles, since the first rebellion had failed. But every Dragonborn knew that you didn’t walk beyond the city walls without protection. Even the king’s men who refused to believe in the so-called dragon-filth myths knew not to wander too far into the wilds. As if some innate instinct told them of the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
She heard the small rabbit before she saw it, rustling around against the dried leaves and trying to free itself. With the racket it was making, it didn’t take long to find the creature, its back leg tangled in the snare she’d set a few days before, pulling tighter with every jerky move. It had been trapped just long enough to begin to panic.
It was a small thing, eyes wide and tawny ears pulled back tight against its head. She set her pack aside, pulling out the sharp dagger from her belt. A quick death was a kindness.
But when she reached forward to grab the rabbit by its neck, it twisted, back legs kicking as it bit down on her finger with more aggression than she expected from the little creature.
She hissed and pulled back her hand, giving a small laugh at the blood its sharp teeth had drawn. The rabbit was no longer struggling, but facing her, body taut and posed to attack again.
“You’re a feisty one,” she said, watching its nose twitching. It blinked and she almost thought it might have understood her. Not that magical rabbits existed, as far as she’d ever read.
Her hand twitched forward once more and it lunged, teeth bared. Another might have found the creature pathetic, struggling against its inevitable death, too weak to change its fate. But Sofia knew what it was to be small and hopeless and still keep fighting. Maybe that’s why the third time she reached forward, she only held it down as it lashed about before gently unhooking the cord from its leg.
The moment she let go of the rabbit, it disappeared into the underbrush, its tawny fur the same color of the dead leaves. She’d find more food elsewhere; there were plenty more snares to check and it wasn’t the purpose of her mission anyway.
She reset the snare and continued on, keeping her own footsteps as silent as she could on the dying land. Despite how often she dreamed of it, Sofia hadn’t been alive when the dragons disappeared. Her great-great-great-grandmother hadn’t even been born yet. But she had memorized every story she’d ever been told or read in secret. She absorbed the words like water in soil, storing them away to feed her hope in the darker moments.
A book she’d read once about the history of Wueco spoke of the forest as a place full of magic where the leaves always glittered with freshly fallen rain and the forest floor was nearly impossible to traverse with its thick undergrowth. Back then, humans could harness the magic of the world, challenging even the worst of the faeries that hunted in the rainforest. And the gods swept through the sky feeding the earth and watching over their people.
Now the green of the trees was wan and the undergrowth along the floor was dead except for in the shadiest regions of the woods. The only magic Sofia had ever felt was the occasional sprinkle across her skin at the peak of the rainy season. And if faeries still lived here, they didn’t dare get too close to the city wall where any movement was met with an arrow through the head. Still, she was more comfortable here amongst the dying rainforest than between the tall stone buildings of the city that towered as high as trees and always reached out to suffocate her.
Sweat beaded along her brow, just beneath the leather mask she wore and she took a moment to wipe it away. Her tight curls were a tangled mess, but they were tied back and out of her face. Even still, a few flyaways had come free and were plastered against her skin. She hated the mask and thought it was ridiculous to wear in the middle of nowhere like this, but who was she to question Micael and his rules.
Just thinking of the older man with his perpetual frown made her roll her eyes.
She stopped every few minutes to search the other snares she’d lain and after an hour, she had a line of dead rats and a couple of rabbits hanging along her belt and back. After two hours, she’d taken another haphazard circle, giving up on the hunt altogether. She was seeking bigger prey than the rodents, anyway. Her belt was heavy and the sun was stretching higher in the sky, leaving her unsettled and restless.
Somewhere after the third hour, she gave up her circling. Her fingers burned from where she’d been picking at her skin and she had to clench her hands to stop the nervous twitch. She couldn’t keep circling and waiting. She needed to do something. So she veered right, almost hearing the hissed words of annoyance from the others on the wind. If they were real or just in her head, she didn’t know. She ignored them either way.
She was less familiar with this part of the forest, each step taking her away from her usual haunts. As she crossed over a fallen log, she noticed the small patch of bright blue and silver flowers blooming from the rotting wood, life fed from death.
The forest was never quiet, a constant whistle of birds, the hum of insects, and the scuffling of the creatures in the underbrush. It made it easier to sneak unseen through the trees, even with the brittle breaking of leaves. But it also made it easier for others to sneak up on her. Hunting was the constant balance of focusing on her own steps while staying constantly aware of the forest around her.
As she stepped carefully over another log, she heard the snuffling of something large and very much not human somewhere ahead. She stopped for just a moment, to get her bearings and note the current in the air. She’d need to remain downwind as she approached. Her steps turned more delicate as she moved. When she was a few feet away, close enough to hear the distinctive snort of the boar beyond a large fern, she paused again.
Even a small boar could injure her if she attacked outright and most the boars in this area were anything but small. She didn’t have a bow, only a few poison darts that would do nothing against the creature’s thick skin and her daggers that would require getting up close and personal with the boar’s tusks. Javi would tell her to leave it. They all likely would. This was not the plan. But an average-sized boar could feed their base for two weeks. They might have enough to donate to the poorer families of the slums. Plenty were starving.
Making the decision, she set her bag down and all but one of her kills. She slipped onto the lowest branch of a nearby tree. It moved beneath her weight, but she was quiet as she climbed. It took a few minutes to make her way onto a large branch, hovering just above where the boar was snuffling through an old and rotten log.
It was wide and squat, its tusks long and curved, and she swore she could smell the fetid stench of it from where she perched.
She pulled the small rat left on her belt, slicing it through the chest with her dagger. Even though it was already dead, the blood sluggishly welled at the incision. She rubbed the tips of her poison darts along the edge of her dagger until it shined in the dappled sunlight from above. Even with her missing ring finger, the movement was steady and well-practiced. Sending a quick prayer to the dragons, she dropped the rat onto the ground below.
The boar’s head immediately perked up, ears turning to where the rat had fallen. It took a second for the beast to make the decision, but then it was moving, nose pressed lightly to the ground as it searched out its prize. It seemed so excited for this new development.
“Sorry,” she whispered, more to herself than anything, before she jumped down from her branch, landing directly on top of the now squealing animal. She didn’t let it get out a second wail, jamming her dagger into the soft skin of its neck. She straddled it, holding it against the ground, even as it continued to buck and thrash underneath her. It took a few seconds for the poison she had wiped along the blade to take effect, but eventually the boar slumped forward, body heavy in death.
She stumbled up triumphant, ignoring the sharp sting of her breaths in her throat from the exertion. She didn’t love taking the life of an animal, but there was something thrilling in the fight and the win.
As she took another breath, the small wheeze in her chest told her she’d pushed herself too far, and she began to prep the beast. She was so focused on her new job, she almost missed the rustle of leaves and the smell of soap and sweat on the wind.
A human. A Dereyan.
She froze, hands covered in blood, and smiled. She’d finally been found and the true hunt had begun.
Chapter Two: Fox
Fox was on the hunt. When he’d set out that morning with the others, after arguing with Ian for ten minutes about how he was most definitely coming with them, he’d had high hopes. He imagined himself strolling back into the city with the head of the Dragonborn resistance’s leader dangling from his fist. The scene was beginning to feel less tangible as he swatted away another buzzing insect, surrounded by the stench of dying trees.
Ian had sent them all on a wild rabbit chase. He’d probably only seen an old marking from before Suvi even existed and mistaken it for something meaningful. They’d been out in the forest well before sunrise and it was already nearly noon and so far the most dangerous thing Fox had seen was some poison vines. As he nearly tripped over a root, dodging another said vine, he thought about turning around, marching back to Ian and telling him as much. Ian was a rank above him, but they’d known each other long enough that Fox never felt guilty pushing the high sergeant’s buttons.
The fact was, he wasn’t even supposed to be out here. He’d taken High Specialist Luna’s place in the search party when he’d heard what they were after—the resistance’s base. After nearly an entire sun cycle of raiding pathetic excuses for bases within the city that usually comprised a single family whispering about forbidden myths across the dinner table, Fox was ready to make an actual dent in the king-damned rebellion.
So despite wanting to turn around and tell Ian exactly what he thought of his ridiculous plan, he kept moving. And when he finally heard a rustling in the trees ahead of him, too big to be a rabbit or fox, he pulled his bow and prowled forward.
It was impossible to be truly silent in the forest, the dead leaves and plants always happy to make his life more difficult, but with the slight breeze and constant buzz of animals and insects, he could blend in with the cacophony of sounds fine. He kept his distance at first, careful not to startle whatever it was, but as he approached, seeing the flashes of movement between the trees, he bit back his shout of triumph. It was a she, a Dragonborn caught outside the city walls.
Being out here was already grounds for arrest and imprisonment, but if she was here on resistance business, she could lead him back to their elusive base.
Ian might have given them the initial intel, but Fox would lead them to the nest and he’d be the one to cut off the viper’s head. He imagined the homecoming, the chief commander welcoming him with open arms, his own father at his side beaming with pride. He’d prove to the man once and for all that he could be a true king’s man and military leader. That he could fill his brother’s shoes.
Why anyone would risk their lives to be out in this treacherous place, he had no idea. The rainforest smelled of rotten wood and moss, and with the worsening droughts, the greenery couldn’t be considered pleasing. It was simply brown dirt, brown mud, and brown death. Even the animals didn’t seem particularly excited to be out here. But Fox had given up cycles ago trying to understand the minds of dragon-filth who insisted his people with their polished stone houses and paved streets were the savage ones.
He almost tripped over a root as he circled toward where he’d seen the woman through the trees. His heart beat heavily in his chest as he crouched and brushed his hair from his face, sticky with sweat. A wild boar sniffed around a small clearing a few yards away, but there wasn’t a woman in sight. His chest tightened, but before he could think to run, the woman dropped from the tree above the boar, landing on it with a short cry and pulling a dagger across its throat. It was a savage display of blood and violence and though he’d never admit it, he was almost impressed.
He had a clear view of the woman when she stood, looking down at her kill. She was covered in dirt and blood, making it nearly impossible to tell her skin apart from the filth, but her hair was a distinct nest of umber curls that appeared nearly black until they caught the light. For a moment, he questioned if she was even from Suvi. He had heard rumors of unregistered Dragonborn roaming beyond the wall. But despite the grime, her clothes were too well-tailored to be from anywhere but the city.
More importantly, she’d just proven she was not only outside the walls, but possessed a set of illegal weapons, hunting the king’s animals. Although not proof of resistance ties, hope swelled inside him. He could arrest her then and there, take her back to the city, and interrogate her. But if he could follow her without being seen—
Before the thought had even finished, she froze in what she was doing, body going rigid. She looked up. He had barely moved, taking a single silent step backward and yet she was staring directly at him through the branches and vines.
A small leather strap was wrapped across her face, obscuring the top half, but her eyes were still visible and her gaze sharp. Her high cheekbones gave her an air of haughtiness that almost had him stepping back again.
The decision had been made for him.
He moved forward, an arrow already aimed and ready to fire if she ran, but she didn’t. She had turned back to her kill, eyes focused on her hands as they made quick work of the giant pig’s innards. Fox’s stomach turned at the sight.
“Don’t move,” he said, voice clear despite them being the first words he’d spoken since morning. “You’re under arrest, in the name of the king, for illegal hunting, possession of banned weapons, trespassing on royal land, and suspected rebel activity.”
She ignored his command, standing up slowly and turning to look at him.
“You. Of course, it’s you,” she said, a muscle twitching in her jaw. He wasn’t sure what to make of the comment and her face was carefully neutral. He sneered at the blood splattered across her cheeks and mask like freckles, a few drops smudged as if to imitate war paint. Her eyes, nearly too large for her face stood out starkly against her dirt and blood-streaked face, bright and round and the color of moss. She blinked.
“Drop your dagger and get on your knees,” he said, unnerved by the lack of expression. Perhaps she was dull-witted.
She twisted the dagger in her hand around, but didn’t drop it.
“I don’t want to fight,” he said, teeth clenched in frustration.
“Maybe I do,” she said, smiling.
“You’ll only lose.”
“But it might be fun.” She took a step forward and he moved his arrow in threat. “We could dirty up those pretty clothes of yours.”
“Or I could just shoot you and carry you back to the city over my shoulder.”
“Is that supposed to convince me to cooperate?”
His arms twitched and he let the arrow fly, the head embedding itself in the soil next to her feet. He may not be a hunter, but he knew how to aim.
“Drop your weapon and kneel,” he said again.
She complied, the smirk on her face not even flickering as she stabbed her dagger into the soil and kneeled, ignoring the blood of the boar that soaked into her pants.
“Throw the dagger here.”
“Do you want to be clearer with that order?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
He kept his face blank, raising his own in turn. She relented at last, gently tossing the dagger a few feet in front of her.
“And your belt.”
She opened her mouth, as if to argue, but then closed it before unbuckling the belt and tossing it forward. He moved around her, checking her back for any other obvious weapons as he picked up the discarded belt and dagger and added them to his own weapon harness. He noted the supply of darts and another small dagger on the belt.
“If I search you, am I going to find any more weapons?”
“I don’t know. Will you?” she said, face blank.
“I already have you on enough charges to send you to the working farms. Why make it worse for yourself?”
“What, are you going to charge me with sass?”
“Harassment of a king’s soldier.”
She rolled her eyes but slowly brought her hand to her boot and pulled out a tiny dagger that was tucked there, throwing it across to him.
“That’s it,” she said, flashing him a bright smile that looked all the more horrific with the blood drying across her face. It cracked with the movement. “I promise.”
He didn’t take her word for it, switching out his bow for his dagger as he pulled her to her feet and swiped a hand across her body, brusk in his movements. He refused to acknowledge the curves and softness beneath her clothes, but he found no other weapons.
He turned her roughly, pulling down the strip of leather that served as her mask. The splatter of blood meant the clean skin left the impression of a mask behind, but with her face fully revealed he still didn’t recognize her. Not that he expected to, but her comment had unnerved him. You.
She did appear to be about his own age, now that he could see her full face, but her plain looks with her barely visible freckles against skin the color of clay was anything but remarkable. Her eyes though—he imagined he’d remember those eyes.
Shaking off his thoughts, he turned her around roughly, pulling her hands behind her back to tie them. He silently noted the missing finger on her hand and the faded brand on the inside of her wrist, a sign that this wasn’t the first time she’d flouted the king’s laws. He brushed his thumb across the brand before he covered it with ropes and grinned.
“If you wanted to touch me, you could have asked nicely.”
“If I wanted to touch someone, it wouldn’t be you. You smell worse than the dead pig.”
He pushed her away, wiping his hands on his pants to get rid of the feel of her skin.
A red blush crept up her neck and he took a moment to appreciate he’d finally wiped the smirk off her face. He pushed her forward with a jab of his bow, sending her staggering in front of him, back the way he’d come. He was happy the afternoon sun was visible through the thick foliage above, pointing his way back south to the city.
***
The grace she’d exhibited in her fight with the boar was gone as they walked. She stumbled along, tripping over roots and branches with nearly every step.
“Stop falling,” he snapped after the fifth time having to catch her and pull her back upright.
“If you wanted me to touch you, you could have asked nicely,” he said, mockingly. She ignored the jab.
“Have you tried walking like this? It’s hard to stay balanced with my hands tied.”
“I suppose I could just untie you and trust you don’t try to stab me.”
“You have my weapons,” she replied as she looked at him with those unnervingly bright eyes, wide in feigned innocence. “Or are you scared of a defenseless Dragonborn?”
“I doubt you’re defenseless even without your illegal weapons.” He gave her a small shove and she nearly tripped again, letting out a string of curses.
“Be careful which gods you send to curse me or I’ll have you on heresy laws, as well.” She glared over her shoulder, but he only smiled.
“My gods wouldn’t leave any of you left to charge me.”
Her grin reminded him of the feral cat that lived in the alley behind his father’s home as if she might bite him if he got too close.
He kept them moving forward, never letting her get too far ahead. There was very little likelihood of her being able to run away while tied up, but he still didn’t trust her. Her people worshipped the rainforest and he wouldn’t be surprised if she thought being trapped alone out here was somehow better than being in Suvi. He sometimes wondered why they didn’t just throw all the Dragonborn over the city’s walls to live in the rainforest like they all so dearly wanted.
Although, that was one of the main issues with the rebel faction. Some of them did live out here, somewhere among the trees. Despite cycles of trying to smoke them out and crush their ridiculous movement, the military still hadn’t managed to do more than keep them running and hiding. They’d raided the occasional safe house within the city and arrested plenty of instigators over the cycles, but nothing had quelled the unrest the resistance stirred. Nothing had stopped the bloodshed and terror they spread through the city.
At least not yet.
He found his eyes going back to the faded, but still evident scar along her wrist—the twisted “T” branded there probably cycles ago. She’d been found guilty of treason once before, at a young enough age to escape execution or the farms or perhaps her crimes hadn’t been easy enough to prove back then. But now he had her on half a dozen charges, illegally hunting just a few miles from where Ian had found evidence of a resistance base. This could be the shift in the war they needed, an insider with a very good reason to turn on her comrades if she valued her own life. And he was going to be the one to deliver her to Chief Commander Harlow.
Chapter Three: Sofia
Sofia despised the ropes rubbing against the skin of her tied wrists. She was breathing through her nose, trying to quell the anxiety that churned in her stomach. She had felt his thumb, callused and warm, brush against her inner wrist, tracing her brand before he’d tied her up. The thought of him seeing it made her teeth clench until her jaw ached.
Fox Ocon. Of course it was him. Of all the people Vato could send their way, it had to be his son. She wondered if he knew just how many scars his father had left on her—nothing compared to the silly little brand.
He was taller than she remembered—not that she had seen him since they were both children and only then at a distance. She didn’t consider herself a short person, particularly for a woman, but he still towered over her more than a few inches. The scrawny mess she remembered had been replaced with muscles that showed the cycles of training he’d likely had as a part of the king’s army. And the ease at which he held his weapons along with her own made it clear the muscles weren’t just for show. His hair had grown out, neatly tied back into a bun, still the bright, nearly white-blond she remembered, unique even among the Dereyans.
She hated that she found him imposing. She wanted to see him on his knees, bleeding and begging for her to spare him. As she pictured it, his face shifted, nose narrowing into a sharper peak and eyes going from silver to an icy blue. She blinked away the vision as her throat went dry. As much as she hated being captured by Ocon, she needed to remember that he wasn’t his father and she’d make sure they never made it back to Suvi.
She let her toe catch on another root, wincing only slightly as her knees came down onto the hard dirt of the forest floor. Ocon stood above her, looking smug. He hadn’t caught her and his eyes were dancing with enjoyment as she struggled to right herself. She had to bite back a smile of her own. He was only playing into her own game by allowing her to slow them down.
The feel of the rough ropes against her wrists and the bite of stones in her knees didn’t quite permit her a true moment of contentment or humor. There was a niggling in the back of her mind reminding her how far off course she’d wandered in her little adventure and hunt. They’d already been walking for longer than they should have, him pushing her along beside him toward the city and a sure death sentence.
If they didn’t catch up to her and Ocon in time, it would be her own fault. But the chance to kill that boar may have been worth it. The droughts had been at their worst this past rainy season, leaving much of the city hungry and tired. The rations had hit the Dragonborn the hardest, of course, and the resistance could only do so much to spread food under the nose of the king. If she and the others didn’t hunt, then people would die. Either from starvation or from stealing and being sentenced to a long and arduous death on the farms.
Of course, at this rate, the boar and small pile of animals she’d amassed over the course of the morning would be stolen by a passing jaguar before anyone found them. The thought made her empty stomach turn.
She wobbled for the umpteenth time on a loose root, slowing their gait and letting out a dramatic oof as she caught herself. Ocon didn’t bother with gentleness as he pushed her forward, nearly sending her tumbling.
“Do you enjoy pushing women around?” she bit out, partly to make noise and partly because she was rankled by the manhandling. “Or just dragon-filth?”
“You call yourself that?” he said, almost sounding offended by her use of the slur. It wasn’t like Dereyans didn’t throw it around under their breaths constantly, but then again they always loved pretending virtue when pressed. She snorted, looking back to ensure he saw the look of derision on her face. “I have nothing against Dragonborn.” He said the words as if he thought she should be impressed.
“These ropes say otherwise,” she said, wondering if her eyes could get stuck if she rolled them too hard.
“You’re under arrest because of your treason not your blood.”
“Yet it’s my very blood that makes anything I do treasonous. Do your people get arrested for holding weapons? For feeding themselves?” She hated that true fury was rising in her voice. He didn’t deserve her energy.
“You can thank your ancestors for the thousands they massacred. They are the reason you lost your rights. And what do your people do? Continue to murder innocents.”
“Is that what they teach you in those towering buildings in the inner city? That we’re the murderers?”
“The blood I’ve felt on my hands after your attacks has taught me plenty.”
The words were muttered, but still clear and Sofia had to bite her tongue to not respond. She hated the self-righteousness in his tone and the set of his shoulders. He was so sure of his own beliefs. Any blood on the hands of the resistance had been a necessary evil in their fight for freedom, not that anyone ever listened or cared.
“And you think the Dereyans haven’t shed innocent blood?”
“You’ve broken how many laws? Don’t try to argue with me about innocence.”
She spit on the ground in front of him as she slowed her steps and came to a stop.
“I don’t claim to be innocent; I know you saw my brand. I don’t fight for my own sake, though. I fight for every single Dragonborn who’s died for the crime of being hungry or scared or simply wanting to hold on to their history.”
She saw his silver eyes go wide and his face stretched into a smile that looked almost maniacal.
“You’ve all but admitted to resistance ties and actions against the king. Such a sharp tongue for someone with such dull wits.”
He stepped toward her. They were only a few inches apart now, and she could feel the heat of his body. She had to bend her neck back to look him in the eyes, regarding the triumph that danced there. Her tongue darted out, practically tasting his satisfaction as she wet her lips, and his eyes flickered down to trace the movement.
“With that brand and you admitting to resistance ties, I can have you executed on the next new moons. But,” he paused, eyes tracing across her face. Her smile faltered at the hunger she saw there. Not for her, but for something more. “If you give me information on the resistance base, just a location or a few names, I’ll make sure you get sent to the farms.”
She sneered, refusing to back away from him. “So you offer me a clean, fast death or a slow one enslaved to your king?”
“I’ll make your death as comfortable as you please if you give me the resistance base’s location.”
She smiled.
She heard the quiet twang of a bowstring somewhere to the left of them, and she watched the look of triumph melt from his face.
He flushed so pretty when he was scared.
“Better yet,” she said, “I’ll take you there personally.”
She leaned closer until her lips barely brushed against his ear, sending a shiver through him that made her feel all the more powerful. “You should have let me go.”