The Rider's Legacy

Chapter 4 | The Heart of the Lake

Chp 4 | The Heart of the Lake

Thankfully, I didn't die at the bottom of the lake. Darkness took me once they heaved me onto the stretcher. It was a strange sleep - listless and heavy. At some points I was aware of what was happening around me and at other times, the darkness was so deep that I could have laid there forever.

In that darkness, I saw things.

The first Vidalin Rider cradling a small egg in his arms. Jamie's voice whispering in the dark, pleading for me to come back. Forests burning – huts nestled in the wild torn apart. Places were shadows touched, flooding my mind. The edge of a cliff, with a forest burning beneath me. A dragon with breath like ice, a great hunk of metal protruding from her chest. Twisting, turning in rage.

Falling.

Her roar of rage lost in fire.

I jerked awake. Above me, there was a mosaic ceiling that curved in the tubular room. The colourful tiles depicted stories of mer-people in different places. The long willowy mer-people who cut through warm crystalline waters. The mer-people who swam under glaciers and hunted in the pitch-black, with weight packed on to insulate them from the bitter cold. A whole culture of people that I had never even considered, their species so vast that they spanned an entire world.

Cotton itched my bare legs. I was bound by blankets, but worming myself free was easier than I expected. One arm was bound tight to my body, but I was able to prop myself up haphazardly and take stock of the room.

It seemed to be a bedroom, with walls of periwinkle blue. I was swathed on a massive poster bed. On the locker beside me, a glass of cold water was left. Water droplets gleamed on the glass.

At the far end of the room, an arched window with a frame made of gleaming white metal, overlooking a garden of eelgrass. A single statue, crafted from grey stone and gleaming pearls that glimmered like tiny moons, stood at the centre. A mer-woman, with cascading hair, a hand stretched up to the surface. Her tail was long and sweeping. It took me a second to realise that fins that lined the length of her tail were warped. Clipped. The great gossamer fins that ended her tail were bent, broken.

I looked to her face again. To the sadness etched on her immortalised face.

"Dragons are not the only ones who can be clipped." I muttered.

There was a strong aftertaste of Tar in my mouth, lingering on my tongue like a film. My limbs shook as I swung my legs over the edge, a dull ache reverberating from my torso. I reached for the glass of water, only to see a sliver of shadow coiling around my wrist affectionately.

"Oh," I cooed, my voice rough. "Welcome back."

More shadow twined around my arms, rising like slithering snakes to kiss coolly against my cheeks. With tension easing around my shoulders, I stood. None of my weapons had been left in the room and my Rider's suit had been taken. All that I was left with was a nightgown that hung just above my knees, made of soft cotton. Fresh underwear too. Cleaned nails.

Someone had washed my face too. The little rounded mirror over a small dresser showed only tired eyes and pink cheeks. My hair had been washed too, twisted away from my face, and bound with little bobbins with colourful ceramic fish on them. It was surprisingly sweet. The doorknob twisted and I reached for the white-bone comb, turning to face the incomer. Shadow hissed in my ear, roused by my alarm.

A woman stepped inside, empty handed. Her skin was ochre dark, her hair pulled into twists that hung between her shoulders. Strength lined powerful shoulders and thick thighs. She stopped as she spotted me, her expression cool.