A Fifth Daughter [Book 1: The Dragon Rider]

Chapter ~ 1

~ Chapter 1: Don't Forget the Forgotten Steps ~

"Mother Tyra?" I knock timidly on the door, but after carefully given orders from Carma, I know to enter immediately.

Step one: Knock on the door. Check.

The floorboards creak as I make my way through; like they might break under me with one wrong move. If the house didn't look so homey on the outside, I'd think it was haunted on the inside.

Step two: Cross the threshold. Check.

The house smells of vanilla and a hint of thieves, maybe some lavender too. Contents of many varieties scatter amongst the two room house. A door closes off one room and a kitchen and couch make up the other area. The various sorts of things strewn about the house come in all shapes and sizes. From knitting needles to swords, from cats to toads, from cauldrons to books, and everything is strewn everywhere. The house scares me. I've already established that it is a booby-trap waiting to be sprung when the front step tried to kill me and snapped in half.

What was the third step again?

"Despicable little humans." Says a voice; old and creakily, sounding very much like sandpaper run over cardboard. It echoes about the room like it's coming from the walls. I travel deeper into the living room, hoping to find the voice. My forgotten steps are forgotten.

"They seem to get younger and younger every year." Continues the odd voice. "Or am I getting old? What do you think child, do I look old?"

A woman appears in front of me presumably from nowhere, or perhaps she had been in the walls. She is the first thing that comes to mind when I think of the word hag; an old, wrinkly, ghastly thing with skin hanging off her jaw bones and large bags under her crystal blue, beady eyes. Her white hair seems to have been electrocuted, because I have never seen hair stand on end like hers does. Her dark skin just accents the whiteness of her hair. She wears blue and grey tattered robes; is also barefooted and very short. All in all, Mother Tyra looks well over a thousand years of age.

Aside from her looks, I answer timidly, "Err... no ma'am," – Mother said to always be polite, she even went far enough to add: especially in the presence of a Sage – because I really wanted to say; "You could be my dead great-grandmother." But that probably wouldn't have gone over so well.

"Of course I am; I'm well over ninety-six." Mother Tyra regards me for a moment then leans back on her bare heels; a fingernail finds it way between her teeth as she stares thoughtfully somewhere above me.

"But at least you have your manners about you." I want to laugh. I must be a good actress if she thinks this politeness is real. She waves off whatever thoughts she'd been thinking and gives me a quick glance up and down. My dirty jeans and cream-on-the-verge-of-being-a-dull-yellow sweater are not something I would like to be wearing in her presence, but the whole thing was quite a surprise; sprung upon me as an unwanted birthday present this morning.

Living in the Burrows of Folklore means two of a few things; 1) No child is to talk to, or speak about a Sage, and 2) no child is to go near the Tanglewood Forest. We are considered a child until we are sixteen which is the age we are either to find a job or get given a Choice. And today – August twenty-sixth – I turned sixteen and I just broke the two biggest rules that have governed my entire life. I've also chosen to get a choice from the Sage instead of searching for a job on my own, which basically means I want a government job instead of shuffling groceries behind a cash register.

Which – no offense – doesn't sound like a lot of fun. Too many people to be nice to.

And when – if – Mother Tyra gives me a choice then I am six days from starting my first of four years in college but – out of the three employment options – I'm no closer to deciding what job choice I'll be given to riding a Pegasus. At least only one person can be queen, and that job option is already full.