Golden Skies by Audrey Armstrong
Dragons & Wyverns Short Story Challenge
7th place
Golden Skies
The annual dragon rodeo is set ablaze as a rider and a bull team up to give the crowd a show they’ll never forget.
Trigger Warnings: Mild blood, gore, violence
“STET-SON! STET-SON! STET-SON!” My name is a chant wailing from the mouths of women who think they know me and men who think they want to be me. As I walk out of the changing room and into the harsh white orb light of the stadium, the smell of dragon shit mixed with freshly tilled soil fills my nostrils. Bulls bang their monstrous heads and snap their spiked tails against the walls of the too small chutes, fighting against the men hell bent on tying them down. Above us, vendors selling watered down ale and heavily salted fowl legs weave in and out of the steep amphitheater seats. The baritone voices of the announcers drown out the crowd as they go over the scores of the wyrmling wranglers.
“Little lady Tabitha really gave everyone a run for their money today!” Marcus says. He’s not wrong. Tabby held onto the wyrmling for ten whole seconds before it skidded to a halt, throwing her over its lanky head and into the dirt. Without missing a beat, she popped up from the ground and bowed low for the masses as they cheered louder than they had all night. From way up in the stands, they mistook the thin-lipped grin plastered across the six-year old’s face as genuine happiness.
“And now we move on to the most popular event of the rodeo! Drumroll please, ladies and gentlemen!” Kirk, the second and slightly more obnoxious announcer, brays. Fans slap their meaty hands against their thighs and the whole stadium vibrates in greedy anticipation. Kirk’s voice drops an octave and he draws out every letter as he shouts, “BULLLLLL RIDINNNNG!”
These noises and smells coalesce into a plangent song that has been the soundtrack of my life for eighteen years and yet it still grates its way down my spine plucking at every vertebra. It’s a tale as old as time. The glory and danger of a bull rider, seeking the thrill of a good ride at the expense of everything else. Life and death hang in the balance the second the gate is opened and the bull is released into the arena. Although the mages are supposed to prevent any ‘unfortunate’ deaths, there’s always the chance you won’t make it out alive.
“First up tonight is the handsome devil that my wife is madly in love with—not me! It’s STETSON BROOKS!” Marcus pauses as the crowd roars. “Hailing from the northern city of Karak, Stetson’s been riding since he was only 14 years old. He’s now 32, which is considered old for a bull rider—”
“Maybe that’s because they usually don’t live that long?” Kirk cuts in and both men dissolve into laughter, cuing the audience to join them. How humorous they find my mortality. I make my way over to the chute of the bull I’ll be riding tonight, my dragonhide chaps swishing with every step I take towards my downfall. There are four chutes in the arena, one on each side of the massive oval overlooking the ground level. They’re essentially large trenches with a rear loading gate and a front release gate. Stagehands set up the thick braided bull rope, slipping it under the dragon’s forelegs and securing it over his back with a simple slip knot. When they give the all clear signal, I jump onto the bull’s back. The spurs on my boots rattle as I try to get a good foothold on the iridescent black scales.
Marcus continues, “He’s the top champion with nearly 15 bull riding medallions in his collection, arguably making him the king of the rodeo! Will Stetson take home another gold etched medallion this year or will he let one of the youngsters steal his title?” I pull a tin of amber rosin out of my jacket and rub some into the palm of my left glove before dragging it across the tail and handhold of the rope, coating it in the sticky substance.
“But don’t forget that the rider doesn’t just win points based on his performance alone! While it is impressive to hold on for eight seconds, it all depends on the performance of the bull,” Kirk says.
“Does the bull go for a corkscrew? A sharp turn? A fun little loop forcing the rider to hold on while upside down?” Marcus adds on.
“And Stetson’s got his work cut out for him tonight, because he’s riding none other than the VOIIIIID SHREDDDERRRR!” Kirk bellows.
A low growl emanates from the beast beneath me and thick smoke pours out of his mouth filling the chute. Rolling my eyes and ignoring his temper tantrum, I toss the tail end of the rope back to a stagehand and slip my left-hand palm up into the rope’s handhold and make sure my pinky finger is lined up with the bull’s spine. With a slight nod of my chin, I let the stagehands know they can tighten the tail and toss it back over to me. I tuck it under my fingers, the rosin I applied to the tail ending at my pointer finger. I wrap it tightly behind my hand and under my fingers securing it in my grip.
“Void Shredder is one nasty bull. It took the trainers nearly ten years to break him, but boy was it worth it!” Marcus says.
I spare a glance at the mage’s apprentice, Briar, before she makes her way to the ground level of the arena. Her curly ebony hair spills over her broad shoulders, her soft chestnut eyes are narrowed in concentration, and she chews nervously at her bottom lip. If everything goes to plan, tonight will be the last time I will ever see her. I wish I could’ve bottled the sound of her laughter, soft and warm like the pinks and oranges of the secret sunrises we shared together, or the subtle scent of her skin, rosemary and lavender, that never lingered long enough on my pillow.
“It looks like all the mages are now on the ground level, meaning we can finally begin!” Kirk announces.
Leaning forward, I gently pat the bull’s neck and whisper, “Ready to give them one hell of a last show, Void Shredder?”
***
VOID SHREDDER. That is the ridiculously stupid name the humans gave me. My name is actually George, not that anyone cares. I have been trapped here for nearly forty years and tonight will be my last.
I was so young and reckless in the beginning. The first time they let me out of the chute, I raced to the sky foolishly thinking I could get away. Right before I hit the barrier, I noticed the slight purplish glimmer of magic and knew I was screwed. I couldn’t even produce flames. They’d taken that away from me too. I hated all of them: the riders, the mages, the vapid announcers, the greasy men selling rancid bird flesh. I fantasized endlessly about sinking my teeth into their bodies, hearing the snap of bones and tendons as I ripped their limbs apart, coating my maw in viscous crimson. I would delight in the sharp cries of anguish that would break from their throats. If they wanted a void shredder, I would give them one.
And then something happened that changed everything. Thirty years ago, the night before the rodeo I was dozing off in my stall when I heard a rider screaming, “I can’t do this anymore, let me go, please, please!” His sobs were quieted by a mage who reassured him that he was meant to be here. The next day, the same rider clung to the back of a bull soaring through the arena before a faint purple shimmer coated the bull rope and it snapped apart. I watched true panic fill the man’s eyes as he was launched off the bull, plummeting to the earth below. Mages were supposed to prevent a hard fall, cushioning riders’ descent to the ground. But there it was again. Purple. The man was suspended in air for a fraction of a second, too small for a human to notice, but long enough for the bull’s spiked tail to impale him and send parts flying. Blood sprayed the audience and they screamed in fear and demented excitement. I looked above the fray to the box seats that held the man that called himself their ruler. He leaned over the edge and took note of every chunk of the rider’s body in the dirt before nodding with approval and sitting back down.
Years later Stetson arrived and my suspicions were confirmed. Rage burned through that boy’s body and leaked out of him in outbursts that rivaled my own. Standing outside my stall one night, he told me everything. He was taken from his home to play the part of a tough and fearless bull rider. One wrong step out of line and they would murder his family and everyone he ever loved. Stetson and the other riders were caged animals, just like us. Welts of hot tears rolled down his face and when he finished his story, I lifted my wing and let him curl up beside me. Tonight, eighteen years later, is our only chance out of this hell.
The second the trumpets blare and the gate opens, I launch myself out of the chute and towards the ground. A sharp right turn has the crowd gasping and I feel Stetson’s heels dig into my hide.
“WOW! That bull is putting up a fight tonight!” The announcer shouts.
I tuck my wings in, twisting and turning in a corkscrew around the arena. Stetson only needs to hold on for three more seconds. In a final move, I soar upwards and briefly hang in the air upside down before I level out. Another trumpet sounds signaling that eight seconds have passed and Stetson leaps off my back. He’s wrapped in purple as he gently floats to the ground. This is where the real fun begins.
Circling around the arena, I watch Stetson jog towards the door that is supposed to lead him to safety. When he reaches it, he makes a show of yanking on it with all his might. Just as planned, it won’t open. Swooping low, I pass over the frantic mages who just can’t seem to figure out why they haven’t been able to corral me. I let my right eye close briefly in a cheeky wink to the apprentice
before I head towards the boy. My mouth widens, Stetson lets out an ear-splitting scream, and I snap my jaws shut around his body. Pausing, I gulp in a deafening swallow that leaves the audience stunned into silence for once. Looking up, I find the purple shimmer is gone and before anyone else can notice, I shoot into the sky. Below us, pandemonium breaks out.
***
I begged George not to eat the goat’s head, but he couldn’t help himself. I’m wrapped around a giant tooth in the back of his mouth and it absolutely reeks in here. After what feels like a lifetime, his enormous jaw cracks open and I tumble out onto soft grass. Sitting up, I breathe in fresh air, look around, and realize that for the first time in nearly twenty years I am free. Everything went to plan, thanks to Briar. Just an apprentice, the mage had sneered. She loved me enough to sacrifice everything for my freedom. A laugh escapes my lips and soon I am clutching my stomach, tears of bittersweet happiness dripping down my nose. George is stretched out in the grass next to me and he lets out a long, stinky sigh.
Are you done yet? Can we get back to the skies? George whines.
Unable to speak, I stand on shaky legs and climb onto his back. Soon, we are flying above the clouds and George is lighting up the sky with flames of gold.