"The eggs are hatching!" the call rang out across the small village of Borollai, followed a moment later by the ringing of the hatching bell. The loud, echoing clangs of the big brass bell carried from the clan council huts in the village center out to the goat pastures and apple orchards in the surrounding hills. Every member of the clan knew the sound, and as one they dropped what they were doing and headed for the hatching caves set in the side of the cliff that the village was built next to.
Gallen stopped his hammer half way above the glowing hot piece of iron he was busily shaping into a horseshoe at the sound of the bell. The drakel blacksmith raised his head and looked toward the hatching caves, watching as men and women hustled through the village, chattering and shouting to one another. He dropped the glowing iron into a bucket of water, listening to it hiss violently, and grabbed a cloth to wipe the soot and dirt from his scales. A smile spreading across his face, Gallen took off the heavy leather apron that protected him from rogue sparks and joined the rush of drakel heading for the caves.
Gallen didn't have an egg hatching or even a mate, in fact most of the drakel heading for the caves didn't have eggs hatching, but hatching time was always an event shared by the whole clan. It didn't matter how many eggs were hatching, the whole village always turned out because the newborns were considered children of the clan. They would only remain with their blood parents long enough to be named, then they would be fostered out to the craftsmen and elder warriors of the clan. This season Gallen had heard that there were only three clutches hatching. Meaning there would be around nine new hatchlings joining the village, since the typical clutch held three eggs, and that was an exciting thought. Gallen wondered what colors they would be.
Drakel were reptilian people, dragon men some called them, and their scales were different colors depending on their cast within the clan. Green scaled drakel, like Gallen, were craftsmen and farmers, while black scaled drakel were warriors who defended the community from outside threats. Drakel born with blue scales were storytellers, the historians of the clan and natural healers, though the blues were few in number these days. Gold scaled drakel were the leaders of the village. Only a few dozen gold drakel were born every few generations, making them even rarer than blues, though they tended to live longer. Ancient drakel stories told of many other casts that existed before men came to settle in the plains, but none had been hatched in over two thousand years, and many drakel considered the stories nothing more than myth.
Gallen hoped there would be at least one green of sufficient build to become his apprentice. The old blacksmith hadn't fostered a hatchling in over fifty years, and he had begun to worry in recent seasons that his skills would die with him. Now as he approached the entrance to the hatching caves, he felt the old excitement building inside of him. Hatching time was always a thrill, regardless of where the hatchlings ended up, and it was always a joyous time when new blood was added to the clan. Last season there had been three new blacks added to the clan, and a green who was apprenticed to Borrga the potter.
Jarred from his thoughts by the press of bodies around him, Gallen followed the flow of the crowd into the main chamber of the caves where the hatching grounds were. Long and wide, the cavern was stiflingly hot, warmed by six large fires burning along the edges of the circular chamber. The floor of the cavern was covered in a thick layer of hot sands that kept the eggs warm and threatened to burn the feet of those walking across it. The walls of the cavern were sloped at a gentle angle up away from the burning sand, and hundreds of shallow alcoves where drakel could sit to watch the hatching had been carved out. Already the seats were filling, and Gallen hurried to claim a spot on the second tier overlooking the sands. From there he could clearly see the three clutches of eggs arranged near the center of the chamber. Gallen frowned as he noticed only five eggs in all. Two of the clutches had two eggs each, but the third held only a single small egg, set off by itself.
He could also look across the grounds to the platform where the three gold elders of the clan stood. The clan hadn't seen a gold drakel hatched in nearly eighty years, and the surviving elders were showing signs of their age. Merda, the only female gold, was the youngest of the three, and even her scales had dulled with age. Beside her was Jenyr, who Gallen knew to be a sour old drakel. Jenyr had never really recovered after being mauled by a bear in his younger days, and the old drakel leaned heavily on a wooden cane, one leg twisted at an odd angle. Ronan was the eldest of the three and the leader of the clan's council. Well over one hundred years, the gold drakel stood hunched over nearly double, and the two horns that sprouted from his head were long and twisted. He also had a small cluster of hornlets protruding from his lower jaw like a rough beard, something only the eldest drakel had.
The general chatter in the cavern died off into excited silence as the first of the eggs began to rock in its bed of sand. The blood mothers of the three clutches stood down on the hatching grounds, and the owner of the rocking egg dashed forward to steady it before it tumbled and cracked. Gallen recognized the woman as Giira the weaver, a green who was hatched from the same clutch as himself. The old smith couldn't help but think how lovely she looked wrapped in the traditional white robes of an expecting mother.
Gallen's musings were interrupted as the other eggs began to rock. The other mothers hurried to steady them, and Gallen noticed Frill the potter and Hanni the seamstress, a pair of older greens. The eggs rolled from their sandy beds, and a collective gasp ran through the gathered clan as a soft crack echoed through the chamber. In one quick breath the first egg split down one side and a tiny wriggling form forced its way through onto the warm sand. Glistening wet, the newly hatched black lifted its head and began to creel for his mother who was at his side instantly crooning reassurances and wrapping him in a soft cloth. A whirlwind of activity began on the hatching grounds as the other eggs split open, spilling their tiny occupants onto the sands. Two more blacks appeared one girl and another boy, along with a tiny blue scaled boy who was greeted by much cheering from the clan.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Gallen looked around the chamber and spotted old Berro, the only other blue in the clan. Almost as old as Elder Ronan, Berro had been the clan’s only storyteller for many seasons. Looking at the old blue sitting in the first tier Gallen could see his eyes were wet with tears as he looked on at the newly hatched boy squirming in his mother's arms, and Gallen could imagine the old storyteller's relief knowing his skills and the histories of the clan would be passed on to the next generation.
Worried muttering from the crowd and a terrified sob from the hatching ground pulled Gallen's gaze back to the eggs. While the new blacks and the young blue were healthy and happy in the arms of their mothers, the small egg that had been set apart from the rest had not hatched yet. It was Hanni the seamstress who cradled the violently rocking egg between her hands, sobbing softly as she watched, "Why wont it hatch?!" she cried and her gaze went to the elders standing on their platform, but the old gold drakel had no answer for the desperate woman.
Without realizing what he was doing, Gallen was up and on the hatching grounds before he even knew he had moved. His hand went to the knife on his belt and he dropped to his knees next to Hanni, pulling the egg from her grasp. The seamstress let out a startled cry of shock as Gallen began to cut away the thick outer shell of the egg with his knife. After only a few seconds of carving the egg cracked down the middle and split open spilling a squirming form onto the sands. Still covered by the membrane of the egg, the tiny hatchling glistened a wet crimson red in the glow of the fires around the chamber.
"She's dead! There’s blood everywhere!" Hanni began to cry in horror, but Gallen held up a hand to silence her as he cut the membrane away. The hatchling was abnormally tiny and thin, but it creeled for its mother just like the others had, and it seemed to be perfectly healthy.
"She's fine," Gallen breathed in wonder as he gazed at the hatchling, "Her scales are red," he lifted the little girl and cradled her against his chest while Hanni fumbled for the blanket to wrap her in. The little hatchling's scales glittered like a thousand tiny rubies across her body, and her eyes were a striking amber color as they gazed up at Gallen.
There was a hushed silence in the hatching cavern as Hanni wrapped the newly hatched red in a blanket, and the voice of Elder Ronan echoed clearly across the sands, "Lady Hanni, bring the child to us," the ancient gold commanded, his voice gentle but firm as he beckoned the woman to approach the elder's platform.
Gallen could see Hanni trembling and he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She was shaken from the experience and stumbled as she tried to cross the sands and climb the steps to the elder’s platform. Gallen supported her and stood beside her while she presented the red scaled hatchling to the elders. He didn't know why, but he felt a connection with the tiny red girl. Perhaps because he had helped her hatch, he didn't know, but he felt like he should stay close to her.
Elder Ronan took the squirming child from her mother, and the little red hatchling didn’t make a sound. Normally newly hatched drakel would scream and cry if taken from their blood mothers too quickly, but the little red just stared at the old gold with those curious amber eyes as he carried her over to Elder Merda and Jenyr who stood waiting to examine the child. As they drew near, the tiny red hatchling turned her gaze to them, refusing to utter so much as a single creel for her mother while the elders looked her over.
Turning briefly from the red hatchling, Elder Ronan drew breath to call for Berro, but the old blue drakel had anticipated the elders need for him and was already climbing the stairs to the platform. When he reached the top, Elder Ronan presented the child to Berro who stared at her in awe.
“Speak old friend,” Elder Ronan bade the stunned blue, “Tell us what you know of red scaled drakel.”
Still gazing at the little red hatchling, Berro scratched his head and thought for a moment before responding, “Well, I’m afraid I don’t know much. The old histories speak of red scaled heroes from the days before men settled in the plains. But exactly what role these red drakel played in the old clans is unclear,” the old storyteller looked ashamed as he admitted his lack of knowledge.
“It’s an omen,” Elder Jenyr spoke with a subtle hiss, “A bad omen. Blood scales to warn of coming bloodshed. The child will be a curse on our clan. She should be disposed of,” the elders words brought a startled gasp from Hanni who looked on with Gallen.
“Nonsense,” Elder Ronan scowled at Jenyr, “The histories say reds of old were heroes, not curses,” he turned his gaze back to the squirming hatchling who returned his gaze with bold curiosity, “No, this child is destined for some greater purpose.”
“But where shall we place her until her destiny is revealed?” Elder Merda asked, “She is too small to be put with the warriors, and Berro already has one apprentice to look after in the coming seasons.”
“I’ll take her,” Gallen had spoken the words before he had a chance to consider them. The little red hatchling was certainly not his ideal apprentice. She was thin and small, with no promise that she would ever gain the proper build necessary for working the forge. But he felt a strange bond to her, and he would not see her apprenticed to another if he had his say.
The three elders regarded Gallen for a moment, and Elder Ronan turned to Hanni, “It is your choice my dear. Would you allow Forgemaster Gallen to raise the child in his craft?”
Hanni looked to Gallen and nodded, smiling weakly, “Of course,” she agreed.
Elder Ronan nodded and handed the little red hatchling back to her mother, “Then it is decided,” the old gold drakel smiled at mother and child, “What name shall you give the little one?” he asked Hanni.
Gazing down at the now slumbering form of the tiny red hatchling, Hanni smiled and rocked her gently, “Rowen,” she replied, and she wondered what marvelous destiny awaited her daughter.