Curelom Riders
By Annaliese Lemmon
Curelom Riders by Annaliese Lemmon
Text and Cover Illustration Copyright © 2014 Annaliese Lemmon
First published on Mormon Artist (https://mormonartist.net/) June 2014
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This story is dedicated to my father, who first introduced me to dragon riders.
Table of Contents
Curelom Riders
Author Commentary
Also By Annaliese Lemmon
About the Author
Curelom Riders
“So, there’s nothing that can be done? Even if we marched all night?” Prince Omer stood with Captain Pagag in the field with Esrah. She had given them the news of King Shule as soon as she had dismounted from her curelom.
Captain Pagag shook his head. “We’re too far away. The army wouldn’t make it in time. The kingdom looks to you now.”
Omer crossed his arms to keep them from trembling. He wasn’t ready to rule yet, let alone win a civil war. “My father rescued my grandfather. I should be able to do the same.”
Pagag frowned. “Young prince, your father had years to gather an army. It is not your failing that Noah prefers to execute his captured king.”
Esrah cleared her throat. “Your highness, I am sorry to be the one to tell you King Shule’s fate. Is there anything else you require?” She swayed on her feet. Omer wasn’t sure which she’d want first, a bed or a meal after such a long flight. Her curelom had already curled up to sleep in the middle of the field, its leathery wing extended over its half-finished peccary carcass.
Omer pressed his lips together. Maybe there was still a way to save his father. “What time did you say that the king would be executed?”
“Dawn, your highness.”
“And how long was the flight from Moron?”
“About ten hours.”
“Your highness,” Captain Pagag cut in. “You cannot be thinking about retaking the city using only curelom riders. The archers would slaughter you.”
“Not retaking the city, just raiding the prison.” Omer started towards the supply tent. “Send the word. We leave in half an hour.”
***
The moon had set not long before they began the final approach to Moron. Omer’s legs ached from holding his perch just behind the giant wings of his curelom, Corai. His hands were numb from the cold as they soared among the clouds. Earlier, he had needed to fight to stay awake, but now that the starlight showed the outline of Moron’s pyramid temple, his heart pounded within his chest. Please, God, let my father rule for a few more years.
He took one of his three obsidian-tipped javelins in hand and held it up, signaling to the other ten riders to prepare for the assault. They formed a V behind him. He squinted to make out the familiar shapes below. The archers on the outskirts of the city hadn’t seen the cureloms as they’d passed overhead. Now, they were almost directly above the complex where he had been raised. According to Esrah, the usurper Noah slept in the largest building there, and his father was kept in the small stone prison next to it. A dozen men with spears stood guard in the courtyard, two guarding Noah, four guarding the prison, and the rest patrolling in pairs.
Omer patted Corai’s scaly neck. “All right, girl. Let’s go.” She folded in her wings and dove straight for the south end of the complex, where a pair of guards walked the other way. Omer pressed himself tight to Corai’s neck, squinting against the rush of wind. The guards stopped, looked side to side, and then up. They shouted something Omer lost in the wind. Corai flared her wings out as she latched on to them with her talons, like an eagle snatching prey.
The other guards rushed in as Omer’s companions swooped down on them. Half were felled instantly, while the others managed to get their spears into a defensive position. Omer urged Corai forward into the fray. She bared her fangs as the scent of blood filled the air. As the guard jabbed at her head, Omer threw his javelin. The guard fell with a groan.
With all the guards down, Omer swung off Corai’s back and ran for the prison door. Jared met him there, copper axe in hand. With a few chops, the wooden door was down. Omer ran in, javelins at the ready. A guard’s shadow moved at the side. Omer swung, parrying the guard’s spear with one javelin, while he thrust with the other. The guard fell with a thud.
Omer straightened, breathing hard. “Father?”
“Omer?” At the back, Omer could just make out a form with hands bound with leather cords. “How did you get here?”
“No time. We have to go.” He sliced the bonds with the head of the javelin and helped Father to his feet. Outside, warning horns called through the air. “Everyone up!” Omer shouted as they dashed outside. He helped Father onto Corai’s back.
“Shoot the king!” Noah had emerged from his house, not even taking the time to dress beyond wrapping a cloth around his waist.
“Go! Go!” Omer slapped Corai’s hindquarters and the curelom leapt into the air. Omer gripped his javelins hard as he ran for Noah. He didn’t look back as the archer next to Noah fired. Omer screamed and jumped, flinging the javelin with all his might. It struck Noah in the chest, and he collapsed to the ground. Omer switched the other javelin to his right hand, but the archer was already taking aim, straight at him.
Corai dove on top of the archer, biting his arm. With a fling of her head, she threw him against a wall. Father held out his hand to Omer. An arrow stuck out from his other shoulder. “Hop on.”
Omer took hold of Father’s hand and leapt astride. Corai took off into the air, her wings beating fast to get out of the archers’ range. Omer’s breathing didn’t come easy until they had made it beyond the edge of the city.
“Just had to outdo me, did you?” Father asked when they were able to land and to tend to his wound.
“Not possible.” Omer helped Father lay down.
“You’re too hard on yourself. You’ll make a good king.” Father smiled.
Omer grunted as he jerked the arrow out.
THE END
***
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Author Commentary
This story was written for the 2014 Mormon Lit Blitz – a contest for works that resonate with an LDS audience in some way. Entries could be flash fiction, poetry, short essays, or other form under 1,000 words, and in any genre.
I initially didn’t think I had a story for the Lit Blitz when I heard the call for submissions. But when I read William Morris’s steps of How to beat me in the Mormon Lit Blitz, my subconscious started needling me. “It doesn’t have to take a long time to write,” it said. “And fantasy can work. Look at his prompt- Parley P. Pratt: Vampire Hunter”
“But I don’t like vampires,” I said.
“Hey, if Naomi Novik could have Napoleon ride a dragon, then you could have Brigham Young, or people in the Book of Mormon do so, too.”
“Hmm… you know, we don’t know what cureloms are anyway. Why not describe them as dragons?”
And so I looked through the book of Ether for a story to tell, and decided chapter 7 verse 18 would work very nicely.
18 And it came to pass as he was about to put him to death, the sons of Shule crept into the house of Noah by night and slew him, and broke down the door of the prison and brought out their father, and placed him upon his throne in his own kingdom.
It was short – and so would fit in under 1,000 words. Also, it had plenty of action that the dragons/cureloms could help out in, and that’s one of my stre
ngths as a writer.
From there, writing went pretty smoothly. A lot of the flavor came from the fact that I was playing Fire Emblem: Awakening at the time. The main change I made in revision was with Omer’s character. I knew from the beginning that he would feel overshadowed by his father’s accomplishments, but it wasn’t until the ending that it came out that he was afraid to rule himself. So I had to put that in the beginning to give him a nice character arc.
If you find the reference to hours jarring, here is my reasoning for including it. Not only is dividing the day up, and marking via sundials and other methods an ancient (4000 BC) concept, but the book of Ether itself refers to the fact that the brother of Jared was chastened by the Lord “for the space of three hours.” (Ether 2:14) Plus, trying to describe how long the flight from Moron was by mentioning the beginning and ending positions of the sun was way too convoluted.
This story was one of 12 finalists in the contest. Much thanks to fellow finalist Emily Debenham for beta-reading this story.
Also By Annaliese Lemmon
Infant Insomnia
Ama’s six-week-old daughter is failing to thrive, and the doctor doesn’t know what to do. Sacrificing her sleep, she looks into the future to see if she can figure out how to help her baby. But while a few futures show that her daughter lives, many show her passing away within the month.
Read a sample
This 4,400 word short story was first published in Leading Edge issue 64 in July 2013. Available as an e-single with author commentary wherever e-books are sold.
About the Author
Annaliese Lemmon graduated from BYU with a degree in computer science. She lives with her husband and three children in Seattle, where she tries to write amid the noise. When not writing, she enjoys cooking and playing board games. Keep up to date with her continuing writing projects at Write Something Different (https://annalieselemmon.wordpress.com).