Nameless

By Ryan P Freeman

Take one nameless scullery girl, add elemental dragons along with a few piratic merchants – and pit them against a shadowy secret order’s ongoing apocalyptic invasion.

When a nameless scullery maid miraculously defeats a dragon by commanding him by his True Name, her village sends her away to Moen Mage School out of fear from the raw magical power she possesses.

Desperate to discover who she is and why she matters in a world that has dismissed her all her life, Nameless soon learns her ability can tip the balance of power on the highest order – especially in the face of a world-ending threat from the shadowy Order of Oblivion who haunt each step she takes along her own personal quest for identity in a world suddenly bereft of meaning – as the fate of the realm hangs in the balance between order and chaos.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ryan P Freeman
• Release date: Feb 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005579715

Ryan P Freeman

Ryan was born in Portland, Oregon on February 24th, 1988. She's the (upper) middle child out of four (three sisters – how she survived them is a secret). Currently, she has family scattered all over the western states.Ryan was always a big reader growing up. Ever since her second-grade teacher, Mrs. Yorth spent extra time after school helping her learn how to read, she's been devouring books (so to speak). Growing up in Oregon meant plenty of time for reading since there’s about 7.3 fully sunny days per year there.To this day, she loves the smell of rain, the rumble of storms, and the scent of pine forests. Her favorite stories growing up were old tales with Robin Hood and King Arthur - along with a ginormous rambling list of other myths, legends, and fantasy works.Ryan graduated from high school in 2006 and first attended Central Christian College of the Bible in Missouri, where she met her wife and began writing what would later become Rienspel. Then, by happy coincidence, since they were both already planning on it anyway, they transferred to Hannibal LaGrange College (now University). In 2010, Ryan graduated with a B.S. in Communication Arts.Stephanie Lynn Worcester (aka ‘Steph’ aka ‘Stephalughagi’) and Ryan were married just after graduation. Still writing, she started working in talk radio out of Albuquerque. Later, Ryan and her wife moved back to Hannibal, MO in 2011 where she eventually worked in marketing for an area non-profit, was offered a job as a pastor, joined the St Louis Writers Guild, and founded the Hannibal Writers Guild.She began publishing her fantasy works in 2016. As of June 2018, she is represented by Patty Carothers of Metamorphosis Literary Agency. Ryan lives with her wife in an old Victorian about 300 yards from the Mississippi River.

Book preview

Freeman – Nameless – 296

Nameless

By Ryan P Freeman

Chapter One

Fire

Along a rocky shoreline, a stubborn little town jutted out upon a high hill. Beyond, light streamed across the sea stretched onwards into the south, hovering on the edge of the horizon. The sun glowed over the fair hills and rocks as giant leathery wings and manifold ripples of glittering scales rose from the beach below.

Breakfasssst.

The immense beast whirled and rushed overhead—and the wind howled with the dragon’s passing. Out of the beast’s maw, spouts of red flame erupted—followed by roaring challenge.

Over the town— the wooden town —the simple smells of another lazy Saturday’s breakfast blissfully wafted. Then, the air crackled with a sudden flash of fire, followed by the smell of char and copper. Townsfolk poured out of burning buildings, scrambling to stay together amid the smoke and burning thatch.

The drake landed and took a few gigantic steps backwards, crushing a stable. Horses screamed and bolted into the nearby forest. Shots twanged from three giant archers, tall and grim. The arrows bit into the dragon like lightning bolts, but where they ought to have sunk deep, only single scale loosened and fell.

The dragon focused on a single fleeing figure who had stopped in her tracks. For a moment the marauding beast seemed surprised; the girl’s dark eyes caught the dragon’s undivided attention. Around them, the flames licked higher into the rosy morning sky.

Impressive! sneered the dragon sarcastically.

The girl whispered a word. A prayer, perhaps? The flames extinguished, and the air grew cold. Somewhere high above the rising smoke, the drake’s malevolent yellow eyes filled the gloom.

More bow-twangs echoed. The dragon rolled his eyes, unperturbed. "Welcome, little one, to my isssland. I do not believe we have met."

Making a point to ignore the dragon’s hypnotic eyes, the girl squared her shoulders and planted her feet firmly into the soft springy turf of the village green, and waited. Silent.

"What, girl? No witty banter? No ringing challenge? Hmmm… Sssomething new perhapsss?"

More arrows zipped out of the rising sea fog, pitter-pattering against the dragon’s head. He blinked in annoyance, then swished his massive tail. Startled cries and crumbling masonry followed. The dragon arched his long neck and brought his snout level with the girl and sniffed.

His peppery breath stirred her hair, but she still didn’t blink, only inclined her head, as if she heard a voice far away.

Hmmm… new indeed. You have a ssstrange sssmell. It isss almossst… yesss! The huge cat eyes widened, My, we haven’t had one of your kind for an age. No matter. Dessspite your strangeness and impertinent mannersss in interrupting my morning breakfassst entertainment, I imagine you’ll tassste fine just the sssame.

The dragon loomed, mouth wide. Spellbound onlookers gasped with fear as the monstrous jaws lunged and snapped… and missed. The girl had sidestepped with idle grace. She pushed ruffled strands of auburn hair away from her earth-brown cheeks.

The dragon chuckled absurdly. Well, not properly aged, for sssure… he said licking his lips and coiling his long neck, but tender enough, I’ll wager. Tell me, child, what isss your Name?

One could almost hear the dragon’s hypnotic eyes whirling.

The girl blinked catlike, at things which only she could see. I don’t have a name, she muttered, looking down and away.

More’sss the pity, replied the salivating drake. Familiesss can be sssimply monssstrousss, wouldn’t you agree?

The girl shook her head and then stared directly into the dragon’s gaze. I wouldn’t know. But I am sorry you feel that way, sir.

The dragon strained his eyes, "Sssir?! Why, I don’t think I’ve ever been called that by my breakfassst before… Well, hmmm… polite and tasssty? Who would have thought? the beast mused. My my, thisss isss a morning for firsstsss."

Behind them, along the tree line, villagers pleaded with the girl to run from the monster who now held her steady gaze.

And what is your name, sir? asked the girl mistily, dark eyes flashing.

The dragon only chortled. "Ass if I, I who firsst came to thessse far landsss, who firssst alone among my clutch saw the sssun rissse over the far-easst where the ground fadesss forever into the endlesss ssea. I, who heard the Great Ssilence and watched countlesss mortal kingdomss rissse and fall. Asss if I would tell you my Name. Little girl, True Namesss are far more valuable than hordesss of gold. You really ought to have paid more attention to your fairytalesss, he said shaking his head. Ah well, now I really ssimply mussst eat you. Farewell, odd child." The drake then tensed his spiny neck and lunged once more… but halted in mid-motion.

The girl, still wide-eyed and gazing at unseen things, held up a small hand and laid it atop the dragon’s snout just as it descended. The drake froze, bewildered.

"Noria, stop, please," she spoke.

The dragon seized up, as if invisible bands encased him. "How… how do you know my True Na…"

With her other hand, the girl simply held a finger to her lips. Shhh. I am speaking now.

Immediately, the dragon’s mouth snapped shut.

The girl looked around and sighed. The smoke cleared, revealing a town in shambles. The sign swinging off the porch of the Hawk Creek Inn was one of the few things left unscathed by the dragon. The windmill still partially stood — leaning drunkenly against a stubborn pillar. The blacksmith’s house had been torn open, revealing a table with hot tea and breakfast still set, untouched. The town well roof lay next to a tall, weathered stone notched with old runes.

Do you even realize how much work it’s going to take to clean up your mess? she scolded. Did you ever stop to appreciate how much work it takes for people like us to make a town function way out here on Lone Cape? She walked right up to the invisibly-bound dragon and jabbed a small finger into his glittering breast. Because I don’t think you do. The girl thrust a hand towards the town’s weathered runestone, "Noria, tell me what that says."

Noria glowered. After shaking his snout hesitantly, he replied, No… I... The drake struggled violently against the quiet command.

Do you know why you will not read it? the girl interrupted.

The dragon closed his jaws and huffed. Smoke curled up from his flaring nostrils.

Braver villagers crept back near where the girl and the dragon stood. Girl, the blacksmith called, Get away from that monster! It’ll eat you… and then us!

The girl ignored his warning, "You promised you’d care for us, Noria. You had a job to do. A simple one. And now…"

CCCCRRRACK.

The rune-covered stone, Hawk Creek’s Dragonstone, which had stood as an ageless testament, split asunder and toppled onto the village green.

"…You have broken your Word, Noria. You failed us. We are your people. This island was your island, and we were your people. For countless generations, we revered you and your kin. Now, these lands are no longer yours due to your breach of faith. You were supposed to protect us. Guide us. Care for us. For thousands of years, dragons have been the symbol of our people — our protectors and source of pride and strength… but now…"

The dragon’s eyes blazed. I’ll eat you first, namelessss one! he spat.

The girl sighed. Tears sprang to her eyes. "No. No you won’t, Noria. By your Claw, Word, and Deed, you banish yourself. These lands are now free. Be gone, she commanded. Until under some happier sun you relearn the true meaning of ruling well."

"You can’t banish me, little one… I am Noria incarnate!"

She nodded. "You were Noria incarnate — a beautiful, fascinating land floating upon the western rim of the world. You were the spring sea mists and the winter gale. You were the high aspen groves untouched since the world’s creation. You were father and protector. You were healer and provider. You were many things, Noria… and perhaps you shall become them again, one day. Good bye."

The girl closed her eyes as she spoke her farewell. Deep inside, she heard inexpressible Words, and felt an ancient fire smolder in her belly. Easy as breathing, she instinctively sensed what to do. Concentrating on the ringing words in her mind, she focused each breath. Something like fire rose up her throat. As the words mixed with fire and escaped her mouth, the air rumbled in echoing obedience.

Without flash or bang, the dragon evaporated.

Then mild spring sunshine filtered down, warming the girl’s dark skin. When she looked up, Noria had vanished. A butterfly, golden and purple, fluttered lazily by; unperturbed by violence or destruction — carefree and happy to dance in the wind and sunshine unhindered. A faint, hopeful little smile peaked at the corners of the girl’s mouth. Then slowly, she turned around. The villager’s reactions varied. Some smiled with her… but others regarded her with a newfound wariness.

Is he gone then? called the tanner, as he carefully picked his way through the wreckage of his roof.

The girl nodded thoughtfully. From this realm, at least.

How… how did you do that? asked one of the archers, a giant who towered over the crowd of villagers.

She stowed her enormous bow next to a quiver as tall as the village tanner. The girl’s eyes glittered in amusement as if she knew the right thing to say, but she remained silent.

The giantess considered her carefully, but reserved her comments.

The Dragonstone! It… It’s broken! cried a boy who was the son of one of the local fishermen. It means she’s a Dragoncaller!

Hush Tav! scolded his father. But even the weathered fisherman gave the girl an appraising look from underneath his bushy salt and pepper eyebrows. Tales of famous Dragoncallers from ages past were often the first stories the reach-folk learned. Nevertheless, to have an actual Dragoncaller standing among them was… well, quite frankly, it bordered on the ridiculous. Things like that didn’t just happen. And yet, their little scullery maid remained, sooty smock and all, right next to where a very real, very dangerous, dragon had once menaced their town not a moment ago.

The smoke now cleared completely as the rest of the village poked their heads out from their various hiding places. They appraised the damage with expert eyes, knowing that repairs would require at least two fortnights of labor. Yet, their faces reflected the same stubborn tenacity that had propelled them for generations.

Girl, the town matron, Mimorne, began in a voice which caught the ears of the rest of the town gathered there. You never told us you had the Gift.

The girl said nothing, either out of fear, subservience, or simply because she had nothing to say, yet she did look up and hold the matron’s attention with her steady unblinking gaze.

Mimorne sighed, You came to my inn and worked well for these three long years… you do not need to fear me dismissing you. You’re almost one of my own, you know.

The girl smiled her bright, radiant smile.

The owner continued, But… you… oh girl, you can’t stay here. Not after today… Especially after today. If… and I mean IF you wind up being something other than just an extra kitchen-hand. You have the Gift, or something like it. Having someone running around untrained who has the Gift… it’s pure dangerous — just as much as for you as it is for the rest of us, Mimorne’s sentence drifted with her gaze over to the three Rillians. You three, you’re travelers. The glimmer of an idea flickered in the woman’s face.

The giantess among them gave a terse nod.

I don’t know where you’re destined, but our little dragon-slayer here needs to get to the Isle of the Wise. Girl, take what’s left of our Dragonstone to that Moen School while you’re at it, too — they can teach your Gift proper there. Besides, someone at the school is bound to know what to do with our Dragonstone pieces… or at the very least keep them safe.

One of the giants shrugged and then looked over at his traveling companions. The giantess grinned and shrugged back. We were bound eastward anyways.

Hawk Creek began to search for those who had fled farther than others, until at last everyone was found. Mimorne, the matriarch and inn owner, addressed the waiting crowd. Afterwards, she set the giants to work helping the timber-men gather from the nearby Rush forest that which was needful. The little boys and girls were sent to pick up all the shattered pieces of Dragonstone, which set reverently aside. The old fisherman, Hrorh, and his little grandson Tav shuffled off to catch what they could to replenish the food stores lost in the fire. The rest began picking up their homes and livelihood as best as they were able, helping where they could, until a semblance of order immerged.

Near sundown, friends and family gathered in the inn around the great hearth. Words were seldom spoken as people consoled one another in hushed voices.

Already, the fishermen had recounted their tale to other sailors they bumped into up and down the coast during the day. News of Noria’s attack was already fast becoming legend up and down the northern island’s coast.

Amid the dancing firelight, curious gazes drifted toward the girl in their midst, and then up to the three visiting giants who had arrived just before the dragon. Usually, the nameless girl helped with the Hawk Creek Inn’s upkeep, with the sweeping and the mending, the cooking and the scrubbing — which earned her a place at Mimorne’s table. But tonight was different. The townsfolk stared at her with a sort of awe mixed with fear. More than a few whispered about the words etched upon the Dragonstone and the legends of Dragoncallers past.

So, it was that the nameless girl found herself sitting with the strangers. From the Hawk Creek Inn, one can look out through the windows over the wide-stretching bay of Noria Reach, along Lone Cape’s long arc, into the utter west. The sun set steadily, burning down like golden fire, uncomfortably reminding everyone gathered there of dragon flame.

So, how did you come to be here… uh… what was your name again? asked one of the giants to the nameless girl.

Camphos, don’t be rude! chided the giantess.

The girl smiled mildly. "Lillimorne is it?"

The giantess turned, surprised, and nodded.

You have a nice name… I like how it sounds.

How… how do you know my name? We only arrived this morning, Lillimorne stammered.

"You are… Rillians, yes? asked the girl, sounding out the unfamiliar word. Hailing from the island of Rillium a way to the south from even our South Reach, right?"

The other Rillians nodded, Yes — we were blown into your reaches by a storm, they explained haltingly.

The nameless girl gave the Rillians a funny look, as if to say she didn’t believe their too-apt reply one bit, but let the matter rest. Turning back to Lillimorne, she replied, "I just know — words and names pop into my head sometimes. If I can remember them, and a feel the fire inside, and I happen to speak them… well… all sorts of things tend to happen. For instance, that’s how I know your name, Lillimorne."

Or disappearing dragon’s names? Camphos offered. I mean, surely you’re not from this little sea-hamlet? One with your Power, you couldn’t be…

The nameless girl’s face grew darker, but a light lingered in her eyes. Why ever not? Her question hung in the air. In her mind’s eye, she remembered her time on Ohedan before Hawk Creek had hired her for work. If she strained, she could recall bits about living in Inish Isle, west of Ohedan, when she was very small.

But what about your parents? Lillimorne asked, trying a different tack.

I don’t remember, to be perfectly honest, the nameless girl replied.

Wose, one of the innkeeper’s daughters, came by refilling their drinks.

Hrorh the Fisherman came and settled down a polite distance away from the group. For a moment, he studied the Rillian’s muddied leather cuirasses and worn but ornate broaches and outlandish sigil rings. So, what’s your story, then? he asked with the blunt practiced ease of a seasoned tavern patron.

The nameless girl looked up and eyed the giants strangely. Then she cocked her head as if listening hard. A slow grin spread across her face, lighting up their smoky corner of the inn. They’ve come from a place far, far away.

That’s real nice… but could you put it on a map for us or something? asked Wose in passing, carefully filling up the nameless girl’s mug as if it might explode at any moment.

The fisherman nodded. He was always eager to learn about new lands (and fishing spots).

I could mark it down for you, Hrorh, replied the girl with no name after a drink. But your maps wouldn’t be quite big enough for it.

Oh.

The group busied themselves in their mugs; some stared into the final shards of sunset shooting through the thick window panes — others into the crackling fire.

Away in the Inn’s center, little Tav danced with the other village children in some silly game. Their singing filled the tired inn with warmth which had nothing to do with the fire. Soon their song coalesced into a recognizable tune — a folk song sung in nurseries along the western reach:

"They come to sing

With silly songs

The voice is strong

Which sings along

It hears the words

The Winds cry, ‘hey!’

Dragoncaller

Dragoncaller

Sing us along

It is a song

We sung too long!"

On and on the children giggled, for the tune calls for improvisation and sudden rhyming. The rest of the Inn went silent as Tilly, one of the youngest, sang,

"For the girl tells

Dragons to go away

She’ll save us and then go

To Mage Land west

Fa lala Fa lala twice times the rain

The strangers will go

It is for us that they go on their way!"

The children giggled and the song descended into child-like nonsense once more.

The nameless girl, however, acted as if she had heard a revelation, Ooh, The Isle of the Wise! I dream about that place sometimes… Ever since I heard travelers tell stories about it, I wanted to go. But, well, there’s always more work to be done here.

The giants shared a look, and then Camphos opened his mouth to ask another question when a positively prodigious belch from the tanner interrupted the Inn’s chatter. Hearty laughter followed, along with feminine glares and embarrassed apologies from the tanner’s wife.

The nameless girl rolled her eyes and watched the light from the sunset dance amid the smoke-blackened rafters. Already, she felt more isolated from the rest of the villagers. Loneliness made her gut clench and her heart ache, dull and steady.

The wind picked up outside the inn, chasing the last shreds of fleeting clouds away from the darkening horizon. Here at the end of the world, where twilight and candles gutter on Mimorne’s tables, the last lights twinkle before the true dark’s arrival across the endless reach of the sea. The hall filled with dancing shadows — final flickers of civilization before boundless sky and crushing depths of the wine-dark sea.

"So, what’s all this about Mage Land?" ventured Camphos.

Oh, you mean the Isle of the Wise? I know about that! That’s where the mage school of Moen is! My grandpapa and I come across ships every now and again taking folks to the Central Reach, Tav squeaked, sinking back into his corner seat, breathless from children’s revelry. That’s where all the magic people go! He nodded, pleased with the prospect of informing grown-ups.

Tav… Hrorh shushed.

But it’s true… everyone knows it! the boy insisted.

Who knows it, boy? asked Lillimorne.

Why, everyone! Anyone who wants to learn magic and has the Gift, Tav explained earnestly. Sometimes I wish I had the Gift too… then grandpapa and me would catch fish all the time, and the nets would mend themselves!

Tav… his grandfather said sterner now. Why don’t you go play with the other children some more, huh?

Tav shrugged his little shoulders indifferently and then slid back out of his seat. After a moment, he melded back into the throng of youth. The table grew noticeable quieter with the absence of the chatty little boy. His grandfather gave the three tall Rillians a careful look before he got up. With a long gulp, the fisherman polished off his drink, nodded carefully, then drifted off in search of Wose and a chance to stretch his arthritic legs.

The Rillians began discussing their plans for the next day, but when the patroness, Mimorne, drew near the giant’s talk dwindled down. A glorious aroma began drifting out from the kitchens. Lillimorne sniffed as her stomach growled. What is that?

The nameless girl produced a spoon seemingly out of thin air. Oooh… clam chowder! It’s a wonder they were able to make so much to feed the whole town. Her gaze traveled over to the Rillians. And especially you three! she added, eyeing the giants.

"What’s chowder?" one of them asked curiously.

"It’s divine, is what it is," insisted the nameless girl.

The simmering smell of hot potatoes, yellow onions, savory herbs, and of course, clams, grew stronger. Then all at once bowl upon ceramic bowl appeared. Steaming clam chowder and crusty brown bread issued forth from the inn’s kitchen by the plenty. Whatever previous conversations the various tables were once murmuring fell away, as hungry mouths got down to business. The nameless girl, however, watched curiously as the Rillians offered up prayers to Poseidon, and then each tossed a hunk of bread, a slurp of ale, and a slop of chowder into the roaring hearth flames.

Seems a shame to waste such good food and drink, commented Hrorh, settling back down with dinner in tow.

One of the grey-eyed Rillians glanced down at the fisherman, We are both men of the sea, tell me — if she is a fickle mistress, what must her husband be like?

Lillimorne chuckled and then crunched into her sourdough bread with relish.

The fisherman rubbed his whiskers, then stood and glanced outside the dark window. The endless waves shimmered silver under the rising moon and early stars. For a time, he prayed his silent prayers, and then Hrorh nodded in agreement, and he too added his offering into the hissing hearth flames.

Soon, even the Rillians were pleasantly full. Someone tossed an extra log on the wide hearth with a thump and a crackle. Some of those villagers who still had homes relatively intact began trickling out the door into the cool spring night, which dwindled the crowd down to a more manageable size. The last drop of the winter wheat ale was served ‘round when Lillimorne spotted an old, battered harp which had leaned unnoticed in the corner.

The giantess wandered over to the instrument. After a moment, Lillimorne downed the last of her ale, wiped her mouth with a sleeve, and ran a hand along the harp’s worn frame, lifted the entire instrument up onto one knee, and began playing.

Little Tav reappeared, silent as a mouse so as not to remind his father he was still awake, and sat at the giantess’ feet, his grey eyes wandering far across endless seas and strange lands. Farther along Lillimorne’s melody, just as it was slowing, she began to sing. Old Hrorh had heard tales out on the waves about Rillian singing. The stories were true, it seemed — it was not a thing to be missed. He could feel the restless ocean calling through Lillimorne’s song with wanderlust miles never quench.

And then, before anyone quite realized, the inn filled with silence — still, waiting Silence where the shadow of something sacred stands. Hrorh began to hum Lillimorne’s tune, his weathered sailor’s voice rumbled and bowed like a great ship streaming across high seas. Except it was new and fresh — lively even. A sort of beat which spurned loss and sadness in exchange for something new and invigorating… as if all at once, the wild promise of spring had been courted to dance once more.

The fire died down to ruby coals. Mimorne lit countless white candles, and together with the cool clear light of the stars filtering in through the windows, the last inn on the edge of the world glowed bright. After the fisherman tipped his hat and carried his slumbering grandson back down to his little house down by the quay, after Mimorne the hostess nodded quietly before retiring, and after the Rillians stretched their long legs out near the remnants of the fire and began snoring, the nameless girl still lingered, gazing up at the clear night sky outside. Mimorne’s words still rang in her heart. Once again in her young life, she would leave in the company of strangers for a new place.

It was only after she and the stars held their long, silent discourse that she treaded down the inn’s stairs to her little basement corner for bed. Far out to sea, the stars awoke one after another: twinkling azure, bronze, and emerald… distant, clear, and remote.

Chapter Two

Across the Shining Seas

When the first trader sailed into Hawk Creek Bay