Cover design contest! Help me out, please.

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I'm working on a cover design for Singer: Nemesis. The design idea uses one of the symbols from that novel - "a circle of serpents" that is used as a token of vendetta and a signal that vengeance and violent retribution is imminent.

Help me out here. Any suggestions are welcome!

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1.2.2c First Flight

“It looks like you did it, hon,” Jorie said to Astrid. They had awakened that morning to fresh shoots breaking the ground, a few with fresh berries.

“Don’t tell anyone Silena helped,” Astrid said. “She’s afraid they will ask her to be a farmer at the Choosing and pressure her not to ride.”

“We promise dear,” Skye said.

Little Wing pushed his way past her and made ready to take a mouthful from the garden.

“Hey lazy, you need to wait!” she said and pushed his head away with her hip. But she smiled knowing that she and her friends would be less likely to spend their lives working the compost heaps and Little Wing would be less likely to spend the rest of his life in Inverness.

***

1.1.1.Swallowtail

Astrid blew the fresh drift of snowfall off of her drawing of the western mountains of the Spine. She’d hoped to catch the perfect sunset, and brought the chalks of red-orange and yellow, the same as she used for water colors in the summer. But this afternoon the sky was hazy and overcast and there would be no drama in the sunset. Only a few lines were needed to distinguish the peaks of the trees and spires of the craft shops from the snow, and a few more to mark the footpaths that etched dark lines in the valley heading toward the village center like rivulets collecting into a river. The view was similar to the woodcuts in the Manor House that showed the dramatic spires of the Western Mountains and deep valleys except that glaciers now replaced the rivers. The only color she needed was the blue for the Blois River that split the valley floor below her.

“Welcome,” Astrid said as Little Wing sat beside her and nuzzled his head under her hand to invite a scratch.

He had gotten stronger and larger with a steady supply of berries from her plot and the much larger garden the Elders had built at the south end of the valley. But Little Wing seemed itchy today, unable to settle down and sit quietly by her side to watch the sunset. His muscles twitched and he rose and sat back down.

“What is it?” Astrid asked, but Little Wing only honked.

With a start and a shudder, he rose and walked to edge of the valley wall, then looked over the edge and spread his wings. He turned to her and honked to get her attention and did something he had never done before.

Little Wing jumped off the edge of the cliff.

Astrid rose immediately to see if he had hurt himself. But when she looked over the edge, Little Wing rushed past her racing up from the valley floor and knocked her on her butt.

High above her, Little Wing raced across the valley with the erratic flight of a mayfly rather than the smooth glide of a dragon. He dove and barely missed the treetops as he pulled out of his dive, then flipped and spun with aerial maneuvers. Other dragons came to watch and immediately took the lead. Little Wing followed and learned.

As the sun set and the moonlight from Lon and Elen lit the valley, Little Wing landed near Astrid. He kneeled and lowered his head in the dragons request for her to ride. She had no saddle or bridle but trusted him. And together they flew.

 
When the next Choosing came, Astrid simply appeared in her riding leathers and the Elders logged her declaration to ride.  Her people called them Swallowtail and they remained together for years—until the Tops.

...to be continued ...
(c) 2015 B. R. Strong, Jr.

1.2 Partners, 1.2.2/b For My Friend

1.2.2 For My Friend

Into the evening, the crowd edged their way to the map to point out the neighboring valleys where their relatives lived and the exotic places at the edges of the map that they knew only from stories. While they oohed and aahed, Astrid wandered the Manor Hall, her hands running across the intricate carvings on the columns that told the story of their trek from the South to flee the tyranny and slavery of the Old Empire and woodcuts of their beautiful valley. And as she wandered she sang softly to a harmony that seemed to emanate from the walls.

When the sun set and the crowd thinned, Skye came to Astrid. “Time for bed, hon.”

The pair left the Manor House followed by the hum and Astrid turned to see her little dragon on the roof, still humming to her melody. 

Astrid and Skye walked home, past the craft halls built into the cliff faces and the homes along the trails to the valley floor, each transformed into masterworks by the craftsmen that their fertile valley could afford. And carved on each doorway lay the history of the family or craft that lived within.

Entering their house, Astrid quickly grabbed the remains of dinner before her father could return it to the pantry.

“You’re late,” her father said.

“We stayed at the Manor House, hon,” Skye said. “People kept coming to see Astrid’s geography project.”

“Little Wing was there on the roof,” Astrid said with her mouth full.

Jorie looked at his wife and raised his eyebrows. He turned a chair around to sit opposite Astrid. 

“Hon, we need to talk,” he said. “The Choosing will come and—”

“I don't care,” Astrid interrupted, shrugged and took another bite of dinner.

“You like to draw,” her father said. “There is an apprenticeship open in Pottery now.”

Astrid rolled her eyes. “There is no sunset on a vase, father,” she said.

“You might add one,” her mother replied.

Astrid paused mid-bite and looked away as if considering it, and then shrugged.

Skye looked at Jorie again. “Your teacher said you might be a Rider.”

“Really mother,” Astrid replied with disdain and rolled her eyes again. “Riders are all lazy and arrogant, like they are special. And they treat the dragons like beasts.”

Her father smiled at her perception. “Not all,” he said. “Your mother rides.”

“Mama’s different,” Astrid said.

Skye smiled broadly at the compliment. “There's time yet, dear, but think about it,” she said. “You will need to do something.”

“I'll think about it,” Astrid said to please her parents then immediately forgot. When the last morsel was gone, she frowned and sighed, and toyed with a pea left on her plate and sighed again.

“What’s the matter, girl?” her father asked. 

“Papa,” she said slowly, “Little Wing is sick and can’t fly.”

“Even a little?”

“Not even a little.”

“I think it’s the herb, hon,” Jorie said. 

“Wolfberry,” Skye said, removing the dish from Astrid.

“Dragons need it every day,” he said. “That's why they only live in a few valleys.”

“He’s not strong enough to search for it outside the valley like the others,” she said quietly, watching her moccasins trace imaginary patterns on the floor.

 “Maybe he just needs more of it than the others,” Jorie replied.

Astrid's face brightened. “Why don’t we grow it here?” she asked.

“It will not grow in the valley, dear. They tried many times and it just withers.”

“But he’ll die, papa,” she said with worry in her voice.

“Maybe not. I think he’ll just stay small. The dragons bring some to their elders and they will share with him.”

“He will not steal from the old ones,” she said, “and there’s not enough fresh when they are done. He wants to fly with the others and he’s sad all day long.”

“How do you know he’s sad?” Skye asked, but Astrid just shrugged.

“I do not think we should intervene,” Jorie said, “It’s just their way.”

“Humph,” Astrid said, glaring at him with her hands on her hips. “Well, it’s not my way,” she said and stormed out to her room.

***

“I give up,” Selina said and kicked a clod of dirt. “We’ve tried everything.”

“Just one more,” Astrid said. 

This was their fourth attempt to grow wolfberry in the valley and the summer was almost over. Each time they planted they varied the fertilizers and supplements. And every night they stayed in the grove near the garden with Little Wing to protect the shoots. But the plants did not grow strong: they died, just like the hundreds of other times the valley folks had tried to raise wolfberries in the valley.

“It's not your fault, Astrid,” Finn said. “It's the soil. They failed to grow it here hundreds of years ago and gave up trying.” 

“One more try, Finn,” Astrid said.

Selina shrugged and dug her shovel into the dirt to continue the furrow. “I wish I had a partner like Little Wing,” she said.

“He’s not really my partner,” she said and planted a shoot of wolfberry and covered it carefully. “He's just a friend.”

“Phew!” Finn said and held her nose. “What is that stuff?”

Astrid looked at her markings on the bag. “Eggshell and guano."

“He could be your partner,” Selina said.

Astrid frowned. “No,” she said, “he can’t fly, and even if he could he's too small to carry me.” Astrid looked at Selina with a shy smile. “You want to ride too, don't you?”

“Oh, more than anything!” Silena replied with excitement but then quickly frowned. “But the dragons don't seem interested in me at all.”

“They're not interested in most of us,” Finn said. “Little Wing seems to like you, he...”

Silena interrupted. “He'd pick, Astrid,” she said. “He follows her around like a puppy.”

“Only sometimes,” Astrid said. “When he's bored, or hungry, he finds me. The dragons ignore him and the valley folk treat him like he’s a tree in the middle of the trail.” Astrid looked down.

“In the way?” Finn said.

“Yeah,” Astrid said and stopped planting. “Like me sometimes.”

“Why do you think that?” Finn asked.

“I don't know what I want to do.”

“The Choosing, huh?” Finn said.

Astrid nodded. “Everyone else seems to have some grand purpose and I just want to draw.”

“And sing,” Selina said with a smile. “Choosing should not be a problem: they always need people to turn the compost heap.” Astrid pinched her nose and looked away

Selina pointed to Astrid’s latest batch of fertilizer. “It can’t be worse than this,” she said then stabbed the shovel into the dirt again. “If you want to stop them from choosing for you why not declare to be a Rider?”

“Without a partner?” Astrid replied with a frown.

“Sure, why not?” Selina said with a grin. “Just stall.”

“Is that what all these experiments are about?” Finn asked and cast his hand over the failed wolfberry plots. “So you can ride?” 

Astrid nodded, her head still lowered. “I want Little Wing to fly. Then maybe…” She looked up to Selina’s face with a smile. “You could go to them,” she said. “You could find a stray.”

Silena opened her eyes wide. “Really? Search the wilderness for a dragon?” she said. “My dad says it’s a cruel life out there in the peaks without valley folk. And mom says the boys out there go wild and unfit for a young lady.”

“Oh, so you’re a lady now?” Finn teased and Silena swung the shovel at him.

“Jenks would find you,” Astrid said, talking about a young Rider.

Silena blushed and frowned. “I'm jealous of him,” she said. “He’s partnered with a dragon already and they’re off flying most of the day.” Her voice softened. “Don't worry about the Choosing, dear. You have time, and a mission will come to you. That is, unless Little Wing whisks you away first.”

“How do you talk to Little Wing?” Finn asked.

“I don’t.”

Finn frowned at her. “Little Wing always seems to be there to meet you,” she said.

“When he wants, not when I want,” Astrid said. “Really, Finn, I don't do anything.”

Silena stopped digging and crossed her arms on the shovel. “Some people say you are The One, the Speaker to Dragons.”

“The what?”

“Your mom didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“The old ones think a person will come that can communicate with the dragons and lead them.”

Astrid smiled. “Good luck telling dragons what to do.”

“Some people say it’s you, that you're The One.”

“Why, because I sing to them?”

Silena shook her head. “Because they listen.”

Astrid was quiet with a distant look in her eyes and then she looked at Silena with a playful grin. She puffed out her chest and waved her arms like a warrior. “I command the dragons,” she said with as deep a voice as she could muster, “Fly, my minions!” 

Selina looked down. “Don’t make fun of me.  I didn’t start the rumor.”

Astrid put her hand on Selina’s shoulder.  “It’s not you,” she said.  “It’s just a silly idea. They're not a flock of birds to follow each other or a human.”

They talked into the night as they worked and fell asleep tucked under the little dragon’s wing.

***

...to be continued ...
(c) 2015 B. R. Strong, Jr.

1.2 Partners. 1.2.2 The Map

1.2.2 The Map

The next afternoon after school, Vinga knocked at the door of Astrid's cottage.

“Greetings Rector,” Skye said. “What brings you?”

“Is Astrid home?” Vinga asked.

“Not yet.”

“Good,” Vinga said. “We need to talk. I worry for your daughter, Skye.”

Skye gestured Vinga to join her at the fire to sit. “Astrid? Why, dear?”

“She is inattentive in class and spends all her time with her sketchbook,” the teacher said. “And that silly little dragon pesters her constantly. I may have to hold her back a year.”

Furrows appeared on Skye’s brow and creases in the tattoos around her eyes: semaphores they called them, patterns of iridescent pigments that changed with the Rider's emotions and helped them communicate with the dragons. “I know she seems a bit childish, but I am certain she is learning.”

“I am not so sure,” Vinga said. “Her geography project was due today but she skipped class.”

“That's not like her,” Skye said.

Vinga continued. “Without knowledge of our geography she will not be able to navigate the mountains to the neighboring valleys. She cannot become a Rider,” she said.

Skye only half-listened to Vinga’s lecture, concerned instead that Astrid had not told her she would be absent from school. “She never declared to be a Rider,” Skye replied.

“I know,” Vinga said, “but she and that little dragon have a…special relationship and at the next Choosing—”

“Little Wing is too small to ride,” Skye interrupted.

“Yes, but—”

Astrid’s father, Jorie, stuck his head into the door and interrupted them. “Skye!” he said with a big grin on his face. “Come, Skye. You need to see this. Hello, Vinga, you too. Come!” He took them both by the arm and led them down the cobblestone path to the Manor where the crowd overflowed into the square.

Skye turned to her husband. “We didn’t hear the bell, what is the emergency?”

“Over here,” Jorie said and led them through the crowd until they reached the long north wall of the Manor, the single wall without windows and shutters that could not be opened to the weather. Everyone there looked at the wall and in front of it stood Astrid.

The wall was covered from end to end with spring flowers, a flood of colors and a sea of green. Skye looked closer. A field of green ivy surrounded a wash of blue hyacinths with a wide stripe of white and gray lisianthus splitting the green into upper and lower parts. Tiny red, yellow and blue flower petals stood out from the white and green. Skye and Vinga stared with open mouths at a map of their entire continent—in flowers. All of the villages of the mountains were displayed as well as the large countries to the north and south.

Villagers nudged Skye and Jorie aside to get a closer look. “Is this us here, Inverness?” one asked pointing to a small blue-bell by the eastern edge of the white camellias.

Astrid nodded. “And these are Andeer and Briey,” she said.

Her classmate Finn pointed to two neaby flower petals. “And Winterthur and Vernier here.”

“My cousin lives in Vernier,” Selena said and smiled.

“And Cherryth to the north,” Astrid said pointing to the bright green spray of leaves that separated the mountains of the Spine from Suleria displayed in pink carnations and Tur in blood red belladona.

Vinga stared at the map and cocked her head. “There is too much white,” she said softly and turned to Astrid. “I think Tur is much bigger than the Northern City States, Astrid.”

“But not as important,” Astrid replied.

A young boy pointed to the big splotch of red to the northeast. “Really?” he said. “Is Tur really that close?” Tur was the home of the Quarajii, the barbarian Hordes of their nightmares.

“Yes, Kel,” Skye said.

“That’s scary,” Kel said softly with a frown and stared wide eyed at the red smear that looked like it would naturally flow south to the mountains. His smile and those of the other children vanished.

Elder Leana pushed her way to the front of the crowd. “Do not fear, child. It’s nonsense and not a map. See here,” she said and waived her arms. “There’s open ocean to the north, and should be blue not white. And most of the mountains are green and not covered with snow like the map shows. Take no mind of this foolishness.”

Skye glared at Leana as she studied the map and turned to Vinga. “If Leana weren’t such a good healer,” Skye said, “we’d not listen to her at all.”

The boy's mother grabbed him and gave Skye a disapproving glare.

“Don't fret, now,” she said to the boy, “they cannot enter the mountains...”

“But what if they do?” the boy asked.

“…And if they do, the Riders will take care of them.”

“But what if…” the boy asked, his voice disappearing into the crowd as his mother dragged him away by the arm.

Finn leaned over to Astrid. “You might have used a less dramatic color for Tur,” he said. “No one wants to be reminded how close the Quarajii live.”

 “I’ll grant your daughter some artistic license here,” Vinga said and  shook her head in wonder. 

“What is this?” she asked pointing to a sky-blue carnation on the west coast of the southern continent.

“I don’t know,” Astrid said, “But something should be there.”

“Why dear?”

Astrid shrugged. “I don’t know. Something pretty belongs there.”

Skye smiled and leaned over to Vinga. “Still worried?” she asked. Vinga pursed her lips and shook her head slowly and Skye continued “It appears you are a better teacher than you thought,” she said.

“Much better,” Vinga replied, still staring at the map that showed places she had not taught them about.

...to be continued ...

(c) 2015 B. R. Strong, Jr.

---

[1] rector: teacher, usually head of the  school

[2]    The title 'Honorable' is a courtesy in referring to teachers, like “Mister or Madam.”