Blades and Blooms

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Yesterday there were none. Up until this morning, the land in the Valley was forever brown. The air was thick with yellowish smoke choking the spindly trees barren of leaves but covered in thick ashen bark. Clouds blanketed the sky never allowing a single ray of sunshine to escape in all of the years of Bronwyn's life, sixteen years of perpetual grey, never showcasing the warmth of the summer sun or the sparkling crescent moon.

Bronwyn spent her days either tending the fields or lounging by the river aptly named soot, pretending to wash the laundry while dreaming of far-off places where the sky is gold and the water is clear. Hours melted into days, days into weeks, weeks into years in this isolated part of the world. Situated between two mountain ranges, the Icarus and the Pantoli, the Valley and the Town was Bronwyn’s whole world.

Up on the hillside, the Town boasted several cobblestone streets winding through the main thoroughfare leading to the wooden market directly at its core. Several thatched roof dwellings lined each side of the main road comprising mostly homes of prominent townsfolk including the mayor, the butcher, and the Kingsmen. No one messed with the Kingsmen. The town's children were warned by their parents to stay far away from the Blue Tavern, the oldest and largest building in town for fear of the Kingsmen. Meanwhile, the older kids dared the youngest to cross the road at the very edge of town, tiptoe up to the great wooden door and tap the metal lion's head doorknocker three times. It was said only the bravest of the brave could withstand the giant that would most assuredly open the door. Bronwyn was never that brave. When she was ten her older brother Jamie attempted to sway her to try. But with one look at that eight-foot monster with slashes and claw marks and questionable stains, Bronwyn ran home so fast she ended up hyperventilating and vomiting in the garden.

But now Bronwyn was sixteen and as she stared at that door she found she was only slightly less intimidated than when she was ten. Needing to enter and speak with a Kingsmen would no doubt bring attention to herself and by extension her family’s farm. They were luckier than most, their farm being south-facing running along the side of the largest Icarus mountain she dubbed Lapyx. A dozen or so streams fed into their fields providing decent crops considering the lack of sunshine. The sheep that they kept foraged easily along the rocks and outcrops. Any number of hardworking families in Town would love an excuse to rid them of this prized parcel of land. Bronwyn could see the hunger in their eyes that they mean to keep hidden behind the thin wind veils tied around sad faces. She could not fault them for this. This was a harsh place and in so creates hard people.

Tomorrow was market day and there was a buzz in the air alive with possibilities. The tension in her fellow townsfolk is noticeable in the way their arms fell taught against their sides and the extra erratic jumps in their step. Everywhere everyone was rushing around hauling produce, stacking crates, dusting off tents, and sweeping the never-ending piles of dust and mud that caked the Town.

After just another moment of looking around, eyes falling from one wooded shack to the next hovel, Bronwyn was ready. She lifted her hand towards the brass lion's head. It was cold and heavy in her touch. Dropping it once it banged the door. The second time, the door vibrated. Hesitating for only a second, she picked it up once more and let go. No sooner than she exhaled out the breath she did not realise she had been holding, the door slowly creaked open. Inside was a man, a giant to children for sure. Easily six and a half feet tall with a brown unkempt beard and green eyes under bushy caterpillar eyebrows. He stood there staring.

"What do you want", he gruffed.

"I'm sorry to disturb you" she spoke quietly.

"Speak up, child, what is it?" He spat the annoyance in his voice that set her teeth on edge.

"I am here to speak with the Kingsmen," Bronwyn said louder. The giant did not move. His face blank as he stared past her.

" Well, now isn't this interesting," spoke a voice from behind.

Bronwyn spun around quickly not having heard anyone following before. She inwardly chastised herself for looking weak. Come on, get it together, she barked in her head, back straight, head high.

A man was standing next to a copse of trees, where the dirt road ended and the black forest began. No, not standing, leaning against, arms folded, the brim of his black hat pulled low. Only when he started walking towards Bronwyn did she realise she misjudged his age. What appeared to be a grown man full of his years was probably closer to her in experience than the giant of Blue Tavern.

"I am not sure what you find interesting, sir, but I am here to speak with the Kingsmen," Bronwyn replied to this stranger.

"So speak".

Bronwyn looked around wondering if there were more people she could not see.

" Are you implying you are a Kingsman?"

" Speak I said". His tone offered no hint of amusement.

Very well, she thought. "I need to relay a message to the Kingsmen.", her voice hitching slightly unable to hide the fear and excitement flowing through her.

"Go on" he continued, slowly taking another step forward.

" Ok", she took a deep breath. Steadying her voice, with certainty that this was going to either be the very best or very worst idea she has had this week, she said, “I am Bronwyn Pritchett. I have just returned from the Valley and there is something you must know. Dragons." She stopped unsure of how to continue.

“I am not from here,” the stranger spoke tilting his head so that his ice blue eyes pierced Bronwyn.

Silence stood between them for several tense moments.

Bronwyn finally filled in the space. “There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Eighty years ago a plague or spirit depending on who is telling the tale wiped them out. They have all but fallen to myth. Until today. I did not see one dragon in the Valley, I saw three. “