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ALINA

The Valley of the Dragons

By Abigail Watson Published 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 18 min read

CHAPTER01- Lavender and Fountains

‘There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Or the undead who ride them. You know why they are here. Do you not my Lord?’

In a grand room six men sit at a table surrounded by glowing candles. Black ink crawls over scars up the maroon robed arms of the man speaking. He points to the full moon out the open window, staring just a moment too long before returning to his audience. ‘They will come through our gates and into our sanctum, burning everything with it! Turning our Living in to mounds of ashes, taking whom they please to the devil!’ He continues as spittle escapes his scarred mouth. ‘They will come for her!’

’Enough!’ Thumping his fist, causing the carafe to jiggle, a man stands at the head of the oak table. Long thick red hair woven in three plaits lay down his back. The golden colours of his vest and crisp white undershirt subdued by the candlelight. His fingers adorned with thick gemstone rings, the largest making patterns on the walls. Leering through the candle lit haze, their eyes meet. ‘I will not.’

’My Lord…’ he speaks, his tone pleading.

‘Your know what you ask of me and yet you still do. You, Sir Clarence, are asking for the death of my child.’

***

Featherweight feet caress the cold stone of the cavernous hall. It is past midnight as all candles have been blown except the one she holds, wax melting down her fingers, yet she does not feel it. She hears hushed whispers growing in volume. Pulling out a pin, setting her hair wild, she tentatively picks the lock, thankful for its age. With held breath she slowly opens the door to just a mere crack. She can see the silhouette of a man before she blows out the candle, entering darkness. She listens.

***

‘I have purified myself. I have had no dealings with dragons in a vicennial. You ask of me, to send my motherless child to her death, in the hopes the demon saves her! And then what? They will leave? Absolute nonsense! I will not!’ He scoffs, his face now matching the colour of his hair. ‘My Lord, she is no child. She has now the white hair of the dragon, her eye a crystal blue, the other has already been touched by death. The scar. It must be her.’

‘Enough of this!’ The walls around the men vibrate as the former shrinks into his robe. ‘If I hear any more of this Sir Clarence, if I even suspect you talking to my dear child, I will have you dealt with. Are we clear?’ He growls.

’Yes my Lord’ He bows and turns to make an exit. Walking back through the hall to his chambers, he can smell a faint scent of lavender in the air and he knows she has heard.

***

Her blue silk chemise reflects the light of dawn. She picks up a white embroidered gown and slips it over her head. Folding her arms through her fur robe and putting on her house slippers, she returns down the same route as the night before, only this time she has permission to enter. Sunlight pours through the vast room as a gentle breeze blows the cream portieres, dancing like fish tails. The carved marble floors patterns spinning in circles, where at the centre lies the oak table. She thinks of how different this room looks at night. ‘Good morning Maeve’ her father is smiling, waiting for her to sit. In front of her is an array of sliced and cured meats, cheeses imported from the South. Green grapes picked early that morning from the vineyard that surrounds them, still cold and crisp, linger with the colours of the raspberries adjoining them. In an Egyptian blue ceramic bowl anointed with golden layers, green apples from the orchard sit lusciously, accompanied by peaches of the perfect ripeness. ‘Good morning father’ she smiles back, planting herself right next to him. She knows it is not custom, she is usually to sit opposite him at the end of the table. But there is no family left to fill the seats, she is now second in charge. ‘I take last nights meeting went well?’ She asks, pulling at a loaf of bread as the steam pours up into the air, evaporating all but the heavenly smell. ‘Business is business my dear’ he exhales, looking at her. ‘And what can I expect this daughter of mine to be doing today? Archery perhaps?’ He asks, picking up a slice of cheese and a purple coloured chutney, gleefully shoving them into his mouth. ‘You know there is nothing left for poor Clarence to teach me. I am a better shot than him ten fold!’

’Maeve, it is ‘Sir’ Clarence’

’Father! He is your oldest friend and we both know him not poor and far from a Sir, must I call him that?’

’Alright, I concede, but not to his face he would surely die of embarrassmen.’ At this, their two stern faces locked eyes and laughter exploded, echoing off the high ceiling candelabras. Taking an apple from the bowl and turning to her father, ‘There are other things to do than roam the halls and bore myself. I am off to see Jaspar!’ And with a swift move she heads for the door. ‘Well, do take some berries’ her father says, his smile growing, ‘Then he may not be tempted to taste something sweeter.’

’Father!’ Red immediately flushes her cheeks as she swiftly picks up a bunch and places them in her coat pocket. She does not want to be told she is the exact shade of a raspberry, so without turning around she starts towards the exit. ‘While you’re out, do get another coat. The snow will come soon enough’ he says reaching into his vest pocket. Pulling out a small leather pouch and placing it on the table, she walks back to him face downwards, it tinkles as she picks it up and puts it away. Planting a kiss on her fathers forehead he grabs her arm, gently but with slight force, ‘Do not go to the Valley. I will know.’ His expression is hard to read but she smiles. ‘Okay father, see you later!’

***

As the mares hooves no longer make a dull thud and turn into a clack from the cobblestone, she slows her pace. Pulling the reigns, she comes to a stop in front of a mass of grey bricks forming the shape of a small house. Dismounting, she ties the ropes to a nearby well pulling from her pocket the apple. Marybelle satisfied, greedily gobbling it down as she strokes her chestnut mane. ‘Was that not for me?’ Turning around she sees a smiling boy of similar age, thick brown hair a mess a top his head. His cream coloured blouse is loosely tucked into his riding pants, the matching boots covered in dirt. ‘Ah, but these are!’ She pulls the raspberries from her pocket handing them over. ‘So what are we to do on this fine day my Lady?’ He asks, bowing in jest as he laughs at himself. ‘Unfortunately for you we are off to the Dress Makers. I am in need of a coat!’

***

The scent of the street is that of a strange mixture lingering in the air. Passing rows of naked chickens, freshly baked breads, the sweet smell of cinnamon. Silks tied in ribbons displayed on various sized hats. Apples dipped in caramel enticing passers by to the fresh fruit and vegetables on display. ‘We are here!’

Entering one of the many identical brick parlours, they are met with the overwhelming smell of lavender and citrus. A woman approaches wearing a deep purple dress, flowers carefully hand stitched in beautiful colours on the bodice. A matching ribbon intricately laced through her noir braid, falling down her back landing just above her hips. ‘Lady Maeve, how wonderful for you to come!’ She says, sauntering forward to give her a kiss on the cheek, ‘I see you have brought your friend. Let us hope he does not ask me to let him try on one of our gowns again‘ with that she sets her accusing eyes on Jaspar. ‘I did not intend to offend Miss Agnes’ he smiles a cheshire grin, ‘I was merely wondering what all of the fuss was about!’

With that, she politely explains to Miss Agnes that she is looking for a winter coat and is escorted to the changing room. Immediately coats of various colours and fabrics pour into the small space as she places what she can on the steel hooks looking over the vibrant array in front of her. ‘What about this one?’ Walking out through the heavy cotton curtains, she does a quick spin landing with her hands on her hips. ‘Too… yellow…’ Jaspar exhales, pointing to the marigold fur trim collar and skirting, just a shade lighter than the silver silk patterned mustard bodice. ‘Next!’ He exclaims clapping his hands. Heading back into the changing room she removes the coat carefully and looks at the hoard in front of her. Her hand lightly touching the vibrant coloured silks as she runs it through the garments, settling on a silk robe in ruby red. ‘I overheard a very interesting conversation last night’ she whispers through the curtain, putting on the robe securing it tightly with the matching roped belt. Immediately Jaspars head pops through, traces of raspberries around his lips. ‘Jaspar! I could have been naked!’

‘Hush, you were only trying on coats, you need not undress for that! Tell me now this ‘interesting’ conversation you heard or I will start harassing dear Agnes for a woman’s corset!’ He explodes full of excitement, hands still held with his fingers up like bunny rabbit ears.

Taking a deep breath she exhales, ‘The dragons. They are back in the Valley…’

’That is all but lies Maeve. You know for fact your father and his cohorts slayed every last one of them!’ He replies as he picks up a silk and ties it around his neck. ‘But my father himself said-’

’What you heard is nothing but their memory of those devils, Maeve.’ She pops her head out of the curtains, he looks so sincere in himself, and a slight bit funny with the pink silk she cant help but smile. ‘Next!’ He says, gently pushing her head back in the room. After many a coat she settles on a beautifully woven deep orange fur in an almost identical cut to the one she currently wears. ‘And how did the Lady go?’ Enquires Miss Agnes with a warmth in her eyes. ‘I have done wonderfully’ she replies, placing the garment on the counter and taking out the small leather pouch. ‘And another parfum? I know of your fondness for our house scent, and it just so happens a shipment of a vanilla ice blended expertly with the lavender has arrived this very morning. It is quite exquisit.’

‘That would be wonderful!’ She smiles. Expertly folding her garment with the crystal bottle in the centre, she wraps a patterned cotton square encasing them, closing it off with a ribbon. ‘Thank you Miss Agnes, we will be seeing you before you know!’ She says waving as they head for the door. ‘Send my well wishes to your father, and do take off that silk boy before I strangle you with it!’ Laughing as they head for the exit he throws the last remaining berries at her mouth as she expertly catches them between her teeth. ‘Caramel apple?’

***

Stopping in front of the stalls and getting off her horse she leads Marybelle inside, her face flushed having been whipped by the wind. She removes the wrapped parcel from her saddlebag and walks up the garden path towards the house. Stopping briefly in the garden as she always does, bending down to smell the roses and geraniums, a beautiful painting of reds, whites, and pinks. ‘Lady Maeve?’ A voice resounds behind her, startled she turns, only to see Clarence standing there. He is fidgeting with his hands, the maroon robe he wears looking two sizes to large. The golden rope belt tied around his waist so long at one end it almost hits the grass. ‘Apologies, I did not mean to scare the Lady’ he exclaims making a low bow with his head. ‘Roses, what a lovely smell they are’ he continues, bending gently pulling a pink one towards him with his finger. ‘And lavender’ he stares at her. She looks around, averting her gaze. He knows. ‘I really must be going, you know, busy life of a Lady and such’ she curtseys towards him. His cheeks flush, immediately a feeling of embarrassment washes over her. He is the one to do the bowing! Get it together Maeve! He moves to stand right in front of her, blocking her path. ‘How much did you hear?’

’I do not know what you mean Cla- Sir Clarence’ she replies trying for a winning smile, her scarlet face betraying her very words. ‘Come with me’ he gently grabs her wrist as she silently follows him through the gardens, past the vineyard and into an opening. Surrounded by willows, a small golden rotunda sits, the family crest carved into its poles. ‘Your parents got married here’ he exhales, pointing ahead. ‘Please sit’ he gestures towards the bench. Crossing one leg over the other, he stays staring at her in a pregnant silence. Breaking at last, ‘My god you look just like your mother’ he almost whispers a hint of sorrow in his eyes as he fumbles with the belted rope, turning it between his fingers. ‘My mother?’ Tightly gripping the locket around her neck, she clasps the hook undone and places it in her palms. Opening the golden faced rose she sees the beautiful fiery red head staring back at her. Next to her picture, a small boy with the same flamed hair. ‘Maeve, how much did you hear?’ He asks again, this time his tone gentle.

‘I heard my father speak of riding dragons’ she starts, swallowing a lump that has formed in her throat. ‘Of my hair and my eyes, of a sacrifice.’ Sir Clarence nods as she continues. ‘Why did my hair turn white as snow?’

‘You are but halfway there my Lady’

’And what is it you mean Sir Clarence?’

’Your father didn’t tell you?’ He scoffs in reply, ‘I suppose it is not my story to tell, and as it stands, he forbade me from speaking to you as it is. I must go, the other Lords are arriving.’

’Your choosing of words are starting to confuse me. What was the point of you bringing me here!’ She spits accusingly, anger starting to rise in her chest. ‘Forgive me, I must go.’ And with that he is down the few stairs of the rotunda and has disappeared out of sight. Utterly confused she makes her way back to the house through the vines, picking off a couple of ripe grapes. Ignored by the men in suits and robes as she enters the hall, their chattering only adds to her aggrivation. Stopping off at the kitchen on her way to her bedroom she spots Milly hovering around the oven. ‘Good afternoon Lady Maeve’ she says nodding politely, ‘The bread is almost ready’ she smiles, flour covering her olive coloured apron. ‘Oh Milly, that is such wonderful news!’ She exclaims, sitting a top the kitchen counter, head hung between her hands. ‘Does something bother you my Lady?’ Milly asks, turning from the oven, sincerity in her voice. ‘But that is the thing, I feel I am too confused to be bothered!’ She says puffing out her cheeks and sighing loudly. ‘Well I hope this will help.’ Bringing out two freshly baked loaves still hot from the oven she sprinkles oil, salt and rosemary onto both and places one on a tray. Going into the cold room, she comes out with a small roll of cheese and some milk. ‘Take this up to your room and draw yourself a nice bath’ Milly winks a smile on her face as she hands her the tray. ‘Now go before it gets cold!’

***

Entering her bedroom she puts the tray on the bed, untucking the parcel from under her arm. Ripping off chunks of the bread and slivers of cheese she eats, savouring the taste as she pulls the ribbon off the parcel and her beautiful coat appears. Taking off her dress and putting on her robe she goes to draw herself a bath. Waiting for the water to fill the tub, she lights a match and heads back to her bed to wait for the to turn warm. Undressing all but her locket, picking up her brush she starts smoothing out her hair the way her mother taught her. Only that was when she had wild red curls, does the same now apply to her dead straight ice coloured locks she thinks to herself. Putting down the brush and opening the locket, she kisses each picture in turn, ‘I’ll love you through fire’ she whispers. Finishing the remainder of her food, sleep engulfs her between her silk pillows and duvet, hugging her underneath her four poster bed.

She is in darkness and cannot see but a metre in front of her. Trees line the muddy path she is walking. ‘Don’t be scared V’ a whispering through the trees. It is her mothers voice. She tries to speak but cannot. She feels she is being followed and turns, but the darkness has swallowed her surroundings. A hand is on her shoulder, ghostly pale, it is still too dark to see the face attached. ‘Show her’ the voice of her mother commands. Blue light pours from the open mouths of hundreds of dragons, around them figures stand all dressed in white. ‘I’ll love you through fire’ she hears as the heat where the hand once lay disappears, gripping at air trying to catch it. She turns to try and get a glimpse of her mother but is met with a great breathing beast as it blows electric fire in her face.

She wakes in a sweat. Rising, she wipes beads off her forehead and puts on a dress. The bath once warm is now tepid as she pulls her fingers out, dripping. Walking over to the window and pushing out both panes securing them in place with a hook, she breathes deeply looking down at the fountain below her. The full moon reflects off the pool as the two dancing statues spurt spirals out of their mouths. Someone has forgotten to turn it off. Grabbing her new coat from the bed and putting on her fur track boots she slips into the courtyard, the icy air licking her face. Detaching the hose from the side of the house she turns around as the sound of gravel underfoot can be heard.

’Intruder!’ Someone is yelling from inside. Slowly the house lights up, room by room as the candles are lit, illuminating the courtyard in a soft glow. She can see a man in a dark robe, the hood pulled over the back of his head running the way of the stables. He must have a horse. Without thinking, she runs after the man and catches pace fast. She turns the corner just as he is about to mount a horse and turn around. Following suit, she climbs onto Marybelle thankful the saddle has yet to be taken off after her ride that morning. Following him, they exit the comfort of her vineyards and into the thickness of the forest.

***

’Where is she!’ Her father is screaming now, pacing back and forth on the gravel courtyard outside. ‘My Lord she is not in her room. Her boots and coat are gone.’

’How can this be? How could she have been taken?’ A small man emerges entering the candlelight. ‘Her horse…’ he pants in between breaths, ‘Is gone my Lord.’

’If her horse is gone my Lord’ Sir Clarence speaks, ‘She may have gone willingly?’

Frustration growing, his face darkens even further to a deep purple. ‘Enough! Everyone is to dispatch and find her! Bring Jaspar, he may know something.’ The men in front of him stand in silence. ‘Now!’ He screams as they scamper off. He turns slowly to Sir Clarence, venom in his eyes. ‘If I find out you have something to do with this, I will have your head.’

***

Passing tree after tree the path in front of them stops as they now enter the undergrowth. She can still hear the horse in front, occasionally catching a glimpse of the robe flying out from under him as he speeds. He takes a sharp left turn, she follows. The trees are growing denser and she can smell the dampness of the moss and weeds growing underfoot. The thicker it gets, the harder it is for her to see him until she stops dead in a clearing. There is no light from the moon, covered by the taller pines. She turns in a circle trying to make out where he must have gone, she cannot hear a thing but her own horses hooves. Disoriented, the frustration builds in her as she continues looking for the way in which she entered. Exhaling a cloud of steam, she strides forward entering the forest once more. After what feels like an age, she sees a faint light up ahead and continues until its brightness is overpowering. Sheilding her eyes with her hand she gets off her horse, walking closer to the growing heat. As quickly as the brightness appeared, darkness now pours through, the full moon illuminating her surroundings. She is in the Valley.

***

Her eyes adjust slowly as she sees figures appear, her heart rate no longer a steady thump. ‘You have come.’ A voice sounds out, deep, vibrating off the the Valleys low trenches. A man appears in front of her, ivory trimmed jacket and matching pants. Long white hair flows down his back. The wind does not seem to touch it as it sits stagnant on his head. He is barefoot and his face is a canvas of scars, his piercing white eyes bore in to her. She shifts uncomfortably, ‘Am I supposed to know you?’ Her voice quivers, almost a whisper. ‘In another life’ he exhales. No steam rises from his mouth, a smile on his thin lips. She looks around. Her horse is gone and there are more people almost identical to the man in front of her. She is surrounded. Their white eyes glowing, she can hear movement behind the man, deep scratching sounds, animalistic groans of impatience. Touching her locket, clasping it in both hands in hopes of finding a source of strength, she silently prays.

***

‘Wait!’ A voice sounds out from the back, echoing through the silence. She can see people parting as he walks forward. She has forgotten to breathe. He looks almost exactly like the boy in her locket, the only difference is his scarred face and milky hair.

‘Brother?’

’No not brother. Tiamat. I am one with my dragon’ he says puffing his chest as he gestures behind him. She can now see what was causing the groaning and movement. A dozen dragons are playfully fighting each other. They must be young as they are at least a third of the size as the ones that destroyed their homeland.

‘I suppose father told you they had all perished, well as you can see that is a lie. It makes me wonder what other lies he has told?’ He says calmly, a smirk on his face. So many questions are swirling around her head she feels almost faint. She cannot get a grasp of the situation. She opens her mouth, struggling to get air into her lungs.

’You are alive?’ There is a long pause, filled in by the noise of the creatures.

’Well yes. And no’ he replies with a shrug of his shoulders, that same smirk planted on his face.

‘I do not understand?’

’Only the undead can ride dragons’

’But you, Frank, are clearly not dead!’

’It is Tiamat! And I am growing impatient!’ He almost yells. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he exhales. She notices that no steam comes out of his mouth either. Opening them once more and clapping his hands together he continues.

’It is a ritual of sorts. If you are chosen they breathe fire back into your soul. And in exchange, a bond is made.’ He raises a hand to the scars that mark his face. With each word he speaks he walks closer towards her.

’Father always liked you better. Better at archery, better at hunting. Better this. Better that. Better. Better. Better.’ He is now in front of her, she can smell his rotten breath.

’Now let us see if he was right little sister.’ In a flash he produces a crystal knife embedded with red rubies and stabs her porcelain skin. Clutching her stomach, blood seeps out with each pulse of her heartbeat. Panic and confusion dance around in her head, dizzy with the stars floating just outside her vision. She tries to stay upright clutching for her brothers arm. He slowly steps out of reach as she falls to the damp earth. Looking up at him, her eyes pleading, she tries to speak but is choked by the warm liquid coming out of her mouth. A smile still on his face.

‘The Kaida will come to smell your blood and see if you are worthy, if you are chosen there is no seperation. Only death will part you. If not, a pity to die so young. Sleep well sister. Time is ticking.’

END CHAPTER

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    Abigail Watson Written by Abigail Watson

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