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Blue

In the beginning of the middle...

By Matt BaronPublished 2 years ago 5 min read
1
Blue
Photo by Naja Bertolt Jensen on Unsplash

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

There wasn’t always a valley. Before valleys became popular, most places just had big flat spaces— then someone decided to, quite literally, shake things up a bit. That’s how we got all this topsy turvy stuff going on with high bits and low bits. Somehow the high bits got higher and the low bits got even lower until some clever bugger decided it would be a good idea to throw fire into the mix— which of course set off the chain reaction of lava sprouting everywhere and before you could say ‘what’s that sulphur smell?’ we had volcanoes. I won’t tell you who brought in the water, but I guess it had to be done. Somehow the water went from up in the sky to down on the ground. Then it just kept going in a cycle until we had these long flowing snake-like things that went into big pools of goodness knows what, but it can’t have been good for anyone because before you knew it, we had this green stuff growing everywhere, I don’t know why it was green, and who got to decide what green even is but they clearly didn’t know what was good for themselves. Or for us. That’s how we got these big green bits and small green bits. Then of course, some clever dick decided we had to name all this stuff— dunno whose idea that was but of course it brought on disagreements on all sides because— what is a name? I don’t know why they decided these names, but they did, and now we have mountains and rivers and trees and grasslands and heather and council meetings and taxes and rebates and valleys. And that Valley in particular was pleasant and peaceful and quiet and nobody was that fussed about naming anything because… well we’d already been through all that. Nothing new. No more names. Peace was a plenty. We were full of peace.

Of course, you can have too much of anything, especially good things, and I suppose the bugger who thought up fire got bored and went and made those winged bastards with fiery breath and a haughty nature to boot. That is when things got far too complicated for my liking…”

That was how Peyo remembered Brinti talking about it. Well, cleaned up a bit. Old Brinti’s over use of foul language always got the younger lot more involved. The elders didn’t like it much but allowed it because, to quote Brinti, “It’s their bloody ‘eritage” -- whatever that meant. Apparently it meant whatever he said was exactly what happened— as Peyo got older and the more she had listened to old Brinti, however, the more what he seemed to be saying was what he didn’t know, rather than what he did. To this day, Peyo had no idea what taxes and rebates were, or how they worked. Whenever she asked anyone, some faceless thing was always to blame; The System, The Scroungers, The Empire. Peyo was only certain that one of them existed, and that was because of her dealings with the authorities on the way here.

Oh yes, they would be here soon, too— bloody fools for following her. No one went to The Valley anymore.

The ship was making good towards shore. It was a grey murky sky; ‘brooding’ was one way to describe it, if you were inclined to describe skies that way. Peyo was just glad it wasn’t worse. Despite storms and pirates and sea-snakes, the longboat was still going. The crew were good enough to promise they’d take her as far as The Gates, and were even going to wait around for a bit in case she came to her senses. It was quite an honour, considering they’d lost their captain on the way here. Maybe they just didn’t like him that much.

Peyo was standing on the bow, looking up at ‘The Valley’ as the ship got closer. Peyo’s geography had never been strong, but even she knew that a valley shouldn’t look like this. Before her was a great black mass— as if rock giants had stopped in the middle of a wrestling match. Jagged spikes everywhere, forming what could have been cliffs if the rocks had gotten their act together. Peyo looked down to the base, and was surprised to see white sand meeting the deep dark blue. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, perhaps more black?

“Look there, captain.”

“I’m not your cap—” Peyo stopped in the middle of correcting what would have been the ships’ First Mate, if Peyo knew how crews worked. She just called him Fangas, because that was his name.

Peyo looked to where Fangas was pointing.

Barely discernible between all the blackness of the rocks was a small inlet— a notched crack in the sort-of cliffs. Peyo looked at the map she’d been given. It was poorly drawn on the back of an inn’s menu, the last thing Bramm had given her before they’d parted ways and she’d been sent on this suicidal mission. Sure enough, there was the inlet, marked ‘The Gates— stop here and wait for me’ in the old man’s writing. The ‘wait for me’ was underlined, but Peyo knew there was no point in that now. Even if she could be sure Bramm would join them, she had to get through The Valley before their pursuers could find her. Peyo almost hoped that they would catch up and stop her. She hadn’t asked for this. She hadn’t meant to spear that wyvern— it was a fairly natural reaction to a fire breathing monster trying to burn down your hometown. Now she was going to be facing even more of them.

And I still don’t know why.

The inlet went in a lot deeper than it looked from offshore. Further into the black fjord the little boat rowed, with the cliffs getting closer and closer either side and the light above becoming a small slit of grey in a dark messy world. Just as the rocks got close enough to threaten piercing the sides of their ship, the rocks suddenly gave way and the fjord began to widen back out again. The water continued to become shallow, but the great overhanging cliffs got smaller and smaller. As they did so, they parted to reveal what must have actually been the Valley.

It was horrifying.

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  • Dave King2 years ago

    A very well written story, gripping from beginning to end! I would love to read more of your work

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