Bonds of Scale & Bone

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

They burst from the cliffs like a serpentine plague over a decade ago. Their shadows clogged the sky as their fire rained on the people, destroying the Valley in just a night. Legends said they laid dormant for centuries in a magical sleep. Others said it was the fault of the fae—that their war spilled into the mortal lands and dropped the veil protecting the poor innocent humans living in the flourishing valley. In the end, no one knew the truth about how the magnanimous beasts had appeared so quickly and destroyed everything in their path.

Now, the valley was a desert of bones and scorched earth. Dragons hunted by day and pillaged by night. The villagers who survived fled to the outskirts and prayed to make it another day without becoming the next snack. The survivors found themselves in a never-ending cycle of struggle and starvation—all because the dragons took the valley.

Julien Fairchild didn’t give a shit about the dragons. That’s what he muttered to himself as he struck the hardened earth with his hoe. The clay resisted, barely crumbling. He lifted the garden tool again, muscles tightening with strain as he slammed it back into the dirt. Nothing.

He wiped his sweaty brow on the sleeve of his white cotton shirt. Dragons didn’t make the earth unworkable; they didn’t tax the citizens to the point of poverty. That was the fault of the Fae.

He lifted the hoe again. Slammed it against the hard ground again. Only this time, the wooden handle shattered. The iron head tumbled across the field, coming to a stop feet away.

“Son of a knife-ear!” he cursed, throwing the remaining wooden handle down.

The late afternoon sun beat across the field and reflected in his brown eyes. The fields were in the trough head to the valley, dangerously close to the edge of dragon territory. Very few came to work the village fields for fear of the scaly beasts that hunted in the skies. Though in all the years of plowing and sowing, Julien had yet to see one of the monsters. He was a lucky one because just last week his neighbor had become the latest victim of a dragon attack.

He marched to the broken tool and picked up the shattered pieces. This would be another repair to add to his never-ending list. Just this morning his sister had informed him the sole of her boots were coming apart, and he made a mental note to save two gold coins to barter with the cobbler for a repair. He had hoped to trade some cabbage in addition to the coins but today’s field was nearly bare. As always. The dragon’s flames had burned up the river, causing a drought to spread across the land. Every year, neighbors swore the rains would come and restore the balance, but Julien had given up that hope eight years ago. Better to work with the dust they had than hope for fertile soil that was never coming.

He grabbed his rucksack and chucked the broken iron head inside before slinging it over his shoulder and hiking back toward the village. He could check their personal garden for food to barter. Before he left this morning, the radishes looked like they might be ready. The cobbler’s wife was known for loving a good radish. It would strain them, but help his sister get through the coming winter with usable boots.

Julien walked silently down the dirt path. The other workers had left two hours ago to return to their wives and children. He had stayed. The only responsibility he shouldered was his mother and little sister and they needed food and coin more than his presence at the meager dinner table. His father had died in the war, fighting against the Fae a decade ago. He had been eight when the veil fell and chaos descended upon the land. All the men of the village had been drafted to fight the war, attempting to protect their territory from the Fae and their encroaching magic. Few had returned. The Fae now ruled a majority of the land and maintained a decorum of peace with the mortals, but Julien knew it was a mercy. They could take over any day. Especially with the help of the dragons.

Smoke wafted above the trees as he entered the woods that surrounded their small village. The shade felt merciful on his heated skin. His neck was red from the sun’s rays beating on his bare skin all day. Smells of roasted meat and vegetables hit his nose as he stepped onto rough cobblestone streets. They were poorly made at best, and filled with holes. He swung into the fenced garden behind their shabby family cabin. Damp upturned dirt greeted his eyes—damp upturned earth that had contained carrots, radishes, and potatoes just hours ago.

“No. No, no, no, no,” he dropped his rucksack and sprinted to the small plot.

The seeds had cost his entire summer’s wages to plant and were meant to feed his family through the autumn and winter. Without them, they wouldn’t make it. The village stores were lessening every year, and more families found themselves relying on meager backyard gardens to scrape by.

He frantically dug through the dirt. Soil collected under his nails as he scraped and prayed for any hint of a whole plant. The damp earth soaked his breeches at his knees as he searched. All of it was destroyed by a vole. All that was left were shredded roots and ripped leaves.

“Gods damn it all!” He yelled and threw a clod of dirt before sinking to the ground and bracing his forehead on his knees.

He struggled to control his breathing as his mind raced. There was no extra coin to replace the plants. Maybe he could work extra hours in the field. Or offer to help the butcher in the evenings. A cool hand touched the back of his neck breaking his storm of despair.

“It will be ok,” his sister's tiny voice sounded behind his back, “We can figure something out.”

“Cicily, there’s not going to be enough food,” he whispered. His voice sounded hoarse from stress and strain.

“I can ask for some extra hours working for Mrs. Troyan. She needs a house cleaner,” she sat on the grass next to him, covering her slender legs with the end of her cotton skirt, “Or, you can let me accept Seamus’s offer.”

“You are not marrying him,” Julien hissed, swinging his head to stare at his little sister.

She had inherited their mother’s natural beauty. Her brunette hair shone red in the sunlight, and amber eyes glowed among the freckles dotting her tanned skin. She looked a few years older than her young fifteen, and the men of the village were already jumping at the chance to claim her as their own. Before the war, his father would have been preparing to make her a suitable match with a gentleman. Now, Julien prayed he could hold off another year before she settled for a poor village man who would only impregnate her and leave to work the fields.

“I know you don’t like him, but his family has money and could help—“

“The man beats his younger sister and animals. I’ve heard the stories from workers. You would be next on his victim list and I will not allow it. I’ll figure something out.”

He snatched his forgotten bag and trudged to the small home they shared. It consisted of one tiny bedroom and a loft. The kitchen and den were one in the same and the cabin so tiny that their wood-burning stove could keep them warm in the winter. His sister and mother shared the bedroom while he slept in the loft on a thin mattress. He kicked off his muddy boots by the back door and hung his bag on a small peg sticking from the wall. His sister followed him, her small feet shuffling against the wood floor.

“You don’t have to shoulder this all yourself, you know,” she placed her hands on her hips by the table where dinner sat half prepared. A knife lay next to a portion of chopped potato and water boiled on the stove, “If you would let us share some of the burden—“

“Dad left me in charge!” His voice rose, and he sucked a deep breath to try and calm his agitated nerves, “He left me in charge, and then he died. You and Mom are my responsibility and I will take care of it. Conversation over.”

Cicily wrinkled her eyes, her nose scrunching in held-back arguments. Julien sighed before grabbing a hunk of stale bread and stomping up the ladder to his loft. His mind swirled with half-formed plans, all of which lacked a viable resolution. He chewed the tough bread, struggling to swallow the dry crust. He needed food. Or money. And had none of either. The crops were dwindling. Work was hard to find. And coin even harder to spare.

And the village will blame the damn dragons instead of the greedy Fae, he thought as his mind slowed on the edge of sleep. The wooden roof loomed over him as he lay in his work clothes on top of his thin, threadbare blanket. Exhaustion took over, bringing blissful black silence.

###

He woke to a silent house the next morning. Cicily and his mother had already left for their jobs working for the more well-off families in town. He rubbed his eyes, sliding down the ladder to find a plate of leftover boiled potatoes and a lone boiled egg on the kitchen table—leftover dinner that he had slept through. He grabbed the egg and choked it down, watching the sunrise through the small window in the kitchen.

His racing mind had come up with no magical plans last night. This morning, he hoped to at least make a deal with the cobbler to fix Cicily’s boots. Then, he would head to the fields. Maybe if he went further to the edge he could harvest a little more and sneak the extras home in his bag. Cabbage wouldn’t store great, but maybe Cicily could pickle it to save.

Julien shoved his feet into his still-dirty boots and walked into the morning air. Autumn was still a month away, but he could feel the crisp cool air starting to creep in. Dew stuck to the grass as he walked towards the nearest broken cobblestone street. Bastian, the cobbler, would be beginning his workday. Julien had better luck first thing in the morning before the man’s bad temper got hold of him.

He walked towards the small shop marked with a chipping red door. The store windows on either side displayed various boots and ladies’ slippers. The slippers had been sitting on display for at least the last five years. No one had use for a dance shoe in a village that never danced.

A bell chimed above the door as he walked inside. The smell of leather permeated the room, and scraps of cuttings lay across the counter. Bastian obviously was in the middle of making a pair for someone.

“I’m busy. Come back later,” Bastian yelled from the back room. His voice already had the strain of ire underneath it.

“It’s Julien,” he called, tracing his hand along the wood counter, inspecting a scrap of black leather sitting on the corner, “I need to talk to you about my sister’s shoes.”

Bastian’s bald head peeked around the doorway, his thick black mustache twitching as he stared at Julien, “For Cicily?”

“She’s the only sister I have.”

“Well, if it’s for Cicily…”

Cicily charmed just about everyone in the village with her sweet nature and effortless beauty. This wasn’t the first time a favor had been granted to him by dropping her name.

Bastian gripped the counter, a leather apron covering his shirt and breeches, “What’s wrong with your sister’s shoes?”

“The soles have a hole in them. They’re barely holding together. I was hoping you could repair them for me before autumn comes. She wouldn’t dare ask herself, so I thought if I came and asked you…” Julien trailed off, running a hand through his short brown hair.

“It’s going to cost, Julien. I can’t do it for free. Prices for leather are rising and I can barely buy a cow to slaughter myself for a hide.”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask for free. I don’t have the coin now, but I’ll get it for you. If you’ll just give me the credit—“

“Julien,” Bastian cut him off, sympathy shining in his dark eyes, “I can’t do it for credit anymore. I hope you understand.”

Julien swallowed roughly, rubbing his hand down the rough fabric of his pants, “Ok. Well how about I sneak some cabbage home for you and the missus? It’s not the most hardy, but Cicily may pickle it for you.”

Bastian shook his head, sadness etched into the frown of his eyebrows, “I can’t take the cabbage, Julien. We need the money, too. My own girls need shoes and winter dresses. I’m sorry. Find the coin and I’ll fix your sister’s shoes.”

Julien ducked his head and shuffled out of the shop to head for the dirt path that led to the fields. He didn’t dignify the cobbler’s comment with an answer. The only thing worse than his anger was his sympathy.

###

Clanging shovels greeted his ears when he reached the fields. Workers had already staked their claims on the fields closest to the village—fearful of rogue dragons even though the plants up close had been picked clean. They were paid by each head they harvested, and most of the men would take no pay over taking a chance on the edges. Julien grabbed a shovel and trudged through the rows of half-dead crops towards the back of the fields. Typically, the overseers would check their bags at the end of the day to make sure all the produce was going to the market where it was supposed to. They had been lax the last few weeks, and Julien prayed they were too lazy to check again today.

An hour passed, and he carried an armful of cabbage heads to the wheelbarrow at the end of the row, dropping the greens one by one into the container. Each day, less and less was worth harvesting. A dark shadow slid over his shoulder, and he turned to find Theon standing behind him. They weren’t friends, but the young man was probably the closest he had.

“Working the back fields today?” Theon asked, chucking his own heads of cabbage into the barrow with a thunk.

“It’s quieter,” Julien answered and picked up his shovel to return to his spot.

“Not afraid of a big scaly beast?” Theon jogged to catch up and resume stride with Julien.

“No.”

Silence fell and the crunch of their boots stepping on dried leaves and stems in the dirt magnified. Julien glanced at the tall man walking next to him. His face was red with sunburn—the curse of his red hair.

“Listen,” Theon balanced his shovel on his shoulder, “I overheard your conversation with the cobbler this morning. Bastian had his windows open,” Julien pressed his lips together in a thin line, “And if you need a little loan to get by, you know all you have to do is ask.”

“I don’t need your pity,” He grumbled, quickening his pace to escape this conversation.

“It’s not pity when it's a friend helping a friend.”

Julien ground his teeth and began hacking at the next row of plants. Half of this row was dead. He would be lucky to harvest half a dozen.

“Julien,” Theon grabbed his shoulder, “Don’t let your pride be the undoing of your family.”

“Let go of me,” he growled, tensing under the pressure of the hand on his shoulder, “I don’t need your help. I’ll figure something out.”

Theon shook his head, his long red hair brushing his collarbone, “You’re a stubborn ass. What’s your plan? You gonna go catch a dragon?”

Julien gripped a dead plant and tugged it from the soil before tossing it out of the field. Catching a dragon was almost a myth in the village—except it had been done in rare cases. Dragons could be contained with iron fae chains. The iron links were thicker, stronger, and spelled to hold against extreme strain. A few of the richer villagers had the chains to use on their bulls; something Julien considered akin to treason. If an idiot managed to trap a dragon, they still had to imprint on them which was rare for a human. Most ended up roasted white meat.

“Why would I ever try that,” he muttered, shoving the blade of the shovel into the soil.

“You could compete in Princess Nathaali’s games. Win. Become part of her squadron and get the prize money.”

Julien speared his shovel into the ground, and turned to face his ‘friend.’ Princess Nathaali’s dragon squadron was fierce and disciplined. Only the best riders managed to secure a spot on the twelve-person team—and not many were mortal. Those who landed a spot with their beast were paid handsomely and expected to fight for the Fae land of Elgary.

He braced his dirty hands on his hips and narrowed his eyes, “Why in the ever-loving hell realm would I consider working for that knife-ear?”

“Because the money would save your mother and sister. I see how the men in the village watch Cicily. You can’t ward them off forever. And you guys are barely surviving as it is. If you won’t accept help, you have to do something extreme.”

“The Fae are the reason we are in this mess, to begin with. Their magic war broke the veil. They caused the dragons to emerge. They lord over us and keep us in poverty.”

Anger seethed under his skin like an oily worm. He could feel the tips of his ears reddening with the rise in his blood pressure and grabbed his shovel to take it out on the dirt before he punched Theon in the jaw.

“It’s just an idea,” Theon muttered.

“I won’t risk my life chasing a daydream. Being killed by a dragon won’t save my family either. And that’s what happens when you mess with dragons. They kill you.”

Julien stomped further to the back of the field, knowing Theon wasn’t brave enough to follow. He worked the rest of the day on the edge. A small orange flag waved in the corner to mark the end of the human territory and the beginning of the valley—Skull Valley. Named because of the graveyard of bones that now littered its floor. Not a single shadow of a dragon appeared all day, but just before finishing time, Julien swore he heard a distant roar.

The atmosphere at dinner was tense. Mostly, because he had soured it with his own dark mood. Neither his sister nor mother made conversation. Each one took a turn glancing at him out of the side of their eye as they ate silently. It was another meal of boiled potatoes and boiled eggs. Julien had been caught trying to smuggle a few heads of cabbage and reprimanded by the overseer. He didn’t care about the warning; he did care that it failed to bring any food to his family’s dwindling dinner table.

“I spoke to Seamus today,” his sister broke the silence, crossing her silverware on her half-empty plate, “His offer for marriage still stands.”

Julien gripped his knife with force so hard his knuckles turned white, “Absolutely not.”

Cicily raised her chin, “Seamus has a real offer to help our family. He will host us through the winter and make sure we stay fed. His family has pull in the village. It’s a match that makes sense.”

“It makes no sense because the man is an abusive prick!” Julien slammed his fist on the table, causing the chipped plates to clatter against the wood.

“Julien,” his mother chided.

Cicily grabbed the table edge and pushed to standing, staring down at her brother, “It’s not your choice. It’s mine. And I won’t stand here and watch our family wither away because you’re too stubborn to ask for help.”

“You will not marry that man!” Julien called to her retreating back.

She paused in the worn doorway, cheeks red with anger, “You can’t stop me.”

She punctuated her statement with a slam of the door. Julien rubbed his face roughly, the calluses on his palms catching against the five-o-clock shadow beginning on his chin.

“She’s just worried,” his mother said softly, spooning a bite of softened potatoes into her mouth.

“This is not a life I want for her. Seamus is not a good man.”

His mother looked at him softly. He noticed the lines around her hazel eyes seemed deeper from the stress of the last few months. Her cheekbones looked more angular from the weight loss, and the gray in her auburn hair was increasing. His mother was aging. An experience his father never got to reach.

“Sometimes it’s not your life to choose,” she patted his shoulder as she walked to the small washtub they used as a sink and dropped her plate inside.

His mother slipped inside the bedroom door, he assumed to comfort his seething sister. Julien closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands. The food tasted like ash on his tongue. Even the water seemed gritty in his mouth as the stress churned his stomach.

He angrily washed the dishes, stacking them on the counter. It was as much of an apology as he could offer his sister; words were never his strength. The moon glowed through the small window, casting the small kitchen and living space in a silver glow. Silence came from the bedroom, and he assumed neither his sister nor mother would be emerging again tonight. He took that as his sign to climb into the loft and lay to stare at the ceiling.

No coin. Limited food. Garden destroyed. The grievances ticked across his brain as he stared at a worn spot in the ceiling. It would begin leaking soon if they couldn’t get it repaired. The cobbler was canceling their line of credit. His sister was seriously considering marrying Seamus for money.

Julien needed a miracle. A crazed solution that would fix everything.

Theon’s voice floated through his mind as his eyes drifted close: You gonna go catch a dragon?