Dragonflight

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. And they lingered not after their arrival. The first fell out of the sky at dusk. The Lothwood Mountains gently cradled the sun, and the sky was draped in ripples of orange and pink as lilac clouds drifted lazily. The wheels of my wagon creaked as I dragged it back home, nails crying as bumps in the well-trodden road threatened to pull them loose. My journey was reaching its end: I could see the rolling fields of golden grain, and if I squinted, the small homestead nestled amongst them.

I didn’t notice the drumming as I toiled, my mind lost in thought and exertion. My father had stayed in the village to conduct some business, trusting me to bring our cart home safely. The walk from Lapsus Village to my home was long and the wagon heavy, despite selling most of the produce we had brought to the market for sale. It was only as the rhythmic drumming ceased that I noticed it, and it was quickly replaced by a shrill whistling. Something careened into the ground in front of me, gouging a gargantuan wound into the loamy soil. A gigantic black mass shuddered, rose, then collapsed. All I could taste was metal and fear. Again, the creature tried to rise, and I could make out wings, leathery with a pale blue underside, torn and pierced, and a foreleg of rippling muscles under black scales, torn by a gash of red flesh with a hint of white bone. It succumbed to its weight and fell back to the ground. I could hear tired panting, as well as hissing and cracking as burgundy blood set the grass it fell upon alight.

It tried to move again, using its wings for more leverage. It almost made it to its feet before tumbling back to the earth. Every movement elicited whimpers from the creature, as blood never ending streamed from the wounds across its body. Finally, it sensed me, and finally, it stood. Wings unfurled to their fullest, back arched like a threatened cat, fangs bared as its lips curled. 6 meters tall at shoulder, its head an additional meter higher than that, the dragon was a terrifying sight. Its ribcage must have been 3 metres from spine to sternum, thick muscles running up to the arms of its wings. Jet black scales wrapped its back, wings, and legs. Along its underside, from bottom jaw to tip of tail, ran smooth pale blue scales, like a thin layer of ice that is beginning to melt. Its entire body trembled, its muscles clearly unable to support the exertion, desperate to go limp. And still it panted, even as it tried to threaten me.

I don’t remember moving, so transfixed was I with the injured beast in front of me. Yet I approached, bent low, hand reaching out. It backed away slowly, limping slightly on its back leg where more blood oozed. I could count a dozen gashes at least. The bloody leg buckled, returning the dragon to a heap on the grass, which burned quietly. Inching forward, I lowered my hand and took my waterskin from my belt. The dragon looked at me, our eyes meeting. Eyes bright yellow and orange, with no whites, and thin black blades for pupils. Dark, thick veins reached towards the pupils like weeds, as if to engulf them. Despite their alien nature, I could sense a great fear in those amber eyes, a fear only understood by a deposed tyrant. It began to vocalize, trying to growl but wheezing instead. Smoke began to waft from its nostrils, but more coiled skyward from the grass it rested on, its dark claret continuing to gush.

Its head lowered to rest on the ground. It was quickly weakening. I offered the waterskin. Its left eye regarded me out of a head almost my size. Horns curled out from ridges above its eyes, another pair protruding near where the skull meets the neck. They both coiled, almost looking like a crown. Lazily, it opened its mouth, a bright red tongue fell out amongst sharp, clean, white teeth. I emptied my waterskin as it lapped the water down its gullet, then reattached it to my belt. Its gaze, now inscrutable, followed me as I inspected the wounds. They were jagged, and already rotting and rank. Flesh would blacken and decay as I watched. I looked at the pathetic creature again, struggling to even keep its eyes open to watch me.

“Don’t go to sleep.” I finally found my voice, but it was choked by the rapid beating of my heart. I ran to my wagon, ignoring the splinters as I dug through barrels and cartons to find any water. When I returned, gone not two minutes, the dragons breathing had grown more ragged. I met its manic eyes and got to work. It began to breathe faster as I began to clean the gashes, wincing and flinching as the water swept away rotten flesh like wet sand. The moon had risen high by the time I had finished. Never did the dragon stop looking at me, even as I used my hands to dig deep into it to clean its horrific injuries. Slowly as I worked, I noticed the panting slow. The dragons breathing grew deeper, fuller. I looked over the creature’s body and stopped to watch, amazed, as flesh was rapidly healing. I could see skin stitching together, scales quickly growing to cover the scars. Some of the wounds I had first tended were already half closed.

The dragon began to rise once more. Fear that I buried through focus quickly returned. The few tales of dragons that made it to Plyon Valley were only ever whispered in fear. It shook its head as it stood, stretching its neck, and roared into the night sky. It was deafening. I covered my ears in a vain attempt to protect myself. My pained screaming and the dragons roar seemed destined to never end. The dragon stopped and looked back at me. It moved its head close, its maw inches from my face. I crawled backwards, tripping over myself, but it did not follow. Instead, it bent its forelegs, spread its wings wide and low, and rested its head on the ground. Ears still ringing, I stood and approached the bowing dragon cautiously. We again looked into each other’s eyes, and it raised its head slightly, presenting its brow to me. Slowly, I reached out and put my hand in the middle of its four horns.

Darkness and wet. Water trickling, dripping into small puddles. A circle of seventeen dragons, eyes glowing ice blue, wing tips touching. Guttural rumblings in harmony. Crowns of horns bow one after another as glowing eyes close. Rumbling stops. A ring of blue light rising above bowed heads. Pulsing and humming with barely contained energy. Collapses to its centre. Blindness. Echoes of unshackled chains. White plasma congeals from the collapsed ring. Water stops trickling, steam begins rising. Heat and electricity fill the air. Crowned heads rise, faces illuminated by glowing white. Blue eyes open, not glowing. Plasma expanding, growing, mutating. A hand? A face? From the plasma. An arm, impossible shape, clawing and reaching. Rumbling, no harmony. Scraping on stone as the arm reaches the wall, gripping, latching. Plasma grows larger. Blue eyes wide, fast rumbling. A spine? A heart? Plasma growing. Not white now. Yellow. Orange. A portal? A door. Entry? Escape. A smile? A sneer. The circle of dragons breaks. Beating of wings as blue eyes widen and run. Wait, not white, turning yellow, turning orange. They run, they flee. Black vines snare bright orange. Hissing steam gone, now shrieking. A figure? A demon? Taller than mountains, wider than seas. Not in one piece, separated. Shattered panes of glass reassembled incorrectly. Vine covered orange eyes are now black. Plasma crackles as reality bends. Explosions of orange between crowns of horns. One loud thud. Two loud thuds. Seventeen loud thuds. Crackling plasma gone. Blindness returns. Figure? Demon. Still here. Turning. Half of a grin? Half of an impossible being. Does not belong. Is thrilled to be. Malevolent, Violent. It turns, it reaches.

I wrenched my hand back, sweaty, and terrified.

“What was that… thing?” I spluttered, breaths hard to come by. My lungs burnt, my head felt broken, not in half, in millions. I could only see bursts of orange light in my mind. The dragons head lowered, and it would not look at me. It turned instead, and sat looking at the sky, towards the rising moon, towards the direction it had come from.

“What did you show me?” I screamed, my voice high, tearing my throat. I heard thud after thud, and counted seventeen. It still gazed into the night sky, its amber eyes hidden to me, its tail curled around its front feet, wings held tightly against it.

“What did you do?” I whispered. Finally, it turned. Its eyes wet, overflowing with guilt and grief. It was then that I heard the drumbeat of hundreds of wings, and the whistling of dragons crashing out of the starry night.

Over the course of that night fifteen years ago, three hundred twenty-seven dragons plummeted into Plyon Valley, like lost stars returning to the earth. Thud after thud after thud. When the moon rose the next night, twenty-four had survived. The village convened as the threat was conveyed. At the next dawn, the population of Lapsus Village and the last twenty-four dragons left the Valley. I do not know if we shall ever return, for we will not outrun whatever the dragons unchained by turning around.