Dragons Blood

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.. By earth-fire, there wasn’t always a valley..”

Thea rolled her eyes theatrically, safe in the knowledge that Graint was staring right through her into a suspiciously embellished vision of the past.

“That’s why they call it.”, Graint paused dramatically, unaware that Thea was mouthing the familiar words along with him, “..Oxford Street. Before it was a valley. In the old times before history, this was a towering stone canyon of sparkling beauty that led travellers out of Old London and to the Oxford”, he gestured confidently to the West as though that settled matters.

Thea poked at the ineffective knotwood fire, glad that Londonshire’s slab-like stones offered some protection from the bitter wind.

“But when did the dragons come, grandpa?”, Pyrh asked, ignoring Thea’s daggered stare. The younger girl knew the tales as well as anyone, and was certainly old enough to give up the pretence of believing Graint was anyone’s grandpa, but boredom had set in after a long day turning over stones.

Thea was pretty sure the old man had no idea when the dragons had come, having heard his slowly evolving stories an endless number of times next to an endless number of camp fires. Despite herself, she leant in to hear how he’d avoid answering the question this time. Tall tales from a daft old man were better to listen to than the thinly whistling wind.

“They came for the tronics,” he intoned earnestly, “when people filled the land, and we had such riches that craftsmen forged new jewels just to demonstrate their skills.”

“But the dragons were angered by the fake jewels we created. The tronics sang to them when they wished to sleep. The songs made them hungry, and filled them with rage. They hunted them, flying from the West…”

Thea stopped listening. There was nothing new here, though the talk of dragons always brought a little twinge of fear that made it hard not to pay attention, at least for a short while.

She looked around their improvised camp site. The slab stones offered natural protection, but the knotwood was strong enough to split a rock if it got a good summer. Then, newly exposed stone seemed to encourage the tough weed even more, and before long sheltered corners like this would become tangled bowls of root and rubble. It was pure luck to have come across a site where some recent underground shift had created a nook that offered space enough to light a fire out of the cold wind.

Absently, she kicked at an already encroaching tendril of knotwood with the toe of her tough leather boot. Its limpet attachment to the stone held fast, so she kicked again, trying to work the tip of her boot under the weed.

“.. spreading their dragon-blood, which soaked into the ground, spawning the second born that we must guard against..”, the old man droned on. Pryh’s jaw locked into an expression that completely failed to hide the yawn she was fighting. It was getting late anyway, so it wouldn’t be hard to suggest they get some sleep soon.

Thea kicked again at the knotwood, feeling it give slightly as the stone under it shifted with the pull of its roots. She twisted her toe against the stubborn plant, feeling for the leverage that would let her prise it away from the ground. One more branch for the fire and that would be the time to call for sleep. Then Graint could end his rambling that never went anywhere.

Her persistence was rewarded by a short curl of knotwood coming free from the stone, enough to slip the tip of her boot under the plant and twist. The length of the branch began to rip away from the ground, with satisfying little judders as broken stone gave way around the roots. Graint ran out of steam with his recital and watched her kick it free to a spray of pebbles and dirt.

She leant forward to pull at the weed and break it off for the fire. As she did, the freshly exposed rock glinted a sharp, unnatural green. Without thinking, Thea reached down and picked up the small disk revealed by the stripped stone. It blinked, slowly, sharp green in her hand. Despite the endless stories, the object meant nothing to her - a strange alien coin she turned slowly over to examine.

“Tronic!!”, Graint screamed in a weirdly high voice, leaping to his feet and falling backwards in the process.

Thea jumped in shock, stood up far too fast and dropped the disk, which rolled across the ground into a jumble of knotweed on the edge of the clearing. Pyrh squeaked in terror, then looked confused, then asked, “What? No…”

Graint scrambled back to his feet, staying low, making desperate patting gestures to keep them quiet.

Thea tried to shake off the fear, “There isn’t..” she started to protest, but Graint made a strange strangled sound and silently flapped at her until she began again in a whisper, “There isn’t any tronic, that’s all old tales and… and…”

From under the tangle of knotweed, the disk blinked a slow, sullen green.

“But the dragons ate it all..”

They stared in silence as the disk blinked back at them with unnatural light.

Then behind Pyrh a small cascade of stones rattled out from under the knotweed. The girl started at the noise, then fear overtook her and she froze in place not daring to turn around, wide eyed and rigid with terror.

Another cascade, larger this time, spewing a mass of stones and dirt into the clearing. One rock tumbled further, bumping to a halt against Pyrh’s heel. She whimpered in fear, not daring to look round.

Graint stared, slack jawed over Pryh’s trembling shoulder. Thea tried not to goggle at the scene behind the terrified girl.

From the fresh pile of stone oozed a dark iridescent slick of liquid. Faster than its thick surface suggested, it puddled weirdly, gathering into a gelatinous mass that reflected the small light of the fire with oily colours. Then, slowly at first, a thin spittle of liquid began to rise up from one edge of the pool, like a dribble in reverse. A second spire rose, then a third, fourth, fifth. Accelerating up, there were shortly eight spindly wet threads that rose, bent and finally combined at the centre, almost at waist height to Pyrh, just a couple of steps away.

The puddle split, flowing towards each of the eight stalks then up them in a wet, pumping motion until the ground was dry of the liquid and it sat in a pulsating mass on eight glossy black legs.

The thing was motionless for a moment, then slowly one leg lifted and took a step towards Pyrh. A second lifted..

Thea screamed a furious warcry, lurching into sudden motion towards Pryh. It was too much for the smaller girl who cried out and collapsed into a bundle on the ground. Without breaking stride Thea lept over her, launching herself towards the creature. Her heavy boot made contact with the centre of the mass and passed through it as though it were nothing more than water, spraying shiny black droplets everywhere. The remaining liquid collapsed to the ground, losing the insectile form it had created.

Thea landed and looked round herself in confusion, her enemy reduced to splashes of dark oil. Yet even as she tried to find a solid target, the splashes began to move and roll together.

Graint let out a strangled cry and ran over to the tangle of knotwood where the glint of green continued to blink as though watching the scene before it. The old man raised a foot and stamped down on the light, then stamped again and again and again until he was certain it had gone out.

The puddles around Thea went limp, then seemed to soak into the ground until there were no signs of the oil-slick colours they held.

“Blood spiders!”, Graint gasped, “.. I never saw… Never thought I’d see… from the stories!”, he shuddered heavily.

Thea stepped by Pyrh, over to the dazed elder. She knelt by his feet and picked up the disk, now bent and dark. She frowned at it, “You said the dragons ate them all?”