Dragonstorm

“There weren't always dragons in the Valley, right, Aunt Doireanna?” Despite the late hour, energy sloughs off Breena in waves, infusing the small room with excitement. An understandable reaction, given she’d been Chosen only days prior - every young child’s dream, and now a reality for the orphan.

Light from the waning summer moon shines in through the window, illuminating the damp strawberry gold curls as Doireanna pulls the wooden comb through them. “No, but there weren’t always people in the Valley either,” she replies in her quiet lilt, gently moving a section of hair to the side to get to the under layer. “You know the story, dracala, of how our ancestors were brought here by the dragonsept.” One side of her lips quirks up as the words leave her mouth, all too aware of what comes next.

Sure enough, there’s a sharp tug that threatens to yank the brush from her hand as Breena tries to turn to face her. “Ow,” she whines, but her heart clearly isn’t in it. There’s a moment, one brief span between breaths, before she plows ahead with her original intent, wiggling on the bed, curls bouncing out of their carefully chosen places. “Can you tell me again? Please?”

The village's origin story has always been a favorite amongst all inhabitants young and old, but the impending Choosing roused Breena's interest so much that she'd wanted to hear it every night. Not that Doireanna minded, per se - she herself was feeling the anticipation of being a candidate - but she’d hoped it would wane after the ceremony. After all, they were but two drops in a vast sea, and the odds of either of them being Chosen were slim at best.

To say that no one expected the Jamesson orphan to actually be in the running would be an understatement.

In the moment the Great Dragon had bowed her head, Doireanna resigned herself to continuing this new routine until Breena tired of it. There are worse fates, after all, than being the caretaker of her niece and future leader of the village. At least this would give her less stress than having to learn many new things at her age - it was exceedingly rare for someone past their 24th namesday to be Chosen, given the rituals that came after.

With a playful hum, she grabs the end of one coiled curl and pulls it taut, chuckling when she releases it and it arcs to tap Breena’s forehead, causing the girl to jolt in surprise. “Alright,” she concedes, setting the brush aside in favor of running her fingers through the tamed strands, preparing to gather them into a loose braid. “Long ago, the Valley was very different from what we know it as. The world was young, belonging to wild animals and the trees and the grass, unblemished as a new babe’s bum.” A giggle floats through the room, carried on the warm breeze from the window, one shutter propped open with a crooked stick. A flash of blue as Breena reaches across the blanket, grabbing onto an old stuffed dragon toy, different colors of thread holding it together from the many times it's been fixed. A well-loved thing, one of the few remaining items from her parents.

Sectioning bits of hair, Doireanna twines them together with an ease that can only come from years of experience. “Hidden between the Daloria Mountains, the Schloph Forest, and the sea, no humans had ever set foot here until the dragons chose to change that. No one really knows why our sept settled here, but it's said they brought the humans by pulling flying wagons as light as clouds. No more than ten came at a time, usually only two or three families, coexisting with the part of the dragonsept that was not responsible for population. This continued for many years until the Great Dragon was satisfied. The entire sept left for a number of moons, then, returning with a variety of livestock for the humans to care for.”

With each passing braid Doireanna adds more hair, and slowly the girl’s other features become more prominent, no longer overshadowed by the sheer volume of her curls. “But when they returned, it was not to the happy village they’d left.”

Breena gasps, hugging the dragon closer to her chest, her reaction as genuine as the first time she was told the tale. “What did they find?” she whispers, little shoulders hiked in anxiety despite knowing the answer.

Doireanna pauses for dramatic effect, waiting until she feels the telltale squirm of an impatient child before continuing. “The humans, left without the guidance of the dragons, could not agree on even the most basic of things and thus stumbled their way into a battle over how the village should be run. Many had been killed, more left injured - and now a single man ruled over them by force, his temper hot and his methods brutal. Not even the tots were safe from his cruelty. And when the dragons returned, well… he treated them as nothing more than pests, going so far as to forbid the villagers have contact with them.”

“The Great Dragon was angry, for she felt this to be the greatest betrayal possible. These were her children, brought together in harmony to begin a new life in abundance, and they had forsaken her. In her mourning, she released a plague upon the land, her tears infected by humanity’s greed.” Wrapping some twine around the tail of the braid, Doireanna drops it over Breena’s shoulder, a sign she’s finished. No sooner than the hair falls against her collar is the girl turning to crawl into Doireanna’s lap, her swirling gold-and-green eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The ghost of a smile passes over Doireanna’s lips and she pats the side of her niece’s cheek lovingly, warm pressure against her palm as Breena seeks comfort in the touch. She knows how she feels - every villager does. It’s nigh impossible to imagine being deprived of the joy that comes from the sept’s presence; whenever the dragons return for Dragonstorm, they bring with them blessings and magic, stability and peace, spreading a renewed vigor among the inhabitants that carry them forth for the years in between visits. For six moons at a time the dragons nurture the Valley as a whole: razing the fields to release needed fertilizer back into the rich soil, causing the trees and vines to bloom in excess, helping build and repair houses, and celebrating the new members of the village.

The villagers, of course, respond in the best ways they can through feasts and celebration, dancing under each new moon in the finest clothes they have and offering only the fattest of their livestock as food to the dragons. The children wash away any grime stuck between glimmering scales and tie ribbons in colorful designs anywhere they’re allowed - after all, just as every human is unique, so too is every dragon. Every seventh spring they come and with them, new hatchlings.

At the last Dragonstorm - two springs ago, when Doireanna was celebrating her 23rd namesday - she’d noticed a new hatchling shyly watching Breena. He’d had a coloring she’d never seen the likes of before, a striking aquamarine with white patches that looked deceptively soft, his eyes a youthful gray. It was hardly unusual for humans and dragons to befriend each other, an instinctual type of understanding allowing easy camaraderie. Yet every time Breena noticed his attention and skipped over to him, he’d hide behind his wings. It was an amusing thing, and Doireanna found herself in good company with most of the villagers and even the Great Dragon herself snorting over the game it became.

He’d been conspicuously absent during the Choosing.

“What happened then?” Breena’s impatient voice interrupts Doireanna’s reflection and she blinks, all thoughts of the hatchling fading away in the face of intensely curious eyes.

“I think you already know the answer to that, little one,” she chides kindly, poking Breena’s nose. “The land fell ill, the plants and trees sickly and poisonous to eat. Much of the livestock died, but the ruler refused to back down. One by one, the villagers fell prey to a plague that stole their strength and, eventually, their breath. Not even when his own wife lay dying in their house did he reconsider.”

“In the end, it was his own son, Dafydd, who approached the Great Dragon. He was the opposite of his father in every way, but it was the last words his mother whispered in his ear that gave him the strength he needed. ‘Go beg the Great Dragon’s forgiveness,’ she told him. ‘Gather all of the food we have rationed and give it to her as an offering. Only you can save the people of this village.’ Still, he was uncertain, scared to deprive the villagers of their food for something that might not work.”

“It was only a few days later that his father declared the rations would no longer be passed out, that as the ruler, it was more important that he survive. That night, Dafydd piled all that was left into one of the wagons and pulled it himself to where the Great Dragon lay in a pool of her own tears, surrounded by rotting plants. She had become ill herself, her grief a venom that tainted her from the inside out, and her breathing was labored. The dragons mourned her, keening hauntingly, and watched him with sad eyes as he approached.”

Doireanna strokes along the side of Breena’s cheek as a tear shakes loose, sliding down one pale cheek until she wipes it away with her thumb, her other arm wrapping around shoulders to hold her close. “He’d watched his own mother die and felt grief at her loss, but the anguish that filled him at the sight of the Great Dragon eclipsed that, and soon he found his cheeks wet with tears he hadn’t realized he was crying. Maybe it was the effect of the mourning dragons, or maybe the connection we all share with her. All he knew was the weight of it made his knees buckle.”

“How’d he save her?” Breena asks, sniffling and wiping at her eyes with the back of a hand as her own tears begin to fall freely. Such deep empathy resides within this child. I only hope it’s never the cause of harm, Doireanna thinks to herself, running her palm down the girl’s back.

“By putting aside his own desires in favor of her dire need. Instead of asking to save the villagers, Dafydd gathered water and washed her, cleaning away all the dirt and mud that had gathered while she lay ill. He made sure each scale was sparkling before moving onto the next, from head to toe to tail.”

Breena’s eyes widen, brows raising high on her forehead. “That must have taken him forever. The Great Dragon is huge.”

A laugh escapes Doireanna, and she drops a kiss into Breena’s hair. “She wasn’t nearly as big then as she is now, sweetling. But yes, it took him days. During that time, his father came searching for him, but the dragons protected Dafydd. Gradually, the villagers came to watch, some quiet, some loud and angry that he stole their food. Still, the dragons wouldn’t let anyone near him - except for the children, who came to help. Soon there was a group washing her, and some brought blankets, tying them together to make one large enough to cover her. As the children took over, he moved the cart to her head and began to feed her.”

“It wasn’t much - mostly grains and dried fruit - but it was most likely Dafydd’s actions that actually healed her. Between him and children, they slowly nursed her back to health - and when she finally stood up once more, she gave a mighty roar that shook the trees and knocked all of the humans flat. In that moment, the first Choosing happened, and by the decree of the Great Dragon, Dafydd was declared the new ruler.”

“Because he was worthy?” Breena asks, and when Doireanna nods in confirmation, continues, “Because he healed her? But Aunt Doireanna, I’ve never done anything like that! So what makes me worthy?”

“Because you’re kind and you care about others.” There’s no hesitation in her answer, because Doireanna knows what the Great Dragon saw in her niece. And though she won’t say it, there’s a reflection to the story in Breena’s life: while her parents weren’t nearly as awful as Dafydd’s father, they cared little for anyone other than themselves. “You’re still young and have a lot to learn, but you’re smart and quick and always willing to help. Trust the Great Dragon’s decision, dracala. You’ll be an amazing leader one day.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, Breena makes a soft noise of uncertainty before heaving a sigh. “So what happens after the Choosing?”

“Ah.” This part isn’t as exciting as the rest, so Breena doesn’t always ask about it. Which is fine, because Doireanna’s knowledge of the subject is very limited, as is every villager’s. “Well, Dafydd had to clean up the mess his father left, and decide how to handle him. In the end, he chose to exhibit the very mercy his father never showed, and let him live - but on the outskirts of town, and he was never allowed to participate in the celebrations. The dragons burned everything that had been diseased and blessed the remaining livestock with fertility so the herds could be built back up.”

“Now, Dafydd was very young at the time; he’d only had fifteen namesdays. So the Great Dragon became like an advisor to him. For the most part, the sept would come and go in small groups, but she remained so that whenever he had questions, she could help. In this way she guided him into the type of leader the village came to treasure. Then, when he reached his 26th namesday, he appointed a council to take care of matters for him. The Great Dragon insisted he embark on a journey with her, and left a warning with the villagers. The plague was recent enough very few needed a reminder of what would happen if they rebelled, and so there were no problems. They left, Dafydd on her back, and did not return until the next spring.”

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks, catching the attention of the young girl for a moment before she stifles a yawn behind her fist, turning her face back up to Doireanna. “What did they do during that time?”

“Well, they went on living,” Doireanna answers simply, bunching up her nose playfully. “Except that all of the dragons had left too, so the humans had to learn to navigate life without the dragons and their leader. So-”

“No, not them,” Breena interrupts, voice wrought with exasperation. “I mean Dafydd. What did he do during that year?” Tilting her chin up, she leans in closer, eyes sparkling in anticipation. “Did they go on adventures? Travel the world? Oh! Did he get to see where the dragons came from?”

Doireanna’s lips pull into a large smile and she laughs fondly, shaking her head. “Oh, we have no idea what happened.” At Breena’s indignant gasp, she pinches her cheek teasingly and places a finger against her own lips. “It’s a secret no one but the leaders are allowed to know! Every Chosen leaves with the Great Dragon after their 26th namesday, and return after a full change of the seasons, a fully-fledged leader.”

Dramatic as ever, Breena throws herself backwards off of Doireanna’s lap onto the bed, arms crossed over her toy, pouting. “Ugh, that’s so stupid. I want to know what they do, shouldn’t I be allowed to know since I’m Chosen?”

Another soft laugh leaves Doireanna and she reaches over to tuck a stray piece of hair behind Breena’s ear. “Maybe they do tell you eventually, but I’ll never know.” With a shrug, she turns her face to the moon, eyelids fluttering shut as a wistful smile takes residence on her lips. “I haven’t lived through one yet, but I’ve heard one thing always happens when the Chosen come back: they bring with them a partner.” It always sounded so romantic to her: leaving to travel with the Great Dragon and finding the one person she’s meant to be with for eternity. “They’re always impossibly beautiful, too - and they’re so in love that it fills the entire village with glee for several seasons.”

A gagging noise from Breena breaks her from her daydream and she glances at her with a single eyebrow cocked. “Ew, that’s so gross,” Breena complains, and Doireanna can’t help but chuckle. She is young, having only lived through ten springs. Romance isn’t on her mind yet. “If that’s all it is, looking for a person to do gross stuff with, then I, I… I don’t know what I’ll do, but ugh!”

“Oh, is that so?” An intake of breath is the only warning before Doireanna reaches over and lightly runs her fingers up along Breena’s side, the other girl breaking into a fit of raucous laughter. “I bet there’ll come a day when you change your mind about how gross love is.”

“Haha, no, never!” Each word is peppered with laughs as Breena rolls under the tickling assault, eventually escaping under the safety of her blankets. Giggles erupt erratically between huffing breaths, the lump under the sheets twitching from any movement as though Doireanna may rip them off and attack again.

Which is not likely, given Doireanna’s goal of getting Breena in bed has been achieved. She stands and kisses the area she thinks the girl’s head must be with an amused exhale. “Goodnight, sweetling. Sleep well.”

“Night, Aunt Doireanna.”

Straightening up, Doireanna removes the stick from the window and closes the shutter, placing the wood on the small table in the corner of the room. With soft steps she makes her way to the doorway, pulling the metal handle behind her to shut it.

The day will come too soon that she has to wave Breena off on that mysterious journey. She may not be Doireanna’s child by blood, but after caring for her for 8 springs, she may as well be. It’ll be hard, but it's inevitable, and not an opportunity she’d ever deprive Breena of. “One day, you’ll be ready - and I’ll be so proud of you,” she whispers, placing a hand on the door to Breena’s room, the sting of tears in her eyes. “You’ll show everyone that you’re nothing like my sister.”

-oOo-

Pink and orange meld with the inky blue of the night, painted across the horizon as though by an artist’s brush. The morning air is cool, brisk; a sign of a quickly approaching winter, something the village has prepared for. The harvest was abundant this autumn, something the leader had declared to be a sign of Breena’s upcoming success. Yet it hadn’t felt quite right to her to take any sort of credit for such a thing, for what had she done other than her duties as a Chosen? She was nothing exceptional, that’s for certain, although she always felt she had to work harder to prove that even she, the Jamesson orphan, could be worth something.

“Can’t sleep?”

The lilting voice is a warmth against the cold fear seeping into her bones. As soon as she feels the body heat of her aunt next to her, Breena shifts to bury her face into her neck. Even after years of living in the keep with the current leader and his family, she never found a way to emulate the comfort of her aunt. “Something’s wrong.”

An arm loops around her shoulders and strokes along her cheek. Silence as Doireanna considers her words - something she’s so, so thankful to her aunt for, because all too often her anxieties are brushed off as unimportant despite her being correct more often than not - and allows her the time to steady the erratic beating of her own heart. A thoughtful hum, and then a response. “Are you sure it’s not nerves? Today is a big day, one that you’ve been looking forward to since you were a wee thing.”

“It’s not nerves. I know what nerves are like.” Sullenness creeps into her voice even though Breena doesn’t mean for it to. Doireanna doesn’t deserve her attitude, not when all she’s ever been is supportive and understanding. “Sorry. Um. I just.” How can she describe this feeling she has? It’s a deep dark pit, something that opened up after what felt like days of painful gnawing at her heart. Terror and trepidation, and an all-encompassing knowledge that the world has gone wrong. But she doesn’t know how or why or even what, and her vague warnings don’t manage to accurately convey the intensity of it. “This isn’t right,” she murmurs, the hitch in her voice giving away the tears threatening to fall.

Another arm wraps around her then, and she crawls into her aunt’s lap like when she was but a child, crying silently into her chest. A chin on her forehead and the vibration of her aunt’s throat as she hums helps ground her enough to keep from falling into the abyss of despair she’s been dancing around lately, and while she has no idea how much time passes, the sun rises enough to be half visible on the horizon before her eyes dry. Before she learned to control her empathy and would take on people’s emotions without any ability to safeguard herself, this was how Doireanna helped her cope. A safe, steady presence that let her release everything that was not hers and find her way back to herself.

But now she feels… numb. The feelings aren’t gone, but dormant, ready to rise up at a moment’s notice. “They belong to me.” This was another part of their routine, determining if the emotions were hers or not. It not only taught her how to better identify them but also gave Doireanna footing on how to assist.

“I’ll be here all day.”

The tears come again, because that means Doireanna - her beautiful, wise, loving aunt who gave up so much for her - has, for once, no advice to offer her. She’ll be there for Breena in mind and body, but Breena ultimately is alone in figuring this out.

The thought hurts, almost as much as the pit itself.

Even so, the support helps her get through the day, always able to reach out for a steadying arm or a gentle hug. As the handmaidens help her wash and prepare her hair in complicated designs both fashionable and functional, rubbing her with oils from the local flowers and adorning her with beautiful jewelry, the sensation of dread only deepens. Her lunch is a feast, a spread filled with her favorite fruits and pastries along with roast boar, and then she’s whisked off to be dressed. She protests at first- because really, she can dress herself, thank you - but the handmaidens persist. Doireanna chides her for attempting to deny them (“this is as big of a day for them as it is you,” she points out, and that’s when Breena realizes the excited energy emanating from the girls). The outfit chosen is a dress that has pants underneath, and her eyebrows raise in surprise when she’s shown the skirt can be detached to make the top a blouse - perfect for any occasion, since no one knows what she’ll encounter.

A bag is filled with similar outfits and dried food before the sun hits the south side of the sky, and then it’s time to wait. The dragons like to appear as the village celebrates under the setting sun, and she’s been told it’s a beautiful sight. Flying in under the multi-colored sky, their scales reflect in an ethereal manner that perfectly represents the way everyone else views her ascension.

Her stomach flutters, feeling as though she’s toppling down a hill. Ah. There are the nerves.

As everyone rushes about to set up the village feast, Breena finds herself chewing on her lip and staring solemnly at the mountains where the sept will come from. She still can’t shake the feeling of dread trying to drag her under, like quicksand.

“So did you ever find out what happens on your journey?”

Flicking her eyes over to the side, she catches sight of her aunt, little Colm perched on her hip. Small for his age with flaxen hair reaching down past his shoulders, the boy turns his bright blue eyes to Breena and grins toothily, reaching chubby hands toward her.

“No no, you can’t have her, she’s all ready and-”

For the first time that day, Breena bursts into a laugh, and some of the tension lifts from her shoulders. “Come here, dracala,” she says, wrinkling her nose and scooping him out from his mother’s arms. “How’s my favorite little brother?”

Squealing, Colm throws his arms around her shoulders and gives her a hug. “Dragons coming, Breenahhh!” he shouts, voice reverberating in her ear.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, one eye closed and tugging at the shell of her ear when he pulls back like it’ll somehow change how loud he’d been. “They are! You’ve never seen them before, huh. Excited?” At his nod, she tosses him into the air, grinning at his delighted cries. “You’re flying like them! Dragon Colm!”

Catching him with ease, she spins around and tosses him in the air again, rolling her eyes as Doireanna tuts and starts poking at her hair. “It’s fine, Aunt Doireanna. It’s supposed to stay in place when I’m flying, so I don’t think playing with Colm is gonna hurt anything.”

“I know, I just…” Something in Doireanna’s voice sounds off. Catching Colm, Breena sets him on the ground and, squatting, taps his nose.

“Go tell your sister she’d better come gimme a hug, okay?” Determination set in his face, Colm runs off without a second look back. Pushing off her knees, Breena stands and glances at Doireanna, startling when she sees tears glistening in her eyes. “Whoa, no tears! I’ll be coming back, you know.”

“Uh huh.” Doireanna gives her a watery smile, wiping at her eyes quickly. “I know, but it’s still difficult. A full turn of seasons? That’s so long, and I’ve been with you since you were a wee babe…”

All of her worry forgotten, Breena closes the distance between them and pulls her aunt into a tight hug, finding herself fighting tears, too. “Stop it, you’re gonna make me cry too,” she complains half-heartedly. “The kohl the handmaidens put on will smear and it’ll all be for naught.”

Laughter is her reward. “Gods, you always were a cheeky one. One smear and it’s all over.” Doireanna clutches her tightly as well, lingering a few moments before releasing her and stepping back. The tears drip down her face freely now, but she makes no move to rid herself of them. “Whatever will the Great Dragon do if your dress rips, I wonder?”

“Oh, I have spares if that happens, don’t you worry.” A high-pitched shout causes her to glance over her aunt’s shoulder, finding her cousin barrelling toward them. “And no, the leader said I have to find out on my own what happens next.” Sidestepping, she holds her arms out and catches the young girl when she leaps at her, spinning them around and cackling.

“Do you have to go, Breena?” Unlike her brother, Isolde is soft-spoken, eyelashes fluttering up at Breena when they come to a stop. “I don’t want you to. I’ll miss you too much.”

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she promises, letting her slide down to the ground. Lowering her voice, Breena leans in conspiratorially, and Isolde matches the action with anticipation. “But while I’m gone, think you can take care of Sir Dragon of the Marsh? I’m afraid he’ll get lonely without me here.”

Isolde gasps, then covers her mouth, glancing up at her mother and then back at Breena. “Yes, I’ll take good care of him,” she says fervently, nodding.

“Good.” Patting the top of Isolde’s head, Breena gestures toward the keep. “He’s all alone on my bed right now, you’d better go rescue him.” Without waiting for further instruction, Isolde dashes off on her mission.

“Breena!” A loud voice booms over the clearing, and she turns to see the leader beckoning her. “It’s time to begin.”

“Well… you’d better go.” Doireanna offers a tight smile, finally dragging her fingers across her cheeks. “Be safe, okay?”

“Mmhmm.” Folding her hands behind her back, Breena flicks her gaze toward the leader and then back to her aunt, grinning innocently. “And don’t worry, when I get back I’ll tell you everything.” A giggle escapes her at her aunt’s shocked gasp and she whips around, skipping toward the table. “Everything~” she sing-songs, the ribbons in her hair flying freely behind her.

As she takes her place at the table on the right side of the leader, she finds herself looking toward the mountains again. The dread returns as quickly as it had left, and she faces her plate, frowning. It’s fine. It’s nothing, she consoles herself, worrying at her lip. I’m just nervous. The dragons will come and then I’ll be on my way.

As the sun dips below the horizon and the moon comes out, the thunder of wings is not heard. Unconcerned, the leader shrugs it off, certain they’re only delayed and will show soon.

But they never do.