Eyes of Earth and Water

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

Vessa would never forget the day they came, because it was the day she’d discovered her gift. A gift that would first split her world apart and then build it anew.

It was the morning after her sixteenth midsummer festival, the only day of the year she could be certain she would get enough to eat. When she awoke the next morning, she could still taste the berry cream pie on her lips. After so long with a nearly empty belly, she had gorged herself until the juices dribbled down her chin, ignoring the disapproving stares from The Mothers. In the stillness before daybreak, she’d snuck down the ladder from the loft she shared with the other children of The Untaken and out into the snaking mist of dawn.

The vibrant colors and indulgences of the night before had vanished, leaving behind muddy footpaths, discarded scraps of food, and the occasional cloaked form huddled in a stone doorway to sleep off the ale. One such form sat up and lurched to his feet, staggering a bit before heading towards her on his way up the high street. When he noticed her, he froze, sobered for a moment, then turned sharply and headed in the opposite direction at a wobbly clip.

It was a reaction to which she’d long since grown accustomed. She could dismiss it with a smile now, but it had not always been so easy.

Born someone’s ghost child, with skin and hair as white as ashes, she had belonged to the group of forsaken children known as The Untaken as long and she could remember. Her eyes marked her only color—one the shade of earth, the other of water. Raised on the charity of the community and disciplined by The Mothers, most of the children were flawed in some way, but none so much as herself. The people of Enovia Valley couldn’t bring themselves to meet her eyes, certain she could curse them with her gaze alone.

As Vessa reached the fields on the outskirts of town, she felt her body ease into the comfort of solitude. In the village there were always eyes on her, but not where she could meet them. She breathed easier out here on her own.

These people she had lived amongst were a private sort, protected on three sides by the Goljian Mountains and unused to unwanted company. To their East stretched the Enovia River, its broad banks discouraging to outsiders. For generations they had found shelter here from the greater world, but she had sensed a growing unease among them. The wine and ale had flowed freely at the festival, and it had loosened tongues.

Vessa had done her best to blend in with the revelers the previous evening, her cloak pulled high over her telltale hair. The courtyard of the Council of the Ilovett was illuminated with the light of dozens of lanterns. In the center of the courtyard, the council members sat seated on a raised platform, their plates overflowing with cured meats, cheeses, and long loaves of braided sweet breads. Her stomach protested its emptiness with a hearty gurgle, and she cast her eyes around the square for a distracted vendor from whom she could steal her supper.

At the end of the long table of honor, she saw Mother Ulizah, the appointed presiding mother of The Untaken. Even though she was the lowest ranking member of the council, she had always bragged as though she were its leader. Her pinched face glowed waxy in the lantern light as she lifted a full glass to her wine-stained lips. In her sixteen years under the woman’s reign, Vessa had not received a single look of kindness or care. Turning away in disgust, she made her way through the crowd until she reached the confectioner’s booth.

She’d already managed to pilfer sweets that evening, but the blissful and rare taste of sugar was too much for her to resist. The myriad distractions made her skills unnecessary this time. To her left, a group of boys fought each other with wooden swords painted in the blue and silver colors of Enovia. The string players struck up a reel and a couple burst into a drunken jig to her right. The confectioner, deep in conversation with an attractive young woman, did not even notice Vessa. With a practiced hand, she plucked three berry tarts from the display and stashed them deep within the pocket of her cloak.

Not much of a talker herself, going months at a time without uttering a word, she felt overwhelmed by all the competing sounds. Winding her way through the alleys until she was outside the view of prying eyes, she lifted the hood of her cloak, enjoying the feel of the warm summer breeze on her skin. She reached into her pocket for a sweet, but before she could take a bite, she heard a woman’s laugh echo off the stone of the passage.

“Maerick de Trasque, where are you taking me?” the woman asked, her rich alto voice lilting and loose from drink. “Oh, the alleyway. How romantic.”

Tensing, Vessa searched her surroundings for a place to hide, as was her instinct. She was frustrated to discover that the closest doorway lay in the direction from which they approached. The only thing that could serve as a barrier was a stack of empty wooden crates, discarded by some merchant. She bolted towards them, ducking behind just as soon as the couple rounded the corner at the opposite end of the alley. Peeking through the slats in the wood, she prayed they would come no closer, holding her breath at the rotting stench of vegetation that permeated her hiding place.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but romance is not my cause,” the man said, his tone stonily sober. “Tonight, that is. But I do have high hopes for the future. And I sincerely hope I'm fortunate enough to see it.” He wore the somber leather garb of The Watch, while the woman, clearly above his rank, wore a dress of shimmering blue satin.

“I see you’re characteristically dramatic, this evening,” she teased, leaning flirtatiously against the stone wall. Then, thinking better of it, she straightened, smoothing her dress with the palms of her hands.

“The council has repeatedly turned a blind eye to the reports from the southern lands. You must do what you can to convince your father of the threat, Wynsere, or we will all pay a hefty price for his dithering. You know his words are worth more than the rest of the council’s combined.”

“And what have you witnessed to prove this supposed threat? Some blighted crops and missing livestock?” The woman laughed again, this time without humor. “You know the truth better than anyone: Our borders are absolute.”

“Our borders are useless from the skies.” His voice cracked, belying his callous façade.

“The skies?” she said, leaning towards him. “But what can you possibly—?”

“Wynsere! Where have you gotten to?” a woman’s voice called from the direction they’d come. “Your father’s speech is about to begin. Get back here!”

The couple exchanged a look but said no more. Returning to the festivities, they left Vessa alone in the stinking alley with more questions than answers.

On her way home, past the drooping banners and refuse, she reflected on the conversation she had overheard. In her years of living on the fringes, she had learned that the most interesting things happened in the shadows, in the quiet, away from the eyes of the many. Yet she hadn’t known what to make of any of it.

All she knew was that her days within the meager shelter of The Untaken were numbered, a fact of which Mother Ulizah was eager to remind her, and already she could spare little thought for more than where her next meal would come from. Where she would go when the time came for her to leave, she did not know.

When she arrived home to the loft, the other children were already asleep. Laying down on her pallet bed, as she crossed the blurred line between waking and slumber, the man’s voice rang out in her head. Our borders are useless from the skies.

For hours she walked as the morning sun made its ascent to midday, until she could hear the familiar murmur of the river. At the edge of the fields, a slopping embankment of glistening white stones led her down to the water’s edge, calmer here than at its raging mouth to the North. She stretched out in her customary place on the riverbank and closed her eyes, relishing the feel of the sunlight warming her through.

For a while, she slept. Then, after a time, the shimmering sunlight behind her eyelids disappeared as a shadow crossed over her. She was jolted awake by a whipping sound accompanied by a powerful gust of air, startling after the calm of the morning. When she opened her eyes, she could not see the clouds or the flowering branches of the trees she had seen before closing them. It was as if a black veil had been stretched over the dome of sky she remembered, smudging it away. Panicked, she froze. Then, to her relief, the black veil began to rise, then pulse, allowing small glints of sunlight to filter underneath.

She rolled, determined to get out from under it, and found herself face-to-face with an enormous foot with three talons the length of her arm. Her mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out. When she looked up, she saw the taught, black wingspan that had blocked the entire sky from her view. The beast was taller than the surrounding trees, but it bent its green scaled head to the surface of the water and began to lap it up with its soot-colored tongue. All she could hear was the sound of her own blood rushing in her skull.

A Dragon. It couldn’t possibly be a Dragon. And yet, there it was, its powerful reptilian body towering above all else.

As the sunlight met the creature’s scales, they shimmered, their color changing with every instant. She watched, half mesmerized, remaining crouched low to the ground, afraid any sudden motion would draw its attention from the refreshing water to her vulnerable form standing not ten paces from its powerful jaws. She glanced longingly at the forest to her right. If she could make it to the shelter of the trees she would have somewhere to hide.

Painfully slowly, she began to make her way towards the chance of refuge until her foot carelessly struck a stone, casting it into the river. In a flash the dragon's head turned towards her, its serpentine eyes slanted and golden as embers. Gazing into them in wonder, she braced herself for the inevitable fiery end. It never came.

She felt a rush as if her body were expanding, soaring, above the trees. Through her slanted eyes, she looked down on the pale, pathetic creature at her feet, her powerful wings flexing uncertainly. Then, with a rush of blinding light her head felt as if it were about to burst, and she heard the screeching cries and didn't know if they were her own or the beast's.

With a jolt she fell to the ground, Vessa once more, of flesh and blood and so small. The creature clawed the ground, smoke coming from its flaring nostrils. The spell was broken.

She set off into the fields without daring to look back. Above, she heard another bloodcurdling cry. When she dared to raise her eyes to the sky, she couldn’t believe what she saw. There were others.

The sun was setting as she raced through the fields towards the village, the miles that she’d savored that morning now stretching dauntingly before her. They mustn’t light the beacons tonight.

In the near distance, she could see the spires of the village and she ran towards them as if they themselves were her redemption. When she flew through the gates, the watchmen cowered from her ghostly form. She willed them to meet her eye, to listen to her strained words that came out from her atrophied throat, at first no more sensible than a toad's song.

Finally, her voice returning, she shouted as loudly as she could above the gathering crowd. "Please! I must speak with Maerick de Trasque. Our fates depend upon it!"