Fire and Lies

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. The elders talk about days past when it was safe to walk through the flower beds and pick mushrooms without fear of being roasted. True, the fear of dying by fire, of that instant of unimaginable pain when your body's cells reach the boiling point and burst, is such a terrifying prospect that we tend to forget the other horrors surrounding us. I have, like everyone else, wondered about that long second of suffering before your organs turn to cinder blocks. But I am also aware of other dangers in a way many of my peers seem not to be.

The other seventeen-year-old girls in our tribe think that not getting an engagement before age twenty is the worst possible fate, even more than becoming dragon waste. Whereas I, in my oddness, fear the opposite. I fear that my father will order me married to an unpleasant partner so that I can fulfill the familial duty of procreation. I recoil in horror, remembering the only bonding ceremony I have ever attended. Dyani of the Tenth was given to one of the elders of the Third, a drunk old man that her father chose only so the marriage would advance their clan within the tribe. Dyani's eyes were red with tears throughout the ceremony. At the same time, her drunkard new husband shamelessly groped her buttocks even though the Shaman was still reciting the Invocations that legalized their union. The thought of that wedding consummation sent shivers of terror down my spine.

I shake my head to stop the disgusting thoughts. My attention goes back to the task at hand: finding as many blue mushrooms as possible before twilight. That is the time of day when dragons hunt best, so I have less than a half-hour to complete the task. We perform this chore alone since going on the fields in groups increases the amount of human scent, making it easy for the monsters to find a target. Moving carefully, being mindful of the wind, and staying low to hide among the flowers' scents is critical to our survival, just as much as maintaining enough blue mushrooms at hand. Each person over the age of five carries a small pouch with enough desiccated mushroom heads to last a week, and we all take one first thing in the morning, all so we can keep the curse at bay.

Sometimes I wonder why we try so hard to avoid it, though. Wouldn't life be easier if we resign ourselves to our nature and let it decide our fate? When I dared to voice my opinion, my father shut me with a hard backslap to the face. And yet when I looked at him, the taste of blood filling my mouth, I saw two conflicting emotions in his eyes: anger and fear. He didn't want me to stay quiet: he wanted me to not even think about it. To not ask the blasphemous question: would it be so bad to let nature take its course? Would it be so bad to allow whatever our reality is taking over?

What bothers me the most is I'm supposed to fear the outcome, but I do not even know what it is. We must eat blue mushrooms every day from the day we are born until the day we die. If we don't, something terrible happens. Most of my peers think it's aging too quickly. They say if you do not keep up with the mushroom intake, your body ages and turns to dry bones within a year. Sometimes they point to one member of the tribe or another that is not looking too good for their age and whisper that they skip on their daily dose. There are also tales of some tribespeople who rejected the mushroom diet and ran away, never to be seen again. We assume their bones are spread somewhere. Some call it suicidal behavior, and that makes the elders very nervous. Me, I think it depends on your lot in life. If my family gets me engaged to a decent partner, I will stick with it. On the other hand, if my father tries to use me to advance his ambitions to be Chief, I'll run away, stop the mushrooms, and let nature do what it may. Have a short life on my terms.

My thoughts are so distracting that I don't see it coming until it's too late. A giant, scary shadow covers the last of the sunlight. A loud noise accompanied by a gust of wind throws me to the ground. There's only one thing that could have caused it: dragon wings flapping over me. My head is fuzzy from falling on my face, and I try to crawl away in a desperate attempt to survive, but I know I'm lost. I feel the hot breath over my body, a preamble of the fire that will surely come. This is how I will die. On my hands and knees like an animal, with the taste of dirt in my mouth. I close my eyes and say goodbye to my mother in my mind.

Suddenly, the ground is no longer beneath me. My torso hangs on top of something big like a tree trunk, my head bobbing like a rag doll. I open my eyes and scream. I'm very high in the air, the forest getting further and further away as my body is lifted higher and higher. I manage to raise my head enough against the air turbulence to see the scaled body taking me away. The dragon stole me and is taking me somewhere. The terrifying options run through my head: does it have a cave where it takes its food? Is there a nest full of younglings that will tear me apart limb by limb? Or will it simply drop me to my death?

Time stretches as we fly toward whatever my fate is. I see mountains getting rapidly close. There is a mesa among them, and the beast takes a terrifying dive toward it. The last of my voice wastes away in a screech. The talons open before I can get flattened against the ground, and I fall a couple of feet, bouncing on the soft grass. The monster lands in front of me, and I know this is when it will happen. I am about to die.

As the dragon slowly moves its body around to face me, something happens to it. It appears to be getting smaller. It contorts and shape-shifts horrifically when it is about half of its initial size, all the while getting smaller. I close my eyes, too scared to witness the diabolical transformation. Suddenly, there's silence.

My body is trembling. I want to see what's going on, but the fear is too much. I stay rooted to the spot for a bit longer. Then something even more strange happens. A hand, a human hand, touches my face softly. My eyes spring open to find a pair of soft blue eyes looking at me. A young human man crouches in front of me. His face is beautiful. His body is muscular and defined, and I realize, squirming, that he is completely naked. He lifts my chin and brings his face close so I can hear him clearly:

"They are lying to you. All of them."