Nightburn

There weren’t always Dragons in the Valley. But when they came, it was as though the town knew nothing else.

The Valley lived in a wound between the mountains. There was a pain that hushed through the plains; it seemed to form in a cold, white mist, stark against the soft green grass, the deep, bruising purple of the Valley’s famous lavenders. It rapped on the windows of the squat, wooden houses, misting those warm pockets of glass until a face could hardly see out. Not that the villagers wanted to look when the mist crawled over the town; they snapped their curtains shut, locked their doors tight, bundled in their homes under candlelight.

For the Valley was haunted. Not by ghosts, or spirits, though that fog certainly hung thickly over the graveyard, set a little way off from the town. It was haunted by suffering. It was by haunted by the living.

The Dragons.

When they arrived that night, the mist, as always, unfurled over the Valley first. Whispering along the cobbled roads, the nickering horses, over the Church and down to the river alongside town. It was thick and burbling, as though filled with a substance that looked like water, but did not quite behave so. In the dark red of the winter sunset, it appeared as though it was streaming with blood.

Keeping an eye on the mountainside before her, from which cold air rolled, scented with sweet grass and smoke, Amaya filled buckets of water on the riverbank. “…the wrong time to do this…” she muttered to herself, heart beating faster with the deepening of the setting sun. “…brainless…Amaya…you’re truly brainless…” A bird cawed from a tree along the river and she jolted. Buckets full, she hurried as carefully as she could back to town.

The main street was lit in a warm glow of lamplight, though the darkening sky pressed down heavily from above, and the mist was seeping along the road below. Amaya breathed in the usual smell of wood fires, fruit from the vendors, and the pungent whiff of horse droppings, as she rushed toward the Barren Inn. The street was in a clatter; doors snapping shut, locks turning with a clack, horses tied hastily to their posts. Some Villagers still braved the night, huddled under streetlamps, talking in low voices, pulling their shawls over tighter. The air was taking on a particularly sharp chill.

“You chose an awful time to do that,” said Gilly when Amaya deposited the water buckets in the kitchens of the Barren Inn’s bar. He was a gruff, bearded man, with straggly dark hair and black eyes, and was licking honeymelon juice from his fingers. With a pointed look, he elbowed two serving bowls full of chopped fruit and nuts toward her.

“I know, I know, but it’s done now.” said Amaya. She grabbed the serving bowls; her hands were shaking. “And, you never know, perhaps they won’t even come tonight.”

Gilly only hmphed, they’d both seen the mist. Amaya bumped open the kitchen door with her hip and swept into the bar.

The clientele of the Barren Inn’s bar were not the talkative type; they sat hunched over their spirits, their eyes cast in shadows, emitting only a grunt or sharp cough whenever they wanted Amaya’s attention. The bar was a small, shoddily built place connected to the Inn. With its low ceilings, lowlight, low, deep, silence; some may have considered the bar to be a stifling, suffocating place. Others; private, a place of solace and quietude.

A fire crackled in the hearth, a number of patrons staring pensively into the flames, a muffled game of poker took place on a round table, shrouded in dark. Amaya placed the serving bowls on the bar and began wiping down tables.

Pints were thrown back and set back with a cluck, throats were cleared, voices dropped as though aiming for the listener’s toes. Perhaps Amaya was right. They would not come tonight.

But then came the turn of the wind.

Every back in the bar straightened, heads turned toward the door, the windows. They all felt it. Even as the night seemed to carry on in the same old quiet. The air was colder, greyer, smokier. There’d been a shift.

There was a high, piercing cackle.

Every pair of eyes in the bar darted to Amaya.

She quickly looked away, staring down at her hand, which was still, methodically, wiping a table clean. But her lungs felt knotted, and she could not help a cursory glance at the door.

A horse whinnied, hooves thundered down the street. There was a shout, another. More cold, shrieking laughter.

“Perhaps you should turn in for the night,” said Gilly, from behind the bar. He was giving her a very sympathetic look.

“‘M fine,” Amaya muttered. She straightened her back and marched over to the next table. Every face was turned to her with the same sort of sympathetic, or concerned, expression. Amaya only felt as though she was being watched.

No one else in the bar went scampering away, very few even flinched. Everyone just hunched further over their drinks, hunkering down. Rising to meet the Dragons would only feed them. The hardened clientele of the Barren Inn’s bar knew to treat their visits as nothing but the rage of a storm. They’d simply wait until it’d blown through.

The air grew colder, darker, the mist came rapping on the windows.

The door burst open.

At first, the Dragons appeared as just another part of the night. But the light of the bar caught on the red embroidering of their black cloaks, the sharp, yellowed teeth, vivid, crimson mouths below their hoods. It was only a small group that entered, of about ten, but that was not to say that was all there was. Amaya had seen groups of up to one hundred at a time.

One of the members was cackling as the group approached the bar; she pulled back her hood to reveal curly red hair. A lot of the Dragons donned heads of the same colour. It was rumoured they dyed their hair with blood.

“Looksie, looksie!” sang the curly haired Dragon. “We all having a drinksie? A little tea party? Hey, you! Pockets, now.” She stopped in front of a rather looking burly looking patron, her hand held out expectantly. Dark eyebrows sinking low over his eyes, he turned out his pockets, producing only a single gold coin.

“Pbbttt! Pathetic!” scorned the Dragon, snatching up the gold. Her hands were covered in an impressive assortment of rings; silver and gold bands, fat, glittering jewels of every colour. It was likely someone in the bar would recognise one of those rings as their own.

Eyes lowered, Amaya drifted over to some of the bar patrons as though the Dragons weren’t there. Bent to ask if they needed a top up, plucked up empty glasses, mopped away spills.

“Ten whiskeys,” ordered a Dragon. Their voice was soft, but cold, like a bitter winter wind.

Amaya’s felt as though someone had clamped a hand over her throat. Gilly’s gaze flickered to her, then away, and he busied himself with the drinks.

The red-haired girl placed her hands on the counter and bounded up as if to jump over it. “Let’s see what you’ve in the register, then,” she said, laughing. “Come on, give us a look.”

Gilly opened the register obligingly. It was empty. They knew better than to keep their earnings there.

“Boo!” crowed the girl.

“I don’t know why you bothered,” said the Dragon with the wintery voice.

Amaya approached the bar to deposit her collected glasses, and could feel the Dragons’ eyes pulled toward her. She looked resolutely at Gilly. “Need two bourbons and an ale”

She breathed in deeply and was struck with the smell of smoke.

In the mountains surrounding the Valley, it was said that a group of people lived in a network of caves, made thousands of years ago by dragons. They claimed to have been possessed by the spirits of the fire-breathing beasts that haunted the caves. Acting in the nature of the dragon, these possessed people would rage through villages in search of treasure, they’d plunder and pillage and destroy. They worked only at night, for in the dark did the brightest fires burn.

But the legend of the Dragons was built on myth. Dragons, the beasts, had never existed. It was only a story the Dragons themselves told to create fear, allude to power, and explain why they felt the need to rob villages blind.

No, the Dragons, at the root, were only petty thieves.

But some still swore they had seen Dragons do unexplainable things. Breathe fire from their tongues, move whole carriages with only a flick of their hands, leap over buildings as if lifted by wings. Some thought it possible that they were possessed by the mythical beasts. Others thought they engaged in witchcraft.

Amaya thought little of them; there wasn’t much one could think when every mention of them caused her to burn with a fiery, white hot rage.

As a child, Amaya hid whenever the Dragons entered the valley. She and sister would huddle together in their tiny broom cupboard, which they filled with blankets and cushions. They’d listen to the low whispers shared between their parents, the more urgent voices as the chaos drew closer to their house, then the bang of the door bursting open, and the demand for gold. Amaya would clutch at her sister’s hand and they’d bend their heads together and pray.

Now Amaya turned away from the bar, glancing, as she did, at the Dragon with the wintry voice.

And she stared into her sister’s face.

A heavy tension folded over the bar as Amaya and her sister looked at each other. No one in the Valley had ever joined the Dragons before. No one would have ever expected Amaya’s sweet, smart sister to don the dark cloak.

It wasn’t spoken about. Her sister no longer existed but in pained, sorrowful smiles and agitated, but curious glances, flashed at Amaya when she passed them by. When her sister had gone missing, people had brought Amaya meals, sat with her in her old family home and prayed, clasped her hands in the street and reassured her that everything would be okay. But now, it was though her sister’s name was a curse. No one spoke about how Amaya had lost her sister to the Dragons, though their actions told her they certainly had not forgotten.

“Amaya,” said her sister. And the tension broke and came crashing down on them. “May I speak with you?”

Every gaze in the bar was now on them.

Amaya may as well have been slapped. The redheaded Dragon girl was sniggering, someone behind Amaya choked on their drink and coughed roughly into their fist.

“No,” said Amaya, and it was a wonder she managed to speak at all. Beneath the shadow cast over by her hood, only her sister’s chin was visible. The chin that resembled their mothers’, the chin that had trembled as they stood beneath the misty dawn sky, gazing down at their parent’s shared tombstone.

“Amaya – ”

“I do not know you,” gritted Amaya. Then she threw down her cleaning rag, untied her apron, and surged from the bar. Her stomach churned as she ascended the Inn’s steps and burst into her room.

How dare her sister speak to her! How dare her sister say her name! As though there was any relationship left between them at all!

Amaya tore her sheets from her bed; her books from her shelves, chest heaving with burning, raw rage. How dare she! How DARE she! In front of all those people! As though they were… Amaya was breathing so rapidly, little air was entering her lungs, and she began to feel light-headed.

What would people think, hearing her sister address her like that? Would they think she and her sister kept in contact? That Amaya was a Dragon sympathizer? A secret member, operating undercover?

Her throat tightened. Gilly had kindly taken her in and let her stay for free at the Inn as long as she worked at the bar. Would he reconsider this arrangement, not wanting to be associated with a potential Dragon? Some townsfolk already suspected her…would they take this as proof and force him to kick her out?

And what could her sister possibly want to speak to her about?

Amaya paced her room for most of the night. Eventually, she double-checked her door and window were locked, and settled into bed.

She slept restlessly, dreaming of her sister’s face. Amaya, her sister said. And she said it over and over, until the name had lost all meaning, until it was little more than a sound, until Amaya’s head was full of it, Amaya, Amaya, Amaya, and she felt as though her brain would explode.

And then she woke with a start to find her sister standing over, saying her name.

Amaya screamed and leapt from her bed.

“Maya, quiet!” her sister hissed, and Amaya grabbed whatever was nearest – her pillow – and flung it at her.

“Get out!” Amaya flung a book, which her sister narrowly dodged. “Get OUT!” She lobbed a candlestick. “You foul,” threw a vase, which smashed by her sister’s feet, “traitorous,” she grabbed the coat stand by the door and held it up, ready to strike, “evil…”

And as she brought the coat-stand down at her sister, her whole body froze in place. Her eyes widened; her sister had her left hand outstretched, palm facing Amaya, two fingers held up, two fingers crooked, holding Amaya in place without touching her.

“…witch.”

But as soon as the word left Amaya’s mouth, spat out like venom, the fire in her went out. Her insides, instead, felt dark and hollow, ice dripping down her veins, weeping into the inky pool of her stomach.

Her voice went quiet: “what happened to you, Vi?”

How was that her sister? Standing there in the Dragons robes? Performing witchcraft? How was that the girl who bird-watched in the fields of their farm, documenting the different kinds in her journal? How was this the girl who hung about nervously at the base of the trees while Amaya climbed, laughing, to the very tops? “C’mon Vi! You should see the view from up here!” Amaya would call down, but Vi was always too scared to leave the ground. How was this her sweet, smart Viella? With her bright, knowing eyes, her nervous, wringing hands; she was quiet but not shy, she was remote but not cold. Always lost in her head, but so much more intelligible about the world than anyone Amaya had ever known.

Viella’s chin trembled, and Amaya was under that misty dawn sky, struck, cold, in the heart. But then Viella’s expression smoothed over, and she became someone who was intensive and knifelike, a version of herself Amaya had never known.

“I need to speak to you.”

“What could you possibly have to say to me?” said Amaya, some of that flame returning.

“There’s a lot I could say.” And quieter, “There’s so much I want to say.”

“And you’re going to keep me trapped here and force me to listen all night, is that it?” spat Amaya, for she was still frozen with the coat-stand held up in her hands.

“No. No, look I didn’t want to use magic on you, but you didn’t leave me much choice, did you, Maya?” Viella cocked her head condescendingly. “I just don’t have much time. They’ll be wondering where I am – ”

“Well, then, spit it out!”

But Viella’s attention had turned, raptly, to the door. She seemed to shrink down into her robes; it took Amaya a moment to realise that she was listening to the sound of footsteps shuffling down the corridor.

“It’s not safe here,” Viella said lowly. “It would be better if I showed you, anyway.”

“Then show me.”

“It’s not…you’ll have to come with me.”

“Come with you? Where…why on earth…as if I would go anywhere with you!”

“Keep your voice down.” The footsteps were growing louder. Amaya had half a mind to scream out at the top of her lungs, but she knew that after the incident in the bar, being found in her room with her sister would only convince people further that she was in cahoots with the Dragons.

The footsteps stopped outside Amaya’s door. Both women stared at it in tense silence. The doorknob began to rattle.

It was Gilly, it had to be. Amaya’s heart lifted. She’d be able to explain it all to him. He’d understand.

But the doorknob just rattled more urgently. Amaya frowned. Gilly had the keys to all the rooms. And surely he’d knock…call out her name…

“We need to leave,” hissed Viella. She stepped aside then dropped her hand, and Amaya’s body unfroze, the coat-stand striking down into empty air, where Viella had just been standing.

Amaya blinked, disorientated. Her whole body shivered, trying to rid itself of any unhallowed traces of witchcraft left behind.

There was a loud thud as though someone had thrown their weight against the door.

“Maya!” said Viella urgently. She was halfway through climbing out the window. The night dark and expansive, twinkling with light behind her. “Come with me. I implore you. It’s not safe here.”

“And I’m safer with you?” But even as she said it, Amaya moved closer to the window.

“Probably not,” said Viella. “But I will not hurt you.” Then she disappeared. Amaya stuck her head out into the cold air and saw Viella standing in the alley below, dusting off her robes. She must have jumped. Viella looked up and urgently waved Amaya down.

“Jump!” she whisper-yelled. “I will catch you!”

Amaya’s room was on the third floor.

Again, there was a loud thud and then a spine-chilling crack. Amaya whipped around but the door had not opened, though there was a split in the wood. Stomach lurching, she climbed over the window sill.

“Jump, Maya!”

Thud. Thud. CRACK.

Amaya jumped.

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never came. When she opened her eyes, she found herself stuck in the air, a few feet off the ground. Viella had her hand outstretched in front of her, brow furrowed in concentration. Two fingers straightened, two fingers crooked. She curled over a third finger and slowly lowered her hand, and Amaya felt her body slowly lower towards the ground. She touched down gently.

A thank you rose to Amaya’s mouth but she immediately bit it back. Witchcraft was not something to be met with gratitude.

“Come on,” said Viella. She grabbed Amaya’s arm and tugged her forwards.

They ran through the alleyways of the Village, to the sounds of shouts and laughter and crackling fire. The mist curled around their ankles, an orange glow rose from behind the rooftops on the northside, the temperature had dropped so low it was though the wind was full of stinging nettles.

Amaya let herself be pulled all the way out of the village. They broke free of the buildings, out into the fields. Suddenly, the scene of Viella’s dark cloak streaming out behind her, the night pressing in on them, the fields shrouded in shadow, was replaced with a brighter image. Viella was in a white dress, the fields were an ocean of purple flowers, the air was sweet and warm and the sun bathed everything in a golden glow. They were not running away from anything, but running together in a laughter-filled race. Amaya always gave Viella a head-start, but no matter how fast Viella ran, Amaya would still win.

On top of a hill at the base of the mountain, Amaya wrenched her hand from Viella’s grip and dug her heels into the ground.

“It’s a bit of trek,” Viella said, breathlessly. Amaya could not look at her; all she could see was that girl in a white dress. “Maya – ” Viella began, when Amaya’s silence stretched on.

“Why should I go any further?” bit Amaya, turning to Viella. “Why shouldn’t I just stay here until the Dragons are gone, and return to the Barren like we never spoke at all?”

Viella’s face was a smooth, pale ghost. A strand of her black hair fell over one eye, and it looked like the night splitting a line down her flesh, like she was cut with shadow.

“You could do that,” Viella said. “But I think you will be interested in what I have to show you.”

“I won’t be,” Amaya snapped. “I’m not interested in anything about you. You’re a stranger.”

Viella’s expression didn’t change, still smooth, impassive, though Amaya caught the twitch of her eyelid.

“Fine, that’s fair,” she said. “But we don’t have time for any of this. So either you wait here, or you come with me and see what I’ve risked my neck for, and what you’ve already risked your neck for, too.”

“I haven’t – ”

“Yes or no, Amaya.”

Amaya’s shoulder rose, fists clenching by her sides. She whipped around and stared out at the Village. Immediately, she found the source of the orange glow, the sound of crackling fire; one of the shops on the main street was in flames. Her tongue was suddenly in her throat, her eyes misting over as though stung by the smoke.

“No.”

“Alright,” said Viella behind her. “I’ll be going, then.”

Amaya watched the wind catch in the flames.

Viella’s feet squelched in the damp earth as she ascended the mountain, but she only took a few steps. “I think you would’ve liked her,” she added.

“Her?” Amaya couldn’t help it, she glanced back at her sister.

“Yes.”

“Is she a Dragon?”

“Yes.” An odd smile danced around Viella’s mouth. “She’s not like the others.”

“What? Is she an honourable Dragon?” Amaya seethed. “Who thieves and plunders for good? Like you fancy yourself to be, I suppose?”

“She’s the single most important thing on this planet.”

Amaya opened her mouth, but no words could take shape on her tongue. What could she say to that? How could she deny the spark of curiosity that ignited in her stomach, that tugged at her heart and pulled her toward the mountain. How Amaya would run through the fields, climb to the tops of the trees, always looking for a newer place, a nicer view, something bigger and better.

“I would highly doubt it,” said Amaya, and turned away once more.

“Fine,” said Viella, and again did her footfalls continue up the mountain.

Amaya scowled down into the Valley. The flames were shrinking as townsfolk worked to put the fire out. She should be down there, helping them, but she could not bring herself to move. Go, Amaya, go. It’s over now. What are you waiting for?

Dawn was taking hold. Golden red light breathed up from the horizon, the black sky taking on a dark shade of blue. The grass bristled as though with anticipation. With what felt like very little consciousness or intent, Amaya found herself trekking up the mountain after her sister.

They moved in silence. Amaya thought she caught the flicker of a smile on Viella’s face. Don’t be so smug, Amaya thought, I’m not doing this for you.

They climbed and climbed. It didn’t take very long for Viella’s breathing to become sharp and laboured, a hand pressed to her heaving chest. It filled Amaya with a sort of sick satisfaction. Even with her witchcraft, Viella could not move without growing tried, while Amaya climbed easily, moving on strong legs.

It was as it had always been. Viella knew how the tree grew but she could not climb it. She could not cut it down and carry the wood and build something from it. She could only sit and ponder it.

The sun had risen by the time they reached the summit. It was largely flat and grassy, with sparsely littered shrubbery and jagged rocks breaking the surface. Amaya held a hand over her eyes to block the sun and glanced around; there was nothing else there.

“Well?” Amaya said, and she sounded annoyed, expectant, but a fear had begun to latch at her. What if there really was nothing? What if she had been fooled?

Viella held up her hand, signalling for silence, and then called, “You may show yourself.” Still, there was nothing. Amaya’s heart raced. It was a trap. “Little bird,” said Viella. “Golden bird.”

And then, movement from a cluster of large, jagged rocks. Amaya clenched her fists, dug her feet into the ground, ready to fight. For surely, Viella had only brought her to her death.

The figure from behind the rocks emerged completely, small, timid, the sun seemed to glance off it like a diamond.

A child.

Amaya dropped her fists without much thought. Her mouth followed suit.

The girl blinked up at Amaya with large, green eyes; her hair was gold and looked as though it was made of silk; her skin seemed to glow.

“I found her,” said Viella, and there was something large and breathless in her tone that reminded Amaya of the faithful.

“She’s a child,” said Amaya stupidly.

“This is my sister,” said Viella to the child, and the little girl glanced between them with the cock of her head. “This is Amaya.” The child’s green eyes sliced right through Amaya’s skull with a little spark of interest, as though she was reading words etched into the back of Amaya’s head.

Amaya felt her innards were on display and glanced away uncomfortably. The sight of the child made her feel as she did when she walked into her room at night and saw the furniture cast shadows on the walls of things she knew were not there.

"What is this, Vi?" she muttered uncomfortably.

“Shall we show her?” Viella said to the girl. The two of them shared a lingering look. Then the child turned around, broke out into a run. Amaya’s eyes widened, one hand outstretched as she realised where the child was going. But she was too slow. The girl leapt right off the side of the mountain.

Amaya screamed.

She surged forwards, towards the cliffside. Viella grabbed her arm and tugged her away.

“WITCH!” screamed Amaya. Viella tackled her back onto the ground and Amaya shrieked up at the sky. “MURDEROUS, EVIL WITCH! YOU KILLED HER!”

“Amaya – ” Viella straddled her, pinning her arms against the grass, her hair hanging over Amaya’s face. Amaya thrashed her legs.

“DON’T USE YOUR WITCHCRAFT ON ME.”

“I won’t! I’m not! Maya, just wait – ”

Amaya spat at her, and it struck Viella’s chin. “You forced her to do that, didn’t you? And you’re going to do it to me. Use your demonic magic to propel me off the cliff. You vile, disgusting, evil – ”

Amaya was cut off by a strange sound. It was loud, forceful whooshing, like a hundred dirty carpets being whipped with a beater all at once.

“Look,” said Viella, and she leant over slightly to give Amaya a view over her shoulder.

There was something appearing over the mountainside.

It was as golden as sunlight, and its eyes were a bright, startling green. Wings flapping rhythmically, it hovered above the mountainside, looking down at Amaya with a curious, deeply seeing, gaze.

A dragon.

“Is that - ?” Amaya broke off, breathless.

Viella grinned. “Yes.”

How was it possible? How was this real? A wild panic surged through Amaya’s bloodstream; she began to struggle beneath Viella’s weight. This wasn’t real…this couldn’t be real…they don’t exist…dragons don’t exist…

“Let me go!” Amaya yelled. Her head was spinning. She flinched with every gust of wind the dragon’s beating wings pushed her way.

“Listen to me, Maya,” Viella said urgently.

“Get off me!”

“I wouldn’t be showing you if it wasn’t important,” Viella said. “And this is…more important than anything in the world, okay? This is about life and death. The life and death of everyone you have ever known.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If she gets in the wrong hands, she becomes a weapon,” Viella explained. “But if she gets into the hands of the Dragons, she will be destroyed. And that…that can’t happen.” Viella shifted and her body blocked out most of the sky. Amaya could no longer see the dragon, though its wings spouted either side of Viella’s body. As if they were hers, beating like a heart. “If she dies, Amaya,” she whispered, “then we all die, too.”

Amaya could not speak.

“You have to help me,” added Viella. And that set off such rage in Amaya - the audacity! After everything! - that she flipped them over, pinning Viella to the ground.

"Why would I help you?"

And there, again, was that odd small smile. “Because she asked for you.”