Song of the Starling

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Decades ago, when Isanna was born, only starlings and grouse roamed the skies between the spruce-covered mountains. Having been so young when her family left, she didn’t remember much, but she did remember the birds. She remembered a collection of colorful feathers she kept in an old music box on her dresser. The twittering birdsong piercing the hazy mist of predawn light that poured into the Valley each morning. The sight of a startled hoopoe taking flight from a low branch, the black and white of its patterned wings blending into gray from the speed of its movement.

Now she was the one flying through those skies, on the back of a long, grey-snouted dragon. Her stomach churned from the ride, but she refused to close her eyes. She had never seen the Valley like this, never seen the earth like this. The view from an airplane could never compare to the swooping ride of a large, transport dragon. Below her, she saw smaller dragons, each its own rainbow of colors, carrying only one or two passengers. They flew faster, and she couldn’t wait for a chance to take a ride on one of them.

As they flew lower, the buildings and houses of the village grew larger, and she could make out individual people. No cars drove down the crowded roads, no air conditioning units lay at the backs of the houses, no satellites sat on top of the red tile roofs. The realm had no metals, plastics, or electricity. Instead, she saw stone buildings, market squares full of fabric covered stands, and smoke, actual smoke, rose from the chimneys. The whole place looked positively medieval. This, she thought, is what it’s like to live amongst magic.

They landed north of the main village on a pad of clover. Her aunt’s home was built into the side of the western mountain. She remembered it vaguely from her childhood, but she wasn’t sure she’d still be able to navigate the town.

As the other passengers disembarked, she tried to follow their lead. She swung her legs over the dragon’s ridge, her muscles stiff from their prolonged awkward position, and tried to slide down slowly like the other passengers. Halfway down she slipped. Grabbing onto a scale stopped her descent, but the dragon let out a low rumble and turned to look at her angrily.

“Careful there, girl,” the pilot said, stroking the dragon’s neck.

“Sorry!” Isanna said. She tried to find purchase for her legs, but only managed to illicit another low growl.

“Just let go, I’ll catch you,” a female voice yelled from somewhere below Isanna. She tried to look back but couldn’t see below her. “Trust me, you’ll be fine.”

Isanna hesitated, certain her considerable form would more likely end up squashing the stranger, but she didn’t have another option. She took a deep breath then let go, falling into a pair of hard-muscled arms. The woman’s touch sent an odd sensation through her body, a warmth like the first shot of whisky. The stranger held her tightly around her waist, and though Isanna’s feet were still too high to touch the ground, she still had to look up to see into the eyes of her captor. The woman’s hair, the small part on the top of her head that wasn’t shaved at least, stood stiffly in a purple swoop. Her eyes were equally purple and, Isanna noticed, staring curiously at her. The stranger shifted Isanna and set her on the ground.

“Thanks, I-” Isanna felt her muscles wilt beneath her. The long journey had been harsh with her condition. She’d had little time to rest, and her symptoms were flaring up. Her illness restricted her in many ways, but, she hoped, not for much longer. If all of modern technology couldn’t find a cure, she’d find one in the Valley.

“You aren’t used to flying, are you?” The woman grinned, grabbing her shoulders to steady her. “An outsider? Come and sit down and stretch your legs.” She led her over to wooden bench. Her legs felt worthless. The pilot appeared, depositing her leather suitcase beside her with a chuckle.

“I’m not an outsider. I was born here.” Isanna said. “And I’m plenty used to flying. I’m a pilot, actually, just, I usually fly planes instead of dragons.” She rubbed her legs and stretched her calves.

“Planes? Is that an outsider thing?” The woman asked.

“It’s a technology thing. Metal and electricity.”

“You fly electric dragons, but you aren’t an outsider. Okay. Sure.”

Isanna stood up, testing the integrity of her leg muscles. “I was born here. I’ve lived…outside of the realm for a while, for most of my life, actually, but I was born here.”

“Sure, electric girl. I’m Poppy,” the woman, Poppy, held her hand out so that her palm faced straight up. Isanna tried to grab it and shake her hand, but Poppy just laughed. “First lesson,” she said. “We greet people like this here.” She placed Isanna’s hand on top of hers and curtsied like they were about to start waltzing. That same weird feeling emanated through her from where their hands touched. Isanna quickly curtsied then drew her hand back.

“I’m Isanna.”

“I know,” Poppy said.

“You know?” Isanna glared at her.

“Your aunt sent me to find you and bring her back to her house.”

“But, how did you know it was me? How did you know I was the woman you were looking for?” Isanna looked around the clover landing pad. The other passengers had mostly dispersed, and two men were attending to the dragon, wiping down her scales and checking her wings. How would her aunt even know what she looked like now?

“Easy. She told me you were an outsider, and you falling off the dragon made that pretty obvious.”

Isanna blushed.

“And,” she continued, “she told me you were intoxicatingly beautiful.”

“What…how…” her blush deepened.

Poppy grinned, and lifted Isanna’s suitcase. “Just joking. I didn’t know that until I saw you.” She started walking toward the town, saying over her shoulder, “Come on, I have to get you back to your aunt’s house. She’s excited to see you.”

Isanna hurried after her, stumbling a little as her legs were still adjusting. “Wait, you think I’m beautiful?”