The Beginning and The End

A piercing cry rent the night. The silence that followed chilled the bones of all creatures. Even the mighty huntress, hidden as she was, fought a shudder of dread. The cry resonated with the most ancient of pacts the beasts of the wilds had made with man so long ago.

Forgoing the now spooked doe she had stalked for nearly two suns, the beast crept towards the source of the wretched grief-filled wail. As she wove her camouflaged scales through the dense forest of pine and spruce, she pondered the implications of such a discovery.

It was entirely possible her instincts were wrong, perhaps it had simply been another wild animal.

A sudden cracking noise startled the wyrm from her musings. She glanced down at the branch she had stepped on. With a shaking breath, she strove to steady herself and pay her surroundings more attention.

Perhaps, she thought once more, there is a simple explanation for tonight's events, one that did not involve pacts and prophecies beyond her understanding. Stride after stride she approached a single barren stretch where a road had once been, long before her time on this earth had begun.

Upon reaching the hard-packed earth that marked the last dregs of history, she heard muffled noises reminiscent of a pup searching for its dams belly. The closer she came the more the sounds formed a child's sobs even as the reek of blood spilled with malice filled her nostrils. Noting a fallen tree two wing-spans from her position in the middle of the decrepit road she resumed her wary approach. Reaching the site of the disturbance at last, she cautiously assessed the violent scene sprawled before her.

The tree that had caught her predatory gaze had been felled when a device she vaguely recognized as being called a wagon in the human tongue had careened into it. The wagon was on its side, covered in gouges, scorch marks, and blood. A pair of large deer-like creatures, whose species eluded her mind's frantic grasp; lay dead, tangled in the poles and straps at the front of the wagon. A wing span deeper in the gnarled pine branches lay the passengers of the ill-fated wagon. Sprawled next to each other was a pair of humans she identified as an elderly male and a young female by their scents, both recently passed. Ignoring the discomfort creeping across her scales, she turned to the third human. A few steps further off the road was a middle-aged male encased in purified stone. A jolt of alarm shot through her as she tried to grasp humans' newfound ability to work such elements into tools, weapons, and armour. Despite the seemingly sturdy armour, the male had little protection from the lethal spell hanging thick in the air.

Sifting through the overpowering stench of blood and death, and the sickly sweet smell of fresh pine sap, her unnaturally sharp senses found the sole survivor of the wreckage. Gently nudging aside the debris with a scaled paw she found the source of the cry, and the spell. Nestled inside the wagon's remains was a human hatchling.

Alarmed by her discovery, the dragoness flared her wings to leap backward as a hazardous red and uneasy orange flooded the previously muted camouflage. As she sat, perched atop the fallen tree she had landed on, she slowed her rapid breathing and fought for control of her rebellious scales. Once calm she closed her cat-like eyes to allow her innate magic to drift through her awareness as she contemplated the possible meanings of finding a human hatchling deep in dragon hunting territory, where no humans had dared trespass for generations, let alone a child with the ability to use such potent magic. Magic was an ability thought to be lost to humans after the divergence and the breaking of the pacts.

The steady rhythm of meditative breathing hitched as her supernaturally enhanced senses warned her of the approach a moment before a scaleless paw made contact with her own.

Surrendering to the threads of fate gathering tighter around herself and the weeping hatchling she had finally concluded to be female, she shrugged off her uncertainty and gently closed her paws around the small creature with an unruly mop of dirty-colored hair and eyes the color of fallen leaves. Clutching the quieting hatchling to her chest she leapt from the ground and, abandoning her earlier hunt, winged her way as fast as the winds would carry her to the monolithic mountain range at the heart of her homeland.

The dense forest merged with the beginning of the foothills before fading entirely to the jagged rocky crags of the mountain range. The mountains formed a tight spiral of ever-higher summits before reaching the Spire at the center. Near the top of the Spire was a cavern of nearly incomprehensible proportions with eight equidistant openings, each facing one of the eight winds, allowing the inhabitants to soar in, out, and through without interference. The cavern, known as Heaven’s Gate, was the only entrance into the dragon’s last remaining sanctuary; however, legends sung during feasts and gatherings told of a road through the valleys of the twisted mountains once used by humans though all records of such a road were lost when the pacts were broken.

Catching a slight shift in the chilled north wind, the huntress banked sharply into the Northern Gate. Touching her claws to the eight-point star composed of precious gems embedded in the rough stone floor, she gently set the now sleeping hatchling down as her scales shifted to pale greens and yellow, displaying her discomfort, before reaching for a small pelt from a pile of blankets and cushions along the nearest wall and wrapping the little one up, shielding her from the cold.

The points of the star on the floor pointed to each gate and were filled with corresponding colors and symbols in a runic language no longer read or spoken by her kind. At the center of the star was a massive hole that opened to the system of huge caverns filling the core of the Spire where dragons flew freely through the vast spaces and conducted their business. Rather than risk the odd looks and questioning glances before she had answers, she opted to use the catacombs winding through the outer wall of the mountain. A flicker of frustrated red crossed her wings at the thought of walking the entire distance to the conclave at the heart of the mountain.

She hurried as fast as the cramped tunnel allowed, ignoring the haunting depictions displayed on the gilded walls of the world's convoluted and indecipherable history. The few dragons she encountered brushed curiosity and concern against her, communicating wordlessly through thoughts. Though they did not stop her, the soundless voices echoed in the back of her mind. Still avoiding the community spaces, the dragoness slipped silently into the tunnel running parallel to the chamber outside the conclave. Pushing past the layers of thin enchanted gold chains forming the curtain separating the conclave’s antechamber from the surrounding chaos of daily life, she scanned the rectangular room with circles of the pelt piles used as seats by the dragons. The walls of the room were filled with designs made with copper wires embedded in the polished stone. Opposite the gold curtain was a door two dragons wide, covered in ruins of embedded copper wires, matching the walls. Even from across the large room the ancient magic held within the door was tangible.

A familiar presence pressed against her own. The scholar she sought approached from the far corner of the otherwise empty room as he soothed her mind before sending a gentle query in the direction of the bundle and her lack of a fresh kill. Walking over to one of the seats and setting the hatchling down, she answered with a flood of images and sensations from the moment she had left the Spire that dawn to the moment she had returned.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw uneasy oranges and yellows creeping through his usual pale blues and purples. A moment of quiet passed between them as he considered all she had shared with him. The isolating silence was broken by the hatchling’s stirring. Doing her best to mimic the calming vocals mammals used to quiet disgruntled young, she unwrapped the “child”, as the scholar identified the hatchling, from the soft pelt. Cautiously, the child started exploring the layout of the room and the designs sprawled across the walls, ceiling, and floor. As she distractedly followed the disjointed journey around the room with her sharp gaze, the scholar questioned her knowledge of the divergence. When his gentle nudges failed to yield a response he resorted to the use of her name, Sybil. Flinching at the use of her name to jar her from her thoughts, she made a point to show him exactly how she felt about the breach of a social norm with a flare of scarlet and burgundy across her scales. A dragon’s name was sacred and known by few trusted friends and family, spoken by even fewer on rare occasions. With a faint streak of apology, the scholar pressed his question once more. Sighing, she vaguely recalled the story of an agreement with humans falling apart and a war that had followed. The aftermath of the war was the event now called the divergence. After the divergence, every race returned to their homelands and swore to never again cross paths.

With a shake of his aged snout, the scholar revealed the far more convoluted tale. While the individual who first broke the pact remained unidentified, when the bonds of the treaties shattered every race felt the change immediately. Within days the humans and dragons were at war and the other peoples were caught in the middle. After a long and blood-stained century one of the peoples, the elves, gathered the other neutral nations and proposed a spell that would separate the warring humans and dragons permanently by dividing the great continent, Terra. Although not all parties agreed with the plan, the majority ruled it to be the best option to end the violence. When the time came, an unknown group sabotaged the enchantment. Instead of the land permanently separating mankind from the dragons, the entire continent was fractured and each race was exiled to a different fragment.

That was not the only unexpected outcome of the spell. The divide had become temporary. Seers from a race whose name was lost in the divergence had carved a prophecy into the stones of a monolith that once resided at the center of Terra. The stones had been scattered across the shards of the land, and only one had been recovered in the mountains the dragons called home. Scholars had been working to understand the portion of the prophecy they had, but had only succeeded at translating part of it as the dragons had lost their written language during the war.

The scholar then paused his stream of information and indicated with a tip of his wings that she should follow him. Setting aside her confusion, Sybil caught the child and cradled her against the heat of her scales before following him to the conclave door. Approaching the door, he released a small plume of flame mingled with a faint spark of magic against the stone. The doors shimmered for a moment then faded into nothingness, only the aura of powerful spells marking their existence. She followed the scholar through the empty arch into the room beyond.

The conclave was held in a circular room large enough to seat over a hundred fully grown dragons with a ceiling high enough for hundreds more to hover. The door she had just entered led to the highest row of tiers circling the room. From where she stood she could see the eight descending tiers beneath her and the walls towering far above before they merged with the ceiling covered in stalactites large enough to impale a dragon should one ever fall. Scattered around the room on different levels, the eldest of their kind sat upon seats carved into the stones in the eons past. Some had draped furs and arranged cushions beneath them, but a great number took pride in the unyielding and unforgiving elements.

The scholar led her down the tiers to the wide circle of polished stone beneath the final row of seats. For a moment she allowed herself to glance at the empty seats that greatly outnumbered the occupied ones. One by one the elders noticed them and sent waves of bored yet dutiful queries in their direction while maintaining their carefully chosen pastel colorings. The scholar responded with everything the huntress had shown him and what he had shared with her in return. Ripples of bright colors and acknowledging hums echoed through the room. They did this to avoid flooding the space with too many sensations and emotions at once, a formality she was exceptionally grateful for. Lowering the child, she unwrapped her so the elders could see the cause of all the ruckus.

The oldest of their number, a male so ancient none alive knew his name, and the only dragon seated on the lowest level, slowly asked detailed questions about when the child had last eaten, how long she had slept, etc. before falling silent once more. All the while, staying a measured pale purple.

A previously lilac, now brilliant leaf green female on the third lowest tier then rose and showed an image of a stone tablet inscribed with a language the huntress did not recognize. With a voice rusty from centuries of disuse the elderly dragoness spoke in the human tongue as though conveying a rehearsed message, “Upon the stone left by those unknown to us was written a message we could not well decipher, however, our greatest scholars have toiled since its discovery in the fifth century after the divergence. For all their efforts they are certain of the meaning of a single stanza and the final two lines,

A child will be found

Twixt blood and bone

A child of dragon magic

Yet human birth…

The girl will be our ending

The girl will be our beginning”

A deafening silence and flood of vibrant hues filled the conclave for a long while after the elder returned to her seat in silence. Not a single soul dared share their thoughts on the ominous prophecy. Finally, the eldest of the elders, and the only dragon to remain the same steady pastel, gracefully lifted out of the stone seat polished by the generations of his forebears, and, indicating with a flutter of thought that the meeting was adjourned, gestured for the huntress to follow him.

She gathered the squirming girl to her chest once more, ignoring the protesting cries. The elder led her out of the conclave antechamber and through the catacombs to the hunter’s quarters. Staying in the winding, cramped tunnels he walked directly to the tunnel opening closest to her nest. Pushing aside the question of how he knew which nest was hers, she stepped hurriedly out in front of him and summoned her fire to open the door engraved with her family’s crest and ancestry. Her living area was simple like all dragon's spaces were. She had a room for storing her rations and a circle of pelts in a corner to receive guests with a fire pit in the center of the cave, and a curtain of carefully tended vines leading to the room with a covered opening to the jagged cliffs beyond the mountain walls where her more personal belongings and bed were, as well as… She looked away from the curtain before her face and scales betrayed her grief.

For the first time since she had entered the conclave, a mournful slate blue crept through the elder’s wings. She set the child by the pile of embers in the center of the cavern floor and reached for some strips of a mountain goat to place on the stones heating in the pit. As she did this, the elder began pouring information into her, information on the care of a human child. She flipped the strips of meat while trying to understand the intricacies of a child's dietary needs and appropriate shelter, furs constructed into clothes, and the lack of flight… She froze, her spine and nose shifted from their current orange to a very worried yellow. Catching on to her concern the elder wordlessly reassured her that he would research human magic as the girl grew. She slowly let the worried, heated tones fade from her body, replacing them with a quiet blue with shifting swirls of green and purple. Finished with his self-appointed task of ensuring she could care for the girl, he pressed one last responsibility on her, naming the child and using the name with the same regularity human parents would before he slipped out the door.

Still trying to make sense of the day's events she lifted the meat off the stones, sliced them into small pieces, and handed them to the girl who promptly devoured them. Sighing, the huntress fed the girl the last of the cooked meat then snatched a deer leg from the alcoves carved in the walls. She ate the leg as quickly as she could. Once the bone was bare she set it aside to be carved into tools at a later date and bundled the now drowsy child up once more. Carrying the girl through to the other room, she carefully avoided looking at the meticulously carved depression in the floor and the lifeless object within. Settling down on the mound of thick pelt and cushions she slept on, she allowed the girl to fall from her grasp to the soft surface below. The child slipped out of the bundle and scurried away before the huntress could stop her. She came to a stop in front of the object of Sybil’s grief, the only egg she had laid before her mate's death several decades prior. The egg had turned to cold, lifeless, black stone the day its father passed.

Slowly the girl reached her hand out to touch the smooth stone. The huntress rose from where she had laid down and reached for her. She paused her approach when she saw the girl's amber eyes turn as black as the egg as her searching fingers made contact. Struggling to process what she was seeing, she almost missed the split second in which both the girl’s eyes and the egg’s shell flashed a brilliant turquoise. As the turquoise faded, a crack trailed through the shell. The dragoness hardly dared breathe when she heard the first taps against the egg. Pieces began chipping off the top, followed by a tiny hatching beak. The wait was agonizing, but every instinct told her not to interfere. She ached to rush to the little hatchling fighting its way into the world but she forced herself to remain next to the patient girl and watch.

At last, the final fragment fell away, and the beautiful teal and violet dragonet lay curled on the floor. Sybil carefully lifted her newly hatched young into her forelegs and folded her wings around them, shielding them both from the flurry of emotions pounding through her. They stayed that way for a long moment until she stopped flashing every color of the rainbow. Returning to the present, she folded her wings and studied the girl, still holding her dragonet close. The girl's eyes had changed to match the hatchling’s scales. Puzzled, she set her daughter down next to the child. At the same time, the color of the girl's eyes and the dragonet's scales turned the same confused yellow. Astounded, she tried to think her way through the tethers of fate’s threads pulled tightly around the two of them. For the second time that day, she simply surrendered to the whispers humming across her magic, “Inanna” she spoke out loud to her dragonet, ”and Ereshkigal” she inclined her head to the girl, “shall be your names''.