The Curse of Eryd

There weren't always dragons in the valley. Maeve knew that for certain. This land was once too inhospitable for even the strongest creatures. Before her people came more than ten generations earlier, the land was frozen, flat, and barren. For countless summers, the warmth of the sun was unable to reach deep enough to melt the layers of ice and snow that paralyzed the hellish landscape. No one dared journey into the desolate expanse. It wasn't until the Great Celestial Shift that the tundra receded; the warmth of the sun finally penetrated the permafrost and caused enormous glacial cliffs to crack and melt into the rising sea. A torrential flood roared across the land, relentlessly digging into the newly thawed earth, carving long intricate firths, jagged stone cliffs, and low green valleys.

Some years after the flood had finished its ornate sculpting of the isles, Maeve's ancestors made the journey north, taking dugout canoes to cross the now calm sea. The tide took them to the small island they’d later name Erydlyn. The tribe settled inland, past the sandstone cliffs and rocky shore, deep within a lush green valley.

Unfortunately, when prey migrates, predators often follow.

Not long after their arrival on the island, the people of Erydlyn felt the earth beneath them begin to hum and buzz. At first no one was alarmed and work continued as normal. The people were busy moving heavy slabs of stone from the shores to the valley to construct their homes. Gradually, the hum turned to a rumble. The rumble cascaded into a thunderous, deafening roar that knocked everyone and everything off balance. It felt as if the Earth was opening up and could swallow them all at any moment. The stone slabs around them cracked as they cowered together in the valley. The villagers working on the shore watched in terror as the sea churned, the ground shook, and a massive wave spread across the horizon. The unthinkable had happened. The dragons had come to Erydlyn.

Maeve walked slowly along the ayre that stretched across the bay just north of her village. Looking out at the soft gray sea, she found it impossible not to think of her ancestors and the horror they must have felt on that day. For Maeve, the dragons are a part of life, and as unpleasant as they are, she’d always known them. The people of these islands now held an uneasy peace with their terrifying neighbors. Long gone were the days of devastating aerial attacks on the villages that dotted Erydlyn and the surrounding islands. Some might argue that the current arrangement with the beasts was just as brutal and cruel, but to the islanders, it was just the way of things. Maeve tried to shake the thought of it out of her mind for now and continued her trek on the sandy path, watching as it narrowed and widened beneath her bare feet before disappearing completely into the sandy bank. Now, standing on slightly higher ground, she looked back to the south and watched for any smoke drifting from the flue on a distant stone roof. If she wasn't home in time to prepare the char and mussels for the festivities, she'd never be let out of her grandmother's sight again. She craned her neck and squinted past the afternoon haze. No smoke yet. There was still time.

She hastened her pace down the low road, keeping her eyes darting between the increasingly far off village and the ominous Cliffs of Eyrd that rose taller and darker as she approached their sandstone base. She'd never dared get this close before, but tomorrow was the day, and she needed to find her strength. She carefully felt around in the pouch tied around her. It was a small worn bag made by her grandfather from an oryx hide that he’d once used as a blanket. Now, in its new life as her pouch, it carried her dearest things. She ran her fingers across a small smooth object and sighed. The bone needle was still there. Moving her hand cautiously to avoid the sharp end of the needle, she fished out another treasure. It may have looked like just an old rock to some, but to her it was beautiful and important: a seal carved from white stone. She kissed the seal’s head and tucked it back into its safe little home about her waist.

Maeve turned her face to the sky and sought out the easiest path through the rocky terrain. She had studied this side of the cliffs many times, but still needed to trace out her steps, just to be sure. With a deep breath and a firm grip onto the first ledge, she began her ascent. Climbing the cliffs wasn’t outright forbidden by the village elders, but they didn’t feel the need to. No one had ever tried it - until now. Maeve remained focused on her grip and the sturdiness of each hold. The ground slowly got further and further away from her tiny calloused feet as she scaled narrow ledge after narrow ledge. She had no idea how long she’d been climbing. Her fingers clung desperately onto the soft edges of the stone while grit and sand pushed deeper under her nails. Sweat trickled down her neck and every muscle in her body was screaming at her to stop. Finally, exhausted and aching, she weakly pulled herself onto the widest cliff ledge, the one she'd stared up at for so many months since she first decided that this was her fate. Her breath was weak and she could hear her heart pounding deep in her chest. She rolled onto her back and lay there, face to the clouds, enjoying a rush of relief that washed over her like a wave on the shore.

The respite was short-lived. Before she had fully caught her breath and recovered from the arduous climb, she heard a low snarl echo from somewhere deep inside the cliffs. Every hair on her body stood on end. Did they know she was here?