The Days of Undoing

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But like the spokes on a wheel, an unfaltering design had the realms take turns to host them. So while the Occasra Valley had once been bereft of the beasts, the wheel had moved to bring change, and the Migration had come. It was their turn again.

Great leathery beasts darted and spiralled through the air now, blotting out the sun behind impressive wingspans. They parted mist and pulled clouds in their wake to make sky sculptures of flight patterns. Their scales made them as beautiful as they were protected; reflecting a variety of colours that mistified onlookers as they swept to pluck livestock out of fields like flower heads.

Or so it was said, at least.

People liked to tell stories about the dragons. They liked to paint pictures of threat and warning with the creatures as the symbol of downfall and misfortune. Kids were told to behave, otherwise a dragon might snap them up in tough jaws the next time they dodged their chores. They were used as curses as if they were the worst thing anyone could think of and wanted words to cut deeply. They were the looming threat from behind that all fled from.

“Your face is doing that thing again.”

The teasing tone intruded upon Kehlin’s thoughts, but his scowl did not falter. His dark eyes followed the skipping children who weaved between the walkers in their travelling group, all fleeing the one at the end who roared with convincing ferocity, arms spread wide and flapping up and down.

“You’ll scare the kids,” the voice said in a singsong.

Though he couldn’t see his friend’s face, Kehlin could tell that it had been said with a smile on her lips.

“Good,” he responded shortly. But his last ditch attempt to remain intimidating was ruined by the corners of his mouth beginning to pull up. “I’m scarier than a dragon—”

A high pitched screech cut through the peace ahead and Kehlin yelped with his hand instinctively shifting to his dagger hilt. The woman beside him, however, armed to the teeth with various pointed implements, unsheathed nothing and only laughed. An irritated grumble rippled through the roaming caravan and someone further up the line scolded the children. Presumably, one of them had just lost their game and become the latest prey.

A terrifying ordeal for that kid, apparently. And perhaps a little bit for Kehlin too.

Light laughter finally pulled Kehlin’s eyes to his friend who was still openly laughing. A hand rested on her chest as if her amusement risked bursting out of it. “You looked about ready to jump into one of those bushes,” she practically wheezed, nose scrunching up to wrinkle her dark skin.

“I did not,” Kehlin said defensively and crossed his arms. But the glance he cast at the bush turned wary before he admitted in a much lower voice, “Because I don’t know what lives in it.”

“Ha!”

Her loud laugh drew the attention of the nearest group in front who swivelled their heads around to glare.

Kehlin attempted a smile to appease them. No doubt they thought they were just a couple of immature young adults, messing around to pass the time of another day’s walk under the bright sun. After all, with little else around them for miles but the dirt road beneath their feet, the trundling wheels of their carts, and steadily thickening trees for company, they didn’t have much to amuse themselves with.

But he needn’t have bothered; one look at Ibera, her weapons, and the dirty yellow band on her arm that marked her as one of their group’s warriors, and they turned back around again with nothing more than a mutter under their breath.

“Though I’m not scarier than you, apparently,” Kehlin said with lifted brows.

Ibera just winked. Had the pair of them not been friends since childhood, Kehlin might have been intimidated by her on sight too. But to him, she was a softie, as quick to laugh as she was to fiercely defend and to fight. Kehlin, meanwhile, was better with his mouth.

With effort, he finally unclenched his hand to release his dagger, and inadvertently triggered another fit of giggles beside him. He jabbed an elbow out to nudge Ibera, but she curved her body away and easily dodged it.

“Shouldn’t you be patrolling or something,” he grumbled. He rubbed his side after she returned the favour with an elbow that met its mark.

She shrugged. “Probably.” Ibera looked over their group ahead, squinting into the distance. “Figured you could use a bit of company though.”

But Kehlin knew that meant that she was the one wanting company. He smirked and shot her a side look. “Nah, I’m fine,” he said nonchalantly. “Got my own thrilling self. My brains, my thoughts, and my—”

“Bushes?”

“Ah—” He clamped his jaw shut, quickly biting off the reactionary childish response. And to buy himself a moment for composure, he let long fingers reach for the bag strap over his chest and fiddled with it. Kehlin cleared his throat. “Maybe,” he said eventually, with his stubble-coated jaw jutted out. Composure shattered a second later when a strong arm wrapped around his shoulder and Ibera pulled them closer together.

“You know, you’re the only person I know of who is more scared of the local plant life than they are of huge, man-eating, flying monsters,” she said.

“They just have a bad rep.”

A huge understatement, of course. But one that Kehlin stubbornly stuck to. Each of the five realms bore the scars of hosting the Migration when it was their turn, so the dragons were certainly not peaceful occupiers, and Kehlin would not say so either. Even now, though the skies above were empty of anything greater than a hawk, and had been for nearly twenty-five years, the land around them showed the signs of the last time.

Ibera’s gaze demonstrably caught on a boulder that stuck awkwardly out of the ground like a crooked tooth, its surface carved by four deep gouges that moss now attempted to claim. She didn’t bother speaking, and Kehlin knew what her look had meant, but he shook his head instead.

“And yet no one condemns the deer that mark the trees for territory,” he said with a haughty sniff.

* * *

Dirty fingers popped berries into Kehlin’s mouth and he sighed around their juices. Ibera had long since left to return to her post, guarding the travelling company as they moved across the plains of Mutarstet. His feet had grown heavy, tiredness seeping into each step as his boredom had thrived.

Their pace was relentless as they journeyed across the realm, walking all hours of the day, and had been ever since they’d left their homes to flee the dragons.

The Migration happened every five years as the beasts moved to the next realm, always in the same pattern, clockwise around Ohbs, the name of their world. At nearly twenty, Kehlin had lived through three of these, though he had not yet resided in an occupied realm. And seemingly, would not this time either, as when the dragons would move into Mutarstet, their group would be in Iminare.

In the past, the Migration was said to have been a time of celebration. Of progress. Because along with the dragons, came the beginning of a new era and they had been the symbol of that. The harmony of Ohbs lay in the transitions that each realm would go through, the balance of each of them experiencing all four changes in turn every hundred years.

The Tropical Era. The Magic Era. The Wealth Era. The Renewal Era.

Then, the cycle would repeat itself.

Mutarstet was currently in its Renewal Era, a time of peace and stability following the previous one of wealth from before Kehlin was born.

But what lay behind them now was none of that. The dragons had instead brought the Blight. A plague had gripped the realms hosting the Migrations for the last fourteen years that destroyed and ate the land. Making it uninhabitable for most, and dreary for all.

Their group was taking no chances in case the new pattern continued and spread the Blight into Mutarstet. And though Kehlin did not agree with opinions on the beasts, the threat the Migration brought was still very real to him. And so, despite his aching feet, he did not complain as they walked through the daylight and slept on the ground. Or not much, at least.

A yawn pulled at Kehlin’s jaw, and he squinted through tears at the horizon to the east. The sun was low now, kissing the line of the land where colours would spill out to paint the sky. It meant they’d be stopping soon. Which also meant sleep. He nearly laughed with relief, but instead popped his last berry into his mouth, and then promptly choked on it as the sudden appearance of Ibera at his side had him nearly inhale the thing in his fright.

“Have you seen—Oh.”

She clapped a hand on his back and Kehlin felt the berry escape his throat and land on his tongue. He spat it out and turned to glower at her, but let the expression fall when he caught the serious look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, rubbing moisture off his chin with the heel of his hand.

“Where are our parents?” Ibera said, twisting to glance behind them. “I haven’t—”

“They’re up ahead,” said Kehlin as he pushed a dark hand into her bare shoulder to turn her. “I fell behind to—” Eyes darted almost guiltily to the side of the road where the trees had now crept to the edges. “To pick berries.”

Despite her very apparent anxiety, Ibera snorted a short laugh. The area around them had been changing gradually by the day as they grew nearer to the tropical forests of Iminare. She’d known that Kehlin would be unable to resist any opportunity for a little exploration. She also seemed relieved to hear where the rest of their families were. Quite conversely though, that worried Kehlin instead.

He moved to walk beside her a little closer and leaned in. “Is something happening?” he whispered.

Ibera frowned. “There’s… a weird feeling in the air. Do you—?”

Her words cut off sharply as she spun her head to stare into the trees, her feet rooted on the ground and pulled the pair to a stop. Kehlin leaned around her to follow her look, but he could see nothing, only more trees and the shadows that grew between them.

A sigh puffed out of her nose and she began walking again, tugging on the sleeve of Kehlin’s coat to have him follow.

“You don’t feel it?” she asked, with dark eyes glinting in the blooming sunset. “It’s like… the trees are holding their breath or something. It grows the closer we get to the border.” She shook her head, making her hair twists sway, tied up high and out of the way.

Kehlin mirrored the movement, though his much shorter tied-back hair did not move as gracefully. “I haven’t sensed anything. And—” he paused to frown, thinking back on all of the news he’d picked up on from the conversations of others and their parents, “Iminare’s still safe, right?”

His friend nodded, but he could see her lips twisting with worry. “I assume so, but I don’t think it’s about Imi—”

Kehlin suddenly reached out to grip his friend’s arm, his fingers pressed into her skin as he felt something brush across his awareness; a tease of his senses that pulled his eyes forward. And up.

“Kehlin…?” Ibera’s voice shook. “What is it?” He heard the noise of fabric moving as she reached to put her spear in her hand.

“I— don’t know,” he replied slowly. His eyes remained stuck to the clouds as if he was afraid of looking away, and he saw the appearance of the pinprick of orange that stood out against the darkening sky.

It grew quickly into a roaring ball of fire.

“Get down!” he yelled, and grabbed at his friend’s arm and tugged her towards the ground.

A great boom shook the area, rumbling through the dirt road and ringing in Kehlin’s ears. Ibera was with him, half shielding him as debris flew their way. Screams sounded from the travellers further up the road, but the noise was quickly overpowered with angry yells and the sound of metal on metal. Kehlin’s blood pounded, his skin felt cold. Was it dragons?

“Bandits,” growled Ibera suddenly, and she sprang to her feet, yanking Kehlin up beside her.

Faces appeared between the trees, a glint of diminishing sunlight on steel swords, and then they emerged with a furious battle cry and ran at the travellers. Ibera jumped into the fight, knocking a sword away from another of their group with a flourish of her spear before jabbing the point of it into another attacker. She then pulled it back out with a sickening squelch, and pummelled the other end of it into the eye socket of the first.

Two down, only… Kehlin’s eyes widened as he looked up and down the road, seeing numbers too huge to count.

“Kehlin, get your fucking dagger out!”

He swallowed thickly. Panic made him want to vomit. But he did as he was told and pulled his weapon out and held it steadily in front of him. He knew how to use it, Ibera had made sure of that. But that did not mean he had the experience. He licked his lips and froze in place, watching the carnage around him. Ibera practically danced, knocking bandits over and piercing them with swinging motions. Her long limbs swirled as she moved between the attackers, determined to keep them away from Kehlin and the rest of the travellers that had grouped up close by.

Someone yelled in pain in the distance and Kehlin’s grip on his dagger renewed as he saw one of the glarers from earlier fall with a sword in his chest.

“No!” Kehlin cried. But the bandit didn’t linger to taste their victory, and instead they just disappeared into the fray to claim another. The traveller lay still on the ground. Terror gripped Kehlin then. Their parents. They needed to get to their families and help them. “Ibera!” he yelled. “We have to move!”

Her dagger slashed across a bandit’s neck as she spun, coating the back of her hand in his blood. She nodded at Kehlin. “Right!” And then kicked the bandit to the ground.

After telling the others to follow them, the pair began making their way up the road with Ibera cutting a fierce path through the invaders.

It wasn’t clear what they were after. None of them were looting, they were set on destruction and death only it seemed, but that didn’t mean it was their motive. Some had banners, though they were too destroyed for Kehlin to identify. But most strikingly, he noticed that some wore armour. And not the rough leather armour that was typical for most of them, but the well-made sort that armies wore.

One lay in the dirt a few feet away and while Ibera hacked away, Kehlin moved closer to them and used his foot to kick them over onto their back. An arrow stuck out their neck and a large wound gaped at their shoulder just beneath the metal plate they wore. On the chest was an emblem, and one that Kehlin did recognise. His dark brows furrowed deeply as his fingers reached out to touch the colours on the metal. They were from Occasra. The Valley. And they were not enemies. Or… they weren’t supposed to be—

A pained yell pulled Kehlin upright in an instant, eyes darting around to look for Ibera. She had a slash on her forearm and had stepped back to press a hand over it. Blood seeped between her fingers but it’d only made her seem more determined. She flew at the bandit, swinging her sword in one hand and with her spear in her other to knock away blows.

Behind her, someone stirred on the ground and drew Kehlin’s attention. Their left arm hung limply at their side as they struggled to sit upright, their fingers slick with red. But their other arm still held a sword.

Locked in the fight, Ibera hadn’t noticed yet. And Kehlin was too terrified to yell and to distract her. With a groan that he hoped would give him strength, he moved forward. He had to help. His grip on his dagger was firm as he approached the bandit who had now got himself to his feet, unsteady but determined, and somehow oblivious to the young man behind him.

From a foot away, Kehlin pulled his arm back, intending to thrust forward on the next step and to stab them in the back, aiming for a spot Ibera had taught him. But a rough hand locked around his wrist instead. It gripped firmly and twisted strongly enough to hurt. Kehlin yelled as his dagger fell from his grip and Ibera paused to look. He saw her eyes widen with alarm, her mouth part to yell his name, and then he was yanked backwards and was pulled away.

Ibera’s opponent took advantage of her distraction to cut viciously at her stomach, and Kehlin thrashed violently, trying to get loose. He dug his heels into the ground to slow their movement, but they were kicked at instead, so he pushed backwards wanting to pull them over with him.

It was like trying to push over a wall. He felt his shoulder crack, and a lightning bolt of pain darted down his arm. His throat was already raw from yelling.

And then, just as he caught a glimpse of Ibera’s pained grimace, a heavy blow struck the back of his head, and as the battle sounds raged on around them, he slipped into darkness.