The Dragon's Curse

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. They survive best in hot, dry places, with the sun beating down on them and only a rare sprinkling of water to keep them alive. Too much shade, too much water, and they bloat and mush, becoming useless to anyone.”

“In fact, the Valley of Fire did not used to be so named. It used to be lush and green, with a stream flowing down its length, coming from the clear, cool mountain springs above, straight from the pure icy water of a melting glacier. It wasn’t until people discovered the dragons in the deserts and desired to bring them nearer to towns and cities that the Valley was razed. Trees were cut down or burnt to ash, and the river was blocked off high in the mountains, forced to flow in a new direction. Slowly, the Valley withered, its former glory replaced by something more useful to the people who had lived there.”

“Of course, with the water gone, the people also had to move, but this did not deter them. My father, your great-grandfather, was eager to move our family and allow room for the dragons. They would change the people’s lives, he said, make us rich and happy. Moving outside the valley was a small price to pay for such progress. No longer would people have to venture into the deserts to retrieve what they needed.”

“That was all years ago, of course. Now, the Valley of Fire is well and truly established, the dragons growing and thriving in a controlled environment. Those who produce them have become prosperous. The natural deserts have once again been deserted by most, the need to search their wide-open spaces no longer relevant.” Ama’s voice had become thoughtful, turning from her narrative to more speculative matters.

“Some people say that sand itself is all that is left of the original dragons of old, that when they died, their bodies disintegrated and became the desert. That’s why it’s so hot and dry, like the fire they breathed. Mirages are the leftovers of sneaky dragons’ trickeries, and spiky desert plants reminders of their talons and claws. Deserts, despite being dangerous to humans, have a majestic quality that makes people want to see and explore them. Some people say this is all due to the dangerous beauty of the winged, flying beasts.”

When Charisa was young, she would sit at her grandmother’s feet, listening to these tales with wide eyes and an eager smile. “Is all of the sand in the world made of dragons, Ama?” Ama had given the girl a fierce look, pausing in her work with her hook poised over her yarn.

“Child, you can’t believe everything you’re told!”

“But, Ama, you’re the one who just—”

“What I said was that some people have wild fantasies about the probably imagined dragons of the past. Crackpot fools, as far as I can tell. Living in the clouds, no sense of reality in a single bone of their bodies, let alone an ounce of sense in their bored, unused brains.”

With her nose turned up, she had snipped the yarn, then used a large needle to attach what she had just made to something else.

“Still,” she’d continued after a pause, pretending not to notice Chrissy’s disappointed look and uneasy fidgeting, “those absolute lunatics must have gotten their ideas from somewhere. Perhaps some of the sands came about in this way. I doubt it, though. Even that so-called scholar at the library doesn’t have enough common sense to correctly judge the composition of a pastry in the annual contest, much less the composition of the desert. Everyone knows my pies beat Mildred Morton’s to any person’s mouth and heart every day of the week. The world’s gone mad.”

She had then held out her project to Chrissy; a small, stuffed dragon, a wee beast with red wings and a majestic snarl. The girl had laughed happily, hugging her new toy and not seeing the joyful sparkle in her grandmother’s eyes.

Staring down at the Valley of Fire, Charisa closed her eyes, smiling as she remembered that day many years ago. Her grandmother had reached over to a teacup, taken a sip. She had breathed in sharply and then sneezed, fire shooting from her mouth.

“Oop, sorry, dear,” she had said, patting out a spark that had landed on the animal’s tail. “I suppose I’ve had enough tea for one day.” Chrissy had dissolved into giggles, and it wasn’t long before Ama had joined her, setting aside her yarn and pulling her granddaughter into a firm hug, scooting the tea away when Chrissy made a joking gesture toward it.

“Now, Charisa,” Ama had pretended to scold, “dragons of that sort are only for grownups. Go and play with yours; such a beast is much safer for a young thing like you.”

The girl had skipped away, happy to see her grandmother looking so healthy, so strong. The dragons had saved her.

Charisa opened her eyes, letting the memory fade. The warm feeling that had washed over her tingled and shifted, becoming colder as her gaze once again settled on the miles of dry fields in the valley below.

The dragon plant had certainly saved her grandmother’s life, at least for a time. It had made her last years alive happier ones, and for that, Charisa had loved the dragons. They had been lucky to have access to the plant while it was still cheap, when it was first being grown in the valley. That hadn’t lasted long. The Valley produced a hundred times more than any scavenger could find in the desert, making such forays into the sands a rare occurrence. With such control over the market, the Herbalists soon began charging exorbitant prices for the spiky-leafed herb. People saved their precious gold coins in jars for the day that one of their family members might need strength.

Charisa used to do the same, until she and her friends had found a better way to get what they wanted.

Charisa didn’t know which had been named first, the Draconis Spiculum plant, commonly called “dragon” or “the Spike,” or the winged jewel-like reptiles of legends. She did believe that real dragons—living, breathing creatures—had once roamed the world. She was not convinced that they did not still fly in some lands, unseen by the disbelieving creatures below them, and she still hoped that someday she might lay eyes on one and see if the tattoo on her right arm was anywhere near accurate.

She moved farther down the mountain, considering the effects of the herb bursting forth in multitudes at the mountain’s base. From small amounts, strength could indeed be gained. Weak people had been shored up by the properties of the Dragon’s Spike plant, making it desirable as a medicine. When too much was taken, the plant could also cause fire to burst from the mouths of those who ingested it. Luckily, its gooey sap coated the mouth, preventing the fire from burning the tongue, teeth, or throat.

A harmless side effect, really, a nice trick for festivals and gatherings, if one had the coins to waste on such frivolity. The hissing speech was another harmless effect, something to try out and laugh at. Still, some had warned that there were other effects, other dangers. They railed against the herb, calling it the Dragon’s Curse. Those who held this position were by far in the minority, generally considered to be pests and naysayers.

Charisa ceased her descent, not wanting to get too close. She was still a long way off from the stone walls and towers that edged the Valley of Fire on this side, but she knew there were other things out here, guards and hidden spy holes and such. She’d even heard tell of spells and magic guarding the fields, but she didn’t believe these rumors. Dragons were one thing. Tales of wizards were something else entirely.

Although, lately, she couldn’t be too sure. Things had begun to happen that she never would have believed before. She had seen things . . . experienced things. It was harder for her to discount anything as impossible now.

She couldn’t decide whether or not to shake off this line of thinking as she lowered herself gracefully into a sitting position on the mountainside, planting her feet and letting herself fold downward like an accordion. These thoughts were why she was here, after all. Keeping her motivation in the forefront of her mind could help keep her moving forward. At the same time, though, she needed to remain focused. She needed to watch the movements of the tiny guards so far away on the tops of the stone walls, check to see if there were other movements, safeguards that she hadn’t expected.

Security had been shored up considerably since Kenai and Itasha had discovered the back way in from the mountains. Back then, the small access door near the base of Mount Vallis had been practically forgotten, the bolt rusty and forlorn. The guards patrolled at the top of the wall, of course, but they did not expect trouble. Some of them may not have even known the door was there, so far below them.

It had been a relatively simple matter to break through the bolt, enter the enclosed world of fields, and capture some of the dragons. The three friends had climbed back over a low point of the mountain in the dark on a path known to few. They had moved quickly and quietly, with handfuls of the precious herb stuffed into pouches and pockets. It wasn’t until they had descended the other side of the mountain and reached the forest near their homes that they had let loose whoops of success and satisfaction, amazed at what they had done. That night, they did what none of them had ever done before.

That night, they breathed fire.

Charisa shook her head at the memory, a feeling of disgust tightening her chest. It had been a silly indulgence, one she regretted almost every day. They had so much of the Spike, and none of them had ever needed or used it before. Its strength, though, could be felt even when one was not sick, and as they had an excess of it, they had thought that surely it wouldn’t hurt to use some, just to know what it was like. They had proceeded to use more than they should have, not knowing quite how to portion it, having never used it before. They had laughed the night away, giggling out fire as they made fun of one another’s hissing voices and as their Dragon’s Spike piles grew smaller.

That was before Itasha got sick.

“Chrissy!” The harsh whisper startled her, and she whipped her head over toward an innocent-looking bush.

The bush shook and a young man crawled out from behind it.

Charisa groaned in frustration. “Kenai. You scared me!”

He grinned. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

“Sure you didn’t. What are you doing over here? You were supposed to be checking things out from the other side. Shouldn’t you get a move on?”

He shook his head. “I did that last night. We made this plan and then I couldn’t sleep, so I just went ahead and did the scouting. Makes more sense in the dark anyway.”

She frowned at him. “No, it doesn’t. They’re on higher alert in the dark. Anyone they see on the mountains is a threat, not a potential sightseer. Plus—”

“Fine, fine, I know, we already talked about this!”

“Yes, we did, which is why I’m confused about—”

“Chrissy.” He cut her off again, which would usually upset her more, but this time the tightness at the edges of his face told her to be quiet and listen. “I just . . . I couldn’t sleep. I needed to do something. I couldn’t stop thinking . . .”

About her. He didn’t say the words aloud, but they still flew through the air, whipping past Charisa’s cheeks along with the bitter breeze.

“Neither could I, Kenai,” she said quietly. “But we have to be careful. We’re doing this for her, you know. It won’t help to be reckless and stupid.”

“I know, Char. I’m sorry.”

“Alright.” She patted the ground next to her and he sat, pulling up his knees to match her position. Having two of them in one place did make them more likely to be seen, but they were still far enough up and away that it seemed a small risk. “Since you’re here, you can help me watch this side for a while.”

“That’s why I came,” he said, shooting her a small smile from the corner of his mouth and eyes. “That and to compare this side to mine, see if there’s anything different. I could tell you about that side now, if you like.”

“Why don’t you hold off for now?” Charisa suggested. “I don’t want to be looking only for things you tell me about. Maybe I’ll notice something different. Let me form my own opinion first.”

“You just want to find something I missed so you can hold it over me forever.”

“Maybe I do, and I probably will. Now hush.”

They sat together on the mountainside for nearly an hour. Charisa watched the guards’ movements atop the wall and scanned for extra sentinels at the ground level. She tried to note the weapons they were carrying, but they were too far away for her to get a specific inventory. She assumed they had the usual assortment of spears, swords, bows, and shields. Maybe some slingshots with the occasional flammable vial. These would only be shot away from the fields if they were even available at all. The Herbalists wouldn’t want their fields to catch fire and burn.

But I do, Charisa thought. She repeated the thought out loud for Kenai’s sake.

“We’re going to burn it all.”

He nodded. “With pleasure.”