The Dragon Warrior

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

We used to fight our own fights. Not anymore. We fight the hideously vile fire-breathing creatures and they who stole our land, our valley.

Life was peaceful, free, nonetheless, they say we don’t deserve any of it. They call us ‘filthy,’ and ‘servants.’ We may not have luscious silk clothing or our way of living may not be to their standards but we have our own values, our own desires, our own dreams, and our own dignity that they took away from us when they brought the dragons to the valley. I will not stand for this level of disrespect. And, I will not rest until the valley is returned to us.

The wind blew north on this autumn afternoon, the birds sing their melodic lullabies, and the leaves are wrapped in rich reds, golden yellows, bright oranges, and warm browns, sprawling the countryside. The path is sullied with the sock-soaking, squelching mud that irritates me so.

From behind, the sound of a horse galloping catches my ears. Turning around I see Gillepatric riding towards me on his majestic black horse Fergus. “Feasgar math,” Gill says cheerfully speaking in the old tongue, to keep the heart of the old language beating. “Halo, Gill,” I say walking towards him as he jumps handsomely off Fergus, with his thin, masculine body gleaming in the dull sunlight, his brown hair disheveled, and his turquoise eyes gleaming with energy. “How are you?” I say, cheerfully.

I pat Fergus affectionately as he nuzzles his nose into my hand gleefully, clearly happy to see me. “I am fine. Where are you going?” Gill asks suspiciously, giving me a raised eyebrow as if I am a suspect in a crime. “Nowhere in particular,” I say snatching Fergus’s reigns out of Gill’s hand playfully, striding ahead. “You’re lying,” he says grabbing my hand and pulling me back to him. I roll my eyes, “You know me so well,” I say pulling his hand so we can continue to walk along the muddy path.

Gill throws his head back, laughing energetically, with a hint of frustration mixed with happiness. Oh, I do love his twisted emotions. “You are going to be the death of me,” he says putting his hand around my waist. “I hope not,” I say as a crooked smile spreads across my face.

We walk joyfully down the sodden path, slowly enjoying each others’ company, while Fergus trots behind curiously sniffing the autumn air. Gill whistles in tune with a nearby bird perched on an old oak tree. I ponder the wonders of mother nature and this enormous tree with roots digging deep into the moist soil, reaching down into the earth drinking in life from deep below.

Suddenly, distant thumps and roars interrupt our stroll along the peaceful country road. Gill stops whistling, Fergus whines like a frightened child, and the bird takes flight. “Why do you persist with this venture of yours?” Gill asks in vexation. “Because, I need to challenge them and take back our land,” I say, my bones provoked. Gill sighs. “If you don’t want to come, Gill, don’t,” I say sternly, annoyed that he is questioning me, yet again. He says nothing, he does not loosen his grip on my waist, and he stays walking at a steady pace beside me.

We walk a few moments in a heated silence, until I blurt out, “Blame it on the blood.” Gill looks at me with an incredulous expression, “You’re absurd,” he says taking his arm from my waist replacing it for my hand. “Well, fine, think me absurd if you must, but I’m telling you it’s in my blood to challenge the unjust, Mr. Burns,” I say, using more formality with his name to make a point. “Well, Miss Grant, you are still absolutely absurd,” Gill says, his smile twisting at the corners.

The thumping and roaring increases in volume and intensity as we edge nearer to the valley. The breeze stills and we feel the air warm a few degrees from the dragon’s fire breathing heat. Gill and I crouch behind a thick bush, peering over the sides to see the grotesque creatures. We are no longer on our land.

Down in the valley it is burnt, stripped of luscious, green flowing grass and eye-catching wildflowers, the trees no longer stand tall in the outskirts, and the dragons roam proudly around the stolen land. How could they allow a once majestically beautiful place to turn into a dusty, lifeless land, suffocated of any new life?

“I remember when this place was full of laughter, contentment, and glorious memories,” I say, as I peer through a gap in the bush, while Gill leans his head against a tree behind where I crouch on high alert. “They were sublime times,” Gill agrees, reaching his hands behind his head for a more comfortable position. “Yes, they definitely were,” I say, frowning at a burnt-looking dragon, cracked with lines and odd symbols changing from orange and red with each breath.

I stare at the valley without blinking for a long time, I feel Gill getting impatient, and my eyes burn from the intensity of my stare. “We should be going,” I say, standing from my crouched position. “Yes, I think we have stayed here long enough,” Gill says jubilantly, stretching his arms above his head yawning, making a point that we should not have come. “Oh, you teaser,” I say grabbing his outstretched arms and pulling him from his position on the rock. Being small, thin, and not having strong muscles, I don’t succeed in pulling Gill from the ground; however, he hoists himself up as I pull on his arms. “Feisty today are we?” “Aren’t I always,” I say, while Gill throws his head back laughing. “You certainly are, Mariot,” Gill says over his shoulder as he strides to retrieve Fergus from a nearby field we put him in.

Leaving the bush, I stroll along the edge of the cliff where below the valley stretches out for miles. Hearing deep male voices below, I clutch to my basket that rests upon my arm. “I heard an ol’ man trespass’d askin’ for shelter,” a gruff sounding man says. “Yes, he was collapsed, almost dead when they saw him,” a man sounding less masculine replies laughing. I get onto my stomach and peer down to the valley. The two men stand on a thick rock ledge that they who stole our land built. The man with the gruff voice is short and chubby, while the less masculine voiced man is thin and tall.

The men persist with their cruel discussion, while I take in the devastation that they have constructed over fifteen long and tragic years.

Many of the dragons roam around the parched land with an air of superiority, whilst some are locked in thick iron cages thrashing about, angrily provoked by small children cruelly throwing large stones and metal objects at the cages. I roll my eyes, annoyed.

My eyes dart to the far left of the valley to see a large crowd huddled together. This part of the valley acts as a town square for the townspeople of they who stole the valley from us. The town square is closed off by large black iron gates. Beyond the gates is a beautiful castle crafted with grey stone, nestled high on a hill, where the King and Queen live, and it is the only place that has not been burnt to a crisp by the dragons.

The crowd continues to swell, surrounding something that my eyes strain to focus on.

“They set the dragon on the old man. He died of fright even before the dragon was unleashed on him,” the higher, less masculine male voice chuckles savagely. “Did they unleash the dragon after the trespasser died?” Asks the man chuckling with the other man in an equally savage way. “They did,” the higher voiced man says dangerously evil, laughing a fierce laugh.

Oh, how horrible these people are. How truly horrible.

“Why are you up here?” The higher-voiced man says leaning against the stone wall. “Came to watch the town, was sent by the King. Am suppos’d to signal to the dragons to kill anyone who inflicts any evil onto the town,” says the gruff speaking man.

I take a sharp intake of breath my eyes straying across the towns square and back to the two guards. How cruel these people truly are. A shiver goes down my spine as a slight feeling of nausea washes over me as my eyes spot a dragon brutally plunge into the crowd and screams fill the air.

“You’re inflicting evil,” I blurt out without thinking. “Hey, who’s there,” the short gruff sounding man growls. I quickly roll away from the edge of the cliff, my basket rolls to the edge as I hurriedly reach for it as it falls down onto the ledge where the men stand, hurriedly standing I bolt back towards the bush.

I reach the safety of the bush, Gill being nowhere to be seen. “Gill,” I whisper franticly. “Gill, where are you?” I raise my whisper.

Oh for goodness sake. Where are you when I need you, Gill?

I run to the field where we put Fergus earlier that day. Why did I want to challenge them? “Gill,” I shout as I become further away from the cliff.

I see Fergus with Gill happily perched on his gleaming black back. “Oh, Gill,” I say, tears stinging my eyes. Gill jumps off Fergus in a flash of gentle movements. “What’s the matter, Mariot?” He asks with a concerned tone, his eyebrow raises. “I think they’re after me,” I say, pulling myself together.

Gill stands frozen, with an angered, yet melancholy expression imprinted on his face. I tug at his arm to get back on Fergus, “We have to go, Gill,” I say, with panic rising in my voice. He doesn’t move, staring wide-eyed at a nearby break in the trees. “Come on Gill, move, they will come after us if we don’t leave now,” I say, holding Fergus’s reins tight, while attempting to move Gill’s frozen stature.

“They already have,” Gill whispers, moving his body to shield me from the dragon strutting towards us. I stop, petrified.

The dragon is a monstrously, tall, charcoal-grey beast covered in cracked lines and eerie symbols similar to a dragon I spotted earlier; however, instead of red and orange flames lighting up the symbols with each breath the creature makes, this dragon has an icy blue glow.

A malicious laugh echoes around us, bouncing from tree to tree haughtily. A shiver runs down my spine, tingling with fear as a tall, average weighted man, with long white-blonde hair, bitter frost-like eyes, and a long, pointed, judgemental nose approaches with a young girl - probably seventeen years of age like myself. She stands off to the right side of the stranger obscured by the shadows from the thick oak, aspen, and scots pine trees. Her stance insecure and her shadowed figure oddly familiar. I wonder why?

The authoritative-looking man stops a few meters away from us, signaling the dragon to stop with his extended black cane with a silver dragon's head perched on the top. He wears a thick snowy-white fur coat that falls to the ground, dragging behind him. “You’re not from this land are you?” He says, snapping with an icy tone.

I stare at him blankly, giving nothing away. “Answer now or I will feed you to the dragon,” he says, in his fast-paced voice. The way he said will, felt as if he wasn’t planning on killing me. “No,” I say, barely audible as my chest is tight from his ice-cold manner.

I attempt to step out from behind Gill’s protective stature as he swiftly grabs hold of my hand. “Well, well, well…..,” this strange man says pacing back and forth between a large scots pine tree and the ash-coloured ice blue symboled dragon, tapping his long black cane on the moist soil, in an irritating process.

He walks back and forth in an even and strict manner, straight-backed and brisk in his steps having no familiarity at all. My eyes drift to the girl hidden in the shadows of the trees, my eyes strain to see her face in the darkness. Just as I am about to give up on looking for her facial features her eyes stray to look at mine, amber-brown they are, a liquid amber, delicate and unharmed. Familiar also. The familiarity sits on my tongue tasting bitter. Her eyes stare at me with a sense of shock and the same curiosity.

The overbearing man claps his hands together loudly, laughing maliciously breaking the shadowed girl and my trance as if stabbing a large void in front of us. My heart aches to find out more about this girl in a way I have never felt before, as if I grieve something I never knew I lost.

The man points a long pale finger at me, “What’s your name, girl?” He says with a mixture of joy and displeasure, as if I am an inconvenience to his precious life. “Mariot Grant,” I say, forcing the words out of my mouth blandly.

He looks at me with horror in his eyes and then looks back to the hidden girl. With fury and vexation, his eyes find mine. He appears to swallow the new emotions, forcing them away with a blink of his frosty blue eyes. He steps back to where the dragon stands, “Don’t come back onto our land again. This will be your last warning,” he says, sourly, whispering something to the dragon in a foreign tongue.

“I don’t believe I can do that, sir,” I blurt out, sounding ungrateful for him leaving me unharmed. “Excuse me,” he growls coldly. My body tenses as I realise what I have said. “I didn’t mean what I said, I am grateful for your generosity, Mr….ah….Mr,” I say, fumbling for salvation for myself and Gill, who remains by my side, clutching my arm.

It is too late.

He inches closer and plunges forward as if he is going to strike me, but stops centimetres away. My heart stops, with a sickening fear, as he raises the cane that is wrapped tightly around the middle with his pale, thin fingers. He moves his cane to my face, touching my cheek with the silver dragon on top. He moves my brownish auburn hair out of my eyes inspecting me curiously. He tilts his head to one side staring into my eyes with a bitter cold intensity. I flinch away with a sudden impulse of adrenaline. He briskly tilts his head back to a normal position and whips around with his long fur coat dragging behind him.

An icy breeze cuts into my skin as he hops effortlessly onto the dragon. “I am going to go see what your father says about breaking the rules of the valley,” he says, cruelly smiling down at me. “How do you know where he lives?” I ask indignantly irritated. He whispers to the dragon in the odd foreign language he used earlier.

The dragon blinks with acknowledgement and takes to the sky. He shouts down from above, coldly addressing the girl in the shadows, “Go home, Murreall.” She doesn’t move, her gaze locked on my face. “Murreall, GO HOME NOW,” the man yells again. She reluctantly tears herself away from where she stands and slowly retreats like a timid mouse. “Good girl,” he says dominantly.

As she slowly vanishes from view a small part of me wants to follow her, while another part of me stands frozen in place, frightened by the familiarity I feel towards her.

Answering my earlier question, the man yells in his bitter cold voice, “I am the King. I know where everyone lives.” With his last acidic remark he takes off in the direction of town. I stand puzzled, shocked, frightened, and most of all burning with an angry flame inside my heart.

Gill loosens his hand where a large red mark appears from his tight, protective grip. I turn to him shyly, “I’m sorry,” I say shivering in the evening autumn breeze. “Don’t apologise, Mariot. It’s over and we’re not dead,” he says, helping my tired and feeble body onto Fergus. Gill lightly jumps on in front of me, holding the reins tightly with rigid movements as Fergus gallops back to town.

Gill’s movement radiates irritation and fury with me. “Gill, I know you are unhappy with me,” I say, gripping his waist in order to stay on Fergus. “I’m not,” he says, with a hint of displeasure. “Please be honest with me,” I say, wanting him to always be honest with me. I feel a sharp intake of breath shake through his body, “Fine, I am slightly annoyed with you for putting yourself at risk,” he pauses, contemplating if he wants to say something or not, “You could have been killed. With the remarks you made to the King,” he sighs.

“You’re lucky we got out without a scratch,” his voice quivers with a sorrowful anger. “I’m sorry, Gill. I never intended to put you in harms way. I truly am sorry,” I say, tears silently falling down my cheeks. “I can’t lose you, Mariot,” he says, holding his breath with anticipation for my answer. Lost for words, I tighten my grip around his waist and lean my head against his back in a loving way. I feel a sense of relief flooding out of him.

The sun is making it’s way to bed with an illustration of colours, ranging from oranges, to rich reds, vibrant yellows, pinks, and mauves of all shades blending into each other majestically. “It's all over Mariot. We won’t have to worry about them again if we stay away from their land. Okay,” Gill says, grateful, no death was seen today. “Okay,” I whisper into his shoulder knowing it’s only just begun.

We enter town seeing women and men standing around looking at us with outcast eyes and stern frowns. Even the blacksmith stops clunking metal together to stare at us. Fergus splashes into the puddles on the road as he gallops closer to my small cottage in town. I stare down at the disgusting, muddied ground and see myself in a murky puddle and the feeling of familiarity washes through my bones in a frosty shiver. My eyes liquid amber-brown and delicate stare back at me in the puddle. The same eyes as the girl. Exactly the same. How?

My thoughts become confused and jumbled, ending with lost answers as we stop at the front of my home. Gill walks me to the front door and sadly smiles at me, “Well you rest up,” he says, moving in close to me giving me a protective embrace. “Don’t ever do that to me again,” he whispers into my ear, growling with an exasperation of anger, protection, and love. A malicious, evil laugh breaks our warm embrace as the King soars over us heading back to the valley.

A few moments pass before Gill’s masculine body fluently leaps onto Fergus. He turns and nods his head to me as he rides away from the valley to his cottage in the woods.

Butterflies well in my stomach, flying around nervously as I turn the door handle. The faded, worn-out, wooden door sheepishly hangs on it’s blackened hinges. “Mariot, come in here please,” Papa’s tired voice travels out to the cramped hallway that is lit by a single candle. I quickly close the door, locking it in a bid to offer protection against the night.

As I pass the staircase that leads up to the bedrooms, my three older sisters giggle and whisper to each other as I walk by. Not in the mood to have them teasing me, I briskly walk past without making eye contact or the slightest sign of pain or weakness.

The door to Papa’s den is ajar inviting me into a foreboding situation. Taking a deep breath I gently push the wooden door open to be confronted with many lit candles and Papa’s figure sternly placed in the back of the small room, perched up in his chair behind his desk. He indicates for me to sit in the soft, brown, thick fabric armchair. Sitting down tiredly, sighing as I look up at his grave and serious face. “Papa I never……” “Don’t speak,” he says sternly. He rubs his temples with his thumbs, closing his eyes.

Looking around the room I feel the presence of the valley’s King. The cold. The icy. The malicious bitter laughter echoes in my head. At first, I don’t recognise the tall, thin, black cane leaning against the fireplace. As my eyes trace the length of the stick, I see the fierce silver dragon. Feeling my heart skip a beat, I hear the King’s voice ring in my ears, “I’ll be watching you,” I imagine him saying, with his cane outstretched in front of him. A frosty shiver goes down my spine and I long for Gill’s warm protective hand to be enclosed around mine. I shift my eyes from the cane to focus on Papa’s grave face just in time to look directly at him when he begins to speak.

“What were you thinking trespassing on their land?” he says, in a controlled voice; however, a hint of vexation hisses out. I look to the old chair I sit in, with its tears and worn shades of brown. I contemplate what to say as I am certainly not going to say I have a connection to the valley or he will think I have absolutely lost my mind. “Um……I was walking, lost in thought, and accidentally traveled to the valley,” I say looking up to meet his gaze. He looks at me with disappointment, sighing in a melancholic way, “Very well, but, don’t go to the valley again, Mariot,” he says.

I sink against the yellowing walls of the room longing to find that familiar feeling of the girl in the shadows, that I now know to be the King’s daughter, Murreall.

“Mariot, you need to understand that when they strike, you will fall. When they capture you, you will lose. When they hate, you will die. I can’t lose you too,” he says, in a deep mesmerising voice flooding my mind with memories of Mamma who we lost to the dragons fifteen years ago.

Papa pauses for a moment, contemplating. His grey eyes swirling with thought. “If you continue with this charade, I will have to hold a tighter rein on you.” “But, Papa, it’s….” He slams his fist down onto the table in a turbulence of rage-filled fury, “Mariot, if you do not stop, they will kill you too.”