The Dragons' Ward

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. There wasn't always Magic in the Valley either. Where one exists, the other follows. I suppose in time I, too, shall become accustomed to their presence. I just hope, for all our sakes, that it doesn’t come at the same cost.

✷

I was fourteen when I lost everything. In a few heartbeats, my life as I had come to know it—was over. The attack on my home was the first of many that night. My parents, the first to die. All of my immediate family and their homes, assailed until there was nothing left. The next to perish were my friends and their families. Our stand in the market was destroyed, along with those adjacent. I wouldn’t understand the meaning of the pattern until later. The villagers, however, were quick to piecemeal the clues left in the wake, and how it all led back to me.

There were some who were convinced I had a hand in it. Rumors of witchcraft escalated, for only a powerful force of darkness could have mangled bodies in such a way. Of course, no one had actually seen the villagers die, only beheld their remains. Witnesses to the massacre claimed to see no attacker, only a hush of wind and the static charge of a storm—the invisible force moving into homes and leaving behind only death. Fear swept through the streets, panic became contagious, and accusations flew. How could a young girl do such heinous and unnatural things to those she loved? Why did she remain unharmed? Where was she during the attack? Who, if anyone, was next?

At the center of it all was me, Freya, a heartbroken girl who had not only become an orphan, but a monster—a pariah. I, too, questioned myself. My thoughts drenched in guilt, tortured me relentlessly. Why wasn’t I home when this all happened? Why were the people turning on me? Why couldn’t I have just died with my parents and avoided all this agony? Death, it seems, was waiting for me anyway.

In the time it took to bury the dead—the only people I had to protect me — fear had fully taken root. I didn’t get to say goodbyes. I wasn’t allowed at the memorial. I wasn’t allowed outside of the makeshift prison that my home had become. I was endlessly questioned and implicated to the village's content. The next day I was found guilty of witchcraft and murder; the Valley was splintered and I had no one left to save me from their wrath.

It wasn’t until the second attack, the day I was standing in the gallows, that the people realized their mistake. It was no entity, no ghost or demon conjured from another realm that had killed so many. I was no witch, no murderer. Not when I was in full view of those who wished me dead, standing blindfolded and bound. With no spells to be uttered, and no tricks up my sleeve I was innocent to be sure, but it was already too late. My only inclination that something was amiss, was when the jeering cries of the mob around me silenced. This attack, more destructive, more unpredictable and devastating, came right as the floor was to be pulled out from under me.

The first to die was the executioner. He was ripped apart by the intangible hands of death. Like the first massacre, the bodies of the deceased were unrecognizable. Only this time, there was a crowd to bear witness to the horror. It began with a faint static charge, a brush of warm air around his body, a whisper only he could hear. He then reached out, as if to touch something, the next moment, he was no more.

The screams reached my ears before his body hit the ground. The mass of people began surging towards the streets around the square in hope of solace that too few would find. The truth of what had just happened hit me, so I used the chaos around me as my chance to escape. It took me a moment to step out of the noose, take my bound wrists underneath my legs, and step through them. I fumbled forwards, arms blindly catching my fall. I reached up with both hands to pull off my blindfold, wincing as the light flooded my vision. The scene that followed I would never forget.

Lying on the gallows platform, I watched as the bodies crumpled over into heaps of flesh in the muddy market square. The invisible force tearing through my accusers effortlessly, like a scythe through the fields. There I was, once again caught a nightmare, only for this one I was present. I watched as the villagers fled in every direction, but most of them headed up into the hills above the Valley. Not a single person looked back, not one soul dared return home for their belongings. The whole village—once a thriving community of hardworking families, reduced to nothing more than widows, orphans and derelicts. Alone and petrified, I had a choice to make. I could surrender and suffer the same fate as my family, or endure. For the sake of the Valley, for my parents, for myself, I had to try and find answers. Realizing that my time and options were running out, I made for the edge of the gallows.

I jumped from the platform and right into the mess of what was once a crowd of people. My legs, drained and stiff from fear, gave out, and I landed on my knees with a grunt. Looking around, I was shocked by the sight of it all. Was this truly what became of my poor parents? My family and friends? It took everything left in me to steady myself, catch a breath, and gather my thoughts. The only thing I knew, I needed to get my hands unbound if I were to make it out of the Valley alive. Not seeing any useful tools among those felled in the square, I hastily formed a plan. The blacksmith’s workshop was two streets ahead and to the right of where I was. Exposing myself to the open for that long was a risk, but one I had to take. With all the courage I could muster, I got up and ran.

The main path to the shop was blocked by overturned carts and debris, which meant that I needed to backtrack one street and come in on the far side of the shop. Every second I wasted now would only increase my chance of joining the dead, so as quietly and swiftly as I could, I turned around and headed onwards. Relief flooded my body at the sight of the smith's shop. In just a few more minutes, I’d be free, and my chances of making it up into the hills, greater. It seemed fate had other plans for me that day. As I made for the shop’s entrance, I was stopped in my tracks by a voice, just barely a whisper. At first, it was coming from the shop's alley, then surrounded me entirely.

The hair on my body stood on end, and my ears popped. The voice was familiar, my mother’s voice. Then my father’s—my extended family, my best friends. The voices of the dead all layered into a deafening roar. I knew what was about to come, the violent end that I would meet at the hands of an unknown power, like countless others before me. An odd feeling, almost like acceptance, swept over me then. This was my fate, it had been since the night of the first attack. I was meant to die then, and had somehow avoided it completely. The Valley was lost, its people lost too, all because of me. What happened next would define my existence, and the future of those who called this place home.

As I prepared to face the inevitable, the cacophony of voices silenced. The energy around me shifted so suddenly, I nearly fainted. My senses became overwhelmed by one distinct feeling, like a cup being filled to the brim and then spilling over—clarity. I was no longer afraid. The force, the invisible killer that had taken so many lives, reached out its hand once more, and I took it. Only this time, it finally found who it was searching for. I was the only one who could withstand its power, without being completely physically devastated by it; the one who would become its host. The thing that destroyed so many homes, killed families and friends alike, wasn’t our ruination—but our deliverance.

Magic in its purest form is chaotic, raw, and extremely dangerous. Its origin is a mystery. The Magic filled my soul, interlacing itself to my very being, now as wide and deep as the Valley itself. Its search for me took it through different worlds, different times and planes of existence. Finally, its purpose was fulfilled. Then, as quickly as it burned new life inside of me, it was extinguished, a sleeping dragon once more.

✷

Magic. It wasn’t until years later, the same day dragons appeared in the Valley, that I would feel it again—my twenty-first birthday. My body thrummed as the power dwelling within it began to stir for the first time since it claimed me. The dragons, heeding its call—appeared shortly after. Once more, the pressure around me dropped, static charging the thin mountain air. My ears popped, and an eerily familiar breeze surrounded me, then a ghost of a whisper. Looking down upon my old home and the beasts gathering there, it simply said “ Go, Freya.” So I released a breath, and began my descent into what lie in the Valley below.