The Giving Plains

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Sometimes it was chickens, or maybe lots of fudge. Once, when Melyonen was very young, there had been werewolves. That had been a terrible few weeks before the elders of that time had found them all homes.

The darkness of night swept over the land as sun set behind the tips of the tall mountains that folded the long valley into the land. In dusk, everything was still. Melyonen watched the two Lightmen go from lantern to lantern, carefully touching their lit tapers to kiss the tar-soaked fabric of the torch. They coaxed each lamp into brightness, like a mother cooing to a waking child. Then they’d swing around on their high stilts and walk to the next one. Minutes after the valley fell into natural darkness, it woke again to blazing, man-made day.

Gosverna stretched out beneath her feet. She’d lived every day in this town since she was very small. Each house was familiar to her, the squat granite buildings bustled together between the tangles of looping cobbled paths. Every face she saw, she knew by name, and the names of their children, siblings, parents and grandparents. There was nowhere else Melyonen wanted to be. She stamped her stick on the ground, rocking it to find purchase in the grass between the stones. It made a satisfying grating sound.

“Nana Mellie! Nana Mellie!” The yell came from the cobbled path which skirted around the rise of Melyonen’s mossed roof. She felt a small body hit her legs as she began to turn. Her old knees protested at being struck. Just from the height of the curly head which now buried its face into her stomach, she could guess which child this was.

“Good Gloaming, Jory. Are you on your way to help your ma?” Melyonen stroked back the dark hair from the small pink ears.

“Jory!” A breathless voice came from where Jory had appeared from. A crooked stick came first, as Jory’s mother used it to anchor herself in the descent from the stone stairs that lead down the mountainside. Tegen’s bulging stomach came first, covered by a splattered apron. Once on level ground she pushed a fist into the small of her back, trying to give relief to the ache that the twins in her belly were putting on her body. Tegen looked up, taking note finally of her eldest clutching Melyonen’s skirt.

“Oh, for heaven’s sakes, Jory, let go of Grandmother Melyonen!” Tegen flapped her hand at her six year old son. Tegen used Melyonen’s proper title, a sign of respect from the townspeople, while Jory called the name she allowed young children to use. Neither were related to her, but she had known them both from birth, so Melyonen thought of them fondly. “Grandmother, I’m ever so sorry. Did he throw himself at you again?”

“It’s fine, dear. He’s just excited. It’s another bountiful Gloaming, I should think. What are you two doing out at this time?” Melyonen delicately extracted herself from the clutches of the child, and surreptitiously checked her skirt for any sticky patches Jory might have left behind.

“We’d be inside if it wasn’t for Mawgan forgetting his lunch again.” Tegen held up a tied cloth that held a box as she lumbered nearer. “That man, I swear. He’d forget his head if it wasn’t tethered by his neck. Are you headed to the Giving Plains? Jory, don’t run too far!”

Melyonen looked ahead down the cobbled path at Jory’s quickly shrinking form. This path lead from her front door and met up with the main road which cut through the lowest point of the valley. The Lightmen had finished all the lanterns on this part of the town. They always began with Melyonen’s journey to the Giving Plains. They worried she wouldn’t be able to see her way or get lost. As if she hadn’t been doing this journey every six months since she became a woman. The decades had been long, but the journey had remained much the same. She guessed she could do it blindfolded by now, yet the young men still worried for her.

“I am on my way, would you like to walk with me or I can perhaps take the package for you so you can get inside to safety?” She pulled her wool shawl around her shoulders, trying to protect herself from the chill night air.

“Oh goodness me, I wouldn’t have you run an errand like that, Grandmother. I wouldn’t mind company on my way though, if you’ll allow me to walk with you?” Tegen gave a shy smile as Melyonen fell into step beside the young woman. They walked a ways in companionable silence – except from Tegen occasionally calling instruction to Jory.

As they passed homes, people called out to Melyonen in greeting. The night sky above was clear, the brightest stars shimmered above the firelight. Melyonen appreciated how slowly Tegen lumbered along, her big belly swaying along in front of her.

“You’re looking forward to those two coming along?” Melyonen rested for a moment on her walking stick as Tegen puffed and blew the errant strands of her pale hair from her sweaty face.

“Yes!” Tegen almost yelled between gasps. She laughed. “I’m so excited for them to come. My bladder is excited too! They’re both little dancers, I can already tell. They’ll be brilliant for the spring solstice celebrations, that’s for sure.” Tegen again straightened her spine and rubbed the muscles on her lower back.

“I was so keen to have my boys out too, and then found myself missing how close they were when I could feel them move in my tummy.” Melyonen pressed a hand against her stomach, feeling the nearly-forgotten ghost of movement in her long-barren womb.

“I forgot your boys were twins too. Have you heard from them recently?” Tegen asked as she began walking onward.

“Keyne sent word last week. He and Genna welcomed their third child into the world. His business in the city is doing well. Ruan is due to travel through the Vali next month with the merchants caravans, so I shall see him then.”

“That’s good to hear. Oh, would you look at that.” Tegen stopped short and tilted her head. Melyonen followed her gaze to where Jory was running toward his father with his arms outstretched. The peal of childish laughter rang out as Mawgan lifted his son high into the air. Melyonen heard Tegen’s breath catch in the second that the child seemed to hang in the air above his father, out of reach, before he descended again, safely into the strong arms of Mawgan.

The man held the boy in his arms, two heads covered in matching dark, curly hair leaned together for a moment. Jory turned and pointed back toward his mother before Mawgan began walking in their direction. When he was close enough he gathered Tegen into his free arm and kissed her cheek. Jory cried protest at seeing the affection between his parents.

“Thank you, my love. I’m sorry I forgot my lunch again. You shouldn’t have come all this way in your condition.” His face was gentle as he lovingly admonished his wife. He allowed his wriggling son to slip to the floor by his side and then cupped the swell of Tegen’s belly.

“And let you starve? Not likely.” Tegen snorted. “Well, now I need to go all the way back home again. Be safe this night.” With one last kiss, she began to herd her child back up the path she’d walked with Melyonen.

“Grandmother, the rest of the council are in place, they sent me to find you.” With his wife now walking away, hand in hand with his son, Mawgan turned his attention to the older woman. He was smart in his leather tunic, his quiver strapped to his thigh and his long bow in his left hand. Melyonen could see what had turned Tegen’s head.

“Lead on then, young man. Wouldn’t want to keep the council waiting, would we?” Melyonen tilted her head and smirked at the idea of the four other elders of Gosverna, stationed as they always were across the Valley on the Giving Plain. Crotchety old men who were bitter that as the eldest living resident of the town, she was afforded a higher rank than they were. She enjoyed making them wait for her, to remember their place and that she had been the one who had spanked breath into every single one of their squirming bodies. At Melyonen’s age, it was definitely the small things that kept her going.

The main road through Gosverna up to the Giving Plains was marked with gravel, which crunched under their feet. It gave good purchase for Melyonen’s shoes. The tightly laced boots had serviced her for at least a decade, and she would need their stability in some places around the Valley. If it rained, the grassy ground would become slick and muddy. If whatever was to arrive for them gave chase, it would be essential to keep up with it, so it didn’t escape their guard.

Mawgan lead Melyonen up one of the wooden plinths that overlooked the Plain. The towers had first been raised when Melyonen was a girl, and she remembered them being very rough and rickety. Once the council realised how useful they were to see better, the towers had become more purposeful structures. Now fine wood was carved beautifully, designed to show the wealth and scope of the Valley to all newcomers.

The viewing platform that was at the top of the stout tower already had six officers in matching uniforms to Mawgan stationed around it. The leader of these soldiers, the Tower Captain, bowed slightly to Melyonen as she arrived, and gestured to her normal seat as he continued to give out orders to his men. In front of the rail there was a plain chair, well-worn with the many hours Melyonen had sat on it. Years ago, she’d been able to stand throughout the night, watching. But more recently her bones ached, her joints complained when she tried to keep upright as those around her did. One day she’d arrived up here and that chair had been placed in her spot. There had been no discussion, no questioning. She was grateful that whoever had noticed had allowed her to keep her dignity by not asking. It would be used later, for now she went to the rail and gripped it with weathered hands.

Melyonen looked out over the plains, picking out the other eleven towers in the distance, brightly lit up against the dark of the hills beyond. The other council members would be scattered among those. Beside her, a young girl in the yellow sash of a message runner enthusiastically waved a lit torch, the flames crackled angrily as they were fanned through the air. The other towers soon had similarly bobbing lights on each. They were ready.

There was silence.

On Giving nights, a tension always rose up in the townspeople. The question of what would arrive, and how they’d have to react, always hung heavy in everyone’s minds. In the middle of the fields there was a circle of long-scorched ground. Melyonen had seen it many times in the daylight. It was blackened and cracking, as if there had been a bonfire not long gone out. But nothing had ever grown there. In day, it was nothing of note. Had she stumbled on it blindly, she might’ve thought it the remnants of a big party. During the night, however, it was something else entirely.

A part of Melyonen, the part that she guessed was no better than a dog barking at a shadow on the wall, didn’t want to even look directly at the ashen round. It always took her a while to work up the courage. She studied the sky, still-piercing eyes searching out any sign of clouds or rain. Bright stars twinkled merrily back at her, oblivious to her scrutiny. The mountains that surrounded their small patch of hills crowded in, their looming silhouettes crowding in like gossipers ready for the newest scandal to unfold at their feet.

Each tower was linked by a web of lights, creating a circle around the plain. They needed to make sure there was communication between each tower at all times. The girl with the yellow sash was stood with full alert next to Melyonen, a serious look on her face. Her brown hair was plaited neatly, framing cheeks that were still round with youth. Melyonen thought her name was Cara or something. She was the great-granddaughter of an old friend who had passed many years ago.

Finally, Melyonen had run out of things to stare at. She felt the draw to the place she dreaded most. She straightened her back as much as she could and brought her stick in front of her, resting both hands on the round top. The air tasted of metal and of electricity. Her teeth tingled in her mouth.

Regardless of the torches they’d lit, and the ring of lights that surrounded the plains, the dark circle in the middle looked like a yawning pit. Hairs prickled as Melyonen thought of something crawling out of it. She banished the thought as soon as it came.

Sometimes they’d have to wait hours, the gift only coming just before dawn. Other times it was around midnight when the changes would begin. Tonight was different. Melyonen didn’t know how she could tell.

“Captain. Prepare for a quick one tonight.” She said. She felt all the men and the girl look at each other in a mix of surprise, confusion, and concern, but she didn’t see it because her eyes were riveted on that dark patch of earth.

The blood rushed in Melyonen’s ears, her pulse thumped steadily. There was a very quiet crackle, like someone had broken open a nut, and she knew it had been done. For a moment it seemed like nothing had changed. A bug crawled across the railing and stopped for a moment. Her gaze flicked down, just long enough to ensure it wasn’t an earwig – she hated those beetles – but when she didn’t see the tell-tale dark, swollen body with pincers on its rear end, she dismissed it.

“There’s something here. I can’t see it.” She spoke to no-one in particular, but the captain stepped up beside her and peered out over the rolling grass.

Melyonen’s mind caught on the insect. It wasn’t the hated earwig, but something about it made her take a second look. A tiny, deep red lizard looked back at her. No bigger than a mouse, it sat like a cat, upright with claws hidden inside a long tail wrapped around its forelegs. A large jaw prickled with spiked scales. On its back, two blood red wings were folded neatly. It tilted its head as it regarded Melyonen, yellow eyes looked over her with interest. Her gasp brought the attention of the captain to the rail.

A fork of lightning struck the centre of the plain, blinding her for a second. In the same moment, a thunderous boom echoed over the Valley, rolling from the heavens over the clear sky. The ground jumped with the force of the sound, rocking Melyonen’s feet. A strong hand caught her elbow and steadied her as the torchlights faded back into focus. She blinked furiously, anxious to see where the small lizard had gone.

Cries of alarm went up across the plain. Mawgan was instantly at Melyonen’s right elbow, an arrow notched in his longbow. Melyonen was confused for a moment, but she looked to where he was aiming. Curled on the scorched round was a huge dragon, its limbs pulled to its stomach. The silver blue scales shone under the bright moonlight. There was bustling as they prepared for an imminent attack, but the dragon stayed curled up. One giant wing draped over its form, but against the torchlight, Melyonen could see the mighty shoulder rise and fall slowly. It breathed.

There was a rush as men with spears flooded from the towers, ready to fight, to defend if the dragon decided to rise and attack. It did not stir.

Melyonen pushed her way from the tower. Several hands flung out to stop her as she wound her way through the soldiers who were on alert now. She drew level with that front line, all with their spears levelled, pointing toward the heap of breathing scales.

“Grandmother!” She heard someone call to her. A hand gripped her upper arm. “Grandmother, it’s not safe. You need to return to the tower.”

Melyonen yanked her arm from the grasp, and took a step forward. The spears split before her, faltering as they saw her confidence. Something sharp pierced her hand. A burning sensation radiated from the skin at the base of her thumb. She hissed as she brought her hand up to see what had caused the pain. Gripping on to her hand, with teeth sunk into her flesh like needles, was a tiny lizard like the one before. In the light of the torches held by the second line of soldiers, she could see this one was yellow and furious. It opened its eyes and raised them to her face. It pulled its fangs from her skin, and sheepishly licked the reddened flesh. The fangs weren’t long enough to break her skin, so a row of indents were the only mark visible.

It hunkered on the back of her hand, claws gripping on for purchase and tail wound around her wrist. Where it sat, her hand felt as though she was holding it near to an open fire. Not searing hot, but still warmer than was really comfortable to bear for a long time. She sensed that the tiny dragon, as she recognised what it was now, wasn’t trying to hurt her. It was attempting to protect the larger one. She smiled at it and offered it her shoulder. She felt the warmth leave her skin and a small weight scurry on to her scarf.

The large dragon let out a gasp. Hot air that smelled like wood ash gusted over the spearmen, who were now looking less angry and more uncertain as Melyonen pressed forward. She stepped carefully through the long grass and on to the firm surface of the scorched circle.

In the air, she could see more of the tiny dragons zooming back and forward, buzzing around the head and body of the large dragon. From beneath the crook of the pale dragon’s elbow came two more, around the size of cats. They wiggled out from underneath the limb to jump forward, hissing and spitting embers. Between low growls, they licked their lips, their dripping fangs glittered in the flames. They crouched low, their haunches up in the air readying to pounce. Their wings fanned out above their heads, arched stiffly and fluttering. Melyonen thought of angry dogs, when their fur stood on end. She looked to the massive beast that still remained curled on the ash.

“Melyonen, you idiot, get back here!” She heard the hissed command from behind her. Pawl, one of the councilmen, was standing somewhere behind her. He’d always been the most vocal about her involvement with Giving Nights, insisting she was a liability and too headstrong. Yet his opinion on her had always been discounted because her instincts hadn’t failed them yet. She tensed her jaw as she resolved tonight would stay true to that course.

Ignoring the two dragons standing off by her feet, she stepped toward the massive head that was resting on the ground. As she neared, it rolled toward her. She found herself eye-to-eye with an icy orb, veins of shocking blue and white spidering out from a vertical pupil which narrowed on her. The eyeball alone, she guessed, was as big as her head. She gulped as fear rose in her chest, climbing its way up her throat. But the eye rolled up and back, the pupil disappeared into the lid, and the head lolled back.

“She’s hurt.” Melyonen said to no one. A stir of murmurs came from the men closest. “Something is wrong. I think she’s hurt!” She shouted louder.

Melyonen reached out her hands to the dragon’s face. From beside her ear she heard a high pitched purr as the tiny dragon on her shoulder shifted.

The scales felt like glass beneath her touch, smooth and cool. This close, she could see that the pale blue was an illusion. Each scale was a different pale colour in shades of green, purple, and white. Her long fingers splayed out across one of the largest scales on the corner of the mighty jaw, just above a lethal looking spike that jutted out of the skin. Melyonen traced the edge of the scales, carefully making her way down the jaw to the throat. The dragon didn’t protest or shift. She quickly found the pulse point, the beat was strong and heady, but slow.

At the creature’s chest, she stilled for a moment. The wing arched far above her head, protecting the body from the elements. She looked back at the crowd who had still not moved since she stepped forward. Among the rest she found Pawl’s gaunt face, the look of terror and worry etched deep lines on his face. He slowly shook his head in warning. She ignored his unspoken command and stepped under the shelter of the wing, into the shadows of the dragon’s form.

The sound was amplified in the chasm created by the wing. Air expended the chest like bellows, the sound was wheezy and laboured. It smelled like rain after a long hot spell, and something else deeper down, something unpleasant. It was cooler closer to the dragon, and Melyonen pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders.

She touched the dragon’s shoulders and forelegs, trying to find the cause of her pain. She didn’t twitch or respond to any of the light pressure Melyonen applied to certain points. As she crept in further, she passed her hand down the torso, tracing the dragon’s ribs. She caught sight of the bite on her hand from where the tiny yellow dragon had attempted to protect its giant friend. The bite was now an angry red and blistered, like Melyonen had poured hot water over it.

On her shoulder, the small dragon shifted its weight. Melyonen put her hand up, and it hopped right up. Again, its claws found purchase on her open palm. It felt like she was holding a lit coal. A little way from her feet, the two cat-sized dragons were sitting near the pale dragon’s forelegs, rubbing themselves on the scales. They saw Melyonen looking their way and instantly narrowed their eyes in suspicion.

Melyonen held out her palm, showing them she meant no harm. The darker one sniffed towards her, extending its neck. The breath on Melyonen’s hand was warm. It came closer, pulling her scent into its lungs. Finally it turned its head, which allowed Melyonen to scratch its chin. The dragon let out a chuff of satisfaction, its eyes growing heavy with contentment. The scales were hot, almost too hot to stand.

“Nana?” The small voice came from the foreleg where Melyonen had stepped in. The tiny dragon on her hand and the two by her feet all jumped in shock. They hissed at the new intruder. The young girl with the yellow sash who had stood by her on the tower let out a small scream of fear.

Melyonen put out a hand to gesture her to calm. “Young one, Cara, is it?” The girl nodded, braids bouncing on her shoulders. “Don’t be afraid. I don’t think they want to hurt us. You need to stay calm, my dear.” The girl nodded at Melyonen’s words.

“Why are you in here, Nana?” Cara looked at each of the smaller dragons with wide eyes. Smoke puffed from the nostrils of each.

“I’m trying to find out why the big one is sick.” Melyonen turned back to the stomach of the large dragon. She put out her hand to confirm one last time if her theory held weight.

“What’s wrong with it?” Cara said gently.

“Well, each of the smaller ones are hot to the touch, like they have stepped out of a fire. This large one, though. I don’t know what’s wrong exactly. But she’s chill. Look.” Melyonen pushed the air from her lungs, steam hung in the air just above her head.

“She’s too cold?” Cara tentatively put out a hand, skimming her fingertips along the dragon’s forearm. “She feels like ice.”

“I think she’s lost her fire.” Melyonen said, half to herself. She turned to face the young girl. “I think she’s been sent here to find it.”

Image credit: Natalie Sevillia, www.unsplash.com/photos/sQLri8iHb58