The Language of the Dragons

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

That’s the story my Grandmother always tells me anyway. Once upon a time they lived far away until humankind came along. Humans kept pushing further out, grabbing up territory. They used up this land and moved on until they reached the Dragon’s homeland. There was peace for a time, but humankind’s desire to conquer and build pushed the dragons out. Seeing no other way, the Dragons sought revenge and to reclaim what was once theirs. Fire rained from the sky until an agreement was decided upon. We call it, “The Burnt Ashes Pact.” At least, that’s my Grandmother’s version of our history. That’s not exactly what they teach us in school.

For my entire seventeen years of existence, dragons have filled the sky every full moon demanding their monthly tribute. Each month has its own specific offering. It’s almost time for the cold months, so the tribute this moon cycle is a child – a twelve year old child to be exact. The sacrifice is chosen at random or so they want us to think. I have my doubts.

“Yara!”

My head jerks up to see the sturdy frame of my Grandmother silhouetted in the doorframe as the last rays of the day’s sun softly touch her best dress. We always wear our best on moon day. She’s worn the same burgundy dress for as long as I can remember. It’s a bit faded, but even now, it still manages to pair well with her white pinned back hair. Waste not, want not, she always says.

Luckily, I convinced her to let me wear my best linen trousers and jacket this year. I don’t hate wearing dresses, but I tend to trip in the long skirts. I can never tell when my boots come untied.

“Yara! Wake up, child. Where’s the wood? If we’re going to have a nice fire after the ceremony, we need some new timber in the house.”

“Of course, Grandmother.”

I head off toward the woods behind our house. We live more on the outskirts of the Valley. We’re what my Grandmother calls the middle people. We have no power or say, but no member of our family has ever been chosen as a sacrifice. I suppose that’s something.

“Thank you, dear. Don’t forget to hurry. It’s almost time!” my Grandmother yells after me as I hear the door slam back into its home.

It’s almost time. Another child will be separated from their family, from their home and given to monsters. We don’t really know what happens to the sacrifice. We assume they get eaten. All we really know is that none of them ever come back.

Ah, there are some good branches. I take my firewood bag off my shoulder and set it down. The crisp, cool air blows my red hair in my face. I tuck it back behind my ears. I should have put it up on a day like this.

I start to break up the branches. They’re too long to carry back as is. I forgot my gloves. Again. Clumsy and forgetful. A fine catch I will make someday.

I go very still, trying to hold my breath. I can hear what sounds like branches snapping. It would be weird for anyone else to be out here right now, so close to the ceremony. Probably an animal.

Clumsy, forgetful, and curious. It’s coming from the direction of our tree fort. Larity and I spent too much time as children trying to put that thing together to let some animal destroy it. She’d never forgive me, her best friend, if I did nothing to defend it.

I leave my bag. It will still be there when I get back. Quietly and delicately as I can, I move through the trees. Trees I’ve known my whole life. The last of the sunlight has gone below the horizon. It’s the moon’s turn to shine now.

As I approach my tree fort, I can see a big, dark shape trying to climb into the fort. The branches of the fort wall crack from under the weight of this creature. Fury overtakes any common sense I may have had before this moment. I pick up a large branch, ready to swing with all my might as I come at it from behind.

Here goes nothing. I swing, making contact with its rigidly hard back. The branch snaps easily as the creature roars. I know that sound. My heart beats fast, trying to jump out of my chest and go back in time before I decided to be so stupid.

A dragon. I just hit a dragon.

I stagger backwards, tripping. I grab onto whatever I can to break the fall. My hand scrapes along something sharp. I scream.

I hit the ground. Pain shoots from my injured hand into my chest. My heart slows down before speeding back up suddenly. The pain leaves my chest, going straight to my head. My brain throbs. It feels like a thousand needles are poking my brain.

Then it just stops. My ears ring as I struggle to sit up. My hair is tangled with bits and pieces of the woods woven in.

The roaring has stopped.

“A two legger! I am going to be in trouble for this. If anyone finds out.”

I don’t know that voice. A female voice.

“Who’s here?” I ask hoping this is all a dream. “Please help me. I’ve been attacked by a dragon.”

“I did not attack you. YOU attacked me!”

Shock overcomes every inch of my body and mind as I stare into the eyes of a dragon. Not a full grown dragon at least. I’d seen bigger, much bigger at the ceremony.

Did that dragon just talk to me? Is that the voice?

Clumsy, forgetful, curious, and now stubborn. “You were tearing down my fort!” I replied with some of the anger melting away the shock.

“It’s not my fault you built something so easily destroyed. Typical two legger.”

Did that dragon look indignant? Not possible. Dragons are only angry and burn and kill. I have to get out of here.

“Can you… understand me, two legger?” asks the dragon with disbelief wrapped around every word.

This is crazy. Can I really understand this dragon? I have to get out of here. Now.

Just as I’m about to make my move to run, the moonlight is blotted out. I look up to see dragons flying through the night sky toward our town square. The ceremony is beginning.

The dragon looks at me one more time before leaping into the sky.

I take one second to pause, then I run as fast as my boots will take me home. I run blindly, letting my legs take over. My body knows these woods as my mind reels from whatever that was.