The Last Ashes

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. They came after the scorched, far-off corners of the world could no longer sustain them. The Denkai had heard rumors of them for hundreds of years, but they lived only in myths and served as the monsters of stories told to children to get them to behave.

Now, a shadow overhead was the last warning before death. Nothing else takes to the skies anymore; not birds, not flying squirrels, not even larger insects. To fly was to die.

How such immense creatures managed to glide as quietly as the Great Owls once did mystified Alana. She tried not to dwell on the loss of her feathered friends as she plucked blackberries next to the river. Her village was one of the last remaining in the Matsau Valley, tucked somewhat safely in the dense forest on the floor of the lowest ravine. It flooded occasionally, but her people chose to raise their thatched homes on stilts rather than offer themselves up to the scaled behemoths that now dwelled in the cliffs to the north.

The Denkai used to soar from those very cliffs on gliders made of sturdy branches and the tough hides of the river beasts. The best foraging was in a grove at the top, but it took several days of grueling hiking to make it there. Alana’s ancestors had crafted the first gliders to sail back down to home rather than spend days taking the cliff paths down, laden with as much food as they could carry. She often wondered at how many met their end at the bottom in the early days of flying.

She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun, the breeze lifting her coppery-brown hair from her tan face. She could almost feel the rush of that first drop, the tumble of her stomach no matter how many times she had jumped, and the elation at the sight of Kotara, the oldest owl in the Valley, plummeting from the nest to catch her. Alana still got chills when she thought of the first time she had let go of the glider and dropped onto Kotara’s back; the huge bird had screeched like she was being gutted, and for a moment, Alana knew she had just killed herself. But after some awkward flapping and dipping, they had leveled out, and Alana had become the first of her people to ride the great birds.

It all changed three summers ago. The shrill roar signaling the arrival of the first wyvern still reverberated in her bones. Much of the world outside their perfect home had withered. Alana’s mother first noticed something was changing several years ago when they were at the grove, on their first forage of the year. Daunting hills looped around it, blocking the view of anything to the west and north.

“Look, my beauty,” she had whispered to her. “The berries look small this year, do they not? And the hills look dry.”

The two had climbed to the top of the nearest hill, and Alana’s mother fell to her knees.

What was once windswept grassland had crumbled to desert.

The hills flanking the narrow plateau bordering that side of the valley shielded everything below from the blowing dust, and for a time, the unnerving shift was safely ignored. But then that roar came, and it had been echoing off the cliffs ever since.

“Alana!” A voice cut through the trees. “Alana, are you out here?”

“Over here, Jesenia,” Alana called back.

“What are you doing? You’ve been gone all morning. I need help with the dresses that, you know, we need to have done by tomorrow?”

Alana sighed. “Sorry Jess. I just… miss her. Kotara. I miss all of them, and I miss flying. I miss the way things were.”

Jesenia sat down beside her friend and stared into the river. She brushed a tangle of long black hair behind her ear with her slender, bronzed fingers. “I do too. This is the smallest Solstice celebration we’ve ever had.”

“Thank the Gods, fewer dresses to make.”

“Alana! That’s a terrible joke,” Jess chided, but failed to hide the smirk that threatened to reach all the way to her high cheekbones.

“Fine, let’s go. It’s getting hot anyway.”

Corseted tops for the dresses littered tables in the square. These days, they were remade from scraps of beautiful fabrics from faraway kingdoms; no one dared venture out into the open to trade. The Denkai lived off the land and made their clothing simple to match, but during the week-long Summer Solstice celebration, an exception was made.

All of the girls coming of age in the next year donned fitted dresses with flowing layered skirts and were presented to the people. The presentation was an old tradition, but the excess of the dresses was new; when Alana was barely five, one of the tradesman had returned with a stunning dress he called a “ball gown” from one of the northern kingdoms. The gown was far too thick and hot for the climate, but the seamstresses crafted their own, lighter versions for the celebration, and they had been part of Solstice ever since.

Alana surveyed the pieces strewn about. “Jess, I wasn’t supposed to do all of the skirts.”

“Yes. You were,” one of the seamstresses, Marta, said as she pitched a ball of shimmery blue fabric at Alana. “Now get to work! We still have sixteen to finish!”

With a groan, Alana situated herself on a stool and began sewing. By the time she finished, the sun had disappeared and her fingers ached. She had only stabbed herself four times with the needle, which was a vast improvement over last year, but one prick had bled enough that she had had to hide the red drops by adding an extra pinch in the skirt.

In the fading light, she shuffled to her one-room house, ready to collapse into bed. Once night fell, it was impossible to see in the village, but that would change tomorrow. Everyone stopped lighting the pathway torches after the dragons came; the creatures once hunted day and night, but the fertile valley had made them fat and lazy. The reptilian roars and subsequent screams – animal and human alike – were now only heard during the day, so the village council elected to risk torches for Solstice this year. They were to bring back the traditional sunset dances, and Alana couldn’t wait to twirl under the stars again.

The chatter of over-excited teenage girls roused Alana from sleep. She tugged the corner of the tapestry covering the window and winced; the sun had already cleared the east rim of the valley.

She threw back the light blanket and hopped out of bed, landing on one of the many books she had procured from traders. Flinching, she tossed it on the table with the others. She tugged on her trousers and a flowy white tunic, and sat to pull on her boots. She stepped out the door onto the small balcony, breathed in the smell of lilacs, and smiled at the bustling village.

The people in most of the other communities had been killed off or escaped to Alana’s beloved cluster of stilt homes, but the few stubborn holdouts that remained in the higher elevations and flatlands trickled in for the festivities. Preparations were almost complete, and a long table boasted a feast to eat at leisure. Alana spotted one of the young girls wearing the sheer blue dress she had sewn the skirt for. The girl twirled under her father’s hand, both of them laughing. Alana smiled at them, warmth bubbling up inside her.

She met Jesenia at her home, rapping obnoxiously on the outside of the wall rather than climbing the few steps. To her surprise, her own mother stepped out.

“This is how you greet your friends, Alana? Have I taught you nothing in the last twenty years?” She smiled warmly at her daughter despite her words.

“Sorry, Mama,” Alana mumbled back.

Jess toppled out of the door in a rush, crashing into Alana’s mother. “Oh! Elle! Excuse me.” She turned to Alana. “I needed help with my hair,” she offered as an unnecessary explanation.

“Both of you! Always in such a rush!” Elle scolded.

Jess had been orphaned many years before the dragons came in a fever that took her entire family. Elle found Jesenia’s poor little body burning right alongside theirs, but they already passed on. She took Jess and kept her cool in the river day and night until the fever broke, then took her in as her own.

The trio mingled throughout the day, eating too much, laughing until their cheeks hurt, and socializing with those from other villages. Jess and Alana changed into beautiful light dresses as dusk began to settle in around them, creeping in from the forest. An older man, broad shouldered and made of rippling muscle, kept eyeing Elle.

As evening meal time neared, the three women sat at a round table. The man took up a seat near them, and made his attentions more obvious.

“Mama, you have an admirer,” Alana said. “Go talk to him!”

“Alana, I knew him before I met your father. He was young and reckless.”

“And now, he’s older, wiser, and looks like he could rip a tree straight of the ground with his bare hands,” Jesenia added. “I’m tempted to go meet him myself!”

Her mother smiled, a deep pink coloring her light cheeks. “Girls, stop.”

“We need to go find our own matches, just as you said. That’s hard to do with you around. Bye, bye!” Alana sang as she got up, looped her arm through Jess’s and skipped off toward the group of young men that had gathered by the food.

Suddenly, conversations quieted. One of the council members, an almost-unnaturally tall man named Victor, strode to one of the torches bordering the open space to be used for dancing. He tentatively lifted the smaller torch in his hand, and after some hesitation, touched the flame to the oil-soaked rag.

Fire jumped to life, rejoicing in its return. The village fell silent, all eyes on the sky, many partygoers visibly shaking. Silence stretched on for what seemed like hours. When no shadow or death-cry from above came, Victor lit the other seven, illuminating the dance space in a lively glow.

Victor stepped up onto a small platform where several musicians sat with stringed instruments and drums. “Alright everyone,” he announced, noticeably reining in his deep voice that was not loud, but carried far. “That’s all the light we will chance for tonight. Now, I will present this year’s maidens! Ladies, please come to the front.”

Nineteen girls, all about to turn age seventeen, lined up in front of him. Some giggled, some blushed, some preened, but Alana thought they were all stunning in their re-worked dresses. Even with that thought, Alana felt a twinge of sadness. There used to be so many more standing there, and they came from all over the Valley. Victor announced each by name, and named and honored her parents, if they were still alive and present. Before the dragons, the council member doing the announcing had to have the help of several assistants whose sole job was to memorize the names all of the girls and their parents. Alana snapped back to the presentation as Victor delivered the final blessing of his speech.

“May you serve the Gods and your community well, may you live in happiness and safety, and may you live a long, full life.” Alana couldn’t help but note the addition of the “safety.” The girls all bowed their heads in recognition. “Now, time for the First Dance! Maidens and their partners only, please!”

The girls rushed to the center, as did the boys hoping to twirl them around the square. Many ended up skulking off the floor after all of the girls were paired. The musicians began playing a soft, slow, yet cheerful song, and the couples began to move in perfect synchrony.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a male voice asked from just behind Alana, making her jump.

She turned to find an intense-looking but handsome stranger, one she didn’t recognize from the outskirts. In fact, he didn’t look like he was from the Valley at all; his eyes were a piercing green, his skin pale, his hair black as night. The people of her village were far fairer in their complexions than those in others, but this man was nearly white.

“Yes… it is,” she managed to say. “Have you… ever seen a Sunset Dance before?”

“I have not, but I’d love to take you out there when they’re done.”

“Where are you from? You don’t look like you’re from here.”

He gave a sly grin, one that only intensified his good looks and made something go sideways in Alana’s stomach. “You’re right, I’m not,” he replied, but offered nothing further. “So, about that dance?”

On the other side of him, Jesenia’s mouth hung open. Alana met her eyes and she gave a slow nod as if to say “He might be a stranger, but you’re an idiot if you don’t say yes.”

“Um, sure,” Alana finally responded. The First Dance ended, the boys bowing deeply to their partners. A much faster song kicked up, the string instruments singing, and the stranger put a hand on her back, gesturing to the square with the other.

“After you,” he said, the grin popping out again.

They stepped onto the dirt space and he took her hand, keeping the other at her back. His posture was rigid but graceful and easy, as if he had been doing a lot of dancing in his life. As they moved, Alana thought he danced how she imagined a king in a great kingdom would dance.

“What’s your name?” he asked in a husky near-whisper, just barely loud enough to be heard over the music and merriment around them.

“A-Alana,” she stammered.

“Uh-Alana? Interesting.”

“Alana. Just Alana. And yours?”

“Alden. Just Alden.”

“Funny.”

“I certainly think so.”

“And arrogant.”

“Not once you get to know me.”

“And is that your plan? For me to get to know you?”

“Ever since I saw you on that riverbank yesterday, yes.”

Alana drew back. “You were watching me?”

Alden pulled her back in and kept moving flawlessly with the music. “Not intentionally, I just happened to come down on the other side when you were there. And I couldn’t help but continue looking.”

“Creepy. What are you doing here? You didn’t answer my question about where you’re from.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. I’m from a kingdom in the North – Revenia. I’m here because I hear you have dragons.”

Alana screwed up her face, processing his words. “Then you might also know they’ve wiped out most of our people. Why would you want to chase the damn things? And how have they not found your kingdom yet?”

“I didn’t say they haven’t found ours. And yes, I know what has happened here. Some of your people fled from the flatlands to the south where the valley opens up, and made it to one of the kingdoms down there. It’s one I visit quite frequently, and I talked to quite a few of them.”

Alana’s heart soared. Some of them were alive. Maybe some of the owls had managed to escape, too. “Have you seen any owls? Huge ones. Big enough to ride on.”

Alden shook his head incredulously. “No… Did you have giant owls here? And did you ride them?”

“Yes and yes, but they’re gone now. If our people got out, I was hoping some of them did too,” she paused, wondering how anyone had made it through the wide open space of the flatlands. “Wait, how did you cross here without being eaten?”

“On a horse, obviously.”

“Without being seen? There’s no way-”

Her words were cut off by a scream. Alana and Alden whirled and found themselves staring at a colossal dragon. From the way it threw its head back and swallowed, Alana instantly knew they had lost another villager.

Shrieks erupted as people bolted into the forest and streamed between the houses. Before Alana could process what was happening, Alden swept her up and half-tossed her over a table. He dragged her behind one of the stilt houses that backed to a thick grove of trees, shoving her roughly to the ground.

“Stay here,” he grunted as he drew a massive broadsword. Alana’s thoughts swirled amidst the shock. Had he had the sword on him the whole time, or had he stashed it over here knowing what was going to happen?

She lay flat on her belly in the grass, watching from under the house. The wyvern was huge, its head easily the length of two of her. It had used the square as a landing area, and not one of them had heard it coming.

Its blue-black scales glinted in the torchlight as it prowled forward, balancing on its wingtips. Massive claws sunk into the ground. The two legs that carried it were solid muscle, twisting and flexing. It stretched its massive neck forward, raised its head slightly, and bellowed a deafening roar that nearly turned Alana’s head inside out.

The beast whipped its head to the side and snapped up a woman trying to flee, tossing her to the side. The thrashing tail destroyed three houses in one swipe. The dragon trampled everything around it and tried in vain to stretch its wings, but it was too big to take off from such a tight area. Infuriated, it bellowed again and unleashed a wall of fire in every direction.

The heat blasted Alana in the face, the house above her going up in flames like the grasslands in late summer. She scrambled backward on her hands and knees before getting hung up on something twisted up behind her. She flipped to climb over it and froze; it was a charred body.

Screaming, she stumbled back toward the burning house. The wyvern’s head rolled in her direction, its huge golden eyes and their narrow upright pupils locked on her. She stared back at it, unable to move. Spikes stuck up all along its spine and its nostrils flared. It threw a wing out toward her, pivoting, and grumbled a low growl that seemed to flow right through her.

The monster suddenly squealed and jumped back, throwing its head and flapping its great wings. It mowed down trees and houses alike, and Alana squinted to see through the dust and smoke. Flashes of what looked like a sword were all she could make out. A long, mournful howl pierced the air, followed by silence. Flames danced as ash and dust floated in the air; everything else stopped moving.

A tall male figure appeared in the smoke, covered in sweat and ash, dark hair hanging in his eyes. Black blood dripped from his sword and drenched his clothes. He sat heavily on a bench, chest heaving, and raked the hair back from his face.

Alana approached slowly, eyeing the enormous body of the creature behind him. “You’re a dragon hunter.”

“Of sorts,” Alden replied, wiping his sword on the excess of his tunic. “This place has the biggest dragons I’ve ever seen. But I’m not here to kill them; I’m here for their eggs. The ones here know nothing besides hunting humans, so I’ll kill if I have to. But when humans raise them, they’re as docile as dogs. And the best things is, when they’re like that… You can ride them.”