The Oncoming Storm

‘There weren’t always dragons in the valley,’ said Hollid, while quickly rolling his lucky coin between his fingers. ‘A millenia ago the land of Tragor was only known as The Dead West. Nothin’ but dust an’ bones.’

‘Then how is it so alive now?’ asked Niioma.

‘Well dragons and life go hand in hand, don’t they? When them dragons came along lookin’ for a new land, new life came with ‘em.’ The old man stared up at the clear night sky, searching the inky black, his long greying hair drifting softly in the breeze. ‘When a dragon makes her nest, the animals feel safe ‘round ‘er, so they make it their home too. The plants nobody really knows about, but they say forests and fields spread from the nest for leagues an’ leagues.’

‘But where are the dragons now?’

‘The last one, Korros was ‘is name, was spotted in this forest ‘round 250 years ago. Nobody has seen one since.’

‘Where did they all go?’ Niioma insisted.

‘No one knows. Left for faraway lands. Maybe they died out. Or maybe they’re just sleeping, waiting for their time to take the skies again.’

Hollid inhaled deeply and clasped his hands together, lost in thought for a moment. From where they were camped he could just see the ocean, the stars reflecting off the rippling mirror, making the night sky seem endless. He breathed in again, the smell of sea salt mixing with the nearby pine trees and campfire. All this talk of the Dragon Age had left him feeling uneasy, but he couldn’t quite place why.

‘Can you tell me more about Korros?’ Niioma broke the silence.

‘I think its time for bed now,’ Hollid shook his head and chuckled. ‘We’ll save that one for another time.’

‘Oh please Hol?’

‘Sorry kid, sleep tight. I’ll wake you in the morning.’ Hollid ruffled her hair, stood up and walked to his sleeping mat.

Niioma knew she’d be awake before him, she always was. Being a Shadowmaker had that effect, being exceptionally sensitive to the light. As soon as the sun crept over the ocean she would be awake. She had tried to wear a sleeping mask but it didn’t make a difference, she could feel the light on her skin. It didn’t hurt, it wasn’t even uncomfortable, but she could always feel the daylight reaching to her.

The smouldering fire warmed her toes as she wriggled them closer to the coals. She leaned back on a log and stared up at the open sky, speckled with glittering stars. Both Kreos and Lamun only showed a crescent tonight, the dark of each moon facing inward towards the other. Usually this was seen as a bad omen, but all Niioma could see were two big eyes in the sky looking cross-eyed at her. She smiled to herself at the thought of some cosmic being not being able to focus on one tiny world. A soft breeze rustled through the trees and danced across her skin. Niioma kicked dirt onto the coals, lay on her bed and pulled the blanket across her body. She could already hear the soft snoring coming from the other mat. The old man went out like a candle in the wind.

Niioma closed her eyes and let her mind wander. Would she make new friends in the city, or would she be just as alone as she always was? No one but Old Hol to keep her company. She thought back to how many of the great stories had come from the city. The dragons the King’s Knights used to ride into battle. The Great Civil War of Yall’Roh that ended with a mere servant striking down the tyrant king. And of course the tale of Lover’s Lake, the biggest man-made lake on the continent, dug out so a young soldier could prove his love to Princess Rheylia. Tales that Niioma would finally get to experience herself. She could see the sights with her own eyes, not just scribblings and sketches. Niioma drifted to sleep smiling, imaging what it would feel like to be the recipient of Lover’s Lake.

A soft crack from beyond the tree line woke Niioma, she lay there and kept her eyes closed. The quiet snoring from Hol’s mat rolled through the air. Otherwise the night was still and silent. Maybe she had imagined it. Could it have been a wild animal lured by the scent of food? The lack of movement in the air made the heat trapped under her blanket almost stifling. Niioma was about to throw it to the side when she heard voices.

‘What if they wake up?’ the first voice whispered. It was so low and gravely that she almost missed it.

‘If they wake up, we cut their throats and run.’ said another. The second voice was almost the exact opposite of the first, a feminine, nasal, high pitched sound that could’ve easily come from a parrot.

‘I told you I don’t want to kill anyone!’

‘Well that’s too bad! We’re here now, and if they see you then they’ll easily remember your ugly mug.’

‘Maybe we should just leave then,’ the first said, sounding slightly hurt. ‘They don’t look too well off, I doubt they even have much.’

‘When was the last time we saw travellers out in the open like this? It’ll be easy!’

‘Fine, but I’m not killing anyone.’

‘Then don’t wake them up!’

‘You’ll both wake them up if you continue your bickering.’ Said a third calm, controlled voice. Obviously they were in charge. ‘Go now. Don’t rifle through anything, just bring back the bags and we’ll leave. Nobody needs to die tonight.’

Well isn’t that nice to hear, thought Niioma. She clenched her fists and listened to two sets of footsteps approaching. As the pair moved closer, she realised the campsite was quieter than before. Old Hol’s snoring had stopped. Niioma squinted her eyes open and looked across at his sleeping mat. The shadows were darker than before with the fire out and one of the moons set, but she could make out his body laying on the mat. He had his back to the bandits and was facing her, which meant she could see the old man slowly pull his knife form under his pillow.