The Shattered Sky

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Just like the color green hadn’t always been forbidden, exploring the mountain sides wasn’t taboo, and questions weren’t punishable. The elders spoke of times before the shattering of the sky. In hushed tones they told of times when the skies were blue, the sun shone yellow, and the meadows of the valley were lush and green. A spring had babbled through the valley meadow bringing fresh mountain water to the sheep and people. They told of times the village was alive with noise and happiness; buzzing with idle chatter, laughter, and singing.

But those times had passed the day the sky had shattered. No one ever described the sound the same. The sound of mountains colliding, of an anvil breaking, or thunder right next to the ear, of a hundred trees breaking all at once. Either way, the noise was loud and unforgettable for those who had heard it, even after decades had passed. The once blue skies had become crimson. The mountain air had become the inside of a crucible. Grass withered and turned to dust. The water in the stream boiled and disappeared. People were knocked to their feet. And then the dragons had come. Large black, and brown, and bronze, and gray beasts tumbling down from the sky like chicks poured out of a basket.

Some regained their wings and raced back towards where they had come. Others plummeted to the valley floor with sickening thuds, never to move again. And those that remained, they turned the world to fire. The villagers had screamed and had run for cover of their homes. All had been sure it was the end. One elder always claimed he had witnessed one of the dragons turning towards the sound of their screams and was sure they had made an error drawing the attention of the dragon. But no fire had followed to the village.

It was the color green, the elders had determined. They had burned the valley because they were offended by its vibrant color. The huts of the village were brown and that seemed to not offend any of them. Anything vibrant in color seemed to draw their attention, but green especially angered them and caused the fiery rage that had left our valley in cinders decades later.

The skies had calmed from red to gray, like embers to ash after initial shatter. Swirling smoke clouds filled the air above the valley, only allowing glimpses of the gray sun to shine through. Only enough to let the few meager crops grow in the ashy soil. Even those were covered in burlap, letting only pinholes of light through to nourish the crops but not let any green show. It was a bleak existence for those born under the rule of dragons.

Taryn Hinsley was one such unlucky soul. Born into a family with a strict mother and even stricter father, laughter was banned in the home. Music was banned in the home. And color, color was banned as best they could; something that had made Taryn a disappointment from the day she had been born with copper red hair and emerald green eyes. A living beacon for the dragons. As such, she was never allowed to look skyward. Never allowed to leave her home without her hair wrapped in cloth. Never allowed to go anywhere without dirt smeared on her face, to hide the coppery brows that shown there.

And worse than her coloring was her inexplicable need to know more about the dragons. Her curiosity was frowned upon at best, had earned her punishments by the village heads at the worst. When she had been seven years old, she had asked about how they knew green was what had angered the dragons. When she had questioned their reasoning, she had earned extra chores for a week. When she had been ten, she had tried to explore the dragon bones still on the valley floor. That had earned her two weeks bound into her home on scant portions, mostly to keep her from exploring more. At fifteen she had climbed higher than allowed on the mountainside to see what was beyond the valley, towards where the dragons always flew overhead to. Her elder brother had ratted her out to her parents and she had found herself bound inside of the village for a full year.

But this punishment was the worst she had earned ever. Now eighteen, she had slipped into the valley to get away from the judgmental stares that often followed her and had taken the cloth around her head off to cool herself from the heat. Her hair had been a beacon alright, a beacon for tattletales as someone had seen her and had gone running back to the village. She had been marched before the village council upon her return and had endured a lecture about the village’s safety once more. And then the punishment had come. She was to make the offering to the dragons for the summer solstice. Then perhaps she would learn proper fear of them.

Now walking beside the wagon carrying their offerings, she recalled those that had gone to deliver the offerings before. Able bodied men that had volunteered to take on the horror of such a task, or those that had earned such a punishment like herself. They had all come back visibly shaken. Those that had volunteered didn’t speak of the experience. Those that had been punished swore they would never do anything to earn that level of fear again. And here she was, head wrapped, eyes downcast, wearing a brown dress, walking along the brown grass of the valley towards the pass where offerings were offered. Some of the village men walked with her, mostly to ensure she went and to make sure the cart and mule pulling it returned to the village before the offering was made.

She was left at the edge of the valley, staring into a mountain pass. The men had unloaded the cart with their offerings for her to arrange and had left with pitiful glances her way.

“Maybe you’ll learn the error of your ways if the dragons don’t eat you first,” her brother had told her before she had left. And it seemed that was the sentiment all around.

But Taryn wasn’t sure dragons ate humans, or if they were ever starving enough to do so. They flew over often but never dipped below the smoky clouds. They never seemed to pay any mind to the villagers below. The village council and elders argued that was because they followed the rules. No vibrant colors and leaving them adequate offerings every solstice. She wasn’t sure that was true, but she wasn’t in a position to doom the entire village if she was wrong. So Taryn set about displaying the offerings.

The best grains, the best crops, a prized ewe, a prized goat, wool, spun yarn, cheese, milk, and various trinkets thrown in by those who crafted. This year it was a woolen blanket, a leather pouch filled with herbs, and a hand carved bowl smoothed to perfection. She set each of them out on display, feeling her heart ache for the goat and ewe that were likely to be eaten whole upon the dragon’s arrival. Something she was to stay and witness. The person that came with the offerings was always to stay and witness, to make sure the dragons accepted and to see if there was something they preferred, or hated.

And so she waited, finding herself shaking, whether from fear or excitement, she wasn’t fully sure. Perhaps both, if she was honest. She was told the dragons would appear at sunset and so she watched as the glimpses of the sun through the haze above moved lower and lower until the valley began to be cast into shadow. And then as darkness began to fall. A no one came. She frowned at the entrance to the mountain pass. It was the equinox, it was most definitely after sunset, and perhaps she was supposed to do something to summon them?

“Hello?” She called, her voice to soft into the chasm before her. “I’m from the village. I’ve brought your offerings.” She tried but no one responded.

Disappointment settled in her like a stone in her gut. She had wanted to see them, she realized. Even since she had earned this punishment the thought had been growing that she would be able to see the dragons and maybe ask a question or two if they permit it. If they were smart enough to make peace over an offering, then they would be able to answer a question certainly. But the sun had certainly fully set, night was upon her, and the dragons hadn’t come.

“What are we waiting for?” A voice whispered next to her in the dark and she nearly jumped out of her skin. The young man next to her was tall, broad shouldered, and wearing a homespun shirt and trousers that certainly hadn’t come from her village. Even in the dying light she could see the shirt was blue. It was rare someone came from another village, rarer still they wore color. And certainly strange he was out at this time of evening and not seeking shelter somewhere. But there was no sense of danger coming from him. Only a bit of strangeness and genuine curiosity in his gaze.

“The dragons,” she told him. “Does your village not do an offering on the solstice?”

“Oh, I suppose it is that time again,” the man shrugged. “We should light a fire so the dragons can see what you’ve brought.” He wasted no time gathering up wood and fiddling with something before a fire sprang to life.

“Are fires not forbidden outside in your village?” She asked.

“Is that why we never see them?” The man asked, head tilted to the side. “Why not light fires outside?”

“It attracts the dragons,” she repeated what had been told to her thousands of times.

“Ah, what else does your village say attracts the dragons?” He moved to sit by the fire, raising his hands to it.

“Bright colors, loud noises like laughter and singing,” she repeated. “Does your village not observe those rules?”

“We adore bright colors,” he told her. “And we like to sing and laugh. Life is bleak without those things.” He turned to her. “Why do you cover your head? The other women in your village do not do that.”

“My hair color is offensive to dragons,” she tried to keep the bitterness from her voice, but even she knew she had failed.

“May I see?” He asked, genuine curiosity pouring out of him again. “It’s dark enough now a dragon passing overhead wouldn’t see it,” he pressed when she weighed the decision. It was what had gotten her out to this punishment but at the same time, this man likely wouldn’t go telling her village she had shown her hair to him. She unwrapped the cloth from around her head and sighed as her hair fell loose.

The man went still, staring at her like she had stunned him. Then he moved faster than she could have blinked and was before her reaching out a hand to touch the end of a curl.

“Beautiful,” he told her and she found herself blushing. No one had ever called her hair beautiful. It was unsightly and a beacon of dragons, never beautiful. “And you’re eyes,” he smiled, leaning down to meet her gaze. “Like two emeralds. You shouldn’t look down so much.” She found herself surprised as she met his own eyes, golden and so unlike anything she had ever seen in someone else.

“What’s your name and where you are from?” She blurted out as he stepped away from her.

“My name is Fallron. You can call me Fal, and I’m from somewhere very far away.” He looked towards the offerings she had arranged.

“Are there dragons there?” She asked, feeling curiosity spark in her more than ever.

“Yes,” he said simply. “We should get this over with so you can go home,” he nodded to the pile.

“It doesn’t seem like the dragons are coming,” she told him, disappointment coloring her voice. She glanced back at the sky, hoping to see a shadow pass overhead. The sky remained unchanged. Darkened, the ash clouds obscuring anything beyond. Not even a hint of a shadow or a stir of the clouds to indicate they were coming.

“Are you that eager to be in their presence even as you make offerings for them to leave you alone?” He turned to her, head tilted to the side again.

“If I say yes, does that make me a bad person?” She asked. Her village would say yes and yet she wanted to hear what Fal would say about it.

“It makes you a curious creature,” his voice seemed to grow rougher. His eyes began to glow golden like firelight. And then she let out a little scream as a full grown dragon stood before her. “It was good meeting you, Taryn Hinsley of the Valley Village. I hope I lived up to your expectations.” The sheep went in one claw, the goat in another, and the rest disappeared without a trace. Fallron took flight, a blast of air from his wings knocking her back. When she was able to recover and look up, he was gone. A breath of wind came from the pass extinguishing the fire and she stood staring at where everything had been.

It was only on her walk back to her village, going over the encounter in her head as she navigated the too dark valley, that she realized she had never given Fallron her name.