The Voice In the Valley

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. That’s what Old Man Jonesse told us the day we moved in. All I know is that I had to feed one of them.

Technically it was dad’s job, but ever since we got here, he’s been busy with the local wizarding council and fixing relations between the locals and the magical creatures.

It’s not hard to feed Damas (the name I gave him). It’s dragging the meat all the way to his weir. And pretending like I hated it.

“Mom,” said Janessei in her I’m-telling-on-you voice. “Tommo’s late for feeding the old dragon again.”

You’d think that there would be a loving sibling connection between us since we’re twins, but she’s always gotta be mean to me. Her death glares were making me feel more like the walking dead every day. And don’t get me started on her competitiveness. If I like something then she’s gotta be better at it than me. Always.

“Tommo,” mom called, “have you fed the Guardian Dragon, yet?”

“I’m going,” I answered. Gosh, she was such a tattletale. Hated that.

Fixed the rest of my hair and went downstairs. Mom was making something at the stove, probably one of those new kinds of potions she’d heard from the MN (totally stupid that mom spends all day watching other people now; but hey, she’s had time since we moved out in the middle of nowhere).

Larrie was sitting in his high chair trying to get out as usual. Delynis was talking to the air (she kept telling us it was her fairy friends, but haven’t seen one yet) about her day. And Janessei was staring at me in triumph.

Her favorite thing was getting me in trouble.

“Before you go,” mom said, “try this.” She handed me a jar of liquid that looked like it was gonna poison me if I drank it. The last one killed mom’s dragon plant. I didn’t have good odds.

“I think I’ll try some when I get back.” I got into a slouch position. “You know, from feeding the old dragon.”

“Better get going then,” Janessei said in her superior-than-thou voice. “Don’t want to keep him waiting.”

She went back to her breakfast so she could eat her medicine. It was supposed to help her be more herself. But it was the opposite. I secretly wished she would stop taking it so that we could at least pretend to like each other. At least it’d be more livable.

“The meat’s out in the shed this time,” mom said as I pulled on my shoes. “Mr. Jonesse had to put it there this time.”

Last time it’d gotten stolen by some troll. Hadn’t been fun explaining that to Damas. And killing a giant creature isn’t super easy either. Especially when you’re being watched by a dragon. At least he accepted the goat I was able to get.

“Mom!” Delynis said before I left. “Shayles told me that it’s too quiet outside today. We shouldn’t go anywhere.”

I left while mom was trying to explain to her that we lived in the country and not the city anymore. But she was eight. Probably wasn’t going to go far.

Took me a minute to find the key to open the shed. Dad liked to hide it in weird places. Once it was in a flower in a field of pixies. And it took me hours because pixies are little pricks. Would have been easier if I could use magic, but lucky me not to have magic. Janessei had taken all of it when we were born.

It took me an hour to find it in what looked like a shoe-shaped rock. Then thirty minutes of me dragging a dead carcass behind me to meet it at the border of the dragons’ territory. Which takes a lot of time out of my day, but there were no kids out here my age (aside from Janessei). So, I had nothing better to do. So I daydreamed.

I imagined flying on the back of Damas and looking out over the valley. It was my go-to when I did my drag-walk shuffle toward our meeting point. It was fun imagining it. My hair whipping in the breeze. Me wielding a sword to fight some evil guy. Making friends with the elves and outwitting some stupid trolls. But all it could ever be was an imagination.

Because it was illegal for anyone to have special bonds with magical creatures. The war had changed a lot of stuff for everyone.

I had almost made it when I heard a weak hissing. Some thudding ahead of me.

No one should be here. They weren’t given access unless dad did.

I slowly walked forward and peered out behind a bush.

I saw someone standing above a lump on the ground. Whoever it was, was big. And they held an ax. It looked like a Mythril one. But it couldn’t be. Those had been decommissioned after the war. So it would have to be illegal.

Whoever it was was motionless. And the lump moved a little. Hissing. It sounded like it was alive. Barely.

The sun caught it just at the right angle so that it glinted off one its skin. Its scale.

Damas.

“You killed my dragon!” I said before I could take it back. Or hide behind a bush.

The person slowly turned and looked until it faced me. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see that person’s face. Only the ax that was raised in the air. And aimed at me.

But Damas wasn’t dead.

With a hoarse roar, it spat out fire. It consumed whoever was there. But I didn’t care. I couldn’t see anything but Damas. Damas who laid there dying. Who needed my help.

Who I couldn’t do anything for.

I ran to him anyway, passing the now charred remains of the dead person on my way. Not caring to check on whether the ax was actually Mythril. I needed to save Damas. Hopefully, dad’s locator alarm would work. We get crappy reception most times.