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Vale of Dragons

Prologue: A Snake in the Grass

By Michael J. WinePublished 2 years ago 14 min read
Runner-Up in The Fantasy Prologue
4

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. But these days, Fendil couldn’t go a month without finding another one of the beasts hiding away in some remote cabin, or in some shack in Southside. They always wore their detestable skin of course, playing the part of some lowlife, usually, hiding in plain sight. They were convincing too, to everyone but Fendil and the other Inspectors that is.

Fendil studied the charming woman in front of him with a practiced eye and an outwardly friendly expression. She was a dragon. He was sure of it. Well, not sure. But Fendil had good instincts. The trick was in not letting the beast know that he suspected her. He preferred to keep his limbs intact. Let her think she’s fooling you, there we go. Nod, yes, like that. A chuckle here and there.

She had a pretty face for a dragon, with red hair and small patches of freckles beneath green eyes. Those eyes smiled innocently at him, telling him there was nothing to fear.

Fendil was not fooled. Even in human form, a dragon could overpower ten of the strongest men. He’d seen the carnage they could cause firsthand. Blood spattered walls, mangled limbs torn free from their sockets, vacant eyes of a man and a woman, a screaming child.

Fendil was always afraid. That was why he was the best.

“But anyway Mr. Everet, enough about my neighbors! I really must be getting on.” The pretty-faced snake said pleasantly. “Thank you ever so much for mending the leak in the roof. I was worried that my…that is to say that I would catch my death of cold come the rainy season. I do say we must have been standing here gossiping for nearly half an hour!” She glanced up at the sky. Then, her green eyes twitched back towards her small shack of a house.

Fendil, alias Mr. Everet the gray-haired Ministry employed handyman, nodded politely and raised a wrinkled hand to his chest. “Of course Miss.” He rasped. “Not at all. Not at all! It’s only my duty. Is there anything else before I, ah… move on to the next house?” What are you hiding in there you insidious beast?

The woman shook her head and smiled sweetly. Fendil noted her stocky hands running nervously over the well-worn flowery orange dress she wore. It had flecks of green sprinkled all over. Orange hair and green eyes…orange dress with green accents. A bit simplistic – but they never really understand human fashion sense. And those are not the hands of someone lacking for food. For a poor woman in a leaky house in Southside, she was remarkably well fed it seemed. Fendil allowed himself a satisfied smile.

The beasts always have a hard time picking the right body to fit the circumstance. Those eyes were a good choice though. No one can help liking someone with big green eyes… Like Helda’s eyes.

He froze. Where had that come from? He had not thought of Helda in…

The woman coughed and he blinked. “Is there erm, anything else Mr. Everet?” She asked, her voice tinged with a trace of worry.

“Excuse me ma'am.” Fendil bowed and shook his head. “I was suddenly distracted by something I had…forgotten.” Fool! This is no time to be daydreaming! “I just need you to sign this form documenting my work here today. It’s standard Ministry procedure. Should only take a few minutes.” He reached into his satchel and took out a folded piece of paper, a quill and a bottle of ink. “Is there a writing surface somewhere we can use? Perhaps inside your – home?”

The woman winced but caught herself and smiled hastily. “Oh… well, yes come in I suppose. We can use the table inside.”

Fendil followed her up the weed ridden pathway to the front door. She turned the latch and pushed it open. The rusted hinges grated and whined, making the hairs on Fendil’s neck stand up. He followed the alleged dragon slowly into the dimly lit house. Low lighting, yet another sign. But I need the proof.

Light from the open door illuminated the room, sending their long shadows stretching out in front toward the small table that sat in the middle of the room. The room itself was quite empty for the most part. The exception was that covering the walls on all sides were bookshelves filled with all manner of texts. There were thick tomes covered in ancient leather, the titles long worn off. The popular books were also there. Housekeeping For The Human caught his eye. It was sitting prominently in its bright yellow, hard cover binding on the top shelf nearest the door. There were also banned books. Specifically, Fendil noticed Seroditus’s History of the Valley of Dragons tucked away almost out of sight beneath some scrolls. The red pages gave it away.

At the sight of the shelves, his boots seemed to stick to the floor. His eyes widened, taking it all in, and he could feel the blood pulsing in his arms.

Can she…read?

Fendil prayed silently that she couldn’t. That all of this was some strange attempt by a dumb creature to appear more human. But deep down, he already knew.

Eyes like Helda’s.

“Not what you’re used to seeing in a leaky old hut I expect, is it Mr. Everet?” She laughed in an embarrased tone. “I’m afraid I read too much, as you can plainly see. Which is probably why I can’t afford better living conditions!” She laughed again, trying to wave away the oddness of her interior design taste.

Fendil, for the second time, forced himself to smile calmly at the deadly reptile who no doubt wanted to eat him for dinner. “Not at all miss. What’s good for the mind is good for the body.” Did I just make that up? It makes no sense! Need to finish this soon. Something has thrown me off today. And this isn’t a good time to be off.

He coughed and strode to the table, his boots making hollow thuds on the wood floor. He pulled out a chair, making it squeak and screech as the legs dragged, and motioned for the girl to sit down. As she sat, he unfolded the paper and plopped it, the ink bottle, and the quill in front of her. Then, he took the lid off of the bottle and set it down gently next to the other items.

“Please ah… sign on the line that the work has been done according to your satisfaction.” He said, noting the strain in his own voice. He really needed a vacation after this.

She leaned forward and began inspecting the document. “It says here that the form must be signed prior to the completion of any services or repairs.” She frowned up at him, confused.

“Ah, that.” Fendil let out a nervous chuckle. “I do apologize. I must have simply forgot the ah… protocol. It doesn’t really matter. No one at the Ministry cares unless something is damaged.”

She nodded slowly, turning back to the page. She shrugged, dipped the quil in ink, and began to carefully scrawl out a signature.

Bloodless bones. She can read. And write!

As she wrote, she leaned forward slightly, exposing a small patch of skin on the back of her neck just below the hair line. Without appearing too obvious, he straightened just enough to get a good view of that patch of skin. And there it was. He nearly laughed in relief.

There, on her neck was the proof. The secret that no one, not even the dragons themselves knew. The Mark. It appeared to Fendil, as it did for all Inspectors, as a pale oval on the skin. The Mark was slightly raised, almost like a scale. Every dragon had the Mark. And every Inspector, only an Inspector, could see it.

Without the slightest hesitation he raised his arm and brought it down in a swift chop, striking that pale oval of skin with the last two knuckles of his right hand. It was an expertly executed strike, practiced many times before this. The imposter collapsed to the table, her weight shoving it forward an inch. her head cracked against the quill, snapping it in half. Her arm knocked over the ink bottle sending the black substance spilling out in a pool.

Fendil let out a long sigh. It wasn’t right. This whole thing. He studied the girl with the orange hair as she drooled a puddle onto the table. Her back rose and fell, and she began to snore loudly.

Big green eyes. Like Helda’s eyes. He winced as he thought the name. Helda had been smart too. She had been able to read, which at the time made her the smartest dragon he’d ever heard of. And kind. She had been kind.

He almost felt sorry for what he had to do next. From his satchel he pulled a long, sheathed dagger. Calmly, deliberately, he drew the dagger and slit the dragon’s throat. The blade hissed against the skin and hot, dark red dragon’s blood flowed out of the wound to mix with the ink in red and black swirls. The blood smoked as it spread, shriveling the paper and singeing the wood of the table beneath it.

He wiped a red smear onto the corpse’s orange and green dress and slid the dagger back into its sheath, dropping the blade back into the satchel at his waist. That was that. Another benefit of being an Inspector, beside ridding the kingdom of murderous, shape-shifting lizards, was that you never had to clean up. The Ministry had another department for dragon disposal.

From the backroom, a baby started crying.

Fendil froze, staring down at the dragon he’d just slain. You had… a child?

The blood had begun to drip through the table boards and onto the floor. When the droplets hit the ground, they sent small specks of blood flying, getting on his boots.

His head began to throb and his vision swam. The sound of crying was getting louder, filling the house with the shrieks of the small infant who needed their mother.

The mother who I’ve just murdered.

No, it wasn’t murder. It was his job. His duty.

He stumbled away from the corpse and toward the sound of the crying.

Wait, don’t go to it. Leave it for the disposal team. He pleaded with himself.

He didn’t listen, entering the hallway and turning the corner to the backroom. It was dark and dusty, the windows boarded up with thick wooden planks. There against the wall in a tiny crib, a small child was standing on fat legs, gripping the bars of the cage. His face was red as he now began to scream and shake with all his might at the sight of the strange man.

You had a child with you. But you were a dragon… Like Helda yet again.

His feet were moving on their own, stepping slowly toward the child in the crib. With each step, the memories of that gruesome night returned.

He had been four years old. He had woken up from thirst that night and gone out to ask his mother for a drink.

The house had been quiet and dark. The usual sounds of father and mother talking in their angry voices were not present. None of the lamps were burning. Were his parents asleep already?

He walked out of his room, down the flight of stairs into the main entry way of his father’s large estate. His feet pattered softly on the marble floors.

“Mamma?” He called softly. “Mamma, I’m thirsty!”

He squinted and peered through a doorway into the darkness of the sitting room. There was a strange shape on the floor. A bulge. It looked almost like father’s shape. Fendil paused. Was father asleep on the floor? If he was, he didn’t want to go there. Mustn’t wake father.

He stood motionless for a while. Then, curiosity got the better of him, and he stepped cautiously forward.

The smell hit him first. It was a strong, salty smell. He put his hands to his face and squeezed his nose and mouth. That was when he felt the wetness suddenly on his bare feet. A warm liquid seeped between his toes. He began to panic. Something wasn’t right.

A door creaked open behind him. It was the front door to the house. Light streamed into the entryway and beyond into the sitting room. Fendil saw them then.

Not just one, but two bodies.

Both his mother and his father were lying dead on the ground. Their arms and legs were missing. Everything in the room wasn’t right. Too much red.

His throat was hurting and he heard the sound of screaming filling the room. Who was screaming? He needed to get out of this room. Mother wasn’t supposed to look like that. But he couldn’t move; couldn’t look away; couldn’t close his eyes.

Gentle hands squeezed his shoulders from behind, and the room spun as the hands turned him around. Kind, sad eyes gazed into his own. Big green eyes. Helda.

Fendil wanted to tell her that something was wrong. That she needed to get help. But the screaming was too loud. His throat was hurting too much.

Helda pulled him close into a tight hug. He buried his face into her shoulder. Finally, he could close his eyes; squeezed them shut tight. Something wet touched his face.

Helda. She smelled nice, like oranges. He took a long shuddering gasp. The screaming stopped.

“Oh Fendil. There, there, I’m so sorry Fendil. I’m so sorry. I will take care of you. Don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe.” Helda said as she clutched him tightly to her.

“You’re safe.” Fendil whispered to the small baby, clutching the bars of his crib. “I won’t let anything happen to you. Don’t be afraid.”

He found himself reaching down into the crib. He picked up the small boy and held him in an embrace, patting him gently on the back.

“I’m sorry lad.” Fendil said without meaning to. The words just came out on their own. “I’m so… sorry. I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

The baby boy quietted.

Fendil began to stroke the thick black hair that covered the boy’s head. Then, he felt it. The slightly raised oval shape on the back of the baby’s neck.

He went cold inside.

Glancing down, he saw it. The Mark was smaller than normal, but still plainly visible on the baby’s pale skin. The dragon’s skin.

Fendil stood there for what felt like an hour, holding the child to his chest. Wondering what he should do. No. What he should do was obvious. He should kill the child and be done with it.

But I - can’t do that. I promised. Like Helda promised.

Helda. She had been a dragon too. The whole time. When he had grown and been recruited into the secret school of the Inspectors, he quickly put the pieces together. All the strange things about Helda began to make a terrible sort of sense. She loved the dark. She never ate when he was around. She was always collecting strange knickknacks, hording them away in her room. He had mentioned it to his instructor, meaning to ask for his opinion, hoping he was wrong.

When he got home later that night, he found her dead. Her throat had been cut. On the back of Helda’s neck was The Mark. The marble floors were red and slick with blood yet again. Her blood.

They told him later that it had been her who had killed his parents all those years ago. She was a dragon, living in their home, cleaning their dirty clothes, making their beds, all the while biding her time, waiting for the moment to strike. It was the only thing that made sense, they had said. She must have spared him because he was the prize. Just a dragon hording treasure.

But now, having looked into the infant’s terrified eyes, the baby whose mother he had killed, a thought came to him.

Was it just… guilt? Was that why you did it? Why you took care of me all those years? Guilt over what you did. Then why did I always feel…loved?

He shook his head, frustrated at his own feelings, at how little he still understood the woman who raised him. A dragon had murdered his mother. But that very dragon had been more of a mother to him than his own was.

Why?

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. Then, abruptly making his decision, he turned and carried the baby out of the bedroom. He covered the boy’s face with his hand as he passed the dead body and walked out of the front door, down the path and the steps, and into the street. His feet carried him west, and he turned down an alley, taking the more unsavory paths toward the woods near the western wall. If he was going to keep this child, this dragon, he would need to hide it - him. At least until he could think of a story that explained why he, a shriveled old Inspector in his sixties, had a child running around his estate in Northside.

There weren’t supposed to be dragons in the Valley. But the creatures still managed to get in. Fendil’s face twitched as he walked down the dirty street, clutching the baby to his chest, ignoring confused glances from the riffraff in the streets. They always get in somehow…I just never thought I’d be the one holding open the door.

Fantasy
4

About the Creator

Michael J. Wine

I am a fantasy and science fiction writer, and I also like to write the occasional poem or essay. I aim to make my stories as unique and yet meaningful as I can, and I hope you enjoy them.

Reader insights

Outstanding

Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

Top insights

  1. Compelling and original writing

    Creative use of language & vocab

  2. Easy to read and follow

    Well-structured & engaging content

  3. Excellent storytelling

    Original narrative & well developed characters

  1. Heartfelt and relatable

    The story invoked strong personal emotions

  2. Masterful proofreading

    Zero grammar & spelling mistakes

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Comments (5)

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  • Brian DeLeonard2 years ago

    Great story! It's very well written and hits all the emotional notes the story needs. It's an unexpected take on dragons, although the ending makes the story feel very familiar.

  • Jessie Wine2 years ago

    Wow, amazing and engaging story! Once I started reading, I couldn't stop. Love how you weave thoughts with dialogue and the flashback was great! There is the right amount of world building to help the reader know what's going on, yet you still us with lot of questions at the end that make us want to keep reading. Did Helda really kill his parents? Why aren't dragons supposed to be in the valley and where do they come from? How do they learn to read, and are they really as vicious as people believe them? Why can only Inspectors see the mark and how is Fendil one of them? How will his relationship with the baby turn out? I cant wait to find out!! This is a great story and I hope you write the rest! 😃

  • Jim Wine2 years ago

    Well written, interesting and fun. Can't wait to find out what happens with the baby!

  • Janet Wine2 years ago

    Very unexpected from the first, and continued through-out. Made me want to keep reading to see where this was going. You put a good dose of basic humanity and thoughtfulness into the story which I appreciated very much!

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