Veil of Dragons

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

Admittedly, a great opening salvo. That should set things up nicely.

She even had a fantastic riff on the vielle to go along. But like so many one-liners before, this was stuck in her head and she couldn't get past it.

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

It drew in all the lines and was all too hauntingly true. But if that’s all there was, there would be no song. And if there were no song, she would never survive her 16th birthday.

Maybe I should opt not to dally… nope.

Then along came a knight name of Sally … sigh.

Hmmm…

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

May they cease - the wars in this pass.

These lyrics are sounding quite silly.

Looks like I’m screwed up …

The door opened and in strode Maseril, purple robe and all, majestically ebony as always, now clean-shaven, including his head, once a gorgeous set of curly locks. He looked concerned. “The porter said you hadn’t eaten, so I decided to stop in and check on you, Syrin.”

“My name's not Syrin, and that’s a new look for you.”

“The priesthood requires a clean pate for pure thoughts.”

She would have spit out her drink if she had one. She did her best pantomime.

“Do not mock me your benefactor,” he growled.

“Do not talk about yourself in the third person and I shall have less reason to mock you,” she smirked, then let out a self-pleased giggle at her wit.

Maseril glared. He opened his mouth. Then he closed it. He was not nearly as amused as she. There was an awkward silence.

“Will you eat, child?” He finally asked in his deep resonant voice.

“Yes. Will you go, your pompousness?” She responded.

After a brief pause, he left without a response and relocked the door behind. She could hear the second bolt drop into place – he had not done that for a week. That made her smile all the more. Back to work.

There weren’t always dragons in this valley.

They came to eat priests like Maseril...

“What rhymes with that?” she said aloud.

She put the stylus down and walked over to the fruit tray set up in her sumptuous tower prison. For someone about to be ritually drowned in the depths of the Cauldron, she had it pretty good. She picked up a pear and bit into it. The succulent decadence an amazing thrill to the palate - and walked out onto the balcony. The coolness of evening wafted over her blue sequined dress. The sky was afire with sunset. Torn bits of cloud dotted the horizon, flaring in oranges, yellows, and reds. Above her, a myriad of stars like multi-colored jewels lay scattered upon the deep purple velvet of coming night. The distant roar from the deep falls below was audible out here. The cold stone of the rail under her hand contrasted with the warmth from the open doorway behind her. If she could not be inspired here, she never would be.

There was no safe way down. The polished stone of the tower was nearly as smooth as glass and jutted out over the falls more than a long jump, maybe one and a half of her best efforts. After all these years of longing to find her half-brother, she never dreamed how difficult a situation he would place her in.

She tossed the remnants of the pear over the edge and watched it fall into the gathering darkness and churning mist below. She sang out the Blessing of the Traveler, “May you arrive in good health and bring new life through your journey.” It started to sprout as it fell.

After a moment of contemplation, she closed the balcony doors and sat back down on her bench. The ‘invitation’, her summons, still lay amongst her various lyrical attempts, noticeable by the crimson ink on the yellowed parchment. “Maybe if I had some red ink instead of black …” she half mused aloud.

Suddenly, it came to her. It would need to be polished, but she had to write it down before the art faded.

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

Set against both black and red.

Things were never the same after they came, leaving scorched bones of our dead.

There weren’t always dragons in this valley.

Casting magic and fire on our glen.

And now I can sing to weave a blessing, I sing a song for peace again.

No, there weren’t always dragons in the valley,

They came and left in the guise of men.