Weaver: A Crystal Dragon

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

And yet, here I was, hunting the fiercest and oldest of them all. Not to kill, no, for killing it would make this adventurer forlorn. No, I was going to capture the great beast, train her and make her mine.

Capturing and training dragons and drakes was a long forgotten skill set, the centuries blowing away any information books might have given to the autumnal eastern wind. Those that had achieved such a feat no longer lived and the one person that did, Liferin, the High King of the fae, had long succumbed to madness and let the beast go, or so they say.

I mutedly entered a clearing of grand pine trees at the bottom of the picturesque Sivillian Mountains, careful not to step on any stones or twigs that would dare alert any creature of my presence. Soundlessly, I let my immortal fae body dash between the pines. Climbing them would take too long and be far too noisy; twilight was quick on my trail, setting the skies alight with hues of gold, blue and purple, and blotting with stars.

There. A crack. And then another. A huffed breath that could possibly only belong to sentient beings. My elongated ears twitched and strained to listen above the sound of groaning trees, the sigh of leaves, the trickling of the valley river, the chorus of birds and the hushed whispers of the fair folk. They knew, knew I had used them to find this bounty, and they did not approve.

Admittedly, I wasn’t a brute of a female. Cunning, perhaps. Swift, sure. Well trained by the finest of warriors this realm knew. But never a brute. Depthless big honey brown eyes were what stuck out the most on my lightly freckled face. With raven black hair that looked stark even against my tanned skin. My frame was slender, taller than some, but not considerably so. The thought process had me checking myself; checking buckles were buckled, Sivillkan fighting leathers in place and my Sivillkan daggers, swords and rope at the ready. The best equipment gold could buy, or that you could steal if brave enough. I tried not to feel smug.

I could do this. A deep breath I take involuntarily, as if my body were protesting against this fools errand. I scanned the clearing and gaze toward the valley beyond, setting my stature downwind to blow away my scent. Such a beautiful, tranquil valley, as if the land itself breathed peace. I didn’t let the first true chill of autumn stiffen my bones as i waited for the sounds of more movement.

Then I was moving, galloping, whipping through the clearing northward until my eyes found their mark. Sheliaborne, one of the first ever dragons to grace this realm. How, no one knew but by gods was she magnificent. Her beautiful teal scales glistened in the now dying light of the sun. The spikes on her back stood to attention like that of silver quartz found in only the Pivoliet Caverns. Her membranes of the wings were glowing liquid starlight as she groaned sluggishly and stretched them out. And her eyes… pools of crystals were the only way to describe them. And shit, they were staring directly at me.

I did not falter as I race towards her, my heart thundering profoundly in my chest. I grapple at my rope, ready to muzzle her if given the chance. She starts to come towards me, surprisingly slow, unhurried, as if I were some fly she was about to swat. A smirk slaps across my face. I certainly am no fly.

An enormous crystal clawed paw rises, swiping as I get close. I dodge right, my hand finding my dagger at my thigh of its own free will. I sprint up her side until almost at her tail but careful to avoid it’s vicious wagging. Sheliabournes wings rise then, as if sensing my plan. Gods, this isn’t going to be easy. Before she could turn to get another go at me, I jump. Jump as high and far as my immortal legs will push me to then find myself on her left flank. Rapidly, I scramble my way up her spine, my nails barking in protest, holding onto quartz spikes to keep myself from being flung off as she bucks and bellows in ire.

Working my way up, I eventually reach her neck, my muscles screaming with agony as they strain against this marvellous beast. Just as I tussle with my rope, those mesmerising wings spread even more, flap once, then twice, and I find myself rising up, up and up, the clouds becoming closer. Eyes widening, I realise I am now falling, my shock so dumbfounded and irrevocable that I had let go. Just as I reach out to touch a cloud, my back to the ground, my hair whipping so thoroughly around me it hurts, I twist to face my demise. Eyes closing tightly, I struggle for breath against the soaring winds and await for the Eight Eyed Mother to consume me.

Purple sparkling obsidian fire. That’s what it was. Was this death? To live in darkness and shadow, the veil of immortality torn away from me?

I know who you are, Erialyn of Weaver. Or perhaps not of Weaver.

An ancient voice enters my mind, female, yet somehow distorted and graceful. I shiver at the sound of my true name, at the inquisitiveness.

I will not bend to those who are mortal yet immortal.

“Mortal yet immortal?” My voice croaks out of me, as if struggling to find air in this burning.

Yes, little one. Those that can live, but can also die.

“You cannot die?” I ask to the flame, my curiosity peaking. Are my eyes closed? I feel that I can no longer see or tell.

I am a true immortal, one you have wished to ire today.

Sheliabourne? From what I heard from stories around a crackling fire on late summer nights, dragons or drakes could not speak. In any manner.

Yes, I am Sheliabourne, as you fae and humans like to call me. What do you seek, Erialyn of Weaver?

“I seek…” What did I seek again? Gods I couldn’t think right inside the blazing yet cool inferno.

You cannot lie to me, little one, for I will always know the truth.

“I seek a companion.” I blurt out. “A purpose. And perhaps glory.” Something like a gruff of approval sounded in my mind and then I was gone.

I awaken to the chirping of birds, dim light and warmth. Slowly, I sit up, my body twinging in pain with aches in places I hadn’t felt for a while. I needed to train more. Blearily, I scrub at my face and rub at my eyes to then realise where I am.

“Fuck!” I exclaim, shuffling backwards only to feel soft, solid membrane behind. The glinting of teal scales were radiant in the light that shone through wings. And here I was, cocooned in it.

Do not be alarmed Erialyn. You were shivering in your sleep and I thought this best to keep you warm.

As the words enter my mind, the wing lifts to let the full brightness of the autumn sun shine down upon me. I try to pull myself together as I squint up at the morning sun, my thoughts scrabbled and confused. Slowly, I stand up and get my bearings. I was in the same clearing of pine trees as I was before. To my left a purple obsidian fire blazed mystically, no wood beneath it. Jumping back in alarm, I crash into the shoulder of Sheliabourne and turn to face her, only to fall on my ass. Crystal eyes meet mine, sharp, inquisitive, ancient. And yet somehow, they soften slightly as if to say I am safe here. My breath ragged in my throat, my palms sweating and my heart beating vigorously, I meet Sheliabournes gaze and jump up onto my feet. She was beautiful.

“Are you going to eat me?” I ask stupidly, but still curious.

And why, pray tell, would I want to eat you?

The question rung through my head, sounding more like chimes than it did before. Before - what was that?

“Did I die? I’m dead aren’t I?” I rub at my face and breathe exasperatedly. Sheliabournes huffs, as if laughing at my dramatic outburst.

You are not dead. I breathed my fire on you and caught you before you could meet the ground. My fire grants you the gift of talking with me. You’re welcome.

“And why would you do that?”

Anyone brave and intelligent enough to track me down is certainly interesting enough to talk to. I don’t get much company other than the fair folk in this valley.

My face crumples up in distaste. The fair folk. I tracked them and bribed them for months to be able to find this dragon.

They don’t like you very much, which intrigues me more.

Her left brow rises, as if in asking: what an earth did you do to piss off such tiny peaceful beings?

“A story for another time.” I muse. She grunts in response.

“So what now?” The question sits between us for some time, as if she were pondering what to say.

What do you want? She asks finally. And don’t lie.

“Right. You can sense lies. Got it.” I mumble as I turn away from her and go to inspect the magical fire. Real life dragon magic. Something that hadn’t been seen for centuries as most dragons had either been hunted or chose to live like this. In peaceful, undisturbed corners of the realm of Tylaque. I ponder the question some more while gazing into the fire. What did I want? I came here with a purpose. To capture and train a dragon and yet the world seems to have suddenly shifted in a different direction; as if fate were behind me, nudging my shoulder. I frown. This is not what I had planned. I open my mouth to speak when Sheliabourne suddenly jumps up and whips her head towards me.

You have been followed here! Quickly now, on my back. To the skies to look for cover.

I quickly check for my weapons. All in tact and there, except my rope. Before I can even move towards Sheliabourne, blinding agony shoots through my thigh and I yelp out before falling. A fucking Sivillkan arrow. I knew my father would do something to track me down. I just didn’t realise it would be so soon.

Sheliabourne moves towards me, arrows whizzing through the clearing and finding their marks in trees. One hits Sheliabourne on the shoulder but bounces straight off the glowing scales. Lowering herself, she ushers me onto her back so that I am straddling her neck backwards. Then we are in the sky, arrows shooting upwards. So many of them. Swooping, the dragon beneath me dodges many, to ensure I am not hit again. I look over my left shoulder to where the arrow protrudes my leg and gulp. I was bleeding. Badly. I try not to tremble from the pain and grit my teeth.

Focus, Erialyn. Hold on.

Sheliabourne swoops in what direction, I do not know. She curves upward, flying higher and higher, above the clouds. Arrows pop through them. My vision becomes blurred and black spots begin to enter at the corners of my eyes. And then just like that, the arrows stop coming.

We fly for what feels like hours or days or weeks. But I am incoherent.

Stay with me Erialyn.

Sheliabourne pleads. But I am already gone.

The Eight Eyed Mother must have surely consumed me already, for all I heard was roaring and all I saw was darkness. As my eyes adjusted, I realised with a start that I was in fact alive and in a grand cavern. It was so dim, I could barely make out wall to wall. Carefully, I shuffled myself into a sitting position and hissed at the pain in my thigh. Right. Father, arrow, leg, Sheliabourne. Got it. I rubbed groggily at my eyes and willed myself to squint in the darkness - there, a slight bit of light, twinkling around what appeared to be a turning in the cavern. Gradually, swearing and howling mutedly at the torment in my leg, I stood up, wobbled, but eventually gained my balance. Gods when was the last time I ate or drunk anything? As if in response, my stomach rumbled and my tongue dried up.

Limping, I make my way to the turning and cautiously put my hand against the wall. Shock rings through me, loud and clear. This was no mere rocky cavern, this was quartz crystal itself. How is it that I had come to be in the Pivoliet mountains? They were far, far north, and I was east of Needle territory. I was now in Humming territory - the fae that dwell here mesmerising with wings like that of colourful, vibrant birds. The fair folk made this land the most mystical of all.

Meticulously, I poke my head around the corner only to find a large cave entrance looking out onto a forest unlike that I’d ever laid my eyes upon. Night had fully swept into the realm of Tylaque it seemed, leaving the forest alight and glowing with moonlight. I limp to the cavern edge and the breath swooshed out of me.

Auralight bobbed around amongst fireflies, setting the leaves ablaze with gold. Moonlight danced along the canopy, catching on the buzzing flaps of wings. The forest was alive. It thumped with energy, as if all the little creatures and fair folk whispered and chatted idly. I had never seen anything like it.

Teal scales reflecting moonlight caught my eye as Sheliabourne soared towards me, two more dragons in her wake. Only, they were slightly smaller. Drakes then. One was what appeared to be amber, it’s scales like that of sunset. Unlike Sheliabourne, it’s spikes looked more like dull red rocks opposed to quartz, and it had golden eyes. And the other drake… well, it battled with Sheliabourne in beauty. Ebony scales glittered, night incarnate. Amethyst crystals for spikes and talons alongside pools of amethyst for eyes. My breathing hitched as I tried not to tremble.

Do not be alarmed Erialyn.

Sheliabournes graceful voice entered my mind as all three magnificent flying beasts loomed closer, looking as if they were going to land Here. I hobble back the way I came, back to the darkness so I could await their arrival. Before I could turn around fully, I heard them all land smoothly.

I bring you supplies.

Sheliabourne speaks to me, shouldering off a package that lands with a thud.

“Thank you.” I rasp, thirstier than ever. I walk lamely towards the pack and begin to unfasten it, beholding food, water and herbal salve inside.

“Thank you.” I rasp again, wincing as I sit.

You are most welcome.

Wearily, I glance between the three of them before tucking into bread, cheese, apples and most importantly, precious water. I noted they were all watching me closely, shifting uneasily on their feet. Sheliabourne eventually slumped down.

Gulping down the last bit of water, I vigilantly apply the salve and hiss with pain. The smell of herbs tickles my nose but I carry on until I’m satisfied. Where the arrow from my leg had gone, I do not know, but it had already begun to heal due to my fae blood.

“Where are we?” I ask once done, and look all three of them in the eye. The two drakes shuffle uneasily on their feet.

They cannot talk to you for they have not blown their fire magic on you.

“Can’t they just do that then?”

They do not trust you little one. Our numbers dwindle due to your kind. These two drakes are named Irithion - the ebony one - and Jatoline. They helped save you, along with a very begrudging fair folk tribe. You are in my homeland.

“Nice to meet you both.” I gesture to them with what I think is a pleasant smile. “Thank you for your help.” They both nod. “Are we not in the Pivolet Mountains of Humming territory?”

We are. But originally this is the homeland of my kin.

“Then why dwell in the Sivillian Valley?” Curiosity etching my tone.

I like it there.

Was the only answer she gave with what seemed like a shrug. Fair enough.

“So what now? I have not tamed you and I do not ride you. I cannot go home.”

On the contrary, you have ridden me twice. And I have saved you. Now, you owe me a favour. A quest perhaps.

Amusement glints in her starlight eyes and I can’t help but feel the tingling of fate once again behind me. Was this my purpose? To help a dragon on a quest? I was once running away, dishonoured from my court, and now this. I fight the urge to scrub at my face.

“What is it you seek?”

Not a what, but a who.

“Okay… who, then, am I to find?”

Liferin, High King of the fae.