Whispers of the Past

Chapter One

Whispers of the Past

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. As much as the people of Agloven knew, such creatures were reserved for stories and myth.

The dragon riders had become experts at hiding their way of life.

Orris and his rider were both born in the valley, however, and knew it well. Daring to explore far beyond the camp, the pair of them relished in the freedom of the wind, and remaining hidden was second nature to them.

Even now they kept as low as possible, weaving in and out of the shadow of the forest and the warm morning sun that caught the sheen of Orris’ scales, glinted off the beads in his rider’s braided hair.

M’tali had been riding on Orris’ back since before she could walk. She knew the feeling of the rushing air better than her feet knew the ground.

Below them, the great shadow cast by the dragon appeared and vanished between the shadows cast on the grass by tall, narrow trees. Contrary to the rules set out for them, they were heading Northwest, away from the forest.

M’tali wanted to see the Ocean.

She looked down at her long-fingered hands splayed out over the scaley back of her dragon companion. Her smooth obsidian skin was a stark contrast against the dazzling gold-and-emerald of the great lizard, and seeing it pleased her, made her feel comforted … at home. Their bodies were one in the air. Deep within her, M’tali felt the very spirit of her companion rising in her chest like a laugh that bubbled up but never escaped. This was the feeling all Q’taki experienced when they bonded with their dragon companions.

The forest was thinning now. White poplars dotted the sun-bathed green of the land and both M’tali and Orris felt their souls rising, urging them upward, higher into the sky.

The blue haze of the Ocean was appearing now on the horizon.

It had been years since she sat at the water’s edge, listening to her father’s stories of the land beyond the sea. He swore it was true - the Q’taki had once lived across the water, on an island that lived and breathed, where the very trees were alive and spirits and people lived side by side. He spoke of giants, woodland nymphs, and of course, the great dragons, who had borne their tribe across the sea to the valley.

He vowed some day they would return.

But he never would.

M’tali set her eyes now, leaned against Orris, readying them both to speed toward the shore, when the light was blotted out by a huge shadow and a voice shouted from above:

“Don’t you have work to do?”

M’tali shielded her eyes with her left hand, her right hand shooting down to her hip. Her mouth twisted up on one side and her nose wrinkled.

“What’s it to you?” She yelled back, squinting at the shadow as it lowered and levelled with her and Orris.

Ebony wings beat the air. On the back of the newly appeared dragon, a man lie on his stomach, his chin propped on his palm. He grinned at M’tali, white teeth flashing brilliantly. One of his dark brows was cocked in what M’tali took as a mocking gesture.

She sat up straight, folding her arms across her chest. “Out of the way, Galran.”

He rolled onto his back, resting his leg on his knee and seemed to be inspecting his fingers. “I could tell the chief what you two are up to out here,” he mused.

“Shall we knock him from his seat?” Came the voice of Orris beneath her, rumbling like two stones rubbing up against one another. There was a tone of humour tinging his grumble.

M’tali shook her head, her face relaxing from its scowl as she pat the dragon’s neck fondly. “Or what?” She shot at Galran.

“Or you could marry me.”

She laughed. “Is this your proposal, then?”

He sat up and looked over his shoulder at her, clearly trying to conceal his anxiety. Several coal-black locs tumbled down his back, glinting with beads that matched M’tali’s perfectly.

“That depends … on your answer.”

The waver in his voice caught her attention. Her arms fell to her sides. He was serious. He was asking her to marry him, at last.

A thousand memories flashed through her mind: the two of them as children, running alongside one another through the fields. Galran making a fool of himself and falling into the river, only to be saved by M’tali on Orris’ back. M’tali blossoming into womanhood and that cold Summer night he began to look at her with different eyes.

“I —”

Her frail reply was drowned out by a deafening crack that reverberated off the trees and sent birds and other wildlife scattering from the forest behind her. Galran met her eyes for a moment, and then the they both turned toward their home hidden in the trees.

A steady stream of peppery smoke was towering into the air from the treetops.

Icy terror gripped M’tali’s chest, stealing her breath. Without further hesitation, the two dragons were darting across the sky toward the Q’taki camp.

Her mind was crowded with thoughts. That crack … she knew it well. It was the guns of the Aglovens: square-jawed men who marched from the Castle, following the pointed finger of their hateful ruler. Prince-King Brocwulf, much like his father before him, despised all things free, natural, and beyond his control. He had disdained the Q’taki ever since happening upon the tribe during one of his conquests to obtain the world. Though the Q’taki were peaceful nomads and had travelled this land for generations without laying claim to it, Brocwulf saw them as flames to be snuffed out, lest they prevent him from closing his claw-like fingers over the land. And even worse were the idea of the dragons - the very image of freedom, a power that could surpass his own. He saw to it that as many were destroyed as possible.

For years the Aglovens had chased the tribe, but M’tali hadn’t seen them since her childhood, when the tribe left the coast to erect their camp in the deep forest. She had begun to think of them as nothing but a shadow of her past - though the jarring bang of their guns had made a home in her bones, a deep memory that set her teeth on edge.

Presently, a wayward gust of wind picked up from the Sea behind them, running through the trees below like fingers through hair. Green leaves shivered and tossed in the breeze, as though they trembled with fear. M’tali couldn't deny that her own hands shook; she pressed her palms firmly to Orris’ scales and felt his comforting warmth course through her, as though she were standing before a campfire with her hands stretched out before the heat.

Flame licked the treetops as M’tali and Galran descended into the forest camp, but to their immense relief, only one of the yurts had caught fire, and already the flames were being doused with buckets of water. Although a heavy tension was draped over the camp, M’tali saw the faces of her people - stalwart, focused, strong. As always. Even now, they would not lose their courage.

“Qilde,” Galran swore. They dismounted their dragons and walked through the camp, waving smoke out of their faces as they went.

“M’tali! Ublaf!”

A small girl was sprinting towards them, her arms pumping at her sides to give her speed. The girl, Senda, was all legs and arms at nine Summers, but she was already a force to be reckoned with. Presently, the cloud of white curls on her head sported several twigs, leaves, and feathers. Whether or not she had put them there intentionally was anybody’s guess.

M’tali gave Senda a moment to catch her breath, and then the small girl was talking at a speed only few could understand.

“The lirbimen came. Well, there were two. They came with their weapons. They set fire to Aushla’s yurt. They tried to take her. I got him though. I did this -” she stamped her foot hard into the dirt “ -on the lirbimen’s hand!” Senda started laughing. “He sounded like a crying baby! Anyway Ublaf, he ran away then, but the other man is tied up over there!” She was grinning as though this was the most exciting day of her life, bouncing up and down with the speed of a jackrabbit.

M’tali placed her hand on Senda’s head to stop her talking and followed the girl’s pointing finger to the centre of the camp, where indeed a man was bound and gagged on the ground.

“Nice one, feyva laf,” said Galran, tapping Senda’s arm softly with his fist. “A more fearsome warrior has never been known.”

Senda beamed, turning to follow M’tali with yelps of, “Hey wait! Ublaf! Ublaf!” which means Big Sister in old Q’lan. Senda wasn’t really M’tali’s sister, but they had both lost their parents during the last attack. Senda, who had been no more than a toddler then, had clung to M’tali ever since. M’tali supposed she had clung to the child a little, too, in her own way.

Looking down at the strange man lying bound on the dusty ground, M’tali wanted to feel hatred, disgust. She wanted to hurt him, to spit on him.

But all she could feel was pity. The rope dug into his flesh, red where it pressed against his oak-coloured skin. His face was pressed into the dirt, and he had been trying to wriggle himself onto his back, freezing in the motion when she had approached him.

“What does your master want with us, eh?” Galran growled at the man, but M’tali sighed and lowered herself to a squat. she pulled the man up by his shoulders until he was sitting upright. He was securely entangled in rope and had no hope of running. The least she could do was pull his face from the dust.

The attacker said something into his gag. M’tali pulled it from his mouth and he spoke again:

“Wild creatures must be tamed.”

With another sigh, M’tali stuffed the gag back in his mouth, but left him sitting.

“They do not deserve your sympathy, Tali,” Galran grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. “Look what they have done to us. And this one is no different.”

“No,” said M’tali quietly, wrapping an arm around Senda unconsciously. “No he is not.” She squinted up through the sun, looking around the camp. Her people were strong, but they were human. They couldn’t continue to live like this, always in fear, always in hiding. Orris was lying in the sun, several small children climbing over his scaly back, while the other dragons assisted as much as they could in bringing peace back to the camp.

A tall, broad-shouldered woman emerged from the smoke and stopped before M’tali, glaring down at the intruder. Her pale, freckled face and smooth auburn hair made her look like a wild tiger lily. But her features were twisted in a sour expression.

“Izdu,” she said. Filth.

M’tali watched Aushla, watched the hatred flickering like flame in the tall woman’s eyes. It was the same loathing the man on the ground gave to each of the Q’taki.

The intruder was kept bound on the ground all through the day, until the fires were finally put to rest and the smoke had begun to dissipate with the gathering dusk.

Any thoughts of marriage or the ocean had long escaped M’tali. She flit around the camp like a humming bird to flowers, aiding where she could. No one was injured, but there was much damage, and worse —

“The one that fled will bring others.”

The chief spoke heavily from where he sat in the pool of light spilling from his yurt. Smoke from his long pipe rose up in sharp spires around his head, like a forest animal with wispy antlers. The man himself was rather like an old rabbit, fold upon fold of fur puddling around him, chin upon chin of fluffy white beard.

Of course, M’tali knew his words were true. They had been found again. The Agloven man that had escaped would return with an army, and more fire. As she cast her eyes around the camp, there were already signs of displacement; bags were being filled and the goats were being herded and tied together. A heaviness hung in the air around the tribe. Though the Q’taki had been a nomadic tribe for time immemorial, it was quite a different thing to be moved by force, rather than at the will of the land.

M’tali turned back to the Chief.

“We should stand and fight.”

The chief exhaled another fountain of smoke, and it was thick and smooth, like the hair braided down his back. “We have tried, M’tali. We are no match for their weapons.”

She balled her fists, grit her teeth. Q’taki were people of the land, warriors. Not timid mice, fleeing into any dark corner at the first sign of a larger foe. She herself was a cunning hunter. She could become shadow when she wanted to, could float through the forest unnoticed.

The cry of a baby caught her attention, and she felt her fingers unfurl with defeat.

Perhaps at one time, the Q’taki were warriors. But now, they were tired. They were families. They were children and elderly.

Even the dragons were weary. M’tali could still remember when there were dozens of dragons. She recalled being a small child surrounded by their warm bodies, their bellies luminous with flame. Now only six remained, Orris being the last born.

“Can we not leave the valley?” Said Galran, who M’tali had all but forgotten. He sat cross-legged in the dirt beside her, holding one of the tribe’s small boys in his arms. The boy was curled like a lizard in Galran’s large arms, his mouth hanging open as he slept. M’tali felt a rush of affection for Galran.

“Leave the valley,” the Chief repeated slowly, dubiously. “And where do you suggest we flee, vit mibo? So much of this world belongs to them, now. All we have left is this valley.”

Something in his words again sparked the memory of sitting on the beach and listening to her father’s tales.

“The island that lives and breathes,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else at first, and then she repeated herself more confidently, raising her eyes to the Chief.

“Island?” echoed Galran, a little too loudly, and the boy in his arms shifted uneasily. He waited until the child settled once more, and then continued in softer tones, “You mean Osteria? The old world? Isn’t that just a story?”

The cloud of smoke around the chief’s head cleared and his eyes were as hard as stone. “A true story. But there is no going back to our homeland. The spirits cast us out, before even I was born, and none may return.”

“But why—” began M’tali, her heart fluttering like a bird in a cage. She was cut short by the blast of a horn - a warning call.

“No,” she breathed, leaping to her feet and casting her gaze around the darkening forest wildly, as though she expected to see Agloven soldiers emerging from the trees already.

“So soon?!” Roared Galran, setting the child he was holding upright and sending him sprinting back to his mother. “There is no time! We are not prepared!”

Another blast of the Q’taki war horn - they were coming.

“Du zi offu lek! We must be given more time!” The chief shouted, and pointed to M’tali and Galran. “Gather the riders. You must hold them off. Give us time to get the tribe and supplies to safety.”

M’tali and Galran nodded in unison, and within minutes they had gathered every hunter, warrior and rider in the tribe and were mounting the dragons.

“You are afraid,” Orris rumbled beneath M’tali as she belted her quiver across her chest and gripped her father’s bow in her fist.

“Not afraid,” she grunted, settling in and leaning forward, urging Orris to rise into the air. “Apprehensive, maybe.” Orris merely growled.

Of course she was afraid.

It had been a long time since she had faced an army of Aglovens. The last time … her parents had been taken from her, along with more than half the tribe and their dragon companions. Even as she took to the sky and the air around them filled with the beating of five other sets of powerful dragon wings, M’tali felt the same fear bubbling in her heart seeping into her from Orris’ stout body. He had lost much that day, too.

She glanced over to her right, where Galran, Aushla and one other warrior were pressed against Serrus, Galran’s dragon partner. Galran caught her eye and gave her a cocky smirk, as if they were just starting one of their dragonback races. The spear in his grasp was adorned with feathers, beads, and a lock of M’tali’s own hair. A small flutter of relief embraced her anxious heart.

As always, the smoke preceded the Aglovens.

Two or three dozen men marched in perfect step over the grassy plains toward the forest. They may have well been the same man copied over and over - other than their hair and skin colours, they looked exactly the same. The same stiff metal armour, stiff hair style, stiff facial expression. Some of them rode horses: huge, muscled beasts of black hair, their eyes blinded so as not to be enticed by freedom.

“We must push them away from the camp!” Cried Aushla above the noise of air and wing above and heavy footfall below.

The army was still a good distance away; it would take them a while to reach the forest. From this height, M’tali could see far across the valley. Behind the marching men, almost out of sight, she could just make out the stone spires of the castle in the country of Agloven. Was the evil king among his soldiers, now? Or did he sit in his warm, comfortable throne, basking in the wealth he stole greedily from his people?

She turned her face away in disgust, and again saw the crystalline blue line that made up the Ocean on the horizon. At the far edge of the world, where the blue curved, a mist hung thick. Beyond that mist … was Osteria.

“Turn them to the Ocean!” She shouted back. “They will have their backs to the sea, and we will have the upper hand!”

“Perhaps they cannot swim!” One of the hunters grinned.

“Perhaps they don’t want to get their shiny armour wet,” Galran said a little quieter, and M’tali knew this was for her. She grinned back, finally feeling the adrenaline awaken and overcome her fear, snaking through her body, a fiery courage.

And now, below, she saw more Q’taki hunters darting through the grass. They were agile, quiet, and cunning. Not like the square, unbending men that marched down to them. M’tali saw Serrus swoop down to the hunters and Galran waving his arms, signalling the plan to chase the Aglovens to the West, and the sea.

Blood was pumping in her ears as they drew closer to the army, and then everything seemed to go deathly quiet.

There was the clang of metal on metal and the quick, guttural cries of lives lost in the blink of an eye.

And then there were the guns.

The hunters drew back as the thunder-like bang of the guns picked them off one by one, like children throwing stones at birds in a tree. They dropped to the grass and did not move. They would all die, and quickly.

“DOWN!” Roared M’tali, and the others followed her lead as they rushed at the Aglovens from the sky, diving down and swooping up again, rolling through the air away from their weapons. Orris clawed several men as he past them, causing them to drop their guns. Galran dropped from Serrus’ back and swiped at the enemy with his long spear, his face all bared teeth and furrowed brow.

It was working.

The Aglovens feared the dragons. Many had never seen the great beasts with their own eyes. Presumably, their existence was no more than a legend among most of their people. Terrified, a great number of the soldiers were dropping their weapons, rearing their horses around to gain distance. They were backing against the coast.

M’tali prayed the rest of her tribe back at the camp were safe, that they were fleeing even now.

She shot arrow after arrow from Orris’ back, and when the arrows were depleted, she and Orris landed in the grass and sprinted toward the enemy. She slipped two daggers from her belt and spun and swiped, knocking down several men at once.

“Have I ever told you you’re beautiful?” Said Galran, who was suddenly behind her, kicking fiercely at the face of one Agloven.

“Might have mentioned it,” M’tali said with a grin, turning to him.

Her smile fell from her face and her heart dropped from her body.

For beyond Galran, she saw a small shadow, ducking and dodging among the chaos, running toward her with a cloud of white hair flying behind her.

“SENDA!” M’tali screeched, diving forward to shove an attacker out of the way just before he grabbed the little girl. “What are you doing here!?” Her voice was choked with shock. Tears sprang to her eyes.

Not Senda. Please, not her.

“I - I wanted to help!” But before another word could escape the small girl’s lips, the earth-shaking stamp of a giant horse knocked her off her feet, and a long, muscled and hairy arm reached down and scooped her up.

“NO!!!” M’tali cried, her throat raw. She threw her daggers at the horse, too afraid to attack the man himself, lest she hit the girl in his arm. The horse let out a cry of pain, nostrils flaring, front legs rearing. But it did not fall, and for one horrible moment, M’tali saw the man’s dark eyes staring at her and his lip curling in a most wicked grin, before he yanked the horse’s reigns and sped off.

M’tali whirled around, searching for Orris. He was at the far end of the field fending off several men. She opened her mouth to cry out for him, when a streak of black nearly knocked her over - Galran atop Serrus, giving chase to Senda’s capturer.

Heart thumping hard in her throat, she turned back toward Orris, intending to leap onto his back, but her foot was caught on something heavy in the grass and she pitched forward, her head slamming hard into the ground.

For a moment she lay there, very still, sore, and confused. Exhaustion and pain wound around her body like a binding cord.

No, Get up. GET UP! She thought desperately.

Dazed, she lifted her head and pushed herself up, willing her body to rise. She glanced down to see what had caught her foot, and brought her hand to her mouth, fighting back a wave of nausea.

It was Aushla’s body. Her red hair was spread about her, nearly indistinguishable from the blood that poured from a head wound, her hazel eyes set in a look of empty shock that they had never had in life.

Crying out every curse she knew in Old Q’lan and New, she scooped her bow from the grass, slid it over her head and stampeded toward Orris, flinging a weak and wounded enemy from her as he tried to grab her arm. She clambered onto her dragon’s back and immediately he felt her urgency, spinning around in a great circle, sending several Aglovens flying with his mighty tail.

“THERE!” Shouted M’tali, pointing a finger in the direction Galran and the man on horseback had gone, and then she faltered.

They were gone.

Or, at least, the horse and Senda’s capturer were gone.

And Galran was gone.

All that could be seen was the hulking form of Serrus, unmoving on the ground. Around him was the grotesque scene of bodies, both friend and foe. A heavy scent of smoke and a heavier silence hung over the battlefield. Where was everyone? Where were the dragons?

Without a word, Orris bore M’tali across the field to where Serrus lay. She leapt down as quickly as she could, throwing her body against the dead dragon. She pressed her face into his scaley skin, shouting, hitting him with her fist.

Then a cough, a groan.

M’tali jumped, startled. She looked around wildly, finding at last the source of the sound: Galran, pinned beneath the weight of his companion. She dropped to his side, pulling on his arms and shoulders with all her might.

“I’m alright,” he said hoarsely, though blood trailed from his mouth. “I … I lost her.” He bit his lip, but could not stop the sob that burst forth. “I’m so sorry, Tali. I … I tried. They hit us… with the guns. Then they took her, and the others, and they left.”

“Shh, shh, it’s alright,” M’tali whispered, running her hand across his forehead. Tears gave way at last and cascaded down her cheeks, dropping onto Galran’s face.

“Not gone,” said Orris, and, using his powerful strength, he pushed Serrus’ dead body off of Galran. M’tali immediately pulled him away, inspecting him for broken bones. Mercifully, his legs remained intact, but his torso was bruised and badly bleeding.

“What do you mean, not gone?” said Galran, wincing as he rose into a sitting position. He spat out a gob of blood and tested his legs, attempting to get to his feet. He stood, swaying, and allowed himself to be supported by M’tali’s arm.

He squinted his eyes at the horizon, swallowed, and said, “I see.”

M’tali followed his gaze and felt her heart clench in her throat.

Another army. A new, fresh crop of the copied man and the giant horses, marching in perfect step, towards them.

“What do they want?” She groaned, feeling all the strength in her body disappear like vapor.

“They want us,” said Galran, his voice low and full of pain. “They are not just killing us. They’re capturing us. And with that many men … they’ve probably already taken the others at the camp.”

“We have to go back,” she said quickly, pulling him toward the last dragon. “Let’s go, Orris.”

“Ready when you are,” The dragon grumbled.

“No,” said Galran.

M’tali stopped, met his eyes with hers.

“No? What do you mean, no?” Her face was a mess of tears, blood and dirt, and he brought his thumb across her cheek softly, tenderly.

“We have to leave. We have to run.”

She saw a darkness pass over his eyes, and she understood.

They climbed onto Orris’ back and rode him to the edge of the sea. The briny air met them swiftly, powerful and sharp. But the calming sound of the waves was like a mother’s heartbeat. M’tali knew exactly where she was going.

BANG.

The bullet whizzed past M’tali’s ear, nicking her flesh painfully. She brought her hands up to stifle the blood and turned to see one Agloven soldier standing where the grass met the sand He looked as though he had seen the brutal end of the battle, holding his gun up in his shaking arms, aiming his shot directly at M’tali, Galran and Orris.

Galran turned back to M’tali, and his face was fierce, the red sun colouring his face and reflecting in the glossy black of his eyes.

“Go, M’tali.”

She shook her head. “No. I know what you’re doing, and there is no way I will leave you.”

Tears shone in Galran’s eyes as he pressed his hand to her stomach. “You have to go. You carry the future of our tribe, now.”

Her hand rested over his and she closed her eyes, fresh tears threatening to overflow.

He said, “Name her Keefah.”

And then he was gone, striding toward the Agloven soldier with his hands up, an army advancing across the field beyond.

“Tali! Ak zuntiw so! I will still marry you someday!” Galran cried as Orris rose into the sky, each flap of his strong wings pushing away the air, the land, their past, their home, their lives.

Another bang of gunfire resounded across the water, but it missed the dragon and his rider again, and soon they were out of range.

M’tali looked back just before she was enveloped in the thick mist that obscured the island of Osteria. She could just make out the tiny shadows of men, taking Galran away from her, and then the land was smothered by the blinding white mist.

She wrapped her arms around her stomach, bent her head low, and cried as everything she had ever known disappeared behind her.

“Keel,” she whispered.

hope.