Winged Wrath

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Her wrath and sorrow summoned them from the depths of the darkest realms. Nightmarish winged beasts that circled the kingdom and outlying village. Listening for her cry, her whisper of command, or the mere sight of the flames flicking at her finger tips. It was the dragon blood that ran through her veins burning with ancient magic and fury. Retreating into the darkest parts of her soul, she sought out the alchemy to conjure these creatures. Awakening them from centuries long slumber as their new mistress to bring her darkest desires of revenge raining down on the guilty and ignorantly innocent alike.

The elders had sensed a great power headed their way. Most were out of touch and negligent in the ways of old, that urgency escaped them. To the rest of the valley kingdom of Aberdeen the storm arrived with no warning. Clouds rolled in, humming with electric fire and sun covering omens. Those tucked inside believed the first roars of the primal creatures to be nothing more than the rolling thunder to match the darkening sky. Within a day's time, fire rained down upon the ground. The village was not the intention, yet regardless a blazing path was carved en route to the castle walls. Guards made feeble attempts to hold off the barbarous creatures long enough for the powers that be to evacuate the palace. All efforts were in vain. Most of the palace residents perished within the initial wave of attacks. Over the next two days the dragons prowled the skies, vultures circling for prey, lighting up the sky with flames at the slightest sign of movement. Charred earth sizzled in black smoke as the fires swindled out, as townsfolk began to sift through the casualties of the attack. Through the mist and vapor seven beasts could be seen circling in graceful motion around the highest tower. The smallest of the seven drew itself to a hover near the tower roof, a figure dismounted in a cascading wave of green smoke. From a distance, all you could make out was a dark silhouette, tendrils of hair whipping in the wind and arms thrown into the air. Small bursts of fire shot from her hands, and the dragons roared in echoing unison in victory.

*****

There hadn’t always been malice in her heart. She was Nehtaeh, my sister. Had it been in blood, a magical connection would have brought me to the valley sooner. Our bond was one forged through years on the run from our coven. When you were born into a direct lineage of powerful witches, there were no choices in front of you other than to master and harness your magic to then serve the kingdom in whichever way they saw fit. Early on in our training Nehtaeh and I heard of the uprisings, but believed it to be nothing more than hopeful rumors whispered around cauldrons. As our magic developed, our pairing became one of necessity and advantage in the eyes of our High Priest and Priestess. Her darkness balanced my light, and my light helped caress her darkness. Nehtaeh feared we would be put to use as weapons for a kingdom, a high price would be paid and the coven would not bat an eye. Any position we would have been sold into would have been a life of using our gifts granted from nature for the purpose and power of others. “Weapons” were the ruse of protection for what were truly just branded assassins.

A year into serving the royals nearly broke me, and Nehtaeh was the one to craft and execute our escape. With not only the royal guards hunting us, our coven would be viciously tracking us. Our magic had to be tucked away and lay dormant until we were almost a full continent away. It took months. And those months took a toll. Yet we made it to a small coastal village, and over the next few years began to settle into taking deep breaths and not constantly looking over our shoulders.

We heard through pirates and merchants passing through the ports that uprisings were bringing about change in the covens. Once the elders stepped in, building their own councils within each kingdom, we could stop hiding. They claimed us free, no longer servants for our magic. Nehtaeh and I knew the victory was a blessing and a curse of hope. As with most things in this life, one evil was merely replaced with another. Our lives would no longer be lived to serve those in power, but now every move was to be made with caution, the eyes burned everywhere watching the Coveted Witches. Our magic was restricted to be no more than a basic healer. A fable and tale of what we once were, and everything we could be. It was then that I began to see her darkness truly grow. There were wisps of fire in her eyes whenever I saw her, which at best was random intervals. She had become reclusive in research and even vanished completely on a mission with druids for several months. Deep down I knew there was danger in her falling too far, but I knew we both needed to heal in our own ways. I gave her space, and learned far too late, that it was too much.

****

I could smell the scorched earth before my horse trotted its first steps on the marred soil. Heart pounding in my chest, I pulled the reins to a halt, taking in the massacre around me. I could feel her pain in every shudder of a burned tree. The ashen faces of the townsfolk mirrored my sadness and fear. I dismounted and led the way down a familiar dirt road, one I had not traveled in many years. Without having to second guess my steps, I arrived at the small cottage. Half the roof was now missing and a smoldering pile of debris blocked the entrance. Making my way around back, I was not surprised to see the owner deep in thought, staring into a time worn cauldron. He looked up before I could muster my hello. He was the last face I had seen before Nehtaeh and I made our escape from the kingdom.

“Saoirse.”

“Dirgah” I nodded at him.

“You look like hell. You will fit in around here these days.”

“Always with the wise remarks, I see not much has changed in almost a decade.”

“Far too much has changed I fear. Come on, let us get you refreshed and caught up.”

“Still brewing your tea?” I followed him to the back door.

“Oh my dear Saoirse, we are long past tea. When dragons are circling over your head, we trust nature's finest product, rye, in the form of whiskey.”