A Hollow Heart

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Before Dragon-kind departed, they’d left a message scorched in the mountainside near Hana Holworth’s home: We will return. Humanity cannot survive. Hana wished she’d been alive to see those famous words flaming between the trees.

She wasn’t an expert on dragons. Or humanity. But she loved books, and books were made of words. Maybe if she’d read the smoldering message herself, she’d understand why that morning she’d seen a dragon descending from the clouds outside her parents’ cottage, like a shadow caught on the wind.

“Let’s keep going,” Hana breathed as she pushed off a craggy ledge, oblivious to the moisture clouding from her lips, forming into ice crystals.

She’d seen the dragon while still tangled in her bedsheets. Dawn had snapped her eyes open, as if the sun wanted her to know today was different. Beyond her cornflower-dotted curtains in the bedroom she shared with her brother, she’d seen the outline of kite-like wings, a long tail, and a curved neck slicing across the pale silver sky.

Hana turned to watch her younger brother pull himself up the ledge with a soft grunt. Heli was a good climber and a good kid. That’s what the adults said. Heli listened and Heli followed. Hana looked back at the path. She wasn’t a bad kid. But she didn’t always listen. And she hated to follow.

That morning, however, Heli hadn’t listened. Hana was still angry with him for sneaking up the path, especially after she’d made him promise to stay home. When she’d spotted his green cloak, she’d scolded him as harshly as she could bear. But he’d stood silent, his fists balled, gaze steady. When he chose to be obstinate, she couldn’t win.

Shards of rock spiked up from the ground beside Hana’s boots, sharp as dragon scales. Or so she liked to think. She pulled the hood of her cloak close against the mist clutching at the hillside, the cold so familiar she didn’t notice the hairs inside her nose freezing stiff like soft, tiny daggers.

Every child saw illustrations of dragons in storybooks. Hana had gotten her hands on history and anatomy books as well. She’d borrowed every book from every shelf in every neighbor’s home. When she ran out of their books, she got new ones from the traders who journeyed to their village.

The traders arrived on shaggy horses, traveling the single road that slithered up between the slopes. Hana didn’t care about toys or sweets, and she’d pass over a new cloak. As long as there was a fresh hardback in those vast saddlebags, she was happy to trade for it with the frost-sweetened wine her family used as currency.

“How could it be a dragon?” Heli asked for the fourth time, huffing between breaths.

“I told you, it looked exactly like a dragon is supposed to. And I know there’s a cave where they used to hide.” Hana’s boots crunched on a thin layer of snow. She squinted at the brightening horizon. Their trail was still below the tree-line, where pines and firs provided cover from the sky.

“But if it is a dragon,” Heli insisted, “why didn’t it burn our village? I thought they were supposed to destroy us.” He paused for a moment. “Maybe it wants to be left alone.”

That’s what Heli wanted. Hana made all the noise, but Heli got all the attention. At ten, he didn’t like his already muscular arms being noticed, or his prematurely stout shoulders being praised. Hana, four years older, didn’t particularly want anyone to notice her own scrawny limbs. She would’ve, however, liked someone to take her dragon studies seriously.

She stopped to let her brother catch up. “We won’t bother it,” she assured him. “I only want to look. Can you imagine being the first person to see a dragon in two hundred years?”

“One hundred and ninety-eight,” Heli corrected, echoing a fact Hana stated often enough for him to know by heart.

Blood heated her cheeks. “It’ll be worth it,” she said, and started up the mountain again, Heli puffing at her heels.

In truth, it didn’t matter if she was the first person to see a dragon. With Dragon-kind’s return, she and Heli didn’t matter, and their village didn’t, either. The people who mattered sat at the heads of council tables and spoke from the high offices of universities. They had decided what the dragons’ message meant, and now that one had returned, they’d decide what to do next.

Hana was certain dragons had returned for an important reason, something more than wanting a mountain to live in, and she didn’t trust officials hundreds of miles away to understand it. Lately, the lowland councils and their advisors had been concerned about winter—the previous several winters. How cold they’d been, how long.

Hana shook her head. Of all things to worry about. Winter was always long in the Valley. She only noticed when other villagers complained, and her parents said people always complain about the weather.

Whatever the councils decided, this was her chance to glimpse a real dragon before they ruined it by doing something like launching an attack or discussing the weather. If she was the first to make contact, maybe she could show dragons that not all humans wanted something from them.

By the time the edge of the cave came into view, the sun had sluiced the murky clouds away and lit the Valley with gold. The trees were spread sparsely enough for the snow to melt. Mud stuck to Hana’s boots as she stepped into shallow puddles.

She was grateful for the earth muffling their footfalls. A dragon’s hearing wasn’t terribly keen—the small internal bones in their head were less sensitive than human ears. But even so, the quieter they were, the better.

A dragon's sense of smell was more troubling. Enormous nostrils curved from their heads, excellent human-detectors. Thankfully, everything in Hana and Heli’s cottage smelled of wood-smoke or wine. At least, that’s what she hoped. And much to Heli’s annoyance, she hadn’t brought any food. She’d taken only a moment to grab her cloak and boots.

As an afterthought, she’d written a note.

Saw a dragon. Went to find it.

Their parents wouldn’t believe her. If they did, they wouldn't know where to look. She didn’t need them crashing up the mountain, full of fear and courage, weapons in hand.

“I’m hungry,” Heli moaned. “Can’t we eat something?”

“We don’t have anything to eat, do we?” Hana smirked over her shoulder, but her brother’s expression made her swivel on her heel. “Heli, you dundernut, you brought food? A dragon can smell that from two dozen meters!”

“But it’s a long way. You’ve talked about it before.”

“It’s not long now,” she hissed. “Give it to me.”

Heli handed her a roll of bread smeared with grape preserves. “I put it in my pocket yesterday,” he mumbled. “You know I get hungry in the night.”

“Right.” Hana didn’t want to imagine how dirty his cloak pockets were. She tossed the bread as far as she could. Scooping pine needles from the side of the trail, she crammed them into his hands and rubbed them on his palms.

“That hurts,” he breathed as the needles broke and pinched his skin.

“I know, I’m sorry. Put them in your pockets, too, to get the scent everywhere. Do you have any more food?”

Heli shook his head as he plucked pine needles from the ground. Hana sighed. She could hardly blame him for his curiosity. Dragons were a mystery that had come and gone for ages. They stayed hidden each time, until humans inevitably imposed enough for them to leave once more.

The last time humans had discovered an enclave—and even tried to capture one—the dragons had fled in a flurry of wings, leaving the same cryptic message burned into every mountain peak where they’d lived. Scholars had gone mad with fascination that dragons understood human language.

Hana took a deep breath and looked around. They were about to climb above the trees. When Heli finished stuffing his pockets with pine scent, she touched his cheek. “Keep close,” she said.

The path soon grew steep and exposed, until only a sliver of damp earth separated their boots from stone, the wind having scoured most of the soil away. Sweat beaded between Hana’s shoulder blades, the sun intense despite the cold air.

She stopped at the base of a slope of boulders, her eyes roving to the top. With another deep breath, she said, “Heli, you have to understand. I need to do this.”

“I know—”

“No, it’s different for me, really. I need this like you need food.” Her words caught in her throat, the longing to see a dragon so fierce it pierced through her ribs and into her chest, as if a thick cable had wrapped around her heart and was reeling her in, pulling her uphill toward some kind of answer.

“I know,” Heli repeated, glancing at the climb ahead and tightening his belt. “But I’m not staying down here.”

Hana searched his face. “Whatever happens, stay out of sight. I can’t let you get hurt because of me. I’m meant for this, but you are not. I just know it.”

Heli set his mouth in a hard line. Hana could read his determination. And his fear, too. She didn’t want to tell him she was frightened. She felt braver with him there, but she wouldn’t admit that, either.

“You think I’d let you get burned by dragon-fire just because you told me to hide?” he asked.

Hana sighed. “There are two things I want more than anything. One is to see a dragon. The other is for you to grow into the magnificent man I know you will be. I am relying on you to listen. You’re good at that. Much better than me. You’ve got sense.”

Heli snorted. “That’s true.” He twisted his lips. “Fine, if there is a dragon, I’ll try not to let it see me, even if it wants to eat you. But if you die, I’ll be mad every day for the rest of my life.”

This wasn’t a conversation Hana thought they’d be having. “Good, be alive and mad. I can live with that.” She hoped with all her heart that he would listen. “The cave is at the top of those boulders, so keep extra quiet.”

With a long glance at the uneven route, she scrambled upward.

Hana had been to the cave before, searching for evidence of dragon activity. Though her attempts had proven unsuccessful, the features of the area matched what was mentioned in one of her books, and she knew the land around it well enough.

The cave wasn’t a giant thing, more a hollow in the slabs of rock that jutted out of the side of the mountain. Laid out before it was a flat, open expanse of stone. There would be nowhere to hide between the top of the boulders and the mouth of the cave itself.

She was still trying to figure out how to reach the cave without being seen when her mind suddenly went fuzzy, as if she’d tasted too much sweet wine. She curled her fingers into a crack in the rock, confused, but the feeling disappeared.

With a frown, she continued on, finding purchase in a fissure. Halfway up, the fuzziness returned. It was louder this time, or larger, taking up more space in her head.

She stopped short, barely registering Heli’s hand hitting her ankle.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice hushed.

The pressure cleared from her mind. “You didn’t feel—or hear anything?”

“No,” he replied, so quiet she barely made out the word.

Hana waited, but the air was silent save for the soft whoosh of the breeze against her ears. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Heli watching. His wide eyes made her heart hurt. “It’s nothing,” she whispered, reaching down to squeeze his hand.

She turned to hide her face and hoisted her leg up to another foothold. After a moment, Heli followed.

When the pressure came again, without warning, it seemed to enter from the other side of her head. “Stop,” Hana whispered. She pivoted to face Heli, so he wouldn’t fall. He stared, lips parted.

Hana blinked hard. It had to be the elevation. The thinner air made people experience peculiar things. Or maybe she was just hungry. Without letting herself think more about it, she crested the second-to-last boulder. Heli joined her with a thrust of his legs and their shoulders pressed together. As one, they peered over the top of the last rock.

The pressure returned to Hana's head with great intensity. She sucked in a breath, but for an entirely different reason. There, amongst the dusty rocks she’d explored before, stood a gleaming emerald creature, so blindingly beautiful that she nearly released her hold and fell.

Hello.

As soon as the word left her mind, the pressure released. Warmth flooded her cheeks and spread throughout her chest. Her fingers tingled. The dragon was speaking to her, and only her.

Hana set her hand on top of Heli’s head and pushed him down. She could imagine his protest, but didn’t dare look. She bit her lip, heart pounding, trying to understand what she was seeing. This was a dragon, but smaller than she expected, only four times the size of a trader’s horse. From the diagrams in her books, she’d expected something much larger.

There were other differences, too. Its scales were smoother than described, and iridescent, glimmering in the sunlight. Its body was lithe, as if it would be graceful when it moved. Hana wondered if the authors of the books she’d read had ever seen a live dragon. Scholars had made many discoveries from studying the bodies of dragons who’d already perished.

Certainly, no author had captured the majestic presence of this creature.

The dragon cocked its head at an angle. Pressure built in Hana's head. She wondered if it was about to speak and realized she hadn’t responded. Adrenaline quickened her pulse.

“Hello,” she said, forcing the word off her tongue.

The dragon’s neck straightened. It took the barest step forward.

Hana sank her fingers into Heli’s hair and pushed him down again, harder. Then she climbed into the clearing. The dragon cocked its head to the other side.

One of the many aspects of dragons that scholars hadn’t been able to explain was how they generated fire. Some storybooks claimed dragons had no heart. Instead, there was an empty hollow where their vital organ should be, and magic created the flames. Others claimed it was the dragon’s heart itself that sparked each fiery blaze.

Hana’s eyes dropped to the dragon’s chest. Was it hollow or filled with fire?

Pressure came and went, and with it, words. Are you a human?

Surprise burst from Hana so hard that she laughed. “Yes,” she said. “Are you a dragon?”

The creature dipped its chin. That is what you call us.

Hana was about to respond when the dragon looked skyward. She followed its gaze to a familiar shape, one she’d seen that morning. A massive shadow whirled overhead, so close it blotted out the sun.

Just as the light returned, a horn sounded. It was faint, but Hana recognized it with grim certainty. It was a tone she’d heard only a few times, alerting the village of danger.

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley, but now there were two. And soon everyone would know they were here.