Asme: Voice of the Wild

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

I've heard it ever since I was a child, same as everyone else in Errodel, as if saying it over and over amounts to some assurance that one day there won't be dragons in the Valley.

The dragons didn't always try to kill you, would be more apt—though that does little good with no less than five of the beasts ready to kill me at this very moment. I can hardly keep track of their shifting, scaly hides, the shadows of night tricking my eyes into seeing sometimes more and sometimes less.

I knew this errand was a mistake. Errand, Irovan called it. “That dunce.” Why do I keep throwing myself at the heels of his hair-brained ideas? So much has already gone wrong. For one, it's night. Who in the Deep Realms hunts a dragon—no, no; dragons—at night? In the Valley?

I snort. Irovan.

Second, all we have are swords, one bow with a few arrows, maybe a few daggers between us, Irovan's arrogance, my stupidity, and rocks. I glance at the variety of small stones half-sunken into the ground where I crouch. Yes, don't forget the rocks.

Third, we didn't obtain a proper bounty. Irovan thinks to just waltz up to the highest bidder waving a dragon's head about and let the glory and riches wash over us—er, him, most likely. Why am I here?

Oh, and he's way over there across the trampled clearing with no less than five dragons between us.

I catch the aquamarine glint of a dragon eyeing me and I melt further into the twisted underbrush. “Asme, if he hasn't looked twice at you yet...” My sword snags on a branch. “...getting your...” I grunt as I attempt to dislodge my weapon only to find another branch with the tangle of hair atop my head. “...arm ripped off by a dragon...” I extricate my head and manage one more shuffle backward before my sword catches again. “...isn't going to help.” I twist and wiggle myself lower. I don't know how well dragons can hear, but I probably shouldn't be muttering to myself. It might not matter with all my struggling through this cursed thicket.

“Mey?”

The whisper comes from above me and only then do I realize I've writhed onto my back, hips thrust in the air in some odd maneuver to angle my sword free. Through the gloom and winding branches between us, I see Irovan gazing down at me. His brows would surely be gliding into his hair if that tousled hair wasn't always gliding for the sky. Even now, in my decidedly un-heroic position with a thousand critiques racing through my head, my heart sighs at the sight of him. I'm an idiot.

“What are you doing?” he whispers.

I roll my eyes. What does he think I'm doing?! “I'm stuck, you oaf.”

He kneels over me, a smirk blooming across his face. He tosses a quick glance at the thunder of dragons before helping to disentangle me.

“Tell me you have some kind of plan.” Once free, I straighten my twisted belt and clothes and manage to crouch beside him without incident, though I do hope I won't have to move again. “And tell me it involves changing your mind and going home.”

“What home?” He's staring through the thicket at our prize with singular focus. Would I call it greed if I wasn't so enamored with him? I've seen that look in his eyes weekly: the look of a man who wants something. It hasn't changed since the first time I saw it in the brown eyes of a boy staring at a medallion around my neck I hardly remember anymore. Some token the governesses at the orphanage told me belonged to me, but he made a charming argument to trade it for a better life. I listened, and he let me tag along with him ever since. Still not sure why.

Better life, I muse, following his gaze to the prowling, hissing mass of creatures. At times like this, one wonders. If nothing else, it's been a more interesting life.

“Why don't they attack us? I swear one of them saw me.”

He angles a sharp eye at me. “When?”

Maybe I shouldn't have admitted that. “Somewhere around the time you saw me.”

“Hm,” he grunts, and pours his focus back on his quarry.

“What do you seek, mortal fools?” The sudden grating voice isn't what tosses us back so much as the sparkling iron eyes that blink to life right before us. I frantically grasp for my sword which has angled itself away in a very un-drawable fashion. Irovan has a hand raised, palm stretched out toward the dragon as though he plans to use his trickery. I've seen him do things; nothing I can imagine making much difference to a dragon, though.

I angle close to Irovan, not tearing my gaze from Iron Eyes. “Did you hear that?” I whisper.

“Mm,” he affirms.

“They can talk? Since when can they talk?”

“Maybe they always have,” he argues.

“How could we not know?”

“Easily. Do you spend much time in the Valley?”

“No, but someone would have—”

Iron Eyes snarls and swipes a razor-sharp wing through the brush between us. Branches crack and rain down on us. Irovan deflects most of it with his trickery, but misses a sizeable limb which clunks me in the forehead.

“Answer, mortals!” the dragon demands. “My patience is short.”

“You're as mortal as I, dragon!” Irovan shouts. “You know why we're here.”

“Uhh, maybe telling him isn't the best idea,” I mumble, rubbing the bump on my forehead.

“You seek reward.” Iron Eyes rolls the words through his jaw, coating them with intrigue as he tilts his massive head to the side, iridescent scales reflecting slivers of moonlight. “What if I could offer you more?”

Irovan's face immediately transforms, his menacing brow brightening with piqued curiosity.

“Oh, no.”

He ignores me. “Explain.”

“Bring me a cutting of the ivory obelisk.”

“In exchange for what?”

I peer at Irovan out of the corner of my eye. How does he know what that even means? What's an ivory obelisk? Well, I can imagine—

“I have riches you've never contemplated, mortal.”

“What do you need with this ivory obelisk, dragon? And why not get it yourself?”

Both great questions I know I wouldn't be asking as I ran out of the Valley.

Iron Eyes creeps closer, his deep, even inhales and exhales washing over us and rattling every leaf and hair in their path. I expected a dragon's breath to be objectionable, but maybe we lucked out by drawing the attention of a fastidious sort of dragon. That would be Irovan's luck; not mine. “Do not presume to know me, boy. You will accept this task, or you will die here.”

I roll my eyes. So much for running.

Irovan scowls at the beast, his hand still raised as if he could ward off an attack. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because this cutting will change everything. And I see you want to be the one to change everything.”

I watch Irovan for his reaction, worried how he'll take the obvious truth. That kind of insight into someone in the span of a few minutes is unnerving enough, but from a dragon? Irovan is prideful and indignant to begin with; having it thrown in his face is like throwing fire on another fire just to see what happens. Remember your favorite things, Asme; you're probably going to die now.

After an eternity, Irovan slowly lowers his hand. “Where do we find your obelisk?”

Huh; he took that better than I imagined. Personal growth?

“The Arkellian Isles.”

Irovan scoffs at the very moment my jaw drops. “That will take at least a month if we're lucky, and that's not even getting to Portwind.”

“Your human limitations do not concern me.”

“Maybe we can just walk away,” I whisper. Judging by the lift of two of his four ears and the narrowing of his otherworldly eyes, I wasn't quiet enough. I swallow. We could agree and then just disappear; I doubt we're important enough for an ancient being like Iron Eyes to hunt us down. I'm not sure how to tell this to Irovan at the moment, and he's not looking like he wants to be told. He's calculating; I know that set in his angular jaw.

“Your reward better be worth it, dragon, or I will keep the cutting myself.”

A low rumble travels through the ground into my body. It takes a moment for me to realize he's chuckling. He sinks backward into the gloom, joining the restless bodies of the thunder behind him. Like mist, they fade from sight.

I stay perched on my backside beside Irovan, blinking. “So...that's a lot of stuff I didn't wake up knowing this morning.” I turn my head to him but he's scowling into thin air, my words falling on his deaf ears as they often do. I jab my elbow into his ribs and he looks at me like he has no idea why. “We're not actually going, are we?”

“Of course we're going.” He climbs to his feet and I scramble up after him.

“Aren't there about a thousand Arkellian islands?”

“More like eighty-five.” He ducks through the broken underbrush with sure steps. I trip behind him.

“Okay, aren't there about eighty-five Arkellian islands?”

“What's your point, Mey?”

“That's a lot of islands. And we're supposed to find one obelisk. The ivory obelisk, he said. Which suggests any old obelisk won't work.”

“We'll find it.” I hate his confidence sometimes. Most times, it sends me off into one-sided daydreaming about my personal hero, but right now... Well, I suppose it's actually a good thing. One of us ought to be confident, even if it is an over-abundance bordering on arrogance.

Free of the tangled brush, I walk beside him through the clearing, casting wary eyes over the space that only moments ago boasted no less than five different ways to die. From the open area of the Valley floor, the lights of Errodel come into view, glowing in the distance like a soft line of fireflies limning the steepest of the Valley ascents. It took us most of the day to get down here and I'm sure the sun will beat us back to the city—nevermind if we run into more dragons. Hopefully, Iron Eyes tells all his friends to leave us alone.

“Will you at least let us sleep before we leave?”

He quirks a smile at me and melts every one of my conditions just like that. Even if he refused to ever let me rest again, I would follow him anyway; where else would I go? “Yes, Asme, we'll sleep first,” he promises.