Bloom

There weren't always dragons in the valley. Yet, all had assumed that once they came, they would always remain.

It was not to be.

Their memory, though fresh, was fading. Quickly. It drifted out on the breeze — its warm presence the only movement in a dark, nearly empty land.

Upon a hill — the valley’s Western slope — a flower grew, tall and nearly alone in this world of night. Sitting cross-legged in the grass, inches away, a young girl waited. She glanced at the sky. Irus, the second moon, sat grey and faded upon the Eastern ridge, her only companion in the deafening silence that blanketed the land. Above her, a star twinkled.

Was this the one?

A mild stirring in her gut. Emotion? The notion was alien to her, described in passing by her mother. It was the nearest she’d come to it in years. This thought alone stirred her stomach once more.

As if in response to her body’s rumblings, the star glittered again. Nestled in a swirl of colourful celestial smoke, she had had to focus hard to see it at first. Now, it was obvious. It twinkled, brighter and brighter.

So long as it does not light up the valley, she thought.

From the heavens, her gaze fell once more upon the flower, the thick bulb sitting squatly atop a wiry stem.

Glitter.

The stillness remained.

Then.

A stir of movement.

Yes!

This was the moment.

Ever so slowly, the petals unfurled. The flower had awoken. And as with the coming of the dragons, oh so long ago, beauty once more thrived upon the valley’s grassy slopes.

The girl stared in wonder at what she beheld.

Row upon row of glittering silvery petals shone faintly in the night. In this lightless world, this was the most wondrous thing she had ever laid eyes on. That is, since the dragons. Yet their memory was so faded as to make Irus seem like a burning sun.

The petals. Something about them was…familiar?

Scales.

That is what they brought to mind. Not those of the fish her father brought home. They were more reminiscent of the precious hide of a…

Dragon?

What were they like again? If only she could remember. She knew that she had been close to them, but the memory was fleeting.

Oh well. At least she had this flower now. What a blessing. She sat transfixed. To the North, Rashu the third moon, rose, looking like a broken disc behind the floating Isles of Jah-Zhu. But the girl paid it no mind.

Had the flower grown? It certainly looked bigger. That could not be. It was only meant to bloom for a moment, then close up once more, was it not? A rare occurrence, yet natural. Flowers, few as they were, could not survive with petals open. This was elementary. It was also why the girl sat there, on this dark day: to see a rarity.

Something caught her attention. It was on the edge of her sight. She glanced down the slope. What…?

There it was again. A flicker of — of light?! No! That could not be. Light was forsaken. It was death. There could only be the soothing darkness and the heavens’ countless stars.

Again. A flicker on the ground, mere paces from her. Heresy.

Once more, a stirring inside her — emotion. The hint of it, at least.

Where were the dragons when she needed them?

Flutter. Fly. Glide to me, oh great spirits of the sky.

Where these words came from, she could not fathom, yet from the depths of her spirit, they rose like a deep dark well. They soothed her. The burning light must remain at bay.

Her prayers were in vain. Colour erupted. The grass was so bright. So colourful. She had never known green to be so… agh!

The spot of light was growing.

NO!

The flower. IT could not be exposed. For that matter, nor could she.

The girl looked up. It was the star she’d spotted. The one that had been foretold to make flowers open. It was growing brighter. The horror.

Traitor!

She seethed. Anger roiled inside her, a violent storm brewing. The spot of light was growing. In moments it would be upon her. And the flower. Anger turned to fear. Quickly, she must save the flower!

In a panic, her nails filling with dirt, she dug at the roots of the bud. The cool, soft soil felt good. Her hands filled with it and in moments the precious life sat in a new, smaller valley, one formed of cupped hands. She turned and ran. Up the slope and away from the light. It seemed the light had ignited more than the hillside, for she could feel not just the world around her — the breeze, the grass, the earth, the coolness of the valley, and the scent of fresh grass — but something foreign, in the pit of her stomach, sensations that brought thoughts, and thoughts that brought reactions.

She had reacted. That was worrying. Why would she suddenly have emotions?

A glance over her shoulder. The tiny patch of earth where her protégé had grown now stood out as the last bastion of darkness. She could not stand to look any longer. The light was blinding.

Looking ahead once more, she found she could not see. Still, she forged ahead. Slowly. Very slowly, the valley rematerialized. She kept on. Reach the ridge. Run down it. Find the cottage. Her parents would know how to deal with this.

Fly. Like the wind, Child. Remember. Let your wings out. Fly.

The sombre voice was not hers, yet it was a part of her. And like the soil in her hands, it was soothing. The meaning of its words eluded her. Still, she ran. The light was growing.

She glanced at the flower in her hands. Strangely, miraculously, it remained open. And were those its roots? Wiry filaments had escaped the earth and wrapped themselves about her hands. She felt them against her pale skin. Like cold metal. Coppery strands. The flower glowed faintly. It was mesmerizing. Such a peculiar thing. Her parents would know what it meant. All of it.

The cottage came into view.

Safety. Soon.

The familiar glow of the green orbs before the house welcomed her. This was the only good light, her mother said. Other than what the stars and moon provided. It would not burn and destroy like the light that chased her now. She looked back. The whole hillside was aglow, the colour blinding her once more. She looked up, squinting, trying to discern the traitorous star that was making this light. The contrast was too great. Why? Why would it do this? Was it even a real star? Was this the return of the sun? She had overheard her parents speaking, in hushed tones, that it may one day return. She had dismissed the notion. Grown up exaggerations. The sun? It was preposterous. That would bring an end to all life. How could that be true? And yet, here she was, her little feet eating away at the grassy slope, as she ran for her life.

Where were the dragons now?

I need you.

She could not fathom why or how they could help. They remained but a vague notion, a dark figure on the edge of her consciousness, a concept she knew the existence of but could not imagine.

Something scratched at her arms. Like brambles. Weird. The valley was devoid of plants other than grass. There were no brambles here. The nearest bush was several miles away, in the Flattening, where valleys ceased to exist, and water pooled; where little blue flames, like the orbs before her home, only wispier, danced above the ground amid the suspended water droplets — air, fire, and water mingling in a ghostly dance; and, growing in this eerie landscape, frightening little bushes filled with sharp brambles. They were unnatural. Other than the flower that she held and the rare others like it, there should only be grass. That was natural. It was good. Clean.

She felt a scratching again.

Looking down at her hands and the precious cargo they held, she came to a dead stop. Her breath caught. The flower’s roots, like coppery snakes, had climbed up her arms and thickened. They throbbed with life, their coarse, almost scaly exterior digging into her skin.

Her heart sped on, picking up speed, a rock tumbling downhill.

Then, suddenly, a wave of calm washed over her.

This was good. It was going to be alright. There was nothing to worry about.

The little girl smiled, and the flower grew.

Reaching her cottage door, she stepped inside. The soothing coolness of the bare stone floor welcomed her home.

“Momma? Poppa?”

No answer. She called out again. And again.

There was no one there. She was all alone, the flower her only companion, yet she worried not. The silvery petals were all she needed now.

She sat by the hearth; a bottomless pool set in the floor in the middle of the home’s North wall. It drew the heat from her, and her smile grew. She could sit in peace, safe from the light, and watch the flower.

She did not understand it.

She did not seek to.

But the flower grew.

Its roots entwined her, and new petals grew along its stem.

Meanwhile, the light had reached the windowless cottage. And the girl sat within. Oblivious.

For a while, the valley stood still, illuminated for the first time in ages. Not a breath of wind disturbed the grass, not a sound broke the air. The only movement came from the twinkling of the flowers that grew on the valley’s slopes, each isolated from the next, radiant islands of beauty, their metallic petals open to the world.

Hours passed. Days.

Then, without warning, legends were reborn.







It is said, by those who commune with the land and share its memories, that the wind whistled, and the flowers rang like tiny bells, and the ground, like a drum, quaked, that the entire valley sang on the day dragons returned. And, in a tucked away hollow, in a windowless shack, a little girl’s memory bloomed once again.