Câllahlēe & the Dragon Scales

Chapter I

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. The moon, too, began to phase in reverse, and the blossoms of jacaranda trees unfurled by mistake in the crisp months of Autumn. All across the kingdom of Nadŷŷa, vivid violets and mauves veiled the valleys, rivaling the fall’s crimson and burnt-yellow leaves.

In the months following the Queen's disappearance, the kingdom had wept. The stages of grief swept steadily through the royal territories, much like the tides of the sea, which now interlaced themselves amongst the river’s white rapids. For weeks, inhabitants of the mountains and meadows wrestled internally about how the Queen could have left with such haste. How could she have abandoned her people? Why did she leave without saying goodbye? Would she ever come back? Grave uncertainty tore through the kingdom like wildfire, worsened by the threat of impending war. On the south side of the Elleprěssiän River lay Iceothas—a dark and corrupt regime—whose king grew steadily interested, and envious, over a string of phenomena unfolding in the Nadŷŷian east.

Influenced by the pull of the retrograde moon—or as a coping mechanism to deal with the Queen’s vanishing, perhaps—the flora and fauna of Nadŷŷa began to act in unusual ways. Hunter-prey relationships turned into mutually beneficial, symbiotic ones, and creatures that previously held prejudices against one another now found themselves enamored, having fallen in love.

But this wasn’t all. Unbeknownst to the people of Nadŷŷa, unprecedented buds of magic were beginning to bloom within souls that once lacked the ideal conditions for sorcery. And, royal spies of King Erebos—the young and power-hungry king of Iceothas—were making the tyrant aware of a particular marvel uncoiling along the Elleprěssiän River.

***

Câllahlēe wandered the river’s brisk shoreline, collecting the porcelain-white cowrie shells dragged in from the oceans.

“There you are,” she whispered, holding a perfectly-shaped shell up to the light. She examined it, making sure no small organism dwelled within, then placed it into the basket strapped across her svelte shoulders.

In the north, the rays of the setting sun were vanishing behind the mountains. Câllahlēe sighed, realizing it was time to head back toward the village. The river’s pebbled shoreline and the greater part of the wooded meadows had become dangerous in the last several months. Iceothanians now trespassed the border regularly, surveying the land and searching for something. Though Câllahlēe was unsure of what, exactly, they were looking for, the warnings of Nadŷŷa’s elders echoed in her ears:

“Be back before eve, for it is better to go hungry a day than be taken as a slave—or prey.”

Câllahlēe shivered. Without the Queen to protect them, the gentle people of Nadŷŷa were at risk after darkfall. Câllahlēe didn’t like to imagine what might happen to her if she were to be captured. There were already several missing individuals within the Nadŷŷian community.

Even so, Câllahlēe couldn’t help but fight with herself about whether she should head back home or collect shells a bit longer. She peered into her basket, which was only half-filled. It wasn’t enough. She needed a full basket’s worth. It was the only way she’d be able to make the exact number of Adrěnyör—or cowrie god—necklaces she needed to sell in the market the next morning. Without the income, she’d likely go a day without eating. So would her three-year-old son, Mîtkö.

Câllahlēe smiled as a gleeful portrait of Mîtkö painted itself in her mind. He’d been doing so much better lately—now that she’d been able to afford the elusive parthenium serum, which worked wonders for his chronic fevers and sweats.

But the lightness in Câllahlēe's heart faded as she realized how much missing one day of income would set her back. It wasn’t just food on the table—it was a fifth of the cost of Mîtkö's medication. Each day during the week, Câllahlēe put her leftover money into the earth-molded, dragon-shaped vase she kept in her kitchen. Then, come Saturday, she grabbed everything she’d saved and traveled to the herb medic’s house, where she acquired the serum.

Câllahlēe pressed her lips together, watching the sun sink lower behind the mountains. Just a little while longer, she thought.

Taking a deep breath, Câllahlēe began scanning the shoreline for porcelain-white shells again.

If she was being honest with herself, Câllahlēe didn’t buy into the village’s obsession with the cowrie necklaces. But, in the time since the Queen’s disappearance, demand for them had gone up significantly. Cowrie shells were believed to be the teeth of the great god Adrěnyör, who offered protection as powerful as the ocean’s waves to those who were lucky enough to have one in their possession. That said, ordinary Nadŷŷian folk were unable to benefit from the divine energy simply by owning or wearing them. The true power of the shells could only be accessed once activated by an ancient, sacred, and secret spell—the spell that the Queen had taught her.

Upon plucking the egg-shaped shells from the sediment, Câllahlēe held them to the light and whispered the words of Nadŷŷa’s disappeared Queen:

“Dragêskala, dragêskala—guard our lost hearts in the darkness, that your waves are our wings.”

Câllahlēe kept her eyes closed for a moment, allowing the spell’s energy to dance around in the air. It’d been a while since she’d activated shells at sunset, and she’d forgotten how powerful the portals were at this hour. It was enough to bring about the most compelling episode of déjà vu:

one minute, Câllahlēe was standing alongside the darkening riverbed, the next, she was a child again in the Queen’s royal kitchen.

Though the Queen had temporarily cared for her as a child—many years ago, when Câllahlēe’s mother fell ill with echinemon fever—Câllahlēe remembered the Queen mostly as an old, silver-haired widow with an affinity for collecting dragon scales.

Now, transported by the moonlight, Câllahlēe found herself staring into the face of the Queen—the image so clear in her mind that Câllahlēe was able to make out each one of her whisker-thin wrinkles. Not only that—she was surrounded by the hundreds of unique dragon remains that the Queen owned.

“Why do some shine like the sun?” Câllahlēe asked, pointing to some that were golden and radiant.

“Because the dragons from which they came were warriors of light,” replied the Queen.

Câllahlēe picked up one that was shiny and iridescent, with colors of the rainbow swirled in gentle, water-like patterns.

“And did ones like this come from dragons who were warriors of the moon?”

The Queen smiled.

“Always remember, dear Câllahlēe, that the moon and the sea fell in love. They are one. Now, please, continue reciting the spell.”

When Câllahlēe opened her eyes, she was back on the river’s shoreline. She stared at the shell in her hand for a moment before placing it in her basket. The sunlight was only a thin band of orange on the horizon, and Câllahlēe knew she had to work quickly. She continued finding and activating shells, one by one, as the magic of Adrěnyör and the Nadŷŷian ancestors blossomed in the atmosphere.

By the time Câllahlēe’s basket was filled, the full moon had risen to the midheaven. Only then did Câllahlēe realize how late it was. The cowrie shells chinked together in her basket as she turned this way and that, trying to find the path that would lead her back home. Despite the bright moonlight, the wooded foliage that separated her from the village was full of dark, twisted shadows. It was impossible to know who—or what—was lurking within. Câllahlēe’s heart sank, wondering whether she should attempt to navigate the forest or sit by the river until sunrise.

She chose the river.

However, she also decided she would not just sit. Since she was stuck out in the wilderness, she realized she might as well search for shells. If she worked the whole night, she could perhaps even collect enough for the next two days. Mîtkö’s sweet face entered her mind again, and she began to get hopeful. Maybe this was a gift from the gods—getting stuck out here overnight. It might allow her to spend more time with him in the upcoming days.

Câllahlēe stared down the river’s backbone from where she stood on a small berm. In the moonlight, the twisted body of water took on a serpentine appearance as it faded into the horizon, now pinholed with stars. If she squinted, she could make out more cowries glowing on the northern bank.

Lovely. With a grin on her face, she hopped off of the berm and set out toward the shells, forgetting just how dangerous it was for her to be wandering at night.

As she proceeded toward the shells, Câllahlēe swore she heard footsteps in the not-too-far woodlands. It’s just your mind playing tricks on you, she tried to comfort herself, besides, whatever the Iceothanians are looking for, you certainly don’t have it.

The self-talk rallied courage within her. She trotted quickly over the wet, rocky ground, finally reaching the shells. Though it was hard to make out this from that in the silvery moonlight, she immediately realized she’d made a mistake. What she’d just risked her life for were not cowrie shells. They were bigger and more beautiful—with iridescent, rainbowed colors swirled in gentle, water-like patterns.

Câllahlēe stared at them for a moment. Abalone shells? She wondered. Maybe. But it was hard for her to believe that the tide was strong enough to carry them all this way up the river. They were also more spade-shaped as opposed to oval-like.

Câllahlēe realized it didn’t matter. Not only had she never seen an abalone shell before, they were worthless to her. She didn’t have any special spells for activating divine powers within them. Her bread and butter—and specialty—were the egg-shaped, porcelain-white cowries.

Câllahlēe sighed as she observed the rest of the shoreline. The moonlight had fooled her. There were no cowrie shells here—only row after row of the beautiful, abalone-like carapaces.

“Hey! You, there!” Howled a voice suddenly.

Câllahlēe’s heart jumped through her chest. Instinct had her duck behind a bevy of cattails and reach for the small switchblade tucked in her boot’s leather counter. She stayed still for a moment, catching her breath in the chilly night air, not sure how frightened to be. The voice was feminine. Not that a female couldn’t be dangerous. It just made her feel more confident she could take a bitch down—or outrun her. With a swift movement, Câllahlēe unwove a strand of wicker from her basket and tied back her tangled black hair.

“You, there!” The voice yelled again. This time, it was closer.

Holding her switchblade in front of herself, palm squeezed tightly around the handle, Câllahlēe jumped out into the open. She was surprised to see Rožïna—a fellow merchant and goods collector—standing before her with a fully drawn bow and arrow aimed at her heart.

The two women immediately sighed a breath of relief and dropped their weapons.

“What are you doing here, Câlla?” Rožïna asked.

“I…lost track of time and decided the river was safer than attempting the forest,” Câllahlēe laughed, embarrassed. “What are you doing here?”

“You haven’t heard?

Câllahlēe gave her a blank stare.

“Brothers and sisters of the legion have been out here every night after dark, attempting to confirm and practice their new gift. Everyone’s getting ready for the war, Câllahlēe, and you should be too.”

“Their new gift?” Câllahlēe asked. She felt genuinely confused.

Rožïna ran her hand through her long, auburn hair.

“We’re actually calling them ‘divinities’. Maybe you haven’t noticed because you already know some magic,” Rožïna said, pointing to Câllahlēe’s basket. “But ever since the Queen’s disappearance, people from the village are realizing they have new…abilities. Things like getting crops to grow faster, better intuition, and heightened senses of smell.”

Câllahlēe felt a chill run down her spine.

“Divinities, huh?” She said, “Sounds like the Queen might have expelled some of her thaumaturgy into the environment. My guess is she’s trying to guide us to her. I’m worried—I think she needs help.”

“The Queen’s dead, Câllahlēe.”

Câllahlēe’s soul sank.

“No, she’s not, I can feel her.”

“She’s dead, and what you’re feeling isn’t her. It’s the energy of your divinity. Now that she’s gone, molecules of the Great Ether have been freed. Redistributed. You need to pay attention so you can figure out what yours is and hone in on it. Practice it. It’s the only way we’re going to win this war.”

Câllahlēe stayed silent for moment, unable to process what Rožïna had just said to her. ‘The Queen’s dead.’ It couldn’t be true.

“Are…the Iceothanians still running rampant out here?” She asked Rožïna.

“Of course they are. So be careful. The reason they’re out here in the first place is to try to harness the free radical powers—the ones that haven’t been claimed yet. The phenomenon is only happening in Nadŷŷa.”

Câllahlēe blinked.

“It’s a race, Câlla. Whatever side can gather and gatekeep the most divine energies first will win. If they defeat us, they’ll likely not only claim Nadŷŷa, they’ll make us their slaves.”

Câllahlēe frowned.

“I’m not sure I believe any of this,” she said, “the Queen wouldn’t just die on us like that.”

“What on Earth do you mean? She already abandoned us. How is it any different?”

“I know she’s alive.”

“Great,” said Rožïna sharply, “I can tell you’re not gonna help us or take this seriously. Shame. You’re the one with the most potential out of any of us. Now, because of you, we’re probably all going to fall at the mercy of those monsters.”

“No Rožïna…I’ll help. It’s just—I’ve gotta take care of Mîtkö. I already fucked up and got caught out here too late—I’ve gotta make sure I get enough cowries so my time out here counts.”

Rožïna’s expression remained heavy.

“I should have known you’d be selfish,” she spat. “I may as well pray for a dragon. A dragon is the only way we have any chance against that bastard King Erebos, anyway.” And with that, Rožïna spun around and stormed off.

“Have fun with your stupid puka shells,” she hissed.

Câllahlēe watched as Rožïna began to disappear into the darkness. She was about to let her anger get the best of her when her eyes fixated back on the strange, iridescent shells that surrounded her. As she watched them gleam in the moonlight, the word ‘dragon’ flew around in her mind.

Suddenly, Câllahlēe felt her heart grow wings.

“Rožïna’, wait!” She yelled.

Rožïna’ stopped in her tracks.

“The Queen’s alive. And…I think I know what my divinity is.”