Esemantha

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. They returned with the snow. Shards of ice swarmed from above, skirting the mountains. The river cutting between them had solidified, forcing the men of the valley to melt snow for drink. The shallow soil that held the blue beets the valley was known for also hardened, and the crops rotted to slush.

The salted food in the storehouses was carefully rationed. Tempted by fresh elk meat, a handful of young men went hunting in the oak behind the western mountain— only to lose their own flesh to frostbite. Fewer returned. The mothers of the fallen could not bring their bodies home for burning. The wind carried the wailing away from mortal ears, which proved to be small relief. The insulated huts spearing the mountain base did little to sway the wind’s molestations. No traders walked the purple path that led south, to the expanse of kingdom Avadae. These people belonged to it too, but only by name. A representative would come to collect tribute on occasion, but nothing more— and not now.

Winter had always been a formidable foe, but after centuries of challenging seasons it could be understood and anticipated. True suffering was only spoken of in Midwinter day when children were seated by hearth clasping mugs of beet punch. As the wind scratched against the windows the old would face them and rekindle the past.

“They crossed the Ceaseless Ocean, carrying nothing but the wings on their back,” I recall my own grandmother saying years before the cold. “Three serpentine beasts. No one knows the land of their birth, but it is said the continent is somewhere far South— war-scorched due to the ruthless blood of their kin. Searching for virgin lands to conquer, the beasts set so far down that they ended up at the beginning of the world, where there was only ice to greet them. They had flown without pause for decades, and their dragonfire burned dim. They shivered with yearning, and no soul they encountered could fill their cavernous hearts.”

“Then they found the valley and ate us up, right?”

“Only some. Any druid worth their coin would tell you that a soul is better living than dead. Human souls are powerful, and those sacrificed were enough. The frost on the scales of the creatures melted, and their slitted eyes were no longer dulled. Their roars reverberated beyond the valley, and the Arch Druids heard them all the way in the Celestine Forest.”

“There aren’t any Arch Druids left.”

“Because the beasts ate them. You would have found out had you been a little more patient.”

“But I already know. You always tell the story the same.”

“No one’s forcing you to listen. If you don’t like it, you can go to Zarma’s hearth and listen to her grandmother droning on.”

Zarma’s grandmother spoke of a child kidnapped by woodthings after refusing his mother’s cooking. It was far scarier than my grandmother’s story. The following year she died in her sleep. I spent that Midwinter staring out the window, watching snowflakes dancing among sunless skies.

“My grandfather’s mother was taken by one of the beasts during a pillage, you know,” was how she’d always end her dragon story, flashing a toothless grin. “I’ve got some beast blood in me.” It is the first image that floats up in my mind whenever I think of her. I thought I saw her smirk in the snowflakes melting on the window that day.

As the children of the valley matured, they’d dismiss tales of dragons as fables. The sigils their forefathers had carved into stone to the north, where the valley opened up into an inlet leading out to sea, had smoothed with time. But when the cold came the stories were delivered as fact through frantic whispers. We survived dragons, this is nothing, they vowed.

Another month of cold had gone by. Frozen bodies were piled within the huts that had become recently unoccupied. Druids huddled together in their furs at the shrine by the forbidden forest, across from the oak woods. The rest of the villagers were squeezed into the chieftain’s grand hall. At night, when the storm was strongest, they slept atop the other on the floor— not unlike the corpses.

I was among them. It was the second night since my father had received the chieftain’s summons. Elbows pressed my flesh, and my breath came out in bursts.

I knew I was going to die. The fire burned low inside the brazier at the centre of the room. The chieftain couldn’t afford to overplay his hand— such an unnatural storm could prolong for months still, and the reserves of wood and coal had dwindled to a pittance.

I had always pictured myself living in the chieftain’s manor. Perhaps the chieftess will die during childbirth, I’d muse, and I shall become the chieftain’s wife in her stead. My woodcutter father was well past his prime by the time I was born— a fell tree could crush him, and after beholding my pleasant nature the chieftain might claim me as his own. I could even succeed him in death.

But my fate was already decided when I reached two summers. My father’s cousin— the charcoal burner— had only daughters, but his eldest at last gave birth to a son.

The charcoal burner was my father’s closest friend. Over the years, they spent many hours by the dinner table playing tochki and smoking blackroot. They often spoke of my future with Eki.

“Her hair is so dark— like a southerner’s,” the charcoal burner would say. “My grandson is luckier than most.”

“If only she wasn’t so pale,” my father would answer.

“She is a lass of the valley, after all.”

“Thank the gods. I don’t think I could handle another child scurrying off.”

“Last I heard your sons are married— it matters not that they sought women of other clans. You should be proud.”

“I am, but I wish they weren’t so far away. They hardly visit anymore.”

“It gets cold.”

As Eki matured he would join his grandfather’s visits. Although I was older, Eki was taller than me by a foot, and his shoulders were broader than most children’s. He’d smell of woodsmoke, and his face was often darkened by soot. The charcoal burner vowed to dedicate his final days passing his legacy onto his grandson, and Eki took to it seriously.

By the time I was ten they turned up to our house regularly.

“Let’s go play outside,” I’d tell him. “Blackroot makes me dizzy.”

I would string him along until Zarma or Kira were spotted. Then I’d walk away with them when Eki wasn’t looking. It took him a stupid number of times to realise I was doing it on purpose.

“Don’t leave me this time,” he said one day as we exited my father’s hut.

“I can’t help it if you get lost.”

“We will marry. We have to spend time together.”

“How can you be sure? A wedding won’t happen for years. My father could find someone better.”

“He won’t. He swore to my grandfather on his blood that we will marry.”

“I could cry and say that you hit me.” I picked up a branch from the woodpile by my father’s yard and pointed it at my face.

“Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” I lied. “I simply have no reason to love you.”

“I can give you a reason. Ask anything of me and I’ll do it.”

I pretended to contemplate the offer. Finally, I dropped the stick in my hand and beckoned his eyes. “Actually, there is one thing I’ve always wanted.”

It was midday when we made it to the forbidden forest. The druid shrine stood by the entrance. Ancient symbols were carved on its surface, and a large copper bowl was placed below on the ground. It was filled with the bloody limbs and head of an elk—a tribute to the woodthings left by druids. The season was autumn, which meant the snow was not so bad. Eki was shuddering. The blonde locks on his forehead were matted with sweat.

“You can still change your mind if you’re scared,” I said. I was hoping he would.

“I’m not scared.”

“If you say so.” I could see flashes of orange and red leaves further ahead, and nearly no snow on the ground. I took a few steps forward. It was moist and sticky. My feet had almost completely sunken in. “We don’t have much time left before dusk. Are you coming?”

“Are you?”

“I have to see for myself whether you’re worthy of my love,” I replied. In truth, I didn’t want him to succeed alone.

The air within the forest was humid. Little light escaped between the clustered leaves above, but there were torches fixed along a clear path leading deeper. The druids had placed them there, I kept telling myself.

“What does your flower look like again?” Eki asked weakly. His fists were clenched at his sides. His eyes scanned the ground.

“Light blue with oval petals. It’s supposed to glow.” Esemantha, it was called— Frost Fire. My dead mother’s namesake.

“Most girls like orchids.”

“Marry them.”

His response never came. Eki halted, unmoving. He was staring at a huge tree. On its branches the leaves were red and long and—gods, a huge, fleshy mass, as big as a person, hung from a string. Thin threads wounds across its body. They twisted like maggots. Reddish light throbbed within.

“We—” Eki choked on the words. He was sobbing.

“I know,” I said. “Let’s go back.”

Eki pivoted. I was about to follow when I saw a blue hue at the foot of the tree.

“Eki, wait,” I hissed. “I found the flower.”

The look he gave me reminded me of the expression on the elk head by the entrance. Something moved behind Eki’s shoulder.

“Hullo.” The voice was not Eki’s. It was raspy, like rocks grinding. I didn’t dare to move. Neither did Eki. Our eyes were interlocked.

“Have you come bearing gifts? How kind.”

I glanced at the woodthing. Its body was shaped like a woman’s. Instead of feet, root-like strands extended from its ankles and crawled across the floor. A yellowish sac hung askew from the middle of its chest. it glowed like the chrysalis on the tree, and throbbed like a heart. The woodthing was holding a stick in its right hand. A wooden mask was attached to the tip. It held the mask near its face. The mask depicted a happy façade. There were holes where the eyes were supposed to be. Crimson light radiated from each cavity.

I looked at Eki again. He was trembling now. His mouth was agape. Tears flowed down his cheeks. He was closer to the path leading outside. I knew I had to act immediately. I never cared much for existing, but as I faced death I couldn’t fathom letting life go.

“Eki,” I whispered. “Go pick the flower. It’s magic— it will offer us protection. I’ll distract the creature. You can do this.”

Eki jerked his head slightly. I returned the nod.

“Now.”

I couldn’t bear to look at him. Before the woodthing could act further I ran. Mud rushed into shoes. Twigs sunk into my skin. I didn’t care.

The sound of music draped the forest. I fought the urge to glace back. I heard how woodthings capture their prey. The woodthing wraps its arms around them. It removes its mask and looks into their eyes. It sings them to sleep. The roots on its legs crawl across the poor person or animal until they are wholly enveloped.

Eki never left the forest. His family looked for him, and eventually so did every person in the valley.

“Do you have any idea where Eki could be?” Asked my father. “I know you were close. Did he say anything we should know?”

“Last we spoke he said he’d bring me a flower, nothing else.”

Half a decade had passed between Eki’s disappearance and the dawn of the dragons’ return. My body was weak. I hadn’t eaten properly in weeks. I couldn’t escape the valley like I had the forest. I was certain that the gods were punishing me. My stomach would clench at the mention of Eki, but over the years the feeling lessened, and his name was scarcely mentioned. His grandfather no longer came to visit. The cold was a stark reminder of my my deed. My gut roiled like the unending storm.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered into the floor of the chieftain’s great hall one night.

In the morning the whistle of the wind ceased. The people of the valley peeked outside, and their faces weren’t battered by hale. They were laughing and crying. Foolishly, I thought that the gods had listened.

An hour later a figure emerged from the purple path to the south. He was wearing black. A wide-brimmed hat covered his eyes. A sack was slung across his shoulder. A white wolf was drawing a cart behind him.

“A peddler?” said a woman. “Perhaps he has food to sell.”

“Impossible,” said a man. “No mortal creature could have survived that storm. He must be a Southerner— one of their Eyes. They are sorcerers. We’d be wise to avoid him.”

“But I’m so hungry.”

The chieftain invited the stranger to his manor. The following day it was decreed that he could stay.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the stranger. He unloaded his goods in the market by the square. Village merchants were slowly reintroducing their produce, but most of the shoppers flocked to the stranger. When the hubbub eased, I decided to approached him.

“At long last, you choose to make yourself known,” the peddler said. “I was beginning to think you’d stay standing by that stall ‘till sunset. A dark-haired girl, all the way in the Northern mountains? What a rarity you are.” He spoke of me with the same detached tone he used when selling his merchandise. “What will it be, lass? I’ve wonders from all over the world—charms and potions whose power must be tried to be believed.” He waved a gloved hands across a brimming basket.

“Where are you from?”

“I’m from the South.”

“Every stranger is a southerner to us.”

“I left my homeland long ago. Now I am a creature of the world.”

“Are you planning on going back?”

He licked his lower lip. “I haven’t really thought about it. This place suits me just fine.”

“You mean the North? But it’s so cold here. There’s not much to see.”

He smiled beneath his hat. “There’s more to the north than your valley.”

I swallowed and tried to look into his eyes, but they were still veiled. “I’m only wondering because—what I mean to ask is— whether, when you leave, you could take me with you.”

He said nothing. Then he laughed. I felt like a fool. I should have tried harder to convince him, but I was too proud to give him the satisfaction. He’s only a lowly peddler, I reassured myself. I’m better off with my father.

“You may.”

My lips parted.

“A soul is better living than dead,” the stranger continued. “Have you heard of the saying?”

“I have, from my grandmother. Are you a druid?”

He laughed again. “No, not a druid.”

My upper lip felt damp. I brushed it with my finger. Was I sweating? I looked around. The snow had melted around the peddler’s stall.

“How—” The question shrivelled in my mouth. Somebody was screaming. I looked around the square. The people that only moments before stood where I was had begun to set home—now they were burning. Not a single person was untouched by fire. The flames which licked their bodies were mostly blue. The fire didn’t stray further than their bodies.

The stranger’s gloves had disintegrated from the heat. I could now see that instead of nails the tips of his fingers were topped by black talons. The fingers were decorated with mismatched gaudy rings. His wrist was marred by scales. He shed his black cloak. His tanned, muscular arms also shone with scales. They had even spread to his nape. It was a wonder I hadn’t noticed before.

The wide-brimmed hat fell from his head. He was hairless. There were gems in his ears. My gaze travelled down to his unveiled eyes.

They were slitted.

There was no escape for me now. This was worse than a woodthing, or cold. I would have preferred to face a god. I closed my eyes. I hoped the fire would consume me quickly.

The burning never came. I dared to look. The fire was gone. Charred bodies littered the floor. The slitted eyes were on me. The beastly lips stretched sideways.

“Well? Are you coming?” asked the dragon .