In Flames

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Mom never let us forget that, that there once was a time without them. Not that she was alive all that long ago, but word travels, not just from location to location, but down the bloodline, too. Wish I’d been here the day those damn Karvens showed up here, she would spit. If only I’d been there. I know how it would have gone if she’d been there --- Mom may be magical, but she isn’t divine. I would always pretend with her, though, that things would have gone differently if she had been alive all those decades ago. I know, I’d say. To think how much better off we’d be today. But in reality I know she would have cowered like the rest of them. The Karvens tend to have that effect.

According to legend, the sky turned black the day they arrived in Avadier Valley. Riding in on dragonback, the Karvens set fire to the valley as though it were kindling. The death toll was beyond comprehension, and not many survivors remain to tell the tale. Whole families burned to ashes in their homes, too stunned by panic to scramble out of a window or door before succumbing to the inferno. Our invaders were ruthless in their conquest, not a stone left unturned in their search for what they came for. At the time, they were unsuccessful. Thousands of lives lost for nothing. They emerged victorious, though, about six years ago, when they finally found their bounty.

I’m told there used to be something like a nation here in the Valley, but looking at it now, you’d think we were only just settling in. The crop fields were relocated to virgin land, the trees replanted, the houses rebuilt. One would think that Avadier was only just waking up, the oaks finally spreading their wings, the fauna finally beginning to migrate back to what was once their home. It was a rebirth, though not like the falling of an acorn onto fertile ground. This was rebirth by force, brutal and blunt.

Now less than a century later, the Karvens have transformed the valley into a kingdom of fear. In the sky skulk the dragons, always at least five or six somewhere overhead. On their own, they are not violent creatures --- only when they are saddled up must we begin to worry.

On the Valley Floor, lurking on the streets between the buildings are the Managers, the keepers of the “peace,” the holders of the keys to our daily freedoms. They stand at street corners and stalk the natives like wolves. If one step is taken out of line, they are on the scene. Even in times of perfect order, still they invent new reasons to pounce, to make use of their unquestionable power. We are prey in their eyes. They are objects of violence in ours.

On a good day there may be only one or two floggings in the town square. Such days when the Managers show an ounce of mercy, for whatever reason, I don’t know. More often than not, though, the whip is rarely given a rest. I’m told that before the Karvens arrived the Valley Floor was a carnival of entertainment, goods, and foodstuffs, the roads swollen like flooded rivers, the air thick with the smell of frying duck breast. Now when I walk the streets the air is thick with anguish. Sometimes, I must be careful not to let the hands of misery grab my ankle as I pad down the gloomy paths. If it were not for the Floor’s necessity as the only source of food or employment in Avadier, I think it would be deserted by now.

It’s not just the Valley Floor that has become a trove of terror. It’s the Rails, too, the broad hills of the Valley stretching upward into the forests. Most of the natives live on these emerald slopes, in reconstructions of their former family homes. At sundown, the Managers herd the villagers back from the Floor as curfew falls, back into their cells, or houses, however you choose to look at it. The Night Managers arrive and the cycle of fear carries on. It’s gone on this way for almost six decades now. The people are growing weary.

As a rule, I must always clear the streets before the sun begins to set, lest I be caught in the Managers’ herd. If I were to be swept into this current, I would quickly be found out for who I truly am. How could I explain my lack of residence in the Rails, where us natives are meant to live? How could I explain that my home is actually somewhere deep in the Outskirts, submerged in the forest? It would serve only to reveal my bloodline, and my bloodline were discovered, I would be finished.

Tonight, though, tonight I plan to change it all. As I lie under the cover of the night, I run through my goals, ambitions, my discarded plans, failed attempts, all that has led me to this moment. I turn to my left, eye to eye with Betty and I can smell the fear on her. Probably some sort of a lecture incoming. Ever since I’ve been on my own, Betty has acted as more of my mother than anybody else. Bearubs are a naturally loving animal. Her maternal instincts are no joke.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ve got this one nailed down.” And it’s true. It’s taken months of contemplation, drawing on the forest floor with fallen branches to visualize my attack. I have the kinks worked out.

She stares back at me a moment, huge black eyes as dark as the night. She haphazardly extends a paw to me, slaps it on my thigh. Like a person, but a little less agile. Betty roars softly, “Just remember to come back to me. And be safe.”

Judging by her tone, she isn’t the most pleased with my plot. But then again, bearubs are not always the easiest creatures to read.

She mumbles something like a goodbye, not a permanent goodbye, but more like how she says it when I leave to purchase supplies down at the Floor. Wobbly, perhaps with fear, Betty crawls to her feet and shakes out her wings. Guess this isn’t a long conversation after all.

She nudges her nose against my thigh and I pat the space between her eyes. It’s only a few moments before she extends her wings and is off.

Now that she’s gone, it begins to sink in a little bit more. I guess a part of me was expecting Betty to stop me. I don’t know if it's faith that she has in me, or resentment for all the times I’ve caused her worry. But whatever it is, it was strong enough for her to set me free. Not that she could really stop me anyway --- I’m an adult now and I know what’s right. I know that the Karvens must be stopped, and I know that I need to save my mother.

Six decades ago, it was my family that the Karvens were searching for when they arrived in Avadier. For centuries, the Arlaster bloodline and our power to communicate with animals has been legend. My ancestors were the subject of songs and poems, myths that circulated amongst all of the neighboring kingdoms. It was only a matter of time, I suppose, before somebody attempted to exploit our power. Only a matter of time before the Karvens sought greater communication with their dragons, their greatest tool of conquest.

When the Karvens showed up, they searched endlessly for my grandmother, for the bearer of our gift. She fled to the Outskirts, my mother just a child at the time, riding on her mother’s back without much understanding of the budding crisis. Together they lived amongst the wildlife, deep in the forest, hiding in the trees and on the riverbanks. It was frostbite that eventually took my grandmother, leaving my mother and I as the last of our kind.

But six years ago, she slipped up. She edged too close to the Rails in search of food and was spotted by a Manager. Captured. In minutes. Since then, only twelve years old, I have navigated this life on my own. Not without the help, I suppose, of many of this forest’s creatures. But for the past six years I have lacked any sense of family.

I can only imagine how they treat her, under threat of death if she does not bring the Karvens’ violent plans to fruition. If it were not for the hope of seeing me again one day, she probably would have let herself die by now, rather than continue to aid their violence. I know how she is. She would never have chosen this life.

But I know she has not resigned to death yet. Sometimes, I still can hear her calling out commands to the dragons as they fly over the Outskirts on the way to more distant lands. Her voice doesn’t quite sound the way it used to. It’s all I have left of her now, though.

The Karvens have no idea that she ever had a son. And tonight, when the moon is high, I plan to take them by surprise.