My Fault

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But now there are. And it's all my fault.

I really didn't mean to. I didn't know what I was doing. My friend, Thomas, and I had always played in those ruins. Ever since we were little. It had always been the same. The carved walls had no meaning to a little boy and a little girl who couldn't read the symbols. We made up what the letters said, creating prophecies, warnings of doom and promises of glory, to fit into our little games. I'd always been the princess, and he'd always been the knight. We were there every day, after our work was done, and the sun was still in the sky. The broken towers, empty halls, and abandoned passageways made up our castle. Adults were always afraid of the place. But not Thomas and me.

I wish that I'd listened. I wish that we'd never gone to that place. I wish our games had been played somewhere else.

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But now there are, and it's my fault. It's my fault, because I set them free.

It was an accident. I swear. I just wanted to be the knight for once. Thomas was always the knight. He kept insisting that girls couldn't be knights. That there had to be someone to rescue, and that was a princess, and that was how it was always supposed to go.

"There are shield maidens," I had argued, scrunching my face and leaping on top of a stone table, to gain height and advantage. "And shield maidens can save princes. I want the sword this time. You hold the goblet." We'd never told our parents about the sword. Or the goblet. The sword was dull, and the goblet was broken. They were easy to incorporate in our games; the sword the tool for the hero, the goblet and princess the prizes. Spoils of victory and valor.

"Shield maidens aren't heroes, Catherine, and they don't save princesses. They're just soldiers. They need someone to boss them around," Thomas argued back, hopping up on the stone table with me, and bearing his teeth as he spoke. That used to scare me when we were younger. But now it just made me think of Thomas's dad's old dog, who bared his snaggletooth when he was cranky but didn't have it in him to bite anymore.

"I'm not going to let you bully me this time, Thomas. I'm going to be the hero. And you're going to be rescued. Or I'm telling your da about your pretty Miss May."

Thomas's face dropped in a mixture of surprise and fear, and that was when I knew I'd gotten him. I grinned back in my premature triumph, and grinned wider as he, sulking, handed me the sword and took up the goblet. I was too excited to notice his pout, feeling so giddy with excitement the sword seemed to vibrate in my hands. I felt like I was brimming with power. I tried to lift it, but it swayed in my hands, making me stumble.

"Why didn't you tell me it was so heavy??" I exclaimed, trying to regain my balance. Thomas had laughed at me then, teasing me. Saying a third generation farm girl should've been more capable of lifting a single weapon. I'd shot him a warning glance, but we'd begun our game anyway. It followed the same storyline as it always had, a big bad monster took the princess— err, prince— and it was the knight who had to save them. Together we play acted battles, riddles, dungeons. Roaming all about the castle but ending back up on that same stone table again for the climactic finish. I'd swung the sword around so much that as we got back onto the table, the sword seemed to vibrate in my hands again. It didn't help that my arms were shaking. But I didn't dare let Thomas know that my arms were tired. I'd never hear the end of it.

"Okay. Give me the sword now. I want one more game with it before it gets too dark," Thomas said, extending his hand.

My mouth dropped open and I stared at him, pulling the sword away from his reaching hand. "But we didn't get to play out the valor part. I'm supposed to get the valor part, too, you always got that!"

"I'm bored, being a prince isn't as fun for me as being a princess is for you."

Anger bubbled up in my chest so fast and so quickly that it made it hard to breathe. My grasp tightened on the grip of my sword, and though the tremble of my arms got stronger, I didn't care. I held onto it.

"You spoiled, stupid little rich boy!" I shouted at him, swinging the sword to the left as I did. "We always do what you want to do! We always eat what you want to eat! I'm tired! I ask for one thing—"

"Cat! Watch out! You're gonna cut me with that thing!" Thomas cried, lifting his arms as if he were trying to ward me off. For some reason, it just made me angrier. I don't know why. It was such a small little thing. Thomas wasn't really selfish. He was usually very nice. It was why we'd been friends for years. But in that moment, on that stone table, with that sword in my hands— he wasn't my friend. All I could see was red. My voice sounded like a roar in my ears.

"Thief! Traitor! Brat!" I shouted at Thomas, actually swinging the sword this time at him. It felt so unfair. It felt so good to attack him. Just this once. But then the sword connected. Not really, it was just a scratch. But I think that's what really did it. The second the slash appeared on his cheek, the second his blood dripped down into the goblet in his hands— it was all over. My mind cleared. I wasn't so angry anymore. I had enough time to look at Thomas in shock. That was it. No time to say I was sorry. That I hadn't meant to. That it wasn't me.

I don't think it was me.

The ground underneath us shook so hard that both of us were thrown to the floor. The sword skittered away out of my grasp, off to the corner of the room. As Thomas fell, the goblet dashed into a hundred different little pieces. The two large hills that surrounded us rumbled, the entire landscape trembling as though we'd triggered an earthquake. I remember calling Thomas's name, trying to reach out to him. I'd gotten so close, my fingers almost brushed his hands.

Then the hill right outside our castle moved.

A head, so massive, so unimaginably massive, reared up from behind the hill. But it wasn't a hill. Not anymore. That became apparent as two huge, leathery wings unfolded from its back, slinging dirt, grass, and stone everywhere. I threw my arms over my head to protect it from the spray, calling out Thomas's name again. But my voice was drowned out by the deafening rumble. I looked up again in time to see one huge, golden, glowing eye looking down on us. I wished more than anything in that moment that I had my sword. Our sword. The eye then fixed on Thomas.

I tried to tell him to run. I begged him to run. But he just . . . Sat there. As if he were frozen. A large, clawed hand, armored with scales reached out and snatched Thomas bodily up. He screamed. I called his name again, lifting the skirt of my torn dress in a panic, trying to run after him as I watched his pale face in the dragon's grasp fly up and away from me.

A dragon. It was a dragon.

Two more of the beasts lifted up and away from the ground, one joining the one that had Thomas. The other seeming to veer off and away from the pair. All three of them roaring, raging; breathing fire into the sky like they were stoves trying to clear old soot away.

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But now there are. They have Thomas. And it's my fault. It's my fault, because I set them free.