Tempest of the Dragons

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.

Once upon a time, we lived in a world where war was a three-letter word and peace was every day. Until that is, the elves grew so great in power that they rivaled the mighty dragons for their long-kept throne. The dragons, seeing this threat, retaliated. That was five hundred years ago.

You may be asking where exactly I fall in the allegiance category of this war. Auspiciously on the outskirts is where I would like to be. But alas, I am very much one-sided on this.

I have chosen the dragons to win. I know what you’re thinking: who do you think you are to hold such sway in a war?

I was born to the human clan, the dwindling mortal population often caught in the crossfire of the war. We are not immortal like the dragons nor long-lived like the elves and their dwarven brethren.

On the night of my birth, our village at the base of the Tor’m Mountains found itself under attack. The elves had been pushed back to the edge of the Grya Forest; the Dragons close on their tails.

They ripped through the village, stealing away babes from the arms of wailing mothers. Those who were able fought with everything they had. Those who resisted the elves were slain, my eldest brother included.

Da had been at home with Ma when the attack happened. My brother had been trying to stop the elves from taking our cousin. Da still blames himself for not being there when it happened.

The elves had just reached our street when the dragons descended. They dragged Ma and other expectant mothers out of the homes in an attempt to take the babes. They halted a few doors down, Ma screaming in pain as I decided that was the moment I was to enter the world. And though Da fought, he wasn’t who saved Ma and me. It was a dragon.

Her scales shone like molten lava, her bellow of fury shaking the very mountain itself. She descended upon the street, forcing the elves away from Ma. The neighbors that had seen it happen say the dragon curled its tail around Ma, snarling at anyone close. Even the other dragons.

Da says he still can’t believe what happened next. His eyes would glow with awe as though he could see it once more every time he recounted the tale. He said I entered the world, wailing at the top of my lungs.

And then, as one, the dragons craned their necks toward the sky and bellowed into the night. Da says that silenced my cries. All he could do was watch as Ma lifted me towards the dragon that had saved her.

The dragon lowered her snout, lightly touching it to my brow. A bright light flashed through the air resulting in screams of terror from those who had witnessed my birth.

It was then that the dragon lifted her tail, allowing Da to approach. He took me in his arms and rubbed the luminous marker on my brow.

The village holy man, Joel, chose that moment to appear; one of the neighbors had slipped away and fetched him. Thunder crashed overhead as he walked towards my parents, eyeing the nearby dragons with disdain.

Joel hissed at the mark that branded my forehead. He declared to those gathered that I was why the war had reached their doorsteps. I was the bringer of hurt and pain and death; I was why the dragons burned down their homes. He looked at me once more and named me, as was his right.

Tempest.

And while Joel proclaimed that the next baby born would be the salvation to the storm I was meant to wreak, my parents did not care what he had to say.

But, as he said, that babe came two days later – a boy he named Folke.

The dragon that marked me, alongside others, chose to forgo their pursuit of the elves. They made their home within the Valley, between the mountains and the forest. To protect us, to allow us a safe place to raise the babes that had not been stolen away in the night.

Folke and I remained the only children the village saw for three years. Joel blamed the lack of children on me and every poor harvest, illness, theft, and death.

Within the same breath, Joel would praise the efforts of Folke. The boy was annoyingly kind and quietly brilliant. Everything good that happened was because of him. So it was, no matter how hard I tried to be obedient and subservient to their wishes.

I spent many nights crying to Khali, the dragon with burning scales, about it. Her gift had allowed me the ability to communicate with dragons - the first in history to be granted this gift. It was a blessing not to take lightly, she would say.

It wasn’t long until the only emotion I felt was a burning rage at everything and everyone. And I let the world know.

I was seven years old when my antics found me in the direct path of a charging herd of deer. I had fallen and twisted my ankle - completely at mercy for the hooves crashing down towards me. My arms covered my face as I cried out in fear when the first shadow flew over me.

The deer destroyed the earth around me but did not touch me. I lowered my shaking arms to see Folke standing before me, a spear twice as big as he in hand. He had smashed the butt of it into the ground, propping it over his shoulder towards the oncoming threat.

He had saved me.

I hated him for it. The village people rushed forward after the deer dispersed, stepping over me as they went to congratulate him. He ignored them, dropping the weapon to offer me a shaking hand out of the mud.

I smacked it away, a burning blush already blossoming across my face. I picked myself up from the ground, wiping the mud from my hands on my already filthy dress. No-one stopped me as I left the growing crowd with quick feet and began limping for the Valley where Khali resided.

No one dared to stop me as I made my way down the volcanic outcrop that separated the village and the dragon’s roost. Khali was understanding when the situation was explained and allowed me to stay with her until I felt ready to return home.

The next time I was in mortal danger was not my fault. I swear it. I was fourteen years old and had just started my first bleeding. Of course, it had to happen when I was in the middle of the forest scavenging for herbs that the town healer had requested. It was one of the few jobs I was allowed to do within the village – if only because of my accidental discovery of poisonous certain three-leafed plants. But that is a story for another time.

Back to the story – I was in the woods when suddenly I became doubled over with pain. A sticky substance dripped between my legs. I lifted my skirts only to discover that it was blood. Panicked, I started making my way back to the village.

The scent of blood must have been strong, or I must have been in the wrong spot because either way, I soon learned I was not alone in the woods. A panther, nearly the size of a horse, emerged before me, eyes locked on me as it stalked forward. I froze mid-stride, my heart beating hard within my chest.

It circled me, each time bringing itself closer and closer. Eyes wild, I searched for anything nearby that could aid me as I fought off the panther. When I caught sight of a pair of eyes staring back at me, I nearly forgot to be scared of the predator about to pounce.

A rock flew out of the brush, smacking the panther on the temple. It whipped its head to the side, hissing at the unseen threat. As something raced away, the sound of a cracking branch had the beast stepping towards the sound, its tail flicking from side to side.

I held my breath, praying that it had forgotten its interest in me.

Another rock came flying from the brush, crashing into the panther’s forehead. It leaped away, disappearing into the tree line with a snarl so vicious I nearly forgot to flee. My feet started moving before my mind caught up, hurling myself towards the safety of my hearth and home.

It wasn’t until hours later that I heard Folke bragging about the save. I had been on my way to fetch water from the well, nearly about to exit the shadows, when I heard the men gathered laughing at my expense. I froze against the wall, forcing my breathing to be silent.

“Leave it to the Tempest to attract the attention of a forest cat.”

“She’s got to be cursed.”

“If we’re lucky, she’ll only bring herself destruction and leave us be.”

The gathered people laughed at that, Folke joining in. I had never felt a pain within me like I did during that conversation. To hear for oneself, not just in whispers, how lowly the villagers thought of me – it hardened me. If that was indeed what they thought, then so be it.

I would truly become Tempest of the Dragons, creator of the destruction they deemed me capable of.

And I would watch them all burn.