The Piper of Vallier

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. They arrived with the conquerors, those invaders from across the sea who had laid siege to our lands for the last three years. Little of the ensuing war had touched us here, protected by our mountain passes, except for the bloody influx of dragons.

I know what you are picturing, the giant scaled creatures whose wings blocked out the sky over the high peaks millenia ago. Explorers claim to still find their bones in the deep wilds of the earth. The legends tell us they were intelligent, noble, cunning and ruthless, with hearts of fire.

These dragons that arrived were not our forefather’s dragons. Well, they were cunning, and occasionally ruthless if you were a farmer and they descended upon your fields at harvest. But intelligent and noble? Definitely not. As far as I could tell, the six-inch scaly menaces were filled only with diabolical mischief and constant hunger. They reproduced rapidly, nests of baby dragons filling the rafters of the barns and hollows of trees no matter how often we knocked them down.

The worst of it was, no predator among the village and its surrounding crofts would hunt them. Even Lily the calico cat, a fearsome mouser who had once taken down a hawk intent on snatching one of the chickens, would only hiss at the dragons with her tail the size of a broom, and then scurry under the farmhouse porch to sulk for the rest of the day.

So the dragons spread, and it fell on the humans to try to control them.

Or rather, it fell on me.

Sighing, I adjusted my seat, checking one more time that my nets were in place along the wooden shingles. The hall had the biggest, sturdiest roof in the village. I had worked all morning to cover it in a fine web of netting, cleverly connected to a pulley in the oak branches above, so that at my signal the boys could spring the trap from below.

Technically, the boys were almost sixteen years old, and growing rapidly into young men. But to me they would always be the round-faced children who had followed me around the village when I'd begun working as an errand girl for Farmer West. There was Beech, son of the same farmer; Gaff, the motherless son of Gabor the blacksmith; and Belick from the bakery. Joyful hellions, and hard workers, they had become my small but mighty crew when the dragons had swarmed the summer skies and the village had looked around for a hero, and instead found me, the interloper’s child.

Settling back against the cool stones of the chimney, the afternoon sun warming my face, I opened my pack and pulled out my flute. As always, a little thrum of awareness skittered up my arms, like welcome and a warning all in one. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and brought the mouthpiece to my lips.

I never knew what I was going to play. There were a few classic folk songs I had managed to memorize for the occasional wedding or festival, but otherwise I simply provided the air that the flute needed to sing. And whenever the flute sang, the dragons came.

Today the song was wild and high, reminding me of the feeling of new grass in the spring, rain settling the dust of drought, the taste of mead under the stars. Each memory and emotion that flashed through me became a thread – in my mind’s eye they glowed like white coals – that flowed through the air of my lungs into the corridor of the pipe.

I played until I felt the thread fading, the memories sighing and settling. I opened my eyes to see the roof before me covered in dragons. Their tiny green and purple scaled bodies pressed close while all their beady red eyes focused on me with fierce intensity. It had terrified me the first time it had happened. After two years, all I felt was a tired kind of loathing at their mesmerized attention.

Pushing the last of the bright memories into my flute, I lifted my right hand and let it drop sharply. Below I heard Beech call out “Now!”

With a snap, the rope woven through the net’s perimeter wrenched upwards, pulling tight, the dragons crying out in sharp chirps and squeaks of distress as they found themselves bundled neatly into the trap, their leathery wings frantically beating against each other to no avail.

“Easy!” I called out, as the boys began lowering the catch into the crudely made wooden crate waiting below.

Beech, his red hair and freckle face shining in the late sun, grinned up at me. “Aye aye captain!” he shouted in response.

Cheeky child. I shook my head as I stretched my back and rose to my feet, swinging my pack around to begin the slightly perilous climb down the chimney. It was rough field stones, plenty of places to tuck a toe or hand, but given that the music often left me light-headed and shaky, not a climb to do carelessly.

I jumped the last few feet to the ground, ignoring the slight spin the earth gave as I regained my balance. Beech and the boys had become distracted by something in the village square, while the box of heaving dragons behind them remained perilously open. As I approached, three of the most determined dragons used their sharp beaks to break threads and made a desperate flight for the open skies.

“Damn it! Beech! Lock it down!” I was already moving as I swore, wedging my shoulder under the heavy lid, bracing with my legs to get enough leverage to swing it up and over on its hinges, gravity pulling it down with a loud crack. Rounding the box, I stamped towards Beech, grabbing him by the shoulders. “What’s gotten into you! We could have lost the whole catch!”

Beech grasped my arm desperately, “Rin, look,” he whispered in a shaking voice, his pale skin grown even paler as his gaze remained fixed over my shoulder.

A prickling of fear started between my shoulder blades and raced up my spine. Slowly I turned, aware of the hush where the usual hustle and bustle of the village should have been. It was easy to see why the square had fallen silent. In the center of the worn cobblestones stood three strangers mounted on war horses. In the forefront was a magnificent dapple gray mare, and on its back, one of the Varis, the conquerors. It was so improbable, so unexpected, that for a moment I simply stared.

We had all heard tales of them, carried with traders to our quiet little valley. To be honest, after descriptions of blood-red eyes, horns, and pointed tails, the woman before me seemed surprisingly common. I suppose it’s noteworthy that she was taller than most of our men, her head almost on a level with her horses as she gracefully dismounted. And her eyes, black where any color should have been, were a bit disconcerting, especially as they were fixed on me in a hard stare.

But she wasn’t much paler than Beech was in the dead of winter, and there weren’t any horns peeking out from under her braid of black hair. Her ears might have been pointed, but it was difficult to tell at this distance, and there was no evidence of a tail. My fear had begun to recede into simple curiosity, when she pulled back her lips in a grim smile and I remembered - the teeth.

Wickedly sharp canines, as long as the tip of my finger, had every nerve in my body stand up and pay attention. Predator, my instincts whispered, and in that moment I knew, without doubt, that I was the prey.

Slowly the Varis examined me. I knew generally what they would find, a woman in her twenty-second year of life, too tall by most standards, eye to eye or better with all the menfolk. My hair was an odd shade of burnt brown, as if it couldn't decide if it was red, blonde, or brunette, and had settled on an indeterminate color. These days I kept it cut short, thanks to an unfortunate incident involving a dragon caught in it for several agonizing minutes (It’s hard to say who was more traumatized, me or the dragon).

My features were average, nothing in particular making me hideous or beautiful, except my eyes, which I had been told were a warm brown, almost red,, unusual in a town full of light blues and grays. Besides my eyes and height, I was not exceptional in any way.

The Varis seemed to have reached a similar conclusion, her smile fading to more of a sneer. She turned and handed the reins of her horse to one of her companions, a man of similar appearance to her. There was one other with them, a human from our own lands, who’s scars and inordinate amount of weapons advertised her role as mercenary.

The head Varis approached me at a measured pace. My eyes flew to the assembled villagers lurking in the shops and alleys. Surely someone would step forward, someone more appropriate to greet our esteemed and very terrifying guests. Where was the mayor? The priest, for Brianna’s sake? Then I remembered, they had been called to consecrate a new well in the upper end of the Valley. The smith was undoubtedly hiding. Gabor was a gentle man, terrified of strangers. Which left me as the most official person in the village.

Realizing I was once again on my own, I sighed wearily, put my shoulders back, and plastered a confident grin on my face. Stepping forward, I thrust my hand out.

“Welcome, travelers, to the Village of Saint Vallier. I am Rin the Piper.” I touched the green pin at my collar that proclaimed me an official bard. An honor I had scoffed at years ago when the mayor had ordered it for me. Now I felt grateful for its authentication of my position.

“We are, um, honored to have you among us?” I tried hopefully.

At my sudden cheerful approach, the Varis had halted, eyes narrowing, and almost automatically raised her hand to take mine. It was a shock, that hand, not unlike the thrill that danced along my skin when I touched my flute. Welcome. Warning. Danger.

A flurry of conflicting emotions skittered through me, leaving my stomach a mess of nerves. Her grip tightened slightly, warmer than I would have expected given the icy pallor of her complexion. Without breaking her gaze on my face, she spoke over her shoulder in a voice bizarrely deep, with a rasp that made me more aware this was a creature from another land entirely.

“Is this the one you heard of?” she asked the mercenary.

The woman nodded, “Aye. Has to be her.”

Suddenly the firm grip seemed far less warm and much more threatening. I tugged at my hand. She did not release it. I tugged harder, my grin fast fading.

“Release my hand, please.”

Seemingly amused by my resistance, she did release my hand, only to grasp my arm above the elbow painfully tightly. I gasped, more in outrage than in actual pain. Propelling me forward, she advanced on the crate of angry and panicked dragons. The boys scattered with wide eyes as we approached.

“How did you capture them?” she demanded, that voice feeling like it echoed through her hand into my very bones.

“With a net?” I asked, unable to hide my irritation with her manners. I was dizzy with the fear and adrenaline crashing through my tired body. But fear made me contrary. Fear made me angry. Fear occasionally made me reckless. Even knowing I would regret it tomorrow (if I lived that long), I was suddenly more angry than scared. How dare she send my village quaking and haul me around like a dog on a leash? I was the Piper of Vallier! Who did she think she was?

“And how,” she asked icily “did you get them into the nets?”

“And who, may I ask, are you-” I tugged on my arm again, which proved pointless, so I rounded in front of her, and jabbed the finger of my free hand into her collar bone, “-to ask that?”

She blinked, looked at the hand on her chest, then at me again. Refusing to be totally cowed, I raised my brows at her. She leaned forward until we were almost nose to nose (for once I had to look up slightly to face someone, a novel experience) and said through clenched teeth, “I am Lady Malikka, General of Emperor Ukko’s domestic defenses, fourth of my line, guardian of the Bright Cove. Remove your hand from my person, at once.”

Oh. That’s who. Still, the arrogance of the woman. Creature. Monster. Whatever.

“You first,” I snarled back.

For a moment we glared at each other. I watched her jaw tick with some intense emotion, probably resisting using those shiny teeth of hers to rip my throat out, and then abruptly, she released my arm. I jerked my hand back as well. We were still standing impolitely close to each other, but I’d be damned if I would yield first.

She took a deep breath in through his nose, scowling as if she had just caught a whiff of the dung heap. “Well?” she snapped. “How did you capture the draeklein?”

“Is that what you call them?”

“That’s what they are.”

“Really?” I couldn’t help but be intrigued. “We call them dragons.”

“Those creatures?” The general snorted. “Those are hardly dragons.”

“Hmmm,” I weighed what part of the truth to tell her. “They like the music of my flute,” I settled on. It was as much as the villagers knew if she decided to validate my story.

“What song were you playing?” she asked suspiciously.

“The Return of Spring.” I lied blithely.

“Hmmm. Could you play it again?”

“I could try,” and fail, I added silently.

Somehow her scowl deepened, as if she had heard that final thought. “What do you do once they are caught?”

I blinked, “We kill them.”

“How?”

“Well. At first we killed them one by one, but that took days. During the Harvest Moon feast, we discovered smoke from fires made with rowan wood were killing the dragons around them. So now we capture them en masse to be killed by the smoke.”

“Rowan trees? I am not familiar with this wood.”

I shrugged, “The elder mothers use it for their charms. They believe it wards off evil.”

“And do you believe that as well?” she asked with a skeptical look at me.

I shook my head, “I have no time for folk tales and nonsense.”

Not to mention that I was terribly allergic to rowan. The smoke made me break out into a rash and develop a hacking cough. Let’s just say, I was often conveniently called away during Harvest Moon feasts. I let the villagers think I was squeamish and badgered Farmer West into handling the killing just to avoid the noxious fumes.

“Hmmm.” General Malikka slowly paced around the box, running one pale hand across its rough surface as she went. “I would have thought drowning would be an easier approach,” she mused.

I winced in memory of our early attempts. “Drowning them poisons the water.” Not a lethal poison, thankfully, but nasty enough to sicken the village for weeks.

“Aw. Discovered that, did you?” she nodded in grudging approval. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

“Very well,” she declared, slapping her hand on the box of dragons, who shrieked their annoyance. “You’ll come with us.”

My jaw dropped open. I heard Beech gasp. “Excuse me? I will come with you where exactly?”

“To the capital. We are plagued with the draeklein there, and I have been tasked with finding a solution. Your…unique talents…have gained some notoriety along the trade routes. Your emperor requires your immediate services.”

“He’s not my emperor,” I blurted out without thinking.

General Malikka went motionless, then stalked towards me, canines glimmering. I froze as she came alongside me.

“Say that one more time?” she asked in a soft hiss, leaning close enough that her breath fanned against my ear.

I swallowed, refusing to answer, hoping silence was the right course of action.

“You live because the emperor wills it. Your breath is due to his benevolence. His power controls every soul on this continent. If he asks for your death, your demise will be his gift. Do you understand?”

I nodded as best I could.

“Do not let me hear you utter such impulsive words again, or I will assume your intent is treason.”

I nodded again.

The general stepped back. “We leave once our horses are fed and watered. You have until then to pack what you need. Meet us here before the sixth bell.”

And with that she was already moving back to his cadre, dismissing me entirely.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Anger and defiance were still hot in my veins, but my survival instincts were screaming at me to not provoke her further. Attempting to keep my voice calm and respectful, I managed to say, “Your ladyship, I appreciate the honor of this request, but I cannot go.”

She stopped, spine rigid, before whirling to face me again.

“What did you say?” she said in that deep, dangerously calm, voice.

“I cannot go. The village would be overrun within a week.” I gestured to the oak branches and the ridge poles already refilling with dragons. “The crops will fail. All these people will be in danger of starvation by midwinter.” It was probably a slight exaggeration, but only slight.

She stared at me, then shockingly, threw her head back and laughed. “You,” she said, regarding me in exasperation, “are relentless.”

I nodded amiably. “Probably more work than I’m worth.”

“Quite possibly,” she murmured. Rubbing a hand over her face, the general sighed, making her seem disconcertingly human, and stared into the distance for a moment.

“Your points are valid, if not a primary concern of the emperor. I promise a dozen wagons of grain in payment if you succeed in removing the draeklein from the capital, to be delivered to the village before the first frost. Will that be sufficient?”

I realized my jaw was hanging open and snapped it shut. A dozen wagons of grains would feed our village for a year, easily. The villagers that had bravely lurked at the fringes of the town square murmured, the hunger and hope on their usually worn faces almost painful to witness.

Swallowing hard, I asked, “Do you swear it, your ladyship?"

The Varis snorted, “Just ‘General’ will do. I will see it done. I swear it.”

"Then I will come."

“No!” came a muffled cry as Beech dashed from the other side of the wagon he and the boys had hidden behind.

The general ignored him, reclaiming her reins and swinging into the saddle. She called over her shoulder, “Until the sixth bell!” before riding with her companions towards the inn on the other side of the square.

Beech crashed into me with a bone-crushing hug.

“You can’t go! I won’t let you!” he sobbed.

Automatically, my arms wrapped around his skinny frame. He was so much taller than the last time I had held him like this. The realization that he would be taller still before I saw him again had my throat tightening uncomfortably.

“Aw, Beech. You heard the general, I’m just so special that the emperor himself is asking for me to do him a personal favor, imagine that? And this way we get grain for everyone to get through the winter. Think of it Beech, no hungry dark nights this year. It’s worth it, aye?”

Gently pulling out of his grip, I rested my hands on his shoulder, bending over to bring my eyes level with his. “I am counting on you to keep the traps set. I know you won’t be able to manage as many, but even a few a day makes a difference. If we have grain to spare, use it to bait them. Worse case, build up rowan fires around the best fields to see if the smoke keeps them at bay.”

Rubbing at his eyes, he nodded, then flung his arms around me again.

“You’ll come back, right?” he said, voice muffled in the front of my tunic.

I ruffled his hair. “Of course I will.” I hoped. But I could taste the lie on my tongue. “But for now, I need you and the boys to run as fast as you can to find the mayor and tell him all that happened here.”

Beech nodded, eyes lighting up again at having a mission. He broke off at a run, stopping at the wagon to gather the others. For a moment I watched them go, an annoying ache under my breast bone that I rubbed absently as I turned away.

I set off at a jog myself, stopping first at the smithy. Gabor was crouched behind his forge. Seeing me, he brightened, then hung his head.

“Sorry Rin, couldn’t do it. Tried. Couldn’t face them.”

I crouched down next to him, squeezing his massive shoulder.

“That’s all right, Gabor, no harm done. But you heard the Varis, I have to be off before the sun sets, and I have a favor to ask of you before I go.”

He nodded enthusiastically, “Anything you need, as long as it’s not talking to those strange folks.”

“I’d never ask it of you. No, what I need you to do is help the boys with the smoking and burials from now on. Farmer West only helped because I was there to make him. It will be important to stay on top of the culling, and I figured you’d be the best one to manage it. Can I count on you?”

“Oh, aye. Me and Gaff and the others, we’ll keep those vermin at bay, don’t you worry. Thank you Rin, for all you’ve done with those boys. I don’t know what I would have done with him if it weren’t for you,” he reached out and clumsily patted my cheek.

I grinned and stood, grabbing his hand to help pull him to his feet, “He’s a good lad, Gabor, and you’re a good father. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”

It didn’t take me long to gather up my few belongings at Farmer Wests. He had been the quiet, steady rock in my life since he had let my mom and I sleep in his loft when I was small. He was probably off mending fences or clearing ditches. I hesitated for a moment, glancing at the sun, calculating if I could make it so far and back. In the end I decided against it. Beech would tell him why I had to leave in such haste.

Setting off for the village, I felt strangely light. All I had in the world was on my back - a clean set of clothes, a small carving of the goddess my mother had given me before she left, a reddish brown stone Beech said matched my eyes, a knife, plate, and a water jug. And most importantly, my flute, tucked safely in the ball of my clothing.

I walked into the inn just after the sixth bell rang, with the setting sun streaming in behind me. The general was standing inside the door, arms crossed over her chest, a scowl that was quickly growing familiar on her face.

“You're late,” she growled.