The Rebirth

“There weren’t always dragons in the valley. At least, not in our lifetime,” Ahti whispered. “They’ve been here before.”

Aila looked up at her friend with her warm brown eyes and black hair hiding part of her face. “You don’t sound afraid of them like the others.”

Ahti flushed. “Reverence still bears fear.”

“The elders forbid talking to them,” Aila scolded.

She knew Ahti too well. He was heir to the spiritual guides of their village, so the laws were supposed to mean something to him. The only problem was that he wasn’t supposed to be next in line. If the world hadn’t shifted the way it did, he wouldn’t have had to worry about it for at least another hundred years. But, the world turned, and his father had died, and now he was next in line.

Except, he had never been a good heir to his lineage. The world was filled with mysteries, and he wanted its answers. The gods weren’t enough because they hid the truth. When the ground shook, and the mountains cracked and flung fire into the sky that burned the valley, he wasn’t afraid like the others. Like the land, his foundation had rattled, and his obedience cracked and let air stoke the flames of his desire to know.

It still terrified him how easily the old ways had burned, taking his resignation to conform with them.

Ahti looked down at Aila and was surprised to see a soft smile tugging at her lips. One thing that had not shifted with the world was the desire to connect with his people. They were slowly slipping away, yet she was still here, looking at him as if he were the light of her life. The reverence terrified him. He pressed his lips to hers to avoid falling away, taken by her tenderness.

Aila giggled when he pulled away. She knew him too well. “I won’t tell,” she reassured, looking back at the valley.

“My grandfather would be angry to hear it, but we weren’t good stewards to the holy land before The Fall.”

“Oh?” Aila hummed. She leaned against him again, their warmth merging against the cool wind spinning between the peaks. “Tell me your story, oh holy shaman.”

Ahti scoffed with a crooked smile. “You should have been named after the mischievous goddess and not the light-bringer.”

Aila winked and hugged his arm. It signaled that she would hear his words.

“We humans are fickle things, with short lives and even shorter memories. Worse yet, our memories are fallible. Even with written language, and stories, we are at the mercy of interpretation and the teller. It’s easy to omit details to serve, or forget entirely and end up lying instead.” The coals of Ahti’s anger began to glow.

Aila shifted. “You’ve never spoken so darkly of our stories, Ahti.” Her ribs pressed against his body as her breaths quickened, sensing his mood.

He didn’t heed her concern. “That was before I learned how we were destroying the land.”

“We are the gods’ stewards,” she countered.

“Yet we only have stories that benefitted us. The details about how to be of the earth were left out. We were destroying the world, Aila.” He turned his ocean blue eyes towards her.

Her arms loosened, and the warmth of her body pulled away. “Did they tell you this?” she asked, referencing the dragons that lived beneath them.

The absence of her warmth instantly doused his passion. He reached out and took her hand. “No.”

Aila narrowed her eyes and pulled her hand away.

“I didn’t mean it that way.” The sound and feel of his hand running through his hair cleared his frustration. “I’ve talked to them, yes.” He looked at her again. “I don’t say it in anger, though. I say it because we can do better. There is power in knowledge and admitting we’re wrong. That’s what I’m saying. We can find balance. Stagnant water grows foul, right?” She let him retake her hand, meaning she was listening. “We are like water. So long as we continue moving, we are impossible to crush and capable of moving mountains and nurturing the earth. But, if we grow still, we can be poisoned and harbor death. We needed The Fall as much as the world did.”

“The dragons brought fire and destroyed our valley, though.”

“Yet water cools fire, does it not?”

“Are you saying we tame them?” Aila asked incredulously.

Ahti stood up, drawing Aila to her feet with him. “Fire like theirs cannot be tamed.”

The lines of their bodies pressed together as she faced him down. The vista opened into a burned landscape riddled with ash and charcoal. Her warm brown eyes bored into him.

“Your eyes and words speak of water, yet the elders have always said you burn like fire, Ahti.”

“Yet here you are still, Lightbringer.” He paused, letting himself fall into her gaze. “You know, the tales speak of a gentle bearer of daylight, but she isn’t.” Their breaths mingled. “You are aptly named, because light is made of fire, and you dance and burn just like mischievous flames.”

Her eyes dropped to his lips briefly before she looked up through her lashes. “You have some mystery and wonder you want to show me, don’t you?”

“I don’t want to endanger you.” He felt like the boy of sixteen he was, rebellion and confidence swept away by her gravity.

“You claim our world is in turmoil and have some knowledge that could save it, yet you’re afraid I’ll fall with you? That seems at odds with your vehemence against the old ways and desire for forward motion. Do you want me to rot in a stagnant pool?”

Their lips met. Overcome with passion, he let his fingers twine in her hair as he pulled her closer. “Aila,” he gasped, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Show me, O Mighty Warrior, or so reveal your desire to cast me into the poison to die,” she growled, her brown eyes burning bright while he forced his to dim.

Properly scolded, he took her hand and led the way into the valley, guided by the full moon that lit their path. Scorched rock and broken trees were haunting images against the silvery light and ash. The farther down they climbed, the tighter Aila held his hand. However, that was the only manifestation of her fear, and Ahti couldn’t help but let his admiration soften his face.

Finally, they reached the bottom, and the ash puffed up from their feet. The valley, cupped in the palms of the world, stretched for as far as they could see.

Aila clung to his arm. “I’ve forgotten how beautiful this place is,” she breathed.

“Even burned?” he asked, his heart fluttering.

Her eyes traced up the mountainsides into the sky filled with stars. “More so because it’s not hidden behind trees.”

The shame of his selfishness flared again. He was dragging her towards his demise to avoid the loneliness a little longer. “Are you sure about this?”

“Does the Moon dance with the Sun?”

“But the Moon is trapped—”

Her cool fingers touched his lips and silenced him. “Finish the story you started before you lecture me, shaman.”

Ahti pulled her hand away so he could kiss her fingers, then took it to lead the way.

They appeared alone. He knew she felt like they were because the tension slowly eased from her grasp. Yet he knew better as they wove through broken boughs and hewn rocks.

That was the thing about humans he had tried to explain earlier, and he hid his disappointment she was still a victim of it. Memories were fickle, and if the dangers weren’t present, how easy it was to slip into the illusion of safety. Ahti knew the dragons watched them. They hid the whisper of their scales in the sighing of the wind. The only way to understand danger, truth, and foresight was to walk through the valley of experience. Once the truth of it was revealed to her, there would be no way for her to turn back.

Wordlessly he tugged her towards a crevasse. Ahti’s hand tightened, betraying the moment before the dragon peeled itself away from the rock and let itself be known. He stopped when Aila froze, positioning himself between the beast and her. The warmth of her panicked breath against his neck grounded him between both worlds.

Slowly the monstrous thing snaked out towards them. Its claws scratched against the earth, revealing the falsehood of the wind, and Aila’s nails dug into his shoulders as she realized it. The sharp head lowered as their path was blocked, and the gravely lips pulled away from pearly fangs.

“Who are you to bring another here?” the dragon growled.

“It speaks,” Aila gasped.

Ahti felt her tremble. Afraid she would faint, he placed a hand over hers, hoping she would steady her breathing. “I, Ahti, name Aila my honored guest. I am an honored guest of Tamthurisk, who permits me.”

“Tamthurisk is but a child.” The dragon gnashed its teeth angrily.

Ahti didn’t flinch at the display. “Child of the Highest.” The magic of the place began to take hold of him, and no doubt the dragon could smell its musk.

“Blasphemy,” the dragon hissed.

So it could smell the mark Tamthurisk had placed on him, granting him safe passage. Regardless of how he felt about his own people’s traditions, he hoped the dragons’ adherence to their ways was strong in the monster before them.

“If you would let us pass,” Ahti said.

“I will not!” The dragon widened its stance and stood taller.

Fear gripped Ahti, but he knew he could not back down. Despite not having a sword, he took a step back as if he had one to draw and stood ready to fight.

“What are you doing?” Aila shrilled in his ear.

The hand that would have held his weapon wrapped around her waist. He cursed himself for not preparing her better. He, too, had fallen victim to overconfidence. “Let us pass,” he growled. Aila tried to push away from him, and a more sinister reason for his unpreparedness reared its ugly head. He hadn’t told her for fear she would change her mind, and the wound of the realization revealed that he had forsaken himself for the path he had set himself down.

The dragon’s eyes were drawn to her struggle, and he knew the nasty smile that split its face. Ahti knew they were safe so long as he held his ground, yet she didn’t. All too soon, their walk down rebellion’s path had ended. Stubbornness held him still, because if he turned to her now, he would die, too.

“How dare you, Faesmad,” another voice grumbled through the stone around them.

The dragon before them whipped its head around just before a loud boom cracked over them, forcing both Ahti and Aila to cover their ears. The pain of the noise made them press their eyes shut and fall to their knees.

Tentatively, Ahti opened an eye to see that the dragon named Faesmad had been cast away. Aila’s muffled scream filtered through his palms, and when he saw that they were safe, he turned to her and gathered her into his arms. Fists pummeled him, catching protected and tender flesh equally. Before he could block one such strike, her knuckles connected with his eye.

Lighting quick, he managed to catch one of her wrists. “Aila!” he yelled, “it’s ok!” He pulled her closer, trapping the other between them. “Aila,” he repeated as she continued to struggle.

“He speaks the truth, little one,” a silky voice purred over them.

Aila’s eyes shot open and went straight past him to the dragon behind them, whites visible.

“You are Ahti’s honored guest, and so are mine. You will not be harmed.”

Aila’s hand trapped between them grabbed his shirt. “Ahti,” she whimpered.

He resented the tears that kissed her bottom lashes. Then, before he could say or do anything more, the crunch of fallen rocks and ash met his ears, the earth around his knee shifting to the creature’s force behind him.

He could smell soil and flowers over the smell of burned ground and dust. For him, the memory of the scent of life wasn’t unfamiliar. However, as the wind carried it to Aila and she inhaled it, her face became an open book of emotion. Ahti knew that each step the dragon took resulted in new growth blooming through its claws. The face of scales that resembled the velvety texture of petals and leaves was as familiar to him as the gentle rise and fall of Aila’s. There would never come a time he could admit to his lover that he had traced the dragon’s jaw as lovingly as he had her own. But the awe on Aila’s face as she looked at Tamthurisk told him she would understand if the time did come.

“Ahti,” Aila gasped.

He didn’t respond. Instead, he let her murmur his name again and again until her eyes cleared and she looked at him.

“Ahti,” she said once more. Her nails bit into his arms.

The calluses of his hand whispered across her smooth skin as he cupped her cheek. “Aila,” he said.

Silent words passed between them. He held her in his gaze until she finally relaxed into his touch. Then, he turned towards Tamthurisk, who stood as patient as stone.

“So, this is the Aila of Dancing Flames Rising you’ve spoken of?”

Ahti dipped his chin firmly. “She is my honored guest.”

The dragon purred and shifted its eyes away from him and towards Aila. “Aila the Mischievous, I am Tamthurisk, Child of the Highest. I will take you as an honored guest if you desire to see.”

Aila glanced at Ahti before she looked up at the dragon once more. “Your scales. . .” she gasped. “Your feet. . .”

“Destruction and fire fuels new growth. The cycle cannot be complete without death.”

Ahti tightened his grip around Aila, and she looked at him once more. Understanding began to dawn across her face, and he had never seen anything more beautiful. Although he knew the dragon would hear him, he whispered as if they were the only two people alive. “They want to heal our world, and I’ve vowed to help them.”

“Our people will think you’ve forsaken them.”

His thumb traced her lips, then her cheeks. “I would rather our ancestors had given up the old ways if it meant that our world would be better. There is no shame in building a better way.”

“They won’t understand. We’re afraid.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and he wiped it away. The way her words slipped towards his otherness stung. “You can still turn away.” Despite himself, he prayed, refusing to accept what would happen if she refused.

Aila’s eyes slid to the dragon once more. A longing softened her face. Tamthurisk’s hum rang through Ahti, and it took all his strength to hold himself together, pinned between his two worlds and greatest loves. Her brown eyes met his once more, forming a murky pool of mud and ocean, and this time Aila’s strength ignited his passion instead of cooling him.

Aila met the Tamthurisk’s and spoke without trembling like a fearless goddess. “I accept.”

The dragon had already known because the song of their pleasure only increased, and the hum rang stronger through Ahti’s chest.

“Then come,” the dragon said, lowering its head so Aila could touch the velvet of its scales. “Let me tell you the story of your world’s life cycle.”

As they met, moss and water sprang up through Tamthurisk’s claws, and Ahti finally let his breath go, hopeful that perhaps they could rewrite their future.