The Remnants

There weren’t always dragons in the valley, but it hardly came as a surprise: the valley was full of magic.

The origins of the valley itself were humble before the asteroid. The asteroid fell somewhere in the middle of the Savacean steppe. Uncultivable and arid, it was the land which served as the battleground between Celestial Faerie Courts. The faeries of that time subscribed to the ancient language and culture of Sanskrit, and so the faerie nations were named Survana, the Sun court, after the word for gold, and Rajata, the Moon court, named for silver. The courts had been at odds since their beginnings, endlessly battling for expanded territory. The steppe was good for little else, until the asteroid hit.

The impact of the asteroid swept through both courts, rattling the spires upon their crenellated walls and causing towers to teeter. The wind from its strike reached the mountains to the north, felling rocks and trees in the process, while the ocean shuddered in the far south, heaving great waves onto the shore. The flat expanse of the steppe was destroyed. In its place was a crater that was so deep, it penetrated the face of the planet and struck groundwater that nobody knew was there.

At first, there was nothing but disaster. After the asteroid, there were mudslides that came from the mountains which flattened everything in its wake, while geysers erupted upon the rock surface. Colossal waves crested the land near the bay, leaving the near inhabitants stranded in floodwaters with little reprieve. The mud, the water, trees, seeds, flowers and remains of all kinds poured into the crater, bit by bit. Sticks, stones, broken bones and earth became one in that giant hole.

For some time after the disasters, the crater emitted smog, and both the Survanan and Rajatan scientists could not decipher it, even with the years of samples and research to come. The smog prevented anyone from entering the crater, and those who rode into it never came out.

The aftermath of the asteroid was so awful, and so rattling, that the Celestial Courts immediately called the truce that had been two hundred years in the making. They committed to the peace. As the two most powerful nations on the continent, they combined their forces to help rebuild the damage that had been done by the asteroid. No one nation could do it alone. Both Survana and Rajata decided to lay even claim to the Savacean steppe and the new hole in the earth, split evenly between them. The treaty was signed, and the work begun, spanning some twenty five years. However, it wasn’t until two decades after the end of the Reparations that the last of the smog around the impact had finally dissipated, and two brave emissaries from both Survana and Rajata were at last sent to inspect the crater.

Expecting a crater, they found a valley, nothing like the legends of disaster and misery that had poured into it. It was magnificent: lush, green forests lined the slopes of the valleys that descended into flat lands, while meadows speckled with colourful flowers glimmered in the sunlight. By far, however, the most resplendent part of the valley was the enormous shimmering lake in its centre, shaped like a crescent moon, with smaller bodies of water peppered around the forests, sparkling and clear. The emissaries were transfixed with awe.

“Ah yes. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

The voice was accompanied by a soft rustling. The emissaries looked around but couldn’t see anybody around them. The Survanan reached for her sword. “Who’s there?” She cried. Suddenly, she felt something peck her leg. “I think you’re supposed to say, “knock-knock” first,” a peacock replied, looking up at her. The Survanan screamed, hiding behind her equally mystified Rajatan companion. “Well that’s rude,” the peacock huffed, then shimmied out his tail feathers theatrically, “but I’m so flattered that you think I’m threatening.”

“It’s— it’s talking,” the Rajatan emissary said, dumbfounded, the Survanan quivering behind his shoulder.

“Yes, clearly,” the peacock responded, preening himself.

“How…?”

“The water,” the peacock replied simply, “The asteroid, as it disintegrated over the years, imbued the groundwater with its memory, and the water formed into the lakes. After all, water holds memory. There is memory of all things: language, experience… jokes, which you are no good at telling, by the sounds of it.”

*

The emissaries brought the peacock back with them. He called himself Elim, and lived lavishly in the illustrious Sun court where he was spoilt by the Survanans, who fed him sweet, buttery bread dipped in milk, the fattest of worms and plump red berries. The more he ate, the more he talked. He told them about the wealth of minerals and metals in the walls of the valley, the richness of the forests and the fragrance and qualities of the wood. He told them how leaves which fell from trees grew back instantaneously, the way the water sparkled, so full with memory, and how animals lined up to drink the water from the moon lake.

“They line up?” the Survanans asked, incredulous. The peacock nodded very seriously. “Yes,” he said, “If two animals drink from the lake at the same time, they merge.”

The Survanan scientists called upon their fellow Rajatans to find an animal for the experiment. The Survanans had secured a mountain lion that was the scourge of the northern plains. He was blessed with size, strength and a very bad temper, and was known to upend travelling merchant carriages for sport. The Rajatans plucked a male goat with spiralled horns from the cliffs of the southern seas, quite innocently unaware of what he was about to become.

Together, the Sun and Moon fey, accompanied by Elim the peacock, marched down to the valley with their precious cargo, taking great pains to make sure the lion didn’t eat the goat, and the goat didn’t eat everything else, before the experiment could begin. After several days of travelling on foot, they arrived one night at the crescent lake when the moon was full, and set the animals before the water. The animals, none the wiser and parched, drank deeply from the sparkling lake. The Rajatans held their goat at one end of the crescent, and the Survanans, their lion at the other, and something marvellous took place before their eyes: both creatures disappeared, materialising into balls of light that merged and then submerged in the water.

In the silence of the night, the scientists held their breath.

After some time, a large creature suddenly charged out of the depths, thrashing about and releasing an atrocious yowl that sounded like a goat and a lion combined. The scientists stood back as the creature heaved itself onto the bank. The lion had lost its sandy colour and was instead covered in white, shaggy fur. The shape of the creature’s upper body was the goat’s, with its long neck and crested spine, yet it retained the muscular chest, belly, legs, paws, claws and tail of the lion. It had the goat’s slitted eyes and spiralled horns but the lion’s face, albeit a bit longer and tufted with the goat’s beard. It was lion teeth that were then borne at the scientists in contempt. “What am I supposed to eat now?” he growled in a deep voice, shaking his body off.

*

The Survanans and Rajatans argued all the way back about what to call the chimaera. In the end they called it a goron, because the Survanans insisted upon the combination of ‘goat’ and ‘lion,’ while the Rajatans insisted that there be ‘horn’ in there somewhere. The goron, exasperated, asked the scientists to call him by his name, Shokatmaka, or Maka for short, after the tragic irony of his existence.

Maka resided comfortably in the Moon court and subsequently became famous. Inhabitants from across the continent sought him out. His portrait was painted, wooden souvenirs were made of his face and figure and sold to the grandparents of children who returned home to tell them “they’d seen the goron himself!” Elim took a liking to Maka, who at this point had become just as famous. They were fast friends, both creatures born of the valley, and now, courtly counterparts.

Maka was considered in the faerie courts as a symbol of peace. The bitter fighting that had shaped the history of the Sun and Moon Court and come to an end with the uniting of their forces, and Maka was tangible evidence of that unity, a bundle of oppositions: he was at once a creature from the North and South, the Moon Court and the Sun Court, predator and prey combined, born again in those magic waters in a time of peace. It was at this point that the Survanans and Rajatans decided to form a new court in the valley. It would be one of unity and inclusion, allowing settlers from all over the continent to find their home there, ruled by a faerie from each court. The Rajatan queen, Ananda, promised her daughter, princess Milagro, to prince Calanthe, son of King Arka of Survana, and it was decided: Milagro and Calanthe would rule the Darshana Valley, or the Mirror Valley, which reflected all things: the third court of the Celestial Fey, known, from this moment onwards, as the Eclipse Court.

*

Calanthe and Milagro met as children, primed to love one another for the rest of their lives. Calanthe came with a procession of Survanans as guests of the Moon court. He, flaxen haired, golden skinned and amber eyed, was fascinated by the young girl before him. She met his gaze steadily, her skin a deep brown, her eyes the smoky purple of dusk, of amethyst, her glossy, black hair glinting with bluish reflections. The hair of Moon fey, as they aged, grew whiter and whiter. Milagro’s youth was concentrated in the darkness of her hair, and Calanthe had never seen it before. Shyly, as Survanan emissaries swarmed around him, preparing gifts and unloading their carriages, he held out an offering. It was a yellow orchid, its pot made of the shimmery, creamy clay of Survana.

“What is this?” Milagro asked, taking a petal between her fingers, lifting it, inspecting inside. Calanthe beamed with a smile, and his whole being glowed.

“It’s a Calanthe orchid, like me,” he replied, grinning. “Since I’m Calanthe. I planted it from the seed, and helped it grow. I’m giving it to you now, because if you look after it, it becomes something that we grew together.”

Milagro tried to guard her smile, but it leaked into her voice. “Like our Court?”

Calanthe hid nothing. “Yes,” he replied, pausing for a moment, then adding, with sunlight, “Our Court, Milagro.”

*

Fifteen years later Milagro and Calanthe laid the cornerstone in Rashminagara, the capital city of the Darshana Valley. The city was named for the Sanskrit word rashmi meaning ‘ray of light,’ with nagara meaning city, and the name of it encapsulated the history of the three beams of light from the sun, the moon and the asteroid. Calanthe had grown into a fine young faerie, broad in the shoulders and built like a warrior through his training, but undoubtedly too kind for a faerie; soft, humanlike. Milagro, on the other hand, had grown into her tenacity. She was steadfast, calculating and quick as a whip; a perfect complement to Calanthe’s warmth and benevolence. She loved the way he beamed over his city from their balcony in the palace, looking over it with pride and adoration. When he turned to meet her gaze, he looked at her in the exact same way.

*

The Eclipse Court was a marvel to behold. Settlers had come from all over the continent: Humans, from the coastal city of Swarsbaye in the south, the dwarves from the northern plains below the mountains, goblins sympathetic to the Moon court from the east, and faeries, of course, from the Celestial courts, but also the lesser, elemental courts too: earth fey, fire fey, wind fey and water fey gathered in the Darshana valley to live there and enrich it. It was a true melting pot, a world that Calanthe and Milagro never could have imagined leading.

The most notable building in Rashminagara was the palace, a sprawling, towered behemoth with domes and arches that could be seen from any part of the valley. It was built around the crescent moon lake with the creamy, mica flecked bricks of Survana, and decorated with the ornately carved fretwork of Rajata. The gardens were built up in lush assemblies of the native species in the valley, and the castle was fortified by a large wall where sentinels were stationed, protecting the palace and the precious water. Around the citadel, shops, schools and petty industries were abundant, while the food was grown in the meadows near the forest. The valley, in all its richness, was entirely self-sufficient.

Rashminagara was also the hub of progress: the scientists there were voracious and studied obsessively. The most notable of the scientists was a goblin immigrant called Folas Semzet, who had come from a small village in the east but had emigrated to the Moon court in the pursuit of knowledge. He had charmed the Moon fey with typical goblin tricks: he wove skeins of silk out of spiderwebs, built quirky automatons from junk pieces, and imitated the postures and voices of others perfectly, even those of Elim and Maka. He was a great favourite of Milagro, who brought him with her from Rajata so that he could continue his work in the Darshana Valley. Calanthe found him a bit pedantic, but tolerated him nonetheless, because Milagro willed it so.

*

All kinds of creatures poured into the Valley for the coronation, but nobody expected to meet the foreigners who would change everything.

They were cyclopes. There were four males, and one female, the ruler. All of them were bald, but the males were bearded, muscular and savage looking. They wore simple tunics and boots of dark, earthy colours. The female had a very small frame which gave her the appearance of a young girl. She was carried by her henchmen on a litter, and Milagro never saw her once walk. Her long black robes hung over the edge and swung as she was carried. A gauzy, black fabric trimmed with gold beading betrayed the hollows where her eyes should have been, and emphasised the large eye above it in the centre of her forehead. The colour of the eye changed frequently, depending on what she was looking at, taking on the colours of what she perceived. Her ears and neck were laden with heavy, gold loops, and a string of jewels held a black silk turban in place, the tail of it trailing over her shoulder. The female figure was carried to Milagro and Calanthe.

“We are refugees,” the female voice spoke, “we have no home, it has been overrun with barbarians who have stripped us of our every power. In my land I was the ruler, but I have fled with only a few of my men and some possessions. I have brought a gift for you, the rulers, as an entreaty for the asylum in the Eclipse court, and as an offering of peace.”

“Where is your land?” Milagro asked, drawing closer to the figures.

“An island far south of the oceans, called Saurain,” the female voice replied, “Our peoples have not met, but stories of your Court reached the boats that frequented our shores before the usurper displaced me, and I fled under the cover of night to escape. Nobody must know we are here. If they know, the barbarians will come for us here, and you will be in danger. Will you help us?”

Milagro felt stronger standing beside Calanthe, who met the foreigners as the very vision of a brave, but benevolent king. “How long do you intend to stay?” Calanthe asked, “What do you call yourselves?”

You may call me Haera,” she declared. “I speak for them: I am their queen.” Suddenly, she snapped her long, clawed fingers. Her men put her down, and two of them went to retrieve a trunk. “I have brought you a gift, in return for your asylum,” she replied, gesturing towards it. Milagro, Maka, Elim and Calanthe approached. Calanthe bent down to open the trunk, at that moment Folas came bursting into the room.

“Do not accept the gift,” he announced urgently, steering Calanthe and Milagro away.

“Folas,” Calanthe retorted, “How can you be so inconsiderate to our guests? They’ve travelled far and suffered so greatly, you insist that we reject their generosity.”

Milagro looked at Calanthe, then back at Folas, nodding. “He is right, Folas, it is not proper to refuse the gifts of hospitality. It is seen as a hostile act.”

Folas grit his teeth, talking very quietly. “Do not look at it your Majesty.” Milagro faltered, but she trusted her clever goblin, so resolved to do as he said. Haera looked on, fury mounting in her small body. “Do you refuse me?!” she cried out, livid and quaking, “Do you wish me to betray ourselves to our enemy? Would you like me to bring them to the Court that you have built to destroy the city of your beloved rulers?”

“Enough nonsense, Folas,” Calanthe growled, and thrust open the chest. Light emerged from the inside, and he was stunned momentarily. Milagro watched him look, Folas holding on tight to her wrist. “Don’t look,” he urged again, voice low. Calanthe regained himself and pulled out the gift. It was a mirror. Milagro averted her eyes at that moment. Calanthe, however, looked at the mirror directly, studying the craftmanship. In truth, he was a little disappointed, because the mirror was plain. It looked poorly made, misshapen with glass speckled like a mosaic. Whatever opinions he had quickly faded, and his mind became blank.

“The mirror shows you the true nature of things,” Haera said, one of her men carrying her to Calanthe’s side. “What do you see?” she asked Calanthe. Milagro stared intently at the jewels which crowned the foreigner, but her reflection showed up in the mirror.

“I see… Milagro, I see you.” Calanthe replied. Suddenly, the colour of his eyes shifted, becoming all black, as if his pupils had completely dilated. He turned to look at Milagro. “You,” he snarled, “You have done nothing but control me, ever since the beginning.” He drew his sword and began to approach her, “What will it take for me to be free of you?”

Milagro was stunned, in shock. “Calanthe?” she gasped, “Recollect yourself! You would never say such a thing.” He didn’t hear her. His eyes were black and soulless and he lunged forward. Milagro only managed to get out of the way at the very last moment. In the action, his sword had sliced off the length of her hair that had originally fallen to her waist. It fell to the ground like a dead animal. The severance was wounding. Calanthe had worshipped her hair since they’d met as children, and it had been a tangible symbol of the length of their history and their shared love. Tears filled her eyes as Calanthe struck again, and again and again, missing her narrowly every time, backing her against the wall. He was ready to make the final, fatal strike when Folas, who had shrunk into the corner, watching everything, unlocked a secret door on a book on the bookshelf behind him and dragged her into a secret corridor.

“The cyclopes have gifted you a manifestation mirror,” Folas explained hurriedly as he pulled her along, “It doesn’t show you the truth: it’s a portal between her will and our reality. Looking at her eye, and then at the mirror makes you receptive to her will. Calanthe didn’t stand a chance. He holds others in such high regard, he will always meet their gaze.”

“What happens now, Folas?” Milagro choked, trying to catch her breath. “I can’t leave him!” On impulse, she made to go back the way she came, but Folas dragged her back.

“As long as he is under that spell,” Folas insisted, “He is not Calanthe, and you are not safe. He is going to kill you. Haera has planted the will in his mind. We must go quietly: nobody must know of this.”

*

Milagro left with Folas, Maka and Elim, whose reputations as famous Valley creatures would lend their small party credit to foreign aid. Elim’s feathers sagged with sorrow and he tried to comfort Milagro. She had her arms gripped around Maka’s neck, but her tears sprung from a deep font in her heart that was endless, and she left a trail of them on the sweet grasses of the valley. Steadfast Maka marched on, tireless with Folas by his side on a donkey named Takras, loaded up with books, sundries and precious items that could be of use. When they had arrived on the steppe, Folas opened a map.

“The Eclipse court is filled with so many differing inhabitants, that to demand help from any of our neighbours would suggest incompetency on behalf of the rulers, and favouritism of any other nations,” he explained. “It could invite dissent within the populations that exist within the valley, causing a power struggle. We must go where nobody has gone before.” He looked meaningfully up at the northern mountains. “There may be inhabitants there who could help us.”

“Nobody lives on the mountains, Folas,” Milagro said, “The asteroid activated the volcanic activity there. It’s too dangerous to have any settlements.”

“We must try,” he insisted, his ears drooping, “I see no other choice.”

*

At the foot of the mountains, it became apparent to Milagro that they were truly uninhabitable. The ground trembled almost constantly, and shrill, animal shrieks reverberated frequently off the ridges. Sometimes Folas pocketed what looked like pieces of old animal skins the size of dinner plates, making notes and studying them assiduously. The most dangerous were the geysers, which shot up in furious bursts, threatening to boil them alive. The party was jumpy and weary of the journey, hoping to encounter some benevolent creature who would take pity on them. In the meantime, Folas hoped that the volcano wouldn’t erupt.

A few days into their progress up the mountain, they finally encountered one of the inhabitants. It was a dragon. He was enormous: he had horns like Maka’s, and was covered in jet black scales and spines that glimmered like chainmail, at least thirty metres in length from head to tail. The strangest of all, however, were his eyes. They were pale blue, like the sky from the valley, and glowed in the darkness. They saw him perched on the mountain, coiled up on the cliff. They almost didn’t see him because he was so still, but the eyes blazed through the smog of the mountains, giving him away. “Who dares intrude upon my kingdom?” he rumbled from his height, looking down on the party. He lowered his long neck towards them and bared his teeth, and the heat emanating from his mouth was oppressive. Folas sank to his knees in reverence, Milagro and the others following suit.

“We come from the Eclipse Court, in the newly named Darshana Valley,” he spoke first, “I am Folas, Court scientist, and I have come with Queen Milagro, and her royal advisors, Elim the peacock, and Shokatmaka, the chimaera.”

“Eclipse Court?” the dragon snorted derisively, setting an unlucky bush on fire, “Never even heard of it.” He turned to fly off, but Milagro’s piercing, desperate plea stopped him. “Wait!” she cried. The sound of her voice reverberated in the mountains. The dragon froze. “We are on the brink of losing everything,” she began, “Our lands were invaded, and we have no one left to turn to. What do you call yourself?”

“I am Kriyos, King of Dragons,” he replied, “This is our home, the volcano of Mount Ozen. Many of us were lizards, and we hid in caves with bats, our prey. For a long time, we lived in those caves, but a geyser erupted within it. All of us survivors, who were struck by the water, were changed.” He held out a scaly claw, “The boiling water caused us to merge with the bats and mutate, giving us powers of fire and our size. We are also chimaeras, born of the asteroid’s power.”

“King Kriyos,” Milagro said, “As a ruler, you must know others. Do you know the name Haera?”

Kriyos was still, his eyes betraying his understanding. His slitted pupils dilated. “Haera?” he uttered, fury filling his being, “Do not speak the name of that witch, I want no part of your involvement with her.” He uncoiled himself from the mountain and flew up into the hollow of the volcano, disappearing as the earth trembled around him.

“Wait,” Maka said suddenly, “the water in the geysers hold memory, just like our lake.”

“We can try to speak to it?” Elim suggested, wandering in the direction of a geyser hole. “It may listen to us, recognising its own memory.”

Folas looked on while Milagro fell to her knees, hopelessness filling her. He took pity on his queen. “There is little else we can do,” he sighed, flailing his arms, “you may as well try.”

“Water of the mountain,” Maka began, “What do you know about Haera and Kriyos?”

Within seconds, the geyser erupted, and as the water fell, the steam began to form shapes. In the beginning, the steam showed a lizard on the mountain, and then the cutting flash of the asteroid. “It’s Kriyos,” Milagro murmured, watching in awe at the steam’s images. They continued to shift. In the cave, there was a nest full of round, glistening eggs, and another lizard, Kriyos’ mate. Then, the cutting image of the geyser burst through the cave, rocks tumbling down and crushing Kriyos’ mate and nest. The water from the geyser fell, and it was silent for a few moments. When it re-erupted, only one egg remained uncrushed. It had become a dragon’s egg. The next image showed Haera entering the mountain with her henchmen, and she spoke to Kriyos, who was guarding the egg. Her words seemed gentle, sympathetic. However, darkness fell, and the witch stole the dragon egg, disappearing then without a trace. The water then showed Haera, destroying the egg, grinding it to a powder and mixing it with the liquid glass of a mirror. The geyser fell at last, leaving the small party in a stupor.

“Dragon shell as a conduit for magic,” Folas remarked quietly, scratching his chin. Milagro was in shock. The gift that would destroy her kingdom had been crafted with the life of another creature.

Kriyos, quiet as a cat despite his size, slid out of the shadows once more. “Chimaeras cannot reproduce,” Kriyos said, “we live long lives, but there can be no more of us. My mate could not be remembered, and the egg was all I had of her. Yet, I will live as long as the water remembers me.”

“That explains you two, then,” commented Folas, turning to Elim and Maka, who had long surpassed the usual lifetimes of their species.

“Haera is a witch,” Kriyos continued, “she is the usurper of the Saurain kingdom, where the cyclopes dwell. She is not one of them. She merged herself with a cyclopes using water from the geysers. The water here is different, but it does not function well outside of the mountain. It gave her power but spoilt her body. Her body is childlike and fragile, and her feet are backwards. She is called ‘the Stepless,’ for she cannot walk.”

Milagro stared at Kriyos, wide eyed. “She is a chimaera?”

“Indeed,” said Kriyos, “and cannot be killed, so long as the memory of her lives. All of her magic stems from a single source that has been divided. Finding the remnants of that source are the only way to remove her power.”

Milagro turned to Takras the donkey, and pulled something out of the many bags he was laden with. It was Calanthe’s orchid, beaming cheerfully despite their long and arduous journey.

“I offer this as a symbol of an alliance, to you, Kriyos,” she said, her eyes prickling at the idea of parting with it. “Come to our lands and fight with us, and I will promise that you will share in the rewards. The Eclipse court is a land of diversity and freedom. Fight the Stepless with us, and I offer you a kingdom where you no longer have to hide or scavenge on a mountain. Let us swear an oath.”

Kriyos approached the orchid and inhaled. Instantly, the particles of its perfume that had begun to steam in the heat affected him. He was filled with the memory of the orchid contained in the pot’s water. It showed him Calanthe and Milagro’s unity, as little children. Then he felt their partnership, their strength, their kindness and optimism, and how their world, so full of love, had caused them to make the mistake of their lives. Before his eyes, he beheld Haera, watched the severance of Milagro’s hair and felt Calanthe’s division like a chasm.

He was so moved by the orchid’s memory that he lowered his head in concurrence, his blue eyes glimmering with the nostalgia of a previous life, long before his dragonhood.

“I will fight with you.”

*

So no, there weren’t always dragons in the valley, but they were here to stay.

The Stepless had no idea what was coming.