The Shadow of a Dragon

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

There weren’t a lot of other things either, for that matter. And as hard as I tried to blink the image away, it remained. Camouflaged against the shadows that ran the edge of the clearing, it’s other-worldly iridescence caught the light and alerted me to its presence. I slowed my breathing and dropped lower to the forest floor. Fortunately, its sights weren’t set on me. Both eyes, dark and flecked with burning ember, were fixated on the deer I had spent the last two hours stalking. My stomach rumbled in protest at the idea of walking away now. It had been days since my last decent meal, but my rational mind knew there would be nothing left of the deer for me to scavenge. Plus, there weren’t many humans left who could say they walked away from a solo fight with a dragon.

I gulped hard as the creature, twice the size of any horse, stretched a slender neck in the direction of its prey. For its size, the footsteps that fell were surprisingly quiet. Enormous wings were tucked close against the obsidian scales that armored its sides. Once a thriving ecosystem, the surprise introduction of supernatural creatures nearly two decades ago had caused large game to become scarce. The male buck that hesitantly wandered into the clearing was a prize to human and dragon alike.

Gods. Squirrel again, then, I silently cursed, admitting defeat. Waking my stiff muscles, I began to retreat into the safety of the woods. Slowly, carefully, soundlessly—SNAP. My heart lurched as a branch cracked underfoot, silencing even the birds. In one blinding movement, the dragon located my tiny frame, flattening the forest surrounding my hideout. I suppose this is when the deer made a run for it. I rolled to my feet as fangs slashed the air. Armed with a crossbow and hunting knife, I knew I wouldn’t be able to pierce the dragon’s armored flesh. Turning on my heels, I sprinted. Saplings ripped at my cheeks and despite pushing my lungs to the limit, trees snapped close behind me—too close. I desperately shot an arrow over my shoulder. My aim too accomplished to miss but my gear too weak to help, I heard a dull thud as it ricocheted off solid muscle.

Careening into a ditch, I watched overhead as the dragon mercifully overshot my position. I gathered my breath, searching frantically for an idea, anything. Blinking blood from my eyes, I spotted it. Across the clearing lay a section of thicket so dense it seemed to suck the very sunlight from the sky. I was well acquainted with it from my own hunting mishaps. Twisting vines as thick as a man’s leg would often entangle both hunter and prey; impressive thorns would be their kiss of death. For a moment, I clutched my grandfather’s necklace that hung from my neck, then gulped down a breath of air and scrambled back up the ditch.

Muscles straining, I hit the edge of the clearing and crossed it—a streak of brown hair and mud. Despite my head start, I could feel the dragon’s breath against my neck as I dove head first into the thicket—seconds to spare. For a small creature, the thorns posed little threat. Eyeing a path, I quickly scrambled up and over vines, using the thickest barbs as stepping stools to propel me forward. As planned, rage-induced howls echoed throughout the forest as the dragon caught the worst of it. A glance backwards was enough for me to see the creature was slowing, becoming increasingly tangled in my web. But the seconds I spared to gain this knowledge had also cost me my footing. Missing a vine, I awkwardly plummeted the few feet back to the hardened ground. The dragon that had been forced to a near halt took the opportunity to strike one last time. I screamed as a hooked talon viciously bit into my left leg, dragging me back toward the rest of its murder bits. Head spinning from the force and weight concentrated into my impaled limb, I snapped back to attention when I arrived at a mouth full of teeth. I forced myself to remain conscious, staring directly into one ebony eye. A final course of adrenaline shot through my veins as I slammed my hunting knife into the blackness.

I slumped to the ground in the very same fashion as the dying dragon; exhausted, bloodied, and—infuriatingly—still hungry. Steadying my breathing, I examined the damage. While my bone remained intact, I knew I’d eventually bleed out without stitches. Pain engulfed me as I wobbled into an upright position, but that wasn’t what caused a gasp to escape my lungs. There, strapped between the dragon’s limp wings, was a saddle.

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Though the cool, fragrant air whipped dirty tendrils of hair across my face, it did little to soothe the searing pain of my still bleeding leg. Red droplets hit the ground in metronomic intervals. Step, drip, step, drip. And while my path was nearly undetectable to the human eye, I winced—knowing that I had rolled out the red carpet for those with a heightened sense of smell. Those powerful enough to control dragons.

How had I not noticed the saddle? I shook my head knowing it would have done little to alter today’s outcome. There was simply no other choice. Gazing across the valley in the direction of my shelter, I calculated it to be just a few hours south, but with the pace I was keeping, I’d never make it back before nightfall.

The layout of Shenandoah Valley remained the same as it had before the fissures began. And at the tipping point of the summer season, columbine, milkweed, and ox-eye daisies sprung forth from the earth, concealing the scorches of battle and masking the scent of death. Pointless, I thought. The flowers remained a constant and unneeded reminder of what human life had been before the worlds collided.

As the sun drifted dangerously low in the sky, I limped into a shallow rock shelter at the base of a cliff. Pulling my bloodied knife out, I quickly secured its limited perimeter and expelled the breath I had been unconsciously holding for nearly six miles. It wouldn’t provide me the security I needed for the night, but the small shelter would prevent an attack from at least one angle. I cursed, gingerly lowering myself to the ground, taking weight off my throbbing leg. Today’s encounter with the dragon wasn’t even the worst of what the fissures had offered up. Shuddering at the thought, I resigned to stay awake as long as possible.

Just as my eyelids became too heavy to hold open, a faint snorting from the darkness snapped me back to attention. Gods. What now? My human ears struggled to discern the muffled shuffling. I had done my best to cover my scented path but had grown weak and lazy in the final mile—and the consequences had caught up with me. A squeal broke through the night air and I jumped to my feet, leaning heavily against the rock wall for support. Boregons.

Yet another delightful creature that had taken advantage of the mysterious fissures and slipped into our realm. Swine-like in body but covered in thick scales, their size was deceitful. Boregons were powerful, relentlessly hungry, and sported a mouth full of backward-facing teeth—and never traveled alone. I grimaced and tried to move from the wall. Wasn’t happening. White-hot pain rolled into rage at the thought of these lowly aliens delivering my death. Not like this, I thought. Not when I had just slaughtered a dragon! Against my better judgment and grandfather’s training, I screamed a final, raspy battle call and cocked my bow.

The Boregons surged forward—flashes of moonlight against their scales my only target. I let an arrow fly and saw a darkened figure slump to the ground. But where one lay, two more emerged. I was outnumbered. Tumbling backward, I turned within seconds to see a third charging to my right. Too late for a killing shot, I pulled my knife as the Boregon made the leap for my exposed throat. Mid-air, it exploded. I choked, a warm shower of blood and guts raining down on me. What in the actual…

I spun my head to locate the rest of the herd but instead heard another pop, pop, pop, as the remaining three Boregons exploded in rhythm, coating the walls of the rock shelter.

Mind reeling, I swung my crossbow in a wild arch and pointed it against the night. Before I could cock an arrow, a wispy fog so dark it refused even the moon’s reflection solidified in front of me. My hair stood on end—from fear or the faint feeling of electricity dancing across my skin,—I’m not sure. Towering over me in a lethally built six-foot five frame was a hooded figure, its cloak the same thick blackness as the fog it emerged from. The muscle memory of a seasoned hunter forced my arms to aim the bow where a throat should be. Immediately, more electricity engulfed my hands and I yelped, watching my crossbow disintegrate into dust. The figure lowered itself to my crouched position. A man—or something similar. The darkness kept his features indistinguishable, save for a pair of luminous golden eyes that stared through me with the same intensity as firelight.

“What do you want?” I whispered, scared an octave louder would ignite another reaction.

Two full and sensuous lips cocked a sadistic grin. He snagged my wrist in an iron grip that sent a small current of lightning down my spine. Seething, he whispered back, “You killed my dragon.” A clap of thunder resounded through the cave, and we were gone.