"The Usurper's Garden" Prologue

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Only Nan could remember a time before they came, when the wyrdwoods still grew and the Timetsu drank in their power; our power. We had been tenders, or so I was always told as a young girl, our bond with the wyrdwoods our singular source of purpose in this world. When I would look at Nan, so hale for her centuries of life, and see those cerulean markings tracing forked patterns like pulsating roots across her form, and casting a light of ardor upon her bright eyes, I would feel both a sense of awe as well as one of forlorn longing for a time that I never knew.

Nan had always said there was power beneath the Valley, and that the Timetsu were merely the first to recognize it. She had said that’s why the dragons came, taking the land for themselves and driving our people up into the spurs of the tall peaks which flanked it. She had said that one day, when she had mastered her sight-bind, she would attain atma, a perfect awareness, and defeat them. What this meant I had at the time no idea, but it was bidden upon the discovery of my overhearing that I keep it secret. Until such a thing happened, however, our people hid amongst the crags where the dragons could not reach us, subsisting off mosses and fungi which grew plentifully even so far from the source of the Valley’s lifeblood, as well as game earned by the brave hunters who knew the dragons’ patterns well enough to avoid them on most occasions.

I knew so little about the dread creatures which had traced their dark circuits across the skies since long before I was born, but when night fell and the others in my village slept, my curiosity and the call of the Valley would often get the better of my sense and the elders’ dire warnings. I would creep down the soft banks of loam and into the forbidden basin where the dragons wrought their strange labors. I would find there what they grew; plants alien and bizarre, bearing globular fruits shining that same luminescent blue as the light which suffused Nan, yet recoiling at my touch with a vehemence suggestive of some basal presence of mind. The botanical denizens of the dragons’ garden would afford me a wide berth as I passed between them, but despite their attempts to ostracize me, I only ever felt an absent sense of belonging in that basin, and a deepening of that feeling that I was somehow missing a fundamental piece of myself.

The dragons would carry away any of us they could catch, and we had lost all of the old wyrd-tenders in this manner, all except Nan. She would often berate the spirits of the taken through lips tight with restrained grief, scorning the neglect of their sight-bind in favor of their life-bind which caused them to fail in anticipating their own demises. “Weave a bed of roots as deep and as dense as the heart of the mountain,” she would say, “you’ll fare only as well as your mind can keep pace with the flow of the times.” It was such counsel, wise despite my flippant dismissal of such things in those days, in tandem with the scope of all she had seen and done in her long life, that inspired utmost reverence among the Timetsu. I think I shall never truly forgive myself for what became of her.

I had gone down into the basin again, supremely confident that by size and silence and cover of darkness I need not fear capture as the hunters did. It was a temperate summer’s night, illuminated by a pale moon which cast august beams through gaps in the canopy. The remnants of an afternoon rain lingered, highlighting the verdant foliage and imparting a cool freshness to the air. Nocturnal insects chirped their rhythmic songs, and the river which fed the Valley from the north added to the cadence its own susurrant breath. I walked along a well-worn trail between the trees, hoping in innocent spirits that by frequent exposure the more unusual denizens of the garden might become fond of me, but they were resolute in their animus. I then grew excited as the plants seemed to suddenly perk up, and for once reach out in a direction that was not opposite myself. The garden seemed to be collectively pointing towards the gloom ahead of me, and I had only a moment for my wonder to give way to caution before a pair of yellow eyes seemed to materialize high above me.

I felt the numbness of fear not yet entirely awakened, and became frozen in place, compelled by the sharp gaze upon me to remain where I was. The dragon slowly revealed itself as it advanced into a moonlit grove which separated us, the ground shuddering with each step. Large enough to make of me barely even a mouthful, and scales a dull maroon, it lowered its mighty head to my level. My shock deepened as it spoke to me in a guttural intonation.

“I would know before you die, child, why is it that even as the Valley makes plain its aversion to you, you do not see that you have no place here?”

I could not command my mouth to move until, after appearing to take offense at my silence, the dragon bared wicked fangs and continued,

“Such torpid lack of agency! What harm in killing and devouring your kind when it seems that what you call life is nothing more than wakeful slumber?”

“N-Nan says dragons can’t talk,” I finally said.

The dragon made a wheezing sound that could have been laughter. “To discourage young whelps from seeking to converse with one, I am sure. But alas, I, Gol’sulsar, query, and you will answer.”

The dragon’s command carried an inexplicable gravity, and I could not but speak honestly. “But I do have a place here. The Timetsu grew wyrdwoods in the Valley for thousands of years before you came!”

The dragon growled excitedly. “Possessed of some spirit after all! But allow me to edify you, youngling. Belonging is decided by the victors, and victory is won by the strong. Look around yourself and see what we have grown. See how the land itself acknowledges our will. It is made clear; your people are the weaker.”

“Nan isn’t weak!” I blurted. “She’s going to get rid of you with atma, and I’m going to be just like her someday!”

At this the dragon’s eyes grew wide, the slitted pupils narrowing further. “Neither trunk nor sprout nor seed of the wyrdwoods persist! She is and will remain the last of those who have been touched by them!” The creature snarled menacingly.

I shrank back, and began to cry.

Gol’sulsar’s tone and gaze then softened. “Oh, but you must be calm, little one, for you bring me crucial tidings. A threat long thought inert grows new fangs… I have a task for you.”

I sucked up my tears, and grew defiant. “I’m not going to do anything for you!”

The dragon seemed to laugh again. “It is a simple task. You will merely deliver to the wyrd-tender my words. You need not do anything more.”

“No!” I screamed. “You can’t make us do anything! We’re safe in our homes in the mountains!”

“Foolish girl!” the dragon spat. “A single gout of flame will incinerate any rats which languish between the rocks! I am sure your people hunt, yes? Do you ever pay any mind to their practices? Conservation of the prey ensures bountiful harvest in successive hunts. Only an infestation of pests need be wiped out in its entirety! How can you not see? I offer you two futures! You may defy me, and see the Timetsu burned to ash, or you may relay to the wyrd-tender my knowledge of the atma, and in so doing enjoy the dragons’ continued husbandry of you pitiful livestock! Choose now!”

Frantically, I sought for some way out of this situation, but my choice in Gol’sulsar’s ultimatum was clear. I did as he bade me that very night, retreating with legs stiff from both fear and apprehension. When I eventually dared to look behind me, the dragon had vanished back into the gloom. I ascended the switchback trail which led to the fissures in which the Timetsu dwelt, and awoke Nan with tearstained eyes to explain the encounter. I will never forget her reaction. ‘Horror’ cannot describe the fear in those shining eyes, always possessed of such surety, as I spake Gol’sulsar’s name. ‘Despair’ cannot describe the resignation that followed the fear as I admitted my divulgation, an emotion that had not spoiled her features in all the time I had known her. My only succor was in the gentle smile which concluded the emotional cavalcade, one of newly-realized peace. She spoke softly.

“North, dear Alia. Follow the water. To Aidelmar. Tomorrow.”

Even with her parting words, if not for her smile that night, I know that I would never have found the strength to leave Thrysh Valley for the first time in my life.