The Valley of Ashes

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. There weren’t always bands of raiders roaming the countryside. There weren’t always starving animals, driven mad by hunger, lurking in the shadows of the night. The claws that tear and the teeth that bite.

Now the world has become a dangerous place. The dead and dying are thrown together into unmarked graves, and everywhere I look, I see my people curse the very war we started. I see them curse the death of mercy, even though we ourselves killed her. And I see something else.

Fire. Fire in the night. A lone figure on horseback, its right arm raised above its head, carrying a horn like a sacred vessel. Flame, billowing from the top, leaves a ribbon of smoke in the cold night air. A single point of light in the darkness. It’s bears an evil name, and it carries judgement. I cannot stop it. I can’t even slow it down. And I do not know what I will do when I am forced to face it down at last.

---

Keira pulled back on Cricket’s reigns and ran a gentle hand through his thick, brown mane. Humming to herself, she tugged and pet his hair until he settled down.

“There now. You’ve seen worse than this.”

Keira raised the burning horn she was carrying a little higher in the air, illuminating the path in front of her. She had come to a crossroads. A large sign stated that the village of Ashford was twenty miles to the north, beyond the dark sea of green wood extending out before her. Next to it, a gibbet was hanging from a tree. The corpse within looked to be three weeks old. The glow of the horn pulsated upon his face. His eyes were sunken, his mouth twisted: a cruel parody of life. Keira scrunched her nose, but was otherwise unaffected. A sign was nailed to the top of the gibbet.

Looter.

“They never did have a sense of humor.” Ever since the war had ended, roaming bands of deserters had been wandering along the hillsides, looting farms and villages on their desperate journey home. Some had no home to return to. There would be more bodies in the forest. Not all of them would be dead. Even now she could hear the distant moans emanating across the treetops. A gentle breeze brushed against her face. The trees swayed, and a pair of crows took flight above the wood. She sat there for a while, lost in thought.

Keira trotted up to the gibbet and dismounted. Taking a wooden bowl and a small blue thurible from Crickets’ rear bag, she placed them on the ground and got to work. She filled the bowl with water, and the thurible with coal and incense. She then grabbed a stick of wood wrapped in brush from her satchel and dipped it into the flaming horn. Moving quickly, she set fire to the coal and placed the burning stick into the bowl of water. Keira grabbed the leather cap to the horn and, covering it, bathed the area in darkness. She placed the horn on the rear of the saddle. The smell of incense began to waft through the air.

Grabbing a satchel heavy with salt, she began walking in circles around the gibbet. She circled it three times, spreading salt until it was enclosed in a white circle. A cage for the body, and a cage for the soul. Finally, Keira unsheathed her sword. The hilt and guard were made of dull metal, but the blade was made of wood. Sigils had been carved and painted into the neck of the blade. Sitting cross legged in front of the cage, Keira placed the sword across her lap and closed her eyes.

There was no noise, except for the occasional gust of wind and the swing of the iron gibbet. Cricket began to paw at the ground. Keira’s eyes moved beneath her eyelids, and her serene face began to crease in tension.

“I see.” Keira opened her eyes and stared at the corpse. “Thank you.”

Gathering her supplies, she mounted Cricket, and turned away from the forest path leading to the town.

Cricket sauntered up the road to her right, away from the forest. They rode throughout the early morning, until the sun came up. The sky was overcast, and the air was filled with an early morning mist.

A small house was sitting in a field in the distance. It had stone walls and a thatched roof, and smoke was rising from the chimney. Next to it was a fenced enclosure filled with sheep and goats. Approaching the front of the house, Keira passed a small garden filled with peas, beans, and cabbage. Parts of the garden were overgrown with weeds, and there were holes in the roof.

Keira dismounted Cricket and tied him to a hitching post. Grabbing a small crossbow, she notched a bolt and approached the front door. She knocked on the door with her foot and waited. There was no reply. Seeing that there was no lock, she nudged the door open with her foot and entered. There was a single kitchen filled with basic cooking tools, and a small cot in the corner on the right. A pot was boiling cabbage on an open fire by the chimney. The house was dirty, but there was no sign of a disturbance. It smelled of ale and daffodils. Keira checked the corners of the room before placing her crossbow on the kitchen table. She searched the drawers and cupboards, but there was nothing useful. Satisfied, she sat at the table and waited. She did not move. She barely seemed to breathe.

---

Rae rubbed her hands and prayed for daybreak. The night had been cold, and wet, and hard, and her hands had the cuts to prove it. Rae glanced at Gehrman. If he was bothered by the cold, he didn’t show it. The northern palisade had been badly damaged during the breach. Pieces of wood had been bent and broken, and the gate had been warped inward. Bodies were still lying on the parapets, where the raiders had attempted to storm the wall. It had been a desperate struggle. The raiders had nearly ruptured the gate completely, while the villagers plugged the gaps with shields and pot lids. Spears worked their way into the gaps from both ends, as the townspeople fought to expunge the invaders.

Twelve of their villagers had been killed or wounded, some of them women. Everyone in Ashford had fought. First with arrows, then with pots and pans. Anything that could be thrown became a weapon. The wall and grounds were covered in arrows. Through the fractured wall Rae could still see the small wooden ladders lying on the ground. Beyond that, the forest. She wondered if the survivors were still waiting out there, beyond the trees. It didn’t matter. There weren’t enough to carry on the fight.

The attackers had been deserters from the Crimson Veil. Tired, starving, and desperate, the same hunger that robbed their strength propelled them forward. There was no retreat. They would break down the wall, or they would die trying. Rae wondered when she had grown used to killing her own countrymen.

“How long will it take to get the palisade repaired?”

Gehrman stroked his beard. “A few days, at least. If we’re pressed.”

“We are.”

“We’ll have to work in shifts. If we work through the night, we can finish in three days.” Gehrman thought for a moment. “The villagers are exhausted. They won’t like that.”

“They won’t like sleeping next to a ruptured wall, either. There will be more raiders. Hungrier, harder, and better trained. We can’t afford to wait.”

“There’s a breaking point. You can only push people so far.”

Rae’s breath shrouded the air in front of her. “Give them a few hours to rest. Then put them back to work. I’ll join them in the evening.”

Gehrman didn’t speak. His silent nod was enough to acknowledge that it would be done. Gehrman was an old hand who had served her father. He was tall and hardy, with muscle packed beneath layers of fat. His red hair and beard were spotted with gray. Gehrman was wise, and capable, but she could tell that he didn’t respect her. After their father died in battle, her brother Gideon had become the lord of Ashford. He was the oldest sibling by far, and the first male heir. As such, tradition held that he was the only one who had the authority to give orders. Instead, he drank. Rae had learned that if she didn’t complete tasks, they wouldn’t be completed at all. The world was different now. It devoured the idle.

Gehrman rubbed his shoulder and looked at her. There was something more. Something he’d been building up to since the beginning of their talk.

“What’s the matter?” asked Rae.

“It’s about the dragons,” said Gehrman. They’ve been sighted venturing out of The Fissure. Attacking farms. Eating wildlife. They’re expanding their hunting grounds.” Rae’s stomach sank.

“They’re running out of food.”

“Well,” said Gehrman. “At least we have something in common.”

Dragons weren’t native to the Crimson Veil. They had been driven south during the war, where they proceeded to spread chaos. The dragons that survived the war had settled into The Fissure, where they thrived. The once vibrant valley had been consumed by flames. Dragon fire was almost impossible to put out. It simply burned until there was nothing left to consume as fuel. The Fissure had since earned another name. The Valley of Ashes.

Ever since the war had ended, the villagers had been leaving fresh animal carcasses near the valley to ward them off. For a time, it had worked. But the population there had grown, and the coming winter was proving harsh. They had been running low on supplies even before the raids had started. Now she had a deadly choice to make. On one side of the scales, starving people. On the other, starving dragons.

“A palisade won’t protect us from dragon attacks,” said Rae. “Take some calves to The Fissure. The runts, if possible.”

“That’s not going to fix the problem.”

“I know,” said Rae, rubbing her eyes. Her head was beginning to hurt. She could hardly think. One step at a time. One foot in front of the other. “What of the bodies?”

“There will be a ceremony this evening for the villagers that died in the fighting. We’re digging a mass grave for the rest.”

Rae’s eyes came upon an enemy soldier that had been set to rest on the parapets. He couldn’t have been much older than her. Though his clothes were torn and faded, she could tell that he had once been a conscript in the imperial army of the veil. Given a shield and spear, he had been marched out to war against his will. Her heart sank as she wondered about the life he had left behind, and the sad state that he had found himself in.

“No,” she said. “Take the bodies to the Fissure.”

Gehrman stared at her. “That’s barbaric. The gibbets I could understand, but this is unnatural. A body that isn’t given a proper burial is doomed to haunt the earth forever.”

Rae had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. “Those were Gideons last orders,” lied Rae. “He was very clear.”

“Do you want to turn our home into a haunting ground?”

“Isn’t it already?”

“Your father would never have given an order like this.”

Rae was quiet for a moment. Then she turned away from the scene of destruction and began marching toward the royal hall. “Maybe that’s why he lost.”

Most people still considered her father a fallen hero. The villagers hadn’t seen the way he behaved behind closed doors. Her younger brother, Liam, was too young to remember his frequent mood swings. But not her. She remembered having to wade through the frequent storms of his emotions. Lashing out with hatred one moment and apologizing the next. Always wanting to start over. The hand that stroked the cheek was the fist that came crashing down.

And Gideon was no better. Taken by drink, he had forsaken his responsibilities. She remembered sneaking into Liam’s room during one of Gideons storms. Barricading the door. Holding the door shut while sliding to the ground, her back against the wall. She had learned how to navigate the maze of cruelty a long time ago. Born in pain. Raised in conflict. What she was doing now was merely an extension of what she’d been doing her entire life.

Rae could feel Gehrman watching her all the way up the hill. She was treading a thin line. If he wanted to depose her brother, he could. The few soldiers left in the town had fought with Gehrman in the war. Compared to him, Gideon was nothing but a spineless child.

She had thought about training her own soldiers, loyal to her, but she knew it would be a wasted effort. She didn’t know how to fight, much less how to lead armies. The only person left in town who had leadership experience was Gehrman himself. He was her greatest asset, and her greatest threat. She would need to find less blunt methods to control him. Until then, she would have to make concessions.

By now the town had grown quiet. Anyone who wasn’t working, was asleep. There wasn’t time to process what had happened. There wasn’t even time to grieve. There had been multiple attacks on the town, and the threat of another was always on the horizon. Near the capital, near the major cities, things may be different. But out here, on the periphery? Near the border? Nothing was sacred. All of her requests for soldiers from the capital had been denied. They were on their own.

Rae crossed over the crest of the hill and stopped. It was dawn, and the last stars were beginning to fade into the light. She had been up for twenty hours. She tried to hide it, but the exhaustion was seeping into her bones. Her only weapon was her mind, and she could feel herself growing dull. Growing stupid. Was this how the soldiers felt when they attacked the town?

A whistle pierced the quiet morning air. Looking to her right, she could see someone waving to her from an alley. It was Richard. Rae looked over her shoulder before running towards him.

Richard looked tired. He had a bad cut on his left arm. He couldn’t have slept any more than she did. He was a head taller than she was, but he looked diminished. So did she.

“No reprimand?” he asked. “You’re always saying that if Gehrman caught us together, he would have me killed.”

“If Gehrman had you killed, I would have him strung up afterward.”

“Not before?”

Rae allowed herself a tired smile. “Let me borrow your shoulder.” Leaning forward, she rested the top of her forehead against his arm. He sighed in pain.

“Careful,” he said. “I’m still bruised.”

Rae closed her eyes. She almost slept where she stood. “What a sad pair we are.”

Richard draped his arm around her shoulder. “Speak for yourself.”

They were being careless. Richard was a low born blacksmiths apprentice, far below her station. As the only daughter in her noble house, she was supposed to marry into a powerful family. One that could offer her family military support, and money. Her family would say that she was being selfish. Maybe they were right. Yet, when the world felt fit to end, none of that seemed to matter.

Rae thought about the broken wall. She thought about the dead bodies waiting to be buried. About her mother’s sadness, and Liam, shaking uncontrollably in his bed while she held him. She thought about Richard’s chest, rising and falling against her. There was so much to lose.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You could start by getting some sleep.”

Rae broke off and leaned against the wall behind her. “I can’t win, Richard. Sleep used to be the one time I got to escape from my problems. Then the nightmares started. I can’t rest when I’m awake. I can’t rest when I’m asleep. And all the while it feels like the walls are tightening around me.”

“Did you dream about the rider again?”

“I dream about a lot of things.” Rae looked towards the Royal Hall. “Those aren’t the dreams that bother me the most, Richard.” Rae was weighing whether she wanted to talk about this. With Richard. With anybody.

“Tell me.”

“Gideon and I used to be close. Did you know that?” Richard furrowed his brow but didn’t speak. “Growing up, we were best friends. I leaned on him for everything. He used to laugh. I don’t know where things started to go wrong. I don’t think there was any one moment. Do you know what I dreamed about a year ago? I dreamed that we had a bad fight. The worst one we’ve ever had. I went straight for the throat. I yelled at him about his drinking. About his temper, and his irresponsible behavior. He yelled at me about… well, he knew things he shouldn’t.

After that, we settled down, and talked for hours. It was a beautiful conversation. Sincere. Painful. But at the end, it felt like we understood one another. It felt like we had achieved peace. We promised to try and do better.” Rae gave a sad smile and looked at Richard. “But then I had to wake up.”

---

Several hours had passed before the owner returned. Keira heard him stop near the place where Cricket was tied. She could almost hear his surprise. Her eyes stared at the wall, and followed his movements to the entry. She felt like she could almost see him before he even opened the door. There was a moment of hesitation, and then he was there, standing in the doorway, knife in hand. Light came flooding in, blocked only by Hugo’s tiny frame. The light shown upon Keira’s smiling face.

“Hello, Hugo.”

Hugo stood there, swaying in the entryway, shocked. He was short, with a large nose that was flushed with alcohol. He looked older than his thirty-four years, and was using a crutch to support his left arm.

“I thought you were dead.”

“Not yet,” said Keira.

“Are you the only…”

“Yes.”

Keira’s eyes had drifted to his crutch for only a moment, but he had noticed the gaffe. There was an awkward silence.

“I was making some boiled cabbage,” said Hugo, returning his knife to his belt. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting company. I think I have little honey in the pantry…”

“Boiled cabbage sounds perfect,” said Keira. The cabin was sparsely decorated, and it smelled of liquor. “You’re a farmer now?”

“I only grow enough to feed myself. What little else I grow, I sell.” She didn’t have to ask what he did with the money. She noticed a fishing pole sitting in the corner.

“Is that the same fishing pole that Ralph gave you?”

Hugo placed two bowls of boiled cabbage on the table. “You remembered that?”

“Of course. You and Ralph were always sneaking off to fish.” Keira smiled at the thought.

“Fishing is the only thing I do to relax.”

“You were terrible.”

“I still am.” Hugo had the ghost of a smile as he looked at the pole. “I never catch anything. I just sit by the water and think. I wouldn’t know what to do with a fish if I caught one.”

“Ralph never taught you?”

“We weren’t really fishing, Keira.”

Keira smiled and took a few bites of watered cabbage. There was no seasoning. There was no flavor. She ate it anyway.

“You didn’t keep your weapons or armor?”

“No. No, there… aren’t any souvenirs of that.”

Keira leaned forward and looked at him.

“Hugo, why didn’t you go back home? Why live out here by yourself?”

“It didn’t feel right. Not after… everything that happened.”

“And yet you still decided to live so close to it.”

Hugo laughed. “I guess so. I suppose I didn’t have the strength to really leave after all. Maybe I just didn’t know where else to go. Besides…. Look at me.”

Keira took his hand in hers and gave it a soft squeeze. “The war took things from both of us.”

They sat there in the silence, appreciating each other’s company.

“Is it too late to say I’m sorry?”

“It’s never too late.”

“But you still won’t let me live, will you?”

Keira retracted her hand and sat back.

“No. I guess not.”

Hugo stared at her. “And what about Ashford?”

“Ashford will have to atone for what it has done.”

“How?”

“Dragon fire, kept inside a sacred horn. I will go down into the valley to collect it, and I will bring it back to Ashford.”

Hugo’s face had gone from worry, to sadness, to contempt. Now it managed to contort itself into all three at once.

“Why?”

The two looked like they were seeing each other for the first time. Keira felt a familiar anger rising up inside her.

“Do you want to know what Jeremy said to me, before he died? He screamed for you. He laid there, dying in my arms, and he just kept screaming your name, over and over. He didn’t understand why you weren’t there with him. I didn’t know how to explain that you had left us there to die. That was the last thing we saw. You, disappearing over the crest of the horizon, with the rest of the army.”

“Fine, then. Kill me. But leave the village alone.”

“The village is the problem. Murdock marched us off to battle, and then left us there to die. And for what? More land, and riches?”

“Murdock’s dead.”

“But his family isn’t. His son is sitting on the throne right now. Look at what they did to us!”

“We lost, Keira. It’s nobody’s fault. All the people who started that war are dead. Can’t you see that there’s no one left to blame? The only people you can hurt are the ones you love. The ones you should never hurt at all.”

“There’s nothing left to say,” said Keira. “All of the choices were made long ago. Do you think this is the first town I’ve visited? It won’t even be the last.”

Hugo stared at her. It would happen soon. His sword was hidden underneath his bed, but he knew he couldn’t reach it in time. Keira had left her crossbow on the table. It was a gamble. A breeze passed through the open door. He could hear one of the goats crying in the distance.

Hugo jumped for the crossbow, snatching it away before Keira could stop him.

“Hugo, don-“

Hugo fired into her chest, and Keira fell back, sprawled out on the floor. Hugo ran to his bed, retrieving his sword. The air was still. Nothing moved. Then, slowly, Keira rose from the floor.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” said Keira, wiping some spittle from her mouth. Breaking the bolt off at the shaft, she threw it into the corner. There was no blood. There was no sign that she had been injured at all.

Hugo’s eyes widened. He raised his weapon.

“You kept your sword?”

Hugo nodded.

---

Keira stepped over Hugo’s body and picked up his sword. It took her a minute to find the scabbard beneath the bed. She weighed the weapon in her hand. It was old and weathered, but it was still sharp. She sheathed it and set it down on the table before taking a seat. The boiled cabbage was cold, but she ate it anyway.

A shadow glided across the floor and rested in the corner. A dark cat was laying by the window.

“That was reckless, Keira.”

“You could have intervened.”

“And endanger the only thing tethering you to life? I would never.” The cat purred. “Besides, you wanted him to shoot you.”

“Everyone deserves the chance to defend themselves.”

“Do they?” The cat’s amber eyes watched her in amusement. “Then you should have given him a real weapon.”

Keira didn’t respond.

“He didn’t look anything like you remembered, did he? Fat, limping, and losing his hair.”

“Enough.”

Gregory jumped onto the floor and started wandering around the room. “I can’t believe you’re eating that.”

“I need to keep my strength up. After this we’ll search the farm for anything useful.”

“And what about the body? Someone will find it.”

“We’ll burn it. The townspeople will assume he was attacked by looters.” Keira finished her food. “It’s what he deserves for living out here alone. It would have happened eventually.”

“Dear, dear. What are we to do with you? You should spend more time with living people.”

Keira smiled as she rose from her seat. “We didn’t come here to make friends.”

“Clearly,” said Gregory, sniffing the corpse.

“Get away from him.” Keira grabbed a stick of wood and wrapped the end in cloth. Dipping it into the fire, she walked toward Hugo and looked into his eyes. They were empty, but there was the barest hint of sadness. “I can give you this much.”

Keira brushed the fire gently against Hugo’s body until it was bathed in flames. Then, raising it to the ceiling, she walked across the kitchen, and out the door.

Keira watched as the house was consumed with fire. The flames poured out of the windows and spread across the thatched roof. She could feel the familiar warmth on her skin, and she hated it. The animals near the house bleated, and crowded against the far end of the enclosure, away from the flames.

“Dragonfire. The very thing that scorched your body.”

“Nothing can burn me now.” Keira looked down at her burned and withered hand. “Gregory? Am I doing the right thing?”

“It’s a little late to question yourself now. You’ve killed too many people. Do you regret your actions?”

“Not really.”

“Then I wouldn’t worry about it. We made a deal. Stay the course, and when your hatred finally blooms into a perfect flower, the town of Ashford will come to ruin. Nothing will be able to stop you.”

The roof collapsed in on itself. The chimney soon followed. The fire was reflected in her eyes. Her course was set.