The Valley of Night

Chapter 1: Gen

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. According to legend, the attacks started on a night with no moon, five hundred years ago. The dark skies were a perfect cover for the monsters that terrorized our peaceful kingdom of Olenta. Every month, a new attack. Every month, lives lost to the darkness and the nightmares it hid. The people lived in fear, not knowing why they came or how to stop them. All they knew was that the beasts could not be killed. Fire would not burn them. Stone would not pierce their hides. Olenta was going to fall.

It was then that the ruling council decided to call upon the Sorceress in a desperate attempt at survival. Persecuted as a witch decades before, she was said to reside deep in the mountains to the North of Olenta. Great was her power, but great also was her hatred of the people of the valley for her exile. A hero was chosen – eventually be known as Everett the Savior – to ride out with coin and gemstones to persuade the Sorceress to help the kingdom.

After three grueling months of riding, during which Olenta suffered three more attacks, the hero found the Sorceress. Nobody knows what was said. Nobody knows why she agreed to help. Everett the Savior returned with only the memory of a blinding light and a page of runes they knew were meant to protect the kingdom. The runes were inscribed in stone and set in a circle surrounding Olenta. The next dark night, no shrieks were heard. No lives were lost. Olenta began to rebuild, and a statue in honor of the hero was built in the main square. The terror of the dragons faded into a fearsome memory, then story, and eventually legend.

- Folktale recorded by Thalland the Second of Bronsville in the Seventh Year of King Renard

“Gen!” – I snapped the book shut and jumped, quickly hiding the tome in my skirts. I hadn’t expected them to check the orchard. A stern face framed by a salt and pepper beard looked down at me, but quickly softened into a smile. That beard was getting more and more salt than pepper lately. His green eyes with gold flecks that shifted in the light matched my own.

“Stories again? And today of all days?” Thalland asked, selecting an apple from the tree above my bench. Pine, horse, and tobacco. Thalland - my father - had been chopping wood and tilling the fields while I was curled on my sunny seat in the gardens. Though he used to adventure all over the world, his days of story gathering were now behind him. A streak of red flashed across my cheeks, highlighting an already freckled face. Legends shouldn’t still hold my fascination, but I just loved the way my father wrote.

I was embarrassed to be caught reading legends about Olenta: the kingdom my family served for generations and of which I was about to marry the prince - Casper. He wasn’t the crown prince. That was Julian. Casper was the younger brother. That did not bother me.

I sheepishly handed my father the book and stood, straightening the tan day dress meant for light work and tucking my dark black hair back into its knot. My father looked at the book, bemused, but did not take it from me. He instead nodded towards the house, and I obligingly ran off to make myself useful in the kitchens. The staff had been working nonstop for weeks to prepare our Bronsville estate for the arrival of the royal family. They would come, dine with us, and in the morning, I would return with them to the palace. It was a dream come true for me and would guarantee my family’s wealth and status for years to come. Bronsville sat on the outskirts of Olenta; we were still a part of the kingdom but needed the space for the crops we grew and forests we maintained to supply the kingdom with the majority of their lumber.

Rising bread, fresh fish, fruits of the orchard. The kitchen bustled with butchers, cooks, and maids seemingly dancing to the gentle but firm song of the lady of the house. My mother, Tara, stood characteristically upright, clothing completely devoid of the herbs and jams that decorated the skirts and shirts of the household staff. Unlike mine, her eyes were the lightest of blues, and her hair golden. I remembered dressing in her gowns as a young child and wishing to be just like her. I looked down at my own dress, already dirty from the orchard, and sighed. I had long accepted that her easy elegance was not an inherited quality.

Her gaze settled on me, and she shot me a quick smile. Though Tara was Silent, she easily communicated exactly what she was thinking. Like a conductor, she gestured, and the entire staff danced to the symphony she directed. Young and naïve, I had once asked my father why Mother did not speak. He had told me that it was the custom in the village in which my mother had been born. I didn’t understand until later that the custom was for all women of status, and that it involved the surgical removal of the tongue of all highborn daughters. Barbaric. I was glad my father had brought her over the mountains to our Valley. I liked my tongue.

I walked over, and my mother handed me a bucket and scrub brush. As I was turning to get started on the floors, she put a hand on my shoulder. I paused and turned back towards her. She brushed a bit of dirt from my dress, lifted my chin up so my eyes met hers, and I knew in no uncertain terms that I was to look my best, and carry myself with the countenance of the lady I was. It was a message she had imparted upon me a thousand times in a thousand ways. Even scrubbing the floors, I knew who I was and how I was to behave.

I worked until the end of day bells sounded.

When I returned to my room, my wedding dress was laid out on my bed. It was easily the fanciest garment I would ever wear. Silver lace and ribbons ran through a corset and skirt of the brightest blue. I picked the dress up and reverently moved it to a nearby chair. It was the dress my mother had worn while marrying my father, and they were blessed with a rare love. I hoped the dress would bring me the same fortune.

A soft knocking.

I pulled my gaze from the garment and focused my attention on the figure standing in my doorway. My mother must have been exhausted from the full day of preparations, but nobody would ever be able to tell by looking at her. I breathed in her clean scent as it drifted with her into my room. She walked over to the dress on my chair, then moved to sit on my bed.

My mother patted the space on the bed next to her as an indication that I should join her. Happily, I climbed into the bed that I had slept in every night that I could remember. Yellow cotton sheets and a quilted comforter with embroidered wildflowers welcoming me in. She swept the hair back from my fac and kissed my forehead before nodding in satisfaction. Look my best and carry myself with the countenance of the lady I was.

After my mother had left the room, I changed into my nightdress and burrowed into the blankets. As I slid my arm under my pillow (my usual sleeping position), I knocked something to the floor. A red velvet box lay next to my bed. The question in my eyes quickly turned to awe as I pulled a liquid silver chain from the box, adorned with a single ruby the size of a peach pit. I couldn’t help but drop my jaw in the least ladylike way possible. I only then noticed a note cleverly attached the bottom of the velvet box. “Until we meet” it read.

I had received gifts from Casper before, but nothing so extravagant as this! I hopped out of bed to put the necklace on, admiring how the ruby looked around my neck. Somehow, I looked more vibrant. My skin was brighter, my eyes clearer, and my hair – though it had been a long day – lay in smooth waves around my shoulders. I twirled in delight. How could I not love such a beautiful trinket?

As I drifted off to sleep – necklace carefully returned to its box and set next to my dress – my mind wandered back to my father’s story. Re-reading the legend in my head, I nodded off.

That night, I dreamt of a dragon. A powerful and ferocious beast, dark as night and eyes red as blood. I felt hot flame erupt from the belly of the dragon, burning crops and homes and people alike. I felt ropes being thrown onto the dragon’s back, weapons launched at the dragon’s scales, and the utter futility of the attempts to kill or contain it. One sweep of glorious wings, and the ropes fell away. One flash of razor-sharp claws, and the attackers were reduced to bleeding corpses on the cobblestone. This dragon was invincible. And then it flew into the mountains, the town a burning shrine to its power, and disappeared.

Distant bells. Dappled sunlight. Today was the day the royal family would arrive! I sat up, still slightly disoriented from my disturbing night visions, and blinked. The bells. They weren’t the joyous trills of a royal visit, but the toll of a mourning song. And the sunlight… It didn’t filter through my window, but warm onto my face through the shadow of tree leaves. I blinked. Outside? I blinked again.

Outside. Alone.

Blink.

In the mountains.