Valley of Dragons

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

Only Eve’s grandfather could remember a time before the mages climbed the black mountain and carved the Gate out of the stone at the peak. She’d grown up with his stories about how the sky glowed purple the night they opened the portal, and how the windows and doors in his house rattled with each thunderous roar. The beasts had spilled forth into the valley and settled in, driving the villagers out into the mountains. The mages hadn’t been seen since.

“What was it like before the dragons came?” Young Eve would ask.

“We had fields of crops and windows that didn’t rattle every hour,” her grandfather would always reply. Then he’d pause. “I miss the valley. I always hoped my kids and grandkids would grow up there, running through the fields on our farm.”

Eve had never understood why they still lived in the mountains. Their home was down below, where her grandfather had grown up and where her ancestors had established themselves long ago. She stared down at it from the cliff’s edge.

You couldn’t see any of the old villages from the lower ledges where Eve liked to hide. Up higher, far above her village, you could see more of the valley. From here you could only see trees and grass and the little stream that trickled down from their mountain into the valley below. Eve never went up high. She’d never admit it, but she was a little afraid of heights. Besides, down below the village was always more peaceful. As far as she knew, no one else from her village came this close to the valley, the others were too afraid of the dragons.

But the dragons never came close to her paths. She’d seen them off in the valley, flying over trees and rolling in the grass. None of them ever strayed close to the foothills, let alone the mountains. Even if they did, Eve was confident she could kill one. It was why she always carried her knives at her waist.

Go for the eyes. A blind dragon can’t see your next move.

She pulled a fistful of bread from her pocket and started munching on it. She’d kill a dragon one day, of that she was certain. If she was a hero, maybe she wouldn’t have to steal bread anymore. She took another bite. If she drove the dragons from the valley her people could return there and grow proper crops again. Maybe then her family would have enough to make their own bread.

But I have to kill a dragon first.

She picked the crumbs off her lap to eat them and stood, giving one last look to the valley below. The shadow from her mountain was beginning to grow longer across its fields. It was time to head home. But first, dinner had to be caught.

Rabbits littered the mountains, their warrens found at every turn. When Eve was younger, her grandfather had taught her how to trap and kill them. It used to be their thing, they’d go out every evening and check all the traps. They took turns killing and resetting the traps. Eventually, trekking across the rocky paths became too much for him. Now Eve did it alone.

For the third time that week it seemed all the traps were empty. She was already brainstorming who to steal from that night as she climbed the ledge to the final trap.

Rabbit. Plump, fluffy rabbit. Its meat would feed them at least until tomorrow night. Its fur would become a coat or rug or blanket, depending on what her mother was making that week. It didn’t even startle as she slid her knife across its throat.

She felt eyes on her as she reset the trap. She slowed her movements, glancing around. No movement. She made sure to drag the rabbit closer. Any predator would move on once they realised they had no opportunity to take it.

But the feeling of being watched didn’t pass.

“Is someone there?” She called. The only response was the sound of whatever it was scampering away. Eve picked up the rabbit and stood.

The village was a sprinkle of stone buildings strewn across a plateau. Tufts of yellow grass were scattered amongst the dirt, but stones and gravel made up most of the flora. It was a dull echo of what the people used to have. Only a handful remembered its predecessor.

Eve’s house was on the edge, right where the ground started to slope upwards. If her great grandfather hadn’t known what he was doing when they built the house, they’d be rolling out of their beds every night.

She pushed the door open.

“Eve? Is that you?”

“Yes, mama.” She stepped inside. Three lanterns hung from the ceiling, the only source of light in the room. Her mother stood beneath one of them, knife paused mid-chop over an unsuspecting onion.

“Where have you been?”

She held the rabbit up. “Out.”

“Eve…” her mother sighed.

She walked to the table and laid the carcass down beside the chopping board. Eve turned towards the chairs in the corner of the room where her grandfather sat. She smiled at him as she approached, leaning down to kiss the top of his head.

“What’d you get today, kid?” He asked. He hadn’t seen her walk in for his back was to the door.

“Rabbit. A nice fat one for you, pop.”

“Ah, we’ll eat like kings tonight!” He stood, turning towards Eve’s mother. “Aren’t you excited, my dear Agatha?”

“Yes, dad,” came the reply. “Eve knows how to look after us.”

“Let’s get to work, then,” he said, not seeming to notice the pained look on Agatha’s face that Eve did.

She watched her grandfather hobble over to the kitchen table and pick up the rabbit, turning it over. A small smile touched his lips as he examined the wound at its neck. A smile spread across her own face. “I’ll start a fire.”

The log pile was under the shelter at the back of the house. The sun had disappeared over the horizon already but the light coming through the windows was enough for Eve to find her way around the side of the house. The cow looked up as she rounded the corner. She reached out to pet its head when a shadow darted away from the wood pile.

Eve leapt sideways to cut the shadow off. It leapt backwards, backing up towards the pile. Closer to the lit windows, she could see that it was another girl, her fiery hair turning gold at the edges from the light. And a bundle of split logs were in her arms.

“Those don’t belong to you,” Eve said, eyes narrowing. Her hand drifted up to her waist, resting on the hilt of her knife. She took a step closer. The girl stepped back, a log falling out of her arms.

“Please!” The girl cried, hiding the remaining wood behind her back. “I really need it!”

Eve tilted her head. “And we don’t?”

“I’m sorry, I-”

But Eve was done talking. She lunged forward, pulling the knife from her belt. Her intention was to hold it to the girl’s throat. She never got the chance.

The blade hovered in the air between them. She stared at her arm, unable to move it. Before panic could set in she stumbled forward, landing on one knee. Eve looked up at the girl, ignoring the slight tremble in her body. The girl was trembling even more, despite what she’d just done.

“You… You’re a mage.”