Vengeance

"There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. They came with the storm, a wicked whirlwind of rain, ice, and fire." Gunther's voice was hushed, and the children that had gathered around huddled closer, eyes wide. "They descended upon us with the anger of the Gods. Our homes were trampled into dust, or torched to nothing but ash!"

The bonfire in the middle of the cavern cast an ominous shadow behind Gunther. Emory stood out of the way, in the darker recesses of the main cave. She hated hearing the stories. She didn’t need to hear them. She’d lived through it. Gooseflesh prickled along her arms as she recalled the golden eyes, the razor sharp teeth dripping with blood. Her mother’s blood.

“Emory,” father’s tone was gruff as he pushed a bowl of stew into her hands, she nodded her thanks. She watched him walk over to Anilda, handing her a bowl as well, his free hand caressed her swollen belly and he kissed her gently on the forehead.

Emory wondered if he remembered that night the way she did. Those golden eyes. Mother's screams.

She focused on the stew. There were small chunks of gamey meat within, likely squirrel or rabbit. Dragons tend to get to the larger game first. If they were lucky, the clan would occasionally get a sickly deer the dragons didn't deem worthy of a chase. Emory chewed slowly, savoring whatever bits of meat had made it into her bowl.

"Me too! I'm gonna slay a dragon one day too!" Alissa's bright voice brought Emory's attention back to the bonfire. The light of the flames danced against the walls and lit Gunther's face as it twisted into smirk.

"Sweet child!" He laughed, rubbing a meaty hand into Alissa's unruly auburn locks. "You will wed a mighty hunter! And you will have strong, courageous sons who will slay the dragons and keep the whole clan safe!"

"And I'll fight with them too! I'll use an axe like my big brother and I’ll keep the clan safe too," Alissa's fervor brought a small smile to Emory’s lips, but it didn’t stay. She cast a nervous glance at the parents. Anilda’s lips were a thin line, and her eyes met Emory’s with a shard of icy rage.

Gunther’s chuckle held, “Oh I’ve no doubt you’ve got the fire in your veins, child! But a battlefield is no place for a lady,” he gave her another pat on the head.

“That’s wrong! My sister Emmie told me! She’s going to hunt down those dragons too, she told me!” Alissa insisted, passionately demonstrating the chopping motions she’d use. The other kids burst into giggles and began swinging their own imaginary weapons. Their battle cries filled the hearth, and Emory couldn’t help but smile again.

The adults were less amused, brows furrowed and eyes turned toward Emory. Though her throat was dry and her cheeks burned with anticipated shame, Emory kept her chin high and her mouth set in a determined line.

Andrick limped forward from his seat in the largest alcove of the hearth, “All good dragon hunters hone their skills by helping support the clan. Whoever washes the most dishes can come to the surface with me at daybreak to see if we can spot one of those beasts, how does that sound?”

The children tittered with excitement, scrambling to collect empty bowls from the gathered clan members. Emory quickly tipped back her bowl and swallowed the remainder of her stew as Alissa approached, cheeks flushed in her excitement. She beamed at Emory.

“Did you see me Emmie?” she asked, her cheeks a touch pink from the childrens’ mock battle.

“I did,” Emory smiled, handing the child her bowl. She knelt and gave her a quick hug, whispering in her ear, “Half the elders eat in their rooms, check there to get extra dishes.” Alissa practically shook with excitement and darted away, along with the rest of the children, arms laden with bowls.

Once the children had filtered out, all eyes were on Emory. She squared her shoulders, fists clenched at her sides, and faced the room.

“Emory.” Andrick’s tone was heavy, the weight of an entire clan in his words. “We have discussed this time and again. You must not put these false notions in the head of a child. I will not permit it.”

Anilda had stood, and she took a few steps toward the clan leader, Emory’s father her shadow. “She is poisoning Alissa’s mind, father. There must be consequences,” Anilda implored, Andrick gave her a sharp glance.

“May I defend myself, Chief Andrick?” Emory asked, casting her eyes downward as expected of a young woman when speaking to any man, though the Chief himself was the only man Emory obeyed this particular rule for.

There was a short silence, and he said, “Speak your truth.”

Her eyes rose to his chest, for she refused to stare at the floor while she spoke. She breathed deep once, in through her nose and out through her mouth. Emory had practiced this speech, though she didn’t know she’d have to give it so soon.

“It is no secret I wish to be a hunter. It is no secret that I have been denied that choice. But the Gods plague me with dreams, with visions, of the dragon devouring my mother before my very eyes.” She couldn’t help a glance at her own father, but his eyes were only for Anilda, who glared at Emory with the hatred of a thousand clans. Emory’s gut turned to steel, and she looked Chief Andrick in the eyes. “I listened to my mother scream as her body was torn apart. I listened to her screams stop, as blood dripped from the beast's mouth, flesh and bone giving way to its teeth like a spear through water. Then it looked at me. Golden eyes full of death and bloodthirst. That time, I ran, it was my only choice. I was only just past my sixth name day, I did not have the strength to fight, not then,” her voice thickened with emotion but she swallowed it down, grit her teeth and grabbed hold of the fire in her veins. “We have seen ten summer solstices since that day. We tell the stories to the children to ignite the fire in their hearts, but sire, my fire has already been lit. It has been lit since I heard my mother die and watched her life blood flow between dragon teeth. I seek what every clansmen is given the right to, justice. I seek justice for the death of my mother, for the deaths of all innocents that were lost that day.”

Another period of silence. There was some shuffling as clansmen awaited Chief Andrick’s response. The Chief himself held Emory’s gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You dishonor me by meeting my eyes, child.”

Emory’s guts of steel liquified, and she quickly cast her eyes down.

Andrick continued, his tone cold, “This was not to be yet another discussion of impossibilities and childish dreams. You were to explain yourself for poisoning the thoughts of another young girl. You made no mention of young Alissa, my very own granddaughter, whose intentions are now poisoned as yours are and may cause additional strife and turmoil within our clan. Your duty is to help this clan in ways that you can. We do not need yet another woman killed by dragons, we need more men and women, we need people, Emory, not death.”

“I will not die!” Emory shot back. Before she could even think of looking Andrick in the eyes, pain exploded in her cheek, sending black spots and stars into her vision. When she blinked away the pain, her eyes focused on her father standing before her. Disappointment and shame painted a scowl across his features.

“Aside, Eathan,” Andrick waved, and Emory’s father obediently returned to his place at Anilda’s side. Tears threatened but Emory refused to let them fall. She did, however, stare at the floor. The Chief continued, “You will bear a consequence for not only wasting our time with this pointless argument yet again, but for pushing these notions into an impressionable young mind. You have attempted to condemn Alissa to a life of frustration and disappointment, I only hope that her parents are able to correct her path before her misled hopes and dreams need be crushed. You are to dig latrines for the next moon.”

Yet another silence. Emory imagined they expected she would come up with some retort, or some response, but she was still reeling from her father’s hand. She had played her last card, the argument she’d been sure would win her case, and she had failed. Emory couldn’t hold back the tears any longer.

“Emory, you may look at me,” Andrick’s tone had softened, and Emory hated him for it. If only the power of her will could vanish the tears from her cheeks. She looked at his neck, at the dragon tooth necklace he wore. “You are no longer a child, that much is true. It is time you honor the clan by fulfilling your role as a clanswoman. Your father has tried to dissuade me from making a match for you, but you force my hand. You are to be wed. I believe young Janson to be a suitable mate, the two of you will birth babes capable of tearing the mountains themselves apart.”

There were a handful of chuckles, but a distinct silence from both Emory and Janson’s families, though Emory hardly noticed. Her stomach churned and threatened to spill her stew across the hearth. Her eyes searched for her father’s but he would not look at her. Anilda was speaking to him in a hushed tone. Likely telling him that they were better off with Emory out of the way, she knew.

“You will wed at next dusk, and that will be the end of it,” Chief Andrick said firmly. “If I hear one more word of you and dragons, you will be severely punished. You are not welcome back into the hearth until your punishment is served in full. For speaking out of turn, you will be shunned from this moment until the sun rises. You are excused.”

After half a breath, the rest of the clansmen in the hearth resumed talking amongst themselves. With no eyes upon her, Emory allowed her tears to flow down her cheeks as she made her way to the south tunnel, toward her family’s cave.

The farther she walked, the angrier she became. “They can’t force me to marry without Father's blessing!” she muttered aloud, her steps morphing into stomps.

Andrick himself had said that father had never agreed to anything. He must have at least some semblance of love for her not to force her into a marriage she didn’t agree with. Emory grit her teeth. They must have spoken about it. Emory the problem, Emory the nuisance. Let’s shove her into the house of a man to put her in her place. Janson had passed his twentieth name day for Gods’ sake! Father would not allow it, he simply would not.

Emory thought of Anilda’s whispering. What had she been telling father? Talk about poisoning minds! If only father hadn’t fallen prey to this she-viper’s venom. If only he could remember the love he had for her mother, his truest love. Emory could only guess it was the viper’s poison that made him forget.

She strode down the cool stone tunnel, the tips of her fingers brushing against the carvings in the walls. A few of the elders spent their time carving the gods-forsaken stories into the very walls around them. As though the clan needed further reminders.

Emory paused as her touch encountered the familiar texture of carved dragon scales. She turned to face the wall, teeth clenching with her rage. Without thinking, and with all of the emotion within her, all of the anger, humiliation, rage, and vengeance she’d forced down in the presence of the Chief, Emory struck the carving with a closed fist. And then again, with her other fist. And then again. And again.

She grit her teeth to keep herself from screaming, and she struck until the dragon dripped with blood. Emory’s fists stung, but she embraced the pain and glared at the dragon dripping with her blood. Its pointed teeth appeared to smile at her, mockingly. All of those emotions roared inside her, and she saw red. Every thought flew from Emory’s mind and suddenly she was running, nearly sprinting down the tunnel.

No one ever followed her. No one cared. No one wanted to watch what she was doing. No one would even think she’d do something crazy, despite them all believing that she was.

The steely resolve solidified in her gut once again as she rounded the corner and shoved past the wooden door to their home cave. Emory knew exactly where to look. With absolutely no remorse or shame, she dove into her father’s and Anilda’s bedchamber, and practically threw herself at the shelf carved into the stone wall.

The weapons were numerous. There was a certain advantage to one’s father being a smith. Emory grabbed a sheathed shortsword and slung it onto her hips as she fled the room. Without a moment of hesitation, she continued out of the cave and back into the tunnels, turning the opposite direction of the hearth.

She whispered the directions to herself as she moved, her hand clasping and unclasping around the hilt of the sword. It had been a long time since they’d made these tunnels, but she knew there was a path that led outside nearly everywhere. In the early days, the dragons would spit fire into tunnel openings that smelled of humans and there were a number of deaths. Andrick had made certain that the number of entrances were numerous and none used too consistently.

Emory breathed carefully through her nose, her pace slowing to a brisk walk. She’d been moving east whenever possible, and soon she knew she’d smell the outside air begin to mingle with the tunnel air. The tunnels here were void of decoration, and she knew she must be getting close.

A savage smile touched her lips as the scent met her nose. Crisp, cool air. Distinct, nothing like the smells below. Her pace quickened, and when the outside sounds reached her perception it was the sound of victory horns.

Emory burst forth from the depths of the earth, her heart facing and a lifetime of vengeance buzzing within her veins. She paused for a moment, taking in the smells and the sounds. In her mind she tore through all of the information she had ever heard about the dragons. Haemish once said they slept upon nests of burning coals that singed the hairs in your nostrils. Wulric had said the sound of their wings was like the stretch of leather. Edric had said that they set traps for the beasts as near entrances as they dared. That was the only task they allowed her younger brother to participate in, setting the traps, and he was always more than willing to tell Emory stories about his adventures outside.

She couldn’t smell the coals, nor hear the wings. She’d have to search for the traps.

Emory drew the sword from its hilt slowly, and carefully, not daring to make a sound. Then, she strode forward, into the thick forest.

The trees rapidly grew in size as she continued through the dense foliage. Vines drooping from their limbs like thick snakes. She took care to step lightly and avoid making too much noise. She kept her nose, ears, and eyes open, taking in every inch she could. The sun was quickly disappearing behind the eastern mountain range, but she had no fear, the darkness would only serve to help conceal her.

After a while, she began marking trees, lightly, with the tip of her sword, somewhat uneasy that she may lose her way in the darkness. It was as she was carving one of these marks that she first heard it.

A rustling. The sound of something moving against the dirt and leaves of the forest. Something struggling.

Emory’s mouth ran dry, and her limbs shook with anticipation as she completed her marking. She knew it could easily be some small creature, but this meant with certainty that a trap was close, and something had been caught within.

Maintaining her careful pace, Emory followed the sound, weaving between thick tree trunks and large brush. The sound came in waves, a small burst of struggle, and then silence, then another short struggle, and another breath of silence. With each struggle, she took a step in the direction of the noise, and with each silence she waited. After what felt like an eternity, a small whimper became audible, paired with the moments of struggle. Then, a small growl.

Emory’s skin prickled, anticipation crawling across her skin in a beading sweat, though the night was cool. Her eyes scanned the area, but the noise had quieted entirely. She licked her lips but her tongue was like sandpaper against stone.

She took another step forward. The growl was louder, and pitched high, ending in more of a whimper than a threat. Finally, movement. A small tree limb began to lift into the air, and then it was flung straight at Emory.

She bit back a yelp as she ducked, expecting the branch to fly over her head. Instead, it began to curve and sliced through the space in front of her. The thing was sharp enough to either cut through or snap a number of plants, and Emory stumbled backward, falling into a large, thorned bush as she realized that the tree limb hadn’t been a tree limb at all.

It was a long, scale-covered tail that led to the body of a beast.

The dragon was the color of tree bark, a dark brown that had easily fooled Emory upon first glance. Its wings were pinned to its body by the contraption it had been caught in. Its teeth were small, but sharp, and bared in a snarl. And its eyes, its eyes were a molten gold, eerily similar to the eyes of the dragon that had devoured her mother.

Emory’s grip tightened on her sword and she brought it above her head, clasping both hands around the hilt. She stepped forward with a cry.

The dragon whined and its body flinched away from her. The trap tore at its flesh, and a wave of blood spilled down its sides. Its body spasmed and a horrible noise left its maw.

Emory’s sword was frozen above her head as she stared down at the creature. Its eyes darted frantically as if searching for a way to escape. Its tail was now tucked tightly against its body, which shook with pain.

Tears pricked Emory’s eyes and she hated herself. She hated herself for her hesitation, for the pity she felt for the beast. A beast that could grow to kill any number of her clan, including herself. Mothers and children, fathers and brothers could fall to this beast. Emory tried to envision its teeth digging into soft human flesh, tearing and ripping. But the way that the creature cowered before her, as if she was the beast.

Every point that had ever been made, every man that had ever told her that women weren’t cut out for this fell on her shoulders with the weight of a thousand fallen clansmen. With another cry, Emory threw the sword down onto the forest floor and collapsed to the ground, sobbing into her arms.

They were all right. All along. She wasn’t a dragon slayer. She was weak. Hot, bitter tears flowed from her cheeks onto her arms, the cuts on her skin from the thornbush stung, adding salt to her wounds.

The dragon watched her. Its eyes darted from her to the sword on the ground, and then back again. Emory stared right back through blurred vision. The dragon wasn’t much bigger than herself in its length, it must be an infant. The trap it was enclosed in was a set of jaws, meant to trap the foot or the leg of a dragon, and yet the entire thing was clasped over this one, spikes digging through wing flesh, into soft skin, and in between scales. At each point, the dragon's wounds dripped with blood. Though it was dark, the moonlight was enough that Emory could see, with surprise, that the dragon’s blood was a bright red. She looked at her own wounds, and was disgusted with herself for seeing the similarity.

The dragon was quiet, its eyes on her.

“Gods forsake me,” Emory whispered, eyes to the sky. She couldn’t stay here much longer, who knows what kinds of creatures heard the noise they’d made. Emory cringed at her own thoughts for aligning herself with the dragon, but she stood up.

The dragon flinched away from her again, its eyes widening and tail twitching.

“Take it easy,” she said firmly, her tone quiet yet firm. She allowed a touch of her disdain for the creature into her words. She approached the beast, which squirmed, unleashing another wave of blood. “Gods,” she complained, “Hold still, I’m trying to help you.” She placed her hands on the trap, and the dragon loosed a whimper, its entire form trembling.

Emory resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she examined the contraption. Edric never actually described how they made them. She couldn’t find an obvious way to release the creature, and couldn’t waste too much time just looking, so she wrapped her hands around one arm of spikes and pulled hard.

Her fingers began to ache but after a moment there was a sharp snap and the arm broke. The spikes pulled free of the dragon's wing, sending a wash of blood onto Emory’s arms. The dragon shuddered, and she grimaced, but she moved quickly to the next arm.

Snap! Snap! Snap!

As she dismantled the trap, each arm became easier to break, and soon, she’d torn apart an entire half of the trap. She backed away, reaching for the sword she’d thrown to the ground.

The dragon again flinched away from her, driving the other half of the trap deeper into its small frame. It yelped and leapt away from the pain, closer to Emory. She took a few steps back. The sword's hilt was slippery in her grasp, but she held it as tight as she could.

The beast shook itself, and yelped, crumpling to the side. Blood spewed from its leg, and Emory heard an audible crack. She grimaced, her own ankle throbbed in sympathy pain.

Emory nearly slapped herself. Sympathy? For a dragon? She shook her head firmly, willing the thoughts out of her head, and she turned, ready to head back to the caves. She’d done as much as she could for the beast, and she had to get out of there before any other creatures found them. Perhaps the beast had a mother, she didn’t want to wait to find out.

There was a whimper behind her as she slid her sword into its sheath and began making her way through the foliage. Emory pushed leaves, vines, and branches aside, searching for the markings she’d left on the tree trunks.

Another whine, softer now, with the distance, but it was so near in sound to Alissa’s cries as a child that it tugged at Emory’s heart. She found herself frozen, staring at the slash she’d made in the tree. Was she leaving the creature to die? Would it be eaten by some other beast? Emory wondered if dragons cannibalized weaklings. She wouldn’t put it past the brutes.

She bit her lip hard, looking back toward where the injured beast lay. “Gods have mercy on me,” she muttered, eyes to the sky which she glimpsed between branches above. Stars glittered amidst black night sky.

Emory tore a handful of vines from the trees and made her way quickly back to the dragon. Without a word she began looping the vines around its body. The creature startled, and attempted to stand, snarling as its weight pressed on its injured leg.

“Oh, bite me,” Emory snarled back at the beast. If she were to get eaten now, it would likely be divine intervention. She almost welcomed it.

Even as she tightened the vines around the beast and hoisted them over her shoulders, only two thoughts repeated themselves in her mind.

Oh Gods. What am I doing? What am I doing?! Oh Gods. Oh Gods. What am I doing?

And with these words battering her internally, Emory took a deep breath, and began to pull, tugging the beast toward the caves. Toward her home. Toward her people.

Oh Gods, what am I doing?