Who's a Dragon?

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Once upon a time we were all just plain, boring humans but that’s not the case anymore. It’s funny, not even the oldest of our elders were alive when they first came. And they’re really old. Like really old. Gran would swat me with her tail if she heard me say that. A grin stretches across my face as I think about her. Good old Gran. She told me our story first. The story of how the dragons came to us, how we became part of them. It’s been passed down mother to daughter for generations.

I feel all warm and fuzzy thinking about her. It’s not that other versions of the dragon’s arrival aren’t good, they’re just not Gran Good. Gran was the best story teller in the entire Valley. Every mother sent their daughter to her to hear our story. She always managed to make it come alive, almost as if she’d been there even though I know she couldn’t have been.

See, the Valley was once a peaceful place — we’re peaceful now too but I’m talking about before the Bad Stuff happened. Anyways, we’re nestled between three tall mountains and a bay that stretches out into a seemingly endless sea. Back then we were a quiet and secluded people, not many lived here and even fewer made the trek to interact with us. And I mean small like everyone knew everyone and all their business. I cringe at the thought. We’ve grown so much since then and even now there’s always people in my business, I can’t imagine what it was like then.

Right, see this is why I’m never allowed to tell the story. I get sidetracked way too easily. I promise I’ll keep it together from here on out, no more interjections.

Okay — a quiet people lived here in the Valley. No better word fit the community than peaceful. Everyone was always ready to lend a hand, keep an eye on a child, offer a sympathetic ear. So when the men came down from the mountains before the passes had cleared, nearly frozen to the bone, the community opened their homes to them. They offered food to fill their bellies, space by the fire to warm themselves, soft beds to rest in. And what did those men do to repay my ancestors’ kindness? They smothered them in darkness.

The magic that laced their fingers swept across the Valley like an insidious fog. Slow at first. Slithering into every crack, crevice, and hole. No one knew what they’d done until it was too late. Before anyone could stop to see what was happening, they sprung their trap and plunged the Valley into darkness and despair. They stole and ravaged and ruled the people with violence and cruelty. Everyone but one.

Her name was Eleanor. She was barely more than a girl, not yet a woman. When the mountain men snapped their fingers and snared the people, Eleanor was floating just off shore in her papa’s fishing boat. She saw the darkness swallowing the village and stretch its claws all the way to the mountains. When it turned its ugly face towards her and the Northern Sea, the scream pierced the dark veil. The cloud-like tendrils soared towards her, ready to gobble her up too when a blast of icy wind came down from the mountain, cutting straight through the darkness for her sail and blowing her out to the sea.

No one knows where Eleanor went — well…

Sorry, sorry, I said I wouldn’t interrupt myself.

No one knows were Eleanor went. Her boat was blown out to sea as the darkness of night descended across the sky. When the sun finally rose there was no land in sight and she was utterly alone. She had no idea what was happening back at home but she knew in her heart that they were in danger.

The details of her quest are murky. Foggy at best. Eleanor was gone for months while the people in the Valley toiled and despaired under the darkness of the mountain men’s magic. All hope at finding a way out was lost. Attempts to flee failed and more and more people went missing without any sign of bodies.

One autumn afternoon a mighty roar swept over the dark cloud, shaking buildings and terrifying all those within. A burst of light — the first in months — cut through the darkness. And there was Eleanor — not that anyone knew it was her. A mighty dragon had descended upon the Valley. Her fiery breath battling with the tendrils of darkness in the sky. The ground shook with the force of their magic colliding.

Beneath the dragon, the people who had been enslaved and tormented by the darkness rose up against their captors. Pure chaos broke out as the mountain men fought to keep hold of their magic and fight off the beast above. At the height of the battle, the dragon let forth a sound that shook the mountains and plummeted towards the ground. She dove towards Cronan, the leader of the mountain men.

A blast of dark magic flared from Cronan as the beast hurtled towards him. Bright light filled the Valley, as if the sun itself had come to banish the dangerous men. And then there was Eleanor, sword in hand, plunging the blade deep into Cronan’s chest. Another boom echoed through the Valley as she was thrown backwards. A plume of twisting tendrils, as dark as the night, burst forth from Cronan’s chest. His blood, as black as night, oozed into the ground around him.

The chaos continued as Eleanor lost consciousness and Cronan was consumed by his own darkness. The mountain men tried to flee, realizing that their leader had met his end. Eleanor’s people captured and killed each and every one of them before they found Eleanor and her sword.

After that battle, Eleanor aptly named the sword Lightbringer. She showed the village her new shapeshifting magic but never told them where she’d gone or how she’d learned to transform. She took that secret with her to her grave. Though, not the magic she had found.

Remember how I said this story has been passed down mother to daughter for generations? Well, so has the shapeshifting dragon magic thing. Eleanor was my great-great-great-great grandmother. Or something like that. I was named after her. I think it was Gran’s idea.

An uncomfortable feeling settles over me again, one that I’ve been having a hard time understanding, coming to terms with. It’s not unpleasant, just sort of wrong. I don’t really know how to describe it. Kind of like an itch. One that stretches over my whole body, like my skin is not my own. Where was I? Right, passing on magic.

No one knew that Eleanor would pass her magic on when she started having children. Nor did anyone know how much she struggled to learn how to rein her magic in. No one ever really talks about that part. The after-the-evil-has-been-banished part, but it’s always one I’ve wondered about. Everyone knows the part where Eleanor learned her how to control her powers and when she realized she’d passed them on to her oldest daughter. Poor Dawn was sixteen and nearly burned down a barn when she unexpectedly shifted into her dragon form. Then her younger sisters started shifting. It wasn’t until Eleanor’s fourth born child, a great-uncle who’s name I can never remember, didn’t have any powers that they all realized it was only the women who’d been blessed with the magic.

There’s a lot of dragons in the valley now. All descendants from Eleanor and her daughters. For some the magic is strong, others have barely a wisp yet it’s there. I don’t really understand how it works. I do know that the women in my family have always had strong dragon magic. Gran always thought it had to do with us being daughters of Dawn. Each of the women in my family the first-born daughter to a first-born daughter. Like the magic has stayed true and whole only through us. Until me.

Mom keeps telling me that I shouldn’t worry about it, that maybe I’m a late bloomer. Lots of girls in the valley don’t see inklings of their power until they’re in their twenties. That’s great, but everyone woman in our family has always had strong magic, always around the sixteenth birthday. My own mother was barely fifteen when her magic flashed like lightning from her.

My sixteenth birthday has come and gone. I’ll be seventeen in a few weeks. I think I’ve known it for a while now though. That I’m not a dragon. And I think, with time, I would have been okay with it. Except that I don’t really have that luxury right now. Mom went missing two nights ago. Gran went to the sky two years ago. My aunts, while strong, have never been fierce. Not the way Mom and Gran were.

Bad things have started happening again. Things that have had me thinking about Eleanor and Lightbringer and Cronan. I was going to ask Mom about it. Tell her what I thought but now she’s gone. Like all the others who have been going missing over the past month. The fiercest dragon since Eleanor — that’s what people say about her. Gone. Poof. Vanished without a trace. It makes me want to throw up.

My eyes drag across the room to the mantle where Lightbringer sits in a glass case. Yes, the Lightbringer. Above it hangs the tapestry that tells Eleanor’s story. Intricately woven, almost as if crafted by magic. Light flickers off the sword and that’s when I see it. The figure in the bottom corner that I’ve never noticed before. I take a step forward and squint at it. The figure is barely more than a shadow but it’s holding Lightbringer. But that can’t be right. Eleanor had the sword. My eyes scan to the left where dragon Eleanor is hurtling towards the darkness that is Cronan. The figure stands behind him, sword held aloft and ready to strike.

Thoughts overwhelm my mind. That can’t be possible. Eleanor had Lightbringer. Eleanor slayed Cronan — didn’t she? In every iteration of the story she slays him alone. Always alone. But this tapestry, one that has hung here for generations and Gran said was woven by Eleanor herself, tells a different story.

I step closer, reaching my hand out to brush the threads when the front door opens.

“Nora?” Dad’s voice is laced with anxiety. Fear. Like he’s going to come home from looking for mom to find that I too have gone missing. “What are you doing in here?”

I turn to face him. See the relief on his face that I’m safe and the tiredness from his search for Mom. “I just thought maybe there’d be a clue in here. To where she might have gone. This was always her favourite place to be.” A piece of me prayed he wouldn’t start to argue again about sending me to my aunties where he’d sent my three sisters. Then his face softened and he opened his arms to me.

“Come here.” The safety I feel as his arms wrap around me is almost overwhelming. “I miss her too. Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”

My mind thinks not just of finding her but all the other dragons and people who have gone missing. None of them have been found and I fear that darkness is once again returning to the Valley. When I pull away from Dad he asks if I’m hungry and then skitters off to the kitchen to make a late dinner for us. I can’t help but turn and look back at the tapestry and sword. My eyes find that figure again. I feel some type of connection to it and I have no idea why.

I hear Dad humming in the kitchen, trying to put on a brave face for my sake even though I know he has the gentlest soul. It’s hard to breathe. He’ll never find her. And that’s when I feel my heart start to break. Tears begin to prick my eyes and I swipe the back of my hand across them.

Blinking back the tears I turn again to the mantle. The clouds in the sky part just enough for a slant of light from the setting sun to stream through the window. It lights up the sword as it lands on Eleanor and Cronan and the unnamed figure. My heart hammers in my chest as I wonder if this will be the night that darkness once again comes to stay. And then I decide, a plan forming in my mind. I’m going to retrace Eleanor’s steps, find out what really happened the night that Cronan was slain. Who really slayed him. I’m going to find a way to keep the darkness at bay — banish it agin. And maybe, just maybe, I’ll figure out who I am along the way.