Fiction
Fantasy
The fire drake descended from the heavens like a reaper claiming souls. Sinuous and spiraling, its worm-shaped torso weaved through the wisps of midnight clouds to breathe flame into the thatched rooftops. I glimpsed it through my window, a smear of black and crimson light. The screams came next, and I fell to my knees, praying it would spare our house.
My mother burst into my room. “Come on, Nelly. Get up. It’s not safe here.”
She tugged on my arm, yanking me up as I questioned if it was safe anywhere at all. “Where are we going to go?”
“The King’s men are riding as we speak. We must find a way behind their lines.”
“They can’t stop it.” My voice was weary, resignation shining in my brown eyes. “No one can.”
My mother huffed as though I were being insolent, when in fact I was only being honest. “They’ll most certainly try. Now, come on. I’d much rather have an army between us and that blasted demon in the sky.”
I followed her as she led me down the steps, wondering if this would be the last time I’d see our house standing. So many memories lived in those rooms, making me wish that my father were still alive. Maybe it would be a good thing if it burned to the ground.
My mother clutched my hand so tightly that I thought my arm would pop off. Chaos filled the streets, people running to the fires with buckets of swishing water, and smarter people running away. I saw the King’s men on the horizon, a fateful line of soldiers facing death. Their armor looked like a polished set of silver spoons, glinting in the moonlight.
“Too bad no one will make it.”
“Honestly, Nelly,” her voice chastised. She stepped over a scurrying chicken and looked down an alley for the nearest escape route. “Must you be so dire?”
I closed my mouth and kept it shut, following her through the town as she weaved a way to the hills beyond our village. We climbed a quiet knoll and lay on our bellies, watching the night sky alight as the fires blazed. The riders charged, brandishing long swords that pointed like pricks into the air. Archers followed, setting loose flames of their own. Their efforts were all in vain. Nothing could stop the drake. The beast’s heart was set on vengeance, and its anger burned brighter still.
No one knew what caused the slew of attacks, whether the beast was awakened, or its spawn killed. Whatever the circumstances, the drake would return until the land was scalded and blistered, ash and soot caking our streets.
The scene would have been dazzling if it weren’t so tragic. The soldiers fell one by one, gallant and brave. One man charged with his sword swinging and managed to slice a superficial cut in the drake’s front leg before it crunched him in its jaws and flung his body into the nearest fire. Another leaped on the creature’s tail, holding on valiantly as it squirmed. He climbed up its scaled back like a mouse on a snake until the beast thrust itself into the air and he plummeted to the ground below.
When the army dwindled, the fire drake’s interest waned, as if it had no more toys to play with. We watched it soar to the mountains until its arch of wings was no bigger than a bat’s. When my mother deemed the village safe, she brought me home through streets choked with smog.
We were lucky. As we turned the corner, I saw our house standing amidst the ruin like the final pillar of an ancient cathedral. My mother thanked the gods. As she knelt in our garden patch, I dashed inside, expecting everything to be in shambles. Not one object was disturbed. My afternoon teacup rested on the table where I had left it, minty water and milk swirling at the bottom. I held it in my hand, suddenly aware of the fragility of the porcelain and the ephemeral nature of life.
“Nelly,” my mother called from outside, “come out and help Brandon Bay and Molly Shannon.”
Fortune had failed to brush our neighbors’ doors. Both sides were scorched to cinders; a pile of blackened debris lay where their houses had stood a few hours before. At least the occupants were still alive.
My mother took them in for the night. I busied myself preparing beds out of quilts and old pillows while my mother brewed stew for seven mouths. After we ate, we sat by the fireplace, finding no comfort in the glowing embers. The orange shine was a constant reminder of the power and hunger of flames.
“Why is it after us? What does it want?” Molly clutched her baby close to her chest, her hazel eyes shifty with fear. She sat alone by the fire. Her husband and two boys sifted through the rubbish outside for anything that could be salvaged.
“It’s an animal.” My mother spat out her words. “A beast that has no notion of justice or love. It will continue to kill until we bring it down.”
I didn’t agree with her, but I held my tongue, pressing it against the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t stand to think that such a monstrosity existed without a reason. And I couldn’t accept the fact that the wrath would never end. I didn’t realize that my sorrow and fear showed on my face.
“Nelly, my dear, are you okay?” My mother leaned over and put her hand on my forehead as if I had a fever.
“I’m fine. I’m just thinking, that’s all.”
“By god, I haven’t seen you pale like that since the day you returned from Ravenwood.” Molly and Brandon stared and I felt as though I were a carnival wonder on display. I pulled my head away and stood up, blankets falling to my feet.
“I’m fine! I’m going up to bed.”
The abruptness of my voice silenced their concerns and I stomped up to my room, quilts dragging behind me. I could escape their watchful stares, but the words had already been said and my memories of Ravenwood drifted back like lost spirits finding their way home.
As I settled underneath my bed sheets, I thought of the strange events of that long-lost day, a day I’d buried in the bottom of my heart. I could still hear the yowl of wolves and feel their calculating stare on my back. I thought I’d die that day in the forest, torn to shreds by vicious teeth.
His voice saved me, the melody pure and soft, lilting through the branches to lull their bloodlust into peace. Oh how I’d loved him. With a sharp pang like a hornet’s sting to the heart, I remembered how I stood silent while the villagers mocked his abilities and chased him from our town. He saved my life and I failed him. Now I knew why those memories were better left buried. Sleep would not come for me that night.
All at once, as I watched the candle wax melt into a pool and brooded on the past, an answer dawned in my heart like the rising of a new sun. I knew who had the power to quell the fire drake once and for all.
When I climbed out my window, I entered complete darkness and skin-biting cold. Smoke from the dying fires blackened the sky, obstructing the moon and stars. I fumbled down the trellis and picked my way through the dimly lit streets, catching light from the late-night candles flickering in the windows of the few houses left standing.
Kicking my way through piles of burnt wood and broken glass, I traveled through the sleeping village. Still warm, the ash singed the bottom of my boots. I risked melting the leather soles, but the drake had attacked three times since the last full moon and I didn’t doubt that it would return soon. I needed to take the most direct path if I was to reach the House of Song by the first rays of morning light.
The forest whispered a warning to me as I passed, and I blocked the thought of wolves. I’d picked up a fallen soldier’s blackened sword from the rubbish, and I carried it as a reassurance against the pack. I was three years older since my last dealing with the bright-eyed beasts and had grown from a plump girl into a lady with a lengthy reach and extended gait. The thought of their ridged backs and thick fur shouldn’t have frightened me anymore, but it did.
An owl hooted from the bows of the evergreens and I continued my silent trek. The more steps I took, the more I doubted that he would come back with me at all. My idea became increasingly ridiculous the farther I traveled, and I wondered if I’d gone mad. Distant howls careened from where I’d trespassed. It was too late to go back.
I took off into a sprint, branches whipping at my face. I caught the gleam of a silver eye in the shadows and I panicked, running too quickly to carve a decent route through the underbrush. My sweater snagged, and I tripped and fell. My head whipped around, but no paws climbed upon me. I was alone in a clearing. I’d climbed high enough to rise above the village smog and the moon shone down, illuminating my path. The sky was a slate expanse, twilight verging on morning dawn.
Out of the distance, I heard a deep humming, a droning bass that rumbled my stomach. I knew the wolves would come no further. I was in the music’s realm.
Picking my bruised body up, I jogged toward the sound.
Deep within Ravenwood, on the crest of a hilltop, stood the House of Song. It sprawled from the earth and trees like it was carved from nature itself, its cast-iron gates threaded with ivy and periwinkle and smooth stone towers mirroring the treetops. The humming grew louder, as if they were aware of my presence, and I held my breath as I opened the gate.
A melody, sweet as a lullaby in summertime, drifted up and soothed my rapidly beating heart. I followed the sound through a rose garden with a mossy fountain gurgling in the center. Summoning courage, I called out my lost love’s name: “Arlen Gray.”
A shadow moved at the far end of the garden, and a man emerged from the roses.
“I knew you would come.”
Just as I’d grown fair and lithe in the last three years, so had he. Standing a foot taller than I remembered, and leaner as well, he wore a tailored cloak of indigo, covering a tight-fitting leather tunic and high boots with silver buckles. His hair fell in a swish of ebony, tapering off around high cheekbones with eyes of sparkling blue. A lute was tied to his back, the bridge carved in wooden swirls. He’d done well for himself. He was a vision of strength and grace and here I was, standing ragged and bloodied at his footsteps with ash and soot in my golden hair.
“We need your help.”
“We?” He stepped forward, and his eyes darkened as if he was disappointed.
“The village is in shambles. The fire drake will not leave us alone.”
Arlen sat on the rim of the fountain, bringing up a hand to scratch his jutting chin. “Tell me this: Why should I help the same people who once scoffed at my abilities with taunts and jeers, who threw rocks at my back?”
I winced at his words. I could still remember his father calling him a singing pansy and throwing him out of the house. The poor old man had hopes of his son joining the King’s army, becoming a soldier and someday a knight. Tell them, he asked me as the crowd drove him from the village, tell them what I can do. I was useless, a fickle ally. I feared that they would throw me out, too.
“Arlen, I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you. I was a coward.”
He studied me, this handsome young man whom I’d once kissed by the riverside. Whether he sought sincerity, malice, or even love, I didn’t know. Whatever he saw in the depths of my wide eyes was not enough.
“How do you know that I can help you?”
“Because I heard you sing that day I was in the forest. You have more power in your voice than all the King’s men put together. You saved my life.”
“You’ll fess up now, but not when I needed it, not when the villagers thought me worthless.”
“I will. And I’ll tell them a thousand times over if you come back.”
Arlen’s eyes wandered away. As the reality of his coolness hit me, I wanted him more than ever. He was the love of my life, the one who got away. I’d buried my emotions, but they flowed steadfastly, like an underground stream.
“We will die unless something can be done.” I took a step forward and held my hand to my heart. “If you don’t do it for them, do it for me.”
Arlen’s gaze returned to mine, and I felt my cheeks grow hot. Now he glimpsed what he wanted to see.
“I’m not certain I have the power to quell this beast you speak of, but I’ll try.”
We descended from the hilltop into the heart of Ravenwood. I followed the swish of his cloak as he led me on a path through the forest. I struggled to keep up with his quick and agile steps. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that I was the weaker one of us, and we needed to get to the village before nightfall. Silently, I bounded forward, my lungs heaving and my feet sore.
He paused on an outcropping of granite, looking back at me with concern in his eyes. “Are you all right, Nelly?”
His voice rung with the sound of my name and I swooned, almost falling forward on my face. I had to think of my mother, alone in our flammable house, to come to my senses.
“I’m fine. We must push forward.”
We ran on the heels of the setting sun and reached the wheat fields beyond the village as darkness fell. My eyes scanned the sky. I saw a black crescent flapping in the distance, and my heart dropped to my stomach.
“Look! Up there!”
Arlen followed my finger as I pointed. Together we watched as the beast swept down from the mountaintops and the wingspan grew. His voice was solemn. “It’s bigger than I thought.”
The fire drake circled in the air before diving toward the church steeple in the center of town. My house rested on the southern side, beyond the chapel. It would only be a matter of time before the fires spread.
“Come on.” Arlen grabbed my hand and we ran like scurrying mice through the fields. All I could think of was my mother and the fact that I’d run away without saying goodbye.
“Don’t worry, Nelly,” Arlen said, as if he could read my mind. He squeezed my hand. “We’ll get there soon.”
More people fled than stayed to quench the flames. The streets flowed in one direction, and we pushed against the tide. Arlen took the lead and wove a path through the storming exodus. I never let go of his hand.
The drake was busy lighting the church on fire and gutting the town hall with its spiked tail. I could see the vermilion barbs on its scaled back between the rooftops as we closed in. The air singed my hair and I had to blink to keep my eyes from drying out.
“You should stay back, Nelly,” Arlen said over his shoulder. “It’s not safe.”
“I’m not leaving you to face it alone,” I replied as a gust of hot breath blew back my hair. “I’ve done that once already and it’s plagued me for these three years.”
“All right,” Arlen agreed, scanning the wreckage as if he realized there was nowhere to go. Safety was relative when a fire drake loomed overheard. “But stay clear of the beast, okay?”
“Okay.”
We rounded the corner and there it was, chomping on a street lamp like a dog gnarling on a bone. Arlen gestured for me to stay hidden underneath the tattered awning of the bakery, and I stood on the blackened curb, wringing my hands. As I watched him approach the fire drake, armed with only his lute, I had second thoughts about my plan. How could I deliver him into the beast’s claws?
Arlen showed no signs of fear. He reached back and untied his lute, swinging the carved wood around to rest across his chest. He took a deep breath. The beast turned toward him, and he opened his mouth.
The note flowed like amber honey with a lulling vibrato that caressed my heart. His voice crescendoed, soaring above the steeple top and out over the expansive sky. Arlen spun out a melody paled by wistfulness and darkened by swells of deep desire. Plucking arpeggios with nimble fingers, chords tinkled behind the tenor sound to produce an accompaniment of falling thirds.
I heard him sing my name and realized that the song was about me. Tears streaked down my reddened cheeks, drying as the fires swept them up. I felt his elation and his sorrow, and most of all I heard his love.
The fire drake stepped toward him, the large claw pounding, breaking the cobblestones of the main square. Arlen didn’t flinch, and his song continued uninterrupted. The drake took another booming step.
I held my breath until I feared my lungs would burst. I feared the beast would open its jaws, and Arlen and his lute would be eaten alive or breathed into flame. But the drake’s eyes glazed over, and its sharp-nosed head bobbed and sagged until it fell with a thump in the garden between Main Street and Fairchild Way. Its breathing slowed until it seemed to barely inhale at all. I took a step forward to look closer. The scales hardened and crusted, turning to limestone.
The bard’s song tapered away and, with three strikes of his fingers, came to an end.
Time seemed to stand still. The fires still blazed around us, but the sound was mute. I ran to Arlen and he threw down his lute, taking me into his arms.
“Is it dead?” I held him so close that my words fell into his dark hair.
“No. It will sleep for a thousand years or more before it wakes again.”
I laughed uneasily at the thought. A town with a sleeping dragon at its center was like a village at the foot of a volcano.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured me, as he ran his hand through my wayward hair. “The House of Song is but a day away and our tradition is strong. There will be future bards and we will always have the power of song.”
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Copyright 2010, Aubrie Dionne. All rights reserved. Aubrie Dionne is an author and flutist in New England. Her writings have appeared in Niteblade, Silver Blade, Emerald Tales, Hazard Cat, Moon Drenched Fables, and Aurora Wolf. Her books are published by Lyrical Press, SynergEbooks, and Gypsy Shadow Publishing. Her epic fantasy, The Voices of Ire, will be coming out this summer at Wyvern Publications. Aubrie teaches flute at Plymouth State University and the Manchester Community Music School. Please visit her website: www.authoraubrie.com
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