Scourge of the Ancients

The tapping of rain on the overhang’s roof was a melody of death, a cacophony of minuscule taps that indicated the world’s imminent demise. Who knew that the touch of a thistle could bring about a spreading plague? One that had infected the land of Indiria’s ancestry long before the genesis of civilization? Now, with the Scourge of the Ancients tapping the ceiling, the world quelled, and so did Fallon and her dragon Rhünor—the only dragon to have survived the Vortex Collision of Earth and Indiria.

The rain of barbed, poisonous thorns had begun centuries ago and now occurred each week for an unknown duration. Winter sped past with the force of a subway train, leaving spring to grip the world in an endless cycle of rain. Fallon shivered, then pulled her cloak around her shoulders, accepting its velvety warmth.

The storm grows in severity, Rhünor commented, his thoughts emanating concern from somewhere yonder—further into the overhang’s depths. You would do well to avoid the cave’s mouth, young one, lest you succumb to the Raining Thorns. His voice was low and resonant in Fallon’s mind, like the lowest chord struck on a guitar.

Fallon bristled at the use of the more customary title, and she turned to face the dragon. A cold rush of air enveloped her in its glacial, ice-cold fingers, further amplified by the cave’s rounded back and walls.

Rhünor lay curled in the inky darkness of the cave, a crimson, glittering mass that pierced the darkness like a bloodied lance. His eyes were two great fires that harbored his years of wisdom and experience, burning with losses and triumphs. The mighty wings at his flanks were like two folded sails, and the bones framing the membrane matched the ebony spikes of his spine and tail.

“I know,” Fallon replied, reverting to physical speech rather than transmitting sentiment with her mind. Since her phone had utilized the remains of its energy reserve, she hadn’t been able to speak to anyone. “I just wish that I could do something, anything, to help.” Another mighty, glacial squall caused her to stagger a few steps, her dark hair billowing violently around her face. She groaned, raking the stubborn tresses behind her ears. “I just hate feeling so useless. Especially with Orla and my mom out there.” She recalled the last moment she had seen them. They had been dragged forcefully into the government’s fortification building. Then, the doors had been shut, leaving the outsiders to fend for themselves.

Rhünor hummed deep in his throat, and the sound was akin to thunder rattling the heavens. I came to you when you needed me, child. Fate gave me to you under dire circumstances—moments before the Scourge of the Ancients wreaked havoc on your world. Fate, oftentimes, has a sense of humor. But the need for justice is one of its defining traits.

Fallon sighed, feeling that undeniable sensation of weakness rise in her chest, but she listened to the dragon’s speech.

Your family will be fine within the walls. The Scourge will end, and you will return home. With them. The scales around his eyes tightened, and since it was upon the face of a dragon, Fallon took the gesture to be a smile of encouragement. She dearly wished she could believe the same. “You weren’t so lucky….” Memories of Rhünor arrow-riddled and inches from the void of death flashed in her mind’s eye, as well as visions of the dragons that hadn’t survived the Raining Thorns when worlds merged. Rhünor’s family.

No. I was not. Rhünor shifted his glittering bulk, and each scale upon his sinuous body flashed like an orb of molten lead in the cloud-dimmed moonlight. But you are not me. In what reality, in what world, is my fate an indicator of yours? Without the massacre of my people, of my kin, I could not have saved you, young one. Take solace in the notion of fate’s decision. It wished you to be spared; I know it desires the same for your family.

Fallon didn’t speak for a moment, and she screwed up her face in a futile attempt to stem her tears. “I wish fate could have spared your family, too.” She utilized words and her mind to transmit this.

Rhünor hummed again, and she sensed a strong feeling of warmth flare betwixt their link. He lowered his majestic head, and his eyelids slid shut in a sluggish blink. Thank you, child….

Smiling as best she could despite the raging storm of her heart, Fallon turned and faced the cave’s opening once more. The forest that unfurled before them was a great maze, a labyrinth of rough stalks that blossomed with marigold pedals. Beyond the trees, through the confusing jumble of vegetation, was a great, spiny mountain chain capped with unbroken blankets of snow and frost. Mist layered its base and rose in intricate patterns that threatened to choke the range. She saw all of this through a curtain of miniature wooden spines plummeting toward the earth, their tapered, purple edges aimed at the ground. They were no longer than the tip of Fallon’s finger, but they could kill any living being with a single touch. And as the earth absorbed each shard, so too it absorbed their poisonous properties, thereby plaguing the land.

She sniffed, then blinked away her tears. The smell of mist wafted into the sultry atmosphere of the cave, intermingling with the stifling perfume the Raining Thorns left in their wake.

Rhünor stretched, his claws scraping the ground and emitting a small stream of orange sparks. Hunger gnaws at my belly, he groaned, swapping the initial topic for a less personal one. I haven’t eaten since the storm began.

That made three days, Fallon realized. To sustain herself, she had been eating supplies out of her bag, such as nuts and dried fruits. Rhünor, however, didn’t see the appeal in ‘squished, wrinkled fruits,’ so he avoided them despite Fallon’s attempts to feed him. “Well, if my phone hadn’t died,” she said, “I could have called a restaurant, got me some pizza, and maybe ordered you...hot wings or something.”

Mm.... Hot wings indeed sound pleasant. His burred tongue ran along his chops, and then a moment of question stayed his thoughts.

Fallon was slightly confused, and the dragon didn’t clarify until she put voice to her concern. “Why the pause?”

Because I still cannot comprehend why the people of this world continue to torture their devices so, said the dragon. If that poor creation wishes to pass into the void, allow it to do so with honor. Do not give it life anew just to have it perish another day.

Despite herself, Fallon chuckled, and the sound of it echoed around the cave’s spacious walls. “It’s not like that, I promise. It’s not alive.”

I know. You said so yourself moments ago.’

“Sentient, I mean. Phones aren’t sentient.”

Yet you two-legged beings use words like ‘dead’ and ‘alive.’ It confuses those who aren’t acquainted with the normalities of this world.

“Well, we hadn’t expected dragons to show up on our doorstep. If we had, we may have altered our dialect.”

Rhünor made an odd noise in his throat, then shifted his claws, causing a horrible scraping noise to ring in the dust-clogged air. You speak truth, I suppose.

The remainder of their stay in the cave was spent in silence, Fallon leaning against Rhünor’s warm belly. She persisted in pondering her family, ways to free them from the government’s ‘safety walls.’ Yes, they shielded people from the Raining Thorns, but did they protect them from dangers within the defenses? Nowhere was safe, Fallon concluded. If anything, the Scourge of the Ancients was a more bearable fate.

And as she stared at the mist-blocked range of mountains, she decided on a precarious venture, one that risked her very life. The moment the rain subsided, she would free her family, no matter how the grueling toil, or the dangers that may befall her.

Rhünor agreed with her sentiment, and the dragon’s ribs hummed with his affirmation. The moment the rain subsides, he concurred.

The rain fell heavy, and both human and dragon anticipated the storm’s conclusion. At its end, they would begin.