Aleta of Never: Dragon Hearted

The first light of dawn whispered over the hills, unfurling like a pale grey flower whose petals were touched with gold. Gentle bird song filtered down through the branches of oaks and birches, the forest’s green canopy rustling with the breeze. The chortling of a stream was cheerful as it coursed its way through a clearing in which a slender figure stood. The woman was dressed in a flowing white dress with a shining silver metal bodice. A dagger rested in her hand, its blade long and slightly curved. Gods runes were carved into its silver hilt. Her eyes were a piercing blue; her hair hung in long blonde waves down to her waist. She was beauty and grace and ice.

“Na’thay’llor.” The voice that hailed her was caramel smooth. Another woman suddenly melted from the trees, sweeping forward to stand opposite the blonde in the clearing. With olive dark skin and coarse black hair tangled in a braid, she looked nothing like Na’thay’llor. Her clothes were breeches the colour of bark and a green woollen tunic belted with woven twigs. There was nothing on her feet. Her weapon was a longbow slung over one shoulder and carved with gods runes. She touched her hand to her right shoulder by way of greeting and stood silent.

“Salutations, my kin. How pleasant to be all gathered here again.” A man sauntered into the clearing, a large hound padding at his feet. Gold glittered on his fingers and around his throat, and about his shoulders hung a cloak of the same colour. His tunic was a brilliant blue trimmed in gold, his breeches as black as his knee-high boots. His smile was false and his green eyes suspicious. As he halted at the edge of the clearing, his black hound rested at his feet.

A second man, short and wiry, appeared last. He had brown hair and a closely cropped beard with warm eyes, and a sword sheathed in his belt. His clothes were the kind a peasant would wear: a loose white woollen shirt and brown breeches. The smile he turned to the dark-skinned woman and Na’thay’llor was sincere; however it melted once his gaze swept across the man with the hound at his feet. “Brother. Sisters.” He nodded once, resting an elegant hand on the hilt of his weapon, just above the gods runes fashioned in the blade.

Na’thay’llor spoke. “Greetings Mi’ray’nor, Ha’nir and Tay’then’dall. I have had a vision.” She clasped her hands, the dagger pointed down from the hilt between them. Her eyes turned to each of her kin in turn. “War shall cast a darkened shadow, bloody and hungry, across our land. The souls of dragons and men shall be tested ... and many shall fall.” There was a moment of silence. “I have summoned you all here because the vision I received showed me the terrible fate that shall befall us all, should dragons and men descend into warfare.”

Ha’nir snorted, the hound at his feet loosing a weary sigh. “Dragons and men. Two races that shall never see eye to eye.” He chuckled at his own joke before idly studying his fingernails. “Perhaps it would be fair to set them against each other. We might see who is the most worthy race.”
“You are a fool, brother.” The dry tone came from Mi’ray’nor, who looked down her nose at him and his pet. “Nature is only balanced by two forces. This is true for all elements of earth. Dragons and men are each other’s equilibrium. Without both, this world shall be turned about so that we shall never be righted again. Only you, Ha’nir, would not realize this.”

“You have your head stuck in the earth, my sister,” Ha’nir retorted. “If you were not such a fool you would see that only one race can survive.”

“At the end, we shall see,” Na’thay’llor said. “Unless we can find a way to stop the war before it begins.”

“And how do you propose we do that, sister,” Ha’nir scoffed. “The dragons aren’t like to listen to reason, and most humans have forgotten our existence. They turn their eyes away from us and worship themselves. There are kings in this world who name themselves gods and are believed.” He suddenly darkened. “Why not let them fall. Humans do not wish to be saved, else they would still pray.”

As Mi’ray’nor began to argue, Na’thay’llor’s gaze turned to meet Tay’then’dall’s. He almost shivered as he felt her read his mind. She held up a hand, the wide sleeve of her dress gracefully sliding down to her elbow. Her sister and brother fell silent. “What say you, brother?” she asked Tay’then’dall aloud. “You have been silent up ‘till now.”

Tay’then’dall raised a hand and brushed it beneath his chin. “Dragons and men have lived within this world for centuries. The two races were born together. Though they are each as powerful as the other, Ha’nir is right to say they have never agreed ... I do not believe either race should be sent against the other. If a war between dragons and men were to erupt, this world would doubtless be plunged into anguish and chaos.” Tay’then’dall looked to Mi’ray’nor. “You are of nature, sister. You know better than anyone that balance must be kept. And not all men have forsaken us. There are tribes in the eastern hills who still remember our names and pray to our Houses.” Tay’then’dall raised his eyes to again meet Na’thay’llor’s. “We might find a messenger there.”

Na’thay’llor looked thoughtful. “You have given life to an idea, brother. Your wisdom is always welcomed at our councils.” Ha’nir’s hound gave a sharp snarl. Na’thay’llor ignored it. “If we can salvage the bond between dragons and men, we may have a chance to avert the course of war. What say you, Mi’ray’nor?”

Her sister nodded. “The balance must be kept,” she repeated, “And we must start with the Slayers.”

Ha’nir laughed, long and loud. “I am not kin of yours, Mi’ray’nor! I am not so foolish as to even seek for hope, in the inclination that slayers might alter their ways.”

Tay’then’dall shook his head at his brother. “Curb your tongue before you speak, brother!” His voice softened. “Slayers know dragons better than other men. They must understand their language, their ways and their hearts if they are to succeed at their craft. They -”

“You call the murder of dragons ‘craft’?” Ha’nir interrupted. “These men drive their weapons through the souls of dragons and are revered as heroes for their blood soaked deeds. You say humans and dragons should exist together to prevent war, but you all fail to see that the war has been beneath your noses the entire time!”

Na’thay’llor’s perfect brows furrowed. “I do not speak of meagre clashes between human and dragon. My vision was of a massacre. Of so much death that blood turned the earth to crimson and dark clouds shielded the sun from the sight. Though I cannot deny there has been bloodshed before, the coming war is something far worse.”

Ha’nir stepped forward. “You each carry a strong argument, my brother and sisters.” His hound rose and came to stand beside him. Ha’nir spread his hands wide, as if to bargain for peace. “If a slayer can be convinced of this coming battle, then perhaps we can indeed alter its course. I shall do this thing, if it please you, my kin.”

Again, Na’thay’llor and Tay’then’dall shared a glance. Na’thay’llor stepped forward, then. “Mi’ray’nor shall pass on the message. She is of the earth, you of the sky. There are more tribesmen willing to hear the voice of nature than of air. Forgive me, my brother, but this is what I see fit.”

Ha’nir turned angrily to his brother. “Is this the view you share, Tay’then’dall? Is this what you would have?”

Tay’then’dall bowed his head, but not in shame. “This is what I would see done, brother.”
The hound growled, a low and dangerous sound. Ha’nir clenched his fists. “Then so be it. But let me not hold you back. I can see my voice does not mean much at council nor in chance meeting. I shall take my leave.”

“Ha’nir,” Na’thay’llor said, rare compassion in her voice. “You are our brother. We do care for you.”

Her words seemed to snap something inside the god of sky and air. A darkness crept into his eyes. “None of you are my kin,” Ha’nir spat. “I shall care for the sky alone as it was gifted to me to rule. Let me not encumber you as you try your best to halt a war already begun.” He vanished abruptly between the trees, his hound after him. The beast paused at the edge of the clearing and looked back with glowing yellow eyes. It gave a long howl before shifting into a raven and following its master.

Na’thay’llor sighed. “I have wronged him.”

Mi’ray’nor shook her head. “No, sister. You reminded him of his place and then of our love for him. You did no wrong in this.”

Tay’then’dall nodded. “He would not have passed on the message we decided upon. In your heart, my sister, you know this. If Ha’nir wishes not to be one of us, then perhaps it might be a gift in disguise. Though you are of war, you still see both sides. The same as I, of peace, strive to do and the same as Mi’ray’nor of earth does. Ha’nir sees only what might benefit himself.”

“We cannot allow him to sway our minds from our most urgent purpose,” Mi’ray’nor added. “We must decide on the message to send and the one to carry it.”

“Dragons and men must survive together,” Na’thay’llor agreed. “Let us decide.”