The Last Dragons

Well, Raya thought to herself as she was escorted through the village. So far, so good.

That, she reflected a second later, was being generous. Yes, she was still alive. Yes, she'd finally arrived in Berk. But staying alive was the bare minimum of achievement, and 'arriving' in Berk was a bit too generous to describe her current condition as well. Yes, she'd found the village, despite many people insisting that it didn't exist, but the problem was, the Berkians had also found her. Big, tall, Berkians. Berkians clad in fur, wielding axes, and who'd surrounded her in the forests just a few miles away.

It had been disturbingly easy for them to capture her, she reflected. She'd trained with more weapons than she had fingers from the moment she could walk. She'd trained in hand-to-hand combat just as long, curing those fingers into fists and breaking people's noses when her own wasn't. But with the snow up to her knees, with the wind cutting through her skin as sure as any blade, she hadn't been able to keep her footing before the Northmen had captured her. Stripping her of her blade, but thankfully, not her dignity.

Well, some dignity, granted, but…She shivered, and not only because of the snow. In the lands she hailed from, she'd seen those stripped of everything. Of dignity. Of hope. Of…she grit her teeth. Remembering those who had lost their virtue, in addition to everything else.

Seeking to take her mind off the past, she returned it to the present, and asked her captors if they were there yet. Neither of them answered, but she couldn't tell if it was because they were ignoring her, or that they couldn't understand her. She'd picked up what she could of the Northmen's tongue once she'd entered these lands, but most of the languages she'd learnt had been as a child. When her mind was an open gorge for the river of knowledge to flow through it, before the walls closed up. Knowledge was power, her instructors had reminded her, and to defeat the enemy, one had to know them. To know them, you needed to understand their language. If only so that when they uttered their last words in this world, you understood and remembered.

"Are we there yet?" she repeated.

She hadn't come to Berk to kill anyone, granted, but being led through the village…well, knowledge was still power.

One of the men glanced at her. "Look around and see."

"Yes, I know I'm in a village," she said. "I want to see your chief."

The man scoffed and kept walking forward.

"Can I see you chief?"

The men kept escorting her through the snow.

"I'll take that as a yes then." She adjusted her right foot, taking some comfort in the knowledge that her knife was still nestled in her boot, pressing against her ankle. She'd have far greater comfort if her sword was back in her hands, rather than being carried by one of her captors, but one had to take what victories you could in this world…even if victories failed to end the wars that plagued her homeland.

She looked around the village, taking note of the rooftops, and the snow that had piled atop of them. Potential escape routes if she could get to the high ground. But while she could jump from roof to roof like a monkey through the jungle, she'd never done it in so much damn snow.

She returned her eyes to the village's ground level – a misnomer, considering that Berk overlooked a sea to the north, perched on scraggy cliffs. She could see the sea, and all that she could behold was endless ice sheets beneath a perpetually grey sky – sailors coming to this sea would find only misery, and their ships locked in perpetuity outside the summer months, or so a shaman had told her further south. When she'd asked him the way to Berk, he'd laughed. Yes, Berk existed, he'd said, refuting accounts from most other people she'd talked to, but only a madman would travel there, let alone at this time of year. She'd pointed out that she wasn't a man, and, a few copper pieces later, had been directed north.

So the village was on the edge of nowhere, as were its people. Still looking around, she beheld the few who were out in the snow, and those who were peering at her from outside their houses. They were, Raya reflected, the strangest people she'd ever seen. The great furs they wore – greater than the ones she'd forced to wear herself to deal with the cold. Their piercing-blue eyes and their golden hair, tumbling down like straw, or in some cases, bound in locks. And their skin, as pale as the snow itself – paler still than those of China, or far-off Nippon. She'd heard stories of the Rus of the far north, of how their hair was the colour of fire, but while the people here might share some lineage with them, they were clearly their own. Apart. Living on the edge of the world, and as far as she could see, barely holding on.

And yet this was Berk, she reminded herself. The Village of the Dragons. The place where, decades ago (or so the stories said), flying lizards would fill the skies like birds above the rice field. The place where dragons were last seen in the world before they departed it forever. But if those stories were true…where had they gone, she reflected? How had the people fallen so far?

So far, her captors had refused to answer any of those questions. The same captors who now dragged her towards what she guessed was the village head's residence, given its size, and the ornamentation on its wooden arches. Carvings of vines, leading up to the roof where she saw a line of men and women. One man with a hammer. One woman with flowers in her hair, draped around her breasts. One man in the centre of all, gazing down at her with a single eye. Their gods, perhaps? She smiled bitterly – in all her travels, she'd found that there were more gods than there were stars in the sky. And that no matter how hard men and women prayed to them, the world never changed. Men killed each other with wanton abandon. Women died giving birth to the next generation. That next generation scarcely lived beyond five years. The world was cruel, and no amount of prayer had ever changed anything. Only mortals had.

Or, she reflected, dragons.

The Berkians gave her a shove inside, and instantly, she was grateful – not for the shove, but for the warmth that came from the fires. Blazing with the light of the sun, casting shadows upon the walls, and the many tapestries that hung from them. Tapestries that showed everything from a great serpent eating its tail, to smaller serpents ridden by men.

Dragons?

"We found this intruder in the forest."

Dragons or no, that didn't solve the issue of her captors. Or the man sitting at a throne at the far end of the building. His beard long, his fur cloak longer, a sword sheathed at his side.

"We managed to take her without much trouble."

Raya frowned. "You didn't…okay, fine, without much trouble, but I wasn't invading, I-"

"She was carrying this."

She cursed as she watched one of her captors toss her sword to their chief. He caught it with a single hand, the sheathe preventing it from getting cut. Bad enough that her blade was being thrown around like that, but while she could understand their words, she couldn't be sure that they understood her.

"So…" One of her captors trailed off, as if unwilling to interrupt his chief, now examining the scabbard. "Want us to toss her, or-"

"Leave her with me."

Raya winced. She didn't like the sound of being tossed, but half of the time a man said "leave her with me," that man would try to do something stupid. Yes, those men often had their throats cut by the end of it, but she hadn't come here to kill anyone. Not this time. Though if he tried anything…

She checked her knife was still in her boot. Just in case.

"Um, chief?" one of the warriors said. "You…want us to leave her with you?"

The man remained silent.

"Sure, chief. Of course…"

Raya glanced at the captors, unable to tell if they were concerned for him, or concerned for her. The chief looked past his prime, but then, he was the one with two swords on him.

She shivered as the doors to the great hall opened, snow flying in on the wind. Even after they closed, the chill within her remained. One that all the fires in all the world couldn't remove.

"Come closer."

She tensed, and looked around the hall. No windows, no other doors, nothing. She could try running out, but then what? In the snow, she had no agility to offset her captors' numbers, not to mention knowledge of the land.

"I won't ask you again." He beckoned her with his finger. "Come."

Raya took a breath and walked towards the man. In the gloom, she could see the shadows under his eyes, and the grey within his beard. By her estimate, he was somewhere in his forties or fifties. By all rights, he didn't have long for this world…something they might have in common, she reflected. She looked nothing like the people here, with her tan skin, brown hairs, and long, dark hair, but as far as imminent death went? That was something to consider. Unfortunately.

"Do you speak our language?" he asked eventually.

"I do."

He leant back in his chair and smiled. "Say something else."

Raya remained silent.

He sighed. "Would you care to tell me your name? Where you're from?"

"My name is…" She paused, before murmuring, "my name is Raya. Raya from…nowhere."

He doubted he'd know the name of Kumandra. And regardless, no assassin revealed their place of origin. Not even when they weren't trying to kill anyone.

"Well, Raya of Nowhere, I must say, that if you wanted to invade Berk, you chose the wrong time to do it." He chuckled. "It snows nine months of the year here, and hails the other three you know. You could have at least come in summer."

"I'll keep that in mind," she murmured. "But I didn't come here to invade."

"Perhaps." He held up her sword, the shadows dancing over it. "Perhaps not…"

She winced as he unsheathed the blade. She wanted to get right to it. Ask about the dragons. About the riders. She wanted to ask, get her answers, and get out of here as soon as possible – to head home to warmer climes, and stop the wars that plagued them. Nevertheless, she let him examine her blade. He could indulge his curiosity, and then they could move onto important matters.

"Incredible." He balanced the blade on his palm. "I've never seen a sword so finely balanced." He took the blade by the hilt, and performed a series of thrusts and cuts – enough to show Raya that he understood a thing about swords, while also enough to show that he was used to fighting with heavier weapons. Those better suited for cleaving movements, rather than the more delicate cuts her blade could make.

"I should have our blacksmith look at this," he murmured. "See if we can make more."

Raya cleared her throat.

"Or have you make them for us."

"I'd sooner die."

"Oh?" He sat back in the chair and sheathed the blade. "Well, that can be arranged."

"I'm sure it can. But as I'm not dead, then I'm assuming there's a reason for that."

"Maybe. But I'd rather speak of other reasons first. Such as, what is your reason for coming to Berk, Raya of Nowhere?"

She looked at her blade. "Can I have my sword back first?"

"I'm sure if you killed me you could. But, assuming you're not here to kill me, then I have no reason to assume I have to kill you. So…" He leant back in his chair. "Tell me your story."

Raya took a breath. She'd done this a thousand times. People in power asked for her story, confident that they were in control. The advantage of being raised from birth to be an assassin was that she had no story of her own, and that she could tell any story she needed. Enough to put her target at ease before her blade ensured they would never talk again.

This time though, she would tell the truth.

"I come from lands far east from here," she said. "From where the sun rises. Where the sea is warm, and the land bountiful."

The man snorted. "Can't imagine why you'd leave."

"Perhaps you couldn't, before knowing that these lands have been at war for centuries. Kingdoms ruled by petty men and women. Those who don't seek peace, or if they do, peace on their terms only."

The man remained silent. Whether he believed her or not, she could tell he was listening.

"It wasn't always like this," she said. "Once, long ago, before living memory, dragons lived among us."

"Dragons?" he murmured.

"Dragons of water, dragons of earth, dragons of sky," Raya continued, her voice rising, her pace quickening. "Dragons that could take human form. Dragons whose wisdom was greater than any saint or priest. For one life of theirs was ten of ours, and by beholding the past, they could chart the future. Or, if necessary, show us their fire, so our internal embers may be calmed."

She chief rubbed his chin. The shadows below his eyes darkened.

"But the dragons left us," Raya continued. "And for five centuries, our lands have been at war. In spring, we take our harvest. In summer, we reap the slaughter. In autumn, we weep, and in winter, we starve. We…" She sighed. "We need to end the violence. We need to do what the dragons of old could."

"And so you are here," the chief murmured. "Why?"

Raya met his gaze. "To find a dragon."

The chief got to his feet.

"To…" Raya's eyes widened. There, under his cloak…one of his legs was not a leg at all, but some kind of metal prosthetic.

"You'll find no dragons here," he said, as he walked over to one of the fires.

"That's not what the stories say."

"Stories," he murmured. She watched him spit into the blaze. "What use are stories against snow? What use are stories against sickness? What…"

Raya walked over. Stood beside him. Watched the fires dance, reminding her of stories. Stories of the fire that had come from the mouths of dragons…and of fire, wielded by men, setting the bland ablaze…stories that, in some cases, were too close to her heart.

"You should go, Raya," the chief murmured. "Return to Nowhere, come the sun's rising. I'll ensure you have food and drink to accompany you."

"But…" She looked at him. "But this is Berk."

The chief remained silent.

"The home of the Dragon Riders?"

He looked at her. "Stories," he whispered.

"But the stories speak of the Riders. Of the dragons. Of a hidden world where the dragons now rest. They say that Berk knows the secret and-"

"Leave, Raya of Nowhere. Leave before I-"

She moved quickly. A flip backwards. A thump with her right foot, directed just in the right manner so that her blade popped out. A blade that she grabbed before darting forward, pressing it against the chief's neck and-

She stopped. Her blade was against his neck, yes. But in the mere seconds that had passed, he had withdrawn his blade, and pressed it against her neck as well.

They stood there for seconds more. Sweat glistened within her hair. The fire cast its shadows. Outside, the wind whispered. They could stay here beyond their lives, she reflected, their steel outlasting their flesh.

"I'm curious," the chief murmured. "If you killed me now, what would you do after that?"

Part of Raya wanted to withdraw the blade. She had, after all, come to this place on an errand of peace. To save lives rather than take them. But to lower her blade when an opponent had his raised at her? The training that bid her blade remain kept it so, and it was training that had so far kept her alive.

"Well?" the chieftain murmured.

"I…have other options."

"Hmm." He lowered his sword and walked back to the throne. "For all your skills, lying isn't among them."

"Then you know I can't go back to my lands without something to save them," Raya said. "If I don't find a dragon, they-"

"If your people are killing each other because of what lies in their hearts, then no dragon can save them," the chieftain murmured.

Raya frowned. "You can't say that."

"I can, and I did." He sat down in his throne. "Shall I tell you a story, Raya of Nowhere? Clearly silly stories have reached this place where the sun rises, but here's my story - war and death is the way of the world. Travel west from here, and you'll find fellow clans looting and pillaging. Travel south from here, and you'll find the ruins of an empire built on blood. Travel north from there, and nothing but ice and death awaits you. And while I can't say what lies east from here, I can't say I'm surprised that blood flows like water there as well."

Raya remained standing. She wished the chieftain would yell rather than murmur. If he yelled, she could yell back. But instead, he just sat there. Telling his story in short, sharp sentences. Sentences nearly as sharp as her blade which he tossed back to her.

"To help with the blood and water," he murmured. "Now go."

She bit her lip, tying the blade in her belt, and pocketing her dagger. It couldn't end like this, she told herself. This was Berk. There were dragons on the tapestries. Something had happened here. And if she didn't find out, then…

"You're still here," he murmured.

She stood tall and as proud as she could muster. Whispering, "I am."

"Even after I bid you leave."

"Send me home without salvation, and you may as well kill me now," she murmured.

He gave her a look. "You're so eager to throw your life away?"

"Eager? No. Willing? Yes."

The chief looked aside, his gaze directing his eyes to a fire. "Same thing in the end…" He sighed. "But then, the world has ways of deciding when we die regardless. It…" He looked back at her. "How old are you, Raya of Nowhere?"

She remained silent. Imparting her age was another piece of information that her life as an assassin made her loathe to give up. That, and truth be told, she couldn't be sure. Only that she had taken more lives than she had years.

"I suppose it doesn't matter," he murmured. "Our lives are like embers. The fire keeps burning, but the sparks are forgotten. And some of them…some of them are snuffed out so very early."

Raya didn't say anything. She'd heard the tenor of such words before. More times than she cared to admit. Especially considering that her own actions, at times, had caused the tenor in the first place.

"Perhaps your spark will burn bright for many years," the chieftain murmured. "Perhaps not. But at any rate, I may yet tell you another story, Raya of Nowhere. A story of where the dragons went."

Raya stood there, still as a statue.

"Perhaps I will tell you of a village that was plagued by dragons," the chieftain murmured. "Perhaps you will hear of a boy who tamed one. Who freed the dragons, and his people, from a cycle of violence. Perhaps I will tell you of the boy's dreams, of a world where Man and dragon could live in peace. Of him, and the fools who shared his dream." He chuckled, before he began to cough…cough quite a bit, Raya reflected, and when he took his hand away from his mouth, she could swear there were flecks of blood upon it.

"The boy had many dreams," the chieftain continued. "But eventually, he recognised the truth. There was no place for dragons in this world. Greed, hatred, lust…these lie in all our hearts. Even if we rise against our baser natures, there are always those who succumb to them. Who relish in it. People who would hunt every dragon to extinction out of fear, or who would use them to fulfil their own dreams."

Raya wanted to dispute the point, but couldn't. For as long as she'd lived, there was a nature of the world that was inescapable. Deep down, she believed…knew…people were good. But the good didn't rise to positions of power. The good didn't direct wars. The good followed the wicked, and the wicked removed the good. Her master had once told her that humankind was a species of altruists governed by psychopaths. After all she'd seen, nay, after all she'd done…she couldn't disagree.

"So the dragons left this world, finding their own," the chieftain continued. "The boy, now a man, made a pact with his fellow riders. That they would never reveal where the dragons now lay, be it cost their lives. They would guard the secret, until the world was ready for the dragons to return." He paused, looking at Raya. As if a tiger studying its prey. A tiger, who whispered the words, "if the boy was right then…" he murmured, "I can only assume he was right now."

Raya stared at him. "You…you can't…"

"I can't? As chieftain of Berk, I beg to differ."

"But, my people…we need…dragons, they need to come back! They have to-"

"Dragons don't need to do anything," the chieftain murmured. "They can defy gravity. They can summon fire. They can live beyond human imagination. They can do things that many would consider to be magic. But they cannot cure the hearts of Man, Raya of Nowhere. That is our burden. That is our problem to solve." He looked away, his gaze fixated on the fire. "Or yours."

And that was it, Raya realized. The end of the story. She could beg, she could threaten, she could offer anything from copper to her flower, it would make no difference. It was over. She'd failed.

It was tempting to cut her throat then and there. But she'd seen others take the coward's way out before. And even if she was a failure, she was no coward. So, bowing, she made her way to the hall's exit. Fires casting shadows upon her face. Upon the tapestries of great beasts and their riders. Riders that, she noted, were young. Not men and women, but people even younger than her, assuming the representation was accurate. Pausing on the threshold of wood and snow, she bit her lip, and turned back to look at the chieftain.

"The boy," she murmured. "What happened to him?"

Still looking at the fire, the man murmured, "he grew up."

"And…what? Did he grow up alone? Or…"

The chieftain sighed, and met her gaze. His eyes shining in the gloom, carrying a fire of their own. His voice, a whisper, carried by that same fire.

"As I said earlier, Raya of Nowhere…some embers die before others." He leant back in his throne, and closed his eyes. "Even if, for one, glorious moment…they burn so ever bright."

For a moment, Raya stood there. Letting the fire wash over her. Bathe her. Warm her. Tempt her with memory, and foolish dreams…

A moment later, she departed.

Fire flickered, but snow and Nowhere beckoned.