Just Stick The Landing​ [Short Story]

Just stick the landing.

Master Adan’s advice echoed in my head. His voice, raspy and frustrated, even though he tried to hide it. Odd what you think about at the end of your life.

It wasn’t my life flashing by. Just his frustrated voice after my tenth failed round off, as he waved his weathered old stick around in a frustrated loop, trying to stay calm.

Just stick the landing.

I looked up to see Jek’s face, red from exertion, his knuckles white against the dark rope, peering down at me from the mouth of the cave opening, both of his hands gripping the rope he’d let slip. Next to him, Annice had let go completely, covered her eyes, head pressed into his shoulder, hiding from the inevitable.

What she wasn’t doing was helping him take up the slack.

I hung upside down, my leg wrapped in the rope, heart hammering through my chest. I was now prey instead of predator, staring at the largest sleeping reptile I’d ever seen. I have delusions of grandeur, I thought as I gazed at my impending doom. The creature’s jaws alone were longer than I was tall.

What the hell was I thinking?

I glared up at my friend’s profanities dancing on my lips. This job required extreme silence and stealth. I clenched my teeth till they ached.

If I got out of this, I’d thrash them both.

I turned and glanced down, surveying my new position. Somehow, I was still alive. Somehow, I needed to salvage this.

Below me, gem-encrusted weapons gleamed, half coated in dust and grime, centuries old and mostly forgotten. I inhaled. Must and the musky odor of the dragon permeated the air. The stench of rotten meat was even worse closer to the floor. I gagged. Everything screamed death. Yet I’d still climbed down this stupid hole. Delusions of grandeur indeed.

Silent as the grave, I pulled myself up, my muscles screaming as I did so. One hand grasped the rope in aching fingers, the other followed, ignoring the pain from my distended muscles. It was slow going, but I freed my leg and caught the rope between my feet.

Right side up again, I turned and gave a quick thumbs up to Jek and Annice, hoping they saw more confidence than I felt. My body was covered in sweat, and adrenaline coursed through me as my heart yammered at a dizzying pace. Annice jerked her hands up at me, mouthing, Faelwen, come back!

Just Stick The Landing​ “Dragon Sword,” image by Leasia Korbel

Just stick the landing.

I descended. Below lay Vylarion, the great Wyrm. The emerald death. His scales shimmered faintly under the flickering sunlight, a mosaic of greens and bronze that rose and fell with each thunderous breath. He guarded his hoard against all, adding would-be thieves, knights, guardians to the collection of his dead. Vylarion, once an ally to the elves, now destroyed anyone who came for him.

No one who saw him lived. Or so we’d been told. Master Adan always rolled his eyes at our questions. The wizened teacher would state that seeking the treasure only brought death. Now that I gazed at the dragon’s elongated form in person: I believed him.

My heart pounded in my ears so loud, I could believe the dragon heard it, even in sleep.

The treasure was too tempting. Become legends or die trying, that was the gamble many took. Jek, Annice, and I, two orphaned humans and a half-blood bastard daughter, we had nothing to lose. I continued my downward trek until my feet hovered just above the floor. There was no going back once I landed.

Just stick the landing.

My feet hit the ground, toes gently rolling down until I was flat-footed, kicking up a silent puff of dust. The light was dimmer here, but I could still see. Looking up at Jek and Annice, they were little more than two silhouettes against the daylight.

I inhaled slowly, grateful to be standing on solid ground. Weaponry of all shapes and sizes as well as bits of bone, littered the area. I didn’t want to think about who or what I was stepping on. Walking through this mess was going to take the stealth of a hunting cat.

There was one weapon in particular that I wanted. One object that I hadn’t mentioned to the other two: a sword lost to my mother’s people. It would be a plain weapon, but beautiful nonetheless. No gems encrusted in its pommel, only knotwork made of silver and steel. The blade, when lost, sent the elves of Nymira into their downward spiral, until a few half-blooded bastards such as myself were all that was left.

I wanted Vaelorian, the blade of Eternal Grace.

I took a step forward. No sound, no movement. The dragon snored on. Relief flooded through me.

Another step. I’d stuck the landing. I’d won. I put another foot forward. My aching muscles began to relax. My hands unclenched. I felt hope begin to build up in the back of my mind. My mouth quirked up at the edges, I almost dared to smile. All I had to do was maintain silence–

Just Stick The Landing​ “Half Elf,” image by Leasia Korbel

Snap!

A small bone cracked underfoot. It may as well have been a clap of thunder. I froze, eyes shut tight.

When I opened them, an emerald green eye the size of a dinner plate stared back at me. The dragon moved faster than should have been possible. I was pinned under its gaze. My body shook. That raw moment when you see your death through a giant door of teeth and fire.

I sank back, sagging to the floor, my body giving way to the fear. My hand sank into something moist and spongy. Stinking muck. I froze. I was dead. So dead.

I could hear Master Adan’s disappointed sigh in my head as I made yet another misstep.

Just stick the landing.

A presence filled my mind, drowning out even the repetitive words of Master Adan. Memories pulled unwillingly to the forefront before I could stop them. After a moment, the presence pulled back but remained in the back of my mind.

“So the blood of Nymira returns, watered down as it is. What do you seek, child?”

I opened my mouth. A squeak slipped out. I coughed, embarrassed, frightened. My throat tightened as I tried to take another calming breath.

The dragon continued to stare at me with one large green eye, its breath rumbling the cave.

I wasn’t dead yet. I crawled to my knees and knelt, bowing low to the floor as I could. Does one bow to a dragon?

“I seek Vaelorian, the blade of Eternal Grace, your– uh, Sir.” I meant to sound brave. It came out high-pitched as my voice cracked. I closed my mouth again as my teeth began to chatter.

The cave boomed around me. I covered my ears even as I cowered. It took a moment to realize the dragon was laughing.

What foolish creatures mortals are, even you long-lived half-elves. Did I not tell you, seek me and you will find me?

“I don’t understand,” I whispered, staying low.

“Oh, child,” the dragon stood and stretched its wings spanning the cave in all his glory. “I am Vylarion, the blade you seek. How you’ve butchered my name these past centuries. No matter. You are here now, little trickle of Nymira. Let us begin.”

I stood, frozen. Vylarion and Vaelorian were one? My mouth opened, but no words came.

“Hold out your hand.”

I did. Warm steel flowed into my palm, the dragon was gone, coalescing into a sword. In his place, Vaelorian, the blade of Eternal Grace, rested in my palm. The knotwork my mother had described criss-crossed the pommel in a never-ending wave of intricate silver knotwork.

I blinked, trying to make sense of the weapon I held, the way it hummed with power in my palm. It was alive, both dragon and sword. I knew my jaw was hanging open. The old stories left out a few details. My hands shook as I flipped the silver sword over, testing its weight in my hands. It was perfectly balanced, made for me.

“But first, we must seek out Master Adan, the dragon whispered in my mind. “He and I are old friends. You must tell him, Faelwen: You finally stuck the landing.”