Page 1 of Mountain of Dragons and Sacrifice

Chapter One

It’s a tale as old as myth and legend. The girl sacrificed to a monster to save her village, kingdom, or people.

The maiden sacrifice. That’s me. Or was me, once upon a time. Tied to a stone altar in a forest, waiting to get eaten by a dragon.

How did I get here, you might ask?

Good question. Don’t worry, it’s actually a very fun story. Spoiler: I don’t get eaten by the dragon.

The mountain loomed over the village, stark and gray and particularly gloomy on this, the Day of Sacrifice. A perpetual mist clung to the mountain’s crags, shrouding all but its base in such thick fog that most of it couldn’t be seen. Hiding the monster’s lair from the sight of those living in his shadow.

With our empty ceramic jug on a shoulder, I hurried toward the village of Thysia in the early gray of dawn. A crisp autumn breeze swept down from the mountain, stirring the dust of the path that led from my family’s home to our village and rattling the leaves of the olive trees lining the path. The gnarled trunks and waxy leaves tangled to either side, grotesque and ghostly at this early hour. Clumps of olives hung heavy on many of the trees, ready for the harvest.

Our village’s olive oil was known as the finest in the land, due to an extra quality that other cities and villages couldn’t match.

What those other cities and villages didn’t know was the cost we paid for that fine oil.

A cost I didn’t think was worth it, but what did I know? It wasn’t like the village elders cared what I thought.

The path opened up as it joined the main cobbled road that led through Thysia. Sandstone homes stood beside the road, growing larger and closer together the nearer I came to the village. A city, really, with several roads branching from the central public plaza.

At the center of the village, the market square opened before the columned citadel, where the village elders met and conducted the smaller sacrifices for the dragon. Throughout the year, the citadel claimed a large portion of the harvest, of the goat herds, and of all the produce of the village to support the village elders and the citadel guards.

To one side of the citadel stood the water-filled fountain, fed by the aqueduct that brought clean water from the mountains into our city.

I hauled my family’s ceramic water jug off my shoulder and held it beneath one of the five spouts of water gushing out of the stone jars held by statues of people. The carved figures were frozen in poses of worship, their faces turned away from the sculpture of a huge dragon with his wings outspread that glared down at the people beneath his feet.

A daily reminder of our overlord in the mountain. Only in statue form could we look upon his face, an act forbidden otherwise.

A few other girls scurried up to the fountain to fill their own water jugs. We nodded to each other but didn’t speak. Not today.

As I hurried home, the city streets remained nearly deserted. No one felt like going about their normal daily chores on this morning of all mornings. A few people cracked open the wooden shutters that covered the windows and peeked out. A stray dog snarled as it fought a rat for a scrap of food.

I trudged slowly, trying not to slosh the water from the ceramic jar I balanced on my shoulder once again.

My family’s home was tucked into a fold of the valley, surrounded by the olive trees that generations of my family had tended. Our herd of meat and milk goats grazed among the olive trees.

As I pushed open the solid wooden door of our sandstone home, Mama dropped the rag she had been using to scrub the table. “Nessa! There you are!”

“I was just fetching water for the day.” I set the ceramic jug beside the door, ready to be used for drinking, cleaning, and cooking.

Mama bustled around the table, her dark brown hair gleaming in the morning light, the same color as my own curls. She was several inches shorter than me, but that didn’t stop her from squeezing the breath out of me with her exuberant, squishy hug. “The water doesn’t matter. Not on today of all days.”

“We still need water, even today.” I shrugged, not wanting to dwell on what today would mean. I could try to reassure both of us that there were plenty of unmarried girls between eighteen and thirty in our city. The odds of me being chosen were low.

Those low odds hadn’t saved Clarissa. She had been my best friend, until she’d been chosen as the sacrifice five years ago.

I only had four more years until I was safe forever. Only a few more years, and I would never have to fear the Day of Sacrifice again. At least, not for myself.

There was nothing I could do about any of it.

As long as we kept sacrificing maidens to the dragon, our olives produced better and sweeter than anything around. But if we ever stopped, he’d swoop down from his mountain and burn it all to the ground.

Mama’s hug tightened even further. “If only you’d married. If only…”

If only I’d been a good dutiful daughter and gotten married. Then I’d be safe today.

Very few of the village boys had even gotten as far as asking. Those who had asked had been more interested in the olive grove I’d someday inherit than in me.

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