Dragons' Fall_Tales from the Mirror Worlds

by James Calbraith

“Straight to the point! Yes, we will let you go. You may have guessed who we are by now.”

  “Musk Oxen… I thought you’d have gone south by now.”

  “We’re the rear guard. Tomorrow, we’ll be miles from here. You were lucky. We like lucky people. Perhaps you’d like to join us? We could use an extra dagger.”

  “I’ll think about it. Is that tonic soup?”

  “Yes. I think it’s ready now.”

  The tonic soup tasted of dirt and bark, but it made Berec feel much better. He could now gather his thoughts. The Musk Oxen… he had heard a lot about this mysterious tribe. They wandered the Taiga helping those who were threatened by the law-breakers. Their sworn enemy were the Wolves, who always fought in roving bands, disregarding the ancient set of rules. It was a band of Wolves that had caught Berec in the forest.

  The Musk Oxen moved south every winter, abandoning the freezing cold of the northern plains, leaving it to the bandits and natural selection.

  “I’m going south too,” said Berec, “I’ll be glad of your company.”

  The man chuckled.

  The tribe gave him a new name: “Lucky Dagger’. He marched with them all the way to their winter lodgings and decided to stay until spring. He was not in a great haste.

  In hindsight, it had been one of his better decisions. In the Musk Oxen’s camp he rested well, regenerated his strength, grew some fat on his bones. The tribe was rich — they were using iron blades and axes, he even saw some metal pots. Their rules seemed absurd back in the harsh, unforgiving wood, but they turned out very profitable. Berec himself gave the tribe a small ingot of the precious ore in exchange for their hospitality.

  With the first thaw, the tribe started to dismantle the camp and make ready for the long journey back north. Nothing foretold the disaster to come.

  The Bears were the fiercest warriors in the forest. Every one of them was dressed in the skin of a bear he had killed with his own hands. The Musk Oxen fought well, but they stood little chance. Berec quickly assessed the situation; while his hosts defended their camp, he gathered his meagre belongings and ran eastwards. He was grateful for the months the Musk Oxen had let him spend with them, of course — but he was not a part of the tribe and he had no duty to join them in battle. He had to save himself.

  He ran for over a mile before having to stop to catch a breath. He was still too fat after the winter; lacking stamina. He leaned against a spruce and wheezed.

  He was alone, again. The Musk Oxen were gone. Was that the entire tribe gone, or were there more camps in the South? He had no way of knowing. He shook his head; enough memories. It was time to move on. He looked to the sun, examined the trees and then, just to make sure, he reached for a small leather bag at his belt. The magic needle was still there; his most precious posession. He found a puddle of melting snow and floated the needle. The magic still worked and Berec had his confirmation: he did not stray far from his original route.

  Slowly, saving energy — as usual, he did not know when he would have the chance to eat again — he moved on.

  Two days later he noticed markings on the tree trunks. He did not recognise the symbols; no-one Berec had known had ever been this far south. He proceeded even more carefully, with his right hand on his dagger and the left raised above his head as the mark of respect to the laws of the Taiga. He hoped the gesture was known in these parts as well.

  At noon the next day he met the watchmen. They belonged to a clan he did not know: their grey skin was dotted with silver and white spots. They seemed confident, not even bothering to raise their crossbows against him. He lowered his left hand and raised the right one — this meant he was acknowledging the laws of the local tribe over the laws of the forest.

  They tied a rag over his eyes and led him down some paths — he felt sand and pine needles under his feet. In the distance he heard a strange noise: cries of children at play.

  When the guards removed the blindfold, Berec saw a vast round meadow, surrounded by a palisade fence. Beyond the fence lay a village — a proper village, with houses built of great wooden logs. The children he had heard earlier were running among the huts, not paying him attention. There were dozens of them.

  He stood and stared; not even the Musk Oxen had as many children at their camp. The laws of the Taiga stated clearly: you cannot create life if you can’t afford to sustain it. And very few could.

  The guard bumped Berec on the back, gesturing him to walk on towards the largest of the buildings, a round house in the middle of the village. The inside smelled of incense, like the tents of the Musk Oxen, but stronger, almost dizzying. There was only one great room in the house and in the middle of it sat a woman — a huge, fat woman, covered up to her neck in heavy furs. Her hair reached the floor; he wondered if it had ever been cut or combed.

  The guard bade Berec sit down. Another man gave him a hot drink in a mug and a piece of meat and then they left him alone. The woman smiled.

  “Eat. You’re safe here — unless you brought violence with you.”

  “Where am I?” he asked, reaching for the meat. It was warm and moist.

  “You’re at the Tale Gatherer’s house.”

  “Am I a prisoner?”

  “You’re my guest. But I won’t let you go until you tell me your story. All of it. No lies — I can tell when you lie; and no details untold.”

  “I’ve never heard about you. Why are you doing this?”

  She moved an inch one way, then another — settling herself just a little bit more comfortably on the throne of furs.

  “I am a Silver Fox. The last of the tribe. Long ago I discovered that everyone in the Taiga who reaches adulthood has a secret — something that allows him to survive that long. But most of the people take their secrets to their graves; they don’t trust others, and never share their skills. Such is the life in the forest, as you know. I decided to gather their secrets, their tales. By force or tricks at first, but soon the knowledge made me strong enough to simply demand. I have become the wisest of the Silver Foxes, outliving them all.”

  The smell of incense made Berec nauseous; the woman’s voice was monotone, hypnotising, and he felt there was something strange in the potion the guard had given him to drink.

  “I’ve told you my story, now you tell me yours,” the woman spoke. He could not resist the command and his mouth and tongue started moving against his will as he began to tell her the story of his life.

  THE CHEST OF BEREC OF THE OWL MARSH

  I was born the youngest son of the Great Blacksmith of the Owl Marsh. It’s not just a profession — it’s a title. The Owl Marsh spreads for hundreds of miles along the northern edge of the wood. It’s a land famous for its iron. We alone in the Taiga possess the knowledge of smelting and making metal tools. It’s this monopoly that keeps us safe. Our villages need no walls — our rare skill is protection enough. The council of blacksmiths and smelters governs the tribe, and the Great Blacksmith is the Chief Councillor. Each of his many children is destined to a long, peaceful and prosperous life.

  And yet… ever since childhood I was restless. I could not sit still for too long. “He’s got the running disease,” said the wise men, “too much going on in his head.” Such behaviour was not acceptable among the Owls. My father suspected my mother had lain with one of the Woodsmen tribes. And true enough, the Taiga always seemed to call me. From our village fields I could see the dark, foreboding line of the wood to the south. Everyone else feared it; I longed for it.

  There’s a saying among the northern tribes: “he could reach the Eden.” It’s about people like me; cunning, swift, impatient, full of energy. I started to wonder what it meant. What was Eden? Why was it so hard to reach? I began to ask the wise men, the elders… The Owls keep their memories for a long time, and our histories do not vanish in the midst of time as it does for so many other tribes. There was a lot to learn. I have learned about the Red Foxes and the Wolves — the two great Woodsmen clans searching for Eden; the Red Foxes do
ing it alone, the Wolves in packs.

  On my sixteenth birthday I decided to become a Red Fox. My father said nothing. I think he had always expected I would do something crazy like that. He had plenty of sons and could always spawn more — blacksmiths are virile men. And somewhere in his memory there had to remain one of the Laws of the Taiga — although I did not know it yet at the time: “you must never interfere with a man’s first journey.”

  Father gave me the dagger, a few ingots of iron and the magic needle. He accompanied me almost to the edge of the forest. I could sense his fear of the shadows in the trees.

  I was not alone. There was a friend… more than a friend. He had the “running disease” too; on the night before the journey we had become blood brothers.

  The first few weeks were the most terrifying experience of my life. It was hell. Without the protection of any of the Woodland tribes, we were easy prey for anyone desiring our treasure. Soon I learned to kill. I learned to do it in many ways, all of them swift and noiseless. Seen from the marsh, the dark wall of the wood seems empty, hostile to all living things. I never realised how many people lived here. It turned out the men of the forest — the Wolves, the Bears and the Lynxes — were much more dangerous than their animal counterparts that I had feared so much at first.

  Somehow, we survived and kept moving south. Rutsi, my friend, was the stronger one, I was the smarter one, and together we made a perfect pair of travellers. We learned how to avoid those whom we could not defeat in battle. We met a few other Red Foxes, exchanging news and stories. We began to hear our own names in those stories. We were growing famous, the two Owls turned Foxes.

  The farther south we went, the more fierce the competition for survival we encountered. Only the strongest, smartest, fastest managed to reach that far into the Taiga. If we wanted to move on, we had to become even stronger and smarter. This proved too much — for one of us.

  It happened so fast… years later I learned to strike with the same speed and precision, but at the time we were completely surprised. Our attackers were the Vipers; we had never met them before. It was my Dream Day, and Rutsi was on watch. His scream woke me up. I rolled aside immediately, not even checking what was going on — an instinct which had saved my life many times before and has since. A javelin struck the tree where I was sleeping. I leapt into the bushes and saw Rutsi hide behind a thick larch. An arrow was stuck in his neck. I was too terrified to move. We still didn’t know who it was or why they had attacked us.

  For a moment there was silence. The enemy was considering their next move. They thought we would have been easier prey, but now they had lost the element of surprise. Rutsi was bleeding from his wound; we both knew he only had a few minutes of life left. He saw me hide in the scrub. He counted to four and then leapt towards me, somersaulting and rolling and running. Arrows hailed in his direction but none of them struck my brother. He fell down beside me. I tried to bind his wound, but then I heard their footsteps. They now knew one of us was wounded and were certain of victory.

  Rutsi touched my hand, then pulled my head to his and kissed me. I understood then how he loved me.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “I never knew…”

  “It’s all right. You couldn’t return my love. It was enough to be near you.”

  I finished wrapping his wound, but the binding was soaked in blood. Rutsi propped himself up on one arm.

  “Run,” he said, “they won’t chase you if I give them enough of a fight.”

  I nodded. There are no heroics in the Taiga; we both knew Rutsi would not survive until morning. I was unharmed. The Taiga judged us and made its sentence: only one of us was to come out of this alive.

  I wasted a few precious seconds thinking this over. I was still young, inexperienced… the old Owl customs still strong in my head. The Vipers came close; I could see their sand-yellow faces clearly among the trees.

  “Take all my iron, just leave me the knife so I can bite them. My dear Berec,” he touched my face one last time.

  I ran without ever looking back. I don’t know what happened to Rutsi. He was the strongest warrior I had ever known, so the fight must have been a fierce one. And, as he had predicted, the Vipers did not chase me.

  There is little else to tell. I have been travelling ever since, ever southward; I spent last winter with the Musk Oxen in their lodgings — and that was the first time I had been south of the forest. Then the Bears attacked us and I ran again — until I got here.

  The power of the potion and incense slowly waned. He could think clearly again.

  “Such is my story. As you can see, I have no secret.”

  “Oh, but you do,” the old woman said, “otherwise you would not have reached this far. And I think I know what it is. You have the way of making people love you. It’s a rare one in the Taiga, and immensely powerful. To have someone ready to give their life for you — it’s like having two lives.”

  They sat for a while in silence and then the Tale Gatherer asked:

  “Have you ever had a woman?”

  “Once or twice… back at the Marsh.”

  “Good,” she said and let her furs drop to the floor. Her breasts were round and full, her hips wide, her thighs, dotted with spots of silver scale, were warm and welcoming. She looked like a figurine of the Harvest Goddess that the Owl people worshipped in the Marsh.

  “In that case I don’t need to explain what you have to do.”

  Now he knew from where all the children outside had come. Even the guards had to be her sons. He leaned towards her, untying his loincloth.

  “It’s also a way of survival, I’m sure you’ll agree,’ she said as he entered her, “perhaps your issue will reach where you won’t.”

  THE FORTRESS HILLS

  In the middle of the night came the Tremor. It went straight through their bodies, still joined together into one.

  “Something’s changed,” said the Silver Fox. Somehow he knew that every single being on the planet thought the same thing. Neither of them said anything else; they spent the rest of the night apart.

  She unrolled a map of Taiga drawn on an old wrinkled deer skin.

  “An old Red Fox left it for me before his death. We are here,” she said, pointing to an ochre dot. “Look, even your homeland is marked.” At the edge of the map was a stylized symbol of an Owl, as it was drawn on all the iron blades in the forest.

  “Somewhere here, in the south-eastern corner, lies Eden,” she said.

  “So it’s not just a legend…”

  She chuckled.

  “Have you ever doubted it? Be careful. The Taiga is full of people who have lost their faith, their purpose, and wander aimlessly among the spruce trees. Some are even openly hostile to those who still believe in the Eden. The very name reminds them of their failure.”

  Berec swallowed and nodded.

  “A trail east of here will take you to the Fortress Hills. There is little to say of this land, other than what the name can tell you: a ring of tall hills defended by stone forts, all ruled by one man. This is where the map ends, but not my knowledge. Once you pass the hills, go south. The ground will start to rise again. It means you have reached the foot of the Tacosi, the tallest mountain in all of Taiga. They say you can see the Gates of Eden from its top.”

  “They say that about every lonely peak in the North.”

  “Tacosi was the first one. But don’t climb the mountain; turn east again. If you walk long enough, you may reach the Valley of Three Tribes. They are good people; you can rest there and ask for further directions.”

  “Thank you.”

  She looked at the map one last time and then shook her head.

  “Don’t put too much trust in the map and my words. The forest always changes. The mountains and the rivers may stay in place but the people move around. The Three Tribes can be long vanquished, the hill forts deserted. Trust only in yourself.”

  She touched his well-toned arm. “You’re good. I can tell. One of the best
I’ve seen. If anyone stands a chance of reaching Eden, it’s you, Berec the Red Fox, Berec the Owl. Go now. May the Shadow of the Great Dragons save you from trouble.”

  Berec frowned. He had never heard such a charm before, and could not understand its meaning. It didn’t matter. He shrugged, turned around and ran into the forest, leaving the old woman and her children behind.

  Many days passed until at long last he reached the borders of the Fortress Hills. The ground had indeed begun to rise, sharp slippery rock cropped up from the undergrowth. The trees were marked with the sigil of straight, deeply cut rectangles. He could tell the markings were well maintained.

  No guard stopped him for another couple of days. The hills rose ever taller. He was following what seemed like an old logging trail. On the morning of the third day he reached the top of one of the hills overlooking a sprawling valley. For the first time in years what he saw reminded him of home.

  The Taiga ended here, replaced by fields and pastures. There were, indeed, stone fortifications on tops of the hills farther east, but most of the people lived in the villages in the valley. In the distance he could make out farmers tilling the fields and a herd of white sheep on a hillside pasture.

  Somebody was calling him. He looked to the side — a group of burly lumberjacks approached him from the border between the wood and the fields.

  “You!” the tallest of the men shouted, waving an axe — an iron axe. “Who might you be?”

  “A traveller. From Tacosi to the Valley of Three Tribes,” Berec replied with a trained lie.

  “Eh?” The man stopped. His face mellowed. “How’s the Big Mountain these days? You still claim to see the Gates of Eden from the top?” He laughed and his companions joined in.

  “Folks still say that,” Berec said, shrugging, “but I never climbed to check. Down below is good enough for me.”

  The men murmured in approval. They seemed to be decent under the pretence of burliness.

  “Will you stay for supper or are you in a hurry?” the lumberjack asked.