Dragon Clan: In The Beginning

by LeRoy Clary

Chewing the apple to the core, he glanced at the tangled weeds growing nearby. Some grew other plants from gardens generations ago. He recognized several. Beans, onions, and radishes were obvious. Cultivating them would bring more food to the table. He carried five small apples to Dawn, who accepted one as if it was gold instead of fruit. He stared at it a long time before taking the first bite.

  While Seth had been looking at the orchard and garden plot, the old man had removed almost everything from the inside but a few of the larger furnishings. He sat on the ground under a shade tree, a pole balanced across his knees. A fistful of green straw lay beside him. After lining up the straw, so it all faced the same way, he placed it at the end of the pole. Then, he used a green straw to wrap around it until it formed a cone secured to the pole.

  The activity interested Seth if for no other reason than that he had no idea of what Dawn was doing. When Dawn finished tying the straw, he used his knife to cut off the straws to the same length. He headed inside and began to sweep the dirt floor at the farthest part of the cave with his new broom, working his way to the front door.

  Seth leaped to help remove the larger bits of wood and debris remaining inside. The front door, sat to one side, leaning against the wall. A tanned hide would do for a temporary one. He didn’t’ want any animals wandering inside, and when the weather turned colder a sturdy door would help. He sniffed the air and found it smelled better with the missing door, but still with a slight mustiness. In almost no time the three rooms were clean and the dust settling. Dawn inspected the oven and chimney.

  “We can use it, but leave the window uncovered, or the cave will fill with smoke. We need to mix some mud and perform a few patches. That’s something you might do.”

  He was right. The cracks allowed some smoke to seep inside, but it also seemed to chase away the damp smells and replace them with the familiar smells of campfires and food. Thinking of food caused Seth to glance at the little row of apples he’d placed on the window ledge. But first, he went to the stream and used a strip of bark to carry back mud. With the fire burning in the stove, he saw where the smoke issued forth and quickly patted mud on each place.

  Dawn was back under the shade tree weaving green strips of reeds. He asked, “Did you bring that little bow you were going to shoot at me? Up the hill, I mean?”

  “The string got wet. So, did the arrows.”

  “I saw they lost fletching. No problem, a little pine pitch will hold the fletching long enough to use, I suppose. But, I think you left it in the canoe since I didn’t see you carry it. A good bow needs care, so why don’t we go get it, and maybe get our dinner, too?”

  Seth had almost decided to defend himself at leaving the bow, but the thought of dinner drew his attention. “We don’t have anything to hunt with.”

  “And by the time we climb back down to the water and back up here, most of the day will be gone. If we’re going to eat today, we’d better move.”

  They went down the mountain quickly, and along the way, Dawn paused long enough to cut a tall, thin tree. He stripped the branches off and shaved the skinny top to a point, then motioned for Seth to lead. Dawn peeled the bark and carved the broader end into a flat wedge, then used his knife against a tree to split the end.

  Seth watched but said nothing. When Dawn asked him to carry the stick, he assumed it was because Dawn was too tired, but Dawn cut another branch and carved as he walked. When they reached the canoe, the bow and two arrows floated in the water. After retrieving his weapons, they pulled the canoe higher into the trees so nobody would see it from the water, turned it over, so it didn’t fill with more water if it rained, and tied it to a tree, just to be sure.

  Winter storms bring high water, and the canoe would be hard to replace. Dawn explained, again sounding like he was telling a tale. Seth glanced at the distance to the water and decided not to believe the story.

  Dawn again carried his stick, fitting a carved crotch of a small branch into the split at the end. He sat on a rock and carved it again until satisfied. He held it up for inspection. “Like it?”

  “What is it?”

  “Our dinner catcher. Let me show you how it works.” Dawn was smiling and acting like a three-year-old with a new toy. He went to the edge of the water where the waves didn’t churn it into the milky murk, then he carefully walked in, stepping on the slippery rocks with care, the stick held high.

  Pausing, he stood in water up to his knees and watched the surface, the stick raised high. He drove the end of the stick into the water and retrieved it, giving Seth a glance from the corner of his eye, as if he had something to prove. He stabbed again. Then, the third try was different. The stick leaped and twisted in his hands. Dawn leaned forward and held the spear point down to the bottom of the water and pushed harder, then with his other hand reached in and lifted out a fish nearly as long as his forearm. The bloody fish wiggled and flipped, but Dawn had a grip on it, and a wide smile on his face.

  “Dinner,” Seth shouted.

  Dawn waded from the water and handed the fish to Seth, then removed the barb at the end of the stick from the body of the fish. Seth realized the pointed stick alone would not have held the fish, and it would have swum away. The carved hook was what Dawn had been making.

  Dawn cleaned the fish at the edge of the water, tossing the discarded parts back in. “Attracts more fish,” he explained. In the caves, Dawn placed the fish on a flat rock that extended over the fire pit. The fish sizzled from the heat of the rock, and that answered why the rock was there, as well as why Dawn wanted to build the fire before they left. The rock needed time to heat. The old man didn’t say why he did a lot of things, but he showed them in such a way that Seth learned.

  While the day still held plenty of light, Dawn took him to an area beside the lake and waded in. They carried armfuls of reeds back to the cave. With nimble movements, he showed Seth how to weave. Before dark, each had a mat for sleeping.

  The fire in the oven still burned enough to shed light, and as Seth laid on the warm ground, on top of his woven mat, a thousand thoughts flooded his mind. Images of islands, smoking mountains, secure caves, and flying dragons, filled his head. The island was paradise. But all was not perfect. He glanced at the sad expression Dawn wore much of the day.

  Seth asked, “Everyone died?”

  “All but me.”

  “So, you ran away?”

  “No, I stayed here for years, but grew lonely. People need to be near others.”

  “So, you closed all the doors and left?”

  Dawn paused and said, “That would be a short way of telling my story.”

  Seth couldn’t sleep, and he listened to the soft, regular breathing of Dawn, the rasp, and cough that broke the silence now and then. “Tomorrow we can build a smokehouse.”

  The old man took a few deep breaths and said, “You can build that.”

  “You’re not going to help me?”

  The laugh degenerated into a coughing fit. The old man said, “I think I’m going to change my name tomorrow morning.”

  Seth smiled to himself. This again.

  “I might change it to Sunset.”

  “I like Dawn better. I’m getting used to it.”

  “It’s not your choice.”

  Seth laid awake thinking of the name change. “You know, when you change it, it’s hard for me to think about you with the new one. What was the name you had when you lived here?”

  “Awa, a name that meant funny, or prankster in our language.”

  “That suits you. Why don’t I call you that since you’re home again?”

  “We need to go to sleep, now.”

  “Okay, Awa.”

  “Sunset,” Dawn corrected him, but it sounded like he was smiling.

  The following morning Sunset slept late and when he stood the first time he almost fell. His eyes took on a glazed look that hadn’t been there the previous day, and he moved slowly and didn’t eat. While Seth gathered wood, explored, and killed a chicken,
the old man sat in the shade and looked out over the trees on the lower hillside to the expanse of water.

  Seth paused several times to look out there too, but saw nothing to hold his interest. He cooked the chicken on the top of the stove, he wove more mats to use as padding for their mats, and he found and carried six chicken eggs back to the cave.

  Twice he dodged under the cover of trees to hide from dragons flying overhead, but watched them through the foliage with rapt fascination. Late in the morning, one flew by and screamed so loud and long Seth used his palms to help shut out the sound.

  He noticed Dawn, who now only answered to Sunset, sitting in the same place under the palm. He hadn’t done any work all day, hadn’t eaten, and didn’t turn to face Seth when he talked to him. The old man didn’t answer most questions.

  The third morning on the island, he didn’t wake.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Seth cried as he dug a hole under the same palm tree Sunset sat under his last day. Seth had only known the old man a few days, but in that time, had come to understand all but his sense of humor. Seth dug the hole deep, placed the old man carefully inside and filled it. He stood the fishing spear in the ground as a marker, although he wouldn’t forget where the grave was.

  Standing alone when finished brought more tears, but Seth came to realize they flowed more for him and his bleak future than the man wishing to be called Sunset. The choice of the new name made sense, now. Seth believed he should have understood from the beginning and offered more support. While he hadn’t come right out and told Seth he planned to die here, there had been enough clues.

  The following days became a blur of activity. Winter drew nearer. The air chilled if the ground didn’t. After four days, Seth had filled one of the extra rooms in the cave from floor to ceiling with firewood. All the remaining apples were stored in bowls. He also gathered the carrots and onions. Each day he searched for more eggs along the edge of the meadow where the chickens gathered. He’d cobbled together a small smokehouse and killed a goat. The meat smoked over a low fire of applewood.

  On a morning when the rain fell steadily, he sat in the comfort of the cave and took inventory of his life. He now had shelter, warm ground to sleep on, as well as a working fireplace and stove. Outside the door with a curtain of woven reeds, the goat smoked, and the second room of the cave held enough food to last a long time, if not a full winter. But if he continued, adding eggs, fish, and smoked another goat or sheep, he could survive.

  On impulse, he rushed outside and through the door of the next cave. The iron bar pulled the door open, but like last time, the hinges fell apart, and he leaped out of the way as it fell. Inside the room felt dry and warm. Much like Sunset’s old home, he consciously had decided to refer to the old man as Sunset, as a measure of respect. He had asked to be called by the new name, and as hard as it was to think of him as Sunset, Seth was determined to try if that was what Dawn wished.

  Seth started a systematic search of the cave. He discovered a rusted blade that broke in half when he tried to clean it. But the front of the blade felt solid. It could tip a spear. He slipped it into the leather bag he used for his purse. After wading through the rubble, rotted wood, and disintegrating clothing, he left and went to the next cave.

  The lower half of the door had broken, or chewed by animals, and inside stunk from generations of animals living there. He saw nothing of value and tired of holding his breath, and quickly moved on to the next. Some caves were larger than others, but all were depressing in the disintegration of the contents and the obviously lost dreams of the long dead inhabitants. Everything in them recalled that they were more than caves. They had been homes.

  While most were useless, he did find a few pieces of flint, bars of iron, and a bowl filled with arrow tips.

  The morning rain finally quit, and Seth walked out to the meadow in from of the caves and stood, looking at the missing doors, and the vacant doorways, like rectangular eyes watching him. He threw his head back and shouted, “I need to talk and get advice, but nobody is here. So, Sunset, I’m going to talk to you.”

  That decision made, he felt better until an unnerving thought came. He said, “Sunset, I’d appreciate it if you don’t answer me.”

  As he moved around the clearing at the base of the mountain, he continued to talk to Sunset. That afternoon he decided to build a bench to sit on, and maybe a second one in the kitchen beside the warm fire. When he was young and living with his mother, they had all sat near the fire and talked about their hopes and problems. He found and returned to his cave, four branches with crotches in them to use as braces for the benches.

  In the main room, he dug four holes and stood the branches up before filling them in. The reeds he used for weaving let him tie cross pieces between them, but he thought about leather replacing the reeds. It was stronger and would last. He placed straight poles in the crotches and had a raised seat, of sorts. But it was just a frame, and he intended to finish it as the days turned colder.

  The remains of the goat he’d killed were outside near the smokehouse, and he cursed himself. He should have been more aware of the uses for it. At the site, insects swarmed, and a quick look confirmed his suspicions. In his hurry to butcher the animal for meat, he hadn’t left much of the skin intact. Tanning the skin would have given him a covering for his bed, or perhaps a cloak. The bones had uses and in the future, he’d leave them out in the air for insects to clean. Instead, he buried the remains and thought back to his family and how they did things.

  Skins needed pee and animal brains for proper tanning. Lots of pee, he remembered. He’d scrape the inside of a hide as clean as possible and use a mixture of pee and animal brains to coat it for a few days. Later, ash and water to soak it and make it softer. He’d seen a large bowl in one of the caves and carried it back to his cave. Another frame similar to the bench could be used to stake out a skin while it dried. He would leave the fur on for warmth, but if he wanted to remove the fur, urine and wood ash soaked into it would soften the fur enough to be scraped off, but it was hard work.

  However, he could soon have skins to warm him for the winter, as well as cutting leather strips to use for ties. He checked the meat still smoking, added more apple wood, and decided that he’d go hunting the following day, weather permitting.

  The next morning broke clear and warm. Seth decided to start the day by exploring the island, a task he’d been avoiding, but one that needed to be done. Learning what else the island offered for winter, and his overall survival, took precedence over tanning hides. But not by much.

  In the past few days, he’d been down to the salt water’s edge three times. He’d checked on the canoe, fished, and brought shellfish back to boil in water, along with carrots and onions. The resulting soup tasted better than expected. He’d even tossed in a little of the smoked meat for flavor.

  “Today I’m going to explore the mountain,” he said, picturing Sunset in his mind as if he spoke directly to the old man.

  “No, don’t try to talk me out of it,” he warned, as doubts filled him. He felt the chill in the breeze. He needed warmer clothes, and quickly, making the tanning more of a priority. A small trail wound up the side of the smoking mountain. As if angry that he traveled up it, the mountain trembled and belched more smoke. A low rumble warned him to return to the cave.

  Seth ignored the warning. His family didn’t believe in such superstitions, but the Salt People did. He wondered if they still searched for him and the canoe. “Now, that thought scares me,” he said to Sunset. “Modoc will search for me until he dies and maybe after.”

  The climb soon had him panting for breath, but with every step, he could see more of the island spread out below, including many new areas he hadn’t known existed. The meadow where the animals lived narrowed until a small pass opened into a wider valley three times the size. Even from the mountain, he could see several paths that animals had traveled, crisscrossing the valley, all leading to a small river that cut the valley
in half.

  “Sunset, that’s where I should go hunting, and you should have told me about it. Leave the animals living close to the caves for emergencies or when snow covers the ground.” He moved higher on the path, wondering who made it, and why it existed.

  The vegetation thinned and finally disappeared, leaving him to move over a jumble of black rocks of all sizes, but the trace of a path continued upward, wrapping around the mountain until he could no longer see the caves or even the meadow in front of them. However, he could see more of the unknown portions of the island, and his curiosity was piqued. Many feet had traveled the mountain to make a path. It had to lead somewhere.

  A smaller mountain dominated the other end of the island. However, no more smoke rose from the summit. Beyond that spread more of the sea. At the very edge of the world where the sky met the air, a smudge of purple caught his attention. It was the mainland. That’s where we came from, Sunset.

  All that way in a leaky canoe. It seemed impossible. Even though he could see the far off land, the distance made him feel safe. With a chuckle, he said aloud as he remembered Sunset telling him, “Who in their right minds would ever come here?”

  The trace of path continued wrapping around the mountain and climbing. The mountainside grew steeper. Looking further up, it looked no closer to the top. The path didn’t seem to be climbing anymore. It moved level, twisting around the slopes until he came to a place where the side of the mountain fell away in a sheer cliff.

  The path took him only a few more steps, to where a jumble of boulders lay on top of each other, leaving small cave-like spaces between. Many were large enough for two or three men to enter. Seabirds called and looked at him. As they took notice, the seabirds fled. Dozens, maybe hundreds flew from nests in the cracks and crannies. White birds. Black ones, and most every other color as we moved closer. Each color and species occupied a section of the rocks with others of the same kind.

  “That’s the reason for the path. More eggs gather up here, Sunset. Can’t have too many eggs, but I didn’t bring anything to carry them in.” He was on his knees looking between rocks at a nest when a dragon flew so close he heard the rustle of the wings.