The Dragon's Back Trilogy

by Robert Dennis Wilson

  "But, little mother, where will you go? Wait! You never told me your name!" hollered the boy after her.

  Her sweet and happy voice echoed down from the mountain pass, "My name was Miriam, which means bitterness, but you may call me Simca, for now, my night has turned to day and my sorrow to joy. I go to the seashore to find the fishermen. I want to swim again!"

  And then, passing behind a patch of stately pines, she disappeared from their view.

  ARDEN NOX

  Kaleb tried not to squirm like a child, but the hardness and dampness of the brick bench he occupied would have challenged the most stoic of adults. At least, he thought, the table's made of wood. I'd hate to have to write on a brick table!

  High narrow windows let in little of the afternoon sun. Tallow candles and sputtering fish oil lamps, he had learned, were the pungent staples of priests who sought to learn, no matter what the hour. The thick brick walls of the monastery isolated them from all distracting influences, even time itself.

  Kaleb dipped his split reed quill into the inkwell and quickly continued to scratch lecture notes on the parchment before him. The process with which they afflicted him had been designed to help him, and the roomful of other new students, adjust to new surroundings, new procedures, and—worse of all—new rules. Those that had taken charge of him had called this "Orientation". The elderly president of the college was telling them all the details of its “illustrious history."

  "Arden Nox was a rich man whose life was marred by tragedy: fifty years ago he watched as a section of the Riverbank crumbled away, allowing the Stream to sweep to their deaths his wife and only son. From that point on, until his death at the beginning of this decade, Arden Nox dedicated himself and his considerable resources to helping to protect people from the River. This school, Arden Nox College, was named for the man whose generosity and vision made it possible. Those who graduate from this school will always hold a special place in the lives of all who live on the Dragon's Back. Following his legacy, we of the school of Arden Nox are now the policers of the River. We alone are qualified to map its wandering course. We gauge its varying depths. We rope off guidelines for any who ask. We document its caustic nature. And we jealously guard and maintain the fording places.

  "We are recognized throughout Dragonsback as the experts on the River. As the servants of all mankind, we must pause and remember that Arden Nox made this possible...”

  ~ ~ ~

  “This is the third day in a continuing series of lectures on the Twelve Steps to Safely Cross the River. Today we will start with a review of the first two steps…” The monotone voice of the professor droned on and on, baking Kaleb’s brain like the noontime sun he wished he could see instead of just feel. The large semi-darkened room sweltered under that sun’s influence, and the only air moving in the room came from behind the podium. More than one of the students nodded their heads in a very passive assent to the lecture (a problem the professor would accurately remedy by throwing small pieces of writing charcoal).

  To keep alert, Kaleb talked to himself about his teacher, Brother Knumos.

  He's so dry, thought the youth, he's probably never even seen the River! He must have a waterskin the size of an acorn! How can this man be a trainer of teachers?

  Monotony fought a day-long battle against the Heat to determine the one more unbearable, until late that afternoon…

  What’s this? wondered the unwilling student, rousing himself as several others of the teacher-priests entered the dusky classroom. They’re carrying musical instruments: a lyre, tambourine, and pipes!

  Music! Now that’s more like it! We need something to liven this place up!

  No one who knew him would ever accuse Kaleb of straining himself under the burden of musical notes: a melody being something he simply could not carry. Knowing his limitations from earlier disastrous attempts – both in the scope of Marvin’s punishment and in the adamant disapproval of all who heard his discordant notes – had caused Kaleb to vow never to try again. (Life brings enough embarrassments without bringing some deliberately onto yourself!) Still, what little music he had heard, found a favorable home in his heart.

  “It's like cooking,” he had confided in his younger brother a year or so after they had first come to the Orphanage, “you don’t have to be able to cook like a king’s chef to enjoy good food (not that we get much of that!). So it is with music and me. I like to hear it but nobody wants to taste what I dish out!”

  But he need not have worried, for from that time forward there would be no more opportunities for any of the wards at Central Isle Orphanage to practice or even hear any music. Master Marvin, out and about on his rounds, had heard Kaleb's youthful efforts to sing and those efforts had so offended the man's orderly world that drastic orders had been given and drastic steps had been taken. And so, they all had endured for years the dark and dismal quietness of a world where music had been banned.

  With a start, Kaleb returned to his sweltering surroundings and placed a tick mark in a special tally column on the edge of his paper. Professor Knumos cleared his throat again and then inhaled a long whistling breath through his rather large nose (two habitually repeated actions which his students meticulously counted for wagered profit or loss), before announcing to the class with only slightly more enthusiasm than normal, “Today we have a special treat. [Long breath.] The Brothers Band [clears throat] will be teaching you the Arden Nox school song. [Long breath.] You are all expected to memorize it [clears throat] by the end of next week. [Clears throat. Long breath.] You will have to sing it to pass. [Extra long breath.] Its name is ‘The Song of Fate’.”

  The professor cleared his throat one last time as he joined the Brothers to sing.

  Kaleb issued an audible groan as he heard this distressing news. "What do they think we are, bards or something?" he whispered quietly to himself, almost wishing he had never left the safety of the Orphanage.

  The main difference between Kaleb and the Brothers Band would always remain that he knew he couldn’t sing and so avoided the experience at all costs. They sang anyway. And played on instruments wondrously out of tune with each other. Even to Kaleb’s undiscriminating musical palate the sweet taste of silence gained new respect. Whether intended by its composer or not, the school song of Arden Nox was learned that day as a woeful dirge:

  The River that divides us

  and the Sea that surrounds

  Bode of legends and Gryphons

  and infinite bounds.

  Dark depths guard our future

  'neath the waves of our past,

  But walking the River

  sets destiny's last.

  Moderation's balance the

  scales will contain:

  In the end a man's works

  are all that remain.

  Dark Sea stands ahead;

  wandering River at our feet;

  We can but hope to endure

  where both waters meet.

  So Heat and Monotony were bested that day in their battle to determine the most unendurable: the winner instead became a song.

  To Kaleb, the message of that oft-repeated song felt empty, void of life and hope. What little of it he could understand spoke about a lifestyle he would more than anything rather avoid being locked into. He'd had enough with rooms with locks.

  I’m still stuck in a prison! I had no choice in this! The more I’m here, the less I wanna be. This whole thing stinks, and not just because of the sweat running down our bodies!

  Still, over the next several weeks, he attended the insipid classes and listened to their do-gooder messages. They talked about the River so much that he could repeat the next message before he heard it: It is an old River, so it wanders in its path, bending back upon itself in treacherous twists and loops. It is very unpredictable in its course. The priests' job is to map its course and make it known to the people. The priests' job is to set up rope barriers to mark off levels of safety.

  In yet another lecture, the p
rofessor continued to drone hopelessly on, but suddenly, something he said caught Kaleb’s attention: "Since the River is a necessary evil, (we can't live without its water, even though some of it might be bad), we are therefore forced to change our lives to accommodate it. Because we cannot tame the River, we must tame the people! Rules, regulations, and guidelines must be imposed to protect the people from themselves!"

  Kaleb could not believe what he had just heard. This is not what I want to do with my life! In the Orphanage, they used to force me to watch some of the young brats so they could take a break. I hated it then, and I hate it now! By the Dragon’s claws, I want outa' here!

  THE SWIMMING

  OF REST

  By Moshe the Leader

  Dragonsback was once corrupted

  by the wicked deeds of man,

  And the Gryphon saw that thorntrees

  had grown to fill the land;

  For the River's heights had risen

  above the Valley floor,

  Till through the mountain passes

  that wicked flood did pour.

  And poison filled the mind of man,

  and filled his every deed,

  For mankind chose the River

  to fill his every need.

  So sorrow filled the Gryphon

  when this wickedness he saw,

  Yet He searched the land to see if one

  would listen to His call.

  And one He found in all the earth

  to pass the Gryphon's test,

  Who found the Gryphon's favor,

  a man whose name means "Rest".

  The Gryphon spoke and called his name,

  saying, "Will you rest in me?

  Then you will find salvation

  by resting in the sea.

  "For, behold, I bring the fire

  of the Dragon on the earth,

  To destroy all flesh, wherein is found

  the life and breath of birth.

  Within the ring of clouds,

  both fire and smoke will rise

  Until this poisoned land is purged

  and every creature dies.

  "But thou, Oh man of righteousness,

  has listened and has heard,

  And will be spared the flames of fire,

  according to my word.

  For you and yours must seek the sea,

  to float upon the wave,

  For everyone who learns to swim,

  from the burning, I will save.

  "Go warn the earth, Oh righteous one,

  tell everyone who hears,

  The Dragon's flame will purge the land

  within a hundred years."

  But all the people laughed at him,

  "Our Dragon's made of stone,

  It will not burn!" And so at last,

  he had to swim alone.

  The Gryphon then commanded

  and the Dragon belched forth flame,

  Consuming every living thing

  that knew not the Gryphon's name.

  And so the land was purged from thorn,

  and from the poison flow.

  Take warning! Lest your deeds, Oh man,

  cause them again to grow. *13

  THORNTREES

  "How did that old widow woman know so certainly that she was going to go to the Gryphon's Land?” Jason asked his mentor while they walked.

  "That should be obvious to you from what you already know. She had met the Bridge-Builder and believed again His promise. The Gryphon’s song pledges that all who follow Him will walk across the Bridge He made, for He, Himself, is that Bridge."

  Jason hardly took notice of the cryptic nature of his teacher's response. In fact, he had come to expect the mental gymnastics that any questions he asked were going to cost him. And he had grown, as well, in his ability to find his own answers from the tiny clues the bard offered him. Sudden insight brightened his darkness and illuminated his responding words: "The Gryphon's Son is the 'Bridge-Builder' and, though the Bridge cannot be seen, I saw my GrandSire step out onto its firm nothingness!"

  "I offered you a few twigs and some wet clay and you have constructed from them a palace! Well done, my son!" Nathan beamed as he lavished this unusual praise on his student. "You have spoken rightly. The Widow remembered that the River is not the only way off of Dragonsback. Thanks to your intervention, someday soon she will walk dry-shod to the Gryphon's Land!”

  The bard then stopped to kneel down and briefly fumble with his pack. Standing upright once more, he faced Jason with something concealed in his outstretched right hand. The student reached out to take whatever it was that his master offered him, yet Nathan did not release its contents until he had first spoken. “You have learned an important lesson today about what it means to be a bard. We are to be carriers of truth and helpers of people. Since you have been acting like a true bard, I think that you had better be wearing this so that people will pay attention to your words!"

  A flutter of sky-blue embroidered ribbon dropped from Nathan’s hand into that of his unsuspecting student. It took Jason a moment to recognize the significance of the bit of colored cloth he had been given. The color looked so familiar. Almost just like the color of Nathan’s guild rank armband.

  “My first stripe!” he shouted. “You’ve given me my first stripe! Now I’m really a bard! Thank you, Master Nathan! Thank you for giving this to me!”

  “You are welcome, son,” he replied still smiling at his student. “But I did not give you that bard’s apprentice stripe (nor will I give you any in the future). You earned it by your own actions and increased skill. Continue putting your lessons and music into practice and you may soon wear even more stripes! Now mind the path, we will sew that to your sleeve when we break for the evening.”

  Their shaded path turned suddenly away from the River to skirt a dense, ancient patch of thorntrees. The twisted and gnarled trees grew to twice the height of a man, but the branches of the individual trees were so intertwined, from ground to top, that it was hard to tell where one tree ended and the next one started. The shiny dark blue-green leaves, barbed on the edges, reflected sunlight wherever it touched them. Protruding out from among the densely-packed leaves, the arm-length needle-sharp wooden spikes that gave the trees their name, presented a formidable barrier to anyone attempting to breach their security. Rich rulers of the River Valley were known to plant hedgerows of thorntrees as protection against all intruders.

  Seeing the circuitous path they were forced to take, Nathan smiled and shook his head. To Jason's upraised eyebrows and questioning expression he replied. "The Makers-of-the-Road long ago realized the futility of trying to maintain a clear way through such a prodigious growth. To avoid the cost of daily maintenance, they simply decided to bypass the problem instead of burning it down."

  "But, I thought thornwoods were important?" queried the boy, excitedly stooping to pick up a fallen thorn, which he then brandished like a sword before his companion. As long as both his forearm and extended hand combined, the extremely sharp tip presented a menacing weapon.

  "Be careful where you point that thing and what messages you weave with its point!" the bard exclaimed in mock alarm.

  "Oh, sorry, master. I forgot," said Jason in a much more subdued tone, tossing the offending "sword" back into the thicket. "I meant no offense. I must have looked like a little child first learning to use his sword."

  Nathan laughed at the youth's expense, "Why, yes you did. I've had my hand slapped, as a youngster, for experimenting with less offensive signs than those. Remember at all times that 'a man's sword is his bond, so be careful what you sign.'"

  "I know," said Jason, not willing to be outdone by his mentor's mild rebuke, "I had to learn the rules at the Orphanage, like everyone else: 'Sticks and stones can but break bones, but thorns can really hurt thee.'" Then, more quietly, almost with a sense of respect or awe, "This is a Place of Dispute, then? Where men take up thorns against each other so they won't damage their ceremonia
l swords?"

  As the older man nodded silently in assent, his student reflected aloud, "This is the first time I've seen a whole forest of natural thorns. On the Island, they kept only one large ceremonial thorntree in an official, protected place. We had to import thorns for personal use for any private battles. As is the custom throughout Dragonsback, the Orphanage made them freely available to us, only giving us a warning to 'Settle your differences wisely.' I did get to visit the Island Thornhouse once. People with major conflicts came there and had to pay large sums of money to Daggers who would wield the thorns for them. The best and most skilled Daggers were able to reach the biggest and strongest thorns off the tree. The rules of combat were so strict and strange that only the Daggers could understand them. It was a very confusing battle."

  "Yes, I've witnessed several conflicts, myself," continued the bard with a sound of disgust in his voice. "The two opposing professional Daggers face each other in the combat ring before a black-robed Referee. Tied securely to a pole behind each Dagger, stands the person he's paid to protect. The poor defendant (and who wouldn't be poor after paying a Dagger's price?) has to stand there helplessly bound, without a sword or shield, hiding behind the Dagger he's hired, all the while his opponent's paid attacker tries to reach him with his thorn. It is the sworn duty of each Dagger to slip around his paid adversary's defenses and try to strike the person tied to the pole. What a way to settle conflicts!"

  "As I said, when I was younger, our teacher at the orphanage took us to the Thornhouse, promising that it would be 'an educational experience'," interrupted Jason. "The one Dagger we watched must have been exceptionally good for he seemed to get around the other guy’s defender with ease. First, he used his thorn to strip away the clothing of the man tied to the pole. Then, as the poor man stood there naked and exposed in his rags, the heartless Dagger started scarring his skin with the point of his wickedly long thorn. I felt so embarrassed for the poor, bloodied man I nearly cried. (I was much younger then!) The wounded man’s own Dagger tried desperately to parry in his defense, even managing to make several offensive lunges. But the woman tied to the other pole hardly got touched. You should have seen her gloating over the fate of her opposite. The Referee finally declared the match over and, after officially examining both parties (only a blind person wouldn't have been able to tell!), declared the woman the victor.