That glorious vision woke the muse within the bard and words and music overflowed from his heart to his mind. Only the greatest restraint kept Jason from singing then and there at the top of his voice; his restraint and the fact that he became acutely aware of the overwhelming number of people who had filled the auditorium.
“Are all these people Swimmers?!” he asked Nathan, barely able to contain himself. “With an army like this, the Gryphon could conquer the entire world!”
“I wish that that were true,” replied the bard with a hint of sadness in his voice, “but numbers are not a true indication of strength, nor is size the proof of quality. If he is wise, the Master of every gathering will learn this fact and carry it as a constant burden. Seeds fall on many different kinds of soil, only some of which will ever bear fruit. In all my travels I have found little sign of a cohesive and organized army for the Gryphon, only whispers of campaigns here and there. Most of the gatherings are content to let their Bridge make the stand for them. Some have speculated that the Swimmers are so diverse, so compartmentalized in their separate versions of belief and tradition, so distrustful of those who do not share their particular stripe of orthodoxy, that even if the Gryphon’s Swimmer-Son was to physically stand among us once more, that even He would have a hard time joining that army together into a single camp!”.
“Yet,” the master bard spoke with growing animation and conviction, His deep voice filling the crowded space around them, “there is an obscure prophecy about one man who will act as the forerunner and herald of His return! It is said that he will unite the faithful Swimmers and boldly stand against the dragons of darkness before the sweet water falls from the sky!”
Sparked by his teacher’s verbal fire and passion, Jason felt a moving within his ‘skin of adoption; a moving that spread to his heart and mind and filled him with purpose. At that noisy, people-filled spot on the edge of the great Gryphon’s Bridge auditorium, his calling to be a bard suddenly took on a new urgency. What had before been a job he loved, metamorphosized into a mission so important that at that moment it became the definition of his life.
The young bard looked once more up at the final translucent panel. There, in the middle of the group of embattled Swimmers, stood one individual with his arm and bone white sword raised to the sky in the ancient swordsign call for ingathering.
Someday, Jason silently promised himself and the Swimmer-Son, Someday, I will be that man. With the Gryphon’s help, I will gather all the Swimmers of Dragonsback together as one! Swimmer-Son, use me!
Without knowing how it had gotten there, especially under the crowded conditions surrounding him, Jason found that he, too, now stood in that exact position, with his GrandSire’s masterfully carved blade, fully extended toward the ceiling many manheights above him.
Nathan gave him a quizzical look but thankfully said nothing, as the now red-faced young man returned his sword to its proper resting place. Those around him seemed not to notice the bard’s unusual action, or if they did, ignored it as one of the strange practices of the musical heralds.
The two bards found the entire back of the Hall filled to capacity; the only remaining places (as William had suggested) were all the way to the front, that is, down near the center of the hub. Jason and Nathan walked down the sloped aisle, all the while Jason could not help noticing the strange individuals sitting on either side of him. People in chameleon skins fully occupied the back rows. One of the remotest Islands of the Tail grows the huge man-sized color-changing lizards and then harvests their skins for military garments and some private clothing use. This was the first time Jason had seen such a large group of non-military personnel dressed this way. Fascinated, he unconsciously turned his head and fixed his gaze on them while he walked until the bard poked him in the ribs, whispering, “Jason, you shouldn’t stare at those people! It makes them feel very uncomfortable!”
“But they look so peculiar!”
“I know, but it’s not polite. They’re not even supposed to be seen. They wear the lizard skins so they can blend in with the walls. They sit in the back so they can slip in and out unnoticed.”
“But aren’t lizard skins and dragon skins just about the same thing?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I suppose they are! Funny, I never looked at it that way before.”
For the most part, an attitude of celebration filled the Great Room. The lively and friendly conversations made the gathering seem more like a party when compared to the quiet Sharing he had done with the fishermen on the coast. Jason noticed that many people had come dressed for a masquerade, placing hand-held masks in front of their faces. All the masks were painted with bright, cheery colors and had happy faces on their fronts. But, from his youthful perspective, as he walked past various individuals seated along the aisle, he could see past the gaps in the side of their masks to the real faces behind. If he had to put names to the expressions he saw hiding there, joy would have been at the bottom of the list and sadness and fear at the top. Behind some of the masks, he noticed faces as cold and gray as stone. He wondered if those people were really as dead as they looked or just indifferent.
In the plushest seats, not too far back (but not too near the front), he noticed a whole group of people whose packs were so large, that for simple and practical reasons they had been forced to take them off, just to sit on the bench. Though they had smug, pious looks on their unmasked faces, Jason noticed that their eyes never wandered too far from their packs, as though they were guarding over them, even in the Gryphon’s house.
When they finally found seats (somewhat in front of those filled with the large-pack people), Jason quietly asked Nathan, “How can anyone swim while they carry such large packs?”
“Oh, they don’t swim themselves,” the bard replied, shaking his head sadly. “They pay others to do it for them.”
“But I thought you told me the Gryphon wants us to keep our packs light, lest they become a burden too heavy to carry?”
“You’re right, I did. The sad truth is that a person who has too large a pack will in all likelihood find it a burden. It’s very hard to take time to wait for the Gryphon to fill an already full pack. But having said that, remember it’s not up to us to weigh the packs these people carry. That job belongs only to Another. If they refuse to test what they carry day by day, and so removing what doesn’t belong, He might well add enough weight to crush them, or perhaps empty their packs and make them do without. His paw can be light or heavy according to His own desire. Someone has wisely said, ‘He’s not a tame Gryphon.’ Our Master actively watches over His own even when they refuse His care and make a foolish attempt to watch over themselves.”
Jason’s keen eyes then picked out a distinction he hadn’t noticed before. Quietly he pointed it out to the bard, “It looks like there are two different kinds of large packs in the crowd. On one hand, I see overstuffed single packs that look like their owners are trying to carry half of Dragonsback with them. These large, plump packs belong to large, plump men and women who look well able to bear their accumulated burdens. But, on the other hand, I see different people, people of all sizes and shapes, carrying multiple packs stacked one on top of the other. Is this some kind of ritual for this service or do those people do this all of the time?
“Some people horde riches in their packs, others horde tomorrow’s burdens. Those poor brothers and sisters with the multiple packs are trying to carry at one time all the packs they will need for the next week.”
“They must be exceedingly strong to manage such a task!” exclaimed Jason, so amazed that he almost forgot to whisper.
“Quite the opposite,” countered the bard. “The Gryphon gives to His own only the strength they require to carry today’s pack. Those who try to carry tomorrow’s pack with today’s strength can never be strong enough to bear all that weight. Over time, the accumulated strain of punishing themselves this way will be manifested in their lives, in their loves, and in their very faces. Any Swimmer
who tries to juggle tomorrow’s load with today’s hands will always end up dropping something along the way, either that or be dropped, himself from the strain.”
As if to emphasize this point, a lady struggling up the aisle burdened with many packs, suddenly lost her balance and noisily scattered her loads everywhere. Jason, seated on the aisle seat, rushed to assist her back to her feet. To his surprise, no one else from the large group moved to do likewise.
This is strange, he thought to himself, and quickly glancing around, noticed the varying reactions of the spectators. Some were too preoccupied talking with their companions to have noticed (though the noise of the fall woke several who were sleeping in various parts of the hall). Others obviously had taken note of the woman’s ungraceful tumble and were trying to hide their giggling amusement behind politely raised hands, masks, or fluttering fans. Still, others raised their noses in the air and turned their heads away treating her calamity as a disgraceful thing that could possibly soil their party clothes if they even acknowledged its occurrence. But the vast majority of the people, unoccupied except with their own thoughts, took no notice of her at all. One such man picked up the extra pack that had fallen on his lap, gently sat it out in the aisle, then turned his full attention back to the front, having never even looked to see why he had been struck.
Quietly, Jason tried to help the woman regather her load. Remembering the lesson Nathan had started to teach him, he tried to encourage her to limit her burdens. “Dear mother,” he said, putting a restraining hand on her arm, “pardon my intrusion, but don’t you know that the beloved Gryphon does not wish any of His children to be overburdened. Take only in your pack what you can carry for one day, then your load will go easier and you will accomplish more with the strength you have been given.”
But old habits must die hard: the woman took a frightened look at the stranger who had just handled one of her packs, flushed bright red, and grabbed what Jason held as though he had been waving her undergarments before the whole assembled body. Next, she began stuffing all of her scattered packs rapidly underneath herself, as though she were a mother hen protectively gathering her brood of chicks to herself in the presence of a hungry fox. Never did she say a word to the young man who had come unbidden to her assistance, neither of rebuke nor thanks.
His attempted task abruptly finished, Jason returned quietly and sadly to take his seat.
Nathan, having observed the whole process, waited until his student regained his place, before leaning over and quietly whispering to him, “Sometimes the dragons hide in thorns, sometimes in moss, and sometimes in the very packs we carry. Be the burden sharp or soft, present or future; if the Gryphon has not ordained it, he who picks it up carries more than he reckons. Unordained burdens are always much easier to pick up than to lay down.”
“And no one can rest on the waters while he’s carryin’ them!” concluded a now wiser Jason.
A flourish of trumpet fanfare from the hub halted any further attempts at conversation. The young bard focused his full attention in that direction for the first time. Immediately he noticed another remarkable thing about this undeniably remarkable hall; the raised multilayered-platform of the hub actually moved!
Turning slowly and soundlessly in a great circle, the moving platform allowed everyone in turn to see the face of any performer, singer, or speaker. For a moment the mechanics of this marvel puzzled the always-inquisitive youth until he remembered that a great water sluice passed under the largest part of the Gryphon’s Bridge. They were harnessing the force of the Dragon’s River to turn the hub!
On the lowest (and widest) level of the platform musicians and singers were arrayed. Even though he, himself, publicly sang Gryphonsong on a regular basis, it had never occurred to Jason that it could or should be accompanied by a full orchestra. As the hub turned he recognized many of the instruments: trumpets, symbols, flutes, sackbut, harps, lyres, and drums. His interest peaked, he listened intently as the combined instruments began an elaborate rendition of a familiar passage of Gryphonsong.
After just one verse the music stopped and, much to Jason’s surprise, William the bard rose to the middle level of the platform, raised his hands for attention, and loudly declared, “Thank you, musicians, for helping us prostrate ourselves before the Gryphon. Let all the people join you in bowing down with our joined voices!”
The music and singing that followed impressed Jason as nothing he had ever heard. So alive, so filled with joy were those songs sung by the entire assembly that he doubted that an eagle’s song could sound any sweeter! Yet one thing puzzled him, not once did any of the musicians or the people in the audience ever prostrate themselves before the Gryphon. He could not understand how anyone could “bow down” with their voices. Assuming this a lack of education on his part, he fully and willingly joined with the glorious music of praise that flooded the Great Room (and his heart as well).
“Please, everyone prepare yourselves,” announced the Master Bard after the singing had ended. “At this time we will practice the Sharing.”
Jason started to take out his shellbowl but noticed that no one else did. Nathan placed a restraining hand on his arm and signed for him to watch and learn. Instead of everyone taking their own shellbowls and filling them with their own freshly gathered Dew of the Morning, men came around and passed out small snail shells filled with stale bottled dew. The shells were so small and the water so cloudy, Jason found it nearly impossible to get a reflection. Wondering all the while what sort of image a group of Swimmers this large would produce, Jason had just started to perceive something when William declared the ceremony over.
“Everyone drink in remembrance of Him,” declared the Master of the ceremony. And that was it. There had been no co-mingling of the waters. As far as Jason could tell, no image of the Gryphon’s Son had materialized in the short service.
In spite of himself, the young bard felt as though he had been cheated out of something special. Puzzled, he concluded, I guess, since it all came out of the same bottle, they figured it was ‘pre-mingled’.
Questions would have to wait, for at that moment William climbed to the top-most layer of the moving platform and took his place behind an ornately carved rostrum. A hush fell over the massive audience as the Master Bard of Dragonsback drew his carved bone sword, knelt, and signed to the entire assembly, I AM ON QUEST. Then the big man rose, sheathed his sword, and took the pose of an orator about to speak with both of his arms raised in front of him and with his open hands extended palms upward.
“Friends and fellow-Swimmers,” said William in his clear, deep voice, “someone asked me recently why we don’t pool our efforts and completely dam the dreaded River, stopping its poisonous flow from polluting our land. To tell you why this can’t be done, we must look at the events of the not too distant past. In history, one large group of Swimmers actually did succeed in accomplishing that very thing, if only for a short period of time. Grasping control of the Valley, they were even able to influence the contest at the River’s source. With the support of the Bridges, the reigning champions decreed that the River should be blocked. Because of the River’s destructive and poisonous nature, they changed the very law of the Heartland. An army was raised by the champions and a major building project undertaken. In short order, every drop of the Dragon’s venom had been contained and all those downstream went dry!”
Applause and several loud “Amen’s!” resounded through the Great Room, but William continued.
“Those who went before us thought they could stop the Dragon’s work by purely physical or legal means. Sadly, they were mistaken!”
The crowd groaned in disappointment.
“They dammed the water only to discover that the River had not stopped at all, only gone underground to bubble up to the surface further down the Valley, more polluted than ever. What’s worse is that wicked men found those vents where the water seeped to the surface. Guarding them with strong-armed thugs, they grew wealthy and powerf
ul selling illegal River water to the thirsty. The army of champions and the united Bridges of that day tried to find and plug up all of those vents, but for each one they plugged, two more sprung up somewhere else!
“Finally the reformers gave up. They tore down the dam and allowed the champions at the head of the River to lift the prohibition against drinking the water. The River resumed its original unpredictable course. In the meantime, the dam had caused the River to back up and claim more land, which it never relinquished even after the restriction had been removed. The wealthy and powerful men (who had gotten that way by exploiting the weaknesses of others) found other ways to exploit, instead. Among other things, they now run pipes to the center of the River where the venom is most potent. They sell this addicting toxin (on a monthly subscription basis) to those poor souls weak enough to be caught in their deceptive web!”
A general low mutter of discontent rumbled through the hall. Several even hurled epithets of condemnation at these purveyors of wickedness. William waited for silence to return and the full impact of his point to sink in before he continued.
“You see then, my brothers and sisters, that completely damming the River will only produce negative results. Another way had to be found. So, in this modern age, we have chosen to control the River instead of blocking it. By our efforts at Gryphon’s Bridge, we have done just that!”
The Dragon's Back Trilogy Page 41
