The Dragon's Back Trilogy

by Robert Dennis Wilson

  “Are you saying that the man or woman becomes qualified to lead because he has already proven his ability to get people to do what he wants them to?” asked the young bard still trying to grasp the intricacies of the process.

  “Something like that,” said the bard with a grin. “That’s part of the purpose of my bringing you here today, so you can observe the spectacle. But the main reason we came is that I, myself, (like all true Swimmers) must participate in the games so that I might have a chance to influence the outcome.”

  “You’re not going to try to become a champion, are you?” Uncertainty and concern colored Jason’s question.

  “No, of course not! And that’s one direction I hope the Gryphon’s prints never lead me! Besides, I already have a calling, that is, unless you’re trying to get rid of me so you can go off and do something else!”

  Nathan had kept a straight face when he made his comments, but as soon as their eyes met, both bards burst out laughing. Jason inwardly rejoiced to see his friend in a better humor.

  “All right, so you don’t want to change callings on me and I won’t have to start looking for a new career, but how does someone go about ‘participating’ in the Great Games?”

  They had begun their journey early that morning after supping and spending the night with the Johnsons, Swimmers that were old friends of Nathan’s. The cattle rancher’s whole (rather extensive) family had filled their night with excited chatter about the Great Games being celebrated on the morrow. Jason had found their enthusiasm contagious. Having been raised under the semi-permanent oligarchic government of the Islands, the whole concept of changeable leadership intrigued him.

  An hour’s walk had brought them at last to a gathering place filled with more people than Jason ever imagine lived on the whole of Dragonsback. They had arrived at the narrowest part of both the Great Valley and of the River it contained. Formed at the confluence of the Dragon’s eastern and western spines with the massive Head of the Dragon, the three-sided natural basin created a gigantic arena perfectly suited to spectacular events.

  From the heights of Dragonshead far above them, tumbled the green-white veil of the River. It fell vertically from its source, the Great Fissure, or “Mouth of the Dragon”, to splash in a mist-enshrouded roar against the far back wall of the canyon. The resulting flow roughly divided the great arena down the middle. The bards were on the right-hand bank of that poisonous Stream. Wind, whipping at the spray of the Falls fanned out the water as it fell. From Jason’s perspective, the opposite bank seemed to live under the fog of its influence.

  As more and more people arrived they began to congregate in clusters. Many of the new arrivals (either singularly or in groups) were carrying what appeared to be large wooden beams or planks.

  As Nathan directed them further from the River toward one specific gathering, Jason asked, “Are those people with the boards going to use them to build seats for watching the games?”

  At this, Nathan laughed openly out loud. “I’m sorry,” he said with tears of mirth streaming from his eyes.

  Jason didn’t think he sounded very sorry at all.

  “It’s just,” said the bard trying to regain his composure, “that they must have really kept you in the dark in that Orphanage if they haven’t told you how the Great Games of the Heartland are conducted. The wood is used to build portable platforms that are carried on the shoulders of men and women.”

  Jason cringed involuntarily at the mention of his former prison. But he need not have worried. Normally in the past, he would have instantly felt stabbing pain from the thorns he carried at just hearing that word. To his surprise, no pain afflicted him. Then he realized why. He no longer carried those thorns! Looking over the crowd toward the base of the sheer cliff under the Falls, he imagined the One who had been chained in his place to suffer drowning at that exact location in the Stream. Silently, he thanked the Gryphon and His Swimmer-Son who had paid the price and won the victory to overcome even a lifetime of thorns and scars!

  “I guess I had better explain what’s going on so you know who to root for,” continued the bard.

  “Aren’t I going to be able to participate with you?” asked Jason, surprised at this unusual exclusion.

  “I’m afraid to say you’re still too young to take an active part in these games. If the Gryphon lingers, however, you’ll be plenty old enough next time!

  “But I thought the Johnson children said they were going to be playing in the games and taking part in the party today. They’re a lot younger than I am!”

  “Yes they are, but the games and the party they will be joining are only play-acting. They will not be taking part in the real adult activities. Rather, any of the children who wish to participate, join in the unofficial (and less dangerous) ‘Straw Games’ held beforehand. These mock games help the youngsters learn the mechanics of the championships, honing their civic skills for the future time when they will enter the Great Games in earnest. The children’s games are held far back from the edge of the River and use less dangerous mats of woven straw instead of planks to build their platforms.”

  “The more you explain this process the more confused I get. I see men carrying timber planks (some rough and some polished) and I see wagons full of bales of straw over there, but what are the ‘platforms’ you mentioned? If they’re not using the boards for seating, what possible use can they have? Why would anyone want to carry around a platform?”

  Nathan did not get a chance to answer him, for at that point they reached the outer rim of the group of people to which the bard had directed them. Jason just had time to notice that the gathering reminded him of a small army; the many vertical planks looked like weapons raised in the air.

  “Jason, laddie, how have ye’ been? I was hopin’ we’d see ya’ here at the Games!” said a familiar masculine voice from nearby. “Look, Sara, Jason an’ Nathan are here!”

  “Well of course they are,” replied a woman. “When have ya’ ever known Nathan t’ miss the Games?”

  “Gideon! Sara!” shouted Jason and rushed to embrace his new-kin. “I didn’t know I’d get to see you here! Nathan never said a word. This is great!”

  “Why, of course, we’d be here, son,” said Sara as she affectionately tousled the young bard’s hair.

  “ ‘Tis the duty o’ every Swimmer t’ stand ‘gainst the River’s poison,” finished her husband after Jason released him enough for him to catch his breath. “You’ll probably be seein’ folks here from all o’ yer journeys. The Games bring out people just like…

  “A good day to you, neighbors. What a perfect day for the Games!” the sudden deep interrupting voice seemed overly loud even on the crowded expanse of the playing field.

  All eyes turned toward the speaker.

  Several people gasped and a young woman stifled a scream.

  Many of them had heard tales of the gigantic young man in the black robe. By reputation they knew that he not only championed everything that they were against but, as captain of the dragonmen, he also aggressively and violently opposed anything that had to do with Swimmers.

  To have him suddenly appear next to them, backed up by ten double-handsworth of his blackrobed henchmen and holding his massive scaline sword in his hand, instantly threw reality into the state of a nightmare. The sound of bone swords being swiftly drawn whispered through the Swimmer gathering.

  Jason could not help wondering where the giant had found a twin to the massive sword that had disappeared over the side of the Dragon. That must have cost him dearly!

  “It is a pleasure to see you again, master bard,” said the giant, bowing in Nathan’s direction. He then let his man-sized blade roll up his arms to rest horizontally in the crock of his elbows. His two huge empty hands were held outward, open palms upward and exposed. Everyone there recognized the universal swordsign requesting a PEACEFUL PARLEY among adversaries.

  Since Nathan had been addressed, the task fell to him to either accept or deny the giant’s t
alk-in-truce, as it was also called.

  Having been one of the first to draw his blade in defense, Nathan now followed the blackrobe’s example in swordsign, allowing the blade to roll from his hands.

  “Very good!” boomed the giant. Then, flicking his over-sized scaline blade into the air with a twitch of his bulging muscles, he deftly caught the handle in mid-air with the sword’s razor-sharp point aimed upward. Then, with an audible whoosh, he propelled the blade downward in a huge arc. So swiftly did that action take place that its passing could only be seen in the breeze that momentarily disturbed the master bard’s hair and beard.

  Several people gasped, fearing the worse, but the sign had been all show. The offending blade had been safely hidden from sight in its scabbard before anyone had a chance to see it go.

  “Very impressive,” commented Nathan dryly. His sword, now back in hand, would not find its way so easily home. Parley, after all, did not imply defenselessness.

  “I don’t think we were properly introduced before,” said the huge young man, looking down at the bard, “for, although I knew your name, you never asked me mine. No matter. I did not take offense at this breach of etiquette. You were, after all, somewhat busy at our initial meeting. As I said, no matter. I will freely give it to you now.”

  Almost absently the giant lifted his massive right hand to brush back the long dark hair that fell over his left temple. The huge, ugly purple-colored scar that he revealed could clearly be seen by all in the group. Wordlessly he grinned at Nathan, but his expression, far from being a show of warmth, carried with it the chill of ice from the north.

  With the same ice in his words, but a fire in his eyes, he whispered, “My name is Raven. Remember it!”

  “Your kind of people, you blackrobes usually don’t grace this side o’ the battlefield,” said Gideon, blunt and direct as usual. With his words, however, the building air of tension seemed to dissipate slightly and the Swimmers all took a breath at once.

  “Well, father,” said Raven, all politeness once more, “it seems that you have not heard of the Worldly Correct Movement that is being taught in all of our schools. It teaches tolerance of all peoples and beliefs…”

  One of the fishermen behind Jason interrupted with a soft, “Yeah, tolerance for everyone but Swimmers!”

  Raven continued as though he had heard nothing, “‘My kind of people’ were concerned with the right-bank party’s ability to stand against such a strong left-banker, so, being the civic-minded ‘people’ that we are, and in the spirit of tolerance, we decided to help out this side. As you can see, we have been properly and legally enrolled and have our invitations to the party.”

  At the giant’s signal, each of the blackrobes produced a registration scroll and one of the RSVP party cards, officially documenting their legitimacy.

  Raven then turned to the younger bard and warmly commented, “It is nice to see you again, as well, master Jason. It saddened me greatly to hear of your GrandSire’s passing. Yet, I was glad to have had a part, however brief, in helping him on his journey. I see you have gained a couple of rank stripes since our last meeting. That is quick progress for someone so young. You are to be congratulated. The old carver would have been proud of you. I will be sure to let your brother know how well you have been doing. By the way, Kaleb sends both his greetings and his regrets. He wanted to be here today but was taken suddenly and mysteriously ill this morning. But don’t worry, though, I’m sure it’s only a temporary affliction. He should be as fine as fog and as mighty as the mist by tomorrow morning.”

  “You’ve seen Kaleb? He’s nearby? Where is he? I want to talk to him!”

  But the dark giant, having delivered his messages, quickly turned his back on the group of Swimmers and walked away accompanied by his dark army. Over his shoulder, he said as sweetly as a meadow of wildflowers, “Tell your friends I’m looking forward to meeting with them in the competition.”

  Jason would have followed the departing blackrobes to get some answers, but Nathan laid a restraining hand on his arm, saying, “No, do not follow that man. His words were only meant to lure you away from the protection of your friends. That one is dangerous and seeks to capture you for his queen. Be on your guard today. The blackrobes are up to no good and that is certain!”

  From various places around the gathered group came murmuring assent. A dark mood seemed to have descended over the gathering. The light and lively companionable chatter of the group had given way to something mournful and full of pain.

  I know that these people have suffered much at the hands of the blackrobes, thought the young bard. But something is wrong! And something must be done about it!

  Then, to everyone’s surprise, Jason swiftly drew his sword and pointed it skyward, raising it with both hands high over his head. ALERT! GATHER HERE! The swordsign, though archaic, held clear meaning to those who saw it. In the ancient past of Dragonsback, when city fought against city for dominion of the land and warrior kings personally led their armies into battle, the monarch would gather his forces to him in the midst of the conflict by raising his sword in just that manner.

  Silence fell on the Swimmer band. Having acquired everyone’s attention, Jason spoke out forcefully but humbly, “Fellow Swimmers of the Heartland, even though I am but a child compared to the wisdom and experience that surrounds me, yet, I have felt a troubling in my Gryphonskin just now. I ask your permission to exercise bard’s rights and speak but a word to this gathered assembly!”

  “Go ahead, laddie,” said Gideon after most of the adults in the group had nodded their assent. “Y’ ‘ave already proved yer voice an’ heart t’ most of us ‘ere. Tell us what be a troublin’ ya.’”

  “Thank you, father,” Jason said and offered a smile to the man who had claimed him as kin. “I speak to you of a problem that we all share. Many of us here today have suffered terribly in the past at the hands of the blackrobes.”

  Again a chorus of dark murmurings acknowledged this truth.

  “Of all of us here,” the young bard continued, “I perhaps have the clearest cause to take up thorns against the dragonmen and in particular against the one who just confronted us. You heard that giant say that he had helped my GrandSire on his journey. What he meant by that was that by his willful and violent actions he hastened the death of Thaddeus the carver!”

  Jason paused to let his words sink in. The background voices of dissent and discontent grew louder.

  “That is bard’s truth!” his young voice rose in commanding power. “Yet it is not true at all! My GrandSire’s times and path were under the Gryphon’s paw not under the control of evil men. Thaddeus knew that! He also knew the road that had been appointed for him and he walked it gladly. But, you ask, don’t those responsible deserve to be punished?! Yes, by all that’s good and right, I say Yes! And yes, by the standards of men, I still have every right to take up thorns in my GrandSire’s name for the evil done to him!”

  This time when Jason paused, no one uttered a sound.

  “Do I have that right? And what about you? Do you have that right? Even if you have suffered. Even if your suffering multiplies a hundred-fold? By the scars of the Swimmer-Son, I tell you that you do not! How could I honor the name of Thaddeus by taking up the Dragon’s poison in my hands? How could I serve my King in that way? Did He not carry my thorns so I would never have to?”

  Silence.

  “Brothers and sisters, being raised in the Islands, I know little of the competition you must face today. But I have been told that you have to carry a platform on your shoulders. Wouldn’t that task be easier if you did it with packs that were free from the pain of thorns and the weight of the dragons they attract? Yes, even those thorns you have every right to carry. To put it simply, I ask you, how can you hope to defeat a foe when you are carrying him on your back?”

  More silence.

  “I apologize if I have overstepped my bounds,” said Jason much more quietly, “yet in truth, I tell you, it was not th
e words of that blackrobe that provoked the troubling in my ‘skin (he acted only according to his nature). Look to yourselves, Swimmers of Dragonsback. Find there the cause. Could it be that you have forgotten the Source of our Hope and of our Help? Brothers and sisters listen to Gryphonsong, written many ages past by the sweet psalmist. I challenge you to find in it and in the Gryphon we follow, your encouragement and your courage.”

  He raised his tenor voice in song that plunged deep and dark into the minor then rose sweetly to positive major notes, only to fall into the depths again. The final few lines of this psalm, though switched back to a major key, were nonetheless sung very softly, barely above a whisper, so that those who strained to hear the “Be still and know” found the words burned into their hearts.

  Our refuge and strength

  In the Gryphon are both found,

  He is a very present help

  When troubles do abound.

  Therefore, though the Dragon

  Should sink, we never will fear;

  Even if the tops of its mountains

  ‘Neath the waves should disappear;

  Though the waters of the sea

  Should roar and boil up with foam;

  Though all the mountains crumble

  That once we called our home.

  The Lord of Eagles, He is with us,

  The Gryphon of Yaakov, He is near,

  He is our refuge and our safety,

  And our shelter from all fear.

  There is a different River

  That brings joy to the Gryphon's kin,

  For in the midst of its gladdening streams

  You can always there find Him;

  It is a holy place of meeting

  And your place of blessed safety,

  It shall never ever be moved

  For its timely Helper is He.