The Dragon's Back Trilogy

by Robert Dennis Wilson

  Then together they walked laughing toward the waiting bard.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Jason,” said Nathan, using what the young bard recognized as his ‘teaching voice’, “We’ve only got a short time before the Second part of the Great Games begins. Between Shoshanna and I, we’ll try to fill you in before I have to go participate.”

  “But I thought your platform got destroyed and none of your planks were used,” noted the young bard. “How and why are you going to ‘participate’?”

  “I know it looked like that on the outside, but the blackrobes aren’t the only ones who can join in the other sub-teams. There are a lot more Swimmers out there than you might think and they already had imbedded some pretty good planks in the other platforms. I take my place on the line to help promote those planks. Even without the visible Swimmer contingent, our Party platform is a lot better than the one the Left-bankers are offering!”

  “Look, Jason,” said Shanna pointing toward the River. “The two platforms will soon be opposite each other with only the River between them. Watch what happens now!”

  Just as she had said, the supporters hidden beneath the two finalized mega-platforms had moved them as close together as the geography of the dividing River would allow.

  Suddenly the air between the two platforms filled with flying objects, traveling in both directions across the River.

  “What are they throwing at each other and why?” Jason asked in surprise.

  “Why they’re throwing anything they can get their hands on, thorns, small rocks, and especially handfuls of mud from the River’s edge,” said Shanna, laughing at the antics of the adults on the field.

  “The contests used to be a test of skill and wisdom (many years ago, that is),” added Nathan. “But this pre-Games Parade has recently degraded into something very messy. The thorns and mud are used to try and topple or weaken the other side before the final contest actually begins!”

  The sound level emanating from the vicinity of the River suddenly grew much much louder, making communication between Jason and his friends increasingly difficult (if not impossible at times). The champions and their seconds on top were busy shouting at their opponents and trying to duck the debris coming their way. The supporters surrounding and beneath the platforms also cheered or booed with great vehemence. Jason then noticed that small catapults and mechanical slings had been mounted on the leading edges of the two platforms. These were being used continuously to further add to the aerial melee.

  The crowds of spectators on either extreme of the field had two reactions to the ongoing spectacle. Some seemed to be making a concerted effort to ignore the event, while others were actively cheering and encouraging one side or the other.

  The champions danced back and forth from one position to another making dramatic and acrobatic moves to avoid being targeted by the opposition, at the same time playing to the audience. This continued for a while until the man atop the nearest platform slipped on his mud-splatter planks and fell sprawling on his face atop the boards.

  A great cheer arose from the team on the left bank and Jason found it hard not to laugh at the man’s humiliation. Quickly the besmirched champion jumped back to his feet, brushed off the grime that had attached itself to him, and called down to his supporters. Jason could not hear what he requested, but an endless supply of large thorns was forthcoming. Bending down the muddied champion used one of the slings to launch these rapidly at the other team.

  “Why does he keep shooting those thorns at the other champion?” Jason shouted to Nathan over the noise on the Field. “Doesn’t he realize that he hasn’t come close to hitting that man yet and the other side is laughing at his poor efforts?”

  The bard laughed at this before replying, “You’re right of course. It seems that most supporters today are more impressed by the busyness of their leader, not how good he is. Accuracy is no longer a requirement for a modern champion, only sleight of hand, fast footwork, and the level of volume produced! The more of a show he puts on, the more supporters want to follow him!”

  “That sure adds a new wrinkle to the definition of what it means to be a champion!” Jason commented above the noise. Then he noticed some changes on the field, so added, “It looks like a lot more people are entering the playing field and what is being carried on those carts? Are they some more planks to add to the platform?”

  “Those people are the last-minute supporters,” shouted Shanna. “They don’t get involved with the earlier games, but show up just in time to take part in the big final contest. It must be about to begin at any time now if they’re showing up. And, no, those are poles not planks on the carts. They’re not added to the raft but rather used to push it out into the River. Each man and woman that has a party invitation is given one pole to use (just like the members of the other party). The contest of the Great Games is to see which team can push its raft onto the columns in the center of the River!”

  “So the platforms are actually rafts?” the young bard asked. “And they smash them together in the River and have a big shove match! What happens if someone tries to use more than one pole at a time?”

  “Those who are caught cheating,” said Shannah with a wink, “(either by using more than one pole or trying to pole without an invitation) are thrown ‘up the River’ where authorities will fish them out, take away their wooden poles, and give them scaline bars instead!”

  Jason understood the inference behind the scaline bars but something else puzzled him, “Why would anyone want to cheat? Aren’t these just Games?”

  “Don’t you know the prize the champion wins for all of this monumental effort?” asked Nathan, leaning close for him to hear. “The victor and his party gain control of the flow of the entire River for the next four years. From their vantage point on the Barge at the Center, they can redirect its ‘life-giving’ resources wherever they want during all of that time. The right-bank team usually tries to block its flow. Those from the left try to spread it throughout the whole of Dragonsback!”

  Sudden loud trumpets blaring from overhead cut any further conversation.

  More startling to Jason than the loud echoing notes was the instantaneous result they caused on the Playing Field. As though a dam had burst and swept clean the air of the Valley, the conquering sound changed everything it touched. Moments before the air had been filled with hostile debris flying angrily in both directions across the River, but now nothing at all shared that space with the trumpet’s lingering sound. Nor did any other sound challenge those last brassy wavelets as they fled away through the expanding canyon walls.

  Silence, more pervasive than darkness at midnight, reigned over the Valley of the Great Games.

  Confused, but internally compelled not to break the newly imposed stillness, the young bard raised his eyebrows and shrugged a wordless question to his two companions.

  In response, Nathan first raised his pointer finger to his lips then motioned for Jason and Shanna to follow him off the field to the shelter of one of the dugout caves. Only after they had entered its shadows did he turn and speak.

  “You will notice that the rules for the final round of the Great Games have changed slightly,” commented the bard in a dry, matter-of-factly tone. Even in the shelter of the man-made cave, he did not raise his voice very high.

  “Well that’s an understatement if I ever heard one!” responded Jason, conveying his excitement even through his whisper.

  “It’s the rule,” said Shanna (and he noticed that – in front of his master – she had not taken on the demeanor of a teacher as she spoke, but rather instructed him on equal footing as a friend and guide), “that no one is allowed to speak on the Playing Field after the starting trumpets have sounded. From now on no more changes or additions can be made to the platforms. The teams must face each other with the resources they have on hand. The silence is imposed as a final test of the skill of the contending champions. He or she must have already organized his supporters and issued l
ast-minute instructions before the horns are blown. Either his followers have been trained and know what they’re doing at this point, or they don’t. The proof will be in the contest! The battle will be won or lost in silence.”

  Nathan kept his peace, nodding with apparent approval of her words. Jason saw her, in turn, acknowledge this silent praise by smiling at the bard and bowing her head slightly in his direction. The young bard could not help but remember his own silent “conversation” with Shanna’s mother and inwardly rejoiced that she and Nathan also seemed to have developed this kind of bond. Secretly he longed for Nathan’s whole-hearted approval of this young woman!

  Watching the events on the field with growing excitement, Jason saw a swell of humanity on either side of the River move toward, and then under the platforms (each of which now looked large enough to almost span the water). The wooden constructions visibly rose higher, like beached ships being floated by the incoming tide. Unsteadily at first, then with growing strength and purpose, those opposing tides carried their burdens toward each other and the actual water of the River.

  Just as the leading edges of the rafts tilted toward the Stream, Jason heard a shout from overhead.

  “I thought you said that there was supposed to be silence on the playing field. How come people have started shouting? Have the rules …” quickly he had turned and addressed his companions. The questions had slipped out before he could stop them. As the words slipped out he realized how they must sound… Embarrassed, he lowered his eyes. He had secretly wanted to make a good impression on this young lady standing near him, yet it seemed obvious to him now that, neither openly expressing ignorance, nor publicly questioning the truthfulness of what she had told him, could possibly improve that image in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly and a sigh escaped his lips.

  But his words did not have the effect he imagined, for Shanna deliberately stepped closer to his side and lightly gripped his arm as she had done earlier. “You…”

  She did not call him “silly” in front of his master and for that, he felt grateful. But the fact that he had earned that unspoken epithet again brought unwanted color to his face.

  “… dear young man,” Shanna continued.

  She had not been going to use that word at all!

  “Why would you ever apologize, for asking a question? I’ve been raised in the ‘Arm Pit of the World’, do you think a little question would offend me?”

  Now something else caused the young bard discomfort. He felt a troubling in his ‘skin and a souring in the pit of his stomach. His words may not have offended the young lady, but they had certainly brought the notice of the Gryphon.

  Then, even without reflecting, he understood why. He had been attempting to promote himself and not his true Master. And he had already promised to leave this under His paw.

  “Jason,” Shoshanna continued, “the rules have neither been broken nor changed. No one is allowed to speak on the Playing Field. The shouts you hear are coming from above the arena. Look outside, you’ll see that this is true.”

  Jason leaned out of the cave far enough to look toward the cliff face created by the Head of the Dragon, that verticle wall at the end of the valley. As he did, the reason for the rule of silence became readily apparent to him. It had been imposed so that men and women hanging from the sheer sides of the canyon could be heard as they shouted down to the people below.

  To Jason’s puzzled look Shanna replied, “They’re observers. They get paid to tell people what’s happening on the Field.”

  “Observers,” Nathan informed him, “are special people who climb the cliffs on either side of the falls overlooking the ‘battleground’. Chasing the cliff vultures from their nests, they then occupy those thorn-filled structures, using them as platforms from which to shout down news of the battle. The competition between the networks (as groups of cooperating observers are called) is every bit as fierce as that of those pushing the platforms in the River. As they vie for the best observation sights, it sometimes happens that some of the weaker observers are fatally bumped from their spots by their colleagues.”

  “Sounds like a nasty business, whispered Jason under his breath. But then some thoughts struck him about this battle above the battle. Quietly he told it to his companions but because of the growing noise from above, he had to repeat himself much louder, “As an outsider, I see two curious things. Firstly, I see many more observers on the left face of the wall. Some of them are so far left their vision has to be obstructed by the cloud of poison spray blowing in that direction!

  Secondly, because none of those nests are directly under the falls, each of the observers has to be positioned somewhere off of center. If that’s so, then their perspective of the fight has to be slightly altered according to their point of view. Though it appears that they are trying to be impartial and guess what is happening in the center, since none of them can look from a truly neutral vantage point, there is no wonder they have to shout so much! This has to be confusing to the people below who are listening for results, for one observer is shouting one thing, while the other is shouting just the opposite! And from their individual perspectives, both conflicting shouters are absolutely right.”

  “Don’t let the vultures hear you say that!” Nathan laughed. “They’re already perturbed enough having their homes occupied. If they found out it was all for an imperfect cause… Anyway, I have to go to the polling place now. Wait for me and I will return shortly. The right-bank team will need all the support we can give it for the other side has promoted a formidable champion. It is my duty as a Swimmer to help in the process of controlling the River and blocking the schemes of those (like that man and his supporters) who hate the Gryphon and His Son.”

  “Before you go, can you answer just a couple more questions? Doesn’t working under the spray of the falls affect the lives of those who win a spot on the platform, even those who are Swimmers?” Jason spoke in his mentor’s ear in order to be heard.

  “Sadly to say, in a lot of cases it does,” replied Nathan, concern filling his words. “Constant vigilance and a life bathed in the Dew of the Morning are the only effective protectors against the influence of the Enemy’s flood. That, and the reflective support of us Swimmers! Those special individuals who are called by the Gryphon to stand in this place require a constant supply of Dew from those who helped place them here. Winning their seats on the platform is only the first victory in a long campaign of contests.”

  Jason and Shanna followed as the bard pushed toward the conflict on the bank of the River.

  His teacher stopped at a low barrier that had been set up across the field. Several people sat there at a table. A rather bored-looking man examined the scroll that Nathan presented then, placing his mark on the parchment, he directed the bard to the back of a covered wagon. Nathan accepted and then hefted menacingly the long stout piece of rounded timber that would serve as his pole.

  However, before the bard stepped through the gate to join the conflict, Jason caught at his arm one last time to whisper in his ear, “But can the course of the River really be directed from the platform? Does the right side always win the Games?”

  Cryptic as always, the bard’s only answer, almost obliterated by the noise of clashing poles and platforms, left Jason wondering, “We do what we can and leave the results under the paw of the Gryphon. He makes sure we get what we deserve.”

  THE SONG OF

  TOMORROW

  In that future day,

  The sky will grow dark as night,

  The covering clouds will rise,

  And fill the land with fright.

  And on that blackest morn,

  The heavens themselves will cry:

  Fresh water, clean and sweet,

  Will fall down from the sky.

  Beneath those splattering drops,

  The land will move and quake,

  For then, below your trembling feet,

  The Dragon will awake


  To meet his fate, to learn his doom,

  To face eternity,

  To drown beneath the Swimmer’s hand,

  To sink into the sea:

  The Gryphon’s sword will plunge,

  The serpent’s death is sure.

  And of mankind? Only he who swims,

  Will reach the distant shore.

  The Gryphon’s Land is there,

  The Swimmer’s throne awaits,

  But only those who learn to swim,

  Will pass the Gryphon’s gates.

  SINSINATTI

  Tense excitement filled the air with an almost tangible reality. Unsuspecting Jason savored it and imagined it only the taste of his building anticipation as they approached the outskirts of the capital. Nathan, however, turned to him with a dark foreboding in his eyes and directed his apprentice to a less-traveled side path off of the River road.

  As they turned to the right the bard commented cryptically, “We must choose another path if we would follow the paw prints of the Gryphon. Soon that path will lead you straight to a place you would not choose.”

  Trying to anticipate the lesson he thought the bard was beginning, Jason responded from his growing experience in the ways of the Gryphon, “His roads are often narrow and hard, but hardly ever straight. A person on a straight path never has to ask directions, and He is One who likes to hear us ask.”

  “Son, that’s bards’ truth, yet what if His voice is silent for a time? What if your shellbowl seems dark for a spell and gives you only an image of yourself? In a wilderness without roads, a solitary traveler must take a heading from the last signpost he remembers and then hold true the course, no matter what the terrain! Though the way is long, the Gryphon will meet him at the other end and then that lonely traveler will discover he has never been alone; no, not one single step of the way!”