The Dragon's Back Trilogy

by Robert Dennis Wilson

  “Can’t those dew-gatherers that you mentioned pipe some dew into them?”

  “Oh, they do! They do, even when the law of those parched lands say that dew carrying dew is illegal! Using secret channels or carrying it in special bottles, they risk their lives to let the dew flow in those arid lands. And, though the supply that gets through is minuscule when compared to the need, yet the Gryphon intervenes. Dew that is given away reacts with time differently than dew that is kept. You know that you must empty your skin each morning and refill it or His dew begins to taste stale and even sour. But the Gryphon applies a different rule to dew that is given away: He does a wonderful thing and keeps the piped or bottled dew fresh and sweet, and He multiplies the flow so that a little fills much (even though it may be days or weeks old when it reaches its target)!”

  “That’s kinda like the Dragon’s River, only for good and not bad!”

  “Exactly! Now the really strange thing is that the little that those in droughted places receive seems to satisfy them more than the much we have here ever satisfies most of us. I think it has something to do with their craving for it. Only those who develop (and keep) a craving for the dew will find it always satisfying. But when we become content with whatever was left in yesterday’s ‘skin, we can easily lose that thirst.”

  “Master Nathan, you have taught me Gryphonsong and stories about men and women who kept that thirst all of their lives and never seemed to crave the River. Somehow I feel that this is the most important question I will ever ask you: how does someone get and keep that craving?”

  “You are correct; it is one of the most important questions. It has, however, no easy answer. It is a question that I, myself, have asked over and over again as I crossed the Dragon’s Back, following my calling as a searcher for and dispenser of Truth. As best as I can tell, the answer is multifaceted, like a well-cut jewel. Two of these facets I can see clearly. If the Gryphon’s Son grants me the time I hope to discover others.

  “The first of these facets has something to do with the very nature of the dew itself: it is a secret that is found only by those who willingly starve themselves of all other liquids (something that most men never learn to do). Those who keep their tastes simple and pure find that only one taste will satisfy: the Gryphon’s dew! To these, the Gryphon offers an addiction, a delicate dependency, which, unlike addiction to River Water, is easily broken. This addiction to the dew can only be maintained if it is totally exclusive. But some, like the heroes you mentioned, have willingly paid that price to gain a greater reward! Those who have walked under the influence of this delicate addiction speak of being carried away to a special garden full of wondrous fruits. Those who eat those fruits, thereafter live like Gryphons in this world. And seeds gathered from that place can be transported in a Gryphonskin back to Dragonsback.”

  Even though he knew the bard had more to tell him, Jason had to inquire, “You once asked me what I would think of a man who held in his hand a seed from the Gryphon’s Land and never planted it. Were you referring to one of these seeds?”

  “The Gryphonsong and the dew together are all the food a man will ever need,” replied the bard cryptically before plainly stating, “Yes, those were the seeds I had in mind. They are valuable beyond our knowing for, when planted, they grow into the plants you call the dewcatcher! Those who live in the harsh barren lands know this to be true. That is how the Gryphon is able to undo, through them, the destructive work of the dragons. Our oppressed brothers and sisters know this, but sadly, we in the Heartland do not!”

  “You know,” Jason commented as logic inserted the last block into a mental building, and he saw it complete for the first time, “now that I think about it, most of the plants I have seen and used have looked well worn with age. They must have been planted a long time ago! Aren’t they being replaced by anyone who lives today? Are the dragons active here as well, destroying our only hope of fresh water?!”

  “You know already that they must be. Once, this land was covered with dewcatchers: the living heritage left us by those who have long crossed the Bridge. Now we must search for them like hidden treasures and apples of gold. The Gryphon Himself thirsts for those who will learn this secret and be thirsty for Him: for it is through them He will quench the thirst of the world!”

  “May I learn to be addicted to the Gryphon in that way!” Jason paused to reflect on these words using not the shellbowl, but rather the mirror of his heart.

  SIN IN SINSINATTI

  “Quite a reception we’ve prepared for our friends, wouldn’t you say?” Raven’s words were shouted into Kaleb’s ear so he could be heard above the angry din of the mob.

  Above the mob they were; Raven having manhandled him up the wide steps of the Sinsinatti Thornhouse to gain a vantage point over the destruction. The festive spirit of the previous day’s Games had vanished, being swallowed whole by the mob. The competition before him decidedly did not appear friendly!

  The day before, in the late afternoon, when the blackrobe captain had returned to the cave, Kaleb had felt much better. Raven had been in an extremely jovial mood, boasting about how all of his plans were coming together and wondering if his young friend felt well enough to travel. At that point, Kaleb wanted some fresh air almost as much as he wanted to rescue his brother. Raven assured him that both of these events waited just outside their hiding place. Together, the two dragonmen left the cave via an entrance situated very near the Playing Field of the Great Games, made their way across the newly installed left-wing platform, and then headed south on the opposite side of the River. By nightfall they had entered Sinsinatti, a city transformed into one enormous party by the outcome of the Games. The gala celebration had continued most of the night.

  Now, today, to Kaleb’s eyes, this same capital city of the Heartland seemed to be trying to tear itself apart instead. Like a pack of wild dogs fresh on the trail of wounded prey, the terrible destruction of this voracious human pack did not appear random but rather directed at a single common cause. Though Raven had not said, Kaleb suspected he knew who or what they hunted. The overwhelming victory of the left-bankers had somehow been interpreted as a mandate to exact vengeance on those who had opposed it.

  “Death to the tyrants! Kill the restrictors! Down with their rules! Up with Freedom!” The ear-shattering, hostile cries of the mob blended together in the open space of the market square to form a single screaming voice. The crowd roared continuously like a predator pouncing in triumph on its prey. Kaleb noted numerous shimmering black robes scattered at key points throughout the surging swarm.

  Were they simply participating or did they perhaps have a greater role in this conflict? What had Raven meant when he said this had been “prepared”?

  Shops of suspected enemy sympathizers were being destroyed and looted. Several elderly shopkeepers had been dragged from their stalls, beaten severely, and then left as flotsam in the destructive backwash of the mob.

  Kaleb’s world had never known the threat of a storm-swollen flooded river sweeping all in its path into oblivion, yet looking at the angry thorn-bearing multitude swirling at his feet, he could not help picturing dangerous dark water, confined in channels of destruction. He began to worry. Never had he seen such wanton violence before, nor had he realized that men could be so cruel and hateful in their united actions against others. Even though this violence targeted Swimmers (of that he was now sure), whom he hated and mistrusted with his whole being, yet something seemed very wrong about the scene playing out before him.

  What was it GrandSire had said? You can’t judge all Swimmers by the actions of one? That crazy old man became a Swimmer, in spite of what happened to his son – my father – yet some of what he said made sense. I wish I could have gotten to know him a little better.

  To his right, a young woman screamed as her Gryphonskin was violently torn from her side and she fell victim to the pleasures of the crowd. Kaleb shuttered and averted his eyes as her flowing dark brown hair disappeared under
the press of the mass. His stomach, which had felt fine earlier, began churning in sour spasms once again.

  This is not right! He thought. No one deserves to be treated this way, no matter what they believe! Am I the only one who sees this? But what can I do? I’m only one against so many! And what about Jason?! If he’s with that bard and they get trapped in this, he could get hurt or killed!

  Kaleb turned to shout his concern at his friend. Gripping Raven’s gargantuan arm with both of his hands, he shook it hard trying to force him to heed the warning. But the giant’s attention was elsewhere; with a flick of his shoulder he threw off the annoyance as though it were only an errant leaf placed there by the wind. Swearing a foul oath, the giant shouted above the panoply to no one in particular, “What are they doing over there? They should have come in from the North! Got to send a signal or they might get away!”

  Kaleb saw the huge black-robed man quickly glance from side to side as if searching for something. Instantly Raven turned to his left and purposely gripped with massive hands the carved scaline abutment that guarded the edge of the thornhouse steps.

  What in the name of the Gryphon? Kaleb asked involuntarily as he watched the giant’s thick muscles bulge and saw him start rocking back and forth, pulling on the scaline section of the railing with all of his considerable might.

  Crack! The block broke free with enough force that many nearby in the seemingly uncontrollable mob stopped in their tracks to turn and stare in open surprise at the source of the startling noise.

  Unconcerned with them, Raven hefted the chunk of scaline in his right hand. Taking a quick hop, he launched his weapon over the heads of the brawling ruffians below him. The weighty gray block, larger than a man’s head in diameter, sailed with silent but deadly force across the whole square.

  The giant laughed and shouted, “Hit me in the head with a rock will you? Now it’s your turn!”

  In Kaleb’s eyes, the whole scene slowed down until the scaline missile seemed to take forever to reach the peak of its upward arc and begin its lethal descent. At last, his mind could finally plot its projected course; and there, at the entrance of a side street...

  Nathan! And Jason!

  Horror, fear, and frustration swirled in blood-red colors before Kaleb’s eyes, clouding his mind: He’s gonna’ kill them! He might hit Jason! I was the one who was supposed to get the bard!

  Raven shot forward even before his weapon found its mark, driving his huge bulk down the thornhouse steps and through the crowd. Few dared stand in his way but melted before him like fat in a fire. Those inadvertently unaware of his approach were flung aside as easily as he had thrown the scaline block.

  Kaleb, however, could not move even if he had wanted to. His whole body followed the flight of the scaline projectile. Down, down it fell. The bard stood with his head turned away from the thornhouse. Oblivious, he had no hope of escape as unseen death rained down on him.

  Yet, somehow, at the last possible moment, Jason looked up, saw their peril and threw himself at his companion.

  All three (the bard, his brother, and the block) disappeared in an instant behind an impenetrable wall of humanity and were lost from view. Kaleb cringed: he had no idea what had happened!

  Free to move, at last, Kaleb looked around for his friend, only to discover that the giant had already forced himself almost a third of the way across the square.

  His first thoughts, spoken out loud were of his brother, “I’ve got to get over there and see if Jase is all right!” But then darker thoughts followed, “It’s not fair! They promised me I could handle that murderin’ Swimmer. Raven’s gonna’ be over there before I can get anywhere close!”

  His first assault on the crowd was repulsed as easily as if he were a tiny ship facing the dragonsbreath. Again and again, he tried to penetrate straight through the mob but was repulsed every time.

  In frantic desperation he thought to himself, I wish I could just pull that giant thorn out of my pack and wave it around! These sheep wouldn’t stand in my way then! No, they’d turn and stampede the other way out of fear! Then I could walk through the middle of this mob just like Raven.

  He started to reach over his shoulder for the cloth-bound prize, but then reconsidered.

  If I show this thorn to the public, I just might have to use it and I don’t want to waste any of its potency or risk damaging it! Better to save it for its intended victim, if I can only reach him in time!

  And so, counting every lost moment as dear, he forged to his left, determined to skirt the edge of this uncrossable sea of humanity. “Sometimes,” he shouted angrily at the unheeding crowd, remembering his roping lessons from Arden Nox, “the shortest distance between two points is not a straight line!”

  ~ ~ ~

  Later as they left the suburbs and walked unchallenged through the open gate of the city, Jason turned and asked his companion, “But what of the second truth you mentioned, the second side to the jewel?”

  “I waited for you to digest the appetizer before I brought in the main course!” said Nathan with a hearty laugh, “It seems to me that you’re still hungry. That’s good! You’ll need a big appetite to swallow all the Gryphon has for you, today!”

  “And all this time I thought you were a bard, not a master chef!” Jason replied, joining his friend’s laughter.

  “I guess every bard must be a chef in his own right: the truth is always easier to swallow if it is seasoned with the Gryphon’s love and grace. The second facet is harder to explain and so harder to experience. Those who reject the Dragon’s poison are enabled to do so because they have lifted their eyes and their hearts off of this deceitful world. It is a mystery, but nevertheless true. While they physically live in this land of the Dragon, they also live in the land of the Gryphon (at the same time!). Some part of their personality has crossed an invisible Bridge and they have set their spirits already in that place which will be their future home. In so doing they have also learned that their Bridge of access (although permanently won for them by the Swimmer-Son and so always available) is also a battleground that must be diligently protected at all cost from the Enemy who constantly seeks to drag it down, block by block into the River. By keeping themselves poison-free, they are better able to sustain themselves above the poison and ward off the enemy’s attacks. It is only then, with the help of the Gryphon’s dew, that they can look and reach high enough to see the Bridge, and see themselves seated in the Gryphon’s Land.”

  “I’ll bet that most men can’t see things that clearly until it’s time for them to cross the Bridge for real,” said Jason with sudden insight. “I have seen the land you speak of, but I am afraid I have not yet learned to live there!”

  “No, son, the quest is not to ‘live there’, but to live from there. The Dragon’s smoke blinds the eyes of all but a few, hiding the true Bridge, or we who follow the Gryphon would know that we already live there in the Gryphon’s Land. Today! Even while we speak, we are somehow also seated in His presence! This is the Gryphon’s decree! You and I and everyone else who calls His Name are already seated on thrones right before His face, only most of us never have our eyes washed with the dew enough to see that this is true.”

  “You mean we’re in two places at the same time? That’s why I feel so unsatisfied with this world around me! He’s put that other place in my heart! But wait, the struggle I have been fighting to get to that place, to live in His presence… Are you telling me I’ve been seated there all along and couldn’t see it because the shadows blocked my eyes?”

  “Strange as it seems, the Gryphonsong says that is true. It is one of the Gryphon’s mysteries that He tells us both to draw near to Him and yet also to rest in the fact that we are already there. Most Swimmers only ever learn the ‘draw near’ part and so are doomed to failure. Those who struggle to lift themselves to that place by their own efforts find that they carry the weight of the Dragon on their shoulders and can never climb to the heights they seek. It always seems just out of
their grasp. So they spend much effort and suffer great pain. Eventually, they succumb to a feeling of hopeless despair and an overwhelming sense that the Gryphon has let them down for not rewarding all their struggles!”

  Tears were streaming down Jason’s face as he quietly responded, “From what you’re telling me, this is how I have lived my life so far as a Swimmer! But in reality, living in His presence is a gift that has already been given. By my struggle, I have been rejecting that gift! May the Gryphon forgive me and open my eyes!”

  “Son, you already know how to swim: I have seen you do so with my own eyes. Tell me how you do it.”

  “I walk into the Sea to the point that I can no longer carry myself, then, trusting in the Gryphon, I let the waves bear me up. Wait, I see your point! That’s what it means to draw near and rest! It’s like you said, I don’t have to struggle to get to that place, only learn to live from there!”

  “That’s bard’s truth! Those who have learned to cross the Bridge while they are still living, see beyond this world, replacing its false and temporary reality with a Reality that can never be shaken! They are free to sample pleasures and treasures that outshine anything found on the Dragon. And fruit harvested from that land is able to sustain them even through the agonies of Dragon’s fire! They can continue to stand, even though the air around them is filled with black-winged burning shadows bent on their destruction! They stand, though the Dragon himself moves and quakes beneath their feet, seeking to dislodge them from his back! They will continue to stand even at the last when the Dragon sinks beneath the waves! They can stand because they know they are seated in a secure place that can never be moved!”

  “The fruit! The fruit is what’s planted in the Heartland!”

  “Exactly!” affirmed the bard and the Gryphonsbreath drove his words like leaves caught in the tide. “When that fruit reaches back across the Bridge and finds a place to thrive in the Heartland, its roots tear down into the Dragon’s back like the thorns of an expert dagger. Each one shouting a message in the Serpent’s ears: ‘You are doomed! You are doomed! One day the fresh water will fall from the sky!”