Chapter 1: The Legend of the Drakdare

GRANYE

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Griffins and bannacons, yes, even the occasional caladrius. But there weren’t dragons. They appeared only after our deep forests began to shrivel and die.

Everyone has an explanation for the arrival of the dragons. Some say they are punishment from the Gods. Others say that dragons are inevitable now that the cloud cover and cool rain have vanished. Some blame humankind for settling in the valley, knowing that dragons lived here in ancient days. What no one disputes is that the dragons are here now.

At first, we thought of them as pests. They slept carelessly in the middle of ripe fields or drank lakes dry. We accommodated them, as we had learned to live with the smaller, winged kongamato before them. But the more we accommodated them, the bolder they became. They plucked sheep from fields and burned avenues in the remaining woods. We realized, too late, that something had to be done.

My son, who is of an age where he still believes in miracles, says, “Will the Drakdare come and kill the dragons?”

My daughter, who is just four-years-old, covers her face at the mention of the terror that has haunted her dreams.

I say, “That seems unlikely. After 100 years of war, they won’t be inclined to help us now.”

“But they have to.”

I shake my head, wondering how to explain politics, war, vengeance to a boy who isn’t yet big enough to pull a bow. “They don’t have to, even if they could.”

He pokes at the fire, glaring at me as though I am the reluctant dragon slayer. A cold draft hits us as my hearth companion, Helia, comes in carrying logs for the night fire. Our living arrangement is simple - six to eight women live surrounding a common hearth. We share our resources and children. The others, who don’t wish to live in hearth, travel together in packs, living off the land and finding shelter when they wish to procreate.

“Ankahelia! Tharhelia! It’s time you were both in bed.” Children’s names while living at home are a compound of their given names and their mothers’ names. The rest of our children are already in bed. Helia’s children lingered at the fire with me, knowing I’m the least likely to discipline them.

Ankahelia protests, “There are dragons in my bed, Mama.”

Helia looks at me, amused, but her voice is firm. “Bed now. Both of you.” They stand, kiss us both and scamper to the sleeping room, knowing they can’t negotiate with Helia.

Helia sits down next to me. I study her face, trying to remember her younger face, when she didn’t seem tired all the time. In our hearth she is the one who worries, imagining every scenario, trying to fend off the worst that can happen by planning ahead.

“You need sleep.” I say. There are too many nights that Ankahelia awakens from her nightmares screaming about being burned by dragons. Helia sleeps little and uneasily.

“There’s a convocation to be held tomorrow at the Central Hearth.”

“No,” I groan, “not again.”

“Go, Granye, even if you don’t want to.” Each hearth selects a hearth leader by an elaborate process unique to their hearth. I’ve served 15 of 40 moons, another 25 moons in a time of dragons seems like an endurance test.

I stare into the fire. Every convocation is a series of speeches, motions and voting, often lasting late into the night that seldom yields results. “Why don’t you go instead?” She chuckles, though I wasn’t meaning to be funny.

We sit in silence, studying the flames. Helia has been my friend since childhood, we grew up in the same hearth together. Our daughters share a father.

I say, “I don’t know why we talk about the dragons. What can we do? They’re outside of our control. The idea that we can do something about them is a fantasy.”

“You still have to go,” she says.

“When did you become such a nag?”

She smiles. “When did you become such a pessimist?” After a pause she adds, “There’s a woman, she lives in the black grange at the edge of the Burnt Clearing.”

“The old crone?” It isn’t a derogatory term in our culture. It means one who can no longer bear children and lives outside of the hearth.

“… and retired warrior. They say she led many battles.”

“Did she? I had no idea.” Helia pays more attention to hearth gossip than I do. I spend my time at our hearth, caring for the house and our livestock.

“She has painted the words ‘Befriend your enemies’ across the side of her house.”

“It’s art, perhaps?” I smile, hoping Helia will take my joke.

“Or wisdom.” She stands and smooths the front of her dress. “It’s bed for me before Ankahelia awakens screaming.”

“I could sit up with her tonight. You look tired.”

Helia smiles. “That’s kind. You need your sleep to face the convocation tomorrow.” She crosses the threshold of the sleep room, leaving me alone at the central hearth to contemplate the rare silence.

Befriend your enemies? Does she mean the dragons? Could it be possible?

##

I’m standing on the far side of the room, hoping no one catches me in conversation. I might slip out unnoticed. Sharna, a poor hearth minder and a fierce gossip, comes to stand next to me. She wears her hair piled high on her head adorned with bones and feathers, which, to me, has always been a statement about her vanity. She considers us friends, though I find her annoying.

“Do you know what it’s about tonight?” She says.

“No,” I say, hoping that will end the conversation.

Sharna lowers her voice, as though we are conspiring together. “I heard they want to discipline Solis for her political statement.”

“Solis?” I can’t think of any other response.

“The crone… who lives in the black grange.”

I parrot Helia, sounding more supportive of Solis than I am. “Oh, you mean the warrior who led many battles?”

“She’s always thought she’s better than the rest of us.”

“Who says she’s making a political statement?”

Sharna smirks. “Everyone besides you, I guess.”

I have a sense of fairness and I feel defensive on behalf of Solis. The Hearth shouldn't judge her if she's not here to defend herself. We’re called to be seated. I sit at the back of the room, leaning against a rough beam. After a minute, Astiah slides onto the bench next to me. She is lanky, boyish, and surprisingly strong. When we were children, she climbed the highest trees, outran us all and proved to be an able hunter at a young age. She preferred the woods to the hearth. I’ve always admired her.

She nods to me as the Hearth Keeper brings the meeting to order. In the corner, the Hearth Scrivener readies her tablet to record the proceedings of the evening. I can’t imagine anything duller than rereading the events of a convocation.

“Hearth Minders, thank you for coming. You all have fires to tend to and children to feed. I’ll make every attempt to keep this brief.” There follows a litany of announcements, past motions, and accounting. It lacks any semblance of brevity.

At last we come to it. The Hearth Keeper says, “There has been a complaint about Solis.”

Sharna rises from the crowd. “The Hearth Minder Sharna wishes to be heard.”

A ripple of assent passes through the crow. The Hearth Keeper nods. Sharna continues, “By agreement of our people, political opinions are a private matter. Solis has defied this convention by painting her opinion on the side of her house.” Sharna sits.

Astiah elbows me. She whispers, “Sharna, seriously, she needs to spend more time clearing her hearth and less time nosing around.”

I smile and whisper, “Shhh.” She raises her eyebrows at me. We both suppress a laugh, as if we are still the troublemakers in Hearth school.

Another woman, with long kinky hair and heavy eyebrows, rises from her seat. I recognize her but I don’t know her. Helia could tell me her name and the names of her entire hearth.

“The Hearth Minder Anatea wishes to be heard. These are already difficult times. I object to Solis adding to our stress by expressing her religious views publically. I propose that she be required to paint over her wall immediately.”

“Who says they’re religious?” Astiah whispers to me.

I answer, “Who says they’re political?”

Astiah says, “I would like to know what it means…”

I reply quietly. “Me too.”

I still want to escape, but I am impatient with the apparent rush to judge Solis. Unwillingly, I rise to my feet, “The Hearth Minder Granye wishes to be heard.”

The Hearth Keeper turns her attention to me and says, “Proceed, Hearth Minder.” I wish I hadn’t stood.

I say, “Hearth Minders, shouldn’t Solis be able to defend herself or at least to explain her meaning? It is not our way to judge people when they aren’t present.”

The Hearth Keeper glares at me. Her irritation is clear. “We invited Solis to attend. She declined.”

I continue to stand, showing my wish to reply. “Then we should send a party to speak to her. We should at least understand her meaning.” There is a low hum of conversation. I sit, having accomplished what I intended.

Sharna shoots to her feet and talks without being recognized. “I nominate Granye to speak to Solis.” Many applaud.

I stand, waiting for the applause to die down. “Hearth Minder Granye wishes to be heard.”

The Hearth Keeper nods and I continue, “I respectfully decline. I am busy at my hearth and I don’t know Solis. I suggest someone who knows her should make the required visit. Otherwise, we can have a convocation when Solis can attend.”

Again, without waiting to be recognized Sharna says, “I will go with Granye. I know Solis.” A great deal of discussion follows, but I can’t change the tide. In the end, I am to visit Solis with Sharna, Astiah and two others.

As my mother liked to say, ‘Doing right can be terribly hard work.’

##

On the appointed day I meet Sharna, Astiah and the sisters Twina and Merna to walk out to the Burnt Clearing to see Solis. I have sent Solis a brief note informing her of the reason for our visit and the day our intended arrival. Brilliant strips of colored fabric flutter on a clothesline. I think Solis makes her living selling dyed fabric and ribbons to hearth minders.

She greets us at the door, wearing a heavy black apron with many pockets. Her gray hair is in a thick braid pulled to the side, interwoven with brightly colored ribbons. She has piercing blue eyes. I can’t hold her gaze without feeling that she is reading my interior. I glance away.

Sharna pushes past me. With no preliminaries, she says, “We are here to talk about your political slogan. It is against our law.”

Solis seems unaffected by Sharna’s impolite display. She says, “May I offer you twig tea?” It is a welcome custom for respected guests. Sharna seems taken aback.

Astiah says, “Thank you Solis, that would be lovely.” The sisters follow us into the house. I’m still not clear why we need such a large deputation to accomplish this task.

Solis has laid a table with a proper iron teapot and clay cups in front of her hearth. The chairs are covered with an assortment of furs, gray, brown, and black. I can’t identify the huge white pelt on the floor. Solis has been further North and further inland than I have ever dreamt of traveling. She may have seen many creatures that I’ve never even heard of.

Astiah takes a seat, and the sisters follow. Sharna wanders the room, looking more like a spy than a guest. I notice a heavy spear with a long metal point standing in the corner. Next to it stands a long bow and a quiver of arrows. Now I understand why Helia thought it necessary to mention her warrior status.

I take my tea with the customary bow. Sharna settles into a seat next to fire and accepts her tea with a bow, offering at least a sliver of common courtesy.

We all introduce ourselves. Solis looks keenly at Astiah. “Astiah, you came to the woods often as a child. I always thought you would travel among the others. I never thought you’d live in the Hearth.”

“Me neither. I meant to get away but, as happens, I found myself beneath a man.”

“Ah,” Solis makes a knowing sigh, “If only we could enjoy sex without committing to have a child.” I see Solis doesn’t care what others think. Sharna gasps, but looks foolish when no one else responds.

It is immoral to leave a child at someone else’s hearth and odd for a man to raise a child at a hearth. When a woman becomes pregnant, her only choice is to join a hearth and become a parent. I never guessed Astiah might be unhappy at the hearth. Her youngest must be almost 14. Soon, Astiah will be free to leave the hearth. I wonder what she will do then.

I swallow, not feeling eager to start the conversation, but if I don’t, Sharna will say something unkind.

“Solis,” I say, “You know why we are here.”

“I do.”

“Is it possible for you to explain why you have painted this… ah… sentence on your wall?”

“I can explain its meaning and then perhaps you can guess why I’ve painted it on my wall.”

We all sit silent for a moment. Twina adjusts her seat, looks around the room and says, “So, what is the meaning?”

Solis says, “Let me tell you The legend of Drakdare.”

Merna frowns and says, “Everyone knows the Legend of Drakdare.”

Solis scrutinizes Merna, who grows still and silent.

“No,” Solis says, “You have heard a Legend of Drakdare, not The Legend of Drakdare.”

Solis leans back in her chair and sips her tea.

“There was a time, eons ago, when dragons roamed the earth. This was before the forests, beasts, and even before humankind. They have the gift of fire so they could cleanse the earth. There were dragons when the world began, and there will be dragons when it ends. From their breath, all of life arises. When dragons appear, it is a sign that the world is out of balance. In ancient times, the dragons prepared this valley for the first flower, the first frog, the first bird, the first jaguar, the first griffin. In time, this world arose, and the dragons retreated to the high mountains.

There, the dragons found themselves with little to do. Some dragons maintained their sense of duty, waiting and watching for places that needed to be cleansed and restored to balance. Other dragons grew fat and lazy and abused their powers for their own entertainment. These dragons flew to the hearths in the mountains, destroying with no sense of duty.

The people of the mountains decided that to kill the dragons which in their native tongue were called Drak. They sought the bravest and strongest hearth minders to volunteer to kill the dragons. Many were afraid, but finally a small group banded together and moved to the Caves of Antarria, where they forged spears to pierce the dragons’ skin and trained with bows and arrows to shoot dragons in the eye.

In the beginning, they could only wound a few dragons. These wounded Drak recovered and returned to exact vengeance on the surrounding hearths.

The dragon hunters learned the ways dragons attacked. They endured long, physical training and became stronger and faster. At last, they killed a great terrifying red Drak. The tiny, snow-covered hearth celebrated the victory and gave the Drak hunters the title of Drakdare, or dragon slayers.

They gifted the Drakdare a thousand coins of mountain iron from their store. The Drakdare crafted helmets to protect themselves from the dragon fire. Thus, the tradition of paying a Drakdare tribute was born. After they killed the first dragon, they covered their faces, so all Drakdare looked alike, and no one could take the glory for the kill. In this way, they preserved the unity of their tribe. They began to hide their identities from the outside world.

In the high mountains, the honorable dragons lamented, as they now found themselves unwittingly at war with humankind. The Drakdare could not tell the difference between the dragons who kept the old ways and the dragons without discipline. As more dragons died, the honorable dragons begged the dishonorable dragons to return to the old ways. There were very few dragons who gave up their dangerous behavior.

The Drakdare continued killing dragons, but they couldn’t tell the different kinds of dragons apart. The battle between the Drak and Drakdare continued for centuries.

From among the Drakdare, a few became devoted to studying the Drak. They crept into the dragon caves while they slept. As they nursed their young and learned to fly, the Drakdare made field notes about the Drak. They learned some rudiments of Drak communication. They began to understand the source of dragon fire.

These Drakdare wrote songs about the lives of dragons. Their dedication to the Drak became almost religious, and some of them believed the dragons were gods. They became known as the Drakdarekam. Kam means lovers in that language. They advocated among the Drakdare to stop killing all the dragons. Eventually, the Drakdarekam were considered heretics, and forced to leave the Caves of Antirra. They formed their own society and lived in secret, fearing the wrath of both Drak and Drakdare. Almost nothing is known of the Drakdarekam today

Since then, the Drakdare have grown in strength and numbers. They still train in the mountains and live in the Caves of Antirra. They keep a strange and unknowable hearth. They are more adept at hunting and killing both good and bad dragons. Some say they are the bravest of all of humankind.

But if Drakdarekam were right, then the Drakdare may be killing dragons we need.

Consider for a moment that our forests have died. The jaguars are gone. Our crops need water. This valley is out of balance, and perhaps the dragons have returned to fulfill their duty, but we won’t know why they are here unless we speak to them. We must communicate with dragons. I believe there are Drakdarekam who understood them. I believe the Drakdarekam could tell which are the good dragons. We must find someone to persuade them to try.”

Merna says, “Good dragons? Surely not. I’ve never heard such a thing.”

Solis says, “Silence, foolish girl!”

Merna looks chastened.

Solis looks around the room, meeting each of us in the eye. I feel as though she is probing my mind with her piercing blue eyes.

“This is why I wrote the message on my house.”

Sharna looks disappointed and says, “But your slogan isn’t political or religious, it’s just part of your fairy tale.”

Solis shrugs and says, “There are always those who will not believe.”

I turn and look at the heavy spear and the bow in the corner again. It comes to me suddenly. “You are one of the Drakdarekam”

“The Drakdarekam live in secret, as I have already said.”

“Then they would be impossible to find.”

Solis smiles. Again, I feel the uncomfortable sense that Solis is probing my mind. She says, “Not if you know how to look for them.”

A big smile spreads across Astiah’s face and she says, “Well, then, I guess we’d better go and find them.”

##