Valley of the Black Dragon

by B A Fleming

  “You’d encounter bandits if you take the river trail,” said Temar.

  “The canyon may be more pleasant but sand path that runs atop is safer,” added Aryz Coun pointing below them.

  Casperi could see a trail along the edge of a shadowed canyon where the water flowed. The river below them seemed to be surrounded by dense foliage as it ran through a canyon that sat anything from thirty to one hundred steps deep. Trees and plants along the top of the canyon were sparse and Casperi could see large sections of the stony trail, unprotected from the elements.

  The party was over halfway down the steep waterfall path. It mostly zig-zagged towards the southern wall, where it curved and bent and contorted around rocky outcrops and deep shadows. As they made their way around the corner of a large rock face the whole valley came into view.

  All three men stood and gazed across the wide landscape. A good two days walk across, and almost a weeks’ walk from end to end. The wide, sandy valley extended before them. In the distance on either side they could see the high walls of the valley extend upwards into the mountains that surrounded all sides.

  “This is the Erg Adagh,” remarked Temar. “The great sandy desert that inhabits the spaces between breaths of the gods.

  *****

  The grey statue opened its eyes and peered either side. It was now deep into the night and he was sure that the Emperor would be sound asleep. Dralan followed his normal routine of stretching as this stone casket was difficult to maneuver without the prerequisite routine. Eventually he made his way off the pedestal and along the hallway.

  He unbolted the door and made his way into the room. He stood momentarily, observing Emperor Koguryo, the man that had found him and raised him.

  The Emperor woke with a shock.

  “Your highness, we have found the old seer.”

  The old man looked at the statue from under the cover of his sheets. The cold of winter hit Narthal hard and many months would now be wasted, entrapped within these stone walls.

  “What is your bearing of him?”

  “He is weak and useless my liege. I sense that he will be easily defeated.”

  “Then why have you not done this yet?”

  “There is something of his nature that I do not understand. Besides, he provides knowledge, of sorts.”

  “And the girl?”

  “She is still useful as a vehicle to receive this wisdom.”

  “Wisdom, is it?” cursed the Emperor.

  “Knowledge father. Knowledge that I have not learnt previously.”

  “That was of little consequence then as it is now.

  Complete this mission so that we may prepare to take the valley this summer.”

  “I feel both will serve my purpose in defeat of the dragon father.”

  The Emperor thought for a moment and sighed.

  “Very well then. I will sleep until then. Return to me with word of the end of Arthung.”

  Dralan nodded, and returned to his place amongst the statues.

  *****

  “There are many things that the girl must know of before we depart,” motioned the Seer. “I must teach her of these things if any of us are to survive the journey ahead. Your lives rest in her hands.” He spoke to Nathe and Gameard who stood together towards one corner of the room. Veer was asleep and both nodded in agreement with his suggestion.

  The Seer had organized bedding for all members of the party, and used an array of herbs and medicines to treat the wounds and injuries of the men. Many now suffered from poor health both due to the battle with the Ice Gols, and the journey through the mountains. They had agreed that rest for three to four days would be needed to bring their fitness back to a moderate level.

  Eren left them by the main fire and entered a small room further into the cave labyrinth where Thais sat. He carried two mugs of sweet drink and handed one to her, as he lowered himself with the help of his staff. He began to speak, not in words, but in thoughts.

  “For you to know the true depth of your power child, you need to understand the past. With this knowledge you may use the energies of this world to shape the present,” he commenced. The old man sipped as Thais sat patiently, legs folded, and listened.

  “The art of knowing and explaining the essence and operations of spiritual powers and natural forces lies not only in the understanding of energy and light but also with the intelligence to discern that which is illuminating and that which, though born in obscurity, will not only dispel

  darkness but conquer death.”

  Thais processed the words.

  “Since the beginning of time the eight dragons were born as eight eternal souls. There was more before this, but that is the easiest explanation for now and will suffice. They travelled the skies like the birds travailing on the high swift winds. They could invoke all manner of spirits for they were believed to have existed before all others. They possessed the powers of true magic and could move at will between life and death, as if between sunshine and shade. They were the primal force from which all things arose from these lands, called Lonsearth. Their very breath could ignite life, create vast oceans, and working as one they formed the lands that we all now walk upon, the stars that we see at night, the sun, the moon, and the movements of the seasons.

  But like all things, in the end the weary sum of ages shows even friendships and alliances in their most perishable structure. Some of the dragons, maybe bored of their creations, or of the eternity that lay before them, sought the destruction of their siblings. Wars raged and the landscapes of Lonsearth were crushed, eroded, and wiped clean.

  When only one remained, he sat alone in a wasteland. Over time the dragon fell into deep meditation and through this meditation experienced all the moments that his peers had suffered, all the instants of emotions, experienced the love of some and despise of others, all the contrarieties of actions and resolve that were ultimately absorbed by his victory.

  He began again, with the memories of these others shaping and carving the landscape the way they had done so before. He created a multitude of beings, humans, elves, dwarves and giants, all sorts of creatures to support one another, to feast off each other, to live in ceremony with the land.

  The dragon, now old and weary of his own existence, showed himself and his creation to those beings he deemed more superior than others so that they would remember him. He shared memories of what had come to pass.

  To those ancient peoples, Lonsearth was the center of all creation. To them there were no other worlds, no other lands peopled with living beings. But so that you know my dear, there are many, many other lands, and the dragon travelled across them, across realms and seas of great expanses. This is also one of many worlds and the dragons were a mere few of many eternal souls.

  The original eight dragons were the guardians of this world, as others of a similar nature were given to be guardians of other worlds. To the creatures of these lands their world was as far as they could see, as far as they could travel in a lifetime. Many things existed to be in harmony with the land and they gave thanks for this. For them the years and revolutions were of unknown origins, perhaps inconceivable limits, and the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars journeyed above them, to give them light and darkness.

  As the Sun gave all life, the worship of it became the basis of all their beliefs. To them light and heat were mysteries as indeed they still are to us. As the Sun caused the day, and its absence the night. Their lives flowed with the seasons and Spring and Summer were celebrated for birth, as Fall and Winter were equally celebrated for death. The influence of their belief produced the leaves and flowers, and ripened the harvests, and brought regular rains. They gave tributes to the Sun, to the Moon and to the lands that they gave them everything they needed for their survival.

  When the old dragon appeared, they connected him with the innate fire of bodies, the fire of nature, and everything pertaining to it. They used fire to kill and to cook, and to send the souls of their fallen into the eternity.
To them the dragon was connected to the souls of those they had lost and therefore when he arrived they feared that they had upset their ancestors in some way, and they prayed forgiveness to him and to their lost ancestors.

  Eventually, he too then disappeared. Thus, idols were created of him, and what was originally revered as the symbol of higher souls, of those that had past, became gradually confounded or identified with the object itself.

  They did not devise fictions in the same spirit in which we

  do, for every gospel they created had meaning, deeply rooted to the land and their beliefs.

  Alike the betrayal of self that the mighty dragons had suffered, the beings he had created eventually evolved a haughty pride, which seems an inherent part of their nature, to represent these fragmentary relics of original truth as a possession peculiar to themselves. This symbol of their status was above all others, thus exaggerating their own value, and their own importance, as the holder of the personified object.

  So many sought to make these fragments, as far as possible, their private property, they reproduced them under peculiar forms, wrapped them up in symbols, concealed them in allegories, and invented fables to account for their own special possession of them. Instead of preserving these idols in their primitive simplicity and purity these blessings of original revelation, they overlaid them with poetical tales and the wearers of them were worshipped by the fables they wove around them, rather than the truth which the apparent fable contains.

  False faiths easily sprung up and grew rank and luxuriant, when the ancient truth was no longer guarded with jealous care, nor preserved. These ideologies soon spread among the many peoples who occupied these lands; with whom imagination, and a very deep but still sensual feeling for nature, were very predominant, but overrun by blatant and pervasive ideals.

  The idea that one creator had made all that they saw before them took shape, not in the form of a dragon, but in a form representing their own selves. He was to them immense, indivisible, imperishable, and everywhere present. It was taught that he was the presence felt by all men or beast; the one that decided their fate, and none other, and nothing should be more fearful to them than his absence.

  Rulers then seized this idea and claimed that they were the sole representative of the creator in this world, that those who did not follow his word would be in need of punishment, and those who sought to confine the rulers, those who sought power would be destroyed by the creator.

  So severe were these punishments that many of these rulers executed those that would not follow them in the name of their creator. Princes and Rulers now were the hand of the creator and able to cast down the guilty, to crown with honor the man who walked after their own heart. They claimed their role as creator of Lonsearth, and thus themselves to be good and merciful no matter their actions, and in acts deemed full of pity they forgave wicked upon their repentance, or sacrificed them to the fires.

  The ancient objects were destroyed or forgotten, and their teachings woven into the web of their myths and legends that were whispered through occasional dreams and thoughts of all creatures right through until the present day. The new gods had emerged in each society, consecrated by faith, set apart from the past by petty sanctuaries of created or manipulated beliefs, beyond which all the rest was common and unclean. One race would claim their own deity to be the one and only as another would claim theirs, and the races, even until this day, fought huge battles over this distinction. Imagination and reason was frowned upon as there was now only one single entity, and one truth, and religion circled round the same symbol; as all other symbols were considered heretic.

  The ancient dragon returned and carried with him the souls of his siblings. He walked amongst the creatures he had created, fashioning sages that could once again connect these souls to the lands that they walked upon. They carried the principles of everything that exists, explaining the energies that penetrate even to the inmost recesses of the heart, and how each soul beheld with an eye of complacency the virtuous actions of men.

  Some of these siblings were reborn as dragons and set to create the balance that they created so many millennia ago. But they were no longer as powerful as they had once been. Their powers had lessened, had been drained somehow. Only three dragons now fly the skies of Lonsearth. The Black Dragon, Arthung, the Blue Dragon, Zenath, and the Green Dragon, Sedna.

  In many lands now the powers of heretic remain, as the

  dragons themselves grow weaker with each passing year. The dragon, Arthung, that the stranger Dralan asks you to face, is now the weakest of the dragons. The battle that he prepares for, prepares you for will not be easy, but the true question lies in why it needs to be undertaken at all.”

  Thais became more conscious of her environment as the Seer stopped talking. Tears had rolled down her face as he had spoken. She had become so consumed in her own personal mission and in the loss of her brother that she had completely forgotten why she was even wandering through this landscape.

  *****

  Casperi’s’ soft, pale skin burnt quickly since arriving in the desert. His companions had warned him of the environment they were to face but for someone accustomed to more sedate weather conditions he was unprepared. Blisters erupted on his hands and part of his neck that had become exposed the day before as they traversed the rocky terrain and made their way across the ends of sandy desert dunes.

  As each day wore on, and tiredness set upon the party, the conversation had become as dry as their mouths. By late evening a series of pointing, head nods, and grunts sufficed. Within three days of travelling Casperi was in no doubt that this was a desperate land. Five hours of travel on the fourth day a heavy storm appeared from the south-west. Aryz Coun stopped and assessed the fall of the dunes around them. The loud thunder of the approaching storm roared across the sky as the wind quickly intensified.

  “We need to find shelter quickly,” suggested Aryz Coun, staring out across the plain. “It’s time that we make haste for some protection, my lord,” he indicated, pointing towards the storm.

  “Yes, my lord, we should set up camp for the evening and wait out this difficulty,” added Temar.

  Aryz Coun led the party along another dune and then they descended into a small valley formed by the sand hills. They chose a flatter spot in the middle of a small square,

  with the highest side on the flank of the storm. The tent was erected quickly. They all moved inside as the wind and piercing sand increased in intensity.

  Aryz Coun removed some items from one of the bags, preparing a small fire inside the flap of the tent. The doorway had been positioned to face away from the storm and so that they could easily keep an eye on the conditions. With the flap half open to allow the smoke and steam to float out. A stream of sand whisking past the tent could be seen, just as the amount of sand pouring down the dune onto the back of the tent was also evident.

  Temar pulled out a piece of Taguella, and split it into three for his companions, before serving cafe in small steel containers. The pot was sunk into the sand just inside the tent flap with a lid over it, as he covered the fire with more sand and then carefully picked out the sticks from it that could be reused. Nothing was wasted here. Casperi would happily leave half a meal on his plate at home to be fed to the pigs and hens, but every morsel of food was eaten by these people, none wasted, and every pound of weight counted for one or several uses. The economy of resources left him astounded.

  His companions told him that if would take six days to cross the sands at their quickest. A hundred lightning strikes danced across the high desert plains as Casperi laid back and fell asleep.

  The sun still burnt them as they made their way across the sand dunes two days later. The light radiated off the dunes and the reflection seemed toasting more than the direct heat itself. The desert was dry, both day and night, and darkness brought with it a dry coldness. Casperi had lived all his life with winters and warm clothing, but found himself almost stripped bare during the
day with only a tunic and shawl wrapped around his head. Then, as the evening wore on he would bring out a thick cloak and furs.

  They choose to travel most of the night, leaving after dinner, and then resting twice in the darkness, and at dawn for breakfast. They made one more march until the sun became too hot and then they would sleep and rest, all under the canvas that Temar had brought along for that

  purpose. They travelled on the rim of the river gorge, and where possible, at least once every second day, one of the men would make the arduous climb down the rocky escarpment to refill their flasks whilst the other two prepared the food.

  On the sixth day of walking, Aryz Coun noticed something moving through distant sand hills, just after the dawn. As it was almost time for a break so he called an early stop and stood staring out in the direction of the movement. Temar and Casperi prepared a cold meal as three large black scorpions raced around a dune that appeared to the south of the three men.

  Casperi stood instantly, gobsmacked by the sight before him. Temar, smiling, glanced up and continued preparations as the water pot started to rumble.

  The indigo tagelmust wearing soldiers, carrying large scimitars and leather shield on their backs rode up to the party on three scorpions, each at least fifteen feet in length and over eight feet to their backs from the sand. The largest was over twenty feet long with equally threatening pincers and a tail that floated in the air as it moved.

  The Riders of Imuhagh were skilled both in scorpionship and camelback, and excelled in balance and bravery upon either steed. They were often called upon as the first line of defense when small raiding parties invaded the Dominion of Imuhagh.

  “Temar Bolyl,” indicated one of the soldiers in his own language. “I thought we’d killed you last year?”

  “Werta Yullita,” replied Temar, standing. “It seems that I can run but I cannot hide. I am the balls of an eagle,” he smiled back at the man.