"I'll never forget what happened next," Jason continued in the quietness of remembered sadness. "The defeated man stood there with his head hanging so low that his chin rested on his bleeding chest. In silence he allowed them to release him from the pole. He did not even look up when the woman's heartless Dagger grabbed his hand and slapped into it the thorn he had used to inflict so much damage. Yet, in the last second, before the woman left the arena, he raised his tear-filled eyes to meet her triumphant ones and whispered, 'I thought you said you loved me!'"
In silence, Nathan raised his hand to pat his student comfortingly on the shoulder. Together they shared a moment of grief and mourning over the inhumanity of humanity. At last, the bard spoke, "Those kinds of conflicts leave the deepest scars." And then, almost to himself, he added, "And I'll bet that neither of the Daggers suffered even a scratch!"
With the River now behind them; the thick, shiny mass of the thorntrees dangerously guarding their left; and the comforting shade of the forest beckoning them from the right, the two companions continued on the path. The incongruities of good and bad, living and flourishing side by side, imposed silent thoughtfulness on both of the travelers. Life itself taught the lessons that morning.
"Go away! Don't want no visitors!" a sudden shout made by a scratchy, angry voice shattered the quietness of their meditation. "Don't need no people pokin' in m' business! 'Specially bards with their cheery, joyful songs. Pah! You two, just go away!"
Then the owner of the disembodied voice emerged from among the thorntrees some distance ahead on their left. To his surprise, Jason saw that a tunnel had been hacked out through the tangled, spiky mess. An ancient disheveled hermit emerged from this living cave. Under his left arm, he firmly grasped a thick bundle of thorns. In his right hand, he held the biggest thorn that Jason had ever seen, one so large and its base so broad that its girth forced the hermit to grip his weapon a third of the way up its shaft just to hold it. From that grip upwards the thorn still exceeded any that Jason had ever seen!
Having gained the path, the angry man stood up, for the low entrance to the tunnel had forced him to bend over, and waved the huge thorn wildly in the air. This afforded Jason with his first clear look at the strange character.
The sputtering old man wore only a loincloth and, on his back, a huge pack. Scars, old and new, covered him from head to toe with scars, undoubtedly caused by constant contact with the thorns. His wrinkled and dirty skin appeared to be the color of blackened, old parchment, left too long in the elements. His white hair and beard were unkempt, as tangled as the thorntrees.
He continued to shout at the two travelers even while he blocked their path, "Go Away! Your kind's not welcome here!"
Jason's tender heart was taken aback by the belligerent attitude of the codgity old stranger. They had done nothing to him; didn't even know him, yet still, he acted as though he were very angry at them.
"Why is he so angry at us," Jason whispered as the thorn-wielding old man drew closer and louder.
"Look at his pack," came back Nathan's cryptic whispered reply.
Somehow, through his shouting tirade, the old man heard the bard mention the word "pack". As though his very life had been threatened, the old man screamed even louder at them in anger and ran straight toward Nathan with his thorntree weapon thrust before him like a lance. "Samson!" he screamed like a warcry, "Come to my aid against these intruders! Slay them!"
Jason stumbled backward in alarm, but, to the boy's amazement, the bard did not flinch. Suddenly the charging old man stopped with his "sword" only a finger's width from Nathan's tunic. The angry hermit stood there for a long moment, staring at the taller man in silence before he finally let the thorn droop down to a less offensive position. Jason realized that his teacher's calm boldness had all but disarmed the crazy old man.
Nathan turned and offered an outstretched hand to his fallen student, quoting quietly, "'A soft answer is the strongest shield against a sharpened thorn.’'' *14
The whole situation confused the boy so much that he decided to keep silent and watch his master at work. This will be interesting, he thought to himself. Remembering the bard's comment, he discretely tried to catch a glimpse of the contents of the old man's pack, but in looking, realized that it was not hard to tell. Hundreds of thorns, some blackened with extreme age, were sticking out of the huge pack from every angle. Many of them must have been poking the old man in his naked back! Jason thought he understood a little of the pained expression on the leathery old face in front of them.
"Would you steal my thorns from me?" croaked the hermit in a gravely, age-worn voice filled with accusation. "Me, a helpless old man, alone in the woods? Well, let me warn ya'. If you try, I will call my giant friend, Samson, and he will mark you for life. Beware!"
Jason certainly wouldn’t have used the word "helpless" to describe the old man, but the news of a giant filled him with fear. Could he be referring to the huge blackrobed man who had attacked Nathan and his GrandSire? Still, Nathan seemed to be calm as he replied to the threatening old man, "There is no need for you to call your friend to action..."
Before he could even finish his sentence, the old hermit screamed at them again, "The thorns from my bundle you may buy, if you must. But Samson and I will defend those in my pack with our last breath. They belong to me! I earned them! They were thrust upon me by those I thought I could trust. Now they're all that I have. Them, and Samson, my bestest and only lifelong friend. These thorns are my life. I can not, I will not give them up till the day I die. In fact, I'll take them with me into the River!"
Then, as though realizing how much he had revealed about himself, the hermit swiped at them wildly with his huge thorn and shouted, more angrily than before, "But you're just spying on me! They must have sent you! Well, you can tell 'em that I still carry their thorns! If they come back, my friend, Samson, will meet them. Now that I found him, I will never be defeated in battle again! He will protect me! Together we stand! No one ever gets the best of us! Now go away, before Samson, here, runs you through." He brandished the thorn with a flourish, exposing, at last, the identity of his only remaining friend.
"Kind sir," said Nathan calmly, holding his own sword by the blade and proffering the hilt to the old hermit. "you can see by this sign that my intentions are peaceful. We are but two humble travelers on a quest for knowledge. Before you spoke to us we did not even reckon your existence. You are free to carry your bundle to market. We have no desire to take what is not ours, lest it should become a burden too heavy for us to carry. If you will but let us pass, we will gladly put you and your thicket swiftly behind us."
The angry old man thought about this for a moment and then agreed to let them pass. "I'm only letting you by," he quipped, "'cause it's in m' own best interest. After all, not only am I blockin' you, but you're blockin' me, an' I gotta get t’ market. So go! And none of your mushy, sentimental bard good-byes. No blessin's for me, ya' hear? My luck's bad enough without some Dragon-Cursed bard addin' to it. Now get!"
With one last flurry, the nameless hermit let his last and only friend say his good-byes for him. While Samson whispered a pointed farewell, the old man backed into the living cave of thorntrees and gave them room to pass.
When they were out of earshot, Jason spoke for the first time since the strange character of the thorn-man had unexpectedly charged them. "What has happened to make that old man so angry? I take it that he's a seller of thorns, like the ones we imported back on the island. What a strange man. It seems like his anger is poisoning his whole life."
The bard smiled at his apprentice, "Again I see that you are quick to see beyond the leaves to the trunk and root of the tree. Thorntree forests only grow naturally near the River. The roots of the tree must constantly be fed its water (or in the case of a Thornhouse, have the water imported to it). Unless this happens, the wicked thorns cannot be sustained but will shrivel up like a waterskin with a large leak in it. This is because each of those thorns is not
solid, but is actually honeycombed with hollow compartments, each filled with the Dragon's poisonous flow. Without the River's water, the tree produces none of its so-called 'swords of conflict.' Learn now the true nature of all of the Dragon's thorns: those who use them, actually infect the people they scar with a slow, painful contaminant, a concentrated form of the River's poison. And all the while, they are in turn poisoning themselves just by touching or carrying the cursed barbs.
"It is only natural for men to have conflicts with one another. And men and women think that by taking up thorns they can settle these—whether in their own hands or in the hands of a paid Dagger. In this way, the deluded people of Dragonsback stick and are stuck each day by the poison of the Dragon. Many end up stockpiling thorns: either by gathering them for defense or by collecting and treasuring those that have been used against them.
"But only the Gryphon's Son can free a wounded man from his accumulation of thorns. People don't realize that men who gather thorns as trophies actually are building nests in which dragons find a home. That old man has been handling thorns for many years. He has also been accumulating thorns of offense for a long, long time, through many, many conflicts. He now has nest enough for many many dragons."
A solemn but wiser Jason looked his mentor in the face, urging, "This is a sad place. I want to leave here."
Silently Nathan increased his pace but also unslung his lute. Without a spoken word of introduction, he softly began to sing. To Jason, his teacher's slow, eerie melody seemed almost a dirge. The words of hopeless despair brought moisture to his unseasoned youthful eyes.
"All the land is full of sadness:
Mournful are the nights and days
Of the tears that wander slowly
From Dragon's heights into its bays.
Tears are falling
Dark waters calling:
Downward is the flow of man.
Tears are spilling,
Ocean's filling;
So Sadness floods the Dragon's land.
All the land is full of sadness:
Mournful are the nights and days
Of the tears that wander slowly
From Dragon's heights into its bays." *15
After a long silence, broken only by the steady rhythmic sounds of the plodding of their feet and shifting of their gear, Jason dared to softly ask, "Are we the 'tears' in that song?"
Without even turning to look at the youth, Nathan whispered, "Yes. It is an old, old song, but I am certain that was its intent." and then he continued on in silence.
RAVEN
“If I have to sit through another one of these stupid lectures," fumed Kaleb at the empty walls of his nearly barren room, his words echoing loudly in his ears, “I’m gonna’… I’m gonna’ hit someone! What a waste of time! As though I don’t have anything better to do with my life than make comparative charts of water depths and draw maps showing how many people from what area drank what kind of water. Who cares?! Why should it bother me if a few people get in over their heads?”
The volcanic eruption paused in its fury as Kaleb considered his own words. “Well, maybe,” he added sadly, “I don’t have anything better to do, right now. But I’d sure like to find something! First I was stuck in the orphanage. Now I’m stuck here! I want to go out and live my own life for a change without someone always tellin’ me what to do! It just isn’t fair!”
A soft knock on his wooden door startled the disgruntled youth and filled him with sudden panic as he realized that his words may have been heard by someone in the hallway.
Rebellious words brought swift and public reprisal to any who dared use them inside the walls of Arden Knox College. The minuscule amount of privilege enjoyed by such a student evaporated into nothingness if he were bold enough to question the established system in any way. Stoic fatalism, the cardinal principle of the school, found expression in rules etched visibly into the scaline blocks of its passageways and invisibly into the harder heads of its professors: “We are not an instrument of change. We measure change, but must never participate in it.” They would say, “To participate in change ruins the perspective of the observer. Impartiality cannot Watch and Do at the same time.”
Quietly, a much more subdued Kaleb answered, “Who is it?”
“A friend who feels the same way you do,” came the whispered reply.
For a moment Kaleb could not believe what he had heard. Fear escalated up into the base of his skull and throat causing his pulse to pound in his ears like a huge drum. He had been heard! Then the breath he had been holding released in an audible sigh of relief. This person identified himself as a friend.
“Can I come in?” asked the unknown male voice from the other side of the door.
Momentarily perplexed, Kaleb did not know he had any friends at the college. All the students (too subdued by the oppressive atmosphere of the school or too busy under the burden of imposed studies) found little opportunity to promote friendships with each other. After all, saving lives would always be a serious and dedicated calling requiring the utmost discipline. At least that is what Kaleb had been told. Though never publicly stated, everyone understood that distracting things like friendships and emotional attachments were clearly discouraged.
Bereft of his brother’s companionship and support, Kaleb wanted and needed a friend in this dismal place (especially one who shared his secret dissatisfaction). So great was his need that it never occurred to him to question or distrust the offered friendship.
“Certainly, you can come in!” having made his decision, he called out warmly to the stranger. The sudden realization of a conspiracy joined caused his heart rate to pound once more. A warm flush of excitement caressed him like a mid-summer breeze as the door swung inward.
Even with the door standing open he had trouble at first distinguishing the speaker from the darkened hallway beyond.
Then the black wall that had obscured his vision bent toward him and a grinning head popped under the doorjamb, revealing, at last, the true nature of Kaleb’s visitor. He was huge; by far the tallest and broadest young man Kaleb had ever seen. By no means fat, the gargantuan youth reminded Kaleb of the unbroken column he had seen on Dragonshead: tall and solid as uncut scaline.
Although he appeared several years Kaleb’s senior, his youthful face seeming out of place on the massive body. Kaleb thought of himself as above average in height but compared to this smiling stranger he stood but a sapling shadowed under a mighty tree.
“Hi!” spoke the giant reaching out a tree-limb arm to firmly grip Kaleb’s hand in greeting. His deep voice, though hushed, boomed affably in the narrow confines of the block wall room, “My name’s Raven. You must be Kaleb Ben-Timnon.”
Multiple surprises held Kaleb’s tongue for a moment.
I’ve never seen this smiling giant at the school before, he thought. He’s certainly someone I would’ve remembered! Yet he knows my name and has called me a friend!
Maybe because he really didn't want to know the answer, Kaleb never fully asked himself that certain question. After all, even if this fellow resembled a certain giant man described to him back up on Dragonshead… Besides that guy up there was messin' with those two old Swimmers, so he couldn't have been all bad…
“They sure grow ‘em big in your part of Dragonsback,” Kaleb finally said with what he hoped was a friendly sounding laugh. “How do you know me, I’ve never seen you around here before?”
“Yeah, I think they fed me fertilizer when I was smaller,” laughed Raven, “I still taste it every time I come around this place! No, you haven’t seen me before. I’m only a part-time student here under special arrangements. It makes being here almost bearable knowing that I can leave when I want to.”
“Boy, do I wish I had something worked out like that for me!” sighed Kaleb, with envy dripping from his words. Remembering that he could be heard from the hall, he lowered his voice before adding, “This place is driving me crazier than a bug caught in deep water! I didn
’t choose to come here in the first place. Besides, I don’t even know if I want to be an enforcer, helping other people not to use the River, when I’ve never experienced any of it myself. How can I know if it’s good or bad if I only have their word for it?”
“I know exactly how you feel! Too many meaningless rules. Too little life to know what life is if it bit them on the nose (or someplace else on their other end)! Too much effort that’s never gonna’ mean a thing in the real world!” The massive youth did not bother to lower his voice but fairly shouted his accusations.
Kaleb cringed and raised his finger to his lips in warning, but Raven only laughed and continued all the louder, "How can the teachers in this school judge those other people they say they’re trying to help? What gives them the right to decide what the 'absolutes' are? What standard should be used to judge others, anyway? Some half memorized words sung by fanatics about a mythical Gryphon and the make-believe eagles that serve Him? How much better to go someplace where they teach tolerance and respect for all men's wishes!"
The giant’s shouted words filled the tiny room like crashing waves. In near panic, Kaleb used both hands in a vain attempt to signal that his companion should lower his voice.
Raven laughed a great roaring belly laugh at Kaleb’s expense. “Don’t worry, my friend,” he continued. “You are safe from reprisal from your stuffy professors when Raven is nearby! And as far as your wish to live a life like mine… I think something just might be arranged!”
The Dragon's Back Trilogy Page 20