An Old Man Recalls

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley,” said the old man. The little girl shot upright in bed, punched her pillows, and settled in.

“You should be asleep,” he said, glancing out the window at the sky.

“Not you, too,” moaned the little girl.

He poured himself a cup of tea, then set the teapot down with a tink. He picked up the cup as he considered his tale - tendrils of steam reached through his scraggly beard and tickled his nose, stoking embers of memory:

“After the second seawave, when all was wiped from the Great Prairie, and the clay that made the sacred earthenware had dried and turned to dust - our ancestors sang of pearls.”

The old man sniffed his tea. Through the corner of his eye, he could see the little girl listening with rapt attention. The old man chanced a hot sip. He continued after some time:

“When the ancestors ran ashore in a ship built by the people of the Western World, their spirits were considerably dampened. The voyage had not been a smooth one: having to flee the coastal villages at a moment’s switch, the ancestors were left with little option for getaway - few onboard knew the workings of western technology - so, when the sea turned black, none knew how to escape inevitability; as the Wave met with the ship, and a Kraken reveled in the catch of prey, half those onboard were taken by Oblivion.”

The old man’s voice had thinned. He took another sip and cleared it. The little girl had settled into her pillows, the excitement at having stayed awake passed her bedtime quite forgotten.

“In time, the ancestors elected Torūk of the Hidden Mountains for Elder and the other contenders were slain for good measure.”

The little girl’s eyes widened.

“I thought you might like that little detail,” the old man said with a wink.

“Are the dragons coming yet?”

“In time,” he said. “Now: Torūk the Elder divvied land equitably among the ancestors; tradition would have him divide the land according to station, however seeing his people downcast and mourning their losses, the songs recount that he felt they’d lost enough, and all had a right to gain in this New Land.

“He then appointed the heads of all the wealthiest families to Court and bound together their resources to harness the floodwater and move it through the Valley to the first settlements, so the people would have fresh water.

“Through considerable effort, the site where the Great Prairie once lay was cleared, and in its place, Torūk planted the Farms from his own stock—”

“This is boring.”

“Then you must not be as interested in dragons as I thought…”

“I am I am!”

“Then you must wait for them to come…”

The little girl grumbled, crossed her arms, and looked out the window. The corner of the old man’s mouth twitched with the tension of a smile, but he maintained his sage neutrality:

“A mutiny was brewing.” - the little girl’s attention was sparked - “Once every moon Torūk and his family were honored with a sacrificial feast. One evening, the sharp-eyed Bamford noticed a new addition to Torūk’s ceremonial mantle: a sash of pearls strung across his barrel chest, each within a spectrum of color relative to the other and about the size of an eyeball.”

The little girl giggled.

“This Bamford, one of the great innkeepers - a pillar of the coastal community - had soured when his self-submitted nomination for Elder was laughed away in favor of others.”

“He was quite lucky then, wasn’t he?” The little girl said.

“He was indeed, although he did not see it that way.” The little girl was mulling this over when the old man continued:

“In the moons since the Valley had been established, Bamford had grown thin and grey and his eyes, for which he would later become known, had hardened like black diamonds.

“Through time, Bamford the Eyed kept watch on the pearls, for he’d only ever seen anything like them in an engraving in a book, and they had roused suspicion in him. The sash went largely unnoticed by most for many moons - until the Suncoast Babble.”

“Dragons…” whispered the little girl.

“Bamford the Eyed hatched a plan. When Torūk the Elder called for one moon’s feast to take the form of a Babble, instead of a sacrifice, and for it to be held in the height of the Valley, along the ridge of the Farms, in celebration of his birthday—Bamford offered his services as innkeeper to cook the Meal. Torūk was delighted, for he had heard of Bamford’s Forrest Stew and Fairy bread, and happily accepted the service.

“On the night of the Babble, with all the Valley in attendance, it came time for Bamford to present his selected meal—a Steaming Crab from the reaches of the Indigo Sea. The Meal was met with gasps and applause from the crowd and the smell - of sea breeze and lemon - wafted on the air. Torūk was delighted and even joined-in to appreciate Bamford, clapping him on the forearm—which happened to be holding the tray. Bamford knew Torūk was prone to excitement - for he had quite settled into his role as Elder.

“As the crab twirled toward the ground, it let out a sharp plume of steam - enough to engulf the tiny stage and obscure the vision of all. Bamford recounted later: he pulled a knife from his belt, and set to slit only the tie of the sash which contained, he had noticed, three very unusual tricolored pearls, light blue, pink, and black—but as he did, the crab hit the floor and let out a piercing scream - Torūk jumped - and Bamford’s knife slipped, slicing the sash clean in two. It fell to the floor and the pearls scattered like petals in a pond. Bamford eyed the three pearls, blessédly still connected with each other. He snatched them up, made his apologies all around, and quietly fled the Suncoast.

“Most of the pearls were gathered together and resewn then and there into a headpiece - a kind of crown, if you will - by three matriarchs, but a precious few were kept as mementos—”

“Are the dragons coming now?” Moaned the little girl. She yawned and rubbed her eyes for longer than she needed.

“Yes,” said the old man.

“Finally.”

“The incident at the Seacoast Babble was soon forgotten by all - but in the suns and moons that followed, Bamford set to till the roots of dissent: Where do you suppose the pearls came from? ‘They're his mother's, surely,’ said some of the First People. Others said: ‘They were his wife's, of course. Part of her dowery. She gave them for his regalia, as she should.’ But the Elder came to the Valley with just as much as we did; all the cargo was thrown at the Kraken, where would they have kept them? Bamford was often met with silence and blinking when he raised this point - leaving him to deliver the coup de grâce: I reckon he found them.

“Always, the dawning of vague comprehension would flick across the face of his listener and he would quickly take his leave - so skilled was he at seeing just what was needed.

“Bamford knew the compassion and generosity Torūk showed in the Valley’s natal seasons of the Valley had set expectations among the First People, however unconscious they may have been. And by all accounts, the hunter from the Hidden Mountains had lived up to them. But Torūk had paid a great price; the great man was withering from an illness unknown to the First People, and Kali, his daughter, was poised to marry—”

“DRAAAAAAGOOOOOOONNNNNSSSSSSS!”

“Yes, all right, all right!”

“During what would become Torūk the Elder’s final moon, the Valley crumbled. It was dead night and all were asleep, but a brewing - a hatching few.” The little girl quaked with excitement. “I believe there were three instances - one near the Seacoast, one in the Centrix, and…” the old man paused for effect, “one in this house.”

“Awesome,” the little girl said, bewildered.

“They were within star beams of each other—the first, I believe was the Centrix dwelling. The Dragon hatched—”

“Did it break the roof!? What part of this house was destroyed!?”

“Now wait just a minute—”

“I’ve been waiting!” The little girl had him there. The old man took a deep breath:

“Very well. I shall make this final bit as succinct as I—”

“Sus…sus…”

“I will make it very fast.” The little girl smiled and settled in.

“The Centrix dwelling was the first house. The dragon hatched unbeknownst to the owners, for they, as I’ve said before, had forgotten all about the Seacoast. It burst through the sock drawer in which the owner had kept their pearl, coughed a tiny flame at the downstairs curtains as it shot through the window glass, and soared into the night air—”

“But how big was it?”

“Not very.”

“Oh…”

“But, as it adjusted in flight, it built muscle, and by the time it had met with its two siblings, it had tripled in size.” The little girl’s mouth dropped in awe.

“The second hatchling came from this very house—in this very room.” The little girl giggled maniacally.

“Where, where, where—”

“From what I hear, they kept it in a tea tin, beneath the floorboards—right under your bed.”

“My…bed?” The little girl had gone white.

“That’s right,” said the old man. “It nosed through the floor, wriggled out from the bed, and zoomed through the window here” - he indicated the window right above the bed - “where it smashed the lower pane.” When the little girl gave no response, the old man ran on:

“The final hatchling came from a shack on the Seacoast. This one, observers noted later, was the largest of the three. When it hatched, it took out the entire wall, being made into an earring—”

“An entire wall?”

“The house was in danger of collapse.”

“NO!”

“Yes! It roared into the air, all the way to Torūk’s deathbed” - the little girl’s eyes were glassy with attention - “in one swoop, the dragon ended Torūk's suffering, took up the Elder Crown, and soared away.” The old man wiped his brow with a sleeve, he had given quite the performance with this last stretch.

“And then what happened?”

“To sleep,” the old man was final.

“No!” Whined the little girl. “More, more!”

“The moonlight is fully spilled—”

“MOREmoreMOREmoreMOREmore—”

“Very well—The dragons soared through the sky above the Valley, bathing the moonlit streets in shadow. The Knight’s Watch wasted no time: they sounded Eternity’s Bell and sent the Rookie to alert the Elder—”

“EEEEEWWWWW!”

“A nasty surprise, surely…later, Bamford would claim he was the first on the scene. According to his song, he claims the Knights held one dragon captive and were working to bring the largest of them down, having already lassoed him in midair.”

“I would like to have lassoed a dragon,” the little girl said. The old man chuckled.

“It’s not what you think—but that’s for another night’s story.” The old man was again very firm with the little girl, who knew she had no more option and resigned.

“Now,” said the old man, “we come to the end: the songs that were written about that night make Bamford as valiant as Torūk ever was—some even sing it more so, for the threat he faced would eventually make him Bamford the Elder.

“As the Knights worked to maintain tight hold of the strengthening dragon, Bamford shot into action - not by pulling a sword, or using fire against it—but by brandishing the string of tricolored pearls.

“The dragon stopped thrashing at once. And then, with a great yawn—spat fire at every thing in its wake.”

“Oh no, Bamford!” Yelled the little girl. The old man halted about a half second at this, corrected, and continued:

“You mustn’t forget: Bamford was cunning, he’d already seen where he had to go. You see, an ale-barrel of rainwater was a mere leap away. He’d calculated just enough time between engaging the dragon and his salvation: as the dragon busied itself with destruction, Bamford drew his trusty knife and submerged his entire arm and head in the barrel. In an instant, Bamford pulled himself out of the water—and rushed the dragon. He soared through the sky, tongues of flame coming within an inch of snatching his life—and pierced the dragon square in the heart.”

The little girl let out a yelp.

“The dragon roared a great flame at the moon, twisted in midair, and fell to the ground in a cacophony of dirt and stone. It was dead.”

“Oh—I don’t think I’ll ever go to sleep.”

“Yet, you must,” said the old man; he sorted out her blankets for her, and helped her under.

“Really,” she was out of breath as if she had just slayed the dragon herself. “I’m much too excited.”

“I’ve gone on far too long,” the old man said, picking up his tea tray. “You must try.”

The little girl knew he had done her a great service. “Alright,” she said finally and pulled her pillows down proper.

“Goodnight—”

“Oh wait!” She said. “I forgot, one more thing…”

“What is it?” The old man was finally losing patience.

“If there are still dragons in the Valley, why haven’t I seen one?” The old man looked at her. Her eyes were large, glassy, and brown like a Doe’s. She was so innocent. So unmarked.

“Nobody’s seen one in a long time.”

“Why?”

“Well…” he thought quickly the simplest way to tell her: “after Bamford was elected Elder for the slaying, he…the First People…they were eaten.”

“Eaten?”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t what I expected at all.”

“The songs say they are quite good - delectable enough to keep for several feasts.”

“No, thank you.” The old man turned to go. “But there are still some, aren’t there?” He thought a moment.

“There are.”

“I should like to see one some day.”

“Would you?”

“Oh yes.” The old man put down his tray and sat at the little girl’s bedside. He reached beneath his beard and pulled off a chain that held two pearls, a smaller one atop a larger one, and showed it to her. They sparkled in the moonlight. She gave a gasp.

“They’re so pretty.”

“These are pearls from the night of the Babble.”

“Really? Where did you get—”

“SHH SHH,” the old man held up his hand to her lips. “You mustn’t speak too loud just now.”

“Sorry,” she whispered. She looked into the old man’s eyes - they had gone cloudy and he had stopped blinking.

“Who holds these,” he said, his voice hoarse, “holds the keys—to the Dragorianadi.” The little girl looked at him. A wave unlike anything she had felt before rippled from her stomach to her eyes, which widened and welled with tears.

“You’re scaring me.”

“Take them,” he said. “Please. Take them.” The little girl hesitated. The old man blinked. He laid chain on the blanket before her. She picked them up. They were heavier than she thought they’d be. She fell in love with them.

“For me?”

“If you wish to see a dragon one day,” the old man said. His voice was normal again and his blinking was regular.

“Thank you,” said the little girl. “Thank you very much.” She placed them around her neck.

“Be sure and keep them warm.” The old man picked up his tea tray. “And see to it those pearls are not separated. That no damage comes to them.”

“Oh, I will.”

“To sleep now.” He dipped his pinky into the dregs of his tea and drew a heart on her forehead. Without delay, her eyes grew heavy; and with a kiss on the forehead, the little girl was away in sleep—she was riding the back of a mighty dragon - the clouds running through her hair - the great beast’s lungs heaving between her thighs as it carried her over mountains and streams—her sights set on her next big adventure.