Chapter one

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Occasionally , one or two came down from the Frontier Mountains to look for food, when things were scarce for them, but that happened twice a year at the very most. Even then most of them simply flew over Baro and went back to their nests. There hadn’t been a fatality for the last forty season cycles. And that too was a child no more than five autumns old, too stubborn, or young , or both, to heed the alarms of the Red nosed swifts, followed by the bell of Jinpa Dorji.

However, this spring they were at least half a dozen in the space of two moons. They hadn’t been soaring close to any of the villages nestled at the foothills of the Frontier Mountains but with every new dragon, they seemed to get closer and closer to the fertile lands of the villages of the nation of The Valley of Perfectia.

Baro was a borderland village at the foot of Mt. LanChenDzo , the second smallest of the range of the Frontier Mountains. It had a strong economy, gathered from the bounty of the fertile land which provided the villagers with giant harvests. It was also one of the villages which could be conscripted if there were to be a war or a battle.

That was an inane idea , most thought. All the cantons lived in peace with each other since six hundred season cycles ago. And anyway, the world ended at the Frontier mountains. The dragons were the last form of life that could live so high up.

Jetsan roused from his mid night nap and felt around his room for his possessions. His glass flute was still where he left it. So was his Hillpeacock feather still oozing with sap from the last time he was working on his story. However, his bag of tokens was missing.

He let out a synonym for a rude word . He couldn’t use rude words, as he was far too middle born. The low borns could use it as they were closer to objects than to Yetis. The high borns could use it because they could pay people off. So, he had to settle for a synonym.

He was very sure who had taken his bag. It was none other than his neighbour and so call friend. He liked to steal. Most thieves would never tell others that they steal items, unless they were very stupid, but Kelsang took pride in telling everyone that he was a thief. So, when items went missing, they knew where they were.

Jetsan walked outside of his dwelling, careful not to wake any of his family. His mother was an only daughter , thankfully, and his uncles had all been married off four season cycles ago. This meant that the Chorten was emptier than before. The only other creature to stir would be Kapu but he daren’t whistle for him in case he wakes his family.

There would be other people around outside, but everyone had not gone full nocturnal yet. It was not warm enough for the summer moons, which made going out during the day unbearable. Right now, it was still spring, so some other people worked during the day and night and slept in three sittings.

However, when Jetsan stepped out on his porch, he couldn’t see anyone out. From his porch he could see Kelsang’s house in the fog. The fog was very unusual Jetsan pondered.

It was hot for starters and not the crisp cool sort you would get on a spring moon night. That should have been his first clue . Jetsan tiptoed through the short grass that made his garden and walked down the short and twisting path that led to the cluster of Chortens where Kelsang’s dwelling lay.

For some reason, it was extremely hot, and the air smelled a new smell. He took his hand and wiped some sweat from his brow. He wished he had brought his waterskin with him. But Kelsang only lived 500 footsteps away.

Then, suddenly, very suddenly, the fog grew and became very wind like. That was very odd. Jetsan had a worrying though dance through his mind. What if the crier had fallen asleep at her task and not rung any bells? He paused but then remembered that he had not heard any Red nosed swifts and they normally are active at any time of day. He was being paranoid he thought to himself.

Jetsan walked on more but realised that the fog was so confusing and warm, he was lost. He was only 500 footsteps from his house and was 14 winters old. He looked in every direction but couldn’t see anything but an opening in the ground a few steps away. It wasn’t enough for caving, but he could stay down there till the fog died down. So, he quickened his pace.

Only then did he see something that he never would have imagined. The opening was where the fog was coming from. And then it was almost too late.

A jet of fire burst through the opening, leaving Jetsan only a few instances to react.

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Occasionally , one or two came down from the Frontier Mountains to look for food, when things were scarce for them, but that happened twice a year at the very most. Even then most of them simply flew over Baro and went back to their nests. There hadn’t been a fatality for the last forty season cycles. And that too was a child no more than five autumns old, too stubborn, or young , or both, to heed the alarms of the Red nosed swifts, followed by the bell of Jinpa Dorji.

However now for the first time, there were dragons under the valley.