From the Ashes

FROM THE ASHES

 There weren’t always dragons in the valley. The bards teach that centuries ago (the number of centires varies depending on who you ask), men were the dominant species upon the Earth. Through advanced learning, mankind had conqured the planet and had no concerns beyond the trivial or the economic.

 Then one dark day, while the people of the great civilization went about their feverish pace of work and play, the vanquished earth struck back. The dragons rose from the ground like titanic worms and conquered the planet with ease.

The human race was taken aback, for it had been millennia since the great serpentine titans showed their faces, and were now regarded as myth. The wise men had said it was impossible by the laws of nature that these beasts could subsist on the food, water and air of Earth. But on “Brimstone Day,” dragons tread those wise men under foot even as they spoke in their great lecture halls, setting the rubble aflame.

 There was no battle. From the instant the monsters erupted from the earth, they were the masters of the turf upon which their talons gripped, and the skies their jagged wings clawed.

 Since then humanity, which had been well connected by roads, signals, and the vast libraries of a people accomplished beyond their wisdom, now scrambled desperately to salvage their place in the world. Families huddled together into small groups called “bevies” and traveled only when necessary.

 With the libraries burned and the sages devoured, no wise men existed to educate or remind the masses of their history, location, or even their ancestral names. Soon the vast knowledge of the ancients melted away. Most people knew nothing of the world beyond the distance they could walk in a day. Each person lived under the haunting memory that seemed to cry from their bones even if they couldn’t know it in their heads, that they were the vestige of a mighty race living not only in the shadow of their new masters, but of their own past.

Occasionally items from that civilized past were found half buried or burned, but could not be identified by the people. They only knew such items did not belong in this world, so they would shake their heads, cauterize their curiosity, and attempt to find a practical use for these mysterious items, or leave them where they were found.     

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 Cassandra nervously topped a hill on her belly, peeking over the packed dirt into the clearing below. To her relief, she saw a new bevy. The bevy lifestyle replaced the archaic construct of a village or a city, with their large numbers now regarded as a relic of yesteryear. Bevies were usually a small number of stone houses with earthen roofs numbering no more than ten. Their design was to look like the forest floor to flying dragons above, and be unburnable to any dragon that may set fire to it anyway.

 The sixteen-year-old girl, dressed in a drab brown tunic and green leggings, took another glance around her. Seeing no dragons, she sprang to her feet and sprinted down the road for the last one hundred and fifty yards to the Bevy and its dozen or so members going about their quiet business.

 “Halt, or I shall shoot!”

 Cassandra put her hands up and brought her feet to an instantaneous stop as she skid down the leafy slope for a few feet before stopping. “I come in peace,” she shouted short of breath. She heard a rustle in the bushes. Had she not heard the voice, this would have terrified her. It was well known that some dragons could change the color of their scales, and though bigger than a house, might look like a wall of trees or a large boulder until you were feet away.

 The rustle came from a solitary sentry – a gaunt, scared, desperate man who held a bow, notched with an arrow. “Speak your name,” he said flatly.

 “Cassandra, Cassandra of the Lakotana.” She chided herself for running into a bevy without alerting the sentry first.

 The man’s eyes narrowed into cynical lines. “Ain’t never heard of no Lakotana.”

 “I suspect not, good Sir. I have traveled two days to reach you.”

 “Two days? Alone?” he asked sceptically.

 “Not alone. My dog accompanied me until we encountered one of them.”

 “You didn’t lead it here did you?”

 “No, this was a dragon of the swamp, and there he stayed.”

 “What do you want with our bevy? We have no provisions to spare, but we do have a couple of eligible bachelors.” This he said because trade and marriage were the only reasons people risked traveling between bevies.

 His face turned foxy and her voice turned resolute. “No, I am not here to find a husband or trade for provisions. I am looking for a Dragon Slayer.”

 The sentry lowered his bow and wiped his forehead. Listen love, had you come literally any other day of my life, then I would have laughed you to scorn and sent you away; but today you are in luck. Two crazy strangers have entered our bevy – a Wizard and a Knight. They're stirring up trouble with their crazy talk and frankly, if you could get them to follow you out of here back to Lakotana then I’ll be all the more relieved for it.”

 Without waiting for him to point her in, she marched towards a stone hut, which she could see even from a distance was overcrowded. Being a short girl, she stood atop an overturned bucket to look inside over the backs of taller men.

Inside she saw a wizened old man with a long beard, large hat and a walking stick. He wore a brown robe and had his grey hair pulled back and braided. Beside him stood a tall man with the austere face of a statue. He wore something she had never seen before – armor. It was highly polished and reflected a faint, red shimmer in it. In his hand, he held a tall halberd with a long spike and a deadly axe head. A faint white scar skipped over one of his dark brown eyes.

 The wizard amazed the curious with tales of the adventures he and his grim companion had lived. He explained that he was one of the few people in the world who knew how to read ancient languages, and that through much study, he had learned how it is that a man may travel without catching the eye of the Dragons. They had traveled the globe in search of things to read, anything bearing the written letter he sought. This had employed his time for the last few decades. By this method he had learned of things forgotten for centries. He said he knew the shape of the earth and of many of its ancient cities, mountains, and oceans. He described wonderful new animals, plants and environments these people had never heard of.

 After storytelling and spell binding, the Wizard paused. He straightened his glasses (something that was a marvel to these people in of themselves) and his voice changed from a high, excited, and strained voice to a low, nasally drone. “I thank you for the attention you have lavished upon myself and my brave companion, but now we come to the point. Through my travels I have learned of the ruins of what was once a great city to the southeast of this place. It is a place where an enlightened clan of men may rebuild a civilization on the ruins of an old one. The location will provide land for settling, a harbor for sailing and most amazing of all, there are miles of caves beneath the earth. These are not ordinary caves, which though they protect us from dragons, are dangerous and difficult to navigate. These are manmade caves.”

 For the first time the knight spoke. “We have also learned of ways to kill dragons. Their powerful race will require centuries to eradicate, but they lost control of this planet once, and if we prepare our resistance now, then one day our descendants will likewise reconquer and dominate as we were intended to.”

The wizard took over. “For this to happen I propose we relocate as many people as possible from as many bevies as we can to this ancient city. I have seen it and though it is in ruins, its immense towers and broad roads defy description and testify to the power, knowledge, cleverness, and magic of the ancients.”

 Cassandra sat enthralled, unable to believe her ears, but as she watched, the crowd went from adulating the wizard for his entertainment to jeering him for asking them to trade the safety of their Bevy for the danger of this venture. The wizard tried every appeal, from the intellectual to the sentimental, and finished by challenging the manhood of some of the men and the heart of the women, saying, “Will you doom your children to live and die in this fearful hallow as your ancestors have done? Are we men without chests and women without hearts?”

 Rather than appealing to the crowd, these challenges incensed them, and the knight inserted himself between the wizard and the crowd. He lowered the tip of his halberd at the crowd promising painful death to any who trespassed upon the dais. None dared challenge the metal of the armored warrior, with his taught muscles and his formidable face. The adventurers were permitted to leave the Bevy if they promised to never return or attempt to recruit from their members again.

 Cassandra slipped out of the house and waited for the strangers outside. She saw them exit and make their way down the same path by which she entered the Bevy. They proceeded boldly as though neither mobs nor dragons concerned them.

She ran to them and was about to levy a polite bow when she saw them recoil at her. The knight lowered his halberd and the wizard reached into his robe to grab who knew what. With her hands outstretched, she said, “Good masters, I come in peace!. Please hear what I say.”

She proceeded to step closer and the knight thrust the halberd forward, almost reaching her exposed throat. “Stay back, lass!” Up close she could see grey hairs in his short beard

“I come only to speak with you,” she said.

 The wizard shuffled forward and pushed the halberd aside. Drawing close to her, he whispered. “Listen lass, there is a dragon nearby, and if we don’t cover you, you will draw it to us.” He drew a vile of yellow-green liquid from his sleeve. He opened it and dabbed it on her neck, forehead and wrists as he whispered. “This is how you disguise yourself from them. They can smell human blood from miles away. Even though this liquid has very little smell to you or I, it will cover the smell of blood and add an agent that makes us repulsive to them.”

 Astounded, she asked, “You mean with a few drops of liquid they will not attack us?”

 “They will not eat us,” the knight clarified. They will still attack in defense of their nests or eggs.”

 “I am one of a very few wizards who know how this is made. If news of it gets out, then I could not possibly produce it quickly enough for the crowds that would form, so we keep it secret. If you speak of this, we will deny it,” he said putting away the vial. “Now lass, what did you wish to speak about? And before you ask, all the stories I told are absolutely true. We are in a hurry to the next bevy and do not have time to argue with skeptics.”

 I believe you,” said Cassandra. “I have come to this village to find a dragon slayer. Rumors have circulated that one was near at hand. And now that I have found you, I know you are the ones of which I heard.”

 “Sir Artimus has slain dragons, but rest assured, the way of killing them to which I earlier alluded is not simply a matter of attacking them with sword or blasting them with magic. There exists a series of techniques that may be employed depending on the situation. Some require brave men with blades while others never require that blood be shed. Either way, we are not dragon slayers as such. We are teachers and civilization builders. Our time is short. If your bevy wants me to slay a dragon for them, then tis better for them to abandon their hole and follow us to the ancient city. There they will find safety in numbers and fortification. Otherwise, they will sit like fools in this hovel and they will die alone in the bloody mud.”

 Cassandra thought before speaking. “I believe you may persuade our bevy to follow you if you can but convince my brother. He is the acting leader following the recent death of our father.”

 The Wizard and Sir Artimus looked at each other skeptically. “And why is it that your people should be so quick to leave their situation?” asked the old man.

 “It is because a dragon’s nest was recently built near us. The mother is dreadful enough, but the hatchlings crawl about like scaly demons the size of large dogs attacking our children and animals. They’ve made our situation impossible. So, I was sent to find either a dragon slayer or at least a way of escape.

 “They sent you alone?” the Wizard asked skeptically.

 “No. My cousin went with me, but we had barely left the bevy when a juvenile dragon twice the size of a horse attacked, and my cousin died defending me.”

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 Free to walk boldly under the protection of the wizard’s potion, Cassandra was able to see the world in a detail she had never before enjoyed since she was no longer having to dart from one shelter to another. She even watched a dragon pass overhead as though they were invisible.

 Soon they came upon Cassandra’s own bevy. She led her new friends along a muddy trail to the first stone hut. Her mother ran out and hugged her. The wizard and Sir Artimus proceeded towards the hut and a large and powerful young man as big as Sir Artimus rushed out with a spear in hand. The strapping youth was at least six feet and three inches tall with muscular arms shooting out of a sleeveless burlap shirt.

 “Why have you followed my sister?” he demanded. “I am the chief and I will shrink from no threat!”

 “Bartholemew,” said Cassandra, “these men are here by my invite.”

 “Be still, I asked them!”

 “Then we shall answer,” said the wizard. “I am called Samuel. I am a wizard who seeks to rebuild the world that was lost and end the reign of terror brought upon us by the dragons, our infernal despots! To this end, I will lead those that are fearless on a journey to a great ancient city so that we may grow in safety.”

 Bartholemew laughed with his strong face turned skyward. “Sister, mother sent you to retrieve a dragon slayer, not mad men. Though I must say, this one is at least amusing with his clawed hands, pointed fox face and those absurd glass circles on his face. He is a fit candidate to feed to the dragons as a distraction!”

 “Shall I put an end to this annoyance?” asked Sir Artimus fingering the tip of the halberd.

 “No,” said Samuel. “He is the key to our success, according to his sister.”

 Bartholemew looked with annoyance at Cassandra. “You brought them here specifically to fight with me?”

 “No. I brought them here to save us from living like fearful worms under a log until we pass into determined oblivion. Do not fight them.”

 “Fight them, I will! Think, sister! Father would have said the same. You do not know these men. They could be thieves and frauds. Especially this one,” he said pointing at Sir Artimus. “No doubt you are his bodyguard. No doubt he’s paying you in some unscrupulous way to protect him while he robs everybody blind.”

 Sir Artimus stepped forward and Samuel reached out to stop him. The knight protested. I cannot let that go, master. It does not fall within the realm of chivalry to endure such insolence.”

 “Don’t lose the objective. We will lead from here those that will come and if none will come, then they will have chosen their fate.”

 Bartholemew’s eyes narrowed following a clever grin. “I propose a wager, bold ones. I will fight this hard-looking knight in a duel reminiscent of the days of old. If you are victorious, then my family and I will join you on your mad quest. The bevy will follow rather than be leaderless. If I triumph however, then you give us all the possessions you have down to your clothes, weapons and tools. Truth be told, I like your sword, knight and, old man, I may have use of that glass on your face to start a fire.”

 To Cassandra’s surprise Samuel cooly looked at Sir Artimus with a knowing smirk. “You will triumph, yes?”

 “Without a doubt.” Sir Artimus stepped forward and Samuel stopped him with the back of his hand.

“Don’t kill him. He may be useful later,” said Samuel.

For the first time, Bartholemew showed a lack of confidence when he saw that neither man as much as flinched before his size and aggression.

“But alas,” continued Samuel, “you two are dissimilarly armed.”

“You are right, Master,” said Sir Artimus. Then to Bartholemew he said, “I have a halberd, a sword and a dagger. If you do not have these, then we will have to try different methods.”

Cassandra spoke up again. “Bartholemew keeps another spear inside.” When her brother looked at her speechless, she said innocently, “You wouldn’t miss out would you?”

Looking to the resolute face of Sir Artimus, Bartholemew said, Not for Heaven or Earth.”

“You have no armor,” said Sir Artimus. “I will remove mine, so we are even.” This he did quickly and gave each piece to Samuel.

 Once the armor was stripped, Sir Artimus also removed his tunic revealing a torso that was second only to Bartholemew in virility and strength. His muscles were large, and his tawny skin was scarred with dull white lines testifying to a hundred previous fights.

 Bartholemew was taken back but unphased by the brawn of his opponent. The young man lowered his spear tip and fell back into a fighting stance. “I’ve conquered a dozen fools who would have taken my bevy for its resources, but a knight will be a different kind of glory. I’ll mount your helmet upon my hearth, and those who’ve forgotten the world before the Dragons will still sing of my prowess!”

Sir Artimus barely contained a smirk as he assumed a relaxed low guard. The fighting soon commenced. The two appeared evenly matched at first as they circled, feinted and parried. They both found the other to be patient, courageous and strong, but as the fight progressed, and each had tried his favorite moves and seen them fail, Bartholemew’s face began to falter while Sir Artimus retained his cool stoicism, refusing to even part his lips as his breathing increased.

Eventually, after Bartholemew’s youthful strength began to fatigue, he attempted to break the older man through a flurry of repeated blows. A pair of nimble footsteps placed Sir Artimus in a place to trip his foe and see the young Hercules fall to the ground. Placing the spear tip beneath his chin, he said, “Yield, young man. For I would have you as a brother rather than a trophy.”

The comment bore just enough whimsey to seem warm, and just enough gravitas to seem unassailable. The young man took Sir Artimus’s outstretched hand and stood.

“Your redemption will come. Have no fear of that” said Sir Artimus.

Samuel wasted no time in explaining the situation to those in the bevy. He reminded them that he would only take those with him that desired to leave, and he promised them nothing but hardship in the short term. These terms of realism and hope galvanized Cassandra’s entire bevy as it had her. In lieu of recent deaths, the venture would be cathardic. The gathering would consist of twenty-two women, eighteen men and seven children under the ages of thirteen. Since the fall of the empires, those who reached age thirteen were considered adults.

It took less than half an hour for the entire Bevy to gather their things and stand before Samuel, prepared to march. Once a head count was completed, Samuel prayed a blessing over the group and gave them all a sampling of the protecting brew which he called, “cover.” He explained to them how they were to travel in a staggered column so that they would be less exposed to attacks from dragons and brigands. Soon they were off, and though she left behind all that she knew, Cassandra never looked back.

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What followed was a trek for the ages. For many months they traveled southeast. Gradually they adjusted to a nomadic lifestyle with Samuel’s guidance. Apart from acting as their guide, he also acted as their leader. He told them everything he knew about their destination and the journey ahead. He reassured them that the liquid cover he gave them would ward off most dragons, while others could be avoided through clever traveling techniques, such as avoiding places where they could be ambushed. “If you do not meet the dragon, you need not beat the dragon!” he repeated ad nauseum.

Cautious as they were, they still saw dragons in the distance. Sometimes they flew overhead, their scales shimmering in the sun. Other times they could be seen slinking along the forest floor, with long necks weaving around the bases of trees. Whenever one came into view, the word would be passed and Sir Artimus would keep an eye on it till they were beyond danger.

They had a dozen horses brought from the old Bevy. The elderly, injury and in one case a pregnant woman, were allowed to ride it. When one of these became available, Samuel would help himself to a steed and would catch up on reading.

“That is a book, is it not?” asked Cassandra as he did just that.

“It is. Very keen of you.”

“My father told me how he found one while tilling. Unable to read it he threw it away. He regretted it afterwards, calling it a young man’s folly. Tell me, can anybody be taught to read?”

Samuel closed the book and adjusted his glasses. “Anybody can be taught to read. Few can be taught to understand. You see, each piece of wrighting is a record, yes, but it is only a part of the message. It is stripped of its context. It must be understood relative to the complete collection of sources – the “bibliosphere” as I call it. With each new discovery, the older sources have to be reexamined in light of new information. Take this book for instance. It is one of the most detailed and useful books I have ever acquired, but as you can see the cover and the first few dozen pages have been torn away. I don’’t even know the book’s title. It does however give a very detailed map of the continent on which we live and provides a map, that while dated, is nonetheless highly detailed. So you see, I could read every word of this twice and still not know the significance of what I have read.”

Cassandra’s brown eyes shimmered. “You must teach me to read! I would rather die with part of the truth than live knowing nothing except what I can sense. I want knowledge that is deeper and more ancient than the dirt under my fingernails.”

 Both Bartholemew and Sir Artimus overheard this, the latter burst into laughter. To Samuel he said, “I think you have found your long lost daughter, Master.”

 Bartholemew looked disgusted. Cassandra knew he was judguing her impracticality as it had been a theme growing up, but she couldn’t care less.

 As she was nearly grabbing Samuel’s arm, the old man scratched his head and smiled. “If you would embark upon the scholar’s path, it will require years of study. Since I do not have a ward, then I promise you shall be taught. Our new civilization will require many learned men and women. I will teach you letters when our caravan rests at night. For now, you will learn the kinds of dragons, as this is practical knowledge.”

 He then launched into an epic lecture about the history and types of dragons. They possessed “fluid genes,” he said. “Some are vertebrate, invertebrate, big as a hill, small as a cow, some can fly others can’t. Some are serpentine, others are multi-headed. Some can breath fire and a few can even talk. None of them can be called the friends of humans, however. Each of these, will have to be killed or repelled in different ways. Their study never ends.” He explained.

 Cassandra’s starved mind drank the knowledge like falling water to dry sand. She asked a hundred questions and Samuel never had to repeat himself.

 Finally after six months of travel, they came upon the great city. Giant buildings that defied even Cassandra’s imagination, jutted like rectangular mountains out of a flat terrain, gridlocked with wide ancient streets. Each of the giant structures was broken off, some lower and some higher, such that no one but Samuel could guess what their tops once looked like. A cold, choppy sea smashed against the ruins of long abandoned docks in the distance. The tired gathering forgot their fatigue as they gazed upon the faded glamor of a mighty metropolis that used to be the envy of the world, and the ghostly choir of millions of anceint voices hung around their ears. They walked in stunned reverance and their gentle footfall sounded like thunder claps echoing off the ancient glass and steel.

 As they traveled slowly through the black streets broken up by tall weeds Bartholemew asked, “What exactly are we looking for?”

 Samuel turned to Cassandra with a fatherly grin. “Do you remember what I told you?”

 Still unable to read, but being partly familiar now with the book, she thumbed through the illustrated pages to jog her memory. “The Statue of the Goddess, the caves with a special name, and the Tower of Empire.”

 “Correct, and I believe we have found the Tower now,” he said, his bulbous finger pointing to the tallest of the standing structures. In saying the words, he froze. The entire group realized at once that the collosal tower was circled around the top with a nest of mangled iron like a crown of thorns. It was clearly a dragon’s nest. Whatever beast built that would be able to see across land and sea for many miles.

 Suddenly, a giant black dragon as big as a house leapt from the nest and fell towards them like brimstone lightning. Sparks and smoke trailed the corners of its mouth as it plummeted.

 “Take cover!” shouted Samuel as the gathering panicked and ran inside the nearest of the many large ruined towers which, though porous with broken windows and disintigrated plaster, were still enough to hide inside. The dragon made a pass across them and sprayed the walls of the building with a stream of flame which surged and licked through the metalic structure of the building. The flames singed the hair and clothing of the screaming people hiding inside.

 “We have only delayed the inevitable,” said Sir Artimus. “We must give battle!”

 Having concluded the same, Bartholemew had already climbed onto an ancient stone staircase. He positioned himself at the point of a broken window, and levelled his spear like a javalin, its deadly point only a foot ahead of his own face. The dragon passed again and Bartholemew heaved the projectile through the air striking the beast in the wing and causing him to fall to the ground with an ear-shattering shriek. No sooner had the beast’s glossy black bulk smashed into the street below, when Sir Artimus lept from his cover and ended the fell beast below the jaw with his halberd. The spiked head spurted blood and the body ceased to flail.

 “It is done,”said the sage with triumph. “Let us find our way into the man-made caves. The snow will soon fall, and we do not know if other dragons are near at hand.” He adjusted his spectalces and stood tall. “Bartholemew, today you have more than recovered your lost dignity. Hence you will always be a leader among your people. This is important, as Sir Artimus and I will soon set off to find other Bevies who will travel here also. It may take a generation, but we will build a civilization beneath the ground, that one day will rise above it and conquer like our oppressors.”

 “I shall come with you,” insisted Cassandra. “How else will I master reading?” Before he could answer, Cassandra pointed towards a distant harbor. “There is the goddess statue! She raises a broken arm skyward and has a tablet in her hands. I wish I could read it!”

 Samuel smiled. “Her message reads in part, Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breath free."

“It is a fitting message for us, I think.” Then pointing to a distant staircase leading below ground he said, “Those are the caves – our new home.”

 “What a strange metal sign beside it. What does it say?”

 “Subway entrance. You have much to learn.”