Light of the Dragon

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

Up over the high and sharp Buno Rai crags, yes. Nanda would see them in flashes looking out over the ocean. And only when she dared to climb over the ridge and perch on cliff rock, black from the cold mist, perilously high, and nearly always draped in thick cloaks of racing white cloud. Also beyond the leagues of wood to the west, where the high and proud land of her people finally sloped down to meet the Sonemm Sea. It was here that she first saw the dragons, gazing out over the immense cove and waters beyond. For years, Nanda saw them only in places like this–over sea or mountain on the remote edges of her known world. She searched for them whenever she had the chance.

Yet, several days ago, Nanda was astonished to see one from the fields of her very home, overlooking the great Rivaljn Valley below. She thought that she must have mistaken it for one of her other visitors–they all appeared and disappeared so quickly. So since then, she scoured the skies and the Valley for them each day.

Nanda was there now, on her favorite lookout–an outcrop of flat rocks on the edge of their home’s small top green. Just below her were more fields where her family’s goats and yak pastured, before their side of the mountain dropped steeply down to the Valley floor.

From here, Nanda could see the whole of the sprawling Rivaljn Valley–carving broadly through the hill and mountain country, dotted with tucked away hamlets, bustling towns, and farmland alike. Some surrounding mountains were rolling and green, some were austere and impassable like the Ishii Dorin range far to the east, while the group of closely gathered mountains directly across the Valley from her, the Lungho peaks, were the most dramatic. Each one rising tall and distinct from the hills, like a cluster of trees. Some days they seemed to Nanda like ancient high sages, surveying the civildom solemnly with unreadable gazes. Some days they seemed like an old group of friends, unconcerned and laughing to themselves, having lived through it all, like the elder farmers that gathered some nights in her family’s inn.

The towns in the Valley converged and grew dense towards the east as the land began to rise, culminating into Rivaljn itself–the heart of the Realm–with its thousands of dwellings blanketing the low hills, labyrinthine gardens, and temples whose gilded points shone in the sun. On its farthest edge, nestled into the first rise of Ishii was Invercei–training grounds, schools, council halls, and home to the Masters of Djen. Invercei was a masterwork of interweaving stone, crystal, and living earth. Tree and vine from the mountainside embraced its towers, and it’s ceremonial halls were like great wooded clearings—with columns of tall trees and meandering rivulets that found their way in, and arching domes whose oculi opened to the sky. The two arms of the Chamalyre cascaded down from the peaks and encircled Invercei, pooling clear and sparkling at its base, before coursing through Rivaljn and the whole of the Valley.

The sun began to set a fiery orange, casting the western wood of Aza Mir black, and alighting all in the east. Hundreds of windows in Rivaljn started to blaze and twinkle, and the Chamalyre became a winding serpent of light. As if on cue, another piercing light flared in Nanda's periphery. It was white, and vanished in less than a moment. A dragon! Her breath quickened, she was sure of it this time. She closed her eyes and tried to focus, as she was always able to see the lights more clearly when she was calm, and usually better when her eyes were shut. She slowed and counted each breath. Minutes passed.

In the midst of following wandering thoughts, she realized the waves of violet had already appeared–progress! A violet light moved continuously against the black backdrop of her shut eyes, fluidly, gently, in some natural dance or rhythm, like light moving on water. The violet was brilliant in color, but soft in nature. Whenever Nanda tried to look in more closely at the velvet mass of moving light, it seemed to go out of focus. Just like fallen snowflakes melting on her hand, each pattern of light vanished all too quickly, giving way moment by moment to another unique, exquisite form. Seeing with closed eyes was a curious thing.

She did not know what this violet light was, except that it had been with her as long as she could remember. She saw it in peaceful moments while her eyes were closed, usually on the verge of sleep, or just waking up. She had never given it much thought before mentioning it to her father many years ago. He told her that this was special–that not everyone gets to see such things, and encouraged her to hone her ability to see it. After about a year of practice, she started to realize that the violet light had a presence. Rather than being alarmed, she was comforted by it, even missing the presence if too much time had passed between visits.

It was also during this time of noticing the presence, when she was 11 years old, that she began to see the other lights. At first, she told herself that she was too easily dazzled by the setting sun for her own good, and had blinded herself. Yet, over time, she began to notice a similar presence with these lights. The new lights all seemed to be in similar appearance and size to the distant stars in the night sky–except that she saw them in front of her eyes wherever she was, day and night, and both while her eyes were closed as well as when they were wide open. They appeared in front of her open eyes fleetingly, like a flash. With her eyes closed, she could see them more clearly and they did not vanish as quickly, as if they wanted to remain visible to her longer.

When she was out in the fields by her house, or elsewhere on her own exploring the woods, meadows, or hill country, she saw light filaments that were ever so slightly longer than they were wide and had a faint yellowish hue. If she noticed them and could close her eyes, they appeared close–right in front of her–and would fade away gently, with another one usually appearing after a few seconds. She called these lights the elements, because she thought that these were spirits of the pure land itself.

Nanda felt an affinity to the elements and saw them the most often. She loved to be in the wild, to climb and to run barefoot, to grow stronger and feel connected with the earth. Nanda was fifteen now, and had grown taller and bigger than most others she knew of her age. She had always been strong and sturdy, like the mountains her father had said, and this had always filled her with pride.

Nanda saw a different kind of light while she was in bed at home, or resting out in one of the fields. These were perfectly round star-like lights, usually of an intense white or even a blue, silvery color. They would also come out like stars, one after another, and stay there, two or three, or sometimes more, at a time. One night lying in bed with her eyes closed, she thought she saw almost as many lights as there were real stars in the sky right before drifting off to sleep. In the morning, she could not tell if she had just been dreaming. She called these lights guardians, perhaps because she liked to think they were watching over her, with their safe and peaceful presence. Sometimes a particularly bright one would blaze a white-golden light. Its center then would turn a metallic lead-black, while a rim of light around it glowed bright, as if she was seeing a miniature eclipse. Nanda was always startled when she saw these rare guardian lights, and they somehow reminded her of the Masters.

Breathing steadily now, and following the violet waves floating across her mind’s eye, she suddenly saw it again–the dragon! Keeping her eyes shut and exhaling slowly, she saw a white star, like a guardian, except it was ever so subtly haloed by an iridescence, like in the sea-opal necklace her mother wore. It also seemed to have a comet's tail, which gave the impression that it was moving in a direction. And, similarly to comets, when looking at it directly, she could not see the tail as clearly. When Nanda saw the dragons with eyes open, it was like seeing a rainbow shooting star.

After a minute, the dragon faded away altogether.

Nanda opened her eyes to find the Valley quite dark, the sun having fully dipped below the western forested ridge, the windows below now shining with lights coming from candles and lamps within. She could scarcely believe what she saw. Dragons, here!

She called them dragons–knew they were dragons–not based on anything other than a feeling inside that she did not question. When she saw the dragon lights for the first time, the knowing, the word, dragon, arose within her, and she could not think of these lights in any other way.

Nanda had not shared her dragons, or any of her lights, with anyone except her father. For the two of them, it was a great adventure and a mystery, and he was as excited as she was with each sighting. While she had a tendency to keep to herself, she did have a few close friends who would probably love to hear about her visions. In fact, plenty of people now had open contact with the unseen realms, thankfully not like in the old days they read about. There were now entire schools for developing the inner arts at Invercei. And dragons had been foretold in the Lore to return in the days of the Rise. So, she was not afraid of not being believed by others as such, even though she imagined most people beyond her friends wouldn’t. Mostly, she wanted to keep her lights to herself as it felt like a link connecting her with her father, even now. And she did not want that to change.

Suddenly, the outline of what resembled a large creature’s head in the dark appeared over the rock’s edge, and Nanda nearly fell backwards. For a brief breathless moment she feared it was a leopard, and hoped instead a yak had climbed up to peer over the rocks. It was not one of the big mountain cats, however, it was a small one. Her one. Her trusted companion and closest friend, Murree, who had jumped up on the flat ledge. Murree gave a meow that was half a reassurance, half a chide, sensing her friend’s surprise, and padded over, finding Nanda’s hand with her head. Nanda stroked her fur, long, soft, and resplendent, even in the fading light. Nanda thought her beloved friend was as fine as the pampered cats in the Raviljn gardens. Murree had the deepest of black-brown fur on her paws, ears and face, like the rich coffee they served outside of the Padj Mir Temple, (which smelled divine but was too bitter for Nanda even to take a sip). Her fur turned into a warmer brown on her back, and cream colored on her belly. Her eyes were a golden-green fire. But her heart was that of a mountain cat's–too wild to be content in the Valley, and for that Nanda loved her even more. Nanda’s fingers found a wet patch on Murree’s back, and she hoped it wasn’t blood again.

The two friends sat together in the warm summer night, enjoying the cooling air and the lights from the towns glittering below. Nanda, still mystified and musing on her discovery of dragons, here in the Valley, and what that could mean. Murree also must have had a satisfying adventure as well, for she seemed both contented and grateful to have made it back.

The hour occurred to Nanda just then. It must be quite late indeed if it was already this dark, and she may have missed dinner. Her mother usually left Nanda to come and go during the inn’s slower times, as long as she could manage for herself and pitched in with work if she came in late. It must have also been slower than she had noticed in the morning–there was no noise coming from the Snow Lion Inn at all.

Nanda got up and stretched, feeling stiff and now a bit cold from her perch. She turned back from the Valley, and made her way towards the golden lights streaming from the kitchen and the windows of the inn, with Murree bounding silently beside her. She decided she would go straight to the kitchens to see if there were still some remnants of dinner, rather than stopping to greet the tenants or neighbors, who may have already retired. Sometimes she was grateful for coming in late and missing the dinner crowd. Today especially, she wanted to be alone with her thoughts.

The entrance to the small kitchen was just around the right of the building from the back. Approaching the door, Nanda saw it was halfway open: the door of the top half was open and leaned out and away from her in the dark, while the bottom half, the goat-door they called it, (to keep out the curious, ever ravenous goats from clearing out their wares,) was closed.

Nanda heard voices coming from within, and stopped in surprise, just short of coming into full view from the door. The kitchen was usually a space reserved for the family only, since their guests were free to roam nearly everywhere else in the house and grounds. Yet her mother usually never entertained friends this late, and Nanda did not hear their cheerful voices, nor the high and excited chatter of her sister. The voices within seemed quiet. Nanda inched forward slowly, making sure to remain out of the bright light pouring from the half door in the darkness.

With some relief, Nanda saw her mother, walking between the sink basin, cupboards, and the central table in the midst of the regular nightly clean-up chores. She moved back and forth in her work without pause, each task memorized in quick, precise, and efficient movements. Like Nanda, she was tall and strong, while her statuesque frame had taken on a softness over the years. Her garments were well-worn from work and her fondness of them–a simple white tunic with the sleeves rolled, a canvas apron, and the long blue skirt of her tribe’s people–beautifully embroidered red and pink near the hem, and festooned with tiny copper bells. She wore her traditional skirt everywhere, over warm leggings in the winter, and even when she used to run in the hills when it was warmer. Her black hair was tied together at the nape of her neck, slightly coming undone over the course of the day’s work. Her face, neck, and bare arms had tanned over the few weeks of strong sun, and her cheeks were flushed from the kitchen’s heat. Nanda noticed that she looked a little on edge. Her eyebrows seemed to knot slightly together in the middle, glancing now and then in the direction of where the other person must have been, still blocked off from view. Nanda felt a pang of guilt watching her mother toil without her, already tired, but she wanted to know who else was inside.

Nanda dared to move a little further into the doorway’s space. Inch by inch, she saw that someone was indeed there–in a chair across the room from her mother, seated at the small table with a bowl of the night's supper.

“Still, it is good of you to speak to me here, unannounced and like this,” the stranger said. “Though I fear I may have given your guests quite a shock.” Nanda was surprised to hear a woman’s voice. At first, the seated figure appeared to be someone near her own age. The woman’s figure was petite, and she might have been shorter than Nanda was. Her dark brown hair was cropped just under her ears, and she was dressed in the close-fitting hides and garb as those of the tree-dwelling people in the lower wood. Her belt was gilded and fine, however, with strange embossed symbols encircling it. From her angle, Nanda could just make out a sliver of the woman’s tan cheek, and her slender yet prominent nose. She reminded Nanda of a hawk.

“It’s quite alright.” her mother replied, emptying the contents of an iron pot into a bowl. “No formalities are needed in our house. And once the guests recover,” she continued, briskly turning back and heading to the sink, “they’ll be more than happy to discuss any detail they can think of from your visit tonight.”

“Not every detail, I hope.” the woman suggested quietly.

Nanda’s mother stopped rummaging under the chopping table, stood back up and looked straight at the stranger. After a moment’s pause, she responded, “No. Of course not.” Slowly now, she walked to the kettle hanging over the hearth in the corner, crossed the room to refill the visitor’s tea, poured herself a cup, and sat down with a sigh in a chair across the table from her guest.

Nanda’s mother took a succession of long draughts, and reclined back, looking at the steam rising from her cup. After restoring herself, she continued calmly, “No, I certainly will not repeat anything you confide in me tonight. And even though I do not yet fully understand what it is you’re seeking, I will help you as much as I’m able.

“However,” she resumed, ”I’m afraid I cannot do what you first asked of me, and join your journey next week. I’ve got my little one and The Lion to think of. Nanda can look after both for days at a time, but this trip will be a few weeks at least on foot, as you intend, including the return, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving my girls that long. They could stay with their friends, or mine, but then the inn and the animals need tending. And everyone here has their own work and families to care for. No, I can’t see a way around it.”

The visitor remained silent in her seat, and gave a slight nod in understanding.

“I do not want to pry, nor do I expect you to share anything private with me,” the mother ventured, “but I just don’t understand why you wanted me to join, as a guide, you say. Surely you have journeyed through Aza Mir to the western sea many times before, not to mention strange lands I can hardly imagine.”

“Many times, yes.”

“And you say that you do not want to travel with official Invercei company. But, certainly you cannot be worried for your own safety?”

“No!” the visitor laughed aloud. “No.. The only dangers to speak of are what the land and its creatures naturally provide. And I can protect myself very well,” she admitted, smiling broadly to herself. “Plus, I will be joined by a few close companions. Though I must say that I have sensed a weariness amongst many folk I’ve spoken with about crossing the deep wood. Even after all this time. This was a shock to discover, as you can imagine.” The visitor cast a pensive eye at Nanda’s mother, “What say you.. Have you heard these rumors?”

Nanda’s mother kept her eyes on her tea. “We've made the journey, even with little Kai, more times than I could count. Not as much in the past few years, but we’ve never had any cause for concern. Of course. There hasn’t been any incident to raise any alarm in the wood, or anywhere else in the realm since the Rise. Everyone in Vaal Riva knows this. Nanda wanders around exploring Aza Mir by herself all the time, I’m sure of it.” The visitor shifted in her seat, while Nanda’s mother continued, “The real danger is in scaling the slopes of Sunatal in the south wood, I can assure you. Still,” she paused, “still, people don’t like to let go of their stories. Even the bad ones. Especially the bad ones,” she finished softly and more to herself than the guest.

Drawn into her thoughts, she slowly proceeded, “You see, I was younger than Kaida in the first days of the Rise. I don’t remember the darkness of those years before, the way it is documented. Our parents were very protective, and my world at home and in our fields thankfully did not involve the madness of the outside world. And after the Rise, I remember the great rejoicing of course.. my family, our village–the new world outside that we were finally able to meet. The great struggle was over, we had survived. It was an unimaginable time! Everyone expected miracles to happen every day–and they did. Still, much of what was foretold has yet to pass, as we know. After several years, I think my parents still felt the need to talk about some of the old days, and they did not want to bring this up to us, not in the days of Light. They wanted to talk with their friends, in their own way. They worked with the Healers of course, almost all of us did, and they became Healers. But I think the healing is still happening for some, for many. There was so much that happened. I think some of the old stories linger on, and the rumors you speak of are the remnants that found new voices.”

She glanced up after a few moments, realizing the visitor was staring intently at her. “Forgive me, Archeress, that is just my guess. I’m afraid I don’t know any more than this.”

“Call me Rizwan, please, Alyda. I have no use of formalities either.”

Nanda knew her cheeks had just then flushed a deep red, and she swayed in the dark feeling she lost contact with the ground. The strange visitor that sat not ten paces in front of her was Rizwan, the High Archeress of Rivaljn, appointed by the circle of Djen Masters as High Protector of the Realm. Rizwan was renowned for her prowess in the martial practices as well as the inner arts, and was nearly a Master herself, it was said. Though her appointment of Protector was symbolic, as there was no strife or warfare in the Realm, the Archeress held high council with the Masters, had their trust, and she was respected and well revered by all. Beyond this, Rizwan was a heroine for Nanda. She had only seen her from afar in ceremonies, but had learned avidly about her for years. She was a legend, who could not simply appear in her kitchen one night.

“Besides,” the High Archeress intoned lightly and with a mischievous smile, “you changed my nappies when I was a baby, I believe. That throws all ceremony out of the window, does it not?”

Nanda’s jaw dropped open.

Alyda grinned, seemingly in spite of herself, then looked up with fondness at Rizwan. “I suppose I did! Though that was ages ago.” She paused before adding, “I’ve often felt happy for you, you know, and proud, of the path you’ve taken. Sinan was as well. I remember him saying so.”

“I was saddened to hear of his passing, Alyda. I am sorry I was not in the Realm to come – ”

“That’s alright Rizwan. And it is kind of you to say.”

The two sat together quietly, while Nanda grasped at these revelations, and why she had never known them before.

Rizwan began again, carefully yet with urgency, “Alyda, there have been signs. By the Rashtaal Cove. Signs from the Lore, and the Prophecies. I don’t know what has been found for sure, but that is why I need to go. I don’t intend to call attention to my purpose. I want to avoid misinformation spreading amongst the folk, and creating any more stories as you say, built from false fear or hope. But I do want to learn more, from the people, like you and your family, who have grown up in these very hills and woods, connected to the land and each other. People I can trust. There is much to learn in the towers of the Invercei, but for all of its wonder, one can also feel isolated.”

Stirred by the words of her younger friend, Alyda confessed. “It would be an adventure. And I do want to help your cause. If only my attention wasn’t so needed here..” She sighed, wistfully, as if imagining the prospect, before exclaiming, “And the Lore! My word, that is exciting. My Nanda can’t read it enough. She’s always loved the stories, her and her father both. I don’t know where that child is. She and Murree must have found a plate out with the guests long ago, she’s usually here with me each night.”

Murree was still waiting, the ever dutiful friend, out on the dark grass. Having finally been remembered along with the invocation of food, she promptly leaped up on the ledge of the goat-door, the bells tied around its handle jingling loud and clearly. Rizwan and Alyda both reeled around to see the regal and incensed cat outlined against the night, her eyes wild, and Nanda in the half-light, just beyond. The women's eyes remained on Nanda, wide in complete surprise. Murree meowed, indignantly.

“Nanda!!” cried her mother. “How long have you been there, child??”

“I–I’m sorry, “ Nanda managed to get out, her face burning as she reluctantly moved to open the door, while Murree hissed and jumped off, running inside with flattened ears. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.”

“Rizwan, this is my daughter, Nanda. And, Nanda, this is the High Archeress of Rivaljn.” Alyda said pointedly and with a frown.

“I’m pleased to meet you Nanda. Tell me, did you happen to hear any of my conversation with your mother?”

Nanda couldn’t bear to look up at the Archeress, and she also did not dare lie with her mothers eyes boring into her. “Yes, missus.”

“Nanda!!”

“It’s very well, Alyda,” reassured Rizwan, with sincerity and some amusement. “Nanda, I must insist that you not speak of anything you heard tonight with anyone. It is of the highest importance. Can I trust you with this?”

Nanda looked up to meet Rizwan’s dark, almond, and piercing eyes. She lowered her eyes and nodded vigorously, still unable to speak properly.

“This might be a fortunate twist, Alyda. As we were speaking, I had actually wondered if Nanda here might be interested in joining me herself, since you cannot come. If you could spare her, and if she were allowed, that is. She seems to know Aza Mir and the journey west as well as anyone in these parts, and most likely much better. I would welcome her company–we could speak along the way, and she could help attune my eyes to what I otherwise may never know I was missing.”

Nanda raised her eyes again, this time in amazement and disbelief, “To look for the Lore-signs?”

Her mother gasped.

“Yes,” answered Rizwan, the corners of her lips lifting higher.

“Dragons?!” breathed Nanda.

Rizwan laughed while Nanda’s mother bristled at her daughter, who now thought that at least she could not get into any more trouble tonight than she already was.

“I don’t know, Nanda, but they were always my favorite part of the Lore too.” Rizwan kindly offered, her bemused eyes twinkling.

“Alyda,” Rizwan went on, “why don’t you and I continue this discussion together. I apologize if I’ve spoken out of turn. Though, I can tell you now that if Nanda were to join us, I would make her wellbeing my utmost priority. You have my word on that. And while you yourself said there is no real danger in the wood, Nanda could hardly find herself in safer company than with us.”

“And I don’t have lessons for weeks, Amo!” Nanda appealed.

“Enough, Nanda!” her mother admonished, but not unkindly. She went to the large pot that was still over the embers, and portioned both Nanda and Murree a bowl, the latter reappearing and promptly diving into her share on the floor. “Take this upstairs Nanda, and check on your sister. We’ll speak in the morning. Goodnight.” she added softly.

Nanda bid them goodnight, and with her bowl she reached the entrance to the curving stairs by the kitchen door. She glanced back at both Rizwan, who still beamed at her, and her mother, whose eyes miraculously no longer seemed as angry. In truth, Alyda felt a peculiar blend of surprise, pride, and a small welling of sadness. Nanda turned and started to make her way up the stairs. “I’m going!” the words arose in a knowing within her.

* * *

Nanda knelt in the dark, in front of her small bedroom window that looked out over their back fields and the Rivaljn Valley. She could hear Murree behind her, nesting into the blankets and purring. Nanda could not remember when she had last been this excited, not in years it seemed. It felt like something dear and long-forgotten was stirring insider her again. Looking out at the inky blue-black sky and the thousands of stars, she could not believe how her life could change completely in a matter of hours. Out of the corner of her eye, a light like a shooting star darted. It had an iridescent shimmer, and could only mean one thing. Unmistakable, she marveled, grinning and laughing. She did not know how she could possibly fall asleep.