Seventh Moon

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Shevaun and her friends knew it well.

In the fourteen short years of her life, the dragons had been about for six moons of the year and by the end of the seventh, they were all gone again.

Well almost. Sometimes there was the odd ancient one to be found on the heights.

Towards the end of the long dry season, just before the younger dragons returned at thirteenth moon dark, young bloods might come home from their walkabouts, telling morbid tales of some great grey dragon’s slithering days being over, turning slowly to a husk on a high peak that they had managed to climb.

Once, her eldest brother and his band, had returned triumphantly, each displaying a great dark talon round his neck, their badges of honour and comradeship.

...

But it was where the younger dragons disappeared to, was the bone of contention on this day.

Shevaun and her cousin Cian and their friend Deaglan had absconded from homely tasks and were discussing it up a tall sweeping cypress. Their legs were swinging, and they murmured softly so they couldn't be heard. Cian dug into a string bag for the precious fruit he had brought as the lure. Half hidden in the trusses of the scented foliage, they hoped they couldn't be seen.

The calls from Shevaun's mother, which had firstly been musical and friendly but later escalated to shrill and irritated, had finally stopped. It was wash day. Both Cian and Deaglan had clutched her arms helping Shevaun repel the wave of duty and guilt that had swept over her.

So now, the three sat, munching apples, pondering the imponderable.

Their village was on the north-western slopes and far enough above the main sluggish river course, that they could glimpse the closest murky green reach. Then see over twenty-five miles away across their vast valley to where the dusty yellow peaks rose ridge above ridge, where dying dragons could sometimes be found.

“You know how the Tiarn of Upper Gleann told us in class that the dragons always leave on the dark of the seventh moon?” asked Cian.

“Yeah, so?" challenged Deaglan. "We all know that. After that we get to walk about without worrying about much… for the next six."

"Except for worrying about running out of drinking and washing water", added Shevaun.

Deaglan chucked his apple core negligently, and it landed, sitting brightly on a truss of foliage only twelve feet down. What did he care?

Shevaun eyed it, half thinking about her mother. This had better be worth it.

“Well, remember when he said that no-one really knows where they go?” continued Cian.

“Yeah, so?” asked Deaglan again, taking a bite of a plum this time.

“So… I’ve been thinking about it. He seems to know most everything, but he won’t tell us where the dragons really go.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Stop saying ‘so’!” screeched Shevaun and cuffed Deaglan.

Deaglan spat his plum, wobbled, and clutched nearby branches. It took a few moments for the plum to hit ground. They were forty feet up.

“Sorry”, she moaned softly and muffled her mouth, fearing she had given away their whereabouts, not to mention nearly knocking Deaglan to the ground.

"Idiot", hissed Deaglan , who had recovered his poise if not his temper. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing, please just listen to Cian. Isn't that why we're here?"

“That's right and yes, stop saying ‘so’ Deaglan,” agreed Cian in a forced undertone. "It'll be quicker if I can get to the point without too many interruptions. And please don't shriek like that again Shevaun. I don’t feel like chopping wood any more than you want to wring clothes.”

"And my Da's after me to do a blacksmithing job", muttered Deaglan darkly.

“Anyway Cian, what do you mean, the Tiarn won’t tell us? Can’t tell us don’t you mean?” asked Shevaun.

“Maybe. But the dragons don’t just puff away like a bit of smoke. It’s not like they have wings. Some of the biggest ones stand seven feet at the shoulder! And our ancestors have been in these mountains for how long? More than four hundred years! And there are usually at least four hundred dragons scattered through the Valley and the heights to match. Probably more."

"They must slither or swim somewhere", suggested Shevaun. "Why hasn’t anyone seen them go?”

"Because no-one's game to go out in the dark nights in dragon season to see them off, is my guess. Would you be?" asked Cian, looking at the other two, eyes wide in challange.

“Hang on, just because people saw them go, doesn’t mean they know where they end up,” put in Deaglan.

“Yeah… uh… I know.” said Cian heavily. "But that's the thing I wanted to tell you about. It's weird. There are so many places in the world! If they follow the river downwards somewhere, other people along the river must see them pass through and we should know of it by now... if they weren't our deadly enemies. I’m not sure who’s more dangerous, the downriver clans or the dragons. And if the dragons go underground somehow, there must be huge caves in the mountains for them but no-one’s ever found any great cave systems.”

“I like the one I was told as a child as a bedtime story,” breathed Shevaun dreamily. Then she began to recite softly.

“After the end of the great big wet, the grains do swell and the fruits we get,

the dragons grey dive deep and deep, as we falI into the dark moon sleep.

Down down they swim to deep wet hollow, ways mysterious that none can follow.

And make their home in jewell’d cave, to gorge bright gems they do so crave.

Hot fire and rock their trusty bed, they sleep and dream of things we dread.

But first moon sees them reappear, then we must go about in fear.

Lest heat and flame devour our blood, before the rains unleash the flood.

But no matter what we like to think, about the dragons and their stink.

They bring about the land’s renewal, so dragon-return is truly kewl.”

“Ugghh! That last rhyme isn’t even right.” groaned Deaglan.

Shevaun just shrugged and grinned, pleased with her wording. Deaglan continued.

“I remember that one too but I never believed it. Too flowery. Not to mention the heat and flames. Only thing I ever heard coming out of a dragon’s mouth was the poison off its teeth and spit. I also seem to remember some really ancient one about some dark rivalry between the dragons and the sun, and the dragons lost out. I liked that one better. The dragons got what they deserved.”

“I heard that one too”, said Cian, “I’ve been trying to work it out for a while, but I’m stumped on it.”

“Cian, you’re really obsessed with this thing,” teased Shevaun, giving him a poke. “Why do you want to work it out? Really. It’s just some old story.”

“You didn’t do too bad yourself just now. Anyway, it’s a story with a history and a purpose,” spelled out Cian.

“Some purpose”, scoffed Deaglan.

“All the old stories have a history and a purpose. Anyway, the dragons are meant to be both our greatest friends and our greatest enemies. As Shevaun just said, they are said to bring the rain which helps us live well and then they are said to take it away when they leave. But they also dart and bite and then plod doggedly after things and eat them once they succumb. Buffalos, deer, pigs, goats, dogs… us.”

They all shivered. So far no-one in their families had been bitten or taken for at least two generations. And almost no-one, once bitten had ever survived the fire in their veins. And they had all watched from a safe distance, the horrible visions of dragons gobbling down whole dogs or entire bore skulls.

“Anyway, I was more wanting your thoughts on something more I heard. After the Tiarn was at school speaking about the dragons, we happened to have Old Mother Dierdre over for dinner. When I told them all what the Tiarn said, she just spat rudely. Da’ and Ma just winked and nodded at me to humour her. They didn’t dare shut her down. So then she said it was darn bleeding obvious. She said the dragons just head to the river in the dark of the moon and swim down towards the sea. Said she’d seen it herself as a lass and it was no great mystery.”

“Seriously?” gaped Shevaun.

“Yeah, seriously. She reckons they spawn down there and hatch and grow their young in the bays and estuaries, like fish and then come back up the rivers just before the rains come and the rivers start to flood again. She said the young fend for themselves on the coast for a few years and once they’re grown big enough, they come back too… and then they’re really hungry.”

In the neighbourhood, Old Mother Dierdre was regarded as cracked as a plate and her no-nonsense dowager opinion didn't count for much anymore. Still, to Cian’s deep-thinking mind, it made the most sense and he said so.

“So instead of the words of an eye-witness, we get that stuffy namby-pamby from Upper Gleann who just says ‘we don't care where they go, so long as they come back at due time and bring the rain with them.’ What a dupe. I suppose he’s never thought of skulking down through enemy clan territory for a few months to take a look for himself. To see the sea.” he breathed. “What I wouldn’t give…”

“Get back down here at once you conniving little varmints!” interrupted a voice. “Skiving off when there’s hard work to be done. You’re grounded boy! And you two, I’m telling your parents exactly where I found you.”

The angry purple face of Deaglan’s father appeared, raging at them in the branches right at their feet.

Only a dragon approaching rapidly at close range could have made them jump so fast.

…

It was on the way down the tree, hearts beating hard, that Deaglan gave Shevaun and Cian a fearful, almost poisonous look. But they managed a hasty plan to talk more in a week. If they could.

End of Chapter 1