Soul Warming Memories

“There weren't always dragons in the Valley”, my birth mother hushedly complained.

Pinned between stacked books, tubes of paper, and the green folder I had just put as the cherry on top, she looked rather overwhelmed sitting in her chair.

“I highly recommend a different mindset while I station in West Cycillian”. I tilt a box and swipe a hand over it, then watch dust fly up and rain down like an ash storm. Crouched with my back to her, her gaze upon me felt piercing. So I stand and face her to put the box by her chair so that I can see her expression. My chin tilted down, her gray pupil-less eyes meet mine, and she speaks louder to ask,

“What is your perspective on going to kill dragons?”

I set my gaze to the inside of the green folder upon snatching it off of her lap so I could let my eyes graze the ceiling without offending her.

“If I slay a dragon, it will be a hopeless day for West Cycillian. My job is in a centralized watchtower to pattern out the meteor collisions and de-escalate their fire rain’s carnage.”

“You don’t think a dragon will stray away from the thunder?”, her question appears all over her wrinkled face when I lower the folder enough to see it.

“Everyone expects dragons to get aggressive during the fire rain. They migrate when their elder dragon senses the rock creeping toward earth. Their backs catch most of the falling sparks after the rocks collide. They bump into each other in the air and get childish about it. It’s just how they are.”

In preparation of a meteor rain, their taloned claws will dig into the mountains surrounding West Cycillian, snouts and eyes taking in the city’s people and scouring for boulders or mountain edges loose enough for them to tear apart. When the night comes that the meteor descends toward the earth, those claws will make a powerful impact with the mountain to keep them from slipping down as they flip their horned tails over their head and catapult rocks toward the fallen meteor hoping to explode it in a shower of sparks. In light of this meteor shower, the day had come when the first dragons had come to the Valley of Cycillian. Unknowing of when the meteor would fall, the elder dragon called Xannery, The Protective, explored the mountains all the way around West Cycillian. Likely to muse in his discovery of the city in the small valley beyond mountains which he had never bothered to bring his thunder to. The Third Prince who alone had jurisdiction over West Cycillian was rightly calling in experts and officials to enlighten those in his command who had never seen dragons before, to best gather more protectors for the stressed city.

My chained keys made a small clink as they shifted on my wrist by millimeters, helping my mother up from her chair once the files and books were back on the floor. She held onto my green folder, my work history file, until we were below the attic and making our way to the first floor. I took off my chained bracelet and took keys from the entryway hook, attaching the key and flashing my mom a smile before taking the file and slipping on my way down the front steps.

A distilling, shrill melody came from down the street and I watched a Wisp, a finicky spirit with light tendrils resembling a jellyfish, chase a cat down the gap in tightly packed houses that we call our street.

My mom closed the door and shut me out, but just before I heard her muffled exhale as it left her mouth and was caught in her face mask. My mom and I often unsettle others, but our family are used to gathering emotional cues from the eyes and eyebrows alone, our mouths religiously covered by a mask with the symbol of our tutelary spirits we worked hard to draw towards us in our respective youths. Her eyes were relaxed and reflective of her worry, no doubt.

“I’ll write back if anything exciting happens, like I get a glimpse of royals, or half the village catches on fire”, I teased through the thin door I assumed she had not let go of. I didn’t hear a reply, but I watched the door spring back as a tension lifted from it, and I took myself towards the Assembly Tolkien that passed through every building to reach my ears.

“Your name?”

“Grayson Raddix Wyuk.”

“Go ahead and set your file down in the bin while I search for your order slip.”

“Sure thing, Attendant.” I answered swiftly and started looking for the bin he referred to, scanning the ends of the table with my eyes until I heard the scratching sound of him push a bin filled with folders out from below the table using his foot. I let my green folder fall straight down and amusedly watched him pull the bin back using both feet, in an amazingly swift effort of laziness. I took the time he scribbled on papers to glance around the many tables set up in the courtyard of a massive square created by the construction of four buildings in one square line. I used to pale at their height until I took my first trip to the valley, and the mountains far outdid our Qiorup architecture.

“There are far more people here intending to go to Cycillian than I imagined would be…” I said to the Attendant though I know I shouldn’t bother him while he was signing the bottom of my travel form. I saw there was a doctor sheet from my appointment a few days ago claiming I was healthy, and a number of papers detailing my expenses that would be covered for my week-long visit to the city.

“I don’t find myself surprised that people from this city, who are more isolated from dragons than the people of the valley, are making trips to witness the fire rain. Nobody would be surprised to see a festival commemorating the gathering of two cities in the upcoming years.”

“I suppose not.” I watched him grab the file from the top and take out my reference sheet, slip it inside a new folder, and hold it out for me to take. I did. This marked my acceptance to travel with a few of the palace guards and a caravan of many others. I turned away from him, and the next man stepped up to the table behind me, but the Attendant still looked at me.

“Grayson.” He said, and I turned, in the way of the woman attendant and her next registered traveler at the next table down. So we all watched the Attendant as he said, “Keep an eye out for the Glorious Storm. For your father’s sake and those who still have faith in him.”

I moved out of the way of the women who I had interrupted, so I couldn’t be sure if he heard me say around them, “I stay out of his affairs, so they’re going to have to approach me.”

In the afternoon there was a large camp of awaiting families, hunters, traders, and friends- of course also the guides and the armed officials who would help us make the journey safely, and would carry all our paperwork to ensure no one ran into or caused trouble-

But this time before leaving the city was always my favorite, as a single member of a large group who hadn’t come out of their comfort zone to bond yet… It was famously an enriching experience for townspeople, but for me, I loved the part where I curated what groups of people I would end up in a wagon with. As a fall back, if I didn’t find anyone that I would enjoy speaking with, I correspond with the officials in one of the hay carts and doze for the hour and a half ride.

This time as voices carried on conversations and people wandered around the open, compacted ground, I had a hard time finding any particular group of two or three that would take me in.

Then I heard the words clear as day, “Who do you think will win the war over dragons?”

I rounded my walk across a row of horse drawn, covered carts and curved from the front of it to the back where I came face to face with four… wealthily dressed people. A round man laid back with an arm propped up against a bag, white hair in a ring around his head and a short beard trimmed close. Three adults or mature youth, in other words much younger, completed the square of conversation. I simply walked into view of the carts opening and the man flashed me a smile.

“Interested in the line of conversation, or still looking for a cart to climb into?”

“It appears the answer is both.” I said back, giving a polite smile as I set my bag in. They were nice enough to scoot their things aside bit by bit until I hopped in and proved I had all the space I needed. “There are three primary goals humans have when it comes to dragons, right?”, I asked the group. I wasn’t sure who had asked the question that had caught my ear, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the white haired man.

“In light of these people making the effort to go see the thunder for themselves, it seems that’s a logical conclusion. Since you were drawn in to the conversation, what kind of thoughts do you have to share?”

“Well, let me gather my thoughts for just a second…” I said and pulled out my notebooks, both of them. I turned on my side, facing the opening of the cart with an uninterrupted view of the carts and city wall behind us. “Let me actually think on this for a while, and then I’ll join you in conversation after I get some work done.”

Caught in a surprised chuckle, the man simply said “okay” through his wheezing, while the two across from me leaned in close. The slender boy with a sharp cheekbone and a closely cut sweep of black hair, the one with a blue decorated shawl over his shirt and with black gloves over his hands, said to the other, “I told you every time I go a bumbling, cocky idiot gets in.”

It occurred to me by the way he said bumbling that he was a porter. They likely all were from the same group of inns. Another reason this occurred to me is because their bags were neatly stacked together beside them, and had sewn on patches with their names. At my feet, peering down and discreetly moving my toes, I could see the name ‘Eradyle’ on slender boy’s bag.

Now to consider the question, “who will win the war over dragons”. Dragons are ferocious wild animals with a highly entertaining amount of fighting power, so many assumed their only use for humans pertained to taming and breeding them in some kind of spy army. Many started telling stories of evil barters who stole beautiful women from their homes in far off lands and locked them in towers built near dragon nests. They used tamed dragons to guard the entrance so no trained men could get the girl unless they were known by the dragon. Stories about princesses and knights who fight dragons followed after that.

The end to that idea came sooner than most cities had imagined. Taming a dragon was a joke. Only men like my father, Raddix Gael Wyuk, thought there were those who tamed dragons that were changing the influence of power in our cities.

So what remaining three uses for dragons did the humans have left, in my opinion? Dead dragons were the first one. After killing an entire thunder at the first multi-city raid against something non-human, lead by Pulcheria Euphemia, her royal princess of Euphemia, they grew drawn to the smell of the blood as perfume to cover the scent of the many corpses laid to rest in the battlefield.

Enslaved dragons were rare, and only currently an option for warfare offense by leaving the tied dragon near enemy territory. The dragon’s cries and some sort of chemical awareness of one another, science hasn’t found the explanation for it yet I don’t believe, lead the thunder toward the enemy army. What follows has not been pretty, according to survivors of both experiences this tactic was un-shelved. But ‘enslaved dragons’ were essentially the desperate man’s ‘tamed dragon’. I’m sure at the festival of dragons there will one day fall a year where a dragon egg is captured for the goal of raising it far from where it was stolen.

And finally as uncontrolled protectors. A beast that humans expect to be wild, but also leave to remain wild. In return, many strong towns reap peace where a foreign lord would typically have provoked them. Really dragons are unpredictably on edge against human wars, picking no side except for quieting the swell of noise and prolonging the stench of blood. But humans fear anything unpredictable and uncontrollable, especially when dragons are an invasive species that only lived underground in caverns in B.F.E. times. Who knew they would evolve wings and one day captivate someone like my father with every flap of them in a thousand years.

So what will humanity conclude to do about dragons? Likely cities Euphemia, Cycillian, and Qiorup stand in a position to trap and hunt them. Other cities may have found dragons to be sentient and intelligent cohabitors of their regions. The answer for the majority of what cities will do with dragons, is to hunt them off for the convenience of being the top of the food chain.

My notebooks were useful to reposition myself on the matter, and I remembered to be mindful that many strong figures out there had invited my dad to speak in their court. The notebooks I have both have some muddied paper notes, collected by myself when he trashed them in a drunken state having gotten alcohol all over his work table. I flipped through them, stuck to the front papers in both, as I sat up crisscrossed and took a pencil out of my belt’s inner pocket. I read over my station’s superiors, and what times I would be on watch many times over. On a blank page I tested my memory of what West Cycillian’s layout consisted of, a bumpy ride making me chuckle when I stopped drawing to look at the result. It was a quiet and considerate giggle, but I swear my cartmates stopped talking for a beat because of it. I put my notebooks up and admired the view as we passed by a family’s pottery sale along the city road.

As a collective decision our cart pulled to the side and each of us admired the talent of the family members, who each sat by their own creations. Consequently, we ended up striking alight that conversation over a piece of pottery made by the youngest brunette, a girl who loved making vessels.

Departing with all my stuff into the bustling reception post of West Cycillian, Sloane the aging porter’s words did a quick waltz across a ballroom in my skull.

“Dragons prove to us that heightened senses lead them through some sort of logical response system- they don’t simply find dragons releasing distress calls, they can stake out the dragon and ambush anything that approaches a downed dragon. Elder dragon Xannery is said to have enlightened Pulcheria Euphemia about allowing the enemy army to hold low expectations over her defenses.”

“Well, Pulcheria Euphemia is less well behaved than The Protector, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise as to who’s teaching who.”

Eradyle had said the last part, which just about chalks up my highest opinion about him from the whole trip. Neither of us had bothered to specify where we would be working and visiting in the city. If I spot him a second time, I think I’d abandon my lookout just to pray for a rebounding piece of rock to slam down onto him during the fire rain.

The crowd of different ages shared in the same amusing realization that the mountains of the city were much more tree covered than in a natural first assumption. Dragons are like our oversized Qiorup lizards, the ones who think they can fool you by hiding their plump, pancaked bodies behind a pile of rope without being noticed. My point with Qiorup lizards is that when I had one as a pet for several weeks past my eighteenth birthday, the lizard seemed genuinely surprised I could see him until it occurred to him that there were some places I couldn’t find him. Several weeks of owning him means my pesky lizard played hide and seek a little too well, and ate bedsheets to survive- like a moron.

As people moved past into the city like a river around me, a rooted stone, I stood and watched the green, wind brushed mountain to spot the tails wrapped around exposed roots slither away when I put my eyes on them. When I found my eyes starting to cross, I pulled out my bigger notebook and started running through the post times again, walking towards my third meal of the day.

It wasn’t until the fourth day that the Elder dragon appeared, and as he cast his creepy shadow across the city the whole town seemed to stop and watch the sun glint off his wings, entranced. I could see him with two wide eyes from my spot sitting beside a lookout window in the military post Spring’s Front. My post partners, Ioan Pearce and Jacob Roman, came to the same window to watch. I watched Jacob make his record drawing of what the great beast’s structure appeared to be when it fully stretched its wingspan. I asked him how he was going to describe it to his lord when he returned to being the Clerk Registrar when schedules resumed. Without stopping his quickly scribbling hand, he said in a comically desperate voice,

“Face of a boar, horns like an ox, mane of a frilled lizard. Claws like scythes and veined, spiked wings with a tail ending in a battle-axe shaped wedge.”

I let out a quick laugh, not expecting him to only have analogies. The pencil dropped from his hand and an audible gasp escaped from our three bodies when the roar fell over West Cycillian and The Protectors' tail thwapped down the first rock into the mountainside. It had been a test of throwing one rock towards the elder, but I knew every soldier in the city had to be pale at their post. In hindsight, I should have looked up to see if my soul had escaped me. Ioan Pearce retreated to the tree viewing side of the tower to watch a second rock fly by, and again as the rock was received by the opposite mountain I wondered how the dragons had communicated the event. I wondered this all four times the rock shook the mountains, and when my replacement came into the room to relieve me, I booked it down into town to see how the general public was faring.

I think the most notable sight was the two year old jumping up and down outside of a tea shop saying “Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!”, but since it had been hours since the last boulder flew, calm expressions were on most faces. I found a wood carver with a cart posted by the market gates, and his catapults were down to just a few left to be sold. Kids would probably be using them around the city for years, to fling rocks with them as they recall this day, but the skilled carver’s sense of humor gave me a smile.

I left with a catapult carved like a dragon’s tail, and a little less pocket change to my name. On the fourth day here I had no more friends outside of work than when I arrived. So I went early to my post at the gate of the city, a famous three thousand steps from the interior towers.

Late night sun drew sun rays across the top half of the towers, as the exterior city wall cast shade on the few guideposts and stables that were near. As my job was to keep an eye on dragons and record the cause of anything that goes wrong, I was not to be bothered in my place inside the wall, gazing out the window with my arms folded on the concrete sill.

The roar of the surf of Pagos sea came from the sky as a dragon let out a huff of air from the mountains. Thunderous Crackling started from an origin that took my eyes straight up from the mountains to the graying, glittering sky above. One meteor tumbled down. The dragons don’t lie.

The stars entertained a city and the thunder of dragons in a humbling moment. Except for many who had their fears or suspicions of Xannery. I narrowed my gaze over the mountains until the darkness moved shadows like men through the trees. Occasionally one of the lantern lit paths would flicker as something darted across them. The starry night had the city entranced, hopeful for a meteor show, which had the guards tense.

I pulled my mask away from my face to breathe in cool air, and let it snap back.

...

Kaboom!

Scaled kites snaked across the sky and began to block our view of the shattering red rocks, but ashes floated farther down to the grass then I had pictured. They were swallowed up because they lacked fuel to remain burning. I took my eyes down to the level of the crowd for just a moment. Children innocently darted under the dragons, chasing them from the ground though they could run only a tenth the distance, the dragons swiping back and forth much faster.

Who could know that from being underground bats with tails, dragons became dog like birds that I would one day spot being tamed by a member of the Glorious Storm. The day the city watched the elder dragon Xannery dive to the ground and kneel to her, only a hooded figure with all of my hatred in that moment- Xannery’s axe of a tail knocking over three mothers- this day was what started my chaotic transformation to be what I am now.

The day cracks and bellows became ingrained in my mind’s music track- only one hour convinced me for the rest of my likely short life what humans would decide to do with dragons…