The Marclights

“There weren't always dragons in the Valley,” Li-mont’s voice was hot with anger, “and now they come and feed on the forest animals!” She had hunted in the Trabian Valley all her life and never before had to compete with anyone for the deer except other Kalenky hunters. "Damn ugly, lumbering, belching hulks!” She shook her head in frustration, "It took us hunters a while to realize that the dragons were using us to find their prey more easily.” Li-mont stirred the dying coals in the fire while distractedly picking up a gnarled piece of branch wood with her mo-paw and tossed it aside. “They're obviously clumsy, but figuring out they have eyes like hawks, and can trace our hunt packs through woods took so long we lost a lot of game. And they're clever; they circle, line-of-sight to the mid-day sun so they are hidden in the glare.”

This discovery had been a real blow. Because of the constant, loud rumbling from the myriad falls in the Marc mountains to the west, seeing well was essential for any hunter. “They come crashing down through the treetops to grab the deer, right from under our aim!", Li-mont growled, "The only tactic we found that kept the dragons from pilfering our efforts was to hunt later in the day, once the sun sets behind the Marcs, but then the deer are going to ground so the pickings are very slim indeed." Looking in the embers, focusing on a faraway enemy. Another hunter barked, "The kicker is that we have yet to find where their clan is holed up!” The pack of half a dozen Kalenky all nodded in agreement as they looked up intently into the rumbling dark where the Marc range brooded.

The Provincial Governor had directed Dronoss to visit the Valley to learn what the Kalenky were doing about the dragon infestation (he called it). Not that he cared much for their troubles, being as self-serving as any public official, but he did want to know whether their troubles might become his, if the dragons ever wandered further than the Trabian. This is the only reason why Dronoss found himself shivering beside a dying campfire at the edge of the river, instead of lounging in his lakeside hut far to the north.

The Trabian is the easternmost valley in the rugged Bencross Provence, separated from the great salt sea, Granoch Li, by the rough Low Hills. This range bounded the east side of the valley and from there the land smoothed out and shyly slid down to Granoch Li. Residents of the Provence refer to the eastern side of the Valley as the Low Hills. There was no official designation for that stretch of craggy mountains and, compared to the towering black Marc mountains to the west, the name was fitting enough. There were place names along the way, of course, but for some reason no formal name for the ridge itself. The elders might have one day decided on a name, or tradition would root its current name into everyone’s minds, but little thought was being given to that topic these days.

Traders traveled along the north-south road to ply their goods in the larger settlements beyond the two lakes at either end of the valley, Non-Li to the north and Kal-li, the river’s source, to the south. The road wound in and out of the thick forest of oak, beech, and aspen along the edge of the Stag Leaps. The forest itself stretched like a rough-made quilt, from just below the craggy snow line of the Low Hills down to the Leaps, a curious break in the land that dropped 20 meters or so and ran almost the entire length of the valley.

West from the Leaps, rolling fields stretched for about 5 kilometers to the Marcset river. This arc of fertile land, now lying fallow, was once the location of the Kalenor settlement and its farmland. The entire town had moved up the Leaps into the forest 2 years ago to be safer from the marauding dragons. The now-unemployed farmers, besides continuing to harvest nuts and vegetation from the forest, had taken up working with wood to build stronger homes and furniture and, most importantly, to carve arrows for the hunters.

Traders rarely spent much time in the valley, even before the dragons arrived. The Kalenor community, the last of the Kalenky, was insular and tight-fisted. Between this stinginess, the constant, disorienting rumble from the fierce falls crashing down the dark mountains to the west, and the morning Marclight event, there was little incentive for traders to linger any longer than they had to. There were even fewer reasons now with the bulbous, flying reptiles about.

The spring rains had come early this year. The warming, moist air rushing in from Granoch Li rose over the Low Hills then slammed into the towering Marc mountains. This created a near-constant cloud covering the length of the range, and incessant rain that tumbled into the cascading falls which then fed the already rushing waters of the Marcset. Notably, springtime was also when the Marclights were most intense.

Dronoss had grown up hearing stories about the Marclights. They were caused when the sun rose in the east. First light over the horizon was diffused by the high clouds roiling against the Marc range. Then, as sunlight reached past the peaks of the Low Hills to touch the thundering cascades, there was a brief time of wild, prismatic flashes surrounding, some say emanating from, the raging waterfalls. The Marclights were so bright that they shone like the sun back east, up past the Stag Leaps across the river, casting bright light and shadows deep into the forest.

A stranger looking into the Marclights for the first time could feel close to madness without actually losing one’s mind. Entering through the eyes, the Marclights seem to kick open the door to the soul and dance like a dervish on the secrets hidden there. It only took one sortie in the Marclights to convince an outsider to be sure to stay in bed, rolled over with their face covered, anytime they stayed in the valley. For the Kalenky, the morning light show seemed a brief, pleasant distraction. Those who were up and about in the morning almost instinctively turned to the west as the sun rose high enough to create the Marclights. Everyone paused, staring, and each Kalenky lived a brief, quiet moment somewhere else, returning to their workaday life with a lilting sigh and satisfied half-smile. This morning phenomenon was referred to in the common Kalenky greeting: “Fair Marclights to you!”

“So how are the Kalenor community coping with this?” Dronoss asked, only because it had to go in his report. If he had his way, he would have first met with the Central Militia leadership before coming up into the Valley. They may not be hunters, but Dronoss was sure the Militia would be keen to adapt their long-range weapons to hit flying targets. But that would have cost money, something the governor was just as tightfisted over as any Kalenky. And thus, the expense of one man and his assistant, rolling slowly in their ass-drawn wagon into the Trabian Valley, was a far more reasonable cost to the governor. It was no cost at all, compared to the outright common-sense expense of meeting with those hired to protect the Non-li people.

Although I couldn’t see her face, her tone of voice clearly showed Li-mont’s smirk, “Well, since we obviously cannot look to the governor for assistance, we are seeking the dragon nesting area on our own. And if we survive its discovery, we will lay plans from there.” Li-mont’s voice turned weary, “Hunting in the Marc Range is demanding and dangerous enough. We lost two apprentices and one experienced hunter last winter. The worst that has fallen on us in over a decade. Now we must climb even more stealthily, looking even deeper into the Marc, to see and not be seen, to know and not be known, and then return…intact.”

Kalenky hunters were legend outside the valley as they were not only sure-footed on the near-vertical Marc slabs, but also masters at strategic tracking. Along with needing to observe and approach their prey safely, the hunting team needed to kill their prey so as to be able to recover the carcass when it fell. Sure footing, aided by their mo-paw, driving a sure arrow into a chamois or wild cat--should it hit the heart from above or below to make the beast fall here or at least not there?

These thoughts and plans ricocheted around the hunting pack like lightning. There was little movement, only blinks, the slightest shrug in a shoulder, the clench of a mo-paw, or the tilt of a head flashed around the team as they silently debated, prepared, and executed their attacks. The rich meat they lugged down from those dark heights fed the Kalenor families while the full pelts, expertly tanned, were the only thing that made the stop in the Trabian worthwhile for the traders.

Dronoss nodded to Li-mont and her pack, acknowledging that, despite being a soft-handed, bread-footed administrator, he fully understood and sympathized with her predicament.