A Tale of Dragons

       

          The sun had been set for a while, yet the horizon still held the washes of gold, pink and scarlet left in its wake. Soft folds of twilight had begun to overtake the sky from the east, and almost suddenly, stars began to appear like a spray of tiny opals scattered across its inverted surface. Around the world, The Festival of the Twelve Dragons was being celebrated, and would continue to be throughout the evening, and into the small hours closest to dawn. The capital city of the Nichi-kage Province had spent the week playing host to thousands with feasts and dancing, theatre performances, puppet shows, prayer, and singing, all leading up to tonight.   

          A huge parade had wound its way through the streets earlier that afternoon, representing the twelve dragons of legend. Each costume was deftly wrought from silk, beaten metal, glass beads, and crystal work; all stretched over thin, wooden frames with people inside to create their swooping and cleverly choreographed movements. The feats and parade culminated in an orchestrated dance in the main square centered in the heart of the Capitol City. 

          The main square, or Four Corners of the White Birds, rested at the base of an expansive series of steps which led up into the capital palace, home of the Governor and The House of Functions. In the center of the open-aired and marble tiled square, was situated a fountain carved from white quartz, veined with gold. Rising up from the middle of the fountain and carved of the same stone was a lilac tree, bare of leaf or flower. In different states of posing, five exquisitely crafted peacocks perched in its branches, all perfectly replicated save that they had not been given their normally plumed tails. Instead, water had been plumbed up through the trunk and through the branches on which they sat and into their bodies; spilling out horizontal slits where their tails would have been and creating cascades of water that poured out in separate sheets, down into the basin below.

          The Four Corners of the White Birds was massive and thronged with people who had put themselves together in their finest to come see the Dance of the Dragons, followed by a speech from the Governor, and a prayer chant led by the premiere priest of the Wind Cult who presided over a popular temple carved into the rocky crags of the mountains behind them. After the prayer, he led the people down to the harbor so that everyone could light the thousands of colored lanterns they had made and brought with them. People flocked to both sides of the wide river commonly called the Ribbon. The ornate bridges which spanned the Ribbon were laden with people, lighting and releasing their corn paper lanterns of variant colors. Each one took to the breeze, lazily drifting upward and filling the darkening sky with slow and shifting rainbow constellations. 

          The priest of the Wind Cult had the power to command the will of wind and current, air and breath. He was a portly man garbed in thick robes of pale blue and ivory, with a merry face and green eyes like flecks of glass. If there had been clouds, he might have used the local winds to mold them into the shapes of dragons to swirl and soar through the atmosphere. However, the summer sky held not even a wisp, so he bent his concentration on marshaling the winds to push the lanterns together into the shape of one huge, long dragon to spin through the night with an undulating body, climbing high and then spinning slowly down, towards the crowd. It came to a glide over the face of the sluggishly moving river to produce amazement from the people of the Nichi-kage Province. This priest's dragon rose into the sky once more and reared itself up onto its thick hind legs. Its paper lantern wings unfurled themselves in full, and lifting its muzzle, it gave a howl that had the keening of cold, high winds - like a distant, soft metal scream. 

          Then the entire beast blew outwards and apart into thousands of colored paper lights and the crowd collapsed into a thunder of applause and laughter.

          If the priest's efforts had been difficult, he showed not even the slightest signs of exertion. He clapped his hands with the rest of them and waved to everyone from his place on the dock.

          The citizens and revelers made their way back into the city proper to continue the festivities. Nichi-kage was a prosperous province, with its capitol tucked into the base of the snow capped mountain range called the March of the Living Stones - in the south east peninsula of the kingdom marked on the maps as the Cloud Dynasty. 

          This being said, their capitol city was a largely civilized and sprawling affair of well maintained streets and carefully designed buildings set between the mountains to the north and the Ribbon to the south. The long and ponderous snowmelt of the Ribbon divided the city from vast leagues of pasture and growing lands, and beyond these farmlands and scattered villages, lay the great ocean itself. 

          People from all over the province had made the trip to the Capitol City for this event which only happened once every one hundred twenty years on the first day of the summer season. Those who could not make the journey would gather in villages and hold keeps closer to home for powder-works displays and to drink in spirit houses, ringing in the advent of the calendar’s most fortunate season. 

          At a spirit house in the Capitol City called the Branch and Tiger, the very same was happening. Every seat in the timber and clay building was taken and every window thrown wide. All of the lights had been lit and the back wall slid completely open to a wooden porch that reached out towards a large and enclosed courtyard, bringing cool air which carried the scents of lilac, lemon, and lavender reeds. Carefully shaped maples and brown bark cherry trees claimed the bulk of the courtyard. Walkways of lacquered slats, cut through manicured gardens of grass and bloom, and in the center of the courtyard, squatted a brazier, dutifully fanning away the shadows of dusk.

          Every room in the Branch and Tiger had been booked as far back as three sets of seasons and the same was true for most of the city. Those of High and Common rank alike, sat inside drinking clear liquors laced with rare fruits and herbs and loudly singing songs of the past, punctuated by the occasional breaking of glass, and followed by raucous laughter. In the courtyard, their children were sitting on cushions drinking berry teas with milk and sharing a plate of desserts around the brazier. An old man, straight and as withered as a stick, sat on a stool feeding logs of apple and mahogany into the flames. He had been hired at the end of last winter to empty pails of dish water and chamberpots and then to sweep up at night while the guests slept. Tonight he was acting as chaperone.

          The moon had finally swayed from behind the farthest peak of the March of the Living Stones and had begun to cast a restless pale into the courtyard and over the children with their teas and whispers. 

          Where the younglings were dressed in the gay colors of the holiday, the old man was clad in a tunic of soft brown canvas and linen trousers cuffed at the knees with plain sandals that had seen better seasons. His face was smooth and tan and the beard he wore was short - the color of snow, and his bald head was without ornament. When he smiled, which was often, the lines at the corner of his eyes would crease like brown paper, framing a set of black eyes that seemed to sparkle when he spoke. He had promised them a story once the moon came out if they in turn promised to behave, and so far they had.

          The moon billowed over the courtyard like a swollen melon, with the light from its orange flesh dimming the stars around it. 

          The children began asking for tales. Mostly ones that they had heard before, but the old man was not inclined to take requests. With good humor, he waved off their pleas to hear about the miniature knight born from the core of a tea fruit who vanquished an oni for the honor of a washing girl, or the story of the sake prince who traded his realm for a song and won it back with a song of his own. They asked for tales of tengu and of kappas, they wanted to be told how the monks of the Dai-ki-sho wastelands painted the sky black and used coins for stars when the sun refused to leave their lands because it had fallen in love with a flower that blossomed only there and nowhere else. 

          He would laugh every time they made a request, and when finally, a boy of seven sets asked for a story of dragons the old man leaned back on his stool, thinking quietly and pulling at his chin.

"It is appropriate that a tale of the twelve dragons should be told on this day," he said at last.

          A girl not much older than the boy, protested respectfully, "But, we have heard all day about dragons."

          "What is the meaning of this day then?" he asked the little crowd of children.

          An older boy shifted on his cushion and said, "This is the day the twelve dragons of legend made the world and set the sun in the sky. But, the sun caused imbalance and made the world spin too fast, so they lifted the island of Hoshuki from the earth and rolled it into a ball and that became the moon. When they put it into the sky, everything was fixed and the world gained the slow spin that we have now. Where they took the island from, they placed the Mountain of the Moon."

          "Then they created all of the plants and animals, and people and the far folk!" interrupted a girl with her hair braided into a close-knit halo and a tiny gap in her front teeth.

          The boy rolled his eyes and said, "Yes, but it’s a story, and in the story they battled dark spirits and to protect everything, they all gave their lives to banish them. The oni and gaki are the manifestations of the evil ones - the way that lizards and sukoshi-ryu, the little dragons, are remnants of the twelve." 

The old man fed more wood onto the brazier and considered their words. 

          "Indeed, that is the short version of the legend as it is told now. It is a gentler and easier shade of the early tellings, to be sure. Would you like to hear the story of the twelve as it was told before it was considered legend?" he asked.

          He was greeted by mute nods and glittering eyes, and the murmurings of hai.

          "All right then," said the old man, taking on a solemn air and stirring the fire with a thin metal tong.

                                                                                                    *

          ‘Before the world was considered, even before time existed - there was just one dragon and not the twelve we know of today. It was larger than life and floated in darkness without knowing where it had come from, where it was, or even who it was. It found that it could navigate in the darkness, for it had a body and could think and fly, but it had no memory or points of reference. It flew and it searched, yet it did not know for what and it did not grow tired, but neither could it escape the vastness of this nothing realm - eternally black and without dimension. At times the dragon felt it was suffocating, and it became frightened and wailed into the darkness only to be answered by silence. 

          The dragon struggled to form a thought beyond its own longing and simply could not. Finally, it surrendered to the dark.

          For how long is unknown to us. 

          Then from the darkness a light appeared. It was no more than a tiny dot in the distance, and the dragon denied to itself that it was real. Slowly, it grew closer and brighter; it stabbed the dragon's eyes with its sharpness. The dragon became very afraid as the light drew nearer, and it could begin to make out an island of stone and dirt, with a flat surface. The entirety of it appeared to have been scalloped from a distant land and set to drift like some skiff in an unfathomable and wine dark sea. 

          The island was lit, but from what source, the dragon could not discern. It made out the form of a maiden sitting quietly on the edge of the island, facing inwards toward the center. The dragon flew down to its pebbled surface and gently landed, not wishing to disturb the maiden, and not trusting the place either. He sat there watching her for a long time, and observed that she was dressed in ivory robes that looked soft and tailored to her frame, embroidered with scarlet thread in the shapes of dahlias and lilies. The wide cuffs of her sleeves and the hem had been worked with gold trim, and a long thin chain held her hair aloft, like some work of art. He saw that a small red bird had been festooned into it. 

          Most remarkable, was her face. Beautiful to be sure, with a fine chin and high cheekbones, and skin like freshly powdered porcelain, but where her eyes should have been, there was nothing. There were smooth sockets  as if her maker had purposefully stopped there. Set into the middle of her forehead was a small ruby the size of a  fingernail; wonderfully cut. The dragon could see itself reflected in each facet.
          Watching.
          And even though there wasn't any air that the dragon could tell, her breathing was even and strong. 

          "You are late," she said in a voice small enough that he scarcely heard her, and a dragon hears all.

          Any language that requires a tongue, a dragon can speak. "You came to me," it replied.

          Her mouth turned into a small smile and she said to him, "We have not moved, though we heard your call."

          "We?" it asked.

          The bird in her hair stretched its wings and took to the air. The little cardinal made the long voyage upwards and came to a rest on the dragon's bottom eyelid, cocking its head to level his glossy black eye with that of the dragon's. The dragon gave a snuff and the cardinal bowed before dropping into a dive towards the maiden below. The faintest rumble of a chuckle welled from the dragon's throat.   

          "I am here to help. You called and we came." she replied calmly. 

          The dragon bowed to the maiden.

          It had many questions, most of which she would not answer, instead she bade it to seek these answers from itself. 

          'Who am I?' What was I?' Where are we?' Am I dead?' 'What should I do?' 'What has happened?' 'What is this place?'  - Questions of this nature.

          She rebuffed its queries by telling it that every time it asked a different question, it was only asking the same question rephrased.

          This baffled the dragon and it became angry.  It howled with frustration and accused her of madness. Then it took wing and left the island to seek out the dark.

          The cardinal perched on her shoulder, trilling softly to his mistress in notes of despair.

          "It is all right, little one. It will return," she said.

          She was right, of course; it did return. It landed gingerly onto the island and bowed, lowering its head to rest on the ground in front of her. "I am ready to listen," it said. 

          It was then that she taught the great dragon to meditate.

          She showed it how to separate its awareness into a dozen different aspects and long it meditated on each of them, but they were incomplete and it could not grasp them fully for it had no imagination.  

          Thus, the maiden taught the great dragon to dream.

          And it was in dreams that the dragon gained reference and saw then what and where and when things might be, but not who or why, and these two components are necessary to understanding oneself and one's place in all things. The great dragon decided to enter a long meditation to discover the answers to all of these things, and when it announced to the maiden what it intended, she nodded and gave the faintest of smiles to show that she was pleased. 

          It unwound itself from the pose of meditation and stretched its twelve arms, two sets of wings, and long rope of a spine and lay down to sleep.  As its eyes slid shut and its breathing became even and unburdened, the great dragon began to slip away. 

          One moment it was on the floating island in that deep yawn of darkness and the next.. 

          
          Before it opened its eyes, it could feel sunlight on its scales. It smelled growing things and it smelled every color there was. It felt soft ground beneath its weight and its talons pressing into the turf. The sounds of the elements poured into its ears - wind and stone, stream and flame. It felt a sudden joy and as its eyes began to open, the awareness of the great dragon evaporated. 

          It was then that the maiden on the island with her small red bird, observed a huge sphere of delicate, and transparent quality, form into existence over the sleeping dragon and watched as it descended to rest on its massive shoulders. The cardinal bird whistled in exclamation and the maiden nodded and smiled. In the curve of the great sphere, they saw reflected, twelve sleeping dragons who were starting to wake on the landscape of a newly made world. Our world.

          These were the Twelve, and they need not be named here. They were small things at first, quick to learn and filled with power. Some were distinctly male and female, others were neither. 

          On the world they were alone, save for each other, whom they loved, and they were in harmony. They flew, and walked, dug, and swam. They would travel as a horde, or strike off in small groups, or sometimes by themselves to explore and contemplate. Thus, they grew and the world around them grew as well.

          As the world expanded and changed, new things began to appear. The first were animals and fish and fowl. Different than today, but similar. The Twelve welcomed them as small cousins and marveled at their little societies and customs, watching as they achieved their balances in the world. They were born and they died. 

          However, death did not touch the band of dragons and this did not seem odd to them, for they were the first. This was life and it unfolded for ages. Our philosophers say that the first man and woman came from the sea and onto the land, yet this was not so. They came from the forests. 

          Again, different from how we are now, but similar.

          Some of the dragons saw them as novelty, while some became infatuated by their progress, the others thought of them not at all.

          Of the the dragons who watched them closely, they observed that they were not like any of the other creatures of the world, and in some ways, more like dragons. They had harnessed base complexities and strived beyond the common modes of survival. They fashioned instruments to make music with, and with the same skill they crafted tools to work the earth and to build things like ships and houses. They communed with the elements and learned their secrets.

          These men and women revered life and like the dragons, animals, fish and fowl, they too sustained balance and all remained harmonious.

          But from the forest came more than man..

          Far folk began to appear as well. 

          We call them far folk, and when we say this, it essentially means anything that is neither human nor animal, though they can closely resemble either. In the early days of the world, they came and were welcomed and everything seemed for the better as the world is large and held more than enough room for all manners of people and life.

          The far folk built their communities and their tribes, but they differed from those who came before them since they were not concerned with balance. Those far folk who lacked the capacity or skill to create beauty or useful things, took from those who could through means of violence and deceit. 

          The age of harmony had ended and so had the dawn days of the world. 

          As I said, it is best not to name dragons, so I will call them in other ways. Of the dragons who loved mankind, it was the Lavender, the Pale, the Tree, the Rainbow, the Green, the Silver, and the Leviathan. The others - the Owl, the Turtle, the Galaxy, the Gold, and the Wyrm, did not love them in the way of their brothers and sisters, but bore them no ill will either.

          Seven of the dragons wished to intervene in the warring that had erupted between the factions of man and that of the far folk, but their brethren did not see the wisdom in doing so. It was not for wisdom the seven pleaded, but for love, and in the end, this became their folly. 

          The Lavender, the Green, and the Silver came in the guise of three women to hold palaver with the tribes of men, only to be betrayed. In the wake of betrayal, the Green and the Silver fled in heartbreak. The Lavender made for the sky and returned with fire, angry and destructive. None of the dragons had killed before; it had never been necessary because they did not depend on food for survival and nothing had ever demanded defense from them.

          As I said, some of the dragons were male, some female, and some neither.

          The Lavender dragon was female, and she returned to the face of the world, wroth. Maddened with fury she brought destruction to both men and far folk alike. The Green and the Silver, who were ever her closest companions, joined at her side and they too, became the bringers of great fire and rending.

          The Pale and the Gold thought to stop the three by confronting them where they raged on the eastern coast of the continent we call the Cinder Lands, which now belongs to the Dynasty of Flames.

          However, the acts of death and vengeance had changed the nature of the three and the Pale and the Gold found themselves facing different dragons altogether. It was council and comfort the two offered to the three and in response, the Lavender drove her teeth into her brother, slaying the Pale. 

          The Gold watched in horror as the Green and the Silver rushed forward to begin lapping at the blood like two great dogs at a puddle of water. The Gold lost control of his balance and slumped to the earth in a crash. As the Lavender wrenched her head in his direction, one of her perfect, long teeth broke off in the Pale's chest and this new pain only served to fuel her madness.

          Before the three could set upon the Gold, he shot into the atmosphere and to his surprise, they did not give chase. When the Gold returned, it was with the rest of the dragons who had been off at their own contemplations.

          What they beheld frightened them, and they could not comprehend how fate had twisted their lives into such cruel disharmony. Half the world had been destroyed in their absence, destroyed by three of their brethren. 

          The Green and the Silver, led by the Lavender, advanced on the others, who in the end subdued them, but not without taking wounds themselves. With one voice, they cried out in anguish that seemed to shake the very tapestry of the universe.

          It was then that they heard the shrill whistle of a cardinal, and from the smoking landscape, a maiden appeared, dressed in white with red embroidery, worked into the shapes of dragons. She had no eyes.

          They were held captive by her will, and she spoke softly to each of them and at the end she addressed them all. She told them that nothing had gone wrong, only that it had gone far enough.

          In the new tales and the old, it is said that they all were killed in a great battle with demons, but as you can see, this is not so. In this tale they did not die, save for the Pale dragon. The others were commanded to seek their separate places of meditations, and when next they woke, the world would have need of them.

          The time of dragons had passed and the twelve became legend.'

                                                                                                        *

          The old man stirred at the coals of the fire. All of the children had dozed off some time ago, and the moon had sailed farther west, still luminous.

          "Even that version is.. how did you put it, 'an easier and gentler shade'", a voice from the corner of the courtyard said.

          "Ahhh. In my morning meditations, I saw that you would most likely be around," the old man replied.

          "Well, I wouldn't miss a chance to hear a story about dragons from you, Ojiisan," the voice said slyly. Out from the shadows stepped a young man, tall and lithe. He was dressed in dark leather breeches, knee high yellow boots, a red leather vest and a long-sleeved blouse of saffron. He wore a hooded cape of light blue velvet, bunched at the left shoulder in the manner of the Rain Kingdoms, and a leather sack hung from his back by a thin strap. His shoulder length hair had been pulled back into a ring, but still, a few strands had come free and fell loosely against his face. His longish nose seemed to point almost accusingly at whatever he happened to be looking at.

          Ojiisan smiled and said, "It is good to see you again, my friend."

          "And you, good sir. Will you be staying long in the south?" The young man asked, crossing the slats of the walkway to stand by the brazier.

          "No, I must be going. I have seen strange things of late and I feel the world begin to shift."

          "For good or ill?" the young man with the rakish nose asked.

          "I suppose that depends on one’s point of view." The old man gestured to the children asleep in their pillows. "Will you help me take these little ones inside, prince?”

          The young man made a face. "Yes, but how many times must I ask you to never call me that?"

          Ojiisan chuckled and then became serious, "It would be best if you could stick to one place for a while, I will have need to find you before the winter season descends."
          "It has been a long time since you've had need of me, my friend. A dark time must be coming for the world then."
          The old man looked to the sky for a moment and then into the eyes of his companion, "The darkest yet."


Blue Christian Winterhawk  .  May. 2012

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