Firthton

Firthton

Minka

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Not even in the Mountains of Perse which lie directly beyond it. Well, that’s what Friddy says. She says that whoever left me nestled in the branches of the Hariknot tree, not yet three moons old, wrapped in grey fur and sleeping soundly when she found me, wouldn’t have done that if dragons were around.

“If a dragon had found you” Friddy says “they’d have eaten you quick smart. They’re particularly fond of baby meat. Much juicier and sweeter than the likes of an old crone like me” she adds, grinning.

Friddy doesn’t look like an old crone to me. I like her face with her wide brown eyes and her plump mouth. We don’t look anything alike. My hair is yellow like tansy flowers and my skin as white as an Autumn frost. Friddy’s skin is as dark as roasted chestnuts and her thick curly hair hangs like an ebony halo around her head. We both have horns but Friddy’s are magnificently long and strong and mine still only soft nubs. Not everyone has horns. When we go down to the village to trade Friddy’s herbs and potions I notice there are lots of folk without them. Friddy says we can blame our horns on a band of randy satyrs passing through the Valley some generations back with their sugar sticks out. I’m not sure what she means by that but she won’t explain any more. I’m impatient for my horns to grow and be like Friddy’s but she says that won’t happen until I bleed. I keep telling Friddy I am now twelve Springs old so I wish my bleeding would start straight away but she just snorts with laughter and shakes her head.

Dear Mother, Today Friddy has given me a beautiful leather- bound journal to write to you. It is a present to celebrate Friddy and my twelve Springs together. With my journal comes a new feather quill, coloured deep blue with golden stripes. I must ask Friddy what bird it comes from as I have never seen a feather like this before. It is so beautiful. Friddy says I must never forget about you and should we ever meet I’ll be able to read to you the adventures of my life so you can share in them too. She says you would want to know everything about me, everything you’ve missed. I hope my story is not dull to you. I know I started off by telling you that there weren’t always dragons in the Valley and that was true….then! But suddenly things have changed and I don’t like it one little bit.

Friddy and I come to be talking about dragons because last night as we lay in our bed, a gentle rain falling on the thatched roof and both of us easing into sleep we heard a thrashing through the trees and a rasped panting. Friddy clutched my hand in the darkness and we slithered out of the bedding and silently moved as one to the door. Although quaking inside I knew not to speak as Friddy had instructed me a thousand times that when unknown danger is near, mouths stay still. Particularly if we meet a stranger in the forest I am not permitted to speak until Friddy says so and I am never, ever allowed to mention Firthton. Tonight, we need not have feared because as we crouched holding our breath, a voice familiar to us both croaked out.

“Friddy, Minka, let me in. I’ve news you need to hear”

I heard Friddy’s sigh of relief in the darkness as she pulled back the bar from the door and peered out.

“For pity’s sake, Hedda come in out of the rain. You half scared the life out of us. You’re not exactly light on your feet”

Hedda stomped in, a mass of damp wood, and dripping leaves intermingled with patches of bare skin. She shook herself like a wet dog and Friddy and I were sprayed with water.

“Eek” I squealed.

“Hush Minka,” scolded Hedda, “a drop of rain can only do you good.”

Friddy smiled at me in the gloom, a smile to comfort me, I guess. Hedda doesn’t usually scold me so I felt a little miffed. It was nearly full moon so with the door open we could see each other enough to warrant no extra light. We plopped ourselves down around the table. Friddy took an earthenware jar down from the shelf and poured each of us a generous cup of elderberry wine. It was a rare occasion to have a visitor, and a dryad at that. Dryads don’t tend to move around much, preferring to stay close to their home tree so I was bursting with curiosity as to why Hedda was here. She had never been to our cabin before. The only time we saw her was when we went deep into the forest when we needed special herbs that only grew in the densest areas of the wood, near Hedda’s tree. It was murky dark where Hedda lived and the trees towered above us. To me all the trees looked the same but Friddy knew exactly which tree was Hedda’s. She would lovingly pat its gnarly trunk and whisper Hedda’s name. The whole giant tree would shudder and the leaves would swirl and rustle and suddenly Hedda would appear beside us, running her twiggy fingers through my hair and entwining her tendrils around Friddy’s waist in a delicate embrace. When it was time for us to leave Hedda would lift me in her woody arms and sticky brown resin would run from her eyes.

“Stop being so sappy Hedda” Friddy would say every time, winking at me. “You dryads are such cry -babies. We’ll be back soon enough.”

And we would leave to the sound of a deep groaning that seem to echo from inside the bowels of every tree we passed until at last we were nearing home and the groaning ceased.

But last night there was no embracing from Hedda. We sat quietly watching her as she daintily picked up her cup of wine and sipped. Hedda may be heavy on her tree-trunk legs but her arm movements are always graceful and leisurely. Dryads don’t like to be rushed. Hedda replaced her cup on the table then slowly picked it up again.

I could not contain myself any longer.

“Hedda what is wrong?”

She slowly turned her head and gazed at me, her green eyes solemn and sad. I never get tired of looking at dryads. Their eyes change colour with the seasons and now because it is spring Hedda’s eyes are lime green like the colour of new leaves. In Summer they turn a darker green but by Autumn they are a glorious russet shade until they turn a wispy white in the depths of winter. Hedda’s hair is a mass of knotty twigs and leaves that twist like snakes around her head. She is magnificent, truly beautiful. But way too slow to answer.

“Hedda tell us” I cry.

She took another sip of her wine. I wished Friddy had never given it to her. This sipping was taking way too long.

“What?” I cried

“Dragons” rasped Hedda and she shuddered and once again we were sprayed with water.

“Dragons?” Echoed Friddy, her voice sharp with alarm as she wiped the rain dripping down her nose. Hedda gravely nodded her head. I watched Friddy’s face and could see the worry settling there.

“How many? “Asked Friddy

There was another long pause as Hedda again sipped her drink. I guess her journey had made her thirsty and the rain on her leaves might take a while to soak through.

“It’s said there’s a whole flight of them and what’s worse they’re from the West” said Hedda

“Have you seen them?” I ask

“Nay but word comes from the dryads of Fletchers Wood they have settled in the Mountains of Perse. They’ve been seen flying into the Valley now to hunt.”

“They’ve never come here before. Why now? says Friddy.

Hedda, not having an answer, shook her head gloomily.

I looked from one of their troubled faces to the other. I know very little about dragons. Down in Firthton I have seen a plate made of dragon scales hanging on the tavern wall. It is a wonderful object to behold, glittering every shade of the rainbow in the sunlight. When I asked Mistress Cook the tavern owner about it she said the only thing a dragon was good for was making pretty plates out of.

“Well, are dragons really that bad? Maybe they’ll just leave us alone,” I said hopefully.

Hedda turned her head to look at me in astonishment and sighed, her green eyes piercing right through me.

“Damn dragons and damn their fire” she growled and shuddered again, once more spraying us with raindrops. I wished she’d stop doing that but she didn’t seem to notice my annoyance.

Not much was said after that. Hedda seemed to sink into a deep despair. The more elderberry wine she sipped the sadder she became, her face an uneasy mix of beauty and fear. Brown resin tears ran down her face freely but this time Friddy did not call her a cry- baby. Instead Friddy moved around the table and wrapped her arm gently around her. Hedda clasped Friddy’s hand, then suddenly drained her cup and stood up.

“I must make haste” she cried. “There are others to let know this terrible news. “

And with that she was gone into the night. It seems dryads can move quick enough after all if the situation is dire enough to demand it. We heard the rustle of leaves and her footsteps get fainter as she moved further away from us. Friddy fastened the bar across the door and we climbed back into bed. I curled into Friddy’s back, savouring the comfort of her sturdy body.

Dear Mother,

As we lay in bed that was when Friddy told me about how she’d found me again and how glad she was about the absence of dragons (as when my journal began). She’s told me this story a bundle of times and I never tire of it.

“It’s a dryad’s greatest fear – fire,” Friddy muttered as she drifted off to sleep. “Damn dragons are so careless with it, charring everything in sight. And of course, now the FOEs will come chasing dragon treasure. Curse and damn those wicked monsters. May they roast in hell!”

Dear Mother, I did not sleep so well last night while Friddy slumbered. The night felt long and lonely. I know Friddy always keeps me safe but my tummy felt like I had swallowed some blind scaly worms who were twisting and turning all night long, trying to burrow their way out. I’m not telling Friddy about my disturbed night because she will dose me with tincture of Valerian which stinks and tastes really horrid. I think the seed of fear has germinated inside of me and its all because of dragons.

When we wake in the morning the rain is gone and the air smells damp and fresh. Because of our night visitor we have slept later than usual and the sun is already high in the sky. Friddy sets to packing her basket with the special knives and digging tools that we take when we are gathering herbs, roots and berries. She instructs me to put my sturdy boots on as the ground is muddy from last night’s rain. In Spring and Summer, I usually just wander around bare feet as my feet are as hard and smooth as flint underneath which Friddy says is caused by the Satyr blood in my veins. But today the ground is too slippery to make good progress without boots. I am keen to find out all I can about dragons, things that I have spent the long night pondering, but there’s no point in questioning her until we begin our errand. Friddy doesn’t like to answer questions when she is preparing for a day in the forest as she is loath to forget something. She wraps some black bread and hard cheese in Hariknot leaves for our lunch and pours some damson cordial into a leather flask so I realise whatever we are seeking it cannot lie close to home. Friddy shuts the door of the cabin and we set out on the familiar path we take almost daily into the forest in Spring with the happy chirping of blackbirds and nightjars delighting our ears. I know now that I am free to chatter and I am keen to find out all I can about dragons. Alas, Friddy is aware of my intentions. She often seems to know what I am thinking before I have a chance to put it into words. She puts a finger to her lips to hush me, just as I’m about to speak.

“Before you start on with your questions about dragons Minka, we’re looking for Dragonsbane today as well as berries and..”

“Dragonsbane? What’s that look like? What’s it good for?”

“Firstly, Dragonsbane is a small tough leafed plant with woody stalks and hard black berries so poisonous that only one berry if devoured will kill a creature as large as a centaur. It grows in shady spots shunning the sun and it loves water so we will search for it around the creeks. Do not touch the berries as even touching them can leave you with a nasty rash. Do you understand?

I solemnly nod my head.

“Secondly, Dragonsbane as the name suggests is a deterrent to dragons. The smell is abhorrent to them and makes them retch violently so they will not come within a stone’s throw of it. Hence it may save your life if you are wearing some and a dragon wants to eat you. Hopefully they will fly away and eat some other poor creature who is not bedecked in it. “

I nod my head again. Friddy’s knowledge is infinite when it comes to such matters and she has cured many women and children in Firthton from every sickness imaginable with her herbs and potions. In Firthton she is known by all and most people call her Wise Woman Friddy though some refer to her as The Scout. Every time we gather herbs, she tells me what ailments they are useful for and later asks me questions about it to make sure I am listening. I’ll admit there are times when she instructs me my mind wanders and she will chide me saying

“Listen child, this is important. One day if I leave, you will be the wise woman of Firthton.”

Dear Mother, I don’t know why Friddy talks of leaving. No one ever leaves Firthton, except the boys after their 12th Summer when they must leave for the Honourable Quest. Nobody in Firthton talks about the Honourable Quest or if they do they call it the Forbidden Secret and they whisper. Perhaps I should not tell you this Mother because we are not permitted to speak of it. But I am writing this which is not the same as speaking and Friddy says I should tell you everything. I know I can trust you.

“What’s more” adds Friddy briskly “after we collect the Dragonsbane we will spend the evenings weaving the twigs and leaves into garlands and sell them at market this Saturday. We can trade them for salted deer and pickled quails’ eggs to get us through the winter. I think the market is ripe for Dragonsbane this week, everyone in Firthton will want some.”

I nod at Friddy, pleased with her plan. Although the winter is long and bleak, I have never felt hunger because of Friddy’s knowledge and careful planning.

“Can we talk about dragons now?” I ask.

“Aye, child, there’ll be no peace until we do. What is it you want to know? “

“Well, so far, I know they fly, breathe fire, eat people and hoard treasure. Aren’t there any good dragons? Are they all wicked?”

“Dragons” says Friddy, after a long pause, “are like FOEs. They only worry about their own needs and wants. They do not care who or what they hurt to satisfy their own selfish desires. They have no value in society. They are wicked through and through, every single one. We do not want them here and I will do everything in my power to keep them away for eternity. Now enough chatter, we are on a serious errand. Dragons are in the Valley now and I’ll feel easier once we have at least some Dragonsbane in our basket.”

Dear Mother,

Perhaps you are wondering what a FOE is? It’s a word that stands for one more thing that we are not supposed to talk about. Friddy only told me what FOE meant last Winter when we were cabin- bound with heavy snow and she couldn’t bear me annoying her with questions on the subject anymore. Perhaps you already know? I do not know where your life has taken you and what sights your eyes have seen. Please forgive me if I am telling you things that you already have knowledge of. FOE stands for Filthy One Eye or as they are called outside the Valley, a man. There! I’ve written the word though my hand has grown a little shaky and I’ve smudged my ink a little. I’ve no idea why they’re called FOES. Friddy won’t tell me because she says I don’t need to be burdened with such knowledge at my age. And now Friddy says FOEs may come to the Valley seeking dragons’ gold. I don’t like feeling scared but I can’t seem to stop it. What power do we have against such monsters? I have never seen a dragon or a FOE dear Mother. Have you?