Luka in the Den of the Dragon Queen

“There weren't always dragons in the Valley.” Casupata wiped his perpetually runny nose with a dirty paw and sniffed. “’Course, there weren’t no venomous horses or screaming koalas either.”

The Bearmen shook his head. “Ever since that woman, Majeen! Moved in, the whole region has been contaminated from The Nether. Paah!” He spit a stream of red juice from the corner of his mouth and wiped his nose again. “Don’t know her plan, but it can’t be good. Seems like she’s building an army.”

Catsupata was of middle age, which for a Bearmen meant about twenty-five years. His jowls had not yet begun to hang as they would when he was old. But life had been trying; the tips of the fine hairs surrounding the fleshy bulb of his nose were already fading to grey. Most of the rest of his three-meter height was coated in luxurious dark-brown fur. All except his finger pads and of course, his fine brown lips. His smile revealed even, white teeth. Teeth he was unusually proud of.

The valley had always been home to the Bearmen. For as long as anyone could remember it had been a lush sanctuary to live out their lives. Casupata’s ancestors planted the fruit trees that fed everyone. The community gardens were always bountiful. It was as if the valley were carved out of time, because once you crossed the northern-most boundary the soil became rocky and poor and the weather, while very consistent and predictable within, became erratic and violent.

No one from Casupata’s family had every gone outside the valley for more than a few hours. Before Majeen’s arrival, there was never any need. Casupata’s daughter, Luka was a teen. Though she loved her mother and father, she had developed a rebellious streak along with new curves and swells of her teen-aged body. Curiosity is a powerful force. It can turn deadly with little notice.

That’s how Luka found herself in the den of the dragon queen and how she began the war. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. The problem at hand for all the inhabitants of the valley was Majeen. Some called her a sorceress or a witch. Others thought she was a wraith or a demon. The truth was both better and worse. Majeen had been a human woman once. But the curse, placed so long ago that she hardly remembered her life before, drove her in her immortal quest.

The only way to break it was to collect the magic fluid hidden beneath the rocks and give it to the Garck – a loathsome beast who dwelled in the frozen far north. Many said the Garck was a myth. Others claimed he was dead. But the fact remained. Majeen coveted the magic fluid. When she discovered any, she would claim the ground for her own. This, of course, angered the Bearmen. The fluid was sacred, a part of the magic that made the valley. If removed, they believed the valley would die. Many believed that the thinning of the worlds was an omen of that death.

A council meeting was called. Casupata attended. Old Morra presided. The sign posted over the door of the old stone church read: Meeting to decide what to do about the witch. Casupata didn’t approve of calling Majeen a witch. He’s known wise women. His great, great grandmother, Catsunana was a conjurer. People called her a sorceress; she was indeed powerful. Majeen was simply a charismatic woman in pain, nothing more. She was driven and frantic, but no witch. Still, the strangeness began when she took up residence in the oak tree house. It was hard to convince the congregation once they had already made up their minds.

Old Mora called the meeting to order by striking his ironwood walking staff on the slate floor of the dais. His jowls had drooped so low that they dragged down his lower lids making him look bloodshot and sorrowful. Nobody remembered how old he was. Not even Old Mora himself but his coat was worn with many bald patches.

The hall was crowded and the high ceilings reflected the sound. The noise was a deafening murmur. He stuck the floor again; the staff rang out. “Order. Order!” He hollered. “Hey, people. SHUT YOUR YAPS AND LISTEN DAD BLAMMIT.” The conversations petered out.

Coal Whiskerlifter was telling a story to Thaly Bumblebee about his groundhog problem and didn’t notice Old Moro’s signal. When the room went quiet, he realized he was the only one talking and hesitantly stopped.

Old Moro said, “About time, Coal. Sheesh!” He looked around the room, locking eyes with several individuals before he cleared his throat and said, “We’ve got to do sumptin' about this here witch!”

Polly Proudpaw was completely deaf, but she her paw rolled and held high. She shouted, “Hear hear!”

Casupata looked around to see if anyone was looking his way. He’d had enough and was looking to escape.

***

CHAPTER ONE: THE NEITHER