The Ascent of the Dragon Hearted

Chapter One: The Tower Made of Red Clay

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. In fact, there really wasn’t much there at all—just a little meadow with a few rolling hills, a small orchard of apple trees and a well that never went dry. It wasn’t much, but it provided everything they needed. When the land was dry it would rain; when the spring came the crops would grow. In many ways it was a tiny paradise—but most certainly a place that they could call home. And to the people, there wasn’t anything beyond this valley: not only because they lacked imagination or because all their wants and needs were met, but also because the land was surrounded by tall cliffs as smooth and as white as pearl—unscalable and impossible to see beyond. They were trapped in this prolific space, but at heart they were at peace…until the day the tower was built—that’s when the dragons came.

Whether it was built from a desire for industry or simply to create a platform to see beyond the cliffs is all but forgotten, as were the identity of the architects. But the legend of their departure from the valley remains to this very day. When the architects finished building the tower from the red clay found in the valley and ascended to its peak, the dragons came and carried them up and beyond the cliffs to the land unknown. And from that point onward the challenge was open to any wayfarer amongst the inhabitants of the valley: succeed in climbing the tower and a dragon will be waiting at the top to ferry you away to the great beyond—to a world that you could only dream of knowing.

But alas, in the history of the valley since the architects, there were just a handful of men and women who managed to pass the trial. Many of the villagers simply never had the imagination to see beyond the cliffs, and for those that attempted to climb the tower, many simply lacked the strength. For whatever reason, those who accepted the challenge could only manage to climb a third of the steps before becoming overwhelmed by the task and stumbling out of the tower in a stupor. People described the ascent like diving into a pool of deep water—the deeper you swam the greater the pressure. Those who climbed felt a tremendous weight on their soldiers, chills and nausea, blurred vision and great pain in their chests. The further they climbed the greater the pain—and those who managed to make it halfway were plagued by frightening visions of fire and water. But every now and then someone would manage to scale the tower and the villagers would watch in awe as the challenger stood starring out beyond the cliffs, as a great red dragon would appear to usher him away. And so life would continue. People would go about their business providing for themselves and their families, mostly passing the time gardening and sleeping. However, some men and women would dream of life beyond the tower and wait at its base for the dragons to circle its top as the sun ascended to its highest point. Thus, the legend of Alaric was born—the mountain king who would climb the tower and pass all the trials beyond it: the sleeping hero come to unite elves, dwarves and men.

………

He rested in the cool shade of a tree munching on an apple, gazing out at the tower of red clay and imagining what lay beyond it. He had just awoken from a dream of flying—bright blue skies, shining sun, and fields upon fields of fresh green grass swept against the breeze. He didn’t always dream, or rather, when he did he dreamed of her. He would catch glimpses of what she looked like—flashes of brown hair and earthy dark skin—and sometimes he would hear her soft sweet voice in the wind. His mother had died in childbirth, and all he had to remember her by were his father’s stories and descriptions.

Alaric’s father, Hamlin, was a man of modest means; he grew just enough crops in his little garden to provide for him and his son and would chop wood for fire when the seasons changed, and the air grew cool. He rarely spoke, but when he did you could hear the passion in his voice—especially the way he talked about his wife. He would talk of how they used to saunter along the outskirts of the valley, smelling the roses and tulips that grew as they passed, all the while tickling their imaginations as to what was beyond the cliffs. But as the years passed since her death, Alaric’s father ventured less and less out into the valley and preferred to stay within the confines of his home and Alaric was content to keep him company. Still, Hamlin's spirit always yearned to see and know more, and Alaric would often see him gazing out at the tower while he swept around the house. But one day, without any warning, Hamlin disappeared.

When the sun rose the next day, the villagers took note as Hamlin made his way to the tower. After he had climbed it, they gathered and watched as he stood upon the summit starring into the space beyond the cliffs. And as the sun reached its zenith, a great red dragon emerged from behind the walls and descended upon the tower. Hamlin climbed upon his back and with that, they disappeared beyond on the cliffs. For many days the villagers talked about Hamlin’s incredible feat—how such a quiet man would have the mental and physical strength necessary to scale the tower. He was quit the talk of the village, but just as the imagination of the villagers was lost in sleep and humdrum, so too was the memory of Hamlet forgotten…but Alaric never forgot.

Without his father, Alaric had no one; no friends, no relatives, no one to call family. He could never relate to the other villagers as he had never socialized as a youth—his only companion was his father. And so, after Hamlin’s departure, in the bitter pain of isolation, he dwelled within the realm of dream and fantasy. He tried to envision where his father might be: perhaps swimming in a beautiful blue pond or roaming through a green grove of trees. And the more and more Alaric thought, the deeper his imagination grew. Soon, he began to imagine things that no inhabitant of the valley was capable of knowing: great oceans of water and sprawling deserts; deep forests and icy mountain peaks. He became obsessed with the world beyond the cliffs and the idea of riding on a dragon’s back, rising above the clouds into the sun and into the refreshing open air. Thus, it was no surprise that Alaric thought about climbing the tower himself and spent his days dreaming of and planning the ascent himself. One day, when the sun had just peaked above the cliffs, and pale crimson light fell upon its pearly white walls, Alaric set out to the base of the tower to face his first trial—a challenge of many to come.

…….

As Alaric stood at the entrance to the tower, he felt a cool rush of air—an ominous sign of the treacherous climb to come. It was more than just cold, it was a feeling he couldn’t describe—an icy sensation that seemed to chill him to his very bones. The passage was narrow, and the small openings in the walls provided only enough light for him to see the steps ahead of him. He stumbled up the stairway slowly and steadily, and even after climbing one spiral of the tower he began to feel fear and anxiety. He was used to loneliness and maybe depression since his father had left him, but in the paradise of the valley, fear was something that he had never truly experienced. It seemed to come from nowhere, like often fear does, and it weighted heavily upon his heart and mind. Soon, the fear extended beyond the spirit and began to manifest itself as a physical pressure—the horrible weight that those who attempted to climb the tower described.

With each step the weight grew stronger and stronger, and soon he began to feel delirious. He started to have visions of flaming stones falling from the sky and crashing into the earth; storms out at sea stirring the water into frenzy. He saw great battlefields with gleaming swords and rusted shield; beings both small and large, some with pointy ears and golden hair. And as he watched these events unfold, the pain began to intensify in his heart. He could feel spasms running down his left arm and great pressure in his chest. His breath became short and his head woozy—his body breaking out into cold sweats. He was only about halfway up the tower, but he realized in that moment that if he continued any further his heart would stop.

Paradoxically, however, his fear became his engine, for as he climbed he began to have thoughts that his father might be somewhere out there alone and in pain. And thus courage was born within Alaric. He fell on all fours and began climbing the stairs, as though he were a horse weighed down by a giant man. Stumbling onwards, the pain in his chest intensified but his desire to see his father alive and healthy kept him going; the idea of re-uniting with him again kept him strong. Yet despite his desire and all of his courage and mental fortitude, the physical challenge eventually overcame him. With a few hundred steps left to climb, he collapsed. His heart had stopped.

Lying there, sprawled out on the steps, Alaric hovered somewhere between life and death. His consciousness drifted up the remaining stairs, rising high into the bright blue sky above the tower. There he saw the little valley with the red flowers and the tiny houses—and all began to blur into an intense bright light. Alaric could feel himself being pulled towards the light and for once in his life felt what it was like to completely lose control. He would have dissolved into that light, but a soft voice called him back. “Alaric...." it was his mother’s!

He turned away from the light and looked downwards at the top of the red tower, and standing there, he saw his mother in full view for the first time. Words could not describe her beauty, though she was a being of pure light. She extended her slender brown hand towards Alaric, and Alaric reached back. Tearing himself away from the light, he grasped his mother’s warm hand, and his mind descended back into the tower towards his motionless body. His heart began to beat again.

Now empowered by the love of his mother and father, Alaric began again to climb on all fours. However, despite the terrible physical pain, Alaric only climbed faster. He barreled up the remaining steps not for dragons or what lies beyond the cliffs, but to be re-united with his father and to learn about his mother, whose appearance in the tower must be related in some way to the journey ahead. Soon, the cold air grew warmer and the dull light began to intensify. The pressure finally began to lift, and Alaric could stand once more. With the last once of his strength, he stumbled out into the open air. Alaric had triumphed over the tower.

……

He lay sprawled out on the peak of the tower exhausted with his arm covering his eyes, but still the sun was so bright he only saw red. Hours passed that seemed like days, but with time Alaric was able to stand and when he became fully consciousness, he could hear the villagers murmuring beneath the tower. The people looked quite small from the top—they reminded him of one of the creatures he saw in his vision. Yet, despite the spectacle, his eyes were drawn towards the great vista that lay beyond the cliffs: a series of magnificent white mountains—towers in and of themselves to the great beyond. But although the sight of the mountains was perhaps one of most awe-inspiring experiences of his life, he was soon distracted by the shadow of a red dragon emerging from behind the peaks. As the sun rose higher over his head, the dragon became larger, and soon the majestic beast had come into full view and perched on the top of the tower in front of Alaric.

“Welcome young master of earth!” spoke the dragon “For you who have conquered your fear, I am the ferryman.”

Breathing heavily, Alaric stuttered. “As much as I desire to learn what lies beyond the mountains, and my little home, there are so many questions I have to ask.”

“I will answer as many questions that I am capable of or that I am allowed too.”

“Allowed too?” asked Alaric shyly

“Indeed, there is a great design that connects your village to the rest of the world created by those spiritually superior to us dragons. Come now, climb on my back and I will show you.”

And so the dragon flew Alaric over the cliffs and soared high into the sky. Soon Alaric could see beyond the mountains and was shocked by what stood before him. Between the crags there were little pockets of earth surrounded by white cliffs—craters in all directions as far as the eye could see. What’s more, some of these craters had red towers very much like the tower built in Alaric’s valley.

“What am I seeing? Why do I see my home in so many places, and why do some of them have towers?”

The dragon replied, “Your home represents the first challenge that a community must overcome in order to ascend…what you see are the homes of the other contenders…”

“Ascend? Contenders?” Asked Alaric, “Does this have something to do with the towers, with building them? With climbing them?”

“Indeed, it does. The building of the tower marks the evolution of a being's imagination and his desire to seek out more. After the population manages to build the tower, some of its inhabitants will gain the mental and physical strength to climb it.”

“Imagination...perhaps I can see that in terms of the building of the tower…but the task itself I don’t understand. Why the mental and physical strength? Why are they required to ascend the tower?

“You felt it yourself, did you not, a fear that crushes your mind and body, even stopping your heart? No ordinary man or woman can accomplish such a feat.”

“But how on earth does the tower operate? What is the meaning behind this sorcery? What causes it? What sustains it?

“That I cannot answer. It is something you will have to learn yourself if you manage to pass the other trials…”

“The other trials?”

“Yes, that was only one, there are five more that await you. Soon you will see. I am flying you to your next task. In the meantime, I am happy to answer any other questions you might have.”

“I saw visions of fire and water, of great battles with a myriad of different beings.”

“What you saw was the creation of this plane, and the war torn past that existed before it. Times were different then—elves, dwarves and men fought for control of the land having forgotten their virtues…then the world was plunged into fire and water and reborn.

“By who or what force?”

“That I cannot say."

“And the beings of the other races that I saw, where are they now?”

“They are scattered amongst the other craters, albeit each community is in isolation. Members of a race: dwarves, men and elves, are not ready for re-integration with each other prior to the passing of the first challenge…or so our spiritual superiors say. You will see both elves, dwarves and men crossing paths in the place we are headed to right now.”

“I still have one more question, do you know of the fate of Hamlin? Will I see him in the place that we are going now?”

“Hamlin…?” Mused the dragon, “Ah yes, I believe at the moment he is two trials ahead of you. If you manage to pass the next challenges quickly you may even catch up to him.”

“But tell me, what are these challenges? What are they and what are they designed for?”

“The trials are of the six elements: earth, water, fire, wind, space and consciousness. Those who are able to pass each trial gain in wisdom and strength, and it is foretold that from among them a king will emerge who can unite the world and its three races in peace and prosperity.”

“And this is foretold by who?”

“Again that is a secret, you will have to discover the answer for yourself. Rest now, I will wake you when we arrive at our destination.”

And so Alaric, with a mind still clouded with questions, gazed drowsily at the many craters stretched out before him in succession, wondering how many had come before him and passed the trial of earth. He then he drifted into a well-deserved sleep.

…..

“Wake up young master, we have arrived!”

Alaric awoke to see the mountain replaced by a vast expanse of water—the oceans that he could only dream of back in his little valley. And there were, in plane site, a series of three islands.

“On each of those islands there lives one race: Elves, dwarves, and the class that you belong to, men.”

“Why are they separated?”

“It is of their own choice, for they have not yet ascended to a mind-state where full integration is possible.”

“But is such a thing possible? Can Dwarves, Elves, and Men live in harmony together?”

“Indeed they can, which hopefully you will see, just as your father has.”

“But tell me, how do I meet my father again, what trial must I pass?”

“Look out into the horizon, do you see those large billowing clouds and the streaks of light that paint the darkened sky? Do you see the boats with orange sails, braving the storm ahead? Your trial is this: pass through the stormy strait with a boat of orange sails and you will become a master of water, taking one step closer to your father and ascendence. But be warned, don’t think that you can accomplish this task on your own…or even that only members of your own race will suffice to tackle the challenge! Now I’ll be off! Join the island of men and find a way to cross the stormy sea! Look up for the orange dragons, they will carry you to your next task if you succeed.”

“Thank you! If you see my father or maybe even my mother somewhere, can you tell them that I love them?”

“Always…” And so the dragon left Alaric on the sandy shore, with sparkling blue water. Alaric watched as the red dragon disappeared into the crimson sunset, and then turned towards the village and the sea of orange sails.