The Bell of Destiny

Chapter One

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Once this arid land littered with blackened tree stumps had been green and fertile. Folk went about their labours untroubled, animals roamed freely, and birds sang.

Kirikk knew this because his grandmother had told him. It was nearly seven star-cycles since Magrula had gone to the Mother Spirit, but she was old and wise and taught him many things. And she remembered the times before the dragons came.

The dragons had come from the Grey Mountains – some say they followed the Great River. The Grey Mountains are many sundowns’ journey distant but in a cloudless sky you can sometimes glimpse their misty peaks from the top of Elundor, the sacred hill that towers over the Valley. When the dragons came, they brought death and destruction, scorching the earth and withering the vegetation with their fiery breath, devouring livestock, the aged and infirm and unwary children.

Life was hard for the folk in the valley. They led a precarious existence, growing what few crops they could on the ashen soil and supplementing their meagre diet with fish from the river. But what else could they do? The Valley was their home and their livelihood, as it had been for untold generations. Where else could they go?

Fortunately, dragons are notoriously stupid and it’s not too difficult for healthy folk to evade them. You can immerse yourself in the river or one of the many streams which feed it - dragons hate water. Or you can hide in a discarded quezuk shell, many of which have been carefully positioned in exposed places around the Valley. Some men will kill the quezuk for their shells but this is wrong, Magrula said so, they are children of the Mother Spirit just as we are. Nevertheless, Kirikk had often thought that given the choice between killing one of these slimy reclusive creatures or being eaten by a dragon it wouldn’t take him long to make up his mind.

But for now Kirikk was safe enough. He was lying on a mossy bank in a narrow gully through which one of the streams ran to the Great River. He closed his eyes, basking in the afternoon sunlight which filtered through the rocky cleft above, and inhaled the scent of the tiny blue flowers which grew beside the streambed. The babbling of the fast-flowing water soothed him. And he was thinking of Atrixa.

He pictured her long chestnut hair catching the sunlight, the gentle rise and fall of her firm young breasts in time with her breathing, the longing in her beautiful green eyes when her gaze met his. He could almost feel the warmth of her soft skin beneath his fingertips and the fragrance of her breath against his cheek. Soon they would make a pact before the moon, then they would live together and have many children.

But the shadows were lengthening, and she was not yet here. Kirikk sat up, raised his outstretched palms and concentrated hard. Soon he could feel the buzzing in his third eye. “Atrixa, my beloved, where art thou?”. He shifted his mind to receptive mode and waited but there was no answer.

After a little while he began to feel anxious and clambered to the top of the gully. He glanced around but there was nothing to see – no Atrixa but no dragons either.

Then there was a sudden jolt like an electric shock through his forehead and his third eye began buzzing again. He sensed it was Atrixa’s mother Velentra. “Kirikk, come quickly!” Looking furtively around, he left the shelter of the gully and began to run. He knew this path well and made haste, taking whatever cover he could find among the boulders and stunted trees.

And then he saw it – a lowering dark shape in the distance that quickly became a monstrous black reptilian thing with flapping bat-like wings.

There was a quezuk shell not too far away. Kirikk could see it and ran as fast as he could. But the dragon had already seen him and was descending, roaring dementedly. Soon he could see the red eyes bulging from its hideous scaly head, the razor-sharp teeth and flared smoking nostrils. But the shell was now only a stone’s throw away and he reached it just as the dragon’s claws raked over his head and a shower of sparks hit the dusty ground behind him.

Kirikk backed as far into the shell as he could while the dragon padded around it, the roar subsiding to a querulous moaning sound. That was a close call, he thought, but it can’t see me now, it’ll be gone in a moment.

Some time had elapsed, and he could still hear the dragon panting and exhaling fire. Then he became aware that the shell was hot, so hot it was burning his back. He was sweating profusely. Wisps of acrid smoke drifted in through the opening of the shell. His mouth was dry, his eyes smarted and his chest felt tight. He was finding it difficult to breathe and all the time it was getting hotter. Kirikk mumbled a prayer. “Merciful Mother, aid me!” as he realised he was being cooked alive.

Maybe dragons aren’t so dumb after all…