The Boy, The Bear and the Dragon

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Before the great dome was built, there were no prisons that could hold a dragon, and no dragon-catchers to hunt them. The beasts roamed free and far, and did terrible things according to their whims. Families were torn apart, villages were burned, and every living thing within a thousand miles lived in fear. It was a dark time.

But, as tends to happen, the toughest of times serve to produce the strongest of heroes. And so it was during the darkest years of the darkest times that the most famous dragon catcher of all time had his humble beginning.

Once, long ago, far away from here, there lived a boy whose name was Dirt. Dirt had been orphaned by the dragons, and at this time he lived in a muddy ditch beside a dusty forest road.

Dirt was laying down in his ditch, staring up at the sky and watching a lonely cloud drift across the blue. The sun was very hot and bright; Dirt had covered himself head to toe in mud from yesterday’s rain to keep the sun from scorching his skin.

He could barely remember the last time he had moved; he had been lying there, still as a rock, for so long that his mud had dried and cracked in places, and his skin was starting to itch.

Underneath all the mud was a very skinny boy, with blue eyes and tangled brown hair. He could not remember exactly how old he was, but he had lost his first tooth a few weeks ago.

Dirt had not always lived in the mud. Once he had lived in a big stone house on a hill, with his mother and his father. But now that was all gone, and Dirt was all alone.

Dirt had tried to make friends with the children in the town just down the road. He was very lonely, and he knew that most boys his age had friends to play and talk with, and he wanted that too. But whenever he tried to go into town, it never went well. Hard times had made the townspeople selfish and cruel, and homeless boys, and especially hungry boys, were not welcome there. They were the ones who called him Dirt, and when they saw him, they would chase after him with switches to stripe his legs, or set the dogs out to chase him.

Even in the worst places, there are usually a few decent folks around, if you know where to look for them. Sometimes people with kinder eyes than the others would give him scraps of bread, or a few coins. Once, an old woman with pale eyes had caught him by the arm and drug him into her house. She made him sit there until he had eaten an entire pie, and given him another one to take with him.

The old woman was gone now too though. And now that she was gone, he never went to town anymore.

A black horse-fly landed on the tip of Dirt’s nose, but he did not swat at it. His limbs felt too heavy to move; even though it was late in the afternoon, Dirt was still lying in exactly the same position that he had woken up in that morning. He had not had so much as a crumb of food in the last week, and Dirt was beginning to think that he would starve to death right here in the ditch.

When you are very hungry, it is extremely hard to think about anything else. So Dirt had spent most of the morning thinking about how much his stomach hurt, and how weak and empty he felt. But sometimes, in between hunger pangs, Dirt would try and remember his old name. The name his father had used when he had tucked him into bed, and the name his mother had used to call him to supper.

Try as Dirt might, he simply did not remember that name anymore. And that seemed fitting to him, since that boy was long gone.

Sometimes Dirt wondered if his mother and father could even recognize him when they looked down from wherever they had gone. They probably could not recognize him from heaven because of all the mud and dirt on his face.

Dirt missed them terribly of course. His father had been strong and kind, with tough hands and a little gray in his beard. His mother had been beautiful and warm, and she always had white flowers tucked into her golden hair

He wondered if he would see them again when he died. He hoped so. Would it hurt when he died? He hoped not. He supposed he would find out soon enough.

Dirt had not meant to fall asleep, but indeed he did. He had no watch and so he did not know how long he had lain there before the sound of the cart on the road woke him up, but when he opened his eyes there were stars in the sky above, and the air was cooler than it had been. Dirt sneezed as a bit of wind swirled the dust around him.

The cart had a loose wheel, and it was squeaking its way closer and closer to his spot in the ditch. Dirt tried to lift himself up and cry out for help, but he was too weak, and his mouth was dry. He couldn’t see the cart from where he was lying, but the orange glow of a lantern cast a horse-shaped shadow onto the trees.

After a minute, the cart pulled level with his spot in the ditch. From where he lay, Dirt could just barely see the tired old mare pulling the wagon, and the driver holding the reins.

Dirt recognized the old man; he was a farmer who passed through town once or twice a year to sell corn and apples. He had beaten Dirt with his walking stick once for picking up an apple core off the ground. This man would not help him.

Suddenly the cart stopped. The squeaky wheel stopped turning and the shadows dancing on the trees stopped shifting.

Dirt heard a heavy thump as the man, who was very fat, and had several chins, hopped down from the cart.

“Hmph” grunted the man. “Nearly there, eh Naggy?” The mare snorted in reply. “I’d best dig around and see if I can find my coin pouch. Old Garland always was a miserable pinch-penny; there’ll be no rest for either of us until I pay him for the room.”

The man started shuffling around, looking through his possessions for his purse. But something else on the back of the cart was moving as well, and Dirt thought it was probably the most interesting thing he had seen in a very long time.

It was a little bear. A bear cub to be accurate. It looked ragged and shaggy, and had marks on its hide as if it had been beaten with the same rod that had left scars on Dirt. It was moving about restlessly in the back of the cart, surrounded by bags of apples and carrots, and it had a thick rope tied around its neck. It looked very miserable.

Dirt felt very sorry for the bear. He wished he could do something to help it, but he was afraid of the farmer, and he was just so very weak….

“Where in the blazes is my purse?” growled the farmer. There was a sound of a loaded pack being dumped out onto the ground. “I know I stuck it in here earlier...”

The bear turned and put its front paws on the rail of the cart and lifted itself to look over. And then, all of a sudden it was looking straight down at Dirt as he lay there in the ditch.

Dirt’s heart fluttered in his chest. What if the bear made noise and the farmer found him? He didn’t think he could survive another beating.

His fears were unfounded. The bear did not make any noise at all. It just looked at him, as if it found him every bit as interesting as he found it. And as Dirt looked back, it seemed to him that there was a fierce intelligence in the bear’s eyes. It would not have surprised Dirt in the least if the bear had started to talk; indeed, Dirt thought he saw a flash of pity in the bear’s eyes when it caught hold of him, if his eyes were not playing tricks on him.

The next thing Dirt knew, the bear sprung into action. It grabbed a bag of apples with its teeth, and, in a flash, it flung the bag over the side of the cart and into the ditch just in front of Dirt’s feet.

The bag made a noise when it hit the ground, and Dirt’s heart fluttered again. But the bear was ready; quick as a flash, it grabbed another bag and flung it over the other side of the cart.

“What the devil was that?”

The farmer stomped around the far side of the wagon and picked up the second bag. He shook the bag angrily at the bear. “Throwing my produce over the side eh? You won’t do it again…”

There was a yelp from the bear as the farmer’s rod whistled through the air. “Bruising a bag of my apples? Here, have another lick!” There was a sickening, wet thump followed by an even louder cry from the bear.

The whistles, thumps and yelps continued for several minutes, until finally Dirt heard the sound of heavy feet trudging back to the front of the cart. “You’re lucky my wife likes the taste of bear stew or I’d put an arrow in your hide right now” roared the farmer, as he climbed back into the driver’s seat.

“Why Naggy, what a fool I’ve been. There’s my purse, right next to my feet. Road must have shaken it out of my pocket. Well, time to get on moving, there’s a bed and supper at the inn calling my name. Hyah!”

Suddenly the reins snapped, Naggy snorted, and the wheel started squeaking again. The bear had red stripes on his snout where the rod had hit him, and it was trembling from fear. But still it struggled up onto the rail and took one last look down at Dirt before horse’s hooves and the squeaky wheel carried the cart off into the night.

Dirt lay in shock for a minute, thinking over what had just happened. It was probably the most unusual and wonderful thing that had ever happened to him.

The bag of apples had landed right between his legs. Mustering his last ounce of energy, he sat up and reached into the bag, feeling the dried mud flake and fall off his arms as he lifted a green apple to his lips and took a bite.

It was a little sour, and he wondered if a worm had been in it. But at that moment, Dirt thought it was probably the best thing he had ever tasted.

Five apples later, Dirt was still munching happily, and considering things. Had that little bear actually helped him? Had it known what it was doing when it threw the apples to him? Or had it just been restless and mischievous as any captive animal might be?

But no. Dirt did not believe that. He had seen the look in the bear’s eyes. It knew exactly what it was doing. And it had probably saved his life.

And now the poor thing was tied up in the back of that bully’s cart, with bloody stripes on its snout, bound for a cooking pot or worse.

The bear probably once had a family and a warm den to call home. Before people swooped down upon it, and turned its life upside down.

That bear was no chicken or meat cow, used to cages and fences. It was a wild creature with a fierce heart and warm eyes.

Dirt felt his blood run hot within him.

He would not let this happen. He would not abandon that poor creature. He would set it free.

And if he was going to do it, he had to do it that very night, for the merchant would be on his way in the morning.

Feeling a surge of fresh strength overtake him, Dirt crawled, a bit shakily, out of the ditch, then found a good place inside an old log to hide his apples. Keeping the distant orange of the cart’s lantern far ahead before him, he hurried off down the shadowy road, not knowing they were his first steps on the path to destiny.

Most good stories start that way, you know. With little deeds of goodness and bravery. Once you start being brave, it does not take very long at all for it to become a habit.

____________________________________________________

It did not take very long for Dirt to make his way into town, but it was slower going once he got there. The Inn was on the far side of town, and despite it being so late at night, there were many townspeople out and about, and there were fresh torches in front of every house and shop. Dirt could hear music and laughter off in the distance, and he guessed rightly that there was a party or a festival taking place.

All the light and all the people made sneaking much harder than Dirt had hoped. But luckily, Dirt had become very good at sneaking about. He darted from shadow to shadow, hiding behind barrels and underneath parked carts and in piles of hay.

Dirt was very careful, but there were still a few close shaves. One wobbly man had looked right at him, but Dirt had gone so still that the fellow must have mistook him for a lamppost. There was always a lot of ale being drunk at these kinds of parties...

It took quite a while, but finally Dirt crept all the way to a spot behind a huge bale of hay right in front of the inn. He had even managed to grab a turkey leg on the way, courtesy of the plate of a man too busy staring at his neighbor’s wife to notice his supper disappear. Dirt thought the bear might be hungry after being tied up all day.

The inn was three stories tall, and very long, which made it the largest building in town. Old Garland the owner had been a pirate in his youth, and his nautical tastes extended to the decor of the inn he had built. A black flag with a white skull flew from a tall pole at the crest of the steep shingle roof, and every guest room on the top two floors had portholes for windows. There was even a wooden plank that hung over the lawn, and there were those around town who suspected that it was more than a decoration, as Old Garland did not take kindly to those who were not prompt with their silver. A large hedge had been planted all around the building, and the only gaps in it were for the front and back door.

This was clearly the center of the evening’s festivities; Dirt could hear raucous laughter and jaunty music coming from inside. The bell on the door jingled again and again as men and women walked in and out. Luckily, no one seemed interested in loitering outside.

There was a yard behind the inn where all the guest’s carts were parked. Dirt hoped to find the bear there.

He darted from the hay bale and threw himself into the hedge on the left side of the inn. The bushes were thick, untrimmed holly, and he had a tough go of it; his arms and legs were more scratches than skin after a few yards. But it was better than risking being seen.

He was halfway along the side wall when suddenly a window above his head swung open with a clatter. Smoke poured out as Dirt went still.

“That’s the fourth time this month you’ve burned the loaves!” roared a voice from inside. “Next time, just throw yourself in instead of my bread!”

The shutter slammed shut again, and so, shaky, but still determined, Dirt crawled on.

He turned the corner and found himself behind the inn in the backyard, which was a large square of unmown grass with a long, open barn at the far end. A single flickering torch on one of the barn’s posts made the shadows long and uneven, and he could just barely make out that there were several carts and animals inside the barn. He had no idea which one was the farmer’s.

There was no way to cross the yard from where he was without being visible in the light from the inn’s windows for a moment. There was nothing for it. Dirt stood up, took a deep breath, and tore off across the yard, his bare feet moving softly over the grass. But he only made it halfway when he heard a menacing snarl.

A big, black dog raced out of the shadows on his left, frothing and growling viciously. His name was Cleaver, and Garland kept the poor beast chained up and half-starved in order to scare off anyone who had a mind to steal his customer’s belongings. Which, of course, was exactly what Dirt was aiming to do.

Cleaver did not hesitate. Pulling his chain behind, the dog blasted straight at Dirt. Dirt never even had time to react before the dog lunged at him.

But Cleaver had never learned the limits of the chain around his neck. At the last second, when all Dirt could see were teeth coming towards him, the chain snapped taut, and the dog howled as he lunged against the end of its length and the iron collar on his neck dug into the flesh.

Just like that, the fight seemed to drain from the beast. Cleaver curled up where he was and laid down meekly, pawing at his neck.

Dirt, his heart still pounding, looked closer and could see that the skin around the dog’s neck was rubbed raw and bloody from the collar. Dirt felt a pang of sympathy for the dog, despite the fact that it had tried to eat him.. The poor beast’s ribs were obvious through his coat, and his collar was stained with old blood.

Making a decision, Dirt fished the turkey leg out of his pockets and threw it towards the opposite end of the shed. Cleaver stood up weakly, looked at Dirt for a moment with unblinking eyes, and then trotted over to where the meat had fallen and settled down to eat his prize, no longer the least bit concerned with Dirt’s comings and goings.

Dirt looked back towards the inn, fearful that someone had heard the dog’s cries and would come to investigate. But the back door stayed shut, and the sounds of music and laughter continued unabated.

The dog was chewing happily at the moment, but Dirt figured the beast’s good mode would only last about as long as his food. He had to hurry.

On the left side of the barn there was a big pile of hay with a few horses milling around it, and on the right were several carts and wagons, and now Dirt could see the farmer’s cart among them with its lumpy sacks of apples and corn. One lump, in particular, caught Dirt’s attention; it was darker than the rest, and seemed to be breathing steadily, in and out.

He ran over to the cart and climbed into the back. There the bear cub lay, sleeping peacefully, with the rope still tied around his neck. Up close he looked even skinnier and shabbier than he had before. There were patches in his brown fur, and red marks on his snout where the rod had fallen earlier.

Dirt, without really knowing what he was doing, or giving thought to the consequences, shook the bear awake, thinking only after he had started that shaking a strange bear awake might not be the best idea. Normally, that voice in Dirt’s head would have been right, as it is a bad idea to shake a normal bear awake. But he got away with it this time because this was not an ordinary bear.

The bear woke up with a start and sat up, eyes wide. He locked eyes with Dirt and cocked his head one to one side, staring curiously. His eyes still sparkled with that fierce intelligence Dirt had noticed before.

“Well!” said the bear. “I thought that you might try to come and help me. I could see in your eyes that you weren’t like the other men in these parts.You have a wholesome look about you if you don’t mind me saying.”

As a boy, and later as a hero, one of Dirt’s great strengths was the ability to accept things as they were even if they did not actually make any sense to him. So whereas you or I might react with no small amount of shock to find a wild animal speaking to us, it only took Dirt a heartbeat to process things. .

“I knew you were not an ordinary bear!” said Dirt. “You threw those apples down to me because you could see that I was starving.” Dirt paused. “I… I think you saved my life!”

The bear, who hereafter we shall refer to as Bear, started to scratch at the rope around his neck. “Oh, it was nothing, I was quite happy to help. Any good beast would have done the same.”

Dirt heard a low growl from the direction of the dog, and was disturbed to see that the turkey leg was already halfway gone. They had to hurry.

“We had best get you out of here” said Dirt. “ I suppose you’ve tried chewing through that rope around your neck?”

Bear nodded. “Of course. But the robe is too thick, and it hurts my teeth when I try. You’ll have to find something sharp and cut me loose. But quick! The innkeeper's son comes out to check on things once every hour or so, and he is just about due. I’ll keep watch on the door. Go!”

Dirt climbed back over the side of the cart and started looking desperately about the shed, rummaging around the other carts hoping to find a knife lying about. Dirt went quickly, as he fully expected the back door to open at any moment.

And it did. The back door swung open suddenly, and the innkeeper's muscular son, Rolph, who was more of a man than a boy, came out and stomped his way across the yard, heading straight for the barn.

Dirt was in the driver’s seat of another cart, several down from Bear’s, and the innkeeper’s son was closing in fast. Having no time to hide anywhere else, he shrank down onto the seat as small as he could go, and hoped beyond hope that the fellow did not have a sharp eye.

Luckily, Rolph had snuck more than one ale himself that night, and his eyes were feeling heavy. Rolph walked into the barn and took a look in the back of each cart, counting bundles and packages sleepily under his breath. But he never looked in the driver’s seat.

Dirt waited until he heard the door slam shut again before he finally allowed himself to breathe again. A moment later, he climbed back into Bear’s cart with a small hunting knife in hand.

“That’s just what we need” said Bear, as Dirt began to saw away at the cord around his neck. “Quickly now! I don’t want to test that dog after he’s done eating...”

Dirt, who by this time felt that his reserves of luck must be running quite low, agreed. A moment later Bear was free, and, moving quickly, both boy and bear disappeared into the shadows together.

It was a clean escape. No one in that dim, ugly little town ever had the least idea about who stole the farmer’s bear from the shed behind Old Garland’s Inn. Well, except for Cleaver the dog, and he never felt like telling.

Two hours later, as the Eastern horizon began to glow pink with the rising sun, a tired boy and a tired bear collapsed on a bed of leaves, deep in the woods. It had been a long night.

“Well we made it,” said Dirt, lying on his back. “It was close a few times though.”

“You can say that again.” snorted Bear.

They lay there quietly for a moment, until Dirt's eyes started to feel heavy. “You are free now,” said Dirt, fighting off sleep. “What are you going to do?”

“Well…” said Bear, scratching his black nose “I don’t really have anywhere to go. Maybe I should stay with you. Are you looking for a friend these days?”

Dirt nodded seriously. “Oh yes, I could use a friend. It’s been a long time since I’ve had one.”

Bear smiled. “Well that’s settled then! You and I are friends, and we’ll take care of each other!”

And with that, the Bear rolled over and fell fast asleep. And Dirt was not sleepy anymore. He lay there a long time, so happy about his new friend that he could not stop the tear from running down his cheeks, and his chest, which always felt cold and empty, felt suddenly warm and full. He was not alone.

Dirt and Bear’s adventures together would change the world forever. But they did not know that. All they knew then was that they had each other. And that was enough for them.