The Valley Below

LEARNING TO READ.

There weren't always dragon's in the valley, but nobody in Norqurn could remember a time without them. The village elder's, responsible for passing on information to keep people safe told, what most folks believed, were the most accurate tales. Tales written on sacred scrolls and read, word for word, to groups of ten or more souls. The readings went on during the warm days when the sun stayed late in the sky. These words and facts had been passed down for generations. Villagers, listening to those oft read verses, sometimes repeated them leaving out important information or adding details passed down by travelers and roaming bands of hunters who all had stories of their own to tell.

"Say only what's written in the scrolls rather than repeating tales told by strangers." Said Elias to his son, Norbi.

"Why is adding to the scrolls not good, father?" Norbi asked.

"Because the scrolls are what we know." Said Elias.

"Is it not possible to know more?"

"The scrolls contain all we need to know to survive, son."

Elias was old and what he knew had served him well. But Norbi thought, in his heart, there must be more to know. More To Know was a new idea to villagers. It divided the old from the young and was often the cause of contention. "Father why did you show me how to decipher marks on the scrolls if you didn't want me to know more?"

"Being a Reader is a far easier way to earn your keep than planting or hunting."

"How does one become a Reader, father?"

"Reader's are chosen by the village Elder's after a young man's first reading."

"Father I believe I am ready."

The next day Elias took Norbi to see the Reader. "I've shown him all I know," Said Elias. "He is ready for a new teacher."

Without saying a word the reader took the boy by the arm and made him sit by a large stump, the same stump the reader sat on when he read to the village in the evening. He handed him a small, thin stick, showed him how to hold it in his fingers and then made him copy from the scrolls by drawing each symbol in the sand around the stump. The stick felt strange in Norbi's fingers, like it wasn't supposed to be there. The reader showed him, without talking to him, how to hold the stick and then how to draw a straight line in the sand. A line straight across and and a line up and down. Norbi copied what the reader did and after a few attempts was able to draw the two lines: one across, one down. The foundation of all the letters he would learn.

Elias watched his son from a distance. Norbi was learning quickly unlike his father. Elias never mastered the writing stick or drawing in the sand. Many years before when Elias was a boy himself one of the village elders passed by, saw him doing his lessons, took the stick from him and asked, "how is this stick more valuable, using it to draw in the sand or putting it on the fire so we may remain warm through the night?" Elias looked up at the man, not sure what to say. He was a little bit afraid of what would happen to him if his answer was not the right one. The elder was waiting, looking at Elias and holding the writing stick out in front of him. Finally after a long silence the elder turned the stick with his fingers so he was holding it in the proper writing position. The elder smiled at him as he turned the stick again. "Fire?" Elias said. No sooner had the word fire escaped his lips than the village elder bent down and slashed an X in the ground. Elias was disqualified from knowing more and from some day becoming a Reader. Despite his own failings, Elias was convinced, Norbi would make a good Reader. He turned and left his son to learn.

Norbi studied under the the village reader for two seasons. He mastered, reading, writing, the meaning of clouds and how the sun rose in front of him and set behind him. And for two seasons he had watched dragons pass through the valley on their way to their special place where they coupled together to make offspring. No man had ever seen their nesting grounds before. No man had ever followed dragons into the forests.

NORBI'S FIRST READING

When the time came Norbi sat in the Reader's chair with the scroll in his lap waiting for villagers to gather around him. Many of his father's friends were there curious to see how Elias's son would perform. Boys and girls also attended, anxious to watch their friend do his first reading. And, the most important guests, the village elders were in attendance.

Reader had prepared a special presentation and touched Norbi's shoulder when it was time to start. Norbi opened the scrolls found his place and started.

"Dragons are soon walking through our valley on their way to nesting grounds."

"The Valley belongs to us. Nesting Grounds belong to dragons."

"Watch a dragon but never go near one, especially when they are feeding."

"The skin of a dragon feels like a tree."

"Never touch a baby dragon. It does not belong to you."

"They sense danger, if you're a threat to their family they will burn you."

"Dragons are peaceful but they sometimes fight each other."

"Every young dragon has a father and a mother who stays with them until they are old enough to walk alone."

Norbi had succeeded in reading his assigned passages. The villagers were impressed. They clapped their hands together and cheered but not too loudly so as not to disturb the Elders who were huddled together speaking amongst themselves.

Then a drum beat started and then another, and a third. Everybody turned to look for the sound. Even the elders turned away from their discussion. This was something that had never been part of a reading before. Among those watching there was both fear and curiosity. Suddenly From the trees that encircled the camp raced Dragon-Fire, three young men wearing colorful dragon headdresses and moving so their feet matched the drum beats. This time villagers rose up and roared their approval, the drums got louder and each dragon danced with more vigor, their brave feet pounding and softening the earth beneath them. Norbi drew a sword and leapt from the tree stump into the midst of these fire breathing monsters. He slashed out. Each dragon fought bravely and, at times, they looked as if they might defeat Norbi. They wounded him. He limped. He leaned on his sword. He fell to the ground. But just when it looked like he might give up the ghost he stumbled upward, up, up, up and with a burst of energy came to his feet. He slashed out landing well aimed, perfectly timed strikes, dealing each dragon a killing blow. Soon Dragon-Fire, three young men, lay dead in the sand. The crowd roared louder than ever. Norbi removed each of their headdresses and held them up for the cheering crowd. When the cheering died each boy rose up and knelt before Norbi who was standing on the stump, his sword raised triumphantly in the air. At that moment the village also knelt. Norbi took out his writing stick, dipped it in special ink and added his own words to the scroll. This was forbidden writing that had never been attempted before. Villagers leaned forward to see what he had written and then looked at the elders for their reaction. The elders were standing, smiling and began to clap hands as each dragon also took the writing stick and made his own mark indicating their attendance at this event.

"Tomorrow I will follow the path of the dragons." Shouted Norbi. "To their nesting grounds." And the crowd roared their approval. At once the drums beat more fiercely than ever. Noebi loved the music the villagers made when they roared together. Norbi looked for his father but didn't see him in the crowd. He joined his three friends who were dancing wildly among the villagers.

Elias watched and spoke to Norbi from his home at the edge of the village. He could not address his son directly but hoped Norbi might hear what he was thinking. Son the words you read didn't match the pictures you made. Watch a dragon but never go near one. Your pictures would have them believe they might dance with dragons. Don't touch baby dragons they do not belong to you. Then why do hunters kill young dragons and sell the meat to villagers who feed it to their own babies? Every young dragon has a father and a mother. How many young dragons have been taken from their families? And killed. Damage a family and the whole village becomes unbalanced and bitter even war-like. True with dragons, true with humans. And like humans dragons fight to keep their families alive. Your sword is no match against the fire they breathe. Dragon's are peaceful. Why raise a sword to those who have found peace? Your pictures let the village believe killing is a brave, even noble, act. They sense danger. What is more dangerous than a man who only wants to know more? A crowded village who hold their texts sacred but cheer for pictures that promote behavior contrary to those texts.

My son, you have sewn conflict, crafted contention, taught confusion. You know only what the crowd cheers for, nothing more. What happens when they tire of your pictures? I fear for your life. Your soul. Your father. Elias.