The Dragons of Sara Sara (6 page)

Time dragged on. The sounds of merriment filled the night and the light from bonfires lit the village green. Those in the common room had helped the innkeeper move his barrel rack out onto the green. Thirsty work after the excitement of the earlier day. Laughter bubbled to the surface as the tensions eased and Master Domain's good ale began to flow freely. Someone struck up a tune on a hammered dulcimer, and was soon accompanied by a player on a stringed instrument that looked like a large melon sliced in half and attached to a long pole. A bow string was drawn back and forth across the taught strings and the sounds carried far into the night. People were dancing, and though out all ran the children laughing and yelling in delight at being up so late. The people of the district were farmers, blacksmiths, wheel wrights, builders and wives and mothers. Their daily life was simple as they worked out a living on the wide plains. Although none complained – there was no thought of it, a moments rest and merriment with friends was a welcome break from the endless round.

People crowded around the huge wagon of the Trader. He had dropped a plank board side to form a raised stage upon which he now strode. Indeed he had much to trade and there had not been a trader through the village in more years than anyone cared to remember. The children in the throng had eyes as big as saucers. The Trader was in full voice. A theatrical tone and volume guaranteed to carry to the edge of the common. He had laces from the mysterious lands of the East. From places no one had heard of. Fired pots and dishes of porcelain that rang like bells as the Trader flicked their rims with his fingers. The patterns were of flowers and willow trees and strange people in long flowing robes. Some were purchased and would be put on display on mantles. None would be given ordinary daily use. The Trader spoke of people with raven black almond eyes and black hair that hung straight. Not a curl, and skin like burnished gold. He told of the distances that he had transported the goods. Just so that the people of this village alone could be the first to sample his wares. Wondrous material they made as well. The thread produced by caterpillars that turned into butterflies. None actually believed that of course, but it was not only the children he held spellbound with his tales. These bolts of material the Trader called silk were dyed in the colours of the rainbows. Gasps escaped the villagers mouths as they were brought forth. Such colours had never been seen. Even in the yellow light of the bonfires the material shimmered and flowed. None of the women could think of what they could use such material for, but every last one wanted a length. Perhaps ribbons or festival cloths. Who knew. It was too wondrous to pass.

The disbelieving laughter at the Traders tales was good natured though and if it took a little girls fancy to think that butterflies spun the thread into material that glowed in the night, then the Trader too enjoyed a good laugh. He knew the truth of it. He would not have believed it himself if he had not seen it with his own eyes. He had also seen what had happened to the Trader who had tried to get out of that far country with a box of the tiny grubs that spun the thread. The country of Hua Guo it was called. Difficult to pronounce, just as their language was difficult to grasp. But the language of a Trader was understood everywhere. The Traders were the only outsiders let into the country, and it had been a considerable surprise when Mei'An and her Guard Companion Luan had sought passage with him on his return journey out of that country. He had been even more surprised when he had found himself agreeing to take them half way across the world to end up in this place.

The laces, fine platters and silks were much exclaimed over but none could really afford more than small cuts of the rich materials, and only those particularly taken by the beauty of the porcelain had dared spend so much on them. The things that did get snapped up were the tools, the plain woven cloths to make work clothes and dresses and babies wear, the serviceable cooking pots and table ware. The things that had uses in daily life. The bolts of shimmering silk were left carelessly displayed on the stacked boxes at the back of the stage. It never occurred to anyone that someone could have made a dress out of such material.

Suddenly the Trader with grand gestures drew everyone's attention to a red lacquered box he held aloft. He placed it on a stand in the centre of the platform where he stood. A hush fell as attention centred on the intricately carved red box. Bright brass hinges on one side and a simple brass hasp on the other. With a flourish the Trader flung back the lid and lifted out a dress of the brightest yellow that anyone had ever seen. Made entirely from silk, the dress shimmered in the light as though alive. There was a fine pattern of flowers woven into the length of the dress. Tiny white flowers no bigger than a babies fingernail. As the Trader lifted the dress clear of the box and held it up on a specially designed hanger, it could be seen in its entirety. It was full length and shaped like a sheath that wrapped partially around the body. It was fastened at the side, in a wrap around effect across the bodice to fasten on the shoulder, and had a high collar that would come almost half way up the neck.

The colour was so bright it hurt the eyes but no one could look away. Nothing like it had ever been seen. It would only fit a young woman. Probably no more than the size of a girl; but there it was and every man in the gathering had stopped breathing as they pictured their wife or daughter or girl friend in the dress, parading on Year Day or at Betrothal. Such a person would hold their own with the nobles from far off cities in such a dress.

With a flourish of deft hands the Trader had the beautiful silk dress back in the lacquered box.

A sigh went up from the crowd as people realized that the dress was never for them. It was so eye catching, but where could it be worn in this small village? Not a person in the district except perhaps the innkeeper could afford such finery. The innkeeper's wife had sampled too much of her own cooking for it to fit her. Someone in the crowd made such a comment and earned the glares of the innkeeper. As he scowled about him there was good natured chuckling from the crowd. The Trader went back to displaying his wares. The things village people could and would buy. Sewing materials. Fancy buttons. Good serviceable working materials in browns blues and greens. Knives, stones, shears and tools of all kinds. Trading began in earnest. The locals had hides to trade. Raw tin and silver in small quantities. Even traces of gold gleaned from the rocky slopes of the Dragon Spine Mountains far across the plains. Sometimes men went hunting there, and in the evenings would pass the time in the small streams searching under stones for the glittering specks. Occasionally someone would have a silver coin. Most often coppers though. Small round coins with a square hole stamped in the middle. These coins had been in circulation forever it seemed. There was some indication that they had been passed down from a past age even. Long long ago, an exchange value had been worked out for them and had never changed. The passing soldiers of the Queen always had coppers. The officers as well. Daga Domain the innkeeper only dealt in coin with outsiders. Locals were different. If they had coin, fine. If not, then often the larder was well stocked with traded goods.

There were also coins found in the ruins out on the plain to the south of the village. The ruins were so old that only a few stone slabs now showed above the ground. The coins, and sometimes small artefacts that worked their way to the surface were always silver. Although not coin of the realm like the copper and silver coins used in trade, they still had the value of the silver content and had their own price. The coins had a strange script on them, like brush strokes. Some resembled the coins in current use, even the script seemed familiar in places but they were different. Such finds were rare though and only one coin of gold had ever been found. It's weight made it very valuable. It probably could have been used to purchase the entire village had it been for sale. It was the innkeeper who possessed it. He had taken his old stock of ale kegs to the huge stone slabs of the ruins, along with barrels of water to clean and scour the kegs ready for the next years batch. The water flowing from the huge stones during his labours had uncovered the coin. It had lain there glinting in the sun like a beacon. He could not believe his eyes at the time. The coin was useless though. No one he knew would be able to accept it in payment due to it's obvious value. It could not be melted down for jewellery. Objects found in the old foundations had a mystery about them, and there was an unspoken objection to destroying them in any way. The coin now resided in a small wooden box on the shelf above the main counter of the inn.

Daga Domain looked at the Trader. Here in front of him now was perhaps the only person capable of exchanging such a coin. If indeed the coin was valuable enough to exchange for that fabulous dress that the Trader had even now packed safely back into the wagon.

Master Domain and his good lady wife had three children. The oldest daughter was coming up to Naming Day in some months time. Daga knew too that a certain young man in the village had been spending a lot of time in his yards and stables of late. Chopping wood, mulching out, anything to stay in sight of the inn. In the event that his eldest daughter happened across the yard, well, a few words exchanged was only polite. Neither of the young ones seemed to realize that their parents were well aware of what was really happening.

Master Domain waited. He did not want the entire village to see him purchase the most fabulous dress he had ever set eyes on. He had seen his daughter's face when she had watched the trader displaying the dress. He had vowed then that on the day she married, she would be in that dress.

He knew it would be worn only the once in its life. Perhaps it would bring luck to his daughter. Her wedding day would be remembered in the village forever.

He had to catch the eye of the Trader. No matter. The Trader would be staying indoors this night so there was plenty of time.

The press of people with empty ale mugs brought the innkeeper out of his musings.

"Sleeping on your feet?” Cried a friendly voice.

“Wants to join the women to trade!” Cried another.

“Hopes the Trader will change his gold Talon.” Cried another. That brought him back to earth with a thud. Too near the truth. Daga glared around him.

“Ale you want, ale you shall have, and keep your coppers this night. The world changes and we will start a new accounting on the morrow I'll warrant.”

Someone struck up a tune on a Bittern, someone joined in a song and soon there was merriment and dancing across the common, with a hub of people still around the Traders wagon.

The Trader bargained with a pot of ale in one hand and his goods in the other. Laugh as he might it was a hard bargain he still drove.

Trading slowed as people drifted away to join friends singing at laden tables. Everyone it seemed who could play any sort of instrument was doing so, sometimes back to back at adjoining tables. It promised to be a long night.

Mei'An sat calmly, listening to the festivities outside. She watched Antonin and Catharina out of the corner of her eyes. They both fidgeted now as the sounds of revelry drifted in from the common. Their feet shuffled under the table as though they would take flight any moment.

For all the noise outside the group around the table hardly breathed.
Antonin could stand it no longer. His friends were out there, some unseen for weeks. His recent brush with death only a memory as he listened for familiar voices. His glances at Catharina told him she was thinking the same as he. Antonin opened his mouth to tell Mei'An that this was stupid. About to ask the point of this waiting game. His mouth stayed open as his two closest friends along with a half dozen of the Mare Altan burst into the room. The Guard Companion, Luan, never moved an eyelid. It was obvious he had been expecting them. Mei'An only raised a questioning eyebrow. Riadia stood. At the same time Antonin and Catharina leapt to their feet. The friends who had burst through the door slid to a stop in a confusion of questions.

“Antonin, come join the festivities!”

“Catharina, what do you here?”

“Our pardon Riadia, we didn't know you were in here.”

“Pardon Wind Reader, we did not mean…”

Gradually quiet settled. Mei'An rose gracefully to her feet.

“Luan,” she said. “It is done. Know these people well, for they are the ones for whom the world waits.”

So saying, Mei'An addressed the group.

"We awaited those who could be called by Antonin and Catharina. They are strong in The Way of the Wind, and have drawn those similarly empowered to them. We will secure the Key,” a pin dropping to the floor would have sounded loud in the room.

“… And we leave here this night.” She added, sweeping from the room, Luan turning and following without a word.

It was some moments before Antonin realized that he still had his mouth open. He snapped it shut with a click.

“We leave this night?” He asked no one in particular. His voice incredulous.

“Leave for where?” Said his friends almost in unison.

The Mare Altan, friends of Catharina, asked no questions. Riadia was a party to their gathering so if they left on a journey this night, then so be it.

The Mare Altan were ready on the instant for festivities or battle alike.

Antonin's two closest friends Gaul and Rees had been friends from the cradle.

Gaul came from a farm adjoining Antonin's fathers farm. Rees was from the village, and the son of the blacksmith. He was apprenticed to his father and enjoyed the work.

Antonin was standing at his place at the table, trying to grasp the meaning of Mei'An's statement. His friends were speechless. What was this? The festivities continued outside. Yet here they stood like stone.

Antonin said to Riadia. “What does she mean by saying such a thing and then just walking out? No explanation at all!”