Dragon Clan #7: Shell’s Story

CHAPTER ONE

After finishing a dinner of his mother’s heavy mutton stew filled with carrots, onions, and turnips, Shell washed his bowl and placed it on the shelf with the other two. Jammer, his younger brother, was eating with friends again, and his mother was conducting family business.

She entered the hut, gave him a peck on his cheek, and glanced at the remaining stew.

Avoiding her eyes, but wanting to speak before she departed again, he said in his steadiest voice, “I request you call a council meeting tonight.”

A stricken expression whipped fleetingly across her face, but it quickly dissolved into blandness almost as fast as it had come. She appeared calm and non-committal as she began slicing carrots laid parallel to each other. His mother would add them to the stew for tomorrow's meals, and she said in a soft voice, “You’re leaving us.”

It was not a question, nothing to debate or linger over. Shell’s mother always knew his innermost thoughts as if they shared a single mind. As a child, when he’d done something wrong, she often knew it as soon as he did—or it seemed that way. He’d learned early not to lie or attempt to conceal things from her. His mother waited for his response with sad eyes.

He finally shrugged and said, “I have to go.”

She reached for a pair of yellow onions and peeled away the outside skins. A few deft cuts of the knife turned the insides into small cubes. How can she do that without cutting off a finger?

Still, without raising her eyes to him, she said, “The new people threatening us from across the water are unknown quantities. I know they’re a danger to the families living near the Endless Sea, but they won’t cross the Raging Mountains and come all the way across the grasslands to our home.”

“We don’t know that. But, even if that’s so, the invaders from Breslau will find and kill as many Dragon Clan as they can no matter where they live. If not this year, then next. Breslau has Dragon Masters that teach their green dragons to kill ours. We wear the dragon mark on our backs, and they hate us for that and will wipe us out. To do less to help our family is wrong, no matter where they live or what part of the family they threaten.”

“Well said.” His mother finished chopping the onions and scooped them into the stew with the blade of her knife. She diced turnips and added them. “You’re right, of course, but if there had been a nice girl for you at Springtown last year, I think you would have remained and raised babies for me to spoil.”

“I can’t stay here and raise lambs and goats with all my tomorrows the same as today. Like Papa before he died, I want a woman to share my life with. On my way to the seaport of Racine to offer my help in defending our family from the invaders, I’ll stop at Bear Mountain.”

“To look for a wife?” She sounded hopeful.

“Yes. There’s one girl we’ve all heard the messengers talk about repeatedly, Camilla, the wildling girl. She must be special.”

“Ah, that one. Son, you may have set your sights too high when you talk of Camilla. That girl is known far and wide. I’ll bet there’s a path worn through the forest by eager young men wishing to court her. But, I will go tell Anson you’d like to speak at a family council tonight.”

After she had left, Shell closed his eyes in relief, and to prevent any tears from leaking out. That went better than I expected. When he opened them, he decided to gather and inventory his meager belongings. It didn’t take long. He would leave much of it to his younger brother, Jammer, who would learn to watch over the flock. Jammer wouldn’t be happy about him leaving, and even less so when he discovered that he would inherit Shell’s job as a herdsman.

Jammer didn’t like animals, at least not in the way Shell did. Jammer didn’t take the time to talk to them or get to know them as individuals. He thought them stupid and only good for eating. Not yet fourteen, he had far too much energy to sit and watch animals chew grass all day long. Perhaps Shell could teach him some fighting moves with his staff before he departed, and Jammer could work on perfecting them while watching over the flocks, as he had.

But on second thought, Jammer would complain about that too, as he did about everything. The moves would be too fast, hard, difficult, or unimpressive. Suddenly, Shell didn’t care. He would soon be gone from the rolling plains of the high grasslands, off to find a wife if he was lucky, and to help his people, and have adventures above and beyond any that any man in his family had in a hundred years. At least that was his plan.

He would see the great volcano they called Bear Mountain, the dragons nesting on the warm slopes, Castle Warrington where a dragon directed by Tanner won the battle against the King two years ago, and perhaps he would sail across the Endless Sea to the land of Breslau. If he worked hard enough, tales would spread of his achievements, even to the grasslands of the far west and to his family in this tiny village. Defeating Breslau was important for all Dragon Clan, and a goal he should set for himself, but his mind kept pushing it to the back. First and foremost, he was going to see dragons. See and ‘feel’ them. Maybe even bond with one.

Finding a wife was also a lofty goal considering what little he had to offer a woman, especially for someone like Camilla, but seeing a dragon up close was a reality he could achieve, and he might encounter other potential wives; maybe plenty of them. The slopes of Bear Mountain would be his first destination. He might not meet and marry Camilla, or defeat Breslau, but dragons were waiting for him. Calling for him.

Failing to see the dragons would make the entire trip, and his life, feel like a waste. Even for a Dragon Clan member, the draw between him and dragons was beyond normal. It didn’t tug at the back of his mind as it did with others of his family. It yanked and tore at him, and had been that way for over a year, no matter how hard he tried to ignore the feelings. It was as if one specific dragon was calling his name at night, like a night-whisperer in a story.

Lately, the pull had become stronger, more intense, and more frequent. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone for fear they’d laugh or ridicule him, but when he woke each morning, the dragon calling to him seemed real until the final whispers faded with the dawn. Over the last months, during the cool nights he felt the increased relentless pull and woke to look to the west.

He wouldn’t mention the dragons while at the council meeting. They might think him daft or gullible in some manner, perhaps a restless youth chasing a dream. But he’d think about dragons at the meeting and probably dream of them again tonight. When he woke in the morning, the dream wouldn’t fade this time. He would go and find his dragons, maybe a wife, and enough adventure to last a lifetime.

The flicker of a bonfire outside drew his attention. People were already gathering for the meeting around the central fire pit, and some carried chairs or small benches. Others unrolled blankets on the bare ground. Nearly a dozen people were already there, talking and guessing the reason for the meeting, and about who called it. This was Shell’s time. He resolved himself to refuse disappointment. If the council rejected his plea, he would still leave. He could do no less.

Shell watched the three elders sitting together on chairs facing a third, empty chair, waiting for him. They sat at ease as he approached. Instead of sitting, he began pacing as he eased his mind.

He kept his shoulders square and his chin up. The reluctance of the council to allow him to travel to Breslau was understandable. Leaving them meant Jammer would have to step into his shoes. The boy was young, but no younger than Shell had been when he assumed the herding duties a dozen years ago. Now in his mid-twenties, he knew the time was right, and if he didn’t leave now, he never would. Just because Jammer’s personality was different, or selfish, or self-centered, should not define Shell’s life and ambitions. His mother would be without a ‘man of the house’ since his father had died more than five years earlier, but it was time for Jammer to step up as he had so long ago. The village would be without one of its five warriors, but there hadn’t been a conflict needing a warrior on the plains for a generation.

As the council leader, his mother was the first of the elders to speak, as was natural for her to speak for her son. Old Man Alba, the handyman of the village, and the only one to have faced an enemy in battle was always the second to speak. Tianna, the mother of three girls, all married now with children of their own, sat in the third chair. His mother watched him approach with a bland expression, then after a quick headcount to ensure most of the adults were present, called the meeting to order.

She turned to him. “You asked for this meeting, Shell. State your case.”

He may have seen a glint of pride in her eyes as she spoke. Shell decided to remain on his feet instead of taking the vacant chair, the one facing the three, as was customary. Standing gave him status or at least self-perceived status. How should I begin? He had not envisioned the meeting beginning in this way. He had expected his mother to outline his fantasy trip and decry it, and the others of the council follow her lead before asking him a series of questions.

Instead, she put it on him to make his case. While his knees didn’t shake and his hands didn’t quiver, he had thought his emotions would be stronger and his confidence greater.

The first words he uttered could force the elders to take sides. The words needed to be diplomatic and respectful, but he had not planned for this. He had to portray conviction and determination, as well as eloquence in his address.

He’d practiced his answers many times with the sheep of his flock, not a full speech, just the answers to his anticipated questions. To his ears, he sounded mature, and the sheep had mostly paid attention, but he had been answering potential questions. Giving a full statement was unexpected. The sheep had been easy to convince with his glib answers; all of them, but one ewe who rarely listened to anything he said. More time speaking in front of the stubborn goats would have better prepared him, but the council waited to hear his opening statement.

He drew a deep breath and in a calm, clear voice announced, “I’m leaving.”

The words stopped there as if he’d said all that was needed. Shell simply ran out of more to say as his throat squeezed closed and his breathing became harder. His eyes shifted from one elder to another, waiting for them to laugh, or criticize his decision and his speech. The entire flowing speech he wanted to give, the precise points he wished to make, all evaporated from his mind. He stopped the relentless pacing and turned to them, trying to appear calm.

Tianna interrupted the enduring silence instead of his mother, a break in council tradition, but allowed under the circumstances of his mother sitting in judgment, “I think we all understand your decision, Shell. Sometimes it is best just to say what is needed, and no more, and you have certainly done that tonight. I agree to your quest.”

“And I,” Old Man Alba said. “It appears this is something you feel strongly about and must do.”

Shell felt his mouth turn dry. They’re letting me go. The conclusion came as almost a letdown. He had been prepared to fight and argue with them. Shout. Even defy them. He had a right to live his life and do what he felt he needed, but all those words didn’t need to be said. They understood.

His mother cleared her throat. “I have sensed your troubled mind for a few seasons and knew this day would arrive. I expected it earlier, but as much as it pains a mother to agree to let a son leave home, the time has come. You may go. Is there any other business for the council to discuss this night?”

When nobody brought up anything else, his mother dismissed the meeting, and refreshments were served, sweet cakes, bitter ale, and watered wine. It seemed everyone wanted to speak to Shell at once, to offer advice or wish him good luck.

One of the younger boys, standing only knee high, the son of a farmer named Cramer asked, “When are you leaving?”

Shell hesitated. The meeting tonight had been about permission to leave, not determining a date, but the question was valid. It was his next decision. He debated possible answers as the boy fidgeted.

Old Man Alba sipped bitter ale and chewed on crisp slices of fresh apples, but looked up and spoke for him, “Soon. There’s nothing here that cannot be done by others, and too much planning never helps.”

“Why is that?” Shell asked.

“Because as soon as you walk over the first hill you will encounter something you didn’t foresee, couldn’t foresee. A snake will bite your leg, or a highwayman will steal your purse. A beautiful woman on the road may be looking for a protector, or the King needs you to serve in his army. All the planning in the world cannot account for what is right over that little hill behind me.” Alba jammed a thumb over his shoulder.

Shell couldn’t help but look at the small rise in the ground and wonder.

Old Man Alba chuckled, “You see? And there are a hundred more hills beside that one you’ll climb. You’d leave tonight if you had any gumption or a modicum of good sense.”

Tater, another farmer with one foot missing from a childhood accident, caught his attention. “This is good land around here for farming, Shell. Your flocks are healthy and multiplying, and you have a position in the family many envy. What is it out there that draws you so much you’d give this up?”

“Dragons,” Shell said without pause, surprising himself at the directness of the answer.

“It must be more than that,” Tater said. “We’re all Dragon Clan.”

“You’re right; I am Dragon Clan. So are you. But in my entire life, I have only seen one dragon, and that one from a distance so great I barely felt the skin on my back crawl.”

Brace, a tall young man with one wandering eye, sounded almost defensive, “I’m two years older than you, and I’ll stay here and make my way. This is my home, and I cannot even think of leaving to chase a whim.”

Old Man Alba spat the skin of his apple on the ground near his feet. His eyes were locked on Shell. “I’ve seen you practicing your moves with your staff while you’re grazing your flock. I think you can defeat any of your sheep in battle, but there’s one ewe that has a few good defensive moves, and you need to watch out for her. There is always one. Remember that. There is always one.”

That drew a chuckle from all in hearing range, and Shell blushed. But the old man was right. Shell practiced his fighting moves daily, and the heavy staff moved like liquid fire in his hands. Herding the sheep provided unlimited time to practice. He twirled, spun, jabbed, and parried while moving gracefully from one move to another. His strong chest and arms concealed power and speed, a deadly combination with a staff, the traditional weapon of the Dragon Clan.

All that practice with his staff, year after year, but he’d never been in an actual fight. His eyes shifted to the other two in his immediate family, and then to the rest who attended the council meeting. Few of them were now watching him; most had already moved on. A wave of disappointment filled his being. They were going on about their own business, concerned with their personal lives, not with what he planned to do, but how it might affect them, if at all. Children still played tag, women talked to other women, men downed ale and told tall tales, and the dogs watched the flocks this night. None cared. The meeting was over.

The sense of friendship and family dissolved into a new understanding of reality. Some would think of him in the morning, and fewer the next. Oh, his mother would miss him, and Jammer would curse him forever for leaving the herding to him, but as Shell remembered others who had left their village, he’d reacted much the same. His sheep had needed tending, his shoe mending, his thoughts too crowded with other concerns to think of the ones who moved on.

He turned back to the old man still chewing on apple slices, the apple held in one hand and the knife in his other. “Too much preplanning is bad, huh?”

“Tomorrow’s departure would suit you best, Shell. Go home tonight. Pack your things and make your goodbyes short and sweet.” Alba finished his ale and set the mug on a small table too hard. The table almost tipped, but he had made the point.

Shell nodded and stuck out his hand to shake the gnarled and grizzled hand of the old man. “Maybe you’re right, Alba. You might not see me in the morning.”

Turning away, he noticed a few of the group still watched him, but no others raced to his side to wish him well or tried to talk him out of going. As he moved past them, a few gave limp but encouraging smiles or a pat on the shoulder. Shell nodded to them and strolled away to enter his hut, his mind focused on what to pack for his trip.