DEALING WITH DRAGONS

1

Bearer of the Great Torc, Math ap Ceridwen, known as Math Flammddwyn for the mighty power he held in his hand, was a druid of renown in all the lands of the Cymrais. He gained respect for his constant work in healing the wounds of his people, wounds made on them by the Medean kings who wanted to rule all the tribal lands as if they had a right. For one hundred years this dispute had continued, with pause only for the turning of the seasons, and the Cymrain southern border was washed red in the blood of many good men.

But there came a year when Math was not to be found in any place the Cymrais called their own. Some feared he’d been captured by the Medeans, jealous of his power. But those in the know merely shook their heads and calmed all rumour, saying that Math would reveal his mind whenever he had a mind to reveal it.

Now Math was mighty in the power of dreaming and one night, after spending the day at the death bed of another brave warrior, and being in despair that war with the Medeans might never end, such a powerful vision had filled his thoughts that on waking it stayed with him and could not be dismissed. He had dreamed of a new homeland for his people, a far green place where they could all find space to grow, and peace to bless their days. But where was this country he had seen?

He thought of the North that he knew well. There the Prydaisi worked hard to break sod and make a living among the flints and rubble left behind by the retreating rivers of ice – and beyond those hard acres stood only the High Dedicae wilderness. He considered the east, over the confines of the Hurgal Mountains, and the dark nation of the Masacheans, a powerful people of deep knowledge but black practices. He remembered the turbulent and torrid airs of that Kingdom of the Flesh, and knew at once that it could not be the destination of his dreams, for there the heavens had been fresh and clear above open fields that knew nothing of blood and tears. And so he decided he must look to the West and the thousand leagues that lay beyond The Riversea. In the southern reaches, by sure report, were many communities setting themselves against the clawing forests, making clearings and taming the pigs and goats they found there. The druid was happy to leave them to it. But as to the vast northern marches, Math had heard neither news nor rumour. Surely, he thought, the Great Winter must by now have departed those lands also. Perhaps somewhere out there lay a country wide and free, just waiting for someone to make a home of it – and hopefully a home with not so much in the way of stones and boulders.

Being not only powerful but also in some measure wise, Math did not speak of his dream to the people, but chose instead to travel alone to these new lands and see what there was to be seen.

It was no easy journey. The Medeans would not let him travel the routes south of the Riversea, and he had no legs for the small boats of the Anshani fishermen, and so first he travelled north into the land of the Prydaisi, looking for their help to set him on his road. The Prydaisi did not openly laugh at him: the Great Torc he wore named him mighty, and they were not a foolish people. But their help was offered with some grim delight in the telling. At the head of the Riversea, they said, with its sheer walls plunged deep into the waters, stood The Gods’ Table. It was a wide up-thrust of bare hard rock, but with a fault dividing the whole that was named the Coldwater Gorge. It channelled all the  waters of the Northern Hypodedicus into the Riversea. And where the gorge reached the end of the plateau the river emerged as a mighty cataract forced through a narrow gap in the cliff wall. The power of this flood, said the Prydaisi, would drown an army of giants in an instant, and the depth of that terrible pool below could sink even the city of Nai’vedya without trace.

Math began to wonder whether the Prydaisi sought more to hinder than to help him, but they were waiting only for the frown on his face before they came to the point of their tale.

“But if you are of good heart, steadfast and brave,” they said, “and more than that, if you have some power in your legs, there is a way you might try.”

They explained that he should climb the cliffs and take his chances upon the Gods’ Table. And if those Gods were not there to interrupt his journey, he must trace a path along the eastern edge of the Gorge, until he came to a place where the two sides of the chasm leaned-in, nearly to meet each other, some five hundred feet above the torrent.

“Nearly?” said Math, trying to understand how much power he really had in his legs, “And how nearly would that be?”

“Only ten feet,” they told him, “Not so great a leap for a man of courage.”

Math raised his eyebrows at that. “And why have you built no bridge across this mere ten feet?” he asked them.

“You must feel welcome to make one of your own, Math ap Ceridwen,” they said. “We have a fine store of timbers down here, and whole trunks of trees if you need them. You have only to climb the cliffs with two or three strapped to your back, for there are no trees or even any grass upon the Gods’ Table. You’ll find it a cold hard place and better suited to the immortals than to us weak men.”

He took no trees with him. The climb made his legs weak as it was, but the sight of that gap he must cross made them weaker still. And yet, so stout a man was Math ap Ceridwen that he put all his weakness to one side, and gathered up his will, and yes, he made the leap. Oh and he laughed when he had done it. He knew that wherever he wanted to go now, though perils lay in wait, lack of courage would never deny him.

After his descent from the hither side of The Gods’ Table Math travelled westward. He carried with him only his hunting bow, a skin for water and a great scrip of oats, trusting that even if man had not come to those new lands, then at least he might find by the way wild kine and game enough to keep his limbs together.

His path first led through a month of trackless forest and then out onto empty bitter plains, which seemed to run forever before him. He did not tarry but marched dawn to dusk each day towards the setting of the sun. One bright morning Math spied in the far distance what he thought must be a line of hills. The sight gave him hope of an end to his journey though many difficult miles still lay ahead. Now high clouds came in from the south that lingered for a week but never let fall a drop of rain. The air became stifling and hazy. He crossed a wide dry channel that must once have been a mighty river, and thereafter found only streams that had turned to dust. The land knew only the memory of water. Math was a hardy man but he was beginning to wonder if he could reach those far hills before he died of thirst.

But on a day, towards evening, the clouds and haze at last began to clear and Math was surprised to find he was much closer to his destination. The promised hills were revealed as a ridge of mountains thrust out from the prodigious mass of the Dedicae to the North.  In the westering sun the peaks of that range seemed aflame and they were a wonder to Math. He named these mountains The Western Lights.

In only a few days he was among the gentle foothills where he might have taken rest, but without hesitation Math made to climb the highest of the peaks. There were no paths to follow, and the mountain was steep, but he found that climbing even the most precipitous cliff no longer held any fear for him. And why should it: here was a man who had stepped free on the table of the Gods. With much hard labour, and many a slip along the way, he gained the summit. It was a jagged, uncomfortable place and yet a scene of great spectacle. At the very peak a mighty shard of transparent quartz was thrust into the shale, as though some god had come and placed it there for decoration. He named the mountain Pigamcrysial, for all around were other crystals embedded in the rocks, each catching the light of the sun and giving it back threefold. It was a breath-taking sight for a man to behold, but for Math ap Ceridwen, this bright show was merely the beacon that lead him to his heart’s desire.  Greater beauty lay below.

From the Pigamcrys’ Math looked westward down upon a wide green land with two long rivers snaking their way to rugged shores, a coastline  bordered with mountains, and many wooded valleys between, all standing under a washed clean blue sky and a cool breeze. He had come to the Ends of the Earth, the Dirios d’arfod, and he knew that this was the land of his dream.

It was early evening when he came to that summit and, with the sun before him, looking into the west was no comfortable thing. For the ease of his eyes he turned to survey the southern view. The Lights curved away to his right to almost meet the distant sea, but due south lay another country: flat scrublands, less arid than the leagues he had crossed. The colours were all yellow and pale green, and the dusty browns of baked earth, and yet moving across that plain were many great black shapes that Math could not understand. Now the druid’s power of Sight was keener than most of his peers. He settled his view on the nearest of these shapes and as he lent strength to his eyes he found that it was a great herd of bison. Huge creatures they were and their hooves threw up plumes of dust that trailed them across the plain.

Math stood long in thought upon his peak, contemplating the two lands he had found. One was beautiful and calm and blessed with many showers, while the other was wild and dangerous, yet with enough bounty of meat to feed a hundred nations. If only the two could be brought together, but the rugged Lights and many weary miles lay between. Using his Sight he examined the herd closely. The bison were in constant motion, running and bellowing, turning this way and that. The movement confused his eyes, and blurred his vision; there were moments when he thought the creatures must be hanging above the earth not making a path upon it. And so he allowed his Sight to pull away from the crowd to get a better view. He cried out as the scene became clear. The bison were running in panic, for there, flying low over their backs, flaming in the excitement of the hunt, were three great winged beasts. They had long thin bodies and tails, and eyes that shone bright upon their prey. They used their fire to separate bison from the herd, used their talons to fell them, and their teeth to rend.

Math was astonished. He was a powerful druid but not a Keeper of the Truth, and so he had no knowledge of the dragons of the Dedicae.

In fascination he watched their sport until the sun began to go down, but shivering then he thought of finding a safer place to spend the night. There was a cave on the western flank of the Pigamcrys’. It was not dry, and the floor was rough, but he made it his home now for half a month. Each day he climbed the peak and there cast out his Sight in search of the incredible beasts once more, but each day he was disappointed for they were nowhere to be seen. On waking one morning he looked into his scrip and saw that his oats were almost done, and knew that he must leave the mountains or starve. Math decided to climb to the summit one last time. To the west that beckoning green land, to the south the boundless plains. Home lay to the east. He looked that way to figure his path among the hills and there at last, not a mile away yet far below him, were two of the flying hunters tracking along the line of the Lights into the north. They flew fast and quickly became too small for his eyes to follow, but his Sight stayed with them as they came in among the mountains, rose to a wide opening in a cliff wall and entered in.

Math made sure of the way he must travel to go to that place, but try as he might his Sight could not take him within their lair.

It was a hard path he made along the ridge and up into the heights we know now as the Dragon Reeks, and with little food at that. The longer he travelled, the weaker he became. Understanding that he might stumble and fall to his death, he descended the mountains on the east, and set himself to hunting enough food to maintain him on whichever road he chose to take.

There was a small family of red deer he found in untamed meadows on the edge of a small forest, and with all respect he caused one of the harts to come to his arrow. So subtle was his skill that the other deer were untroubled by his presence and continued to forage in the field. It was to Math’s surprise when of a sudden they all turned and ran into the wood. A great noise was in the air behind him, and there swooping down from the hills came three of the flying beasts, tumbling and turning as they came.

Math did not hesitate. He knew he was out of their sight at the edge of the trees and that did not suit his purpose. He ran forward and summoning all the power that was left to him, Math Flammddwyn cast from his hand a great plume of wizard’s fire into the sky. It burned red and green against the blue of the heavens.

And the beasts rose to meet it.

2

Autumn brought with it a lull in the fighting. On both sides the needs of harvest took precedence over politics. The poet Aneirin was sitting at his back porch, contemplating the work piling up in the kitchen garden, and smoking a bind of his best mugwort and chamomile. A commotion came from within the cot, and it sounded a happy one. There was his daughter Angharad singing out a joyful welcome. Aneirin smiled at that but didn’t stir. He knew that Math would come through after those first kisses were done, and looking for a bind too, no doubt.

After a good meal they sat around the kitchen table: Math, Angharad and her father, Aneirin Prydyddion, already a good way into the tale of Math’s adventure.

“Go on Math,” said Angharad, her eyes shining. “Tell us what happened when the dragons took you to their lair. It was so brave of you. I feel frightened for you even now, and we’re hundreds of miles away.”

Math’s smile ran through his whole body just to hear her talk. For all the trials of his journey nothing had been so hard as being apart from her.

“Angharad, how can you expect me to believe that? You are the bravest person I know, man or woman.”

She set her mouth to be serious. “I may be that, when it comes to myself; but I’m always frightened for you whenever you do anything like to get you killed – and especially if it’s likely to get you eaten.”

Aneirin laughed but said nothing.

“There was no danger of that,” Math said. “They’d invited me-”

“A wolf might invite a lamb to dinner, but it’d be daft to go.”

Math just wanted her to talk while he listened but he had to put her straight.

“What you don’t know about dragons, Angharad, is they have a great sense of honour. They’d invited me in, and meant to give me full respect. This is how it was:

“Now the Reeks were darksome and full of fumes to catch your breath when I entered. For my comfort the dragons who brought me blew mighty gusts to push away the smoke, and with their eyes ablaze they lit my path. We walked a good mile down the widest way under stone that could ever be. If I had not been there I think my guides could have flown. But great though the way, the hall it led to was greater – beyond all imagining. The Speech Hall of the Dragons very near caused me to faint with the size of it, and for my heart to still with shock that it housed, in that very hour, more than one hundred of the great beasts. The light of all their eyes together made the whole place bright as noon: from the hall, with its cold shallow river running through, to the terraces where the dragons roosted, to the wide arena in the centre.”

“Arena? They had games then, these dragons?”

“Aneirin, I will not lie to you, I never saw a game the while I was there, but they told me the arena was for an event which must be terrifying, incredible to watch. For the dragons pass their ages on this earth wrestling. Wrestling, I tell you!”

“Oh I would have loved to see that.”

“Well perhaps you will one day.”

“Listen to his nonsense,” said Angharad. “When do you suppose old Aneirin will even get out of his chair, never mind journey to a land of dragons?”

Math then gave Aneirin a look and his cousin started as though spoken to.

“You don’t mean it. What have you done Math? What have you promised?”

Angharad was cross.

“Now will you two stop doing that! It’s rude. Speak words I can hear. Math, what is my dad going on about?”

Math sighed. He had wanted to tell the story as he’d practised it, all the long journey home, but already he was putting the end before the beginning.

“What I travelled for, as you know, my Angharad, was to discover a new land for our people.”

“A new land indeed, Math ap Ceridwen, but not a den of dragons to bed in.”

Math laughed. “It will not come to that. But how would it be if we lived in a right green place, ours only for the sake of the journey, and guarded by the greatest beasts on this Earth?”

Angharad was not convinced.

“It all sounds very well, Math, but I don’t see what your dragons stand to gain. Are you sure they’ve not just taken to eating whole tribes at a time?  Well?  I see that’s shut up your mouth.”

Indeed it had. For the first time Math felt a knot of anxiety in his gut. Aneirin came to his rescue.

“Look Math, there is something our precious Angharad is forgetting. You know what I mean.”

The poet then spoke a word in Math’s head and the druid’s worry disappeared.

“Angharad,” Math said, “Dragons do not speak with a serpent’s tongue, or by any other type of tongue for that matter. Just as I speak to Aneirin with thoughts, so do the dragons make their conversation. And you know what my other name is, I think?”

“Lladwr-am-anwireddau. Yes, I know it well enough: you are the slayer of lies for our people.”

“I speak and listen for the Cymrais. No man can lie to me with words. There is a taste to untruth I feel on my tongue, and in my nose. And when it is not a word but a thought, I can feel it in my head. Dragons think so loud it’s impossible for them to lie. They’re too sure of themselves, and I’d hear it if they tried.”

Angharad knew well the powers of her betrothed. His fame ran through all the tribal lands. But still she didn’t understand.

“What is this truth then, Math ap Ceridwen? What do the dragons want?”

Math felt like laughing, so sweet was the tale.

“It was like this: I stood before the assembled horde and though they strove to be gentle I could feel the heat of their gaze upon me. And what could they see? Not the weak shape of a man, no promise of wisdom, no terror of my power, not even my honour and truth. No. In a blaze of reflection all they could see was their own inner light shining upon this golden torc of mine.”

Math laid a hand upon the Great Torc about his neck, remembering the moment.

“Even the greatest of them, the awful Dagraeda, eldest, wisest, strongest, even he was transfixed. He spoke to me then:

Man who is so brave to stand in our presence, whose thought is firm and true, do you see anything in this hall that is a marvel?

“To tell the truth, how could I see anything but the wonder of the dragons themselves? Dagraeda heard my thought.

It is good that your words are not mere flattery. But look upon the walls and ceiling and floor of this place, and look upon the stream that runs through.

“I looked. The floor before me shone with a thousand points of light, ten thousand more on the walls and ceiling. Gold nuggets they were, polished by the brushing of the dragon wings over time. But the bed of the stream was a greater wonder still, for it was littered with countless jewels of emerald and sapphire, diamond and opal, and every manner of precious stone you might wish for. There was more gold in that hall than mankind has seen in all of history, and enough jewels in the water to dress every man and woman on this earth twenty times over.

We think them beautiful, the dragon said, because they take our light and give it back to us in a form beyond our invention. Yet these treasures are pale compared to that decoration you wear around your neck. It is so much greater than all our jewels and shining stones.

“Here his thoughts, that had been booming in my head, paused and I could feel regret in him.

Upon a time, he said, we dragons consumed a multitude of men…

“There was a stirring in the hall at those words, as though the tale to come might discomfit them all.

They were not men like you – they were an abomination. So said Lord Ahura. They ran across those plains below the Dedicae, with war, murder and destruction in their hearts. Ahura would not let them destroy his new earth. He brought us dragons to this place as his weapon against them. There were so many we could do no more than kill them first and eat them after – for years after: they did not foul quickly as normal men might. Those we could not eat we destroyed with fire. It was many turnings before the grass and trees came back.

“I tell you both, my spirit was not so brave in that moment, listening to this tale of destruction. But the great dragon continued:

Many of those we consumed wore ornament such as yours, decorated with the stones of the earth. The working of these precious things is beyond our skill, but such decoration is not beyond our desire. We see in your thought that you seek a new home for your people. And through your memory we can see your skill. Your people are great in craft: stones and metal are your toys. So we offer you a proposition. Bring your people to the end of the world and we will give you friendship. We want only that you make for us such toys as you make for yourselves.

“Well, I didn’t know what to say at first. My head was still in a stew thinking of the dragons killing all those people, and yet they wanted the Cymrais to have no fear and come and live with them. But I knew he spoke truth.

“‘You are not so small as a man,’ said I, ‘and a torc to fit your neck would take a mighty amount of gold, and hundreds of jewels. I fear we would fail you, and you’d be angry with us.’

“He laughed then, as did many of those looking on, and the noise of it running through me near turned my stomach.

Man who is called Math Flammddwyn, he said, who is to say that we would not fear your wrath in turn? But think: you have seen only one of our halls. There are many, and in each a mountain of gold, and in all of our waters unending harvest of precious stones.

“‘But where does it all come from?’ I asked. ‘I can see that gold runs in seams through the rock of this place. But when I look at the jewels, they’ve been cut and polished as though by craftsmen.’

“Well, Dagraeda looked at me then, and with some humour, I thought.

It is not so different for mankind, said he. We consumed many men and with them all the ornament they wore. Some things sit uncomfortably in the stomach and remain there unchanged. Until they are purged. These are the jewels of those we ate.”

“Ach-y-fi! You cannot mean that. It’s disgusting.”

“Oh Angharad, daughter of mine,” said Aneirin Prydyddion, “Do you really think the route those jewels took into that stream more revolting than the dragons killing thousands of people?”

“Well, millions actually.”

“And what, Math ap Ceridwen, does “millions” mean, when it’s at home?”

“It means, Angharad, one thousand, one thousand times.”

“It means,” said Aneirin, “A whole lot of people.”

“And by the sound of it, Da, a whole lot of bad people.”

“And,” said Math, aware that the conversation was getting away from the point he wanted to make, “all that was thousands of years ago. And they were bound to their task by our great God Ahura. The dragons are no threat to us now, or in our future. Now listen, Aneirin was right before. I have made them a promise. I’ve told the dragons we’ll come to the Dirios d’arfod and for assurance of safety, among other things, we’ll help them with whatever ornamentation they fancy.”

“Oh you’re dreaming man,” said Angharad, with disappointment in her voice he’d never heard before. “You’ll never peddle that idea. It’s stupid. All that great journey just to be lackeys? No one’ll swallow that. And what if the dragons change their minds and decide to eat us instead?”

“Now hang on, daughter,” said Aneirin, “I think you just missed something important: ‘among other things’ he said, and I’m wondering exactly what that means. Math?”

“Well I’m not chief dealer of the Cymrais for nothing. Look, if we come to the end of the lands it’ll be hard on us for a while. And so the dragons have offered as much bison as we’ll need. They’ll kill it for us, and carry it to wherever we want. Roast it for us too, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Now that’s more like it,” said Aneirin. “Free food, Angharad! It’s a start.”

“But still, Da, it’s like we’d be their pets.”

“No Angharad,” said Math, “I told you before, it’s a matter of respect. And besides it’s not as though they wouldn’t be paying us for the work we do.”

She wouldn’t have that: “Being paid in meat’s all very well, until you’re sick of it.”

“Not what I meant, actually. In fact I’ve made an agreement with the dragons that for whatever weight of ore we work for them, we’ll get a tithe. Pretty much, they’re paying us one tenth of all the treasure we can craft. Now, will that do you?”

Angharad leaned back in her chair.

“You daft sod,” she said, shaking her head. “Now why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

The poet looked at his mighty cousin and said: “Right, Math ap Ceridwen, Angharad has the truth here. You and me, we’re going to have to get this story sorted out and good. You’ve a lot of speaking to do, and a lot of doubters to win over. But meanwhile, I’m going to get myself a cart built and a donkey bought – if I’m off to the ends of the earth, well, I’ll not be walking.”

END