Failed Tears of the Dragons
Part One of Two
The world of Antar was savage, brutal in its landscape, mimicking the people who had changed, forced to adapt to the hostile environment or die out. Extensive wars, long hard centuries of warfare had depleted the resources. The concentration on the acts and weapons of war had replaced the simple day to day necessities of invention and growth to sustain life.
Then long decades of ecological abuse had scared and turned the rivers into silt deposits, jungles into barren wastelands, and productive farmlands into deserts. Water became a precious commodity to be bartered, sold as gold.
Even in these harsh conditions, the people found a way to survive, but not to thrive. Children were dying not only from the harsh conditions but also from the lack of imagination and self-determination that comes from a mind not forced to seek food and water for hours day after day. Children no longer grew aspiring to become heroes, true heroes that once championed the great causes of Antar. Living to see the next dawn has become more important than defending a defined set of religious or political beliefs. Virtue, honor, and righteousness had all been lost.
A small child follows her mother, they wear dark heavy clothing to try and protect themselves from the harsh sun, their bodies overheated lost in the layers of fabrics. Their faces are dry; leather-tanned from the sun, darkened brown, no longer does a blush show upon their cheeks. Their eyes dull lifeless black orbs, void of energy. Their lips parched, no longer seek out pleasure of food or kisses, but of water.
The sun was slowly setting, the moons still rise, the one last final constant in their lives lighting their journey. Their goal was a small muddy stream where the water rose at various times from the ground below. It is this muddy water they will bring back to drink for a few days.
They waded into the muddy path, barely and inch or two of reddish-brown liquid skimmed the surface. Taking the clay jar she carefully skimmed of the fluid at the top to flow in. The little girl watched following the actions with her own jar.
“Mama,” spoke the girl, “the water is so shallow. Is this how deep the water was always?”
“No, once they were deep, the water flowed over my head,” mother sighed, her voice was rough and tired. “When I was a little girl I remember the land was rich and green. I use to play and swim in this river.”
“Why does it not rain? You know water that falls from the sky.” The girl asked, “I have heard the elders talking about it?”
The mother knelt down to talk to her, looking at her in the eye, “What controls the waters of Antar? Have you heard the stories?”
“The dragons, is it not the dragons that sent from the Grandolith to control the weather?” The little girl washed her face in the dirty liquid, drying with the edge of her shirt. “Is that not right?”
“Yes, my daughter. The dragons come forth from the celestial heights to control all the waters on Antar, to replenish them, to make the rains come forth.”
“Then where are the dragons?” The little girl sat down on the bank, watching the moon. “Is the Grandolith angry with us and it no longer sends forth the dragons?”
“No we have not displeased the Grandolith” The mother chose her words carefully. “The dragons are busy and have no time to send the rains and watch over the waters.”
“And what of the green lands, do they not have time to watch over the plants and animals?”
“No, they cannot.”
“But is it not the tears of the dragons that flood our seas, and is it not the blood of the dragons that sow the fields.” The little girl fought back the tears of hopelessness, for she knew in her heart the dragons had to be dead, for they no longer came. “Is it not the bones of the dragons that make our cities, is it not the breath of the dragons that send the winds, and is it not the scales of the dragons that protect us.” The girl held up her hand to the mother. “Is that not what you taught me?”
“Yes my child it is,” The mother smiled a small smile, one of pain yet happiness in the ability of her bright child.
“Why?” The girl looked puzzled, “why are the dragons busy? Why has the Grandolith forsaken us?”
The mother turned away, a tear fell down her cheek. How could she tell her daughter the politics of war, of death, and of evil? The children, so young and fragile, they were all Antar had left. How could she explain the dragons, symbolic of the royal power, the power that emitted from the Grandolith, the ancient protector of their world? She took a deep sigh. “They are fighting, my daughter, fighting a war they cannot win.”