1.

Once upon a time in a time long past, during the last long days of The Dragon Wars there lived a girl named Eleana. Eleana's home was the small village of Girden located within the center of a rolling valley protected by five snow-tipped mountains known to all as "God's Hand".

She lived with her beloved mother Galena-a midwife and healer-at the edge of the village in a field stone cottage. She watched her mother's sure hands tend their neighbors' bodies, and clasp in prayer for their souls.

As a dimpled toddler, she trailed her mother into the wooded foothills to gather healing plants and roots. As a youngling, she carried her mother's rush basket of rolled lints, herbs and unguents and followed at her heels throughout the winding lanes of the village.

Eleana's golden curls bounced as she hurried to match her mother's stride and caused the villagers to laugh and say "Aye! Here is Galena-and with her, her sun!"

There was no one-child or elder-whose hair could compare to Eleana's.

Their locks were russet like wool dyed with woad and madder, or blue-black as the bits of coal they gathered from the great shift at the valley walls, or brown like the speckled nuts that fell from the tall trees. Few villagers had hair the dull colour of straw but none had tresses that glowed when kissed by the morning rays.

Life was simple but good-for the child called "Galena's Sun".


2.

The day came to pass when the grey mists of war slithered their way over the mountains and found their way into peaceful Girden. On market day, a traveling tinker arrived leading a small burro burdened with great shiny pots. He unloaded his wares-and tidings of The Dragon War-their King's Call to his vassals and villeins.

Men were needed to defeat the last of the Dragons!

Young men of the village laid down their spades, and picked up their scabbards and swords. They marched bravely from the village and upwards into God's Hand.

Months-then years-passed without word from Girden's fathers and sons and brothers.



3.

Eleana grew and learned of herbs and the healing arts, but the bright days of childhood waned. Her smile dimmed as her coltish body began to hint of womanhood, and her locks darkened with somber streaks. She was discontent, and despite all the love she was shown her heart was never full.

The dark days affected them all.

A vise of uncertainty tightened about the villagers' hearts, like the sonorous thunderclouds pierced by the peaks of God's Hand on the night of the Great Storm.

On that summer eve-in the midst of the third harvest after the villagers answered the King's Call-dark clouds rolled down the mountains, and poured into the heart of the valley. Shrieking winds whipped the needled trees of the forest forcing them to cry out in great creaks and groans. Lightning cracked the doom of night while rain slapped against shutters and beat upon the door of Galena's cottage.

Galena sat on the edge of her straw-filled pallet, with a trembling Eleana beside her. The fire-pit was dark, the smoke-hole closed to the rain, a single tallow candle lit to comfort them. Their hands were twined together and they started-at every hissing strike of the lightning snake, every cannonade of thunder-as it rolled about in the palm of God's Hand.

They jumped from the bed as the door crashed open, and the winds and rain rushed inside. Galena leapt to bar the door but stopped suddenly with a cry.

A shard of lightning revealed what the flickering candle could not-the menacing shadow of a beast that filled her narrow doorway.



4.

Twas not a beast of the forest that stumbled across the threshold and onto the floor, but a rain-soaked man cloaked in the King's colours. He raised his stubbled chin to gaze upon them, and Galena rushed to his side, crying with joy.

"Allaster!" she breathed, and she embraced him fiercely. He moaned with a shudder and his eyes slowly closed as he crumpled to the floor. Her shaking hands raced across his still body searching for injury as she barked orders that would have made the King's sergeant-at-arms glow with pride.

"Eleana!" she snapped. "Help me get your father abed! Light the fire, bring me my basket! Blankets! Mead!"

Eleana's heart stilled with awe at the utterance of that word, but her feet flew as she ran greet the stranger.

This stranger that was her sire.



5.

Allaster was not of Girden, but borne to family of minstrels in the village of Cleiton, across the mountains to the south. He was not yet one-and-twenty when he set out upon the road with a pack upon his back. It was on a journey to the Venerated City in hopes to perform at the palace that he crossed God's Hand, and paused to rest in the valley at Girden.

The villagers of Girden were gladdened, and hurriedly prepared a make-shift feast, for visitors were uncommon and minstrels rare as phoenix feathers.

The people gathered 'round him-after the last partridge was eaten and the last sweetbread swallowed-and Allaster performed. He sang bawdy songs of simple folk and they laughed and stomped their feet. He sang epic songs of chivalry, fierce dragon battles, and faraway places and they appreciatively applauded their wonder.

He plucked his psaltery as the fire burned low on that night a long measure ago. In the last ember's glow he sang softly-a ballad of unwavering love-to pretty young Galena, and the women of Girden sighed.



6.

Sage smoke from the smudge pots curled to the ceiling to form clouds as the storm outside released its fury. Allaster lay senseless on the pallet wrestling phantoms, heat roiling off his frame. He moaned and thrashed, swinging his empty sword arm about as Galena and Eleana nursed him. There was no broken limb to set, nor septic wound to drain. No lock-of-jaw, nor rash, nor boils that marked his thin body.

They bathed his fever with linen cloths dampened with lavender-infused rainwater. They held his head and trickled mead and honey past his hoarse cries. They fought the man and battled the fever through out the endless night.

Exhausted, Galena opened the shuttered window to gaze up into the night. She bowed her head and called upon God to aid her hands. The goodwife turned as the skies grew still and she heard a relieved sigh. Allaster had passed peacefully from stupor into restful sleep, with Eleana by his side.

Gratefully, Galena wept.



7.

The townsfolk of Girden assembled quietly in the gathering light of dawn. They had walked from their cottages leaving fire-pits burning and rain-swollen doors ajar. They spared not a glance at their own ravaged dwellings, for their eyes eagerly sought the welcome sight of the field stone cottage on the edge of town. They stood still and silent midst the tempests' debris outside the door of Galena.

Twas not injury that drew them to the healing house, nor the minstrel man within it-but hope.

Hope for fathers and sons and brothers, all clad in the King's colours.


8.

Allaster did not don his pack the next morn, nor in the days that followed. For a sennight, he pursued a blushing Galena. He followed her up into the foothills to gather medicinal roots and barks, and braided the season's first wildflowers into a garland to place about her neck. He walked the worn path to the spring with her bucket to fill it with the coolest water from its depth when she thirst. He sat beneath the shutters of her window each eve, and serenaded her sweetly.

To no one's surprise he won her heart, and they were handfasted on Lady Day. They stood side by side in front of young and old and pledged their hearts to one another. Wrenda the herbalist-as the eldest-solemnly tied a braided ribbon around their clasped hands. The whole of the village celebrated the event, and birth of Spring.

Allaster sang, and his performance was so fine, it was fit for the ears of Kings.


9.

Allaster slept, and the villagers stood fast as the summer sun rose to journey across the sky. As sun reached its zenith and melted their shadows into dark puddles at their feet, the door to the cottage opened. Galena stepped out with a joyous smile and exclaimed "My husband is awakening!"

The crowd parted and the slight wiry frame of Wrenda emerged with a grin. She grasped Galena's hands and together they entered the cottage.

Allaster opened his eyes slowly, and struggled weakly to arise. Eleana helped him sit aright, and knelt to steady him. He murmured "Thank you, child" in a roughened voice and her eyes glowed with pleasure. He looked at Wrenda, then deeply into the eyes of Galena.

He said hoarsely "The war is done, and I have come to home."


10.

In the weeks that followed the young pair worked together, making their cottage a home. They mended the thatch, gathered and stacked firewood from the fallen branches of the forest, and turned the sleeping soil of the earth.

There was much joy in the work for Galena, but twas not so for Allaster. She breathed in the perfume of the loamy soil, and tenderly bedded each treasured seed. He groaned in his labors and leaned upon his spade, eyes drawn again and again to God's Hand. He looked not south to his birthing place, but longing westward towards the Venerated City.

She watched the bright yearning light in his eyes dim with each passing day, and her heart was saddened. At night, he gazed mournfully at his treasured instrument leaning against the wall, and sighed into his ale.

She awoke one autumn morn to discover Allaster, his pack and his psaltery gone. A braided ribbon was all that lay on their pallet, where once her husband slumbered.

11.

Allaster mended quickly. He sat outside the cottage in the following days and watched Galena as she toiled. Eleana hovered at his side, happily tending to his every need.

His eyes had narrowed thoughtfully ere the first time she called him "Father," but it went unnoticed in her joy. She scraped the whiskers from his sunken cheeks and washed his matted golden hair. She combed it carefully, and laughed as it dried, glowing in the sun. She brought him broth and tonics, and tasty morsels to tempt his appetite, but he had an unquenchable thirst for mead and ale. He ate little, but as he drained the cup he called again and again "Child! I thirst for more!"

The villagers trailed up to the cottage singly and in pairs to welcome him with simple gifts and with hope of news of a brother, or son.

Allaster's face pinkened with pleasure with the attentions, and he sat regally on the rough stool and spoke. When his voice slowed and he gazed soulfully at his empty mug, casks were quickly rolled to the cottage of Galena and tapped, to aid the flow of his words.

They learned that the King's army had split in two, to battle the dragons on opposite sides of the kingdom. Allaster had been one of the first able-bodied men conscripted into the King's forces from the court of lesser nobles in the Venerated City. He had spent more years than he had fingers in the western battlefields never seeing a familiar face. He reasoned aloud the village volunteers were perhaps sent east to fight the three-toed dragons in their cavern strongholds there.

If so, the trek home would be long and arduous.

12.

Dragons were ancient creatures-lords of the earth and sky-but their numbers small. Over the centuries, fewer than a hundred remained to witness the arrival of man.

Man arrived first in longboats from the stormy sea, then swarmed like locusts over the mountains and plains. They scraped the earth and felled aged trees to build their fragile colonies, and hunted in great numbers the prey of the forest.

The Great Herds of the past were soon gone-made skittish by decades of pursuit by man-and the Dragons had to fly vast distances to fill their empty bellies.

The Dragon Clan of the west was driven mad by hunger, and began attacking villages to feast upon the livestock. The king declared war on the marauding beasts and as their numbers dwindled, the once-peaceful Eastern Clan-fearing the same fate-took flight with fire and talon to defeat man and battle extinction.

The days of the dragons ended there-in the far east-with the defeat of the largest and eldest, a five-taloned behemoth named Tulik. Scores of men perished under his attack, many it was said having never seen the beast, just the ominous shadow of his wings as he blocked out the sun.

13.

The weeks that followed were the happiest that Eleana had known. Allaster's voice rang out for her a dozen times a day, saying "Child! Come!" and she put aside her labors to aid him. She filled his cup, or simply sat with great round eyes at his feet as he played a reed pipe or told tales of battle, of court and kings. More days than not she led her staggering sire inside to retire to his pallet as he sang softly beneath his breath.

Galena watched them sadly, but quietly went about her work. She tended the sick and injured. She spent long hours bent between the furrowed rows of the garden or over a steaming cauldron preserving its gifts for the long winter ahead.

As the days began to shorten and the time of Michaelmas neared, the first of Girden's men returned.

One by one they walked into the village, tired feet bound with rags, wearing great smiles. They walked into the open arms of mothers and wives and sisters. They tarried there for long moments, but turned to lay down their dusty packs and pick up the ax, or rake or spade.

14.

Galena lay on the pallet, listening to the soft snores of her husband, longing for sleep. Her body was numb with tiredness, her heart a leaden weight. Her mind was unsettled, worried thoughts pulled the blanket of sleep from her each time she felt it began to settle softly upon her.

Quietly she arose, and knelt upon the floor. She prayerfully poured out her troubled heart, and felt her burdens slide from her sore shoulders.

She pulled a faded ribbon about her neck from beneath the her simple gown and looked upon its braided length thoughtfully. She rolled its knotted end between her work roughened fingers, and slowly began to work it aloose.


15.

Eleana irritably yanked feathers from the goose laying on the slab table. It had been more than a week since she awoke to discover her sire had vanished with the morning fog, without bidding her goodbye.

Her mother spoke naught of his absence. Galena went about her chores with a calm serenity that quietly infuriated Eleana. Eleana glared at the plump goose that was to have a place of honor on their table this Michaelmas and continued to pluck it resentfully.

16.

Winter marched into the village wearing hobnail boots. Eleana's heart echoed the season, and was frosted with bitterness, though she took pains to hide it well. There was no joy in working alongside Galena, but she kept her hands busy with the work to be done. She spoke when it was needful, but said nothing of the chill growing within her heart. She smiled when it was warranted, but it was seldom more than a quick stretch of her stiff lips, never reaching her eyes to warm them.

Early one morning Eleana discovered a tiny sparrow laying pitifully frozen outside their door. Once its little form might have brought a tear to her eye, but on this morn she looked down upon it with simple curiousity.

It was at this moment that Eleana realized all she had lost-not just joy, but her sorrow as well. She did not attempt to cast off her indifference-drew it tightly about her instead-and kicked the bird aside.

17.

Galena stepped through the drifting snow down the lane to Wrenda's cottage. She carried a crock of savory stew, wrapped carefully in a flannel cloth, and Eleana followed her silently. The billowing snow had kept them housebound for days and Galena had longed to breathe the crisp cold air and hungered for the conversation and the companionship of an old friend.

Eleana-once the great joy of her life-had grown sullen and silent.

Wrenda opened the cottage door pushing the snow aside and clasped her hands with glee. Her wrinkled face brightened with good cheer like a polished walnut as she ushered the pair into the warmth of her home.

The women supped and when the last of the stew was sopped from the side of her bowl and popped into her mouth, Wrenda sat back with a satisfied groan. The good ladies visited happily, clucking away like chickens, Eleana disagreeably thought.

Eleana quietly wandered about the cottage, drawn to examine the herbs hung on the drying racks. She absently touched the cold stone mortar and pestle upon on a dark shelf, and her fingers brushed the stiff leather of a pouch wedged between the stones of the wall. She tugged it free, and worked its aged binding. Eleana tilted the pouch and a gnarled black crescent slid onto her open palm.

She heard Wrenda behind her gasp "Mid-wife, you are quick with child!"

Eleana spun about and stared at Galena, laughing happily and embracing Wrenda. Eleana's hand slowly curled, tightening about the dark object. Her knuckles whitened and a thin scarlet thread of blood trickled from her clenched fist.

18.

Late that night as Galena slept, Eleana sat on the floor of their cottage by the open fire-pit, feeding it sticks and twigs. She absently rubbed the small itching wound on her palm and watched the fire's scarlet tongue lick the branches, sculpting them into glowing, golden coals. Eleana shivered, her skin cold and damp as if she stood in the frozen gray mist that clouded her mind.

She could not collect her frenzied thoughts. It was as if her mind were a piece of pottery cast against a great stone, and the broken pieces slung to the four points. She sat quietly, searching the fire's embers for the missing shards.

19.

Eleana quickly jammed the leather pouch back into its place between the stones, and wiped the trickle of blood against her skirt.

She turned to stand next to her mother's chair, still leaning forward into Wrenda's bosom. Eleana forced her lips into a false smile as Galena sat back to wipe her happy tears. Eleana bent and holding herself apart, she touched her mother's forehead with her own for one last long moment, then hugged her neck with a sharp awkward jerk. Laughing, Galena turned back to Wrenda. Galena did not know twas the last embrace freely given by Eleana, her Sun.

Eleana stepped back and donned her cloak. She paused at the door and glanced at the ladies holding hands and talking excitedly.

Neither of the good women noticed when Eleana slipped through the door, nor as she closed it firmly behind her.

20.

Eleana awoke the next morn alone in the quiet cottage, warmed by the merry flames of the morning fire. She sat up stiffly, wearing her dress donned the day before. Sleep dulled her thoughts, but she suddenly remembered.

Wrenda. Galena. The babe.

The frost on her heart hardened with icy disdain and certainty. Her weak sire had been driven away. Driven away by Wrenda. Galena. The babe.

Her lip curled with petty dislike for them all as she stood unsteadily, and smoothed the wrinkles of her dress. She paused feeling a weighty lump amidst its folds. Wonderingly she slid her injured hand into her pocket and pulled the object from its folds.

She stared agape at the stolen treasure she held. A claw. She held a dragon's dew-claw. She cast it fearfully into the fire pit, and great black flames shot up toward her.

The dark shadow of wings fell across her sight, and she collapsed onto the floor.


21.

Eleana lay unconscious upon her pallet. She burned with raging fevers, and shook violently with icy chills. Angry red blotches covered her body, overlapping one another like scales on a trout. The strange marks faded slowly, leaving her pale and gray.

Galena-loving mother and stalwart healer-never left Eleana's side. She cautiously closed her door to her neighbors fearing the spread of pox or plague.

Wrenda visited the barred door each day to leave encouraging words, and gifts of food or firewood from the neighbors. All were eager to hear news of how Eleana fared.

After a fortnight and a day, Galena opened her door and smiled brightly through her exhaustion.

Galena's Sun was going to rise.


22.

Wrenda the Eldest might have recognized the ghost of crimson scales that marred Eleana's ivory skin, if Galena had been less cautious. She might have recalled the Eldest of her own childhood, and a dragons' tale told in hushed tones over a dying fire. A tale of potions and poisons, of curses and cures, of ice and fire and the fate of men.

Dragons are great magical beasts and like every beast-save man-neither good nor evil. The blood or talon, scale or heart of a dragon had powerful properties that could be used by man to heal-or to cause great harm. When Eleana's palm was pierced by the ancient claw she held in anger, a tiny sliver-no larger than a field mouse's eyelash-was buried deep within her palm. It smoldered its way into her pulsing vein and with each beat of her breast raced faster towards her heart. This tragedy would have been fatal for most, but twas not so for Eleana. The molten splinter struck a heart grown hard and so cold that-like an arrow shot at a target-it merely lodged there.

Eleana would live, but never love, or feel the love of others. Not with a heart of fire and ice.

In all of Girden and the valley beyond only Wrenda might have known, if Galena had been less cautious.



23.


Eleana's cheeks pinkened, and her strength increased with each passing day. Galena's happiness followed suit. She hummed and sang and laughed without cause in the weeks and the months that followed.

She fell to her knees a dozen times each day and gave heartfelt thanks for each day and its blessings.

Galena's heart was light, and her feet followed as she worked busily to prepare for the babe. Even Eleana's increasingly frequent flares of bad temper and indifference couldn't dim Galena's joy as her waist thickened and her belly rounded.

Astra was born on the calend of March, beneath a velvet sky brilliant with stars and the promise of a new moon. Eleana watched with disinterest as Wrenda laid the babe in her mother's arms. Breathing thanks, Galena tenderly kissed the baby's brow and caressed her tiny cheek.

Eleana's fingers curled, and she absently rubbed the silver scar upon her palm.

24.

Astra's arrival was a joy embraced by the villagers of Girden. The coos and cries of a new life begun were the sweetest music to be heard. Other children would soon be born-and each one loved and treasured-but Astra was the first. And like the first twinkling star to appear over the horizon in the midst of a long black night, the joy of her birth led the good men and women of Girden past the last dark days of the dragons.

Girden prospered and grew in the score of years that followed. Harvests were plentiful, and livestock grew plump and lazy. Road weary travelers pausing to take their rest were often charmed and chose to settle in their valley instead continuing onward. Merchants arrived and shops sprang up and soon the village became a town.

Bathed in her mother's love Astra too, quickly grew into a fair-faced child. Her fine wavy hair was neither silver nor gold, but an enchanting combination of both. Her brilliant blue eyes were flecked with silver and twinkled constantly with good humor.

Tenderhearted and kind, she loved every creature-and every man, woman, and child of Girden. The people of Girden-all save one-loved her sweetly in return.

They began saying in greeting "Aye, now, here is Galena! And with her-our little Star!"

All the while, pretty Eleana burned.


25.

Eleana's wrist was wrapped with ribbons, to a young man whose heart was hardy and full. They journeyed from the valley, built a home and a life far beyond the snow-tipped peaks. In good time, Astra found her soul's mate, and twas wed beneath a blanket of stars. The pair settled firmly in the palm of God's Hand, and Galena was treasured in their hearts and home.

The Sun and the Star both met a grand old age-rarely sharing the same vast sky...

One knew love as a precious gift-made more precious by gifting it back-and the other knew naught of that golden truth having an empty heart that slowly burned.

The End