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Long, long ago, in a land far, far away, nestled between twin mountains, and snuggled at the fork of a river, there was a small village. It was an unusual village as everyone in it was a Shopkeeper, with a Capital S. Oh, not everyone was in the village, as there were farmers and ranchers and such that lived on the outside of the village, but the village itself, well.. that was an unusual place. That, however, is not what this story is about. This story is about a time when the village was quite small, and the lands around it were very dangerous. You see.. there used to be dragons here.

Many years before the first man found the little valley, there were hundreds of dragons, all whirly flying around high, high in the sky, and crabbily calling out to each other as the flew around doing their dragony business. They were the kings of the world, of this little valley, and they were very proud and very jealous of each other's territory.

What this meant is that every so often there would be a big battle, where all sorts of nasty things happened with dragons flying around and gnashing of beaks and teeth and claws s-snaping and tails a lashing. There were quite a bit fewer dragons flying around after one of those battles let me tell you.
It was so bad that, in a very short time (only a hundred years, or so), there were only 2 dragons left.

They were the meanest, toughest, most dragony dragons there were that have ever lived. They would sit, one on each mountain top and throw insults at each other and be just generally as mean to each other as they possibly could. What sort of insults did they say? Now, gentle readers, they were not the sort of talk that gentle folk should hear, and besides, I don't speak dragon. I couldn't tell you if I wanted to. And I wouldn't even if I did.

These two dragons kept being angry at each other for years and years and even more years than that. They were angry though the days when the first man came to the valley, washed up on the shore like some peice of driftwood. They were angry at each other when the first Shopkeeper showed up with his gaily painted boat and smoking smokestack. They were angry at each other when the first family showed up, to till the fields and turn the land. Needless to say, these were two angry dragons.

It came to pass, then, as it always does, that one dragon decided he had had enough. That it was time to be over and done with. So he called out the dragon's challenge, and flew up into the clouds. The other dragon, hearing the dragon's challenge, became outraged and flew to answer the challenge. This would decide it, then. Who would be final King of the Dragons, with a capital K. It would prove, once and for all, who was rightfully King, and who was dead.

And that, beloveds, is where I will leave you for tonight. I am very tired, and tomorrow is another day. Sleep well, keep your dreams about you, and remember that no matter where you go, there will always be magic, and there will always be a story teller!

Where did we leave off..

Oh yes.. the Dragons had taken flight, determined to find out who was king, and who was dead. The villagers far below gathered to watch the battle. The dragons started out as tiny, tiny dragon winged specks, floating high high in the sky, wheeling and darting at each other, spinning together and then roaring apart with a fiercesom roar and cry.

Far in the sky, with claw and tooth, tails lashing out and darting back the dragons fought a horrible fight. Tears and rends in their wings forced them to fly lower and lower until they were barely above the tops of the trees. The villagers, frightened by the sights and sounds, ran and hid in their shops, and their houses. It was terrible, with dragon blood splashing down onto the earth, and dragon blood is terrible in itself, as it burns bright blue upon contact with whatever it touches. It was terrible in the the grass burned and wilted, and the water steamed when the dragon's flew overhead.

Everyone ran and hid, except for one small girl, who was tranfixed by the battle and cried out "NO!", whenever it seemed that one of the dragons or the other had dealt the last final strike. She cried tears and she felt their pain and she just couldn't move away and NOT watch the war, the battle, the fight. Every claw slash, every tooth bite would cause more and more tears to stream down her face, her hands were tangled in her long blonde hair and she simply could not, could not, could not turn away.

Harder and harder the dragons fought. More and more of the blood splashed down upon the earth scorching the ground and burning the water. Some of the buildings on the outside of the Village caught fire and burned, but none of the Shops caught fire, because, as we know, they were magical.

Eventually the dragons crashed down onto the earth, near the docks. Their great sharp claws scored the ground, and their snapping jaws crashed and tore into each other. The girl drew closer and closer until she was no more than two cart lengths away. Horrible was the site, and terrible was the noise, but she stood still, her tears mingling with the blood on the ground.

With a great roar, one of the dragons seized the neck of the other and Twisted as hard as it could until with a tremendous SNAP, the other dragon fell limp and dead.

The living one lifted his head and roared a mighty roar, letting the world know who was King and who was dead. He stood to rise, but couldn't. So much blood had been lost and so much damage had been done, he just couldn't. He was dying as well. With a hiss and a shudder, he fell back to the ground, head upon his great paws and eyes closed. There he lay, and there he suffered.

The little girl came closer. "Dragon?", she said. The dragon gave no response. She waited, and waited and waited. "Dragon?", she asked again. The dragon opened one of his eyes and flicked a look at the girl. Then he closed his eye and went back to where ever he was in his head, waiting to die.

The girl came closer, not too close, but closer. "Dragon?", she tried again. The dragon opened one great eye again and turned his head to ever so slightly to look at the girl. And that was all he did, just look.

The girl looked up at the one great eye, and asked, "Does it hurt much?"

The dragon huffed out one great cloud of blue grayish steam and said "Does it hurt much? Does fighting tooth and claw to the death, to find victory in battle, to have been wounded to the point of not being able to fly triumphantly away hurt much? No, antling (for that was what they thought of us), it does not hurt much."

"These wounds are fatal, and I know that I'm going to die. It is a good thing, because I am the last one, the King of the Dragons, and it is something that makes my dragon's heart soar! I only speak to you because I know that I am King, and I know that I am dying. It is nothing to me that I speak to you. does it hurt? No, little antling, it does not hurt as much as it feels very good to be the winner"

"No", said the little girl, edging closer. "No, dragon.. what I meant was, does it hurt to be alone? To be the last of your kind, to know that you are King of the Dragons, but to be the very last dragon there is? Does that hurt?"

The dragon opened his other great eye and looked at the girl, hard. He looked so very hard that the grass around her turned to glass and broke away. He looked so hard that the very air became like crystal and thick, but the little girl didn't notice at all. She just continued to look at the dragon, eyes big and wet from crying.

The dragon huffed again, and was silent for a very long time. The little girl just waited and waited. After the sun had started to drop below the midpoint, the dragon once again huffed and said "I don't know. I don't know, little ant. I've never thought about it."

The little girl came closer, but not to terribly close and said, "I'm sure it must hurt very much to be so alone, to not have anyone nearby when you.. when you... it must be very sad"

"Dragons don't feel sadness, dragons are supposed to be alone", said the dragon, trying to look his dragon proudest. "Dragons are used to being alone when they.." he stopped and closed his eyes. "Go away, little ant. It is not safe here. I may just decide to eat you as look at you."

"I'll go away, dragon", and she turned away. She walked a a few steps, just a little bit, and then turned back. She shook her fingers at the dragon and said, "but I'll be back again tomorrow". She left the dragon where he lay, and she left the dragon with things to think about, as only dragons can.

And that is where we will leave them tonight, dearest ones. The dragon, dying on the ground near the dock, and the little girl, going home to her family for the night.

Sleep well, and dream of magical places. I know there are a lot of you not feeling your best, so I will hold you in the folds of my dragon heart, where you will be warm and safe, and healing.

Till tomorrow,
StoryTeller

We left the story last night right where we should have. When everyone went to bed and to sleep and to dream. Perhaps they dreamed of you..

The dragon spent a very hard night laying on the ground near the docks. His many wounds bled freely and the blood left smoking trails on the ground where he lay. His fitful dreams were full of darkness and rocks and he could not rest at all. He missed his bed of mountain snow, and he missed his breakfasts of mountain rabbit, goat, bear.. mountain whatever happend to be the catch of the day. Though he told the little girl that it did not hurt, indeed, it hurt quite a bit! Indeed it did. Muscle and bone had been torn, flesh had been ripped, blood had been spilled. It hurt quite a bit, and the dragon knew he was going to die.

The little girl, whose name was Kajira (a lovely name, thought her mother, for a lovely girl), had gone home that night to a million kazillion questions from her parents. However, not a single one of the questions involved staying away from the dragon, because her parents both knew Kajira was a bit.. unusual. The questions were more like "What did you two talk about?", and "Is he in pain?", and "What did he smell like?". The last was from her older brother, because brothers are always interested in the icky parts of life. Kajira told her parents what she and the dragon had talked about, how sad she thought he was, and that she was sure he was really and truely a good dragon, all in all.

Now, it may seem odd to you, being where you are, out there where dragons hide so very well, it's almost as if they aren't there at all, that a little girl and a dragon may converse. And so, it would have seemed odd to Kajira's parents, had they not known their daughter was unusual from the beginning. She had a gift, they said, to be able to talk to any animal, any animal at all, and have them talk back. It is one thing to talk to an animal. Folks do it all the time, you see. But rare it is for the animal to talk back, and rarer still for a conversation to take place.

Kajira had been talking to animals since the very day she was born, and the first animal she spoke to was a bird that had lighted on the window sill to whistle at the new born. So well known was her gift throughout the village, that no one thought it odd that she would be talking to the dragon. They thought it might be a tad bit dangerous, what with dragon teeth and claw and tail, but they certainly did not think the talking part was odd in the slightest, not the very least. At least not for Kajira.


In the morning, with the sun shining so incredibly bright and the wind blowing little dandilion fuzz around that Kajira packed a light basket full of red apples, and another basket full of bright and merry flowers. Kissing her sleeping parents on each of their cheeks, she headed out the door and headed straight down to the dragon. She sat there, in the same spot she sat before and waited.

While she waited, and she was prepared to wait a long time, she ate an apple, red and juicy.
The dragon, opening one eye, watched with disdainful, but curious interest.

Kajira took one long bite from her apple and watched the dragon back. The Dragon watched her. It took a long time to chew that bite, because it was a very long and very big bite. She chewed it with relish and a single drop of apple juice ran down her chin, to drop, falling onto the ground.

Kajira slowly swallowed, never taking her eyes off the dragon. With a very small sound for a very large dragon, he cleared his throat. "Arumph", he said. Kajira stopped chewing and waited. When nothing further came, she took another long bite from the apple and resumed her slow process of chewing.

"Arumph", said the dragon again. Kajira stopped chewing again, swallowed a very big bite and asked "Yes?"

"Not that it really matters much to me," said the dragon, "but what is that you are eating?"

Kajira raised one small eyebrow, took a much smaller bite and said, "Why dragon," with a bit of suprise, "this is an apple. Have you not seen an apple before?"

"No, I have never seen an apple. What sort of beast is it, it has no legs, it has no head, and it looks like it bleeds clear blood. It must be a very strange beast indeed". "Unnggg", he said at the end.

Kajira suddenly wore an expression of concern. "Are you all right?"

"Besides dying? Yes, antling, I am as fine as I can possibly be. What is an apple?" the dragon shifted his position just a bit, and the look of pain eased from his enormous face just a bit.

"An apple", she began, "is a fruit. It is not a beast. It is not something that you hunt and kill. It grows on a tree, and is quite delicious. Would you like to have one? I have many here."

"How is it that you can eat something that is not a beast, that does not bleed? How do you get the joy of the hunt, of the chase? What is the pleasure in eating something that does not struggle?"

"Oh dragon", she cried, "Why would I find pleasure in the hunting and killing of an animal? This apple comes from a tree that my father planted and grew with his own hands. It traveled from far away, and my mother carried it as seeds in her pocket all the way from her home when she was a child. This apple came from a lot of work, from the sweat and the dirt of the land, as my father says. This apple carries with it all that makes my father and my mother who they are, and with every bite I can feel their love for me"

Now, dear reader, you might be wondering how such a little girl can be speaking so large, as if she was an adult. This is one of the gifts and one of the curses that the BeastSpeakers carried. Because of the connection to every animal on the planet, they were often forced to grow up, facing death and life, birth and destruction on a daily basis. They lived many lifetimes every day of their lives, through the animal minds that they touched and spoke to. Indeed, it made her much, much older than her days, and indeed, it also made her much, much, much lonelier. Still, she was a very brave little girl, Kajira was, and recognised that sometimes life is just life, and is dealt with best with your chin up, your eyes forward.

"But I am a dragon! I cannot eat just any old thing, and most definitely not something that doesn't bleat, moo or fight back! It just wouldn't be right, it just wouldn't be .. dragonish."

"Piffle", Kajira piffled. "You are the last dragon, who better to decide what is dragonish and what isn't" She plucked a very large, very red apple from the basket. "I think you should try one."

"I would just as soon eat you, little antling", he said with disdain and a bit of humor, which Kajira did indeed notice.

Kajira stood up with her hands on her hips and faced the dragon squarely. "Dragon", she said, "my name is Kajira, not antling, if you please. And my race is human, not antling, besides."

"What matters it to me what your name is, antling? I am a dragon, and I am dying."

"Oh. I'm very sorry for that, indeed. In that case, I will leave you to your misery, Sir Dragon. Good day." With that, she gathered up her basket of apples and her basket of flowers and started to move down the path away from the dragon.

"BUT", the dragon interjected after arumphing a very large arumph, "if it pleases you, then I will use that name for you."

Kajira turned back "And I am not an antling"

The dragon sighed a very large dragonish sigh and said "Very well...."

Kajira came back down the path and stood before the dragon, closer than she had been before. "And what is your name, dragon. I can't go around calling you dragon all the time, and I can't just call you hey you, now can I?"

"My name is Gladure, ant.. Kajira"

"Very nice to meet you, Gladure. Kajira means sacrifice. My mother tells me she named me that simply because she liked the sound of it, but I suspect there is a deeper meaning to it. What does your name mean?"

The dragon thought about it for a while and then replied "Gladure means Radiant One. My egg mother and father named me thus so that I would grow into the name. Radiant One means King"

Kajira held an apple out to Gladure. "Here, eat this." She pushed it past the dragon's front teeth and onto his tongue. This might sound like a very icky thing to have done, but Kajira had spent most of her life nursing animals to health, and she was used to icky things. "It seems pretty useless to me to be King, if you are King of nothing at all."

Gladure swallowed quickly, without chewing. "To be King is to be King. It does not matter if you are King of yourself, or King of all there is. This apple has no taste."

"That's because you didn't chew it, silly. Here, try another one". Kajira put another apple into the dragon's mouth. "Now chew it, don't just swallow it. It's not a sheep, you know", she said in her best motherly sounding voice.

Gladure moved the apple between two of his great teeth and with a crunch, exploded the apple in to his mouth. His eyes opened a bit wider, and snorted a small sort of surprise. "So that's an apple. I must say, I don't know what I expected, but I do think you made far to much of such a little thing." He swallowed and asked, "Can I have another?"

"Of course you may", said Kajira.

And that was how they spent that whole day, eating apples and making small talk about nothing at all. Great dragon and small girl, just talking. Gladure found out more about the small animals and life as a human, and Kajira found out more about what it is like to be a dragon sitting on a mountain top.

And this is how we shall leave them, today, beloveds. I do not want to leave, but here are errands to run, and things to see, and people to speak with. As the story unfolds this evening, I will write more.

StoryTeller

We left the two chatting amiably amongst themselves, talking about dragons and humans, the differences, the similarities, and eating apples. And some where along the way, further down the calendar by a few days, the dragon, Gladure, started to find his strength increase, and his hunger decrease, and his curiosity grow larger, and his anger grow smaller. It's odd how those things happen like that.

Every day, Kajira would come and bring something different. One day it would be apples and oranges, the next it might be figs and pomegranates. One day she brought a bunny from her father's hutch, and Gladure tried his best dragonly best to convince Kajira to put the bunny close to his head, so he could best see it. Kajira decided that would not be the wisest thing, and the bunny seemed to agree very strongly, very very strongly indeed.

One day Gladure found he could sit up, weakly, but still and all he could indeed sit up. His great dragonly head rose far above his visitor, and Kajira paid it no mind, other than saying "It seems you are feeling better, Gladure. Have you ever noticed how some clouds look like effelhumps and some look like boats on the water? Some look like campels and some look just exactly like clouds?"

Gladure gained strength. He found that sitting was becoming easier, and that he could, if he didn't mind a bit of strain, raise his wings, one at a time. One day, on a particularly hot day, while he and Kajira were sitting and playing a game of Xs and Os, he stretched on wing and seemed to be protecting his little visitor from the sun. When Kajira asked him what he was doing, and explained that she liked the sun, he quickly raised his wing, wincing with the pain and yawned a big, big dragon yawn. "I was just stretching", he said. Do not think that it was anything friendly. I could still eat you if I desired, you know"

"Oh, I know", said Kajira, with a sly smile that went unseen by Gladure. "I know that, if you desired it, Oh Great fearsome dragon, you could kill us all in our poor village and eat us all and spend quite a long time doing it. I know this because you have told me ever single day since I started speaking to you."

"Arumph", the dragon arumphed. "Well.. I could, you know... If I so desired"

"Absolutely I know that without a doubt at all, Gladure," said Kajira. "It's your move"

And, as so happens in stories such as these, days turned to weeks, turned to months, and the two became close friends. You could see it coming, I'd be willing to wager, and I suspect it would be a safe wager at at that.

Eventually, the dragon was healed of his wounds, did a few test flights around the village, and landed very close to where he had lain, all these weeks. The Villagers gathered round him on this day, as they had witnessed him growing stronger and stronger. Some showed concern at the health of Gladure, as they were afraid he would do exacty what he had so many times spoken of.. to make a lunch of the village and the villagers. Some showed amusement watching Kajira and the dragon converse, watching them play games and laugh together. Regardless, as Gladure grew stronger, the villagers, for whatever reason, waited for the moment he would find the strength to fly to the mountains.

And that moment did come, as all moments do. With a mighty roar, with a great wind, with a tremendous leap, Gladure launched into the sky. Below him, on the grass near the doc, Kajira smile a sad smile, glad at the restored health of her friend, and with a small tear in her eye.

And though she could not see it, Gladure paused, ever so briefly in the air, and for one shining moment, the sun caught a tear out of the corner of his eye, as well.

And that is where we leave them for this evening. If you think this is the end, dearest reader, it is my happy and yet sad duty to inform you that it is not, not, not. It is, instead, perhaps only the beginning of a much larger tale. After all, we have much story to tell, and questions to answer!

Until tomorrow, Beloved Readers

StoryTeller

Gladure was soaring, flying, dipping and enjoying the wind on his face, in his eyes, in his nose. He couldn't remember a time when he felt so.... happy, just to be alive. He couldn't really remember a time when he felt happy at all. The world was just a grand place. He took a lazy circle around his mountaintop just to admire the view and to smell the smells.

'How is it', he thought, ‘that I never noticed all this before? How is it that I never recognized the.. what was that word.. .. .. oh yes! Joy! How is it that I never recognized the joy of just living?"

He landed lightly on the ground outside his cave and entered it. He had spent the last few weeks cleaning it of all the bones and the dust and the refuse that had accumulated over the past few centuries. He simply could not stand to have so much mess around him any more. Before he became the King of the Dragons, he didn't care. It was almost a sign of his position to have so many .. things around him, just to show how strong he was, how brave he was, how fierce he was. Now.. well.. now, it was as if his life had turned upside down, and none of this mattered any more. He felt unreasonably, unseasonably free.

He heard a noise down on the mountainside. It sounded like the bleating of a lost sheep, and he went to the entrance of his cave to see.

Sure enough, a few hundred feet down, tangled in a tangly bush was a sheep, pulling and pushing to try to escape the tangles. Gladure went down the trapped animal and sat looking at it. The sheep, seeing a very large dragon come toward him, went very very quiet and tried to become the smallest sheep it could possibly be.

"Hmmmmm. What have we here?", said Gladure. "Is it lunch?" At those words, the sheep’s eyes opened wide, and it's whole body started shaking. And then it fainted dead away.

It's an odd thing to wake up and open your eyes, especially when you don't expect to be able to wake up and open your eyes ever again. It's even odder to open your eyes when you don't expect every again and see a dragon sitting across from you eating apples. Regardless, this is what the sheep saw when it awoke. A most disturbing sight to the sheep it was, too.

'How very odd', it thought. 'Perhaps I have died and this is one of those after death but before you head to the other place things'. The sheep reached around and bit itself on it's flank. 'OUCH, and hmmmm.', it thought. 'I am not dead, but still, dragons are not supposed to be eating apples. Dragons are not even supposed to know what apples are. Perhaps I shall faint again', and it did.

Poke dark Poke dark dark dark Poke dark dark dark.. less dark Poke Poke Poke Poke Poke Light. Dragon face. Faint. dark.

Poke Poke Poke Poke Poke Poke Poke Poke Poke Poke Poke "If you faint again, I will most definitely eat you" Wide awake "That's better." The dragon was leaning in very close. "So tell me, sheep. Do you like apples?"

'How very very odd', thought the sheep. "Erm.... which answer will cause you to eat me?", asked the sheep, who, sheepish though he was, was still very wise.

At that, the dragon laughed, long and hard and loud. It was a rather scary sound to the sheep, to have a dragon laugh. "That was a very good answer, sheep. I do not think", said the Gladure, "that I will eat you at all. I have given that idea much thought and I have decided that no, I shall not eat you at all. So.... do you like apples?"

"Since you are not going to eat me, dragon, then the answer is yes, I do like apples very much"

"In that case, sheep, please have one" and Gladure gave one of his apples to the sheep. "And now that we are sharing supper, what is your name? Mine is Gladure, King of the Dragons, Last of the Dragons"

"Erm", said the sheep, "you don't happen to be insane do you? I mean, it's just not entirely a quite right thing for a dragon to be sitting in the sun, eating apples and talking to a sheep. It would be more a right thing for the dragon to drop the apple and eat the sheep up in one bite. Not, mind you, that I'm trying to influence your decision one way or the other."

"Sheep, and really, you must have a name, I am not going to eat you, nor, do I think that I am insane. It's just that I have developed a great fondness for apples and prefer them to eating sheep. I saw you trapped in the tangly bush, and came down to help you. That's the whole cloth of the situation. Now, do you have a name or not?"

"My parents called me Bleep, so I suppose that is my name".

"Then Bleep, I shall call you. Tell me Bleep.. have you even noticed that the clouds can look like all sorts of shapes?..."

And so it began. The story of the dragon that didn't eat meat spread through the mountain, and all sorts of animals came to witness. Deer and ephelhumps and squirrels and and and.. all of them after a while.

Gladure started to make friends with all of them, and eventually the animals came to rely upon his age and wisdom when they had disputes or problems. With wisdom and gentle persuasion (some would say and with very large teeth) Gladure dispensed justice on the mountain. He very soon gained a reputation for being just and fair, and though he never gained many friends on the mountain, he did gain respect, admiration and even love to a degree. He had become Gladure, King of Dragons, the Last Dragon, and King of the Mountain, and no animal would disagree that it was so.

And that is the story for today..

But even so, it's not over! There is more to come and adventures to be had!

StoryTeller

The ship was long and sleek, black and silent as a snake through high grass. It sailed along the twin river, looking for whatever it could find, and taking whatever it wanted. The men that crewed it were hard, hard, hard; as hard as nails, as hard as stone, as hard as.. hard could be. They had seen hundreds of battles and won every one of them. Each man carried a thousand scars, some visible, and some only worn on the heart.

The captain, a man called Deth, was the hardest of them all. He stood very tall, and wore a hat that made him seem even taller. It was black, like the ship, like his boots and long coat, and shaped like a stovepipe, which is exactly what it was called. When he got angry, it would not have been surprising to see smoke boiling out of it. It never happened, but it would not have been surprising in the very least.

He was the winner of thousands of battles, some real, some imagined and some that were a mixture of both. His men would follow him through the deepest forest, and through the hottest fires, and stand beside him against the greatest enemies. He was not a good man; he was not a great man. He was a man that inspired people to him by fear, by being the meanest dog of all the dogs there were, and those dogs that followed him followed him because they knew that their captain could beat any dog there was.

And what they did, as their long, black ship slid through the waters was to move from town to town, from village to village and steal what they could steal, hurting and killing and burning and looting.

They were thieves. They were murderers. They were Pirates with a capital P.

Understand, gentle reader, that I do not like to speak of these things, but they do exist in the world, even such a world that would contain the Village of ShopKeepers

And so it came to pass that these pirates were slinking down the river when Gladure said goodbye to Kajira and shed his tear. It was just by the slimmest chance that the captain happened to be looking that direction from many miles away and saw the sun reflected from the single tear. He ordered his men to find the source of the light and so they struck out, to find where the shine came from. It was in his mind to capture that shine, and to make sure that no one else would ever hold it.

They didn't stop attacking towns and villages as they searched for the light, and so it took them many, many months to find the hidden fork that led to the section of the river that poured down to the valley where the Village was. And even from there, it would take many weeks to reach the dock that sat on the forked river and was the entrance to the Village.

The Village of Shopkeepers is a wondrous place full of magic and happiness. This is not to say there was not sadness in the Village, nor is it to say that everything was as rosy as it could possibly be. There were times when people passed away, there were times when things were stolen and there was one time, which hadn't happened yet, when the entire Village was almost destroyed by a.... but that's a story for another time.

When the ship was first seen, it was far, far off, and the Villagers became very excited. It had been a long time since anyone had found the hidden fork and came calling. They were prepared to welcome their visitors in grand fashion, with a feast and demonstration and music and parties galore. Every Shopkeeper was alerted and they were all preparing some marvelous and magic prize to give the visitors, and every Shopkeeper was hoping there was at least one small child on board.

As the ship came closer, slipping down the river, silent as clouds at midnight, it could be seen that there was a black flag flying on it's mast. Those that had lived on the outside world, that had come to the Village because it called them from their lives in the mundane world, the black flag meant only one thing, and hurried to warn all the other Villagers.

The Villagers, doing what they felt was necessary, did all that they could to hide what they felt was valuable. The children first, as they are the most valuable commodity, then the women, and then the old ones. The buildings they couldn't hide, and the things in the buildings they couldn't hide. The Villagers believed that the Village would protect itself, and so didn’t worry about any of it. There were the farmers, though, and the Villagers that lived on the outside of the Village. Those buildings could be destroyed, and the people could be hurt.. or worse.

So it came to pass that the Village of ShopKeepers prepared to do battle, for the first and only time in their lives.

I leave you here, beloveds. No funny speeches, no happy noises. This is a scary part, and I may just hide my eyes from it for a time.

A heavy black boot thudded against the dock at the Village of Shopkeepers. The boot was connected to a leg dressed in black leggins, and connected to a body dressed in a black jerkin, which was connected to a man whose eyes and hair was black, wearing a tall black hat. Deth had come to the Village.

"Look lads," said the pirate Deth, "it's a lovely little farming community" He looked to the left, towards the Village, and to the right, towards the farms and ranches. "I'd say it's time we restocked our stores."

"Aye!" said his men, though some said "Arrr", because that's what pirates say. Behind Deth came the rest of the crew and they stepped forward off the dock. They were, as it has been said, a motley crew. Rough and tattooed, chewing leaves of some dark plant; some had the look of madness in their eyes.

As Deth crossed from wood to grass, it seemed as if the grass itself pulled away so it wouldn't even be near where his foot landed. Birds flying overhead seemed to part around him, as if the very air was dangerous over his head. "Where have all the people gone?" he wondered aloud. "Come out, come out, where ever ye are, be ye fair, or be ye foul". He strode up the road that led to the Village Square, and stopped before he entered the Village proper. Sniff, he sniffed the air. Stretching out his hand, he reached in the direction of the rose and rock, and pulled it back, sharply, as if burned. Lips pulled hard back against his teeth and he hissed like a great black snake.

"Snark!", he cried. One man, a bit smaller than the rest, dressed in a red and white shirt, rushed forward. "Yes, Cap'n", he said, because that was how he talked. "What can I do for ye?"

"Snark, I want you to go forward to that rock, and tell me what you see."

The little man say "Aye" and ran forward the hundred or so steps that took him to the rose and rock at the center of the Village. Snark stood looking at the rock, stooped down and did an unthinkable thing. He pulled the rose from the center of the stone. "Cap’n Deth! All I found was this here flower, growin' in the middle of this here big rock” He lifted the rose high, to show it off, then placed it between his teeth and came back to where Deth stood.

"Well done, Snark," said the man in black, "well done indeed. The rest of you, I want you to go through out this little village here and find what you can to restock the ship. Do not, and I repeat to you, do NOT damage any of the buildings, do NOT hurt any creatures you find. Take what is loose and bring it back to the ship. I will stay here and watch guard over you and the ship. Snark, I need you to stay here with me." But oddly, even when Snark stayed behind, Deth never asked him to do anything, did not even look at him.

The rest of the crew went in to the Village proper, splitting three ways, in search of booty and bounty. They learned very quickly that there were no locked doors in the Village, no locked windows. They went into Bakers and Butchers, Candle Makers. They went in to the Tailor's and the Milliner's. They went into the Charms n' More shop, and they went into the Chocolate shop.

The crew returned to their captain carrying armfuls, wagonfuls, buckets and barrels. Coats, and hats, and teas and cakes were brought. Meats, smoked and salted, they carried. They had enough on that one day to fill the stores of the ship.. and more. These were not men simply satisfied to stop when they had enough. They were the sort of men that believed that more was not only better, but it was more better.

"Where are all the people", said the Captain. "I have ne'er seen a place that was so easy to walk into, and walk back out of. It makes the hackles rise, it does" He looked suspiciously at the Village, which looked back at him not caring one whit. "Deary deary dear." Said Deth. "Something is not quite what it seems to be, you can mark my word on that” He turned around and strode back down the path to look at his crew, sitting and lazing about on the dock.

"God's eyes! What are you doing, you lazy lubbers! There are repairs to be made, decks to be swabbed, pitch to be put. Get to it, lest I take the cat to you!" The cat he was talking about was not some cuddly four-legged pet, who would purr and snuggle. It was a wicked looking whip with 9 tails, made of leather and studded with sharp spiky spikes on the ends. The threat alone was enough to cause the men to move as quickly as men can, when they fear for their lives.

"We shall sleep on the ship, tonight, dogs. There is just something not quite what it seems to be here"

The day moved slowly across the sky, with sun meeting stars. Captain Deth spoke quietly to Snark just before night took day and put it in bed. "I've felt this before, Snark. This is not a good place for the likes of us. The reason that I didn't let you go a-looting with the rest of the men is this: were you to go back into that accursed place, you would be struck dead as soon as you passed by that stone, and mark my word on that." Deth looked at the rising moon, glanced over the water that lapped at the sides of the ship. He had that far, far away look of someone that is re-living something for the first time, all over again. "I've seen this before, Snark. I've seen this sort of thing take a man's life and suck him dry of it. I've seen men go mad from the terrors a place like this can visit upon them. This is not a place for the likes of us."

Snark looked up at his captain and asked, "Then Cap'n... why are we here? Why are we staying?"

A sharp rap upon the ears and rough voice saying "Because there is Something   here that I want, Snark. Something that I want, and if there is Something that I want, you know that I will have it, Snark, you Know that I will have it, mark my words"

"What was it, Cap'n? What is it that you want, because as I stand here before the gods, you know that I will die to bring it to you” Such was the devotion of Snark for his Cap'n (and there is probably a story here, beloveds.. a dark, dangerous story. There may come a time when I tell it, but it will be a time when we gather before a fireplace, and the moon must be full, and there must be cocoa and marshmallows.), that it was true. Snark would indeed die to bring his captain whatever he wanted.

"I know you would, my dear Snark. It is why you are still alive after so many before you are not. I am afflicted by something I saw many months ago. Something shining, high in the air. I must know what it is, and I must have it, whatever it may be." Gently, so as not to display anything other than what was meant, he reached up and patted Snark on the very bald top of his head twice. "Let's bed down, Snark. Let's see what sort of mysteries are opened like a puzzle box in the light of day"

The night came and went, and not a soul was seen in the Village. There were some lights that could be seen in some of the farms and outlying shacks, but nothing other than that. There was not a sound of humanity at all, except the snores from the crew on the ship. Deth stood on the deck, watching, listening, sniffing the air, and feeling the night as it brought him news, or in the case of this very mysterious village, no news at all.

"I will have your secrets, deary dear village. That I will. And I shall find my deary dear shiny and it will be mine. You can mark my words on that, that you can. You can mark my words on that, yes you can."

It is with a shudder that I leave you tonight. This is a dark, dark tale, and I await the light. Alas, it may not be for a few days even now. Questions, and questions are here. Perhaps someday there will be answers for all of them. Be well, beloveds. The story will end well, I know it will. Or at least, I suspect it will.

StoryTeller

The sun rose, shining and warm over the valley where the Village of Shopkeepers slept. It shone down upon the streets, it shone down upon the Shops, it shone down upon the little houses and farms and ranches and sheeps and cows and growing things. It glistened off the snowy mountaintops, and it blazed off the forked river that ran in front of the Village dock. The only shadow that the sun refused to shine on was a large black ship that was tied to the dock. Long and sleek it sat, rocking gently, with sails stowed and tied away on their spars. It looked like pain asleep, like agony at rest, like sorrow frozen.
(Gentle reader, I, the Storyteller, do not know who he was speaking to. I have my suspicions, knowing most of the history of the Village of Shopkeepers, but even I do not know all of it. Perhaps in time we shall all know - CjB)</i>

When Snark had gathered the crew on deck, Deth turned slow as an easy breeze to look at them. He took a long time to let a pause build up pressure, and then he started. "My brothers. There has been a thief come in the night. They stole what was rightfully ours and carried it away, to where I do not know.

"Lads, we shall have to do battle today. We shall have to root out the folks of this village and take back what they stole from us. They stole our very breakfast, lunch and dinner. They stole our water, they stole our gold. We shall have to find them and make them give it back. All of it. And if some blood gets shed today, just make sure it's not yours. Make ready, for we go to claim what was once ours."

With a shout and a roar and quite a few Arrrrs, the men set to work gathering their swords, clubs, cutlasses, and other weapons of death and destruction. Deth himself retired to his cabin and buckled on his own cutlass, which he had named, and rightly so, Death.

When Deth and the men had gathered back on the deck, he directed them to leave the ship and meet at the spot where they stopped yesterday, at the place right before the Village began. As group, as a gaggle, as a herd, they crew of the black ship surged forward and met, just one hundred paces before the rose and rock.

"Men," said their captain, "do not go into the village proper. Do not cross this line between the common grass and the village, else you die a horrible death. I have seen it before, long ago, long before you joined me. Having told you once, I will not tell you twice, and if you choose to ignore my warning, then on your head be it." In silence he watched the men, listening to some quiet voices that may have been words of question and dissent. "On your heads be it.", he began again, “Now, I want some of you to go that way." He pointed towards a knoll upon which grew a single, twisted tree. "I want the rest of you go to that way." He pointed the other direction, down river to where the farmers and ranchers lived. "I want you to leave no stone unturned, no door unopened, no tree unshaken. I want to find where everyone in this place has gone. This is not a very large place, nor a very large space. Seek them out; bring them here before the sun has risen to the top of the sky. Do not harm them, if you can avoid it. Do not shed any blood... yet. Bring them alive when you find them. You have your orders. Now go. I will wait here, and I will be plotting our revenge. Snark, I need you here with me." When nobody moved, Deth roared, "Go! Now!" and every man body of them almost ran to get away from whatever wrath was stored up in their captain.

Deth stood, back turned to his village. "Snark," he said quietly, "there will be at least one of the men try to sneak back into the village. When it happens, let me know, will you. I'm going to close my eyes for a bit and catch a nap." He took of his cloak and spread it on the ground, and sat on it, cross-legged. He closed his eyes, and seemed to go very much asleep. Snark had seen this many times, and knew that it would take not much more than a quiet word to wake his master. The only sound that Deth made, that let Snark know that Deth was aware and alive, was a gentle humming that the seated man made.

Snark sat himself, figuring to make himself comfortable, and thought in his slow, slave like way. He knew of his master's odd moods and sometimes wondered at the things his master said. There were the occasional times when Snark thought to say something, to almost argue, but having been on the receiving end of Deth's anger, knew that it would do no good. His master would do what his master would do, pure and simple.

Snark sat and just was. He was a simple man, and in an earlier time, he may have been a good farmer, like his da, or maybe a blacksmith, like his granda, except he didn't have the skill inside of him. He knew this because everyone told him. He was slow witted, and he knew this, and he was comfortable with it. The only pain he carried from his long past was when his own anger pushed him to hurt his da very hard, to the point where his da did not get back up, ever, ever, ever. His da should not have blamed him for ma's death. Snark had just been born, so how could he possibly have been the reason?

Snark thought the Village was really a kind of pretty place. He thought he might even be happy here; if he could ever be happy, or even know what that word meant. He listened to the quiet, and soaked it all in, just being. 'This is a place I could be a farmer,' he thought, 'or maybe I could find someone to teach me how to be a blacksmith. That would really be grand, it would'.

Deth made a sound. It was a low sound, rumbly like the beginnings of an earthquake, grumbly like an avalanche just starting, mumbly like the tummy in a hungry bear. Snark pulled out of his thinkings and looked at his master, curious. Deth's face had become all squinchy and tightly pulled, as if he had eaten something very sour and very bad. Snark became just a little alarmed, just a little because he knew that there was not a thing that Deth could not handle and conquer. Snark fell back into his thinkings.

Moments turned into seconds, seconds to minutes, and minutes to longer times. Snark did not sleep, but he did dream. His dreams were his own alone, and we shall not walk into them, as some were very dark and frightening, and some were very light and joyous. Much like everyone else. His dreams were interrupted by a sound behind him. He opened his eyes and whirled around where he sat.

Just as Deth had predicted, one of the crew was trying to enter the Village. He was not very sneaky about it, just quietly walking behind where Deth napped. The man saw Snark looking at him and raised a finger to his lips. Snark shook his head, trying to say "NO!" as loudly as a headshake can go, but the crewman ignored him and crossed the line.

It was not very pretty. As far as the Village was concerned, it was horrible, as the Village does not see things that are horrible very often. This is what happened:

The crewman stepped over an invisible line that marked the border of the Village. His foot just sort of ... stepped. When he tried to move the rest of his body after it, he found that he couldn't. This was because the foot that had crossed the line was no longer attached to his body. The moment it touched the ground on the other side, it separated from his ankle and moved away. There is melted into the ground, and where it used to be, a single, small black flower sprang up.

The man tried to cry out, but no sound would come from his mouth. Without his foot, he toppled forward, so that he fell, as he had to, across the border. When he fell, he landed on his hands first, both of which followed the example of his foot, separated, moved a bit away, and grew into black flowers, each with five petals.

His knees, legs, hips and shoulders all became black flowers, all growing very close to each other. When his head finally touched the ground, the crewman was very, very dead. His head, exactly where it fell, melted into the ground and became a small bush, tight and round and thorny. It sat at the middle of the little group of flowers, and had blossoms of it's own. Two blue ones toward the top, and a very large round black one near its base.

It was quite possibly the most worst thing that Snark had ever seen, and it settled into his brain and eyes as a picture that would never fade, never turn brittle and always be with him. Snark thought again about becoming a farmer here. He thought perhaps he might not. He remembered Deth's warning never to enter the village, and held it sacred. A part of him wept at the loss, but he ignored it. He knew, with a capital Knew, that this was a place that would never accept him.

He turned towards his master and said softly, "Cap'n?" Deth opened his eyes and asked, gently, quietly, "Did it happen, Snark?" Snark, eyes wide, nodded once. Deth closed his own eyes again and said, "Good. When the men come back, they'll know someone is missing. Be sure to tell them the story tonight, will you Snark?" Snark nodded, and he knew that even with eyes closed, Deth would know of the nod.'

Moments moved into seconds, seconds flowed on and on, and Snark waited, thinking his thoughts and trying to not remember what he saw.

One by one, the crewmembers came back. Some carried the hidden villagers, some drug them by the collars of their shirts, and some led them, tied together like cattle. When the men had all gathered, and the count was taken of the villagers, it was noted that there were only forty-three of them, and they were all men.

Deth stood before them, tall and dark and threatening. "There are no women here. There are no children here. There are no old ones here. This I noticed, and I'm sure you knew I would. They have been hidden away, and I'm sure that was a wise thing, mark my words, as I would have used them to get you to tell me where my goods have gone to. I would have taken them and gutted them as a fish in front of your very eyes, I would have roasted them as I would a pig just for you to watch, I would have impaled them as if they were sausage, just for you to tell me one thing." He paused and watched the effect his words had on the villagers.

"Now," he said, quietly and calmly. "Where are the goods that were in the hold of my ship?" Not a villager = answered. Deth walked up to the nearest one, a tall man, with lean face and sharp nose. He was a Tailor in town, one of many, and well known.

"You, sir." began Deth. "Can you tell me?" The Tailor smiled, and just as the smile reached his cheeks, Deth drew his cutlass and slashed the man in half from stem to stern. One half fell to the left, one half fell to the right, and sad to say, neither thread nor cloth would make this man whole again. The other villagers, startled, moved back from the sudden violence.

"Now.. does anyone else have anything to say?" Deth look at the villagers there and picked out another one. He picked out a farmer, a tall, round man, with shocking orange hair. "You. Can you tell me what happened to my goods?" The farmer started to open his mouth, when Deth ran him through the heart, striking him dead, so that his blood mingled with the good earth. The cutlass was showing very red, and there was a hint of madness in Deth's eyes.

"I believe there have been enough examples here. Far too much of my talking, and not nearly enough of any of you talking. I will ask one more time, and mark my word; I will give one of you just a bit of time to answer me. Mark my words in deed, oh, deary dear me. If I do not hear from any of you what happened to the goods that were in my hold last night, and disappeared just this morning, I will shear the hair from your heads, and your heads from your necks. Oh my, deary dear, yes, and mark my words at that. Mark my words well." Deth crossed his arms and started counting. By the time he had reached the tw of two, an older man, not terribly old, but older than the rest had stepped forward. His ears were pointed, and he wore spectacles on his nose. His hands were a bit gnarled, but it was from use, not age. There was ink on his shirt, ink on his trousers, and ink on his shoes. His name was... well.. It doesn't matter what his name was. He couldn't tell you anyway, it had been so long since he had heard it used.

"I know you," said the man. "and I can answer your questions, as I have seen it written in stories."

Deth, paused in his counting, stopped and peered even closer at the man who stood before him. "How could you know me, little odd man? And how could you have seen anything of me written in stories?"

With a shrug, the ink man said, "That's what I do. Do you want your answers or not?"

Deth turned to look at his men. "My, my! We have a brave one here, lads!" Deth came close to the man, close enough to smell the ink, close enough to see the calluses on the gnarled fingers. "Yes, little odd man. I want to know the answers. Mark my words, I may kill you, regardless of what you tell me, but mark my words, I will kill you if you do not answer me at all"

"Here then are your answers, Deth." The use of his name caused Deth's eyebrows raise just a bit. "The things you stole from the Village never left the Village. What your men carried were shadows of shape and form and weight. During the night the shadows faded as all shadows do when there is no light, and I can tell you, most without doubt and with no reserve that there is no light in the holds of your ship. The shadows your men carried faded almost the moment they were set down."

Deth stood and listened. His eyebrows never moved from up to down. His mouth twitched just ever so little and it was apparent that he did not like what he heard at all. Not one bit, nor twiddle.

"You stand there," began Deth, quiet as pox, but growing in volume like an approaching sandstorm. " you stand there and you tell me that what we took were shadows? That the weight and volume of the substance that filled my holds was NOTHING? Smoke and shadow, air and bluff? You mean to tell me, little odd man, that what we carried was nothing but HOT AIR?"

"As you say it, so shall you be, and so it is written, so shall it be done", said the inky man.

Deth was enraged by this! He drew his cutlass back to strike the inky man, and just as it fell a bird struck it so that it missed it's mark and slashed harmlessly to the side. Deth drew it back again to sweep from the side, and an apple falling from a far away tree fell straight down and caused the blade to strike the ground, and the force was such that the blade snapped back and hit Deth in the shin.

"It would be best to try not to harm me, Deth. I think it would be best very much, and mark my words", the inky man spoke with a darkness that was uncommon, something that Deth had not heard used towards him, ever, ever, ever.

"Away with this one! Cause him no harm, but lock him in the hold of the ship! Let him be like the smoke and, and shadow he claimed was all there was. I will deal with the rest of these.. these ... farmers", he spat the word to the air, "as I see fit."

And as the inky man was led away, he could hear the sound of the cutlass swishing through the air, he could hear the sound of the blade cutting bone, cutting flesh, cutting the threads of life. And he wept, because he knew it would happen, and had to happen, because it was written. However, he was also gladdened because it was all going as it had been written, so even with his tears, there was a secret smile hidden.

What was written that had been hidden from Deth? What could have caused the inky man to smile a secret smile? Dearest Beloveds, I cannot tell you that here tonight. That is a tale for tomorrow. I can tell you this, however. There is a shadow climbing one of the twin mountains. Up, up, up it has been traveling, after having crossed swamp, and before that, Darkling wood. No animal bothered this shadow as it moved, as they knew and understood why. Up and up and up, it climbed, before it stood before a Very large, Very clean cave, where the King of Dragons lived.

As you can see, the light has started, very small, but started none the less. Hope remains, life continues and love will see them through. Till next time, I remain,

StoryTeller.