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  The sun had risen very high at that time, gaining enough courage to climb to the top of the sky. It was hot, it was sticky, it was a very Un-Village sort of day. The breeze that was blowing brought no release, no relief, no coolness with it. The day was perched on the edge of it’s seat waiting to see what happened. It was holding it’s breath and not sure of which way to blow.

The crew of the black ship drew lots to see who would do the deed. After seeing the torches turn into doves, after seeing the hold empty after loading it, after Knowing, with a capital K, that this was not a good place for men like them, it was not a thing they were looking forward to, not at all, not by a tit or a whistle.

The deed fell onto a thin, tall crewmember. His name was Kardiff, but every called him Crooked Aces, because he cheated when he played at Rummy. He stood, in front of the tied villagers and hefted his cutlass, which was not as nice as the one Deth had. His cutlass had many nicks in it, and it was just a bit rusted. He was sad because he knew that it would not cut clean, and he apologized to the men before him.

"I’m dreadful sorry, I am, I am. Were it up to me, and it ain’t, you unnerstand, I would spend quite a bit of time sharpening up ol’ Betsy here, so’s she would cut you clean, she would, she would. But there’s the Captain’s orders to do, and even with all the sorrows in the world, tis not close to the sorrows I would be feeling if I didn’t do the Captain’s wishes. I’m dreadful sorry, I am, I am." He walked to the first man in the line and said, in his most, best and gentle politest way, "If you would, sir, please turn your head just so and close your eyes".

When the villager had done it, Kardiff raised his cutlass, and said, "Believe you me, this will hurt you far worse than it will me, but I’m sorry all the same, I am, I am."

He started the downward sweep of his blade, but suddenly found that he wasn’t holding it any longer. What he found in his hand instead was a maddened squirrel, with a shock of snow white hair on the top of his head. And if that wasn’t enough, the squirrel had a tiny sword of it’s own and had shoved it deep into Kardiff’s wrist. It was this that caused the cutlass to fall, unused and sad, on the ground.

From high up in the air came a shout. It was not your ordinary shout, but a shout that would spin the world with it’s power, a shout that would turn snow into summer, a shout that made the courage rise and the blood rise and cheers rise from all the good and decent people in the world.

Deth looked up, for the source of the shout. If the sight of torches turning to doves drove him speechless, then the site of an eight year old girl, a cat, and two squirrels riding on the back of a great Winged Dragon, the last Dragon, the King of the Dragons drove him nearly to his knees with absolute astonishment and disbelief.

Deth pulled Death from his scabbard with a great whispery whisper, with the sound of a great snake pulled from it’s hidey hole, and raised it high as he could reach with it. "It is YOU!" he shouted. "It is you", he whispered.

Gladure looked down, and whispered back "It is, most assuredly, I". He flew over the dock once, circled, and landed, so his passengers could leap off his back. "Stay here," he said, "No matter what, stay here, if you please". And with that, up he leapt into the air, and flew back to face Deth.

He circled the dock, and the black ship, once, twice and again for a third time. On the third pass ‘round, he reached down with his great dragony claws and pluck the black ship from where it rocked gently on the river. The crewmen that were still on board jumped best the could as the ship rose higher and higher. Some landed in the river, and some, sadly, landed on the dock. Some bounced, some swam, and some did not get back up.

Deth watched as Gladure rose high, high, higher into the sky, carrying his black ship, his lady ship, his mate. The sight enraged him, and his blood turned cold as fire, as hard as steel, and stopped all together. His knuckles tightened on his cutlass until his life seemed to run between his fingers. His face was white with rage, his eyes were red with anger, his mouth so small a line as to not even be on his face anymore.

High, high, and higher rose Gladure. And when he felt, in his great heart, that he had gone high enough, he rolled in the sky once, twice and a third time. With each roll he swung the black ship over and under, over and under, over and under until the ship tried it’s best to get loose from the dizzy dance. The very last time the dragon rolled onto his back in the sky, he opened his claws and the ship, loosed from it’s trap, flew through the sky until it was far and away a very tiny and very small spot not hardly seen by anyone on the ground at all.

Deth screamed his rage, his anger, his passion in one long scream, demanding Gladure come and meet him. Gladure looked down at the spot of the little captain and cried back, "Do not fear, Deth, as I bring it to you!" He folded his wings around him, and dropped, faster, faster, faster till the wind around him fair whistled with the speed he built up.

Deth stood his ground and held Death high. He said not one word, and waited for the falling Gladure to meet with him. He waited, but he didn’t have to wait very long, not very long at all. Gladure was falling with such speed that he seemed to not even be anymore, it was just a Great Green wind rushing down from on high.

The two hit and became one. Gladure smashed into the ground with a tremendous crash of dragon. Deth disappeared. He was underneath Gladure and some say that he was driven down, down, down to where he should have been, and some say it was where he came from in the first place. His body was never found.

Gladure lay where he lay. Kajira and her party of brave animals ran to him, and Kajira threw her arms around him, kissing his cheek and crying tears of pain and hurt and love and joy. "Gladure, Gladure." She said over and over. "Are you all right, dear friend?"

Cat crossed to where Gladure could see him and he did a very uncatlike thing. He bowed. "That, sir, was the most frightening thing I have every witnessed in all my 9 lives"

The squirrels stood together, and watched Gladure in silence. They had never known the true strength of their King, and were in awe. The single thought that paced through each little ground squirrel mind was ‘Oh, wow!’

Gladure didn’t say a word while his friends were all gathered there. After a while, after a rest, he simply said, "Leave me, please. Kajira, stay, but the rest, if you please, leave us"

Bowing and saying their thanks, Cat and the squirrels left the two friends alone.

"Kajira," the dragon said, "it was not the best battle I have ever had, but it is the last. As a dragon, we are to die in battle, and I’m glad that I had the opportunity to do so."

"What do you mean, die in battle? Whatever are you talking about?" Kajira’s voice had started to raise in pitch. She was suddenly very scared, as only an eight year old girl can be. She started to suspect something very, very wrong.

Gladure slowly raised himself up. He lifted one of his great front legs and showed Kajira a terrible sight. Death had entered him. Deth’s cutlass was buried far beyond it’s blade into his chest. All that could be seen was a small black spot, the very end of the hilt of the cutlass, the rest hidden deep inside the dragon.

"I am dying, Kajira. Deth did indeed claim me, as death has claimed me."

"No, no, no, no." cried Kajira. "I will make you better, I will heal you, you must stay right here and I will have the best doctors and the best food brought to you. You will get well, and I will make it happen." Her tears were welling and running down her face. Her sobs made the words hard to understand, but Gladure’s heart heard them all.

"No," said Gladure, quietly. "This is for the best, it truly, really is, Kajira. I am old, old, older than that. The only one that is older is the one who will tell this story when I am gone. I knew Deth many, many years ago, we met and we parted, and not on the best of terms. That story is one for another day, for another voice to tell."

"When we parted, we agreed, less friendly than we could have, that next we met, it would be the death of one of us, we would see who was King, and who was dead. The joke on us both, him and I, is this: We are both dead. He just went a bit quicker than I did. Now that he is gone, it is my turn, because this was foretold to me many years ago."

"Who told you this, Gladure." Said Kajira through her tears, "Who? Who could know this sad, sad tale and have the courage and evil voice to tell you?"

"Kajira, it does not matter who told me. All that matters is this. You brought me true joy. You brought me happiness and taught me what life and love is. You will always be in my heart, even as that heart stops beating. I have one thing to ask of you, if you will do it."

"What is it, my dear, dear friend? You know I will do anything for you, all you have to do is ask." Kajira’s tears had become a fountain and she felt she would never stop.

"I want you to bring me a carver. A wood carver. I have a request for him. Bring him now, bring him soonest, but bring him quickly. I do not have much time left." Gladure sighed mightily, a sigh that came from the heart, a sigh that came from pain. Kajira reached out a hand to stroke his enormous dragony head. "No!", he cried. "Do not touch me, love. I’d be just as soon to bite you from the pain as to not. Hurry. Get the carver."

"Oh, my friend, my love, how could I leave you here, as you are, in so much pain. How could I .." Kajira was nearly broken in heart.

Gladure puffed out a breath of steam as he said, "You must, Kajira. It is also written in the stories, so you must. Now, stop your crying and go, go, go. Time is flying away, and my life with it."

Kajira ran, fast as she could on her little legs. As she ran, she gathered Chitter, who had finally caught up with her. "Chitter," she cried, "I must find a carver, and they must be the best carver the Village has. It must be a wood carver, and they must be the very best."

Chitter heard her, and flew down to fly next to her. "I know! I know!.", he cried. "I fly!" and off he flitted, chittering as he went. He stopped his flight just long enough to detour to Kajira’s farm to look up Cat, and chattered what was needed to him. Cat catted out the front door, hightailed it to the local pub, where he knew he would find Bristle and the other squirrels, waiting for any dropped peanuts. Cat told the squirrels what Chitter had told him, and off they went, into the Village proper, to find the very bestest, carvingest carver there was. And you know, they knew exactly who to find, where to find him, and why he was the bestest carvingest carver there was. Animals, gentle readers, actually know much, much more than they will ever let us humans know.

Run, run, scamper and fly, they did, with Kajira close behind. Through the Village Square, which was neither square, nor at the center of the Village. Left at the Stone and Rose, past the Butcher, past the Toymaker, past the Scented Lady Perfumery, right at the next alleyway, and then through the back door into a shop that smelled of leather and sweat, of waxed thread and pulled laces, of spit and polish. Kajira looked at the animals and asked "The Cobbler? Are you sure? He just makes shoes. Granted, he makes very good shoes, but he makes shoes none the less."

"Everyone has a secret, Kajira. This is the Cobbler’s. When he’s not making shoes, he carves, he whittles, he dallies and plays and pulls wood. He doesn’t show his work to anyone, and instead hides what he can do away from the eyes of others. He does not believe he has the ability, but he does, he does. It is in him that you will find the heart and the soul to be the best wood carver there is in the village."

The Cobbler, hearing voices, walked into his back room. "What is all this, then?" he asked, as well anyone would when finding an eight year old girl, a cat, a bird and three ground squirrels carrying swords in their back room. "What is this all for and about?"

Quickly, knowing that she had no time, Kajira explained to the Cobbler that he was needed. That the gift he had for woodwork was a valuable gift that only he could give.

"Surely not," said the Cobbler. "Surely not me. I am a cobbler, a worker of leather and of laces. What do I know of wood?" As he said this, Cat jumped onto Kajira’s shoulder and said in her ear, "Tell him that his tools are in the middle drawer and that if he hurries there will be just enough time for him to make the greatest carving of his life"

Kajira repeated what Cat had told her. The cobbler’s eyes grew large and his jaw dropped ever so. "I will admit that I do a bit of chopping and shaving in my spare time. But surely you meant to go down the lane to the Woodcarver’s shop. He does real woodwork, and his work is admired all through the village." As he said this the admiration for the Woodcarver’s work shone in his eyes.

"Cobbler," pleaded Kajira, "it is you that these fine and brave animals have brought me to. They are the ones that told me that you, and only you were the finest carver in the Village. It is a request that Gladure, Last of the Dragons, King of the Dragons has asked." She stood there, with her little fists on her hips and stared at the man. "Now, are you going to come or are you not? Because if you do not, then my friend, indeed, the friend of all in the Village of Shopkeepers, will die and not have his final wish come true."

The cobbler thought for a short, a very short bit. He stood quietly, then nodded his head. He knew, as did everyone of Kajira’s talent with animals. He also knew of the dragon and Deth. He had been tied on the dock with the others when Gladure had dropped out of the sky, had seen Deth defeated, and felt a great debt to the dragon. He turned and left the back room just long enough to put up a hand-carved sign that read "Back shortly", returned, gathered his tools and said "Shall we go?"

Hurry, hurry, scamper and scurry, they did to get back to Gladure, who, truth be told, looked very poor indeed. "Kajira," he said "I must speak to the carver alone, for it is a thing for his ears only." Kajira and her crew of animals moved a bit away, so as to give privacy, as it was the right thing to do.

Gladure called the cobbler close and whispered, as only a true King of Dragons can, in his ear. The cobbler nodded a very grim nod, turned and walked away.

"That was all?", Kajira asked. "We ran all that way, and just for a three second whisper?"

"It is a whisper that sometimes changes the entire world, Kajira", said Gladure. "And now, I must be off. I have mountains to rule. Bristle, you and your men stay here for a while. Return to the mountain when you feel you are able and ready."

He heaved himself upright, and it was apparent to all that the strain was very great on him. Kajira was crying for him to stop, for him to rest, but Gladure ignored her. He breathed in one great breath, leapt into the air, and flew three times around the dock. As he did, Cat remarked how odd that it must be raining on this clear day, as water was falling from the sky. Kajira noticed it too, but didn’t say anything. She was adding her own water to it, you see.

Gladure was soaring, flying and dipping as he made his way over the Village. He flew over the cobbler as the cobbler hurried back to his shop. He flew over the Stone and Rose, and believe it or not, children, the Rose was back exactly where she had always been. He flew low over the tallest building and could see inside where a little man, covered in ink was busy writing, writing. He flew and flew and just as he passed the border between the Village and the Darkling woods, a terrible thing happened.

Death came for him.

The cutlass had found his heart, his great dragony heart, beating so strong for all the years of his life, that had found new life in the words and care of an eight year old girl, and had gone on to gather respect and admiration from all the animals of the Twin Mountains. The cutlass pricked ever so small a hole in that tremendous heart and let all the life of Gladure, King of the Dragons, the Last Dragon in all the world, out in one great rush.

It is a sad thing when someone so brave, someone so great passes from this world to the next. It is a happy thing when someone so brave, someone so great passes in just the way they wanted to pass. Dragons should pass in battle. It has been written as such in many stories, and I should know, dear readers. Dragons find life in battle, and Dragons find death in battle, and for Gladure, Death did indeed find him in battle. While it is a very sad thing that he should pass from this world, it is indeed a very glad thing that he passed in exactly the way he knew he should.


Gladure fell.

Twisting and turning, wings useless and unable to beat, falling and falling and down and down he fell into the Darkling Wood. Gladure was laughing, in a sad, sad way, knowing this was the end. In many ways, he was glad, because, though he had many friends and was loved, he was lonely, if truth be told. He was, after all, the last of his kind. There were no other dragons, and even though he would have to battle any dragon he found, he still missed the company of his own kind. It is odd, but true. He was lonely, and glad to be going home.

Gladure crashed down into the wood, a great plowing, moving many trees and plants from their home, as well as a great many small animals. His last thoughts were apologies for any damage he might have done. His very last thought was this:

‘The sun is shining as though it were a great yellow apple, Kajira’

Gladure breathed in one last ragged breath, great as it might have been, and breathed out one last tremendous burst of flame, scorching and burning many trees and causing many squirrels to be named Bristle. He closed his eyes and passed away.

It is known that there is a place dragons go when they pass. It is a place with much room and space for flying and soaring. It is a place where dragons may battle and fight and wage war happily on each other from now until time burns away in one great breath. It was suspected that Gladure’s spot had many, many apple trees.

And here you might think that it ends, dear reader, and well it might, but for a few things to clear and tidy up.

Kajira rushed to where her friend lay. She placed her hands on his dragony head and cried and cried and cried till it seemed she would never stop. She cried great tears and carried the sorrow for many years, but as all things do, the tears eventually ended, and the sorrow became a sweet pain. Eventually she grew up, as many children do, but not all. Eventually she married and had children as many eight year olds do, but not all. One of her children, a boy, strong and brave and true, she named Gladure, who went on to have his own great adventures in another land, far, far away, with another king. There he was known as Galahad, because some folks just can’t pronounce Gladure rightly.

The cobbler, keeping to his word, went out one moonless night and took two of Gladure’s great ribs. He carried them to the dock of the Village on a cart that he made himself, just for this exact thing. In the dark of the night, he buried the big ends of the ribs, so they arched over the end of the dock closest to the Village. But before he did that, he carved the pointy tips as he had been asked to do.

The Dragons Gate has, at the upper most, the heads of two dragons, one twined around the other in a twisty fashion. The faces on the heads and scales look so lifelike that some folks will swear they see the scales shining in the sun, and will swear that they know one if not both of the dragon’s eyes winked at them.

The interesting thing is that there is a sign at the base of the Dragon’s Gate. It says ‘Bd Mn trn bck. Drgns b hr', which of course means "Bad men turn back, Dragons be here". The sign was supplied by Bristle, Crook-tail and Snowtop, who never learned their vowels, and went on to become incredible heroes in their own right. Perhaps you have even heard of them. They were called The Three Muskrateers. They even founded a club for young animals, called The Muskrateers Club.

It has been rumored that there were other pirates and not so nice folks to come through the gate. Well.. perhaps that isn’t completely true. Perhaps they only made it partly through the gate, because all that was found of them were their boots and shoes with feet neatly tucked inside. It looked as though something had reached down from above and just simply chomped away the bad parts. On those days it was sometimes remarked how the dragon’s faces on the gate had acquired a certain.. grin, but it very well could have been a trick of the light.

The cobbler added one more thing that Gladure did not ask for. He added it as a gift to the Last Dragon, Gladure. At the base of the Gate there is a small statue. It is the statue of a girl with an apple, with a single tear on her cheek.


And that, my beloveds, is the tale of the Dragon’s Gate. Happy and sad, joyous and painful. Why, it’s just like life, isn’t it. And it is all true, as true as any other story I make up.

I leave you with it, to do with it as you wish. May all your lives be as brave and daring, true and straight, full of adventure and happiness, and may all your own stories be long and full of letters.. and of course, vowels.

With gratitude, love, respect, with Light and Laughter,

The StoryTeller,
House of the Singing Waters.