The City on the River

The City on the River: An Urban Myth Cycle

Part 1: Steel Dragons

First there was the city on the river. Its towers of glass and steel
scratched the sky, and it was the abode of dragons. The steel dragons
of the city on the river were long and lithe, articulated and
thunderous. Their breath was smoke and they roamed the lands at will,
carving their paths into hills and valleys. They ate the living rock
and ran without tiring from the city on the river to all parts, and by
night they slept, coiled around the feet of the glass towers of the
city on the river.

So it was in the first and eldest age, in the city on the river the
dragons dwelt with the quiet folk, who played their music and danced
their arts in the city streets and the dragon-tunnels. For the longest
time this state of affairs was pleasing to all parties. The quiet folk
played in the shadows as the dragons slept and danced to the thunder of
their passing. But the dragons grew lazy. Gorged on living rock and
dead trees the dragons came loath to move, to work, to stir even to
help themselves. The dragons had need of servants, and so servants they
made.

The first and the eldest of the dragons, whose name is forgotten now
even to the watchers, the lore masters who have long since stood on the
stones in the rain and noted the names and the numbers of the dragons
as they pass, the first and the eldest called together a council of all
of the dragons of the city on the river. The dragons came and gathered
at the heart of the city on the river. There their scales of steel and
silver slid aside, and they disgorged from within themselves their
servants, and they named the servants Man.

So man was put to work in the service of the dragons that bore him. He
laid iron roads, that the dragons might travel freely and without
trial. He cut deep into the sides of hills to dig the living rock and
dead wood that fed the dragons, and the hunger of the dragons ever
grew. So man learned new ways to feed the dragons. He learned to use
the blood of the eldest gods - who lived and died long ago beneath the
seas - the lodestone and the hair of the lady Venus to harness the
power of the storm. So the dragons were fed in the next age in
lightning-form, and one-third part of the iron roads was given over to
taking this life-blood to the hearts of the dragons.

So it was for an age, and Man and dragon grew in number in the city on
the river. For the dragons' sakes men cut tunnels deep into the earth
under the city that their masters could travel the city and to all
outlying parts free from the harsh light of the sun (for in this later
age the dragons grew to love the cool and the dark, as the fire in
their hearts and the storm in their blood grew ever hotter), and those
tunnels echoed with the roar of the dragons' passing, and the clatter
of their scales and their claws. Their air of those tunnels was filled
with the smell of the air before storms, but dried and bottled and
tamed. The quiet folk dwindled away as men grew ever greater in number,
ever needful of more space to live and to serve the dragons. Soon they
were exiled to forgotten corners of dragon tunnels, and to certain
places, which the older laws declared sanctuary to their kind.

In this age the city on the river was filled with the servants of the
dragons, the greatest and most exalted in the service dressed in black
and pinstriped livery, the lowest in little more than soot and ashes.
The quiet folk watched and could do nothing, or not directly, but from
the shadows they spoke to men with music and slowly and surely the
hearts of men grew discontent. So it was that the ending of this age,
the last age of the lordship of the steel dragons, began with a single
glance.

The day was named for the moon, and the hour striking midday when a man
who would one day be king over all the towers and tunnels of the city
on the river left the steel glass tower in which he served. His name
was Edward, and high was he in the service of the dragons, and he wore
their livery and their mark. In their service he bore a black sword
with which he fought the rain, and a shield of paper that told tales of
many parts and shielded him from the touch of familiarity unlooked for.
On this day he stepped into the teeth of a squall, but armed and
armoured was he, and the storm was no match for the blades of his black
hook-handled sword. Still, he had no wish to prolong the confrontation,
and he dashed from his tower towards his habitual eatery for his
allotted hour as he had done every day before, and intended to do every
day after. On this day however, something caught his eye.

The lady was fair, and like nothing he had seen before. Of the quiet
folk was she, and dressed head to toe in white. Her face and hands
matched the shade of her outlandish raiment, and she stood silent,
stock-still and staring to the sky. Unarmed and unarmoured, she cried
her defiance of the squall without speech. About her feet the tears of
the moon and of Venus were scattered higgledy-piggledy without reason
or rhyme.

The man who was to be king stood transfixed. As the rain fell and the
other servants of the dragons ran for cover like rats he stood and
watched the lady pale and still and beautiful. How long he stood the
stories do not say, and indeed it may be that not he or she could tell
you could you ask them. How long he stood does not, perhaps, matter.
What matters is that at the end of his time of watching he cast aside
his sword, and threw his shield to the ground. Then he knelt in the
rain before the lady pale and still and beautiful. Between thumb and
forefinger he lifted one of the scattered tears of Venus and laughed
and wept.

And in that moment, say some who think on these things, was the power
of the steel dragons broken forever.

Part Two: The Seven Sisters

In the last days of the reign of the steel dragons, a man named Edward
would be king over the city on the river. He had been in the past a man
high in the service of the dragons, but since had cast down his sword,
cut in two the mark that the servants of the dragons bore tied around
their necks, and taken to wandering the city. Hungry and thirsty was
he, for hunger and thirst is the lot of those who do not serve the
dragons. For three days and three nights he walked the city on the
river, drinking only the rain and eating only what little he could
afford with what he took with him from his glass steel tower. And on
the evening of the third day he came to the house of seven
sisters.

The seven sisters too had once been in service to the dragons, but they
like he had heard the song of the quiet folk and had learned to walk in
the forgotten parts of the city on the river. They lived now in a house
by the docks, where they practiced each their arts. The eldest was
named Andrea, a poet she was, and it is from her writings and her songs
that we have had much of our lore of these eldest times. The second was
named Sybil and a weaver was she, but her name is seldom spoken for it
evokes memories of things best left unmentioned. The third was an
enchantress, a witch with a yen for mirrors, her name was Mary, and her
tale is a long and terrible one, of which only part concerns us. The
fourth, the middle child, was named Lucy and like many caught between
elder and younger siblings she was wily and quick-witted. Next came
Rachel, fair and kind-hearted and skilled in the ways of the healer.
Sixth was Valerie, of warrior blood, straight of limb and quick of eye.
The youngest was named Elizabeth, and she was fair beyond the waters of
the river, the lights of the city, brighter than steel and more rare
than crystal glass was she.

When, on the evening of the third day, Edward came to their door it was
this youngest who greeted him, and he realised that until that day he
had seen nothing that could be called beautiful. Seeing the state the
man was in, Elizabeth at once ushered him inside to the ministrations
of her sisters. In the largest room of the sister's home Edward was
attended by Rachel, Andrea and Valerie, while Mary watched the entire
affair reflected in her mirror. Elizabeth sat stock still and silent as
the stranger was fed and warmed, and as he told his tale, such as it
was. That night he was put to sleep in Elizabeth's bed. She insisted on
it, being herself willing to sleep downstairs. That evening, as the
stranger slept, the sisters held council.

"Who is he?" began the eldest.

"Does it matter?" asked the weaver.

"Oh it does." replied the witch at the mirror. "There is something to
him, that is certain".

"Do you see something?" asked the youngest.

"Perhaps. But mysteries are not cheap sister."

"If it is important. If he is important. It is as well that we should
know."

"It may be that he will need to be guided, after all," said the
weaver.

"He stays then?" Asked the youngest.

"He stays." Confirmed the eldest.

So it came to be that Edward, who was to be king came to stay at the
house of the seven sisters. Andrea set herself the task of keeping
chronicles of his story and his deeds, and long into that first night
she worked to set his tale to paper, and the sound of her writing was
as the clattering of arms, or the fall of things set in ordered
array.

Sybil, on that first night turned to her weaving and, seeing that it
was now in vain, tore it thread from thread, and began the slow process
of the remaking, undertaking this time to weave more subtly and with
more care. She could not afford, at this stage, for her works to be
upset again by interlopers.

Mary sat that entire night gazing into her mirror. No lady of Shallot
was she, to frail and too fragile to look on the world as it truly was.
She was and is an enchantress of power subtle and terrible, and in her
mirrors were reflected many truths not shown to mortal men, nor meant
for them. As she watched she smiled to herself and sang songs of sorrow
and prophecy.

Lucy went out that night, as many nights, for she as given to walking
the city and to talking with it in the small hours. In her mind she was
deciding and dissecting, forming plots and shaping plans. That night
she spoke with many amongst the mortal men and the quiet folk. Come the
dawn events had been set in motion that would change forever the fate
of the city on the river

Rachel was out also. Those who follow the paths of the healing arts
find sleep to be a luxury, at the great halls of physic she was called
to work for that night, as she had been for many before and many since.
She had, truth be told, more pressing concerns on her mind than
strangers and vagrants.

Valerie slept that night as any other. She was of stoic temperament and
was not easily swayed into fits of sleeplessness. However her dreams
that night were all of battle and glory, of the thunder of the passing
of the dragons, of armies drifting to war in the dead of the
night.

Elizabeth, although her hastily made-up bed was uncomfortable, and the
rooms downstairs were cold, slept as well as ever she had, and her
dreams were all of sunrise and beauty, and of the stone gardens of the
quiet folk. Her sleep was the sleep of the content and the just, and
she was more sure than she had ever been that there was a rightness to
the world.

Edward stayed with the sisters for seven days and nights, and they
spoke of many things, of dragons and destiny, of things past and things
to come, of glass and steel and stone. They spoke of the quiet folk and
the iron roads, they spoke of dawn and dusk and the turning of seasons
and of ages. Andrea told tales ancient and forgotten, but passed down
to the poet through the ages, Lucy told of whispers she had heard of
silver kings in the west, the secret lords of the quiet folk whose
power was above that of the dragons, who were softer than steel but
stronger. Sybil told of a tapestry, of all things interwoven and
interlinked and of the dangers of cutting but a single thread.
Elizabeth merely listened to the words of her elders. Finally Valerie
spoke, and she spoke of her dreams, and of fire and of glory, and of
steel in service to blood, and the sisters and their guest listened,
and in the last hour before the setting of the sun on the last day
there was a declaration of war.

Part Three: The Place of the Saint of Oaths

It came to pass that the Seven Sisters and the man who would be king
declared their open intent to make war against the steel dragons that
ruled the city on the river. So it came to be that they were in need of
an army, a banner and a fortress. For a banner they took the simplest
sign available to them, the sign of a cross, marked in ash on whatever
was closest to hand. For an army, Lucy and Valerie travelled the city,
looking in the forgotten and the fallen places, speaking to those
amongst the men who would oppose the dominion of the dragons, and many
gathered to their banner. So all that remained was a fortress, and
Sybil it was who suggested the Place of the Saint of Oaths.

The place of the Saint of Oaths was at the heart of the city on the
river. It was a nexus, a meeting place, a gathering point and a
crossroads. It was protected and sanctified by oaths and treaties as
old as the city its self, and the stories of its origin are echoed in
the softest songs of the quiet folk. Every iron road, every
dragon-tunnel met, it was said, in the place of the Saint of Oaths, but
all that transpired there was sacred and inviolate, and a court raised
up on that place would bear protections from deep magics. That the
dragons passed through that place was cause for concern, but to take
control of this most perfect of places would be a coup most worth
striking.

Of course to assemble an army in such a place would be taxing, but
there are ways and means for those who know them. More taxing by far
would be establishing a base of power in that place, that would require
both art and arms. It would require furthermore a deal to be struck
between the king-to-be and the leaders of the quiet folk, and such was
arranged by Andrea and by Mary, both of whom had cause on occasion to
walk amongst the elder peoples.

So it was that the man who would be king was brought by paths little
walked to the place of the lord and lady of the quiet folk. In a
building near forgotten by the river the lord and the lady dwelt in a
city of paints and fabrics. They were dressed in robes of muslin, and
decorated with jewels of brightest glass. Old they were, and weary, and
they sat on thrones of wood and paper, and from above their servants
bore lights that shone out in the dark.

"We know." Said the lady, her voice clear and strong despite her age
"Why you have come."

"Your witch foretold us of your coming." Continued the lord.

"Your bard foretold us of your coming"

"Gifts we would give you, if you would submit to our terms."

The man who was to be king nodded, and asked that the terms be
explained.

"Our terms are these."

"Term the first. You shall aid in the coming of our Silver Lords of the
West."

The man who would be king asked after the nature of these lords, but
was told that these were mysteries that were not for men to know.

"Term the second. Certain places shall be ours and ours alone."

The man who would be king asked what these places were to be, and he
was told that these places were the strongholds of the quiet people,
and could not be named to outsiders.

"Term the third. We shall come to you in three years, and you will give
us that which is at your right hand."

The man who was to be king thought over this last condition. It was, he
knew dangerous, but he need was pressing and this his final chance. He
agreed to all conditions.

"It is done then"

"We grant you the service of the Quiet Folk in your battle to end the
reign of steel."

"We grant you gifts. We grant you a blade that draws no blood."

"We grant you a fire that does not burn."

"We grant you thunder trapped in iron."

The man who was to be king took these gifts with gratitude, and went in
triumph back to the home of the seven sisters. And so prepared and
armed he set forth to raise the sign of the king at the place of the
Saint of Oaths.

The sky was dark and held promise of rain as the man who was shortly to
become king over all the city on the river made his way, in the livery
of the servants, and concealing his gifts about him to the meeting
place, to the crossroads. By dragon's-heart he travelled, through white
tunnels and black tunnels. Under the city and under the river until he
came to the place where it was to be done, to the place of the Saint of
Oaths.

In the place of the Saint of Oaths the king stood alone, for the army
would not gather here, not yet at any rate. From all the walls hung
cerulean banners that told of places distant, and of times recent or
soon to come. And here at the heart of the city on the river, at the
meeting place, the nexus, the crossroads, here the king cried his
defiance of the steel dragons, while all around their servants in their
pinstriped livery went about their lives.

So the king let free the thunder that the quiet folk had bound into
iron, and he screamed his challenge to the steel dragons, to the first
and the eldest, to the greatest and the least. And all around the
dragons moved, long and shining in the half-light, hissing and roaring
and thundering as they moved. And then a dragon came in answer,
screaming as it came to a halt, and hissing its response. From all
around a voice form no source that mortal man could see spoke the name
of the dragon, and told in tones dry and dead of whence it came and
where it was bound. Its arrival properly heralded, with name and number
the dragon simply sat and stared, and its eyes were great and round,
and glowed like the sun.

"Dragon of steel!" Screamed the king, as he unleashed a second peal of
thunder from the iron he had been gifted by the quiet folk. "I stand
before you now my own man. Free of your marks and your chains!"

The dragon simply stared, but all about the servants of the dragon
stopped and gazed in awe or confusion, and off and to one side one of
the quiet folk began to play a song of war and battle.

"I am above you, dragon!" he continued, and from about his person he
brought the fire he had been give, it crackled in his hand like paper,
but it did not burn. "See I hold fire in my hand, but I am unburned. I
am impervious to your breath, deaf to your cries!"

The dragon sat, its eyes wide, its was beginning to hiss, to show signs
of unease.

"I am arisen! Immortal! Impervious!" the king drew from his coat the
blade the lord and lady of the quiet folk had given to him "See!" and
he thrust the dagger deep into his heart but the blade, bearing as it
did enchantments ancient and potent, did not kill him, and drew no
blood from his breast. "You cannot touch me dragon! You cannot harm me!
I am protected, fated and feted and I shall rule in this place
henceforth."

At this the dragon was defeated, hissing and fuming it retreated,
taking its one-time servants with it, and the sign of the king was
raised in the place of the saint of oaths, and there he ruled from that
day forth, and the power of the dragons in the city on the river was
broken evermore.