XIII. The Owl

The Wolf's parting words filled Sikander with concern that he might be too late to bring fire and life to the Phoenix. This fear added to a worry which had been lurking in the back of his mind since the Lady of the Island had predicted he would never find the Phoenix. Together these put speed in the Sandragon's wings as never before. With all his strength he flew south, crossing the sky like a bolt of violet lightning flickering at the height of an electric storm. The woodland below him swept past, a dark green sea with tree-tops for ripples, hills like the deep swell of ocean waves.

As he raced southwards the hills below grew steeper and taller, oak and yew gave way to darker pine and cedar. The wind around him grew ever stronger and colder. On and on Sikander flew, never stopping, day or night. But even a dragon does not have endless energy and after three nights and four days on the wing he felt he could go no further. Still he pressed on. He had once heard that proud dragons of the deep North used to claim:
Draakens we are
We go as far as we can
Then we go twice as far.
So the Sandragon ignored the weakness and cramps in his wings and flew on.

But by the end of the fifth day Sikander reached a limit that he could not overcome. A cold head-wind driving herds of dark ragged clouds proved his match. Try as he might, he had not the strength to make way against it. There was no point struggling to surge one step forwards only to fall two back, so Sikander banked and swooped down to land on a steep slope.

He came to rest under the sweeping branches of a gigantic cedar-tree, creaking and groaning in the gusty wind. Huge roots spread out at the base of the tree's vast trunk like knotty wooden snakes. Between two of these Sikander saw a dark opening like a the mouth of a den. As he drew nearer and peered into the gloom, he could make out a narrow tunnel curving down into the earth beneath the ancient tree. The dry resinous scent from the cave seemed to invite Sikander in, out of all that wind and weather. He hesitated for a moment then slipped into the tunnel.

It led down into the moutainside in a broad spiral that soon cut off all light and sound from outside. Sikander lit his way down the tunnel blowing small twists of blue flame before him. The passage wound down and round through dry earth and pale rock, opening out at last into a small empty domed circular chamber. It reminded Sikander vividly of home in the dreamdesert. He barely stopped to wonder whether he might be trespassing in someone else's home before curling up on the earthen floor to rest, breathing dragonfire over his paws, wings and flanks, warming both his skin and the air of the little chamber. In peace and comfort Sikander closed his eyes.

He was asleep before drawing another breath.

Sikander found himself on a broad staircase of grey stone leading up a steep mountainside.

Gusts of fresh wind buffeted him and sent white clouds scudding across a piercingly clear blue sky above. Soaring peaks stood all around like a cold company of kings. Looking up he saw that there was still quite a distance to climb. The leafy topmost branches of two trees shook in the wind at the head of the staircase.

Sikander began to make his way up and as he got nearer he saw that the two trees were an apple-tree on the left, a pear-tree on the right - sky and clouds running behind them. On reaching the top found himself looking into a small square meadow, filled with tall grass and wild flowers. A strange wild garden at the mountain-top. A little brown owl watched him from a branch of the apple-tree - it looked very much like the one he had seen on the Island, ages earlier. Sikander wondered if it was the very same one. Sitting quietly in the tall grass between the trees there were three huge bears: one black, one white, one brown. All three sat with their eyes closed, motionless as the wind ruffled their fur. Sikander stopped for a moment, looking at all this. He was aware of the strangeness of the situation, but it seemed to make no impact on him, he simply registered it. After a little he drew nearer to the three bears and asked,

"What are you doing there?"

With a voice like a low rumble of thunder from beyond a far horizon, the black bear spoke, neither opening his eyes nor moving:
"We are walking the path."

"It looks to me as though you are sitting there doing nothing." replied Sikander, rather more directly than he would normally have done. Another deep growl:
"That is because your eyes are closed."

Sikander was about to retort that his eyes were wide open and the bears' were shut, when the little owl spoke, with an unexpected authority that silenced the dragon and turned the heads of the three bears.
"Throw away no time in fruitless chatter, Sandragon. You were invited here to receive presents, which you already have, though you have not noticed it. You will need them all if you are to assist the Phoenix, and they will serve you well afterwards too."

The idea of receiving presents sounded well and good, but Sikander was perplexed by the notion of receiving something which he already had. What was the little owl talking about? The creatures obviously had nothing with them, so Sikander felt even more curious and wondered what the presents might be.

"Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo," the owl seemed to be laughing gently.

"Don't you worry little Sandragon, we shall not weigh you down with gold or silver.
No Sovereigns, Crowns, Doubloons or Napoleons for a travelling dragon.
You should be able to carry our gifts in your head.
As long as you don't lose them they will serve you better
than a shipload of pearls and jade, emeralds and rubies."

The owl seemed to be able to read Sikander's mind, so he said nothing and just waited to see what would happen next.

Once again the sound of a low roaring growl came from the bears, but this time it was a continuous sound coming from all three of the great creatures, a humming, vibrating noise thrumming in the air as though from some monstrous bee-hive. Woven into this background of noise Sikander found that he could hear the voice of the white bear talking to him, saying:

"Sandragon, always be calm, always keep your mind under control.
Be dispassionate, detached, but always kind, generous, polite.
Never let anger, sadness or fear dominate your mind. Never get upset.
Always look carefully, listen carefully, think carefully, talk carefully.
Never exaggerate in anything you do."

Then it was the black bear's turn to weave his words into the deep roar.

"Sikander, wherever you go and whatever you do, never damage yourself.
As long as you have the choice, never run that risk unless you have seen it clearly,
weighed it up carefully and judged the return worth the hazard.

Know the limits of your mind and your body: push them, but not too hard.

At times your resources may seem unlimited, then eat less, drink less, sleep more, slow down.

Prize clarity and simplicity.
To link these to elegance and efficiency needs
the highest of skills, the brightest of minds, hard work and long patience."

The black bear's voice sank back into the background roar and the brown bear began to speak:

"Sikander, know your surroundings and your resources.
Keep your eye on them, for change is the only constant in life.

Choose your goals and the paths to reach them with care.
Check your progress towards them whenever you can.
If your path can be improved, then adjust it.
If the path does not and can not lead to your goal, then change it.

You learn to walk by walking, to fly by flying.
But remember that those who walked the path before you can give help.
Practice makes perfect, sometimes, but practice can make permanent too, so get good guidance whenever you can.

Concentrate, and when concentration falls, change activity, at least for a while."

Now Sikander could only hear the rumbling growl of the three bears' voices in chorus, no words, just a deep continuous roar. So he turned to the little owl, who seemed to be the master of them all. It nodded its head from side to side, then spoke:

"The only measures of good and bad are happiness and its lack, yours and others'.
To gain passing happiness at the cost of lasting regret is a fool's game.
Lasting happiness is a master's prize.

Raging flood-waters sweep all away before them. An avalanche rolls down from the north, a landslide from the east, fire roars in from the south, a howling hurricane and driving rain from the west. When there is no escape, then what to do? Make the most of it and try to get ready while you can.

Take nothing too seriously little Sandragon, especially not yourself nor others.
Choose your company with care.
Take your own advice and act upon it.
Be optimistic.

Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo, fly on! A Firebird is waiting in the cold."

The mountainous surroundings melted into a night sky, leaving only an empty meadow of flowers with two small trees. The owl and bears were nowhere to be seen.

Sikander opened his eyes. He was curled up in the chamber, deep and silent underground.

Without waiting or thinking about what he had seen and heard, he climbed back up and out into the open air. The sun was high in the sky and the wind showed no sign of letting up nor changing direction. The Sandragon set off south again.