Signal Fire
No one knows why they come when they do. Some stories tell of a migration, like the birds that visit the islands in the winter, but played out over decades rather than seasons. Some say they are spirits of the wind. Some speak of dark gods that send them against those who have earned their displeasure. Others say they are called, that witches summon them from another world to do their bidding.
Wherever they come from, we know their purpose: they come to our islands to feed. If they roam other lands, perhaps they feast on large game animals, but on our islands there are none. On our islands, we’re the only prey worth more than a mouthful to the beasts.
Our earliest stories tell of them coming two or three times a generation. Sometimes it was a single dragon that came. Sometimes they came in pairs, and in the stories there is a single tale of three arriving at once. But this last time… it was the second time three arrived at once. And because of what happened, because of what I saw, this is a story that will be remembered for a thousand years if our people are so blessed to survive that long.
I, of course, had never seen one before. My father had never seen one. The last had come more than eighty years before my birth. There were some generations when there were no dragons at all, and those were good times, times remembered with fondness by people who weren’t alive to enjoy them. And, in the summer of my twentieth year, I thought I might never see a dragon. I wondered if the last of them had come, and our people were finally free of this terror. Of course, it is the fervent wish of every boy and young man that a dragon will come during his lifetime. It’s a fool’s wish. We know that dozens, maybe hundreds will die if it happens, but if it doesn’t, how else are we to aspire to great deeds like the heroes of legend?
I had always imagined their coming would be presaged by hurricane winds and a rain of fire, but the day it happened, only a gentle zephyr blew in from the east. It swept across the bay, dipped down into the valley then rode the slope of the volcano all the way to the rim where I stood watch. From my vantage point I could see our neighboring islands in the east, the nearer one several hours’ hard rowing, the other beyond it and just the barest of specks on the wide ocean.
My watch was ending. I knew that even as I stood looking at the other islands, Lashen would be climbing the path up the slope of the volcano, coming to relieve me. I had been at my post ten days and nights, and I was tired from the long vigil. More than that, I missed Rina. She was waiting for me in the village, and we had not been apart that long since my last watch the year before. But we had only just begun to grow fond of each other then, and this separation was much worse now that we were in love. At least, I was. We had not yet spoken those words to one another, but I certainly felt it, and I believed she did as well.
I was looking toward the neighboring islands, but I was not atop the volcano watching for attack from that direction. The people on those islands were our cousins; we were not in any danger from them. No, the men in the big ships were the ones we had to worry about. Like the dragons, they came rarely, unexpectedly. Sometimes they only wanted food and water; sometimes they wanted to trade; but sometimes—too often—they wanted blood.
So I was looking at the other islands not because of any worry but simply because they were something to look at. In every other direction, there was only water all the way to the horizon. I had the shape of Kalina, the nearer island, memorized. Its volcano dominated the southern side of the island. It sloped down to a wide, flat plain that had been cleared for agriculture. Kalina produced enough to feed all three islands and stored the surplus in the caves in case of disaster. Like my island, there was only one good place for boats to land. Ours faced east; theirs looked toward the northwest.
My gaze shifted to the farthest island, Halana. It was a speck of green and brown off the southwestern tip of Kalina. I had its shape memorized as well, but it was only a shape. Aside from the rise of the volcano—theirs was alive but presently quiet—I could see nothing of detail, and I had never been there myself.
As I looked at Halana, it suddenly disappeared from my view. At first, I didn’t know what I was seeing. This was not uncommon when the air was just so, but it was a hot, clear day. There were no clouds in the sky except for a storm front on the northeastern horizon. I watched the spectacle for several minutes before I realized that this was not a haze, and my eyes were able to discern the difference between the water and what could only be smoke. Part of Halana was on fire. Nothing else could account for the veil concealing the island.
I squinted, trying to see if the signal fire that warned the neighboring islands had been lit. I knew that I could not see it at such a distance, but I tried anyway. Finally, I turned my attention to the nearer island. If they lit their signal fire, I would certainly be able to see it. A minute later, I did.
A black plume rose up from the rim of Kalina’s volcano. I jumped up from my seated position and ran toward the huge stack of timbers to my left. Down in the valley, at the village, they could not see the peak on the other island. The fishermen in the bay and on the shore would see it, but the bay was a twenty-minute run from the village. My signal fire, however, would be seen immediately, and it was my duty to let them know something had happened.
Using a stick, I scraped through the coals in my campfire next to the wood stack, removing a layer of ash, and then blew on them to bring them back to life. When they were glowing, I tossed a handful of kindling into the fire pit and poked at them, prompting them to ignite. After another handful of kindling was ablaze, I stuck a thin branch into the fire and left it there as I picked up a small clay pot of oil and walked up to the wood stack.
It was a stout cone, wide at the base and as tall as me. Above it, to protect the wood from rain, was a canopy made up of broad leaves from a plant that grew along the rim. I pried the thick, fat-stiffened woven lid off the pot, emptied the oil onto the pile then went back to check on my stick. It was burning nicely. I removed it from the fire, carried it to the stack and drove it into the base, where I’d poured the oil.
Black smoke immediately billowed up and into my face. I coughed and stepped back as the fire spread, and within minutes the entire stack was ablaze, sending up inky black smoke as it was designed to do. Every so often a new plume rose up as oil pots hidden inside the stack tipped and spilled their contents, adding to the inferno. The leaves of the canopy began to blacken and curl as the flames licked higher and higher.
That was all I could do from the rim. Until I got back to the village, they would not know exactly what I had seen. Wasting no more time, I gathered my things and made for the trail. It would take five hours to get down the volcano. Before I reached the village, a boat would be on its way to Kalina to hear firsthand what was happening. It might turn out to be nothing more than a wildfire on Halana, but I had done my duty and raised the alarm. Now it was up to others to decide what to do. If danger did come, I knew that I and every strong man might be called to give his life to save our people. Rina’s face flashed into my mind, and for the first time I truly understood sacrifice. I would give my life for her if the need arose. I could think of no better way to die.