Read The Legend of Oescienne - The Finding (Book One) Page 6

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  Spring was a whirlwind of activity with Jahrra much improved from last year, despite her winter-time gloominess. It was almost as if she had been a dormant tree, bursting into life once the weather warmed. She was much more animated, actually smiling and laughing at least once a day. She even lashed out at the twins’ rude comments every now and again, something she hadn’t done since numbly joining the class once again in the fall.

  Summer took an eternity to arrive, as always, and all because Kaihmen and Nuhra promised to help Jahrra saddle-train Phrym at school’s end. Her best friends were already riding their own horses, Bhun, a chocolate gelding for Scede and Aimhe, a palomino mare for Gieaun. Jahrra was in a constant pout about this until Kaihmen informed her that Phrym had finally grown big enough to start riding.

  “You have to go easy on him. He’s still very much a foal,” Kaihmen told Jahrra the first time she got in the saddle with Phrym.

  At first, he reacted as any horse would; uncomfortable and edgy with an extra weight on his back. Once he realized it was Jahrra, however, he calmed down and became quite agreeable. Kaihmen had been nervous about Jahrra being the first to ride Phrym; he was so strong and so tall. And if she fell off . . . But he really didn’t need to worry at all.

  “Well, would you look at that! It must be a new record,” Nuhra said, as Jahrra went tearing across the fields atop Phrym after only a few minutes of sitting on his back.

  The Resai woman had been thrown so many times by new horses that she was almost jealous of Jahrra’s success, but in truth, she was beyond pleased for the young girl.

  Now that Phrym was suitable for riding, Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede spent the better part of the summer fixing up the old stable on the grounds of the Castle Guard Ruin. Phrym wouldn’t be visiting here, like she had once thought when she first got him, he would be living here. Jahrra quickly dashed the memory away, fearing it would bring on tears, tears that wouldn’t bring back her past life. Instead, she distracted herself with work.

  “Just think!” she said as she dragged the old rotting wood out of the stable bed with Gieaun and Scede, “We’ll all be able to ride to school in the fall!”

  On the summer weekends, Kaihmen and Nuhra took the children to the lakes to go fishing. They would swim on the warm afternoons and catch frogs and insects, build forts on the shores and just catch up on the things that had happened that week. Many of the local youngsters came to the lake as well, but they were all either much younger or much older than Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede, and more often than not, they were here to work, not play.

  Jahrra watched in slight pity as the youngest would help their mothers gather reeds or freshwater shellfish along the muddy banks. The older boys helped their fathers and uncles haul bulging nets of slippery fish out of the water and the older girls would clean the catch the men brought in.

  Once their work was through, the young children were permitted to play, kicking around a ball constructed of tightly wound strips of hide. Jahrra always smiled her best when she saw the looks of joy on the children’s faces as they went careening down the boardwalk after the lopsided ball, laughing and shrieking in fun.

  Sometimes she would join them with Gieaun and Scede, but today they were busy floating on rafts across the cool lake surface. Jahrra took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. The raft she was floating on had drifted towards the middle of the lake, but she hadn’t noticed.

  “Jahrra!” Gieaun’s voice invaded her calm mind. “The lake monster will get you!”

  Jahrra closed her eyes and smiled, having half a mind to pretend to get pulled under by the mysterious beast. She rolled over onto her stomach and began paddling back towards the boardwalk where Gieaun and Scede were lying upon their own homemade rafts.

  “Gieaun! Will you ever give it up? There is no lake monster!” Jahrra proclaimed once she’d reached them.

  “Sure there isn’t,” Scede teased, his impish grin matching her own.

  The three friends enjoyed the rest of the afternoon along the banks of the lake searching for frogs and turtles before finally making the journey home. The summer had flown by as usual, but Jahrra had enjoyed it more than any summer she could remember. School would be starting again soon and she cringed at the thought. Oh well, she sighed inwardly, I’ll just have to make the best of it.

  The twins weren’t at school on the first day back, and Jahrra almost burst with happiness at the idea that they might not be coming back at all. The very next day, however, they showed up in one of their fancy carriages, going on and on about how they got delayed on a vacation to some castle in the north.

  Jahrra was bitterly disappointed, but she wasn’t going to let it get her down, not this year. The summer had revived her in a way and her renewed spirit inspired her to create a garden outside her bedroom window in that tiny enclosed space that was once another room. She’d spent so many lonely afternoons staring out her window that she felt she needed to do something to the sad, empty space.

  “This is for Nida and Pada,” she told Hroombra one early fall day when he finally abandoned his studies to see what the young girl was up to. “I want to grow things like they did.”

  The old dragon watched thoughtfully as Jahrra toted an armful of various plants and bulbs towards the western edge of the Ruin. He smiled broadly; Jahrra was back, the spirited little girl who loved life so much had returned. He didn’t know what had brought her back, but he was grateful nonetheless.

  Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede spent most of that fall gathering seeds to plant in the garden. Hroombra didn’t mind that the Castle Guard Ruin was becoming a pile of earth and plant debris, he was just happy that Jahrra had found something to occupy her mind. She’s finally healing, he reminded himself as he listened to the chatting children through the window of his study.

  Of course, Jahrra had come to terms with her sorrow the winter before, through her dreams, despite the fact that they had begun as nightmares. The soothing passage of time had worked out the rest for her.

  “It’s not that I’ve stopped missing them,” she said to Hroombra one fine winter day as she lay next to a blazing fire in the Castle Guard Ruin. “It’s just that I’ve grown used to them not being here.”

  Hroombra looked up from his work and glanced at the girl who was drawing by the firelight. He smiled a sad smile, one that portrayed his understanding of the rushed wisdom of one so young. That’s it then, he told himself, she’s no longer an innocent child. She’s begun the slow passage into adulthood, and although her child’s years will linger yet, she’ll never be quite the same again.

  The winter season caught everyone unawares with an early, but mildly dangerous frost. During those early winter days the fields became dusted with a fine crystal-white powder that sparkled and held the land hostage in its icy breath.

  Most mornings Jahrra would rise early to check on Phrym in his new stable. She would dress in many layers and cross the gently sloping field that stretched beyond the Castle Guard Ruin. The ground always crunched delightedly beneath her boots as she pulled her wool jacket tight around her, puffing clouds of steam as she made her way towards the stables. Phrym was always waiting for her, no matter how quietly she approached, and the two would go out riding, allowing the icy air to numb their senses.

  As the second anniversary of her parents’ deaths approached, Jahrra, despite her resilience and recent happiness, found herself once again burdened by a heavy and dull sorrow. Hroombra kept an especially close eye on her and asked that Gieaun and Scede watch her at school. He knew that even the smallest remark from hostile spectators could lead to trouble, and he wanted to make sure that her road to recovery continued to be a smooth one.

  The winter passed, agonizingly slow, but Jahrra got through it with much less trouble than Hroombra had anticipated. At school, the twins had been too preoccupied with Solsticetide and telling everyone about the extravagant presents they were hoping to get that they’d almos
t forgotten about their favorite victim. Only when Jahrra stood idly around the schoolyard did they bother to antagonize her, but that almost never happened.

  Solsticetide and Jahrra’s tenth birthday passed, but the celebrations were empty and cold without her parents. As spring approached, however, Jahrra became distracted by her new garden. The seeds and bulbs were coming to life, and the lazy flowers were awakening to the warm spring days. The garden out-shown the surrounding wildflowers of the field, and soon the small pond she and her friends had dug was teaming with frogs and dragonflies, birds and butterflies. She had even transplanted a small sapling that was now showing brilliant pink blossoms. It was like her own personal oasis and she tended to it every day after school with Gieaun and Scede.

  Hroombra often listened to the children chattering away amongst the flowers as he sat at his great desk in the Castle Guard Ruin. He found himself listening to the young laughter that drifted through the window behind him like one would listen to an orchestra. Against his better judgment, the great dragon allowed his mind to float away with the fragrant breezes and happy conversation, bringing him to a place long lost in time.

  He found himself in another age, when this Castle Guard Ruin was not a ruin at all, but a proud building that kept a lookout for the great castle on the edge of the Sloping Hill. He heard the ghostly echo of innocent laughter of the children from the past. His heart froze and his blood became ice water when he saw the young prince and the beautiful queen. His heart seemed to melt and seep through his veins as liquid sadness, a sadness that flooded his cheerful reverie . . .

  “Gieaun! Scede! Come and look at this butterfly!!! I think these are the caterpillars that belong to it!”

  The sudden rise in voices broke up Hroombra’s dismal thoughts. He breathed a great sigh of relief, grateful to escape the world he had entered. It had been a place of darker times and he didn’t want to think about such things, at least, not right now.

  “Whoa!!”

  Scede’s reaction to Jahrra’s find caused Hroombra to chuckle to himself. I think I’ll rest now while they’re busy being distracted outdoors . . . the old dragon thought to himself. He curled his neck and tail around his enormous desk and rested his head upon the worn stone floor. I think it’s time that Jahrra know a little more about the past, but it can wait until after my nap. He soon dozed off, promising himself he’d save the painful memories for later.

  -Chapter Ten-

  The Castle Ruin

  Hroombra had been awake from his nap for quite some time now, but his mind was still focused on the images of the past. He took a deep, weary breath and released it with a tinge of smoke. He needed to find Jahrra and the silence outside made him wonder if she had taken Phrym to Wood’s End Ranch, but he rose from the stone floor anyway. Perhaps the children had just walked up to the stables. It is time, he reminded himself with a slight shiver as he stepped out into bright daylight. It’s time for her to begin to know . . .

  He checked the garden first, and to his delight he found the young girl there. She was lying on the stone flagging of her tiny paradise, watching dragonflies skitter across the surface of the pond. He smiled warmly then brushed aside the last dregs of his reticence, “Jahrra, come over here please.”

  Jahrra turned her head lazily and looked up at her guardian, his massive reptilian face gazing down at her over the garden wall. She smiled as she gazed up at him quizzically. Hroombra often left her alone when she was outside, so she wondered if anything was wrong. Her mentor’s tone of voice had been casual, but it had a lingering note to it which held a hundred possible emotions.

  “What is it?” she asked without moving.

  “You shall see, but if you’re thinking about staying right where you are, you’ll be severely disappointed.”

  Now his voice held mischief, and Jahrra knew that he was up to something, something mysterious. She jumped up enthusiastically from where she lay and easily cleared the wall.

  “Where have Gieaun and Scede gone so early?” Hroombra asked curiously, his great brow creased in scrutiny. “It’s only a few hours past midday.”

  “They had to go home for riding lessons. I would’ve gone too, but I wanted to sit in my garden,” Jahrra answered matter-of-factly, picking at a daisy growing as high as her garden wall. “I told them I might come over later.”

  “You little ones, I just can’t seem to keep up with you these days.” The great dragon shook his head in humor.

  “So, where’re we going? Should I get Phrym?” Jahrra asked, becoming curious in this sudden venture.

  “Oh no, it’s just a little over three miles. Let’s make it a good walk, shall we?”

  “Alright, which way?”

  Jahrra had been lying still for so long that she gratefully welcomed a long walk.

  “Head north, along the path leading through the woods,” Hroombra said, and then called as she bolted off, “Not too fast! I don’t move as quickly as you do!”

  Jahrra stopped running and instead began dashing back and forth from one side of the path to the other, searching for more plants she might like to add to her garden. She’d been in these woods before, but no deeper than a few hundred yards. The Wreing Florenn began somewhere behind them and she didn’t want to end up in there. After only a few minutes she became bored with her hunt and noticed that they were following what appeared to be a wide, overgrown path.

  “Was this once a road Master Hroombra?” she asked between skips.

  “Yes, once. A very long time ago this used to be an important road. It led to the great castle that used to stand where we are now going. Now all that is left are the ruined walls of what was once the pride of Oescienne.”

  Jahrra stopped dead and looked up at Hroombra, her eyes round with excitement. “Do you mean we’re finally going to the Castle Ruin? The one that’s guarded by those two old towers?”

  Hroombra smiled down at Jahrra. She’d asked him every time they passed the towers if they could visit the castle, and each time Hroombra had an excuse not to. “Yes Jahrra, we are finally going to the Castle Ruin, but don’t get too excited; little remains of the great fortress that once stood.”

  “Oh, tell me what it used to look like so I can imagine it when we get there!” Jahrra begged, setting her gait to match Hroombra’s pace so as not to miss a single detail.

  Hroombra glanced hesitantly down at Jahrra, knowing that recalling such memories would be a burden to him. But how could he deny such an eager request?

  “I’ll tell you Jahrra, but don’t be too disappointed when you see what remains.”

  “I won’t,” she assured him, holding her hand over her heart as if to make a pledge.

  “Very well.”

  Jahrra straightened up, becoming disinterested in the wayside flowers and the startled insects. The old dragon now had her full attention as they trekked along. He took a deep breath and reached into that part of his memory that held the tale he now told.

  “The castle was once called Estraelh Castle, home to the king of Oescienne, the most beautiful palace in all the land,” he began. “It was built on the highest end of the Great Sloping Hill, for the very first king of this province wished to see all of his land from its walls. With each passing generation, the royal family would add something new to the castle, building it slowly into the palace it became. The first king’s son had the patio gardens constructed; one queen insisted a studio and art gallery be added to one of its many turrets. A later king designed a music room, while one royal family built an observatory in another tower.

  “Finally, an extensive library was added to the southeastern wing. A sweeping driveway, several more gardens, and a small orchard of trees were included in their own time. Those trees became the wood that now surrounds the castle; the trees that encroach upon the Wreing Florenn. It was once a place of magic Jahrra, built with the palest green granite and marble containing small flecks of all the colors of the natural
world.”

  Hroombra paused and huffed a small sigh. When he went on, a hard note peppered his voice, “It’s hard to see all of that now, due to the years of decay. Now the mossy green stones have become dull and faded, looking more like mud-caked slate. The gardens have gone wild and the walls have crumbled.”

  Jahrra slowed her already unhurried walk to gaze up at her guardian with a furrowed brow. He seemed to be distracted, but he blinked, took a breath and continued on as if not a second had passed.

  “The inside of the castle was even more glorious than the exterior. As I mentioned, it had an observatory, a library, an art gallery and a music room, but it also had an enormous dining hall and ball room for great feasts, parties and dances. Throughout the halls and rooms there hung or stood many works of art and sculptures of man and beast alike. The bedrooms were extravagant with great carved canopy beds and enormous fireplaces just like the one at the Castle Guard Ruin. The kitchen could serve just about any dish imaginable and employed the most gifted chefs, but the most magnificent part of the castle was the entrance hall.”

  Hroombra spoke more enthusiastically now and Jahrra gazed off dreamily into the trees, imagining all of the decorations and details of the castle, forgetting the miles as they walked.

  “The hall was enormous, large enough to fit a large party of dragons,” Hroombra continued. “In those days dragons were not feared as they are now. The ceiling was high and domed, and painted on the floor was the great symbol of the dragons, the three point star, with the qualities that we strive for written around it in the dragons’ language. The kings and queens and all of the people of the land tried hard to meet the standard of the dragons, so they had our code etched upon their fortress. Ahhh,” said Hroombra breaking off his lesson, “here we are at last.”

  Jahrra had been so wrapped up in her guardian’s story that she hadn’t noticed how far they’d walked. She gazed up the path in front of her and gasped; several yards before them stood the skeleton of a once great structure resting quietly behind a screen of trees. Jahrra blinked, fearing this wonderful new place might disappear, but it didn’t. She swallowed her wonder and focused all of her energy on the scene before her.

  In the center of the thick wall rising before them was a crumbled arch that had once been a great doorway. Beyond that stood the remains of a staircase, looking very much like an old, arthritic man hunched over from age. Many more broken arches receding farther into the structure suggested the intricate ceiling system Hroombra had talked about. Jahrra decided that the arches and buttresses looked like the rib cage of some great beast that had perished long ago.

  Ferns and mosses, lichens and liverworts grew between cracks in the granite. Patches of sod, covered in forest violets and tiny star lilies covered the multitude of broken staircases, making this place seem like a fairy realm directly out of Felldreim. As Jahrra stepped through a gaping hole in the outer wall, she noticed that the layers of this castle continued on forever.

  A strange feeling of magic and mystery tickled Jahrra’s skin, a feeling similar to the one she’d experienced at the Dragon’s Court above Edyadth a few years ago. The sudden memory caused her to trip over a solitary stone, tossing up a large chunk of black earth and debris in the process. She looked back, slightly heated from her clumsiness, and saw evidence of a stone floor hidden beneath. Jahrra scrunched her eyes in scrutiny.

  Hroombra spoke, however, before she could query, “I’m afraid the floor beneath our feet has been completely covered.”

  “How exactly did it come to be like this, the castle I mean?” Jahrra asked forlornly, running her fingers over a moss covered stone.

  “That, my child, is a very long story.” replied Hroombra, not making any attempt to elaborate.

  Jahrra nodded solemnly, deciding not to complain in this quiet, empty atmosphere.

  “May I look around?” she asked Hroombra suddenly, hoping that by moving or talking she could shake free of the strange feeling that surrounded her.

  Jahrra looked up at the dragon when he didn’t answer and froze when she saw his eyes. He was gazing into the heart of the old castle with an emotion Jahrra had never seen before playing across his face, turning his golden eyes to amber stone. It frightened her a little, so she kept quiet, not repeating the question. After some time, however, Hroombra looked down at her, suddenly realizing that she’d asked him something.

  “You may look around,” he said automatically, his voice seeming to be stuck in some other time.

  Jahrra took off running towards the building before Hroombra could say anything more. He chuckled to himself, crossing the shadow of what was once a great courtyard, slowly following the girl. When Hroombra reached the great arch that had been the entryway for the dragons, he found Jahrra there, standing with her face turned towards the dappled canopy above.

  “What on Ethoes are you doing now, Jahrra?” he asked with a wrinkled brow.

  “Oh!” The girl jumped with a start. “I was just thinking about the great ceiling and I was trying to imagine it here.”

  She smiled at Hroombra, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Do you know,” he began, “that this used to be the great entry hall for the dragons?”

  Jahrra shook her head, but kept her gaze on Hroombra.

  “Oh yes, as I was telling you before, the races of dragons were welcome here. In fact, many of the king’s relatives had been tutored in the way of the dragons, by dragons themselves.”

  Hroombra stepped forward and took a deep breath, expelling a great blast of air across the floor, causing black soil, moldy leaves and grime to go shooting in great chunks through the air. Jahrra closed her eyes and waited for the debris to settle. When she opened them again there was no longer the rotting carpet of the forest floor, but rather, patches of ancient worn and faded tiles below her feet, stained from the decay of many centuries’ worth of leaves.

  “Wow!” Jahrra exclaimed. “What’s that!?”

  The colored tile below was not random, but revealed an intertwined triangular symbol set in a mosaic pattern. The symbol, which was only partially revealed, looked as if it covered the entire center of the enormous floor.

  “That, Jahrra, is the Great Crest of the Dragons, something we call the Baherhb in our language. Each point stands for one quality, and each quality has two more aspects.”

  Hroombra closed his eyes as if he were mentally flipping through an ancient book. He took a small breath and continued, “The three qualities are Knowledge, Strength and Loyalty. Knowledge isn’t the capacity of knowing or not knowing, it is so much more. In order for Knowledge to exist, one must have Truth and Understanding. Only true Knowledge can be gained when one knows the truth and when one understands it.

  “Strength is not just the power that one can enforce. True Strength requires both Patience and Endurance. Without patience and endurance, one can never be strong of heart, mind, body and spirit; they can only be strong of body.

  “Loyalty is the third quality of the Baherhb, and it is composed of Love and Honor. One cannot be loyal to another if they do not love and honor them. It is our way, and it binds us all: Korli, Creecemind, Gilli, Lendras, Tiynterra, Aquandaas, and now Tanaan as well; all the kruels of dragons created by Ethoes.”

  Jahrra stood still as Hroombra recited the ancient code of his kind, soaking in every word. Although she didn’t quite understand what all of this meant, she could tell from his tone that this symbol, this code of words, was important to him.

  Silence followed Hroombra’s lesson and soon the songs of the late afternoon birds drifted through the woods, echoing strangely against the eroded walls.

  It was Hroombra who spoke first, several breaths later, “So young one, are you through with exploring? You can’t have gone much farther than this spot.”

  Jahrra was snapped back to the present at the sound of the dragon’s voice. “Oh no, I want to continue exploring, if that’s alright.”

  Hroomb
ra grinned and nodded as she padded off to another location on the vast grounds.

  He waited a little while longer this time before following in her wake. This place had meant so much to him so long ago, and now that he had returned he realized it still did. The great, withered reptile closed his old, tired eyes and stood as Jahrra had, staring close-eyed at a ceiling that was no longer there. Yet the longer he stared, eyes tightly shut, the more he could see the great arching ceiling of times past.

  He saw the beautiful paintings of the gods of Ethoes surrounding a great image of the Baherhb, complete with the three qualities written in his language. In his mind’s eye he witnessed the light streaming in through the tall windows that once lined the walls. Great bundles of vine and brilliant scarlet flowers spilled through the upmost vents on this bright spring day long past, their sweet fragrance drifting in with them.

  Hroombra began rebuilding the walls of the castle in his mind, walls covered in artwork created by people from all over Ethoes. He noted the collection of marble statues in the hall and the tapestries that hung from ceiling to floor, following the arched line of staircases that led to the many wings of the great castle. He smiled as he heard the people of the past taking part in pleasant conversation. Humans, elves, Nesnans, Resai, dwarves, dragons; every beast imaginable that lived in Ethoes, all were welcome to this place.

  His smile grew when he recognized the great king that last ruled this land. He passed by, hand-clasped with his beautiful queen, her blond-red hair falling behind her like an autumn field. He could feel their happiness flowing around him; it was impossible for them to hide it. The seven eldest princes stepped in behind them, all fair haired like their parents. They laughed jovially and intermingled easily with the visitors of the castle. No person or being was turned away, rich and poor walked side by side.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, Hroombra saw another child, the youngest son of the king, his final child. The boy was no more than seven or eight in this scene of the past that played across his memory, but Hroombra’s heart ached with regret like it hadn’t in a very long time.

  The young prince had been the Korli dragon’s favorite, and now he saw the boy as he had known him, happy and carefree, completely innocent and unknowing of the fate that would someday befall him. He looked like his father, tall for his age and strong featured with golden hair. His eyes were also like his father’s, bright and clear and shrewd, but they held the intelligence and fervor for life that defined his mother the queen.

  Hroombra began to grow morose, and this colorful, blissful image began to fade from his mind. That’s enough for now, he thought to himself forlornly, I mustn’t dwell too long on that time. It has passed, and I cannot change it.

  Hroombra shook off the last vestiges of his fantasy and opened his own amber eyes. He’d expected to see darkness and blandness, but he was surprised at the scene before him. True, the beautiful castle had disappeared, but the sun still shone as brightly as it had those many centuries ago. The dragon sighed and began to head in the direction that Jahrra had run off. May she have a better fate than those who came before her, he thought.

  In the time that Hroombra had been reminiscing on the previous life of this haunted place, Jahrra had been further exploring the grounds. She poked her head in and out of every emaciated room she could find, wandering into a few of them to see what she would discover there. She climbed a few disintegrated steps of an ancient staircase hugging a massive wall, only to find that it abruptly dropped off ten steps up. The walls that somehow survived the ages were veined with massive holes and cracks. It was like walking around in a maze, Jahrra thought, a maze that had no beginning and no end.

  Jahrra tried with all her might to imagine what this pile of eroded stones might have been like so long ago, eventually forming a clear picture of a shining castle in her head. Oh, she thought delightfully, how Gieaun and Scede would love this place!

  She relished this thought as she passed through a particularly large broken archway into what might once have been a grand hall. Jahrra pushed past the bushes that had grown up here and there, wondering if this had been one of the ball rooms Hroombra spoke of. She pictured smiling people dressed in flowing gowns gliding around the candlelit space, hardly noticing the towering dragons that would have been sitting in the corners of the great room.

  A gentle breeze rustled the canopy above, creating a whispering rhythm the imagined dancers could sway to. Jahrra smiled at her illusion, letting it pass through her mind the way she passed through this enchanted space.

  Jahrra released a relaxed sigh and turned her attention to the worn stones stacked before her, forgetting the obscurity of a time long past. After brushing her eyes along the injured walls for several minutes, she spotted something out of place in front of her. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but just enough of a change in the stone’s color and texture to catch her attention.

  She squinted and tilted her head as she peered at the strange inconsistency that seemed to be calling out to her. She approached the wall and ducked behind the tall bush that was hiding most of what she’d seen. Reaching out a timid hand, Jahrra began rubbing away the loose grit and thread-thin roots that stretched along the layer of soil caked against the vertical stone surface.

  Hroombra found his ward there, pressed between a shrub and the ancient stone, following a design with her finger, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

  “There you are!” he announced jovially, trying to mask the hollowness he imagined lingered in his voice.

  “I’ve found something,” she said simply, not moving or looking away one inch from the obscure image.

  Hroombra pulled his entire length into the remains of the room, turned his head, and caught his breath in a strangled gasp too quiet for Jahrra to hear. He knew this room. A clear, bright picture of it coursed behind his eyes like a flash of lightning, and he realized then exactly what Jahrra had found.

  He allowed her to study the wall a few minutes more, forcing his mind’s activity to ebb; his startled heartbeat to relax. When she attempted to brush away some more of the dust and grime, Hroombra decided it was time to speak up. His voice sounded like a deep, dry cavern.

  “Here, this might help things a bit.”

  He motioned Jahrra to stand back, and then took one mighty breath and let out a massive blast of air, just as he’d done in the entrance hall. The effect of this act was immediately visible, and what was now revealed was astounding.

  “Wow!” Jahrra gasped, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide. She no longer looked at a grimy old wall covered in stringy roots, but a faded painting that must have continued on under the layers of dirt all along the entire interior of the massive room.

  “What is this?” Jahrra whispered, looking up at Hroombra.

  “It’s a mural, a story painted upon the wall. This was once the great dining hall of the castle, and this is where the history of Oescienne is recorded. It starts over here somewhere with the story of how Ethoes created this earth we live on,” Hroombra nodded to the opposite side of the entrance, “and it continues all the way around the room to about where you are standing.”

  Jahrra was standing about twenty feet away from the entranceway, and decided she had been looking at part of the final installment of the great mural. She moved closer to the paintings on the wall and began soaking in the faded images.

  “Here, let me clear some more for you.”

  Jahrra stood back as Hroombra let out several more blasts of air, clearing one whole wall and the small section on one side of the doorway.

  “That should be enough for now,” he said, nodding.

  Jahrra began in the corner of the northwest wall and worked her way southward, following the painted scenes with her eyes and her fingers the entire time. She found dragons and elves, dwarves and a strange variety of other beasts and beings. The mural depicted battles and celebrations, births and funerals, peaceful times and periods of tu
rmoil.

  The colors were dull now, but Jahrra could tell that this painting once held immense detail and more pigments than she could name. She placed her hand on the wall and closed her eyes. She could almost hear the clash of weapons, the music and laughter at a wedding celebration, the intense silence of the night sky painted above much of the scene. A feeling of wonder crawled over her skin, and when she looked more closely at the wall in front of her, she realized that she’d finally reached the end.

  Disappointed to be finished so soon, Jahrra concentrated on the small section in front of her, trying to make the tale last a bit longer. The story, at its end, began with a frightening looking figure surrounded by large, shadowy dragons. Jahrra gasped and a shock of fearful memory burned through her. The menacing figure, despite its worn and degraded state, looked exactly like the one from the nightmares she’d had after her parents’ deaths.

  Jahrra shivered and forced herself to keep looking at the scene. She pulled her eyes from the dark demon and instead focused on the dragons, creatures that didn’t frighten her. When she saw the winged reptiles, however, her heart sank even further; these dragons looked nothing like Hroombra or Jaax, they looked ominous and evil, like the monster they surrounded.

  Jahrra covered the frightening animals with her hand and tried to finish the end of this tale. Much of the painting had been eroded, and about halfway to where Hroombra stood, there was a large portion that was horribly damaged, as if time had taken it upon itself to chisel away at this particular scene. Fortunately, it didn’t impede Jahrra’s progress in following the story.

  Near the final section of the mural she spotted a proud figure on a great horse, and soon her attention was drawn away from the sinister creatures. As she drew closer, she noticed that the elf on the horse seemed unafraid of the fearsome, dark dragons. His face was faded and chipped away and try as she might, Jahrra couldn’t conjure up an image in her mind. That’s strange, she thought, I can usually imagine anything!

  The young girl frowned and focused on his other features. His clothes were ancient, like those worn by brave warriors in the fairytales she read. He held a great sword, broken in half from a missing piece of wall, and the color of his great cloak had faded over time, making it impossible to decide whether it had been blue, green or violet. She couldn’t tell why, but as she gazed at this figure she felt a vague familiarity towards him. Maybe I’ve seen him in one of Master Hroombra’s books, she pondered, not giving the subtle feeling of acquaintance any further thought.

  Jahrra moved on to the final scene of the painting, a picture of more elves fleeing the black, menacing figure from before, now billowing overhead like a great, poisonous cloud that engulfed the sky. The elves were extremely frightened, and in the background their twisted shadows looked like black, screeching dragons.

  “What does all this mean Master Hroombra?” Jahrra looked up at the great dragon, her brow creased in concern. “Who is that horrible creature, all black and red, and who’re all these elves?”

  Hroombra gazed down at her in cloaked consternation. Was he really ready to tell her this story? Yes, his conscience told him, yes.

  Hroombra drew a long breath and said very slowly, “Jahrra, those people aren’t elves. They’re humans.”

  -Chapter Eleven-

  The Legend of Oescienne

  Jahrra gazed up at her mentor with a blank look on her face. “Humans?” she said disbelievingly.

  She thought humans were just a myth, a fairytale like everything else. Had they really once existed, or was this mural just another story? She waited patiently for Hroombra to go on.

  “Yes, Jahrra, humans. The king and the queen of this land were human beings.”

  The old dragon paused, as if to gather the thoughts that churned in his mind like autumn leaves caught in a whirlwind.

  “I have a story to tell you now,” he continued after some time, “a story that I believe you’re finally old enough to hear.”

  Jahrra sat down upon a piece of crumbled wall and gazed up at him, not believing her luck today. I finally get to come to the Castle Ruin and now new a story?! she thought with delight, trying not to look overly eager.

  “Long ago, before even the land of Oescienne existed, the god Ciarrohn was born. He was the youngest son of Ethoes and Haelionn and as he grew he became twisted and evil. He turned the elves against the world, and because of that he was thrown to the earth from the heavens during the great battle with the dragon Traagien.

  “Now, I’ve told you part of this story before, and you know that Ciarrohn’s form became the Elornn and the Thorbet mountains, but what you don’t know is the story of the people who were brave enough to cross those mountains and settle in the land beyond them, this land.”

  Hroombra snuck a peek at Jahrra and noticed she was sitting attentively, a gleam of anticipation in her eyes. He smiled slightly and continued on, “This is the story of the Tanaan Tribe, the human race that became the rulers of Oescienne. Their people came into this land when the world was in turmoil, many ages ago after the defeat of Ciarrohn but before Ethoes was able to restore peace. When the Goddess finally divided her world into the present day provinces, she gave this province for them to rule.

  “For many years the Tanaan ruled their realm in peace and prosperity. They built this great castle and the people thrived under their fair reign. The Tanaan were happy and knew their world was safe, but as the years passed and one generation took the throne after another, talk of a great evil in the east reached their province.

  “A young man in the cursed province of Ghorium had seized power over the land and in turn had gained the aid of the dreaded god Ciarrohn. This news struck a great chord of fear into the hearts of the people, for not only had Ciarrohn awoken from his deep slumber, but the evil god and his mortal accomplice had destroyed all the other races of humans in the world. All but the Tanaan.”

  Hroombra paused to draw breath, taking stock of Jahrra’s enraptured state. He cleared his throat and continued, “The world was no longer safe, and the king of the Tanaan knew that he had to do something before more damage could be done. He sent messengers to the different kingdoms of the world and gathered together an army of allies to march upon the east and purge the land of the evil that had awoken. He took with him seven of his eight sons, leaving his queen and the youngest prince behind.”

  Hroombra paused, closed his eyes and took a breath, looking very much like he was trying to unravel a difficult riddle. When he opened his eyes again he looked down at Jahrra and felt a shiver when he saw the slight despair in her eyes.

  Oh, how he knew that despair . . .

  He shook his head slightly and cleared his throat, “It took the king and his allies nearly a year to reach the east, and when they did they were met with devastation. The evil king who’d taken over the land with Ciarrohn’s help killed the Tanaan ruler and his sons, along with many of the other warriors who’d joined them. They were laid to waste on the Desolate Plain, and those who escaped fled west, towards home, hoping against all hope that the god Ciarrohn and his new pawn, the tyrant Cierryon, didn’t follow them.

  “Another two years passed before the remaining, defeated Tanaan came crawling over the mountain pass and through the ancient canyon their ancestors had used when they first settled in Oescienne. Soon word spread throughout the land of their return and the forlorn men were brought to the castle. The queen waited eagerly for any sign of her husband and sons, and when she learned of their demise, she fell into despair.”

  Hroombra took a deep, calming breath and shut his eyes. At first, Jahrra wasn’t sure if he would continue, but after several agonizing minutes he trudged on, his voice sounding strange, his eyes still shut.

  “A great Korli dragon, the royal family’s mentor and tutor had gone to the fight with the king and was the one to break the news to the beautiful queen, now lost in anguish.

  “The dragon had regretted the king’s decisio
n in the beginning, but he’d refused to let them go alone. Now it all seemed such a waste, such a horrible, impossible waste. So many had died and now the queen and her young son were left without a family. The dragon knew that the only thing he could do now was teach the young prince everything he knew so that he may learn to be a good king like his father.

  “The Tanaan people eventually healed from this terrible blow, but one of them did not. The queen, who had become overcome with grief on the day the bedraggled soldiers returned, had remained bed-ridden since, slowly slipping away. Her heart couldn’t take such a loss, and although her young son was there beside her his love couldn’t keep her in this world. She died only a few months after learning of her husband’s fate, perishing of a broken heart.

  “The prince lost all hope after that, and no matter how hard the great dragon tried to aid his new student, the boy simply couldn’t comprehend such a loss. His mother had been the last thing keeping him anchored to the world. After her death, a shadow fell over the boy, and he was never again to be the laughing, bright child he used to be.

  “Ten years passed and the boy grew into a young man, his Korli tutor watching him like a hawk every waking hour. The prince learned everything the dragon taught him, but he never learned how to move on or how to forgive. He desired vengeance, a vengeance that inspired him to organize a group of men bent on revenge for what had happened to them. Secretly, the prince and his alliance planned a march against Cierryon, now known to all as the Crimson King, hoping to attack before the Tyrant gained more power.

  “Another year passed before the prince found a chance to enact upon his revenge. His great mentor, who had no idea of the prince’s plans, was absent from Oescienne. The prince saw his opportunity and gathered his men together to march on their common enemy. By the time the dragon returned, the prince had been gone nearly two months. Panicked and desperate, he called together as many dragons as he could and flew after the young man and his army, hoping that somehow they’d been delayed in their quest. The desperate dragons soared over mountains and plains, great ravines and deserts, the whole while calling upon the aid of old friends and former allies.

  “Finally, they reached Ghorium, the dreaded land of the Crimson King. What they found there, however, was a nightmare. A chill that nearly extinguished the fire within his stomach crept through the great dragon, guardian of the prince. He didn’t find his beloved Tanaan humans, but the evil Morli dragons he recognized from before, surrounding a race of dragons that he didn’t recognize.

  “With a cold heart, the prince’s guardian realized that these new dragons were their very own Tanaan humans, the humans they were supposed to care for and nurture. The soldiers who had been bold enough to attack the Crimson King had been transformed into the creatures the evil god Ciarrohn despised the most. He had conjured up a dark curse, a curse sealed in hatred and blackness.

  “Despite the odds against them, however, the Korli dragons and their allies managed to free the new Tanaan dragons and together they fled westward, as far away from the blighted east as they could. When they finally arrived in Oescienne, exhausted and dejected, they found that their families too had become dragons.”

  Hroombra sighed and shook his head ever so slightly. He hated telling this story, but Jahrra had to know. He adjusted his posture then continued on, “The royal mentor lost heart then and fell into despair. The Tanaan had been the last race of humans in the world of Ethoes, and the Crimson King and the evil god Ciarrohn had taken the first step in conquering the world. Not one human being was left to take the throne of Oescienne, so now it lay open for the evil king to rule as soon as he desired to take it.

  “After the transformation of the Tanaan, the great castle which they’d built over several hundred years began to crumble. The same curse that made them dragons also began to destroy their castle. Not a single stone mason, no matter how hard he tried, could repair the eroding palace. It seemed as if the fortress itself was a living part of Oescienne and was weathering away in despair. That was five hundred years ago now, and since then the castle has remained in disrepair, forgotten, just as the story of the curse of the Tanaan has been forgotten in time.”

  Hroombra ended his somber tale suddenly, the final sentence hanging in the air like a resounding, mournful note. He took a few moments to let it pass before looking down at Jahrra once more. When he finally did, he couldn’t help but give into the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth; she stared up at him as if he were changing colors before her very eyes.

  “Now,” he said, his tired voice sounding slightly strained, “I’m sure you have many questions, so I’ll allow you to ask three.”

  Jahrra’s eyes, if at all possible, became even rounder. Questions? she thought. I never get to ask questions after a story! She sat quite still for a while, not wanting to waste her three precious questions.

  Finally, after what felt like hours, she asked, “If the humans were turned into Tanaan dragons, where did all the dragons go?”

  Hroombra smiled knowingly. He’d been expecting this inquiry, and it would be an easy one to answer, easier than some at least.

  “They still exist in the world, only not in Oescienne any longer. As a matter of fact, you’ve seen one before. Jaax is a Tanaan dragon; his ancestors are the very same people who were cursed by the Crimson King so long ago.”

  Jahrra started at the mention of Jaax’s name but simply nodded, her lips sealed tight. Hroombra smiled secretly, however, when he realized that her mind was fighting against itself, the evidence of this portrayed in her facial expressions. He was sure she wanted to ask a million more questions about this answer but knew she only had two questions left. He suppressed an urge to laugh out loud and waited for her next query.

  “Did the Crimson King ever take over the world?” she blurted.

  Jahrra knew of his existence of course; she had learned so in class and from Hroombra, but she never knew if he really ruled the world or if he just ruled the province of Ghorium.

  “No, Jahrra, he hasn’t yet taken over this world. It is thought that the curse he set upon the Tanaan and their castle weakened him so severely he is still, centuries later, recovering. Many believe that he is building up an army that will be unconquerable, but no one is brave enough to venture into Ghorium to find out for sure. For now we sit and wait, hoping he’ll never inflict war upon the lands. Now,” Hroombra breathed deeply, “one last question.”

  This time it took Jahrra longer than before to come up with her question, but when she finally asked it, Hroombra knew she had picked a good one.

  “Whatever happened to the Tanaan prince?” she said timidly, gulping slightly. “Did he die when he fought the Crimson King?”

  Hroombra took a breath and spoke, “It is said that he survived the battle, but it’s uncertain whether he escaped with the rest of his people. You see, once they became dragons, the Tanaan no longer recognized one another. It’s hard to say if the prince was one of the many to escape or not. Some say the prince’s mentor believed he survived the battle and took to searching the ends of the earth for him, only to perishing in his hunt. I myself like to think the prince is still out there somewhere, waiting for his second chance at revenge.”

  Jahrra listened and when Hroombra was done, she nodded her head contentedly. She closed her eyes and mulled the story over in her head, making it into something beautiful the way an oyster makes a pearl. After several minutes she stood up and walked back to the mural, to the end where she had seen the figure on the horse facing off the dark, menacing form.

  “So, this is the whole story of how the Tanaan became dragons, the story of why Oescienne has no king,” Jahrra whispered with a heavy heart, her hand pressed against the brave, faceless figure challenging the Crimson King, her eyes locked with Hroombra’s.

  “That’s right,” he said, “before the castle began to crumble, someone painted the last part of the story upon this wall. But the
y left several feet of the wall at the end there. I like to think they held out hope that somehow, someday, the land and the castle would return to the way it was.” Hroombra sighed. “Many believe that someday the Tyrant will be defeated and there will be nothing left to fear.”

  “Master Hroombra?” Jahrra asked, furrowing her brow. “What exactly is a “tyrant”? Master Tarnik has talked about the Crimson King, but he has never called him by that name.”

  Hroombra curled his lip grimly and answered, “A tyrant is someone who rules by fear and oppression, but I don’t want you to worry about it now, Jahrra. The king is far away and can’t hurt you, but it would be best not to talk about this at school.”

  Hroombra released his breath, suddenly realizing that he’d been holding it, as Jahrra nodded her head in agreement. He knew that this statement may be true now but it was only so long until the king would want to find Jahrra, to destroy her. I’m sorry young one, I lied, the old dragon thought in private agony. The king can hurt you and I fear someday he will. But not now, I won’t let him harm you now. Hroombra shook these awful thoughts from his head and looked back down at Jahrra.

  She was now peering more closely at the people running in terror, those casting the shadows of dragons. Hroombra imagined she was trying to impress the pictures into her mind so that they matched up with the story he had told her. Jahrra trailed her fingers over the images slowly, but halted her hand when she spotted something else. It was a strange writing that followed the tale along the bottom of the mural. She had ignored it before, figuring she didn’t need to read it. Now she was dying to know what it said.

  “What is this writing?” she asked shortly.

  “That, young one, is Kruelt, the language of the dragons.”

  Jahrra looked up with innocent eyes. “What does it say?”

  “Oh, more or less what I just told you, but those words tell much more of the story . . .” Hroombra said in amusement.

  “How much more!?” Jahrra exclaimed, nearly falling over as her hand glanced off the wall. “Master Hroombra! You’ve got to read it to me!” she insisted.

  “That, I won’t do.”

  Jahrra looked simply crestfallen.

  “Don’t fret, you’ll know it in time.” He laughed, sounding cheerful for the first time this day. “In fact, it’s about time you began to learn Kruelt. I have always meant for you to learn it since you live with a dragon, and now is a good time for you to start. Once you’ve mastered the ancient language you can come back here and read the entire story for yourself.”

  Hroombra smiled and Jahrra made a sour face.

  “Learn a new language?” she said. “Just so I can read this story? Wouldn’t it be easier for you to read it to me?”

  The young girl gazed up at Hroombra with a look of slight annoyance on her face.

  “No, you shall learn Kruelt,” Hroombra pressed adamantly. “Someday you may be grateful you learned it. And when you do, you can come back here and see what these words say.”

  “I don’t see how I could someday be grateful for extra lessons,” Jahrra grumbled, pushing her hair behind her ears and crossing her arms.

  Hroombra grinned and said, “You’ll understand, Jahrra . . .”

  “I know, I know,” she cut in impatiently, rolling her eyes, “all in good time.”

  Hroombra chuckled, his eyes crinkling in good humor, “Very good, young one. Now, is there any other part of the Castle Ruin you would like to see? It is growing late, and the sun will be setting soon so we must be moving along soon.”

  “No, I think I’ve seen it all,” Jahrra said, forgetting her annoyance.

  “Very well. Meet me out front. I’ll catch up to you.”

  Jahrra disappeared through the broken archway and ran off to get lost once again in the stony labyrinth. Hroombra exhaled with another one of his great sighs, allowing his suspended thoughts to return to the front of his mind.

  “How could I have forgotten?” he whispered to the walls. “How could I have forgotten reciting that terrible story as it was being painted on these walls?”

  Hroombra shook himself like a great, wet dog and stared at the doorway through which Jahrra had disappeared. He was enormously grateful that she hadn’t asked the question he knew he couldn’t answer. He’d feared she would ask him if he’d been there, if he’d played a part in that painful chapter in history. You may be ready to know some of this, but you are not ready for the truth to that question yet, he thought astringently, and I’m not ready to tell you.

  He looked back at the mural and let himself remember, just as he’d done in the entrance hall. He let his eyes wander upon the faded yet beautiful portraits and landscapes. His eyes darted from figure to figure, until they fell upon one figure in particular. It was the man Jahrra had seen riding the horse, proud and unafraid, but the old dragon saw more than what Jahrra had.

  He focused hard on the portrait and once again closed his eyes. He could see the man more clearly now, a young man, charging upon a foe with full passion and purpose. The man’s eyes had been eroded away from the wall, but now Hroombra saw eyes blinded by suffering and hatred. The memory of what had become of him cut Hroombra like a knife. This young man was happy once, before the great tragedy had befallen him. Once upon a time his life meant more than just a vessel for revenge.

  Hroombra exhaled a low, tired breath, like ancient air pouring from a cave. He knew that this place in time was long past, yet he couldn’t help but wish there was something more he could’ve done for this unfortunate person.

  The Korli dragon breathed deeply once more and reminded himself that the past was the past, and try as he might, he couldn’t change it. He thought of Jahrra and suddenly realized how much like this young man she was turning out to be. She was proud and strong, and she’d lost her family too soon as well. May I be able to save her when the time comes, Hroombra thought, may she not share his fate.

  The great dragon let his mind drift away from the hurt and sorrow, the heartache and abhorrence. He let it float back to the present, and before he left the great room he whispered to no one in particular, “Do not give up, there is still hope.”

  Jahrra was waiting for him in the front of the castle, climbing over fallen stones and examining their color and texture.

  “Are you ready?” he asked when she glanced up. “The sun will be down in a little under an hour and it would be foolish of us to stay here after dark. I fear this small wood is no longer as small as it once was; it is more than likely that it has encroached too far upon the Wreing Florenn. We wouldn’t want to be in the woods after dark. Come, you can ride on my back.”

  Jahrra leaped from the giant square boulder she was standing on and landed on the dragon’s back. As they left the Castle Ruin behind, Jahrra peered back once more. It looked more daunting in the fading light, but it still intrigued her. She’d discovered a deep secret when she found the mural on the wall, she could tell. True, Hroombra had told her a story and had even let her ask him questions, but she knew there was much more to it than what he’d told her.

  There had been something short of fear in Hroombra’s voice. She’d heard it when he recited the story behind the mural, and she heard it now, when he told her they must leave. What could possibly frighten Master Hroombra? she thought to herself. Maybe the stories of the creature in the forest are true after all. Jahrra inhaled and exhaled nervously, clutching even tighter to Hroombra’s neck as he ambled along.

  “Do you really think there are terrifying monsters in the Wreing Florenn?” she asked, making her thoughts known as she worked hard to keep her balance atop the rocking gait of her carrier.

  Her guardian took his time answering. “I’ve never seen one personally. Yet again, I’ve never wandered into the forest at night.”

  Hroombra didn’t actually think that fearsome beasts lived in the deep forest, but he did know that many strangers and travelers used it to avoid the supersti
tious local folk. He also knew that these people could often be more dangerous than wild beasts and he would rather have Jahrra frightened of being eaten than to take the chance of her being taken or seen by the wrong person in the deep of the woods.

  By the time Hroombra and Jahrra exited the small grove surrounding the castle, the sun had already set. Luckily, the Castle Guard Ruin was under a mile away from the edge of the trees, and Hroombra and Jahrra no longer had to fear the beasts and strange things of the woods. They were almost safely home.

  What the dragon and the girl didn’t know was that they hadn’t altogether left the forest unseen. As twilight fell upon the wide field that spread between the woods and their home, a pair of eyes watched diligently from behind a clump of trees. The eyes were odd indeed, full of curiosity and wit and some other undetectable emotion, but for now they stayed completely focused on the dragon and the girl.

  For quite some time now, perhaps even for years, the creature belonging to those eyes had felt a presence in Oescienne, a presence it couldn’t explain. It had always known about the dragon, that fact was understandable. It was the dragon the creature had followed to this corner of Ethoes to begin with, but the glimmer of an emotion within the great reptile had sparked the creature’s recognition of this young girl now traveling with him.

  The old Korli dragon had hope in his heart, something the spying creature had felt for a very long time, but not so strongly until now. For some time, the hope in the old dragon had been growing, and with it, the suspicions of the creature that now spied on them. Now, after what had been witnessed tonight, it knew exactly what it was that nurtured the old reptile’s hope.

  He has found the one, the one He searches for! The spy thought with glee and bewilderment, chills shivering over its clothed skin. The time has finally come.

  Suddenly, the dragon, which was many yards away in the distance, stopped and began sniffing the air. The pair of watching eyes shrank back behind the closest tree, and as the great reptile turned his head to look back, the eyes closed slowly, hiding their presence. Hroombra stared at the spot where the being had watched him for a long while, but after some time he gave up and turned back to the decrepit building he called home.

  The eyes opened once more and continued watching the dragon and the girl, the human girl. Yes, thought the creature as something crackled in its eyes, she has to be the one. The strange being smiled, a smile no one would ever see, a smile that some might call wicked. Protect her now Old One, but you can only hide her from me for so long. I’ll have my say in this and somehow, some way, I’ll get to her.

  With a cold, unnatural voice the creature whispered, “I will not make the same mistake twice.”

  The eyes closed for a second time, but this time they closed and withdrew behind the tree for good. The creature slid back into the woods, back into the heart of the Wreing Florenn to wait.

  -Chapter Twelve-

  Blue Flames and Draggish Words

  The weeks following the visit to the Castle Ruin were both fulfilling and frustrating in Jahrra’s opinion. First of all, it was thrilling to know the story of the Tanaan king and the missing prince, as tragic as it may be. It seemed like such a tantalizing tale, one that couldn’t possibly have happened but one that Hroombra insisted was in fact, true.

  Jahrra would spend the evenings by the great hearth in the Ruin’s common room, gazing at the flames and running an endless stream of questions through her head. How did the evil king turn the Tanaan into dragons? Did he use magic? Could the curse be broken, and if so, would the Tanaan dragons turn back into humans? Were any of those who were once human still alive? Would the castle return to what it once was if the curse was broken? Jahrra was dying to ask Hroombra, but every time she attempted to bring it up, he simply shook his head and told her he didn’t know.

  This was beyond frustrating, for she couldn’t tell if he was serious or just trying to dodge her questions. Over time, she found herself enduring her unbound curiosity in thoughtful silence, especially when the school year began winding down. Fortunately her preoccupation with the Tanaan legend kept her mind off of the daily torment she faced at school. Ignoring the twins was easier than ever when she had the mystery of the legend of Oescienne on her mind.

  This helped during actual school lessons as well. Jahrra took her education seriously, but not her educator. Tarnik’s method of teaching math was convoluted and confusing, his grammar lessons could bore a statue to tears, and when it came to Ethoen history and mythology, Jahrra often found herself tempted to launch her pen at him. He never got anything right, often obscuring facts or making heroes out to be twisted or idiotic. Jahrra usually went into daydream mode during his lectures, but one day his lesson was so outrageous she couldn’t even lose herself in her own thoughts.

  “I wish we didn’t have such an awful teacher,” Gieaun groaned as they streamed out of the stuffy classroom on their final day of school.

  “I know! Claiming dragons are mere figments of our imaginations!” Jahrra was simply flabbergasted and she had

  actually laughed out loud in class, earning her thirty minutes detention after school.

  “Maybe you should invite him over after school someday. I’m sure he’d love to meet Master Hroombra and discuss his theory.”

  Scede cast Jahrra an impish grin and she snorted. “Yeah, he’d think he was hallucinating!”

  Jahrra pursed up her face and stood rigid, speaking in a harsh, pinched voice that sounded remarkably like Tarnik’s, “I tell you, dragons are creatures invented by story tellers to add drama to their tales. You see, you see! I’m imagining one right now, do you see it?!”

  Jahrra jabbed her finger as if pointing to an imaginary Hroombra, towering over them at the Castle Guard Ruin.

  By the time they arrived at the stables to fetch their horses, Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede could barely walk from laughing so hard.

  “Ugh!” Jahrra cried, wiping away a few tears and taking on a more serious tone, “Sometimes I just wish he and the twins would disappear!”

  “Is that so, Nesnan?” asked a smug, cold voice from behind. “If anyone should disappear, it should be you.”

  The three of them turned quickly, fearing for a split second that Tarnik had actually been behind them.

  “What do you want?” Jahrra said distastefully when she recognized who it was.

  Eydeth just stood there and sneered silently. Three of his friends, all bigger, older boys, came walking over to stand just behind him, their arms crossed menacingly like a trio of body guards.

  “If you dislike us so much, why do you go to such trouble to follow us around?” Gieaun asked coolly, crossing her arms to match the thugs.

  “Nobody asked you!” Eydeth snapped ferociously, glaring both at Gieaun and Scede. “You should be ashamed of yourselves, both of you, for associating with this Nesnan!”

  Eydeth was obviously out of insults to throw, and Jahrra wasn’t in the mood to stand there and have him glare at them the rest of the afternoon. Summer vacation had started after all, and it wasn’t going to start out on a bad foot, not if she could help it. She took a deep breath and gave Eydeth her most menacing glare.

  “Look,” she said rather boldly, “if you’re just going to stand there and look stupid, then waste your time somewhere else. We’ve got a long ride home and the last thing we want to do is stick around here and look at your ugly face.”

  Gieaun and Scede had to turn away to hide their laughter, and even a few of the boys standing behind Eydeth found it hard to keep a straight face.

  Eydeth, however, turned vermillion with anger. “What’d you say to me?!” he spat with rage.

  “I said,” Jahrra answered slowly, as if speaking to a very small child, “I’ll be leaving now, so if you have anything else to say, then say it. But my guess is that your vocabulary isn’t large enough.”

  Jahrra crossed her arms aggressively, flung her braided hair over her shoulder wit
h a toss of her head, and stood up as tall as she could, a whole head taller than Eydeth.

  The group of boys moved in closer, and Eydeth looked like a volcano about to erupt as he stood there contemplating what he should do next. Jahrra took advantage of the stalemate, turning and continuing the short walk up to the stables, a snickering Gieaun and Scede on her tail.

  “Don’t you turn your back on me!” Eydeth screamed as he began walking briskly after them.

  Jahrra heard his approach, but she ignored it and kept on moving, her heart beginning to race. Just as Eydeth was closing in, she reached Phrym’s stable door. With one swift motion of her arm, she lifted the rope loop that kept the door shut, and Phrym came bursting out, driving Eydeth back. The tall semequin began swinging his head and stomping his heavy hooves on the ground, knocking Eydeth completely off of his feet.

  “AAAAGGGHHH!” he shouted as the young stallion pushed passed him, frightening off the other students.

  Eydeth’s friends scurried away from the agitated animal while Jahrra walked over to grab his halter. As soon as he sensed that Jahrra was no longer upset, Phrym began to calm down. She patted his cheek and whispered calming words to him, but Phrym never took his eyes off the boy who had been trying to hurt his friend. He snorted and drew his ears back in irritation.

  Once Eydeth saw that the semequin was no longer running amuck, he scrambled to his feet and began limping off. In a last ditch effort to insult Jahrra, he whipped his head around and shouted in a voice that broke more than once, “You’d better learn to control that stupid horse! It’s bound to get you into a lot of trouble some day!”

  Jahrra simply smiled and retorted, “He’s not a horse. He’s a semequin, and he would never get me into trouble.”

  Eydeth smiled smugly at this statement, barely masking his grimace of pain. “Ha! Where would a poor Nesnan like you get a semequin?!”

  He seemed amused by this and even straightened up a bit from his slumping posture. But as Eydeth began looking Phrym up and down, his maniacal grin crept away as he saw the truth in what Jahrra had said.

  Jahrra tossed her head and chirped, waggling the fingers of her free hand, “I got him from an imaginary dragon.”

  Eydeth’s smile disappeared completely. Whatever he might have wanted to say next, however, stayed unsaid. He turned and limped back towards the schoolhouse to wait with his sister for their carriage.

  “Jahrra! You shouldn’t have told him that!” Gieaun hissed.

  “Oh, don’t worry. If Eydeth believes the rubbish that Tarnik has been teaching us, and I’m sure he does, then he won’t believe what I said,” Jahrra answered briskly as she assessed Phrym, checking to make sure he hadn’t hurt himself while breaking free of his stall.

  “Jahrra, this is no joke! His father breeds semequins! He knows for sure that they’re hard to find and really expensive. He’ll make up some story of how you stole him!”

  Gieaun seemed to be getting overly anxious, and Jahrra began to have second thoughts about antagonizing her enemy. Maybe she should’ve just let Eydeth have the last word and leave it at that.

  “Hopefully he just thinks I’m crazy, like he always has. Come on, we need to get moving,” Jahrra answered.

  When she saw the look on her friend’s face, however, she said, “Oh, Gieaun, don’t worry so much!”

  As they rode through the schoolyard, Scede nodded at the pair of twins glaring menacingly at them. “No doubt he’s told his sister what happened,” he commented.

  “Yeah, and exaggerated it ten times worse than what actually did happen,” Jahrra sniffed, sitting taller in the saddle.

  By the time the three companions made it to the Castle Guard Ruin, the yellow glow of the daylight hours had faded into hues of washed-out indigo. Jahrra turned Phrym down the narrow path that led to the withered building and stopped, turning to her friends.

  “I’ll see you later, maybe tomorrow?” she asked.

  “Mother and father might need us to help out in the fields with the horses, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you joined us,” Scede offered.

  “I’ll see what Master Hroombra has planned. Goodbye!”

  They said their farewells and Jahrra jogged Phrym across the field to his stable. As she took off his saddle and rubbed him down, she talked with him as if he were Gieaun or Scede. “One more school year gone. I can’t believe it.”

  Phrym just whickered contentedly, nibbling at the oats in his trough. Jahrra looked off into the west and sighed. She wondered if next year would be any different. If the twins are still in school, then probably not, she thought ruefully.

  Jahrra finished up with Phrym and took her time walking back to the Ruin, the chirping of crickets and alarm calls of frightened birds accompanying her the entire way. She stepped through the small door of her home to find Hroombra crouched in front of the massive fireplace in the equally massive common room. She looked past him, a little surprised not to find him at his desk, and saw a large pile of logs stacked in the center of the stone fireplace. Jahrra looked up at her mentor, her brow furrowed.

  “Are you building a fire?” she asked, thinking of how ridiculous the idea was on this warm evening.

  “Yes, I am,” was Hroombra’s simple reply.

  Jahrra sighed, knowing out of experience that he wasn’t about to explain. “And why are you building a fire? It’s the beginning of summer.”

  Just as Jahrra was beginning to think that her guardian had lost it, he smiled brightly, eyes glittering. “This will be no ordinary fire,” he said.

  Jahrra was growing frustrated with Hroombra’s lack of information, so she threw her hands up and exclaimed, “Alright, what do you have planned now?”

  His grin deepened as he chanted, “This fire will be neither hot nor cool, and it will neither burn nor freeze.”

  Jahrra was flabbergasted. What kind of a fire could freeze? she thought with a befuddled look on her face.

  Hroombra stood and walked over to the fireplace. He took a short breath and quickly exhaled, blowing a vibrant ball of red flame onto the pile of wood. The dry timber caught fire immediately, crackling and sparking aggressively, but the red flames soon turned to a blue-violet color, and they began rippling like water.

  Jahrra was no longer confused, but intrigued. She slowly walked over to look at the strange flames, reaching out a hand to see if it felt hot, but there was no sensation of heat whatsoever.

  “Go ahead and brush your fingers through it, it won’t burn you.”

  Jahrra looked up at Hroombra and saw the truth of that statement in his honest eyes. He nodded his great head, so she quickly trailed her hand through one of the ripples. The effect was nothing more than that of a tiny puff of wind passing through smoke. Jahrra pulled her hand back and looked at it. No mark had been made, and she didn’t feel a thing. It felt just as it would if she were waving goodbye to her friends.

  “What is this?” she asked in wonder, still staring at her hand.

  “It’s ancient magic, long banished by the Tyrant King. The wood is ordinary, but the herb used to light the fire and the words I spoke over it earlier are magical. I have much of the plant stored away, but I only use it on special occasions since it is near impossible to come by these days.”

  Jahrra thought of the locked room in the back of the building and suddenly wondered what else might be hidden in there.

  Hroombra reached his great foreleg out and passed his own hand over the flame, leaving it there for several seconds. His claws began to glow the same color as the fire, and Jahrra became worried. “Master Hroombra,” she began anxiously.

  “Don’t fret, you’ll see.” he answered before she could continue.

  He left his massive hand there for awhile longer, and then pulled it out slowly, his glowing claws leaving a trail of hazy blue smoke as they cut across the space between the fire and the floor. He then pulled his toes in and began to draw something on the ancient stone floor w
ith the claw of his forefinger.

  Jahrra watched carefully, the blue light of the fire and weak yellow flames of the few lit candles throughout the large room casting strange shadows on Hroombra’s stern face. The old dragon looked to be writing something, and when he was finished, the marks glowed blue-violet upon the floor. Jahrra stared at the characters, which looked oddly familiar.

  “What does that say, Master Hroombra?” she whispered as a log crashed behind her, sending indigo sparks flying through the enchanted air.

  “It says Kruledth, edth chormiehn epit edth Krueldhnen, and in the common tongue, Kruelt, the language of the Dragons.”

  Jahrra looked even more perplexed than before, blinking up at Hroombra like a dazed bird.

  “It’s time, young Jahrra, that you begin learning the language of the ancients, the language of the dragons.”

  Jahrra returned her gaze to the glowing letters. “Is this the language you spoke of when we went to see the castle a few months ago?” she asked.

  “Yes, it is.” Hroombra looked down at the child with serious eyes and took a breath. “I’ve found a few empty books for you to copy down the characters in, so tonight I’ll write out the Kruelt alphabet for you, and you are to copy it down. During the summer you’ll take out this alphabet and practice it each night. When you have learned the alphabet and can read it confidently, you’ll begin to learn the words of the dragons.”

  Hroombra had been pacing back and forth as he said this, and when he stopped, he turned his head and looked down at Jahrra once more. She appeared to be slightly overwhelmed, but set her mouth in a determined manner just the same.

  “Another thing you must know Jahrra, is that this language has been forbidden by the Crimson King of the east, and you must never tell anyone about it, not even Gieaun and Scede. You must promise me that.”

  The glance that Jahrra received from her mentor was a most serious one, and she nodded heartily. Hroombra didn’t often ask her to keep secrets, so she knew that she must keep this one.

  “Very well, let us begin. I’ll first start with the capital letters, and tell you what each one corresponds with in the common alphabet. The characters will remain glowing upon the floor as long as the fire burns, so take your time in copying them properly.”

  Jahrra grabbed one of the empty books and a quill and inkwell and slowly began to copy down the strange letters that glowed before her eyes. For the next few hours, Hroombra reached into the fire and pulled its magic into his sharp claws. He carefully wrote each letter, telling Jahrra what it stood for. He insisted that she write it down several times on one line and go back later to make a single list. By the time they reached the lowercase characters, Jahrra’s fingers were stained black and her hand was cramping up.

  Finally, after what seemed like ages, she had the entire alphabet, upper and lower case, copied down. Hroombra, who’d been watching her aptly, faced the fire and blew red flames upon the violet ones. The two colors melded in a beautiful dance, and soon the violet fire completely dissipated as a natural orange fire took over, taking the glowing characters with it. Jahrra was sad to see the strange fire go, but equally glad that her writing was over.

  “Now,” Hroombra said suddenly, allowing the wood to burn its natural way, “it’s time for you to learn the story behind this language.”

  He invited Jahrra to make herself comfortable and then he began, “The language that you are about to learn is called Kruelt, or Draggish.”

  The old dragon had Jahrra repeat the words a few times both for pronunciation purposes as well as for memory purposes.

  “The Kruelt language is the ancient language of the dragons. As you well know from what I’ve taught you, there are separate races of dragons, just as there are separate races of elves and other creatures of Ethoes. Dragons call their races “kruels”.

  “Now each kruel of dragons that has the ability to speak has its own dialect, but they’re not so different that one cannot understand another dragon from a different kruel than their own. A long, long time ago, only dragons spoke Kruelt. There were other races in existence, but they spoke their own languages. The elves spoke Elvish, the dwarves, Dwarvish, the Aandhoulis spoke Aandhoulin, the Nephaari, Nephaarye, and so on and so forth.

  “But when Ethoes created her final race, the humans, she gave them no language and gave the dragons the responsibility to look after them, so naturally we taught them our way of speech. Each tribe of humans picked up the dialect of the group of dragons that taught them. You’ll be learning the Tanaan dialect of Kruelt, because my kruel of dragons, the Korli, were responsible for the Tanaan race.”

  Hroombra paused to make sure Jahrra was following, continuing only when he saw that her eyes were wide with curiosity.

  “The interesting thing about Kruelt, or Draggish as I have mentioned, is that true Kruelt can only be pronounced by a dragon. The humans however, created their own dialect using the same words and emphasizing the same syllables. The only difference was that their tongues couldn’t handle certain accents, so they sounded slightly different from the dragons who taught them. If you keep to your lessons of this language, then eventually you’ll be able to read the writing on the walls of the Castle Ruin.”

  Hroombra looked down at Jahrra and was glad to see she was still paying attention.

  “Do you have any questions?” he asked delicately.

  “I do have one question,” she began hesitantly.

  “Go on,” Hroombra encouraged.

  “I was just wondering, not that I don’t want to learn Kruelt or anything, but why is it important that I learn it? I’m Nesnan, and everyone else speaks the common language here, so why learn a language that’s forbidden?”

  The old dragon smiled broadly. Jahrra wasn’t trying to be insulting or insolent; she simply didn’t see the importance of this. And of course she doesn’t, Hroombra thought quietly. But someday she will.

  He took a deep breath, exhaled and said, “That’s a very good question Jahrra, and I have a very good answer. First of all, I’m a dragon, and I speak Kruelt, and I’d like to be able to communicate with you in my native language. It’s been far too long since I’ve had that pleasure.

  “Secondly, I’d like you to be able to read the many ancient documents and paintings in this old place. I know that as time goes by you’ll have many questions about the history of Ethoes, and I’ll be too busy to answer your questions. Fortunately, everything you need to know is written down in my scrolls and documents, only it’s all in Draggish. So as you can see Jahrra, you’re learning Kruelt because it will someday be convenient for me.”

  He smiled again, and Jahrra realized that he was teasing her.

  “Oh, I don’t mind learning Draggish, I was only wondering,” she said nonchalantly, smiling back.

  “I know you were young one, I know. But remember, you mustn’t tell anyone about this. I cannot stress enough how important it is that this remain a secret.”

  Jahrra nodded soberly, promising once again to keep the secret between the two of them. If she was being completely honest with herself, the idea of learning a secret language no one else knew was both intriguing and quite appealing. Perhaps all those questions she had about the story of the Tanaan would be answered after all . . .

  Hroombra yawned widely and stretched both his useless wings. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired. We’re done for the evening, but tomorrow night we’ll start practicing writing common words in the Krueltish alphabet. You’ll start by writing lines of letters.”

  Jahrra groaned as she flexed her ink-stained hand, surprised to feel that it no longer felt tired.

  “I’m off to bed. Will you be staying up much longer?”

  “Oh,” Jahrra answered, forgetting about her hand, “only for a bit longer, I want to re-write the characters more neatly and next to the common alphabet in one column. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  As Jahrra plopped down on her stomach
by the fire with her feet dangling in the air, her full concentration on writing the characters down properly, Hroombra couldn’t help but feel a sense of joy in his heart. She was so eager to learn, so happy to listen to him. How long will it last? he thought ruefully. How long until she grows tired of my stories and no longer wants an old dragon around?

  Hroombra sighed and tried to shake off his morose thoughts. Jahrra isn’t like that. She would never shut me out, he thought, sorrow clenching his heart. But she’s so much like, like him, like he was at that age. She’s full of spirit and curiosity, just like he was. She’s intelligent and strong, just like he was. He looked at Jahrra one more time, humming softly and writing down her characters. No, he convinced himself, she’ll persevere; she’ll not succumb to the horrors of this world.

  All Hroombra could count on was to do his best in guiding her towards her destiny and keeping her happy today. Beyond that he couldn’t know, he could only hope.

  He yawned once more and peered down at Jahrra’s fresh writing, the still wet ink glistening in the light of the dimming fire. It did him good to see the old language written by a human again, even if it was only one. As long as I’m here with her, she’ll be alright. She’ll be safe. Hroombra rested his head beside the glowing fire, content in knowing that Jahrra was protected for now, and drifted off to sleep.