Dragon Orb (Dragons of Daegonlot, Book One)

by Shanlynn Walker

  ~Rick Warren

  History Lesson

  Daxon followed him through the great room where they sometimes held great celebrations or gatherings. Borl took a torch from its holder, lit it, and led him down long, curving steps to the deep, underground cavern that held much of their ale and wine stores, then even deeper to the cavern carved right out of the ground that held meat, cheese, and other provisions. Holding the torch out in front of him, he proceeded to the furthest corner of the room, handed the torch to Dax, then put his burly shoulder against the closest barrel filled with pickled vegetables and pushed. His face turned red with the strain, but the barrel finally moved two, then four, and, finally, six inches towards the corner and Dax heard a faint, but audible click as it engaged a hidden mechanism.

  To his astonishment the floor between the barrel and the corner wall dropped out of sight and revealed a small, circular stone staircase that looked like it went deep underground. Borl took the torch from Dax, glanced warily down the dark hole for a moment, and then looked back at Dax. There was sadness in his eyes that Dax had never seen there before, a sadness that made him look older than his years, but there was also something else, something not easily identified. Defiance, perhaps? Resignation?

  Borl started down the stairs slowly. It was difficult to move quickly because the staircase was not very wide, two men could not walk together but would have to go single file as they were now, and it curved tightly in upon itself so that it seemed to Dax they were simply walking a deep spiral into the earth itself. After an immeasurable amount of time spent trying to see the bottom of the seemingly endless pit they were descending into, Dax finally saw Borl step off the staircase into a small, square room that seemed to be carved out of packed earth and supported with natural rock columns and old, wooden timbers. To the left was a doorway into what looked like another underground room, only this one had a soft glow coming from it as if there was a fire burning in a hearth.

  Borl led him through the doorway. Dax couldn’t believe his eyes.

  What Dax thought was another room was actually a large underground cavern. In the center was a pool of water so clear and pristine Dax could see the small, translucent bottom feeding fish darting about between rocks and crevices, feeding on particles too small for his naked eyes to see. Looking further from shore, Dax saw larger fish, some with colors he had no name for and so breathtakingly beautiful he felt he should look away so as not to sully them with his memories of the suddenly dull seeming world above. The colors he had always known and thought were so splendid seemed a mere reflection of what that color truly was, what it was truly meant to be, but he would never have noticed it had he not seen the ‘true’ colors here in this wondrous room.

  In the very center of the lake, far from where he stood, Dax could make out a glowing globe of constantly changing ‘true’ colors floating slightly above a small island in the middle of the little lake. The globe pulsed and writhed with the constantly changing colors. As he watched, the globe emitted a small spark that hit the water and rippled across the surface, turning the placid surface into a vibrant prism that raced away on all sides, hit the shore, and continued on the land. He watched as it reached his boots and traveled up his body, and suddenly he felt like he had the crackling energy of a bright storm contained within his skin. Every part of him felt alive and rejuvenated, and, somehow, he felt like he was more now than he had been just a minute ago.

  Breathing in deeply it seemed even the air seemed to be more… complete? Not exactly more complete, he thought, just more anchored in reality. More solid. More permanent. Looking back at the globe still writhing and pulsing he asked Borl, “What is this place?”

  When the other man didn’t answer immediately Dax turned to look at him and his eyes widened in shock. Borl looked the same, but so much more. His eyes, normally a lively gray color, were now a clear ‘true’ gray that made it look like he had a small, but powerful bright storm trapped within them. Those eyes were regarding him with a combination of fear, shock, and surprise.

  “What?” Dax asked, “What is it?” Borl shook his head and blinked his eyes. “I’m not sure,” he said, “probably nothing, just a trick of the light. For a moment there I thought…” he trailed off. Dax raised his eyebrows questioningly, but the moment passed and Borl said no more about it.

  “So what is this place? And what does it have to do with dragons?” Dax asked again when it was clear Borl was not going to elaborate on what it was he thought he had seen.

  “To answer that, I must first tell you some history about dragons and riders,” Borl began. “Humans were the first of the humanoid races to bond with a dragon,” he started, “Jessa Dragonheart, as she came to be known…”

  Dax waved his hand impatiently. “I’ve heard this story,” he said, “Every child is raised hearing about the great Jessa Dragonheart.” Borl shook his head, silencing Dax. “You’ve only heard the story as it’s told today. What I’m going to tell you is the true story, the story no one else knows except for Sikir and me.” Dax regarded him doubtfully a moment, then asked, “Why would you and Sikir know a truth no other does?”

  “Because we found the truth in this very room,” he said, waving his hand around to encompass their surroundings. He beckoned for Dax to follow him and walked over to the eastern wall. He put the torch in a bracket affixed to the cavern wall and pulled back an old blanket and some burlap sacks stacked against the wall to reveal a small iron-bound wooden chest. It was unlocked. The hinges protested loudly as Borl, grunting, forced the lid open.

  Inside was an old, leather-bound tome with the words Dragon Magic scrawled across the top. Dax reached in and picked it up gently. The book was so old the pages were crinkled and stained with age, and the edges of some had already disintegrated slightly. Awed to be holding something so incredibly old, he asked Borl in a small, shaky voice, “What is this? Who wrote it?” Borl didn’t answer but gestured to the book he held in his hands as if he wanted Dax to open it.

  Carefully, so as not to tear any of the pages, he opened the book to the first page and read:

  January 9, 2010

  The world gets crazier and more desperate every day. Every time I see a newspaper there are news stories too shocking to comprehend. People are killing each other in their desperation to escape from poverty. Unemployment is high, resources scarce to those who cannot afford them. Parents are even killing their children, saying it is more merciful for them to die than to face this world of greed and corruption. How did we end up like this?

  Even here, in the middle of the mountains of eastern Kentucky, I can feel the effects. It’s becoming harder and harder to avoid hunters trying to find something to eat in the last place they can. While trying to avoid detection today I found this small cave located behind a small waterfall of mountain spring water. There is a tiny pool at the bottom of the falls that seems to still have some small fish in it, and the falls itself seems to be, as yet, undiscovered by anyone else. I think I will try to hole up here for as long as I can. There is plenty of fresh water, the small pond, and I may even set out some simple snares for rabbits or squirrels. If I’m lucky, I should be able to stay for at least a few months.

  Dax glanced up from reading and asked, “What’s a January? Or a newspaper?” Borl spread his hands and shrugged; clearly he didn’t know. “There is much contained in the writings we don’t understand,” he said. “I think the January line is a date, although it doesn’t seem like any date I’ve ever seen before. Of course we know what mountains are, but no one has ever heard of a place called ‘Kentucky’ before. If you keep reading, some things become clearer. I think you have about half an hour left to be able to read, unless another ripple comes before that…” he trailed off and looked across the lake at the swirling globe suspended above its little island.

  “What do you mean?” Dax asked, looking at Borl with a perplexed expression on his face.

  “You cannot read the book outside of this cavern,” he start
ed, “It’s not the cavern itself, it’s the spark that comes from the globe out there” and he waved his hand toward the lake. “The spark can only reach this room. When its effects wear off you will not even be able to read the book, the writing looks foreign, like nothing we have ever seen before. The effects seem to last for about an hour or so, and during that time it may drop another spark, which will prolong the effects even more. But, eventually, they will wear off and you will see what is written in that book is no kind of language you recognize or should be able to read. Somehow, the dragon globe makes it so we can understand it, even if for just a little while.”

  “Dragon globe?” Dax asked. He turned and looked at the swirling globe of intertwining colors. “Why do you call it that?”

  “Read for now,” he replied, “We can speak more later.” He started walking towards the doorway, then paused and looked back at Daxon. For a moment it looked as if he would say something else, but instead he turned and walked out the door.

  Dax looked back down at the journal in his hands. He sat down on the stack of burlap sacks with his back against the cavern wall and read the next passage:

  Janaury 15, 2010

  I have never kept a journal before and I find that I’m not yet used to the habit. I forget to write in here more often than not. It’s been almost a week since the last time.

  I’ve been able to stay at the waterfall and as of yet I haven’t seen another person. I’m sure this land belongs to someone, but like most properties around here, they are mostly mountainous and rugged and I doubt the owner has explored all of it. I doubt if the owner did find me here anything would happen other than they would ask me to leave, but I grow weary of civilization if you can even call it that anymore. I haven’t seen a newspaper in over a week now, but I prefer that. It’s not that I’m unsympathetic to the plights of others, but I couldn’t stop it from happening to myself, much less anyone else.

  It’s funny to me now, back in Kentucky, the state I wanted so badly to get out of when I was younger, away from my family, the father who insisted on teaching me how to hunt, set snares, fish, and basic survival skills. Away from my mother, that hard woman who insisted I also learn to cook, clean, iron, mend clothes, and sew. Both dead now and it’s crazy how much I miss them and ironic that it’s the skills they taught me that are now keeping me alive and not anything I learned in college.

  I wish I could thank them. I wish I could go back to the past and change the way I treated them, the scorn and anger, the determination that I was better than they were and I would amount to so much more, that I would never be content to live in some little podunk town in nowhere, Kentucky. Since I can’t change the past, I will say it here, what I should have said then; I love you Mom and Dad. Thank you for all you taught me, and all you tried to teach me that I refused to learn.

  Dax felt like he was intruding on an intimate moment. He shuffled through the next few pages, skimming over them. Most were filled with more memories and regrets or passages of what was in the snares and traps the writer had set. He was beginning to wonder the purpose behind Borl wanting him to read this when another passage caught his eye:

  May 20th, 2010

  Hard to believe I have been here for four months. I thought for sure the game would become scarce and the fish be gone by now, but it seems as plentiful as it did when I first got here. And, that’s not the only strange thing I’ve noticed. I went exploring yesterday evening, further from my cave than I normally go, when I heard people talking. I hid behind the trunk of a pine tree and was just going to slip away back to the waterfall when I realized how badly I wanted to hear what they were saying. I wanted to hear words, people talking, a language I recognized coming from someone else’s lips. I must be lonelier than I thought.

  Anyway, they were speaking of tracking a stag through the woods. It was starting to get dark and they wanted to find it before night fell and they lost the track. When they mentioned the deer, I looked around to see if I could see any sign of it. Then men were carrying bows (of course, it’s not deer season and they wouldn’t want to get caught poaching) when I looked to the left of where I hid listening to them I saw a small drop of blood on a leaf and, following it, I saw the stag lying not more than twenty feet from where I hid and surely no more than ten feet from the hunters. I watched them scan the ground and one even looked directly at the stag’s hiding place, which was nothing more than a scruffy bush and tall grass, without seeing it. Finally, one of the hunters took a step toward it, but immediately stepped back, a look of unease passing across his face. I heard him mumble something to his partner, and then they both walked off away from the deer, still scanning the ground looking for signs of its passing.

  I couldn’t believe my luck! I walked over to the stag, but as I approached I saw that it was still alive. It had an arrow sticking out of its flank and it had lost a lot of blood. It struggled to its feet and bounded off toward the waterfall. That was fine with me, I was going that way too, and I knew it wouldn’t be too much longer before it became too weak to continue and would have to stop and rest again. I hurried back to my cave thinking of eating something other than fish or rodent (which I consider rabbits and squirrels).

  I followed the stag’s tracks and couldn’t believe my continued luck when it seemed to be heading directly for my cave. I stepped out of the woods into the small clearing in front of the cave hidden by the waterfall and saw the stag drinking deeply from the small pool at the bottom of the falls. It raised its head and looked at me calmly, watching me approach. It didn’t seem frightened at all, which I thought was a good thing since I didn’t have any weapons that I could use to bring a full grown deer down with, but I did have a knife I could finish the stag off with and use to skin it.

  When I got within ten feet or so of the deer it occurred to me the deer should have tried to run off, but I assumed it didn’t because it was injured. This was not the case. The deer was no longer injured, and as crazy as it sounds, I could have sworn it spoke to me. Not exactly in words, but it clearly communicated a feeling of excitement and vitality at me before launching itself over my head, implementing a series of skipping leaps (I think it was showing off) and disappearing into the forest.

  I almost convinced myself it wasn’t the same deer, but it had to have been. The trail led directly to where I saw the stag drinking. That can only mean he was healed after drinking from the pond. I need to investigate this further.

  Dax looked up at the dragon globe still hovering above its little island just as another spark fell and hit the water, once again sending out prismatic ripples in the water. He looked back down at the journal in his hands before it reached him and saw the words start to blur and break apart into exotically foreign designs. Then the spark reached his feet and shot up through him again, making the words once again come into focus and make sense.

  Understanding now what Borl had been talking about, Dax skimmed over the next few passages. Evidently the writer came to believe the small pool and waterfall had some sort of magical properties. She became determined to find out where the water came from and started searching for its source. After many fruitless searches and countless theories, she tried a new idea and jumped into the pool.

  July 4th, 2010

  I gave up searching for the source of the small pool of water. I followed the small stream about a mile back into the forest where it joined a larger stream. From there it branched out into about five or six different small streams, each going its own way. This one was just one of the six.

  However, I did decide to soak in the small pool upon my return. It’s so hot I could think of little else but rinsing the sweat from my body. I undressed and splashed into the pool and to my surprise; I walked right off a small underwater cliff into water well over my head. Fortunately I’m a good swimmer. It was already getting dark by the time I realized the pool was actually much deeper than I had originally thought, and definitely deeper than it looks from the shore. The water felt wonderful, cool and
refreshing, and by the time I got out I felt rejuvenated. My back and feet no longer hurt, and even small, minor aches I hadn’t even noticed until they were no longer there, were gone.

  Right before the sun dropped behind the western mountains, I thought I saw a small underwater cavern. I may try to explore it tomorrow although I’m a little hesitant to run into anything underwater that may live in the little cave, but so far I’ve not seen anything except fish, snails, and crawdads in the water.

  Dax continued skimming through the journal entries quickly, a sense of urgency driving him to turn the pages as quickly as possible without missing anything important. The writer of the journal did find the courage to explore the underwater cavern, but it took at least four or five trips it seemed to Dax for them to finally discover that it led back under the mountain with small pockets of air where they could surface to breathe. The writer would take something called a water-proof ‘flashlight’ and swim as far as they thought they could while still having enough air to return. If, during that time, they found a pocket of air, they would stop, catch their breath, and repeat the process. In this way they made their slow, but dedicated way further and further under the mountain until they reached a large underground river. At this point, Dax slowed and read exactly what was written:

  September 15th, 2010

  It has taken me months to reach this destination, wherever it is. Words simply can’t do it justice. I would never have thought there would be such a beautiful place under the mountains.

  After following the underground tunnel for what seemed like forever, I finally emerged into a huge underground cavern right in the heart of the mountain itself. It’s almost like the mountain is actually hollow although I can’t see how that could be true. But, I digress…

  The water pools here in this very spot, but it’s not the freezing dark water that I’ve been traversing for the past eternity. Instead, it’s warm to the touch and ruby red in color, a rich, deep, vibrant ruby red that I have never before seen or even imagined possible. If there really is such a thing as the blood of the mountain then this must surely be it. There is an entire lake of this water and within its depths I can see the most alien creatures swimming, some of them intimidating enough that I do not venture far from the shore.

  The water is not the only thing that is wondrous here. Above the water it looks like there is an open sky full of countless stars, only instead of small white or yellow pinpricks of light, the stars that fly in this sky are blue, purple, and crimson in color. I have no idea what it can be, I know for a fact I am underneath the mountain and there is no way that is the sky I’m seeing, but it is truly beautiful.

  I need to rest. During my trip the water within the tunnel kept me rejuvenated, but now that I’m not within its grasp I am very tired and cold, although still not sore. I noticed a shallow cave carved into the side of the wall when I entered this huge cavern. I think I will retreat to it until I know what else calls this place home and get some rest.

  Dax looked around the cavern he was currently standing in and wondered if it was the same cavern the author of the journal had written about. It seemed unlikely, the water here, although clear, was not the vibrant red described in the journal passage.

  Not knowing how much longer he would be able to read the journal, Dax looked back down and flipped the page but just as he did the writing started to blur and rearrange itself into unknown symbols. Frustrated, he replaced the book back in the box from which Borl had taken it and closed the lid. The book hadn’t answered any of the questions he had asked, if anything, it made him think of a few more questions he would like to ask.

  He started replacing the burlap sacks over the chest and removed the torch from the bracket. He took one last long look at the swirling globe, sighing at the thought of returning to the world above that now seemed so drab and its colors shabby and faded. Finally, he turned and started toward the exit.

  Just as he reached the doorway he suddenly felt as though he were not alone in the cavern anymore. He glanced over his shoulder, slowly turning and taking in every visible nook. He walked back into the room and along the shore of the water’s edge, shining the torch’s light onto everything it could reach. He didn’t see anything. Still, he was sure he was no longer alone, and in fact, was sure he had not been alone the entire time. It seemed as though whatever was in the room with him had suddenly wanted him to know it was there whereas before it did not.

  Letting his eyes skim briefly over the walls, water, and ceiling of the cavern once more, and still not finding anything, Dax turned once again to leave and nearly ran into the strangest looking (dragon?) creature he had ever seen.

  It was a little over four feet tall at its shoulder, but its neck was long and sinuous, with a small, somewhat delicate head perched on top that resembled a dragon’s head. Brilliant purple scales covered its body from head to tail, which was also long and tipped with dagger length spikes of blackest onyx. The eyes regarding Daxon seemed made of amethyst fire and lacked any discernible pupil. More curious than afraid, Daxon blurted out, “What are you?”

  For the tiniest fraction of a second Dax was sure he saw a small spark of fiery red appear in the amethyst eyes before the creature dipped its head in a ridiculous rendition of a bow. I am a dragon, of course, it said, just not the same kind you are used to seeing above-ground. I am called Riiele and this is my cavern.

  Chapter 4

  I had crossed the line. I was free; but there was no one to welcome me to the land of freedom. I was a stranger in a strange land.