Zelspar and the Magicians

by Cheryl Rush Cowperthwait

  His mind raced, matching his heartbeats. What if I get trapped in here? No one knows I’m even in here. His lips turned down in thought, No one is supposed to venture on the mountain. It has been deemed ‘unsafe’ for as long as any could remember. Why? Everyone he’d asked had different opinions. Some stated it was prone to collapse without notice, others said it had fire within that could shoot up through the fissures at the top. He leaned in against the wall trying to decide what to do next.

  The light beamed in front of him. The walls receded exposing a gradual widening of the tunnel before its path curved out of vision. He was trapped by his own indecision and on the verge of a full-blown anxiety attack. It’s mom’s fault, his mind accused. She once told me I had a twin and his curious ways trapped him inside this mountain, never to be seen again. He shook his head at the memory, of course she had winked and laughed afterwards, but still he carried the thought. He gritted his teeth and rolled his shoulders, then headed towards the tunnel’s curve. I’ll only go as far as the curve, just to see what it shows...

  No longer having to crawl, he walked hunched over, his flashlight beam bouncing in a trembling hand. Tiny beads of perspiration formed above his brow and on the sprouting hairs above his lip. He approached the curve, his heart slamming against his ribcage so loud, he felt it in his eardrums. He thrust his beam around the curve and slowly peered around the wall, coming face to face with disappointment. Another dead end. The passageway was sealed off from a cave-in. Swearing under his breath, he went to investigate. He touched the obstruction.

  Frustration flooded him as he leaned his back against the new wall. His foot kicked behind him. A rumbling sound hit right before the wall caved and tossed him face-first to the ground, his flashlight spinning out in front of him. He clamored forward and grabbed the light. Flashing it at the cave-in, he tried he look through the dirt fog it had created. He inched forward on hands and knees. His hand rolled over a smooth rounded surface that caused him to stop. Shining the light down, he picked up the object. Bone!

  His body shuddered as he flung it down, his flashlight’s beam playing across the ground in front of him. Mounds of whitened bones had spilled out from the shift of the caved-in wall. Suddenly a deep resonating voice hammered his brain. You should not be here. He crawled quickly towards the exit which tore at his shirt and hands, leaving his palms scratched and bloodied. He choked on the dust he stirred up, making his eyes tear as they tried to wash it away.

  He didn’t slow down as he reached the cave entrance. He slid out the opening and down the loose rocks forming the mountain’s side. He didn’t stop running until he reached his house. He plunged headfirst through his open window and landed squarely onto his bed, his heart hammering a mile a minute. Bones…he thought. Lots and lots of bones! It took him hours before he had calmed down enough to fall into a fitful sleep. He was plagued with all the frightful images his mind dredged up.

  Down in the deep, in the very bottom of the mountain’s hold, one yellow eye opened, staring up from his chamber. Something has entered my domain. His nostrils flared, picking up the scent. Human...A long, thick tale swished in agitation. It was not long before he felt the vibrations of one of his shored-up walls tumbled down. He sent out the warning and waited. Before long, the scent of the human faded away. Male, he thought as his snout twitched. Slowly, he allowed his eyes to close. His last thought before sleep found him again was to alert Naomi of the new intrusion. Perhaps it was one of her listeners?

  A soft humming danced through the house. Ms. Lenonne stepped lightly as she gathered up her books and refreshments to bustle out to the oak tree. She took a deep breath, emerald eyes sparking, and gave her silent thanks for another boundless day of beauty and delight. All days are… she acknowledged with a smile. If you look at it with the right attitude!

  The clinking of ice-cubes swirled against the tall glass pitcher of lemonade. Moisture was already dripped down its side. She set out the refreshments and pulled out her silken fan from her apron pocket, fanning away the perspiration from her walk. Whew, she thought as she caught her breath before cheerfully heading up the incline to bring down the rest.

  She placed her books down and whipped the quilt up into the air allowing it to billow before softly nestling upon the grass. She stood with her legs apart and hands perched on her hips. She thought, it’s going to be a wonderful day. The day had a way of listening to her and conspiring to do as she desired, and so the wonders of the day never escaped her unnoticed.

  Soon now, she thought, eyes flashing their gemstone green, they will arrive again. Curious eyes and minds, listening to the stories, searching for hidden memories. Surely, there will be one. Maybe two! She grinned as her eyes watched down the hill, waiting for the first glimpse of her arrivals.

  The first one to start up the hill was Sandy, with Natalie firmly clasped in her hand. Then she spotted Tad, Landon, and Noel, who had just rounded the corner. Finally, Forrest made it to the hill. Splendid! These are the ones who always return. So many have come but lost interest. Many of them not enjoying the Tales of Dragons. She shook her head of curls. Not enjoy Dragons? She chuckled at such a preposterous thought.

  She sat upon the charming quilt stitched together with the images of knights, fair ladies and, most importantly, Dragons. A soft smile graced her face. Each new Teller of the Tales was gifted their quilt from a previous Teller whom, after their retirement, spent golden hours creating a memory quilt of their own storytelling days. Ms. Lenonne had already begun hers. Mine will surely be large as I’ve so much to depict from the stories I tell.

  The listeners scrambled about and snapped up cookies and drinks in a fury of robust energy only given to the young. Ms. L. waited patiently as all found a place and their conversations dwindled to a dull rumble, broken here and there by the nibbling of cookies.

  “Ms. Lenonne, Dragons are only myths, aren’t they?” Noel inquired.

  As her head snapped up from the book, she noticed he wore a more solemn look than usual. Her eyes squinted as she looked at the telltale signs he displayed: slightly slumped and rounded shoulders, the lack of dazzle in his eyes…Yes, yes, she thought, someone had pulled the rug out from under him. Cautious now, dear girl, don’t shake the ground beneath him.

  “Noel, there are many notions and beliefs in this world, and some would say that without evidence, a belief is a falsehood.” She shrugged with pursed lips. “But for me, they are not myths. If I never saw one zoom through the air, it wouldn’t change my belief. I might give you many examples of things we do not see yet believe, but in the end, the heart chooses as it feels is right. I do not doubt because I read from the book which recorded the life and events of Dragons. How could I doubt?”

  “But, how do you know it was written by a Dragon -- by this Wyrtregon?” His brows had furrowed close together and her heart felt his pain.

  She winked. “When you believe in something, it fills the whole space where there is no room for the enormity of ‘doubt’ to wriggle into the same place. I would ask, where do myths come from? Yes? Anyone know?” She asked, looking from one to the next, being met with shrugged shoulders and negative nods. “They, the myths, all started somewhere, right? I had often thought of the so-called myths of today and realized that each must have had an original story.”

  “Take this lemonade for example. If I were to pour from only one glass of it, but all of you wanted a full glass from mine, I would pour some into your glass and add some water. The more I shared, the more water I would have to add until, at last, if you were to drink it, it would only contain a hint of the lemon that went into making the lemonade. Does that mean the pitcher of lemonade never existed, or that your glass had become too watered down?”

  She watched as tiny light bulbs flashed in their eyes. She softly smiled, continuing by saying, “Now, my darlings, you have all come to hear this Teller of Tales tell stories. I don’t ask you to accept them as true, nor to change what you believe, but simply to enjoy the stories and
allow your minds the exhilaration of flight. To wonder of different times and various worlds. To be transported, so to speak. Who is ready to hear more about the battle of Magic between Perthorn, Kiel and Zelspar against the Dark Magician?” Arms flew into the air as their faces ignited with curiosity. “Very well, here is the spot we had left off last time.”

  Her eyes grew mysterious as she looked into each face before, then cast her eyes down to the ancient text. She recounted the story in incredible detail, pausing at each dramatic moment and gasping at others. The listeners were enthralled and the quilt they sat upon could have very easily been a magic carpet because they indeed flew from their current location to worlds of long ago.

  She had not noticed, but Forrest had looked away from her telling of the stories. He leaned against the same towering oak he had always sat beneath, but today his mind wandered a different path. He burned with an inextinguishable desire to know about the secrets in the mountain that happened to butt-up against Ms. Lenonne’s towering house. Why isn’t she afraid to live so close to the mountain everyone says is dangerous? And to live alone in such an old house? I would think she we old be scared out of her wits! Funny, every time I see her, she looks like she’s had the best night ever.

  He scratched at his locks of golden-brown hair and once again turned his gaze upon the storyteller. He thought, I wonder what she would say if I asked her about her thoughts of the mountain? What would she say about the bones I saw? Would she be scared? Would I get in trouble? Would she tell my parents? I have to tell someone or I’m going to implode! His mind continued to layer question over question, but his answers were few.

  The afternoon disappeared as quickly as it always did when filled with exciting stories and flights of the imagination. Soon, the listeners and the Teller of Tales were standing, brushing away the recent images of Dragons and Magic, and talked excitedly. Forrest joined and placed his glass down on the silver tray next to the empty pitcher of lemonade. He hung back as the others said their goodbyes.

  Ms. Lenonne had her back to him, watching as the youngsters--she called all people under the age of thirty, youngsters--as they raced down the hill.

  Without turning, she asked, “What is troubling you, Forrest?” She noticed as she turned that he jumped. He acted as though she had eyes in the back of her head and gave an involuntary shudder.

  “Um, I was wondering what you knew about this mountain? People say it is dangerous and not to step foot on it, but you live right next to it. Aren’t you scared?”

  “Oh, Forrest, you get to be my age and there isn’t a lot left that scares you. But to answer your questions, yes, I’ve heard the stories and gossip about this mountain, but I don’t think the mountain will cause me any harm. I’ve lived in this old house next to it for over thirty years now and it hasn’t crumbled on top of me. But I would agree with the townsfolk. You shouldn’t be poking around on it. Who knows what would happen?”

  “What if I told you I’ve been in there?” He pointed at the mountain behind her and heard her draw in a sudden breath.

  Her words tumbled out. “You -- you’ve been in the mountain? Why would you do that?” Her eyes were round sparkling orbs full of questions.

  “You’ll never guess what I saw. I saw bones, lots of bones!” This time his eyes were as wide as hers, but for different reasons.

  “Oh my, Forrest, you should not have gone into the mountain,” she said, the color draining from her face. “How far did you go?”

  He kicked at a clump of grass. “I didn’t get very far at all. Most of the caves I’ve found are dead ends. A bunch of cave-ins block the tunnels in there. The last one, I had kicked the wall, and it was so loosely packed that it tumbled down around me. When I crawled away, my hand hit… it was a bone! And, when the dust settled, I saw lots more. They might be human bones.” His eyes had grown so large they looked ready to pop.

  Ms. Lenonne had to think quick. “No, I imagine one of those cave-ins trapped unsuspecting cows or the like, or they had been washed down by the rains and got trapped up in there. No reason to worry, but far too dangerous for you to be going through there. Why do you want to go in there, anyway?”

  “I don’t know. A feeling I have.” He squatted, his back hunched over, as he picked at the grass. “You ever feel that way? Like there is something you don’t know but it eats at you to find out?”

  “Hmm, yes I do, Forrest. It happens to all curious souls. What is it that you hoped to find?”

  She couldn’t see his face, but his shoulders were squeezed tight. She could tell he was battling with the question of whether to tell her or not. She decided to wait it out, to hold her words back and make room for his.

  Finally, he spoke in hushed tones. “You’ll laugh.”

  She paused before answering. “Laugh at your thoughts? Never.” Her voice took a serious tone. “Thoughts are parts of our souls. Thoughts are what make us who we are. No, I will not laugh if you share your thoughts. I would feel honored that you would share them with me.”

  “I think -- I wonder if a Dragon could live in there? You know, in our times?” He hazarded a quick glance at her and then went back to studying each blade of grass.

  “Do you believe in Dragons, Forrest?”

  He hemmed and hawed, splashing bits and pieces of his thoughts throughout and rushed from one thought to the next. “I mean, yeah, they could have existed, you know, way back then. Just too many stories about them for them to only be made up stories. I’ve even seen paintings of them in books, and those were painted a long time ago. And they were supposed to live close to forever. So, it made me think. If they lived so long, why couldn’t they still be around, hidden? Like in that mountain that nobody is supposed to go into. Makes sense to me.”

  “You make a lot of sense to me, too. You know,” she took a seat in front of him, for it was very important that she could see what was in his eyes, “I’ve heard tell that if you ever see a Dragon, it will stay with you. It will be a memory so deep that it keeps itching at your mind, trying to get you to pay attention to it. Do you think you have seen a Dragon?”

  His eyes went glassy. A shiver climbed over his arms, raising bumps where they traveled. He whispered, “It might have been a dream.”

  “Tell me about it,”she said, lightly biting the corner of her lower lip.

  “I dreamt of a White Dragon. It’s not just because of your stories, because I dreamt of him before I met you and learned you are the Teller of the Tales. That’s why I keep coming back. The Dragon in your story, Zelspar? Well, the one I dream about looks like him. He has that shimmering pearl color of scales and is big and strong. I see him flying in the night air, the moonlight makes his scales sparkle.”

  “Does he ever talk, in your dreams?”

  “I think so. The first time I think I heard him, I thought it was my grandpa. He had a deep bellowing voice, but grandpa died before I heard this voice. He said, do you see me, boy? It was like his voice went right into my head. He was way up high, and I was at my window in my dream, but I heard him. Then last night I heard the same voice after the cave-in. It said I shouldn’t be in the mountain. The voice wasn’t mean or anything. More like he was worried and stuff.”

  “Hmmm, those don’t sound like dreams. It sounds more like something you have seen.” She answered, keeping a veiled look in her eyes. “I have been told that only believers can see Dragons. To the rest, they stay invisible. If that is true, that would mean you believe in Dragons.”

  He deeply exhaled. “I guess that means I do.” Then he straightened his back, looked her firmly in her eyes, and said, “I do believe in Dragons and I think you know more about them than you have said. I’m sure of it.” His hazel eyes narrowed, chin jutting out like a spear thrown as a challenge.

  Ms. Lenonne leaned back, laying her head upon the ground. She glanced through the soft movement of the leaves overhead. “Hmm. What if I told you you’re right?”

  He sprung to his feet, hazel eyes darting from house t
o mountain to Ms. Lenonne. “You wouldn’t tease me, would you?”

  She stood up and gave him a hard look. “There are secrets that need to be kept which only a few know. How do I know you will keep the secrets to yourself?”

  His jaw flapped open, unable to make words for several heartbeats. When he spoke, it was from the deepest part of who he was. “You can know because I believe. When I look all around me, I see how the eyes look from the ones who don’t believe. Some things are more important than telling about them. They just are.”

  “So they are, Forrest, so they are.”

  “I have a few questions for you. You are rapidly approaching your sixteenth birthday, have you and your parents decided on your trade?”

  “Nothing is settled yet.” He shrugged. “I’m curious about the history of people and different places. I like the idea of being an archaeologist and digging up lost civilizations.”

  “A noble profession.”

  “Yes, but the thing is, I want to learn more about the stuff right here. Like this mountain, and the stories behind it.”

  “Hmmm.” Ms. Lenonne reflected. “More like a historian?”