“It’s all right now, Kiri wren. It’s all over now.”
“I know, Elmmira.” She looked into Elmmira’s golden eyes. Elmmira always made her feel better. The great cat licked her face. “You are tired, Kiri wren.”
“I never thought Teb would return. When we first got to Aquervell and came down on that hill, and he was gone, I thought . . .”
“But he did return.” Elmmira purred loudly. “It’s all right now, Kiri wren.” She drew back, her whiskers twitching. ‘Tebriel is looking for you.”
Kiri turned, to see Seastrider banking along the shore. The white dragon dropped toward them and settled beside Windcaller. Teb reached down to take Kiri’s hand.
“Come, sit on Seastrider’s back.”
She looked up at him, puzzled.
“Come on.”
Windcaller nuzzled her shoulder, then lifted away toward the sea. Hungry, she called back. I’m going fishing . . . .
Kiri climbed up in front of Teb. It was strange to be on another dragon. Teb was warm against her, his arms strong and warm around her. They sat close for a long time, not saying much. After a while, he said, “I have a surprise for you.”
“What?”
“I won’t tell you. Well show you.”
Seastrider snorted and rose fast into the wind. Kiri could feel the white dragon’s delight, but what kind of surprise would so please a dragon? They banked toward the mountain ridge that rose north of the palace. It shone dark now, against the dropping sun, streaked with deep black ridges along the mountain’s face. Seastrider winged close, into the heavy shadows. Kiri stared, puzzled—but her heart had begun to pound crazily.
“There,” she cried suddenly. “Oh!”
A dragon exploded out of the shadows—a big, strapping dragon. He banked so close to them that his wind rocked Seastrider, and his wings brushed Kiri’s face. He was sea colored, blue and green and shimmering. He swept by, staring at Kiri with eyes of green fire. He winged close again, stretched out his long neck and handsome head, and breathed his warm breath across her face. He smelled of spices and of the salty sea. She stared into his eyes, laughing, crying, wild with things she could not express. “Varuna,” she whispered. “Your name is Varuna!”
He matched his wings with Seastrider’s so his body rocked against the white dragon, and Kiri climbed onto his back and snuggled down between his wings.
When she looked over at Teb, her face was filled with a wonder and glory that turned him warm with love for her.
“How . . . ?” she began.
“He came through the Doors,” Teb said. “After you left to search for Elmmira. He was suddenly there in the sky beside Seastrider, when she and the dragonlings went to feed.”
Kiri lay down along Varuna’s neck. As he lifted away, she blew Teb a wild, ecstatic kiss. The green dragon swept up, and up, and broke through the cloud cover. They disappeared up there, into a world silent and private.
Chapter 29
Our most vivid moments make actual for us the mystery of our existence in this world. But it is dragon song that brings alive the mystery of the past within us.
—From the diary of Meriden, Queen of Auric, written after her return to Auric.
*
For nine days the army of light remained in Sharden’s city, trying to mend itself. The unicorns moved among the wounded, healing those they could heal. But nearly every day there was someone to bury. The townsfolk brought bread and fruits, meat and milk, but there were not enough herbs for medicine, not enough healing skill even with the unicorns’ magic.
Teb spent most of his time with Charkky and Hanni, for, while Charkky was nearly well, Hanni was not. The little otter lay huddled next to Charkky, his small white face filled with grieving. Many otters fished for him, but he wouldn’t eat. Meriden was with him often, and the unicorns came to kneel around him. They licked his white face and made what magic they could, but Hanni’s grief seemed beyond healing. His silent cry echoed in Teb’s mind, and when the small otter overheard plans for Thakkur’s burial ceremony, he was nearly hysterical.
“No! Thakkur is not dead! Thakkur cannot die!”
“Hush,” the unicorns said. “Hush.” They stood touching Hanni with their horns, the gentle bright beasts giving what magic they could. But they could not heal him.
Meriden knelt before Hanni and took the golden sphere from her throat. She hung the chain around the small otter’s neck, where it lay gleaming against his white fur. “Do you know what this sphere means, Hanni?”
“En-endless life,” Hanni said. “The endless sphere of life.”
“Exactly.” Meriden sighed and pushed back her tawny hair. “You are Thakkur’s heir, Hanni. Only you can carry on that endless thread for Thakkur. Do you understand how much Thakkur counted on you to do that?”
Tears coursed down Hanni’s face.
“If you do not do this for Thakkur, you will surely condemn him to a true death. Only you can make Thakkur’s power live, now, on Tirror.”
Hanni stared at her.
She looked up at Teb. “Sing, Tebriel. Sing of the island of Nightpool.”
Teb wove a song of Nightpool so luminous that the unicorns stared up at him with longing. He brought alive the clear green sea foaming white against the black cliffs, showering salty spray into the caves. He showed the young otter cubs bobbing and shouting in the surf, otters napping in the kelp beds and diving to the deep sea valleys awash in clear green light. He showed the undersea world with its mountains and shadows and forests of waving sea plants so powerfully that all who listened could feel the sweep of the tides and hear the sea pounding in their ears. He made a song of Thakkur’s cave, its shelves filled with the white otter’s sea treasures, all his shells and coins, and the big ugly skull of the shark.
He made the song of the world’s beginning, wove it from bard knowledge, but also with the wisdom that Thakkur had imparted in its telling: the spinning ball of gases formed by such infinite and wondrous power that no creature could know its true nature, the five huge continents, the flood, the many small island continents that remained. He sang Thakkur’s words of hope, of faith.
Hanni listened, weeping, pressing against Charkky and Mikk. But when Mikk lifted Hanni’s chin, the small otter looked stronger. A spark of resolve had begun to burn. From that moment, Hanni began to mend.
On the day of burial, the bards and otters made Hanni an important part of the ceremony.
All the human troops and animals met in the square in the center of the city. Here they buried their dead, the speaking animals and humans side by side. There would be a marker for them, wrought by Sharden’s old stonecutters. Only Thakkur had a separate grave, and he would have a special marker. Another like it would stand in Nightpool. His life would be known and remembered in bardsong and carved into stone as well.
When the armies gathered around his grave, it was Hanni alone who said the prayer for him, a quiet prayer that left everyone silent for a long time afterward, kneeling around the grave. The bards planted wild herbs on Thakkur’s grave, those he had loved best. They left the grave touched by sun that warmed the small flowers and teased a spicy scent from them.
As the armies made their way back through the city toward the palace and hills, people everywhere were cleaning, scrubbing walls and floors and pavements, burning refuse, tearing down, starting to build anew. The unicorns moved among them, healing the sick and drug-ridden: Already a thread of the old magic had begun to spin itself through Tirror.
The next day, when the rebels left Sharden, the unicorns disappeared into the hills of Aquervell. Some were seen later swimming the strait to Ekthuma. Much later they appeared in the sanctuaries of Gardel-Cloor and Nison-Serth, the sanctuary at Nightpool, all the sacred places. Their long exile had made them elusive creatures—but they were home again.
The journey home for most of the army was slow. The owls flew ahead to spread the news to those who had stayed behind, to the sick and old and those who must care for t
he livestock. For the bards and the Nightpool otters, the journey was so fast that the sights and feel of Sharden’s city were still with them when they settled onto the sea around Nightpool. The otters piled off the dragons’ backs, thankful to be home, though it was not a pleasant homecoming.
What had been planned as the otters’ homecoming ceremony for Thakkur was a time of terrible grieving. The bards knelt with the otters before Thakkur’s dais in the sacred cave. Hanni, using all the strength he possessed, stood whispering his few practiced words in a final farewell. But suddenly there was a hush of breath from the gathered otters, and they stared at something behind him. He turned and raised a paw in shock. Then he reached toward the shell and stood with his paw outstretched, as still as a small white statue.
The sacred shell had begun to glow. A white mist shone; then Thakkur looked out at them. His silent voice was clear and strong.
This is not good-bye; death is not good-bye. We will know one another again, for life is a journey without ending. Like the sphere that Hanni now wears, all life is endless.
Tirror is at peace, Thakkur said. Know joy, take joy in this world, as I will in the worlds I now enter.
“Go in peace,” Hanni whispered as the vision faded. “Go with joy and love. Walk with me again, Thakkur . . . somewhere.”
As they filed out of the sacred cave, Kiri’s hand in Teb’s, she said softly, “He’ll be all right now.”
Teb nodded and leaned to brush away her tears.
Not long afterward, the eight bards, with hugs for the otters, and many promises about the days to come, leaped from the cliff to the backs of the dragons and rose in a thunder of wings. The dragons circled Nightpool, then swept for Auric Palace, along the rocky coast, dropping low beside the small coastal towns. The townsfolk who had remained behind ran out of their cottages shouting excited greetings.
“The dragons!”
“The dragons are back! The bards have returned!”
‘Tebriel . . .”
“Camery. . .”
Then a silence of surprise touched the villagers, for Dawncloud had banked low, and they could see Meriden.
“The queen . . .”
“The queen lives!”
“Meriden!”
“Praise the queen!”
“Praise the Graven Light. . . .”
Wild cheering rose from friends she had not seen for many years, and she raised her arm in salute. At once riders started out at a gallop for the palace to greet her.
The dragons came down beside the palace wall and left their bards amid shouting and laughing friends. The moment Meriden dismounted, she was swept up and lifted high above the crowd. Four soldiers carried her into the palace.
When she saw the hall, her face was filled with such mixed emotions that all the crowd went still.
Pain was in her face, longing. A tangle of memories of the king. She went to the hearth and knelt beside the crock of fresh bay leaves and smelled them. Someone had remembered that she had always kept the spicy-scented leaves there. She moved around the room, looking.
When she turned back to the hearth, she laid her hand on the rough stone, and her thought touched the bards sharply. This palace had stood for many generations before the coming of the dark. It would stand long after the dark was only a memory. She unbuckled her scabbard and sword and hung them on the hook that, so long ago, the King of Auric had used. Then she gathered Teb and Camery to her. Teb reached for Kiri. Colewolf pulled the three children close. The bards stood together within the calm safety of Auric Palace.
It would be many months before Meriden would tell them about all of her life for those exiled years. It would be many years before Tirror would recover completely from its long siege. But that recovery had begun.
“We will bring all who want to come here to the palace,” Meriden said. “The sick to heal, and the orphans, just as Garit has done at Dacia. We will help teach them crafts, soldiering, whatever they wish.” She looked evenly at the bards. “We must keep a strong army. The dark has proven this—that the powers of bards and dragons alone are not enough.”
Teb hugged her, liking very much this person who was his mother.
“Perhaps we could join with Ebis the Black,” Camery said, “in training our young warriors and in defending Windthorst.”
“Perhaps we could,” Meriden said. “I think you make a good captain, my daughter. I think you would work well with Ebis.”
The hall had grown crowded. Meriden looked around at her friends. “The old sanctuaries—Nison-Serth, Gardel-Cloor—all will be way stations again, gathering places for all speaking animals and all humans.” Her face brightened, her eyes smiling. “We are free again—to travel as we wish. Each of us is free, to live how and where we wish.” She turned from them and went to stand before the hearth. When she turned back, every eye was on her.
“There are other worlds,” Meriden said, “that the slave masters have fought again and again to conquer. Those worlds that have held fast their freedom cherish that freedom well.”
She shook her head. “Tirror had never known that kind of challenge—until Quazelzeg and his disciples invaded us.
“Now . . . I think that now everyone on Tirror must find some way to join with the bards. I think that we must all work together, to remain free of those like the unliving.”
*
Teb stood, at dusk, in Auric’s tower. He raised a hand to Kiri in the courtyard, and she ran up the stairs to him. They stood close, leaning on the stone wall, looking out over the green meadows and the sea, watching the dragons. Some of them were winging over the sea lithe as swallows, diving for sharks. But Varuna and the dragonlings were stretched out across the meadow, their wings tucked close to their bodies, surrounded by calmly grazing horses.
“Varuna is telling the dragonlings of other worlds,” Kiri said. She turned to look at Teb. “He’s the most wonderful dragon in any world.”
Teb grinned at her. “He’s wild—fiery. He’s a fine dragon. The dragonlings are very impressed; all the dragons are. I know Seastrider’s thoughts about him. Really very admiring.”
She laughed. “I’d call Windcaller’s thoughts amorous.”
He smiled. “They can have some life of their own now—we all can.”
“You told me once you used to dream of dragons here, on the meadows of Auric.”
“I did. A sight just like that, with fine horses grazing among them, unafraid. I used to dream a lot of things about this land, and what I hoped it would be like someday.” He put his arm around her. “I used to dream about sharing it with someone. But I didn’t know who.”
“Do you know now?”
“Yes. I know now.”
She brushed her lips across his cheek, warm in his arms, and their minds saw and felt as one.
#
About the Author
Shirley Rousseau Murphy grew up in southern California, riding and showing the horses her father trained. She attended the San Francisco Art institute and later worked as an interior designer while her husband attended USC. “When Pat finished school, I promptly quit my job and began to exhibit paintings and welded metal sculpture in the West Coast juried shows.” Her work could also be seen in many traveling shows in the western States and Mexico. “When we moved to Panama for a four-year tour in Pat’s position with the U.S. Courts, I put away the paints and welding torches, and began to write.” After leaving Panama they lived in Oregon, Atlanta, and northern Georgia before returning to California, where they now live by the sea.
Besides the Dragonbards Trilogy, Murphy wrote sixteen children's books and a young adult fantasy quintet before turning to adult fantasy with The Catsworld Portal and the Joe Grey cat mystery series, which so far includes sixteen novels and for which she is now best known. She is the winner of five Dixie Council of Authors and Journalists Author of the Year awards—two of them for Nightpool and The Ivory Lyre—plus eight Muse Medallion awards from the national Cat Writers Association.
Dragonbards Trilogy, Book 1: Nightpool
Dragonbards Trilogy, Book 1. As dark raiders invade the world of Tirror, a singing dragon awakens from her long slumber, searching for the human who can vanquish the forces of evil—Tebriel, son of the murdered king. Teb has found refuge in Nightpool, a colony of talking otters. But a creature of the Dark is also seeking him, and the battle to which he is drawn will decide Tirror’s future.
Dragonbards Trilogy, Book 2: The Ivory Lyre
Dragonbards Trilogy, Book 2. The bard Tebriel and his singing dragon Seastrider together can weave powerful spells. With other dragons searching for their own bards, they have been inciting revolts throughout the enslaved land of Tirror. Only if they can contact underground resistance fighters and find the talisman hidden in Dacia will they have a chance to break the Dark’s hold on the world.
The Shattered Stone
An omnibus containing the first two books of the five originally published as the Children of Ynell series. In most regions of Ere to be a Seer, gifted with telepathic and visionary powers, means death—or does it? For some it may mean an even worse fate: destruction of their minds and enslavement by the dark powers determined to conquer the world. In Ring of Fire, Zephy and the goatherd Thorn are dismayed to discover that they themselves are Seers, but once they know, they are driven to escape from the repressive city of their birth and rescue others, many of them children, who have been captured and imprisoned by its attackers. Only the discovery of one shard of a mysterious runestone offers hope that they can succeed. In The Wolf Bell, set in an earlier time, the child Seer Ramad seeks the runestone itself with the aid of an ancient bell that enables him to control and communicate with the thinking wolves of the mountains, who become his friends. But will they be a match for his enemies, the evil Seers of Pelli, who are determined to control Ramad’s mind and through him, to obtain the stone for their own dark purpose?
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