The Beginning

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Gieaun made a small noise, Scede blanched and pressed further against Bhun, and Jahrra held perfectly still. After what they had been through, the last thing they wanted to hear was that they may not have escaped after all.

  When they didn’t move, Denaeh began removing the apples from Phrym’s saddlebags and continued her story.

  “The Deepening Twilight is also the time of day when the evil things of the world start lurking about, hunting for victims to torment. It is said that they can only dwell in the dark, and that they can smell the fear that the darkness brings. That is why I think you may not have escaped your hunters just yet.”

  Jahrra thought that perhaps Denaeh was making this up to get a rise out of them, but she could tell from her tone that this was no joke. The Mystic looked around at the grim faces of the three children, reading in their thoughts what they had encountered while traveling up Ehnnit Canyon.

  She quickly smiled and said cheerily, “Don’t fret, you’re safe here! And we always have the owls to look after us!”

  “The owls?” asked Gieaun diffidently.

  “Of course. Ethoes bade the owls to guard the good spirits at night, swooping down upon the crawling filth that tries to harm us.”

  This seemed to comfort Gieaun a little, but she still looked shaken up.

  “Don’t worry. Most spirits only come out on Sobledthe Eve anyways.”

  The Mystic helped the three friends carry their sacks into the entrance of the cave she called home and then the four of them got the horses set up in her small, crudely made stable.

  “The horses will be safe here.” She smiled as she patted Aimhe’s neck. “The evil things fear horses, and especially unicorns, since they are creatures of good magic. Phrym is more than enough protection for all three.”

  Jahrra stiffened as the memory of their attack came flooding back. It was a unicorn that had drawn the wolves out to begin with. It was a unicorn that they had butchered. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure about leaving Phrym and the other horses outside. She looked at her friends and it appeared they were thinking along the same lines as she was.

  “Denaeh,” Jahrra said, her voice tentative, “before they came after us, those wolves took down a unicorn.”

  For the first time since Jahrra had met the Mystic, she looked truly shocked.

  “Surely not!” she breathed. “A unicorn? In Oescienne? Your eyes were playing tricks on you!”

  “No, we all saw it,” Gieaun insisted.

  Denaeh started walking back around her small hill, making her way to the cave entrance. The friends traded worried glances, then started off after her in the semi-dark of dusk, the girls helping Scede limp along.

  “Denaeh, if those wolves come back,” Jahrra paused for a moment. “Phrym and Bhun and Aimhe,” she continued.

  “You did not see a unicorn,” Denaeh said with such certainty and authority that Jahrra stopped what she had been saying. “Oescienne is inhabited by many creatures, several of which look like what most people imagine to be unicorns. The horses are safe, and if anything should enter my hollow, Milihn will tell me.”

  Jahrra opened her mouth to argue, but Scede’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. She looked back at him and it was only the dark look in his eyes and the slight shake of his head that told her not to argue. She wondered why Denaeh was so adamant about not believing what they saw, but for some unknown reason, she started questioning her own beliefs. Maybe Denaeh is right; maybe it wasn’t a unicorn . . . but I was so sure! And its cry, and Gieaun and Scede had seen it!

  “Come children!” Denaeh called from her dark cave. “It grows darker by the minute and Scede’s leg needs tending!”

  A slight breeze, brought on by the storm, rustled the branches above. The sound was soothing and comforting, and all of a sudden Jahrra’s recollection of the attack on the edge of the Cohn Forest seemed to fade around the edges. It didn’t feel like a memory any longer, but more like a dream. She blinked and looked at her friends and was surprised at their blank expressions. Jahrra wondered about it for a few moments more, but the Mystic’s voice came to them again.

  “I need help with the fire, for if you want supper it will have to cook first!”

  All three children blinked and started. Denaeh’s moss-draped silhouette appeared at her cave door.

  “I would have thought you’d all fallen down dead!” she stated.

  “Sorry,” Jahrra grumbled. And the three of them made their way into the shelter of the cave.

  Scede helped Denaeh get a fire going in the fireplace despite his injury, and before long the flames were crackling and the three of them were lying in front of the blaze on a great big quilt. Denaeh found some healing herbs for Scede’s pained leg before settling herself in a rickety rocking chair fashioned from wild tree limbs and covered in multi-colored cushions sewn together from scraps of old cloth. They ate a dinner of wild rabbit stew and a boiled type of root from Denaeh’s garden that was actually quite good.

  As the fire died down and the wind and rain began to gently stir the woods, Denaeh told the children some more stories about the Deepening Twilight and how Ethoes sent the owls to guard the good spirits from the evil ones. Jahrra figured she would be too frightened to sleep from the tales Denaeh told and from the memory of the events of that morning, but the tuber they’d eaten must’ve had some sort of calming element in it. She could feel the first waves of drowsiness begin to wash over her before too long, and soon she was dozing off and drifting into a deep sleep, aided by the lull of Denaeh’s soothing voice and the rhythm of the wind and rain outside.

  Jahrra opened her eyes and saw that the rain had stopped and a mist had settled over the quiet wood. She sat up and looked around groggily. Funny, she couldn’t remember falling asleep outside of Denaeh’s cave. She clambered up in order to get a better look and quickly clasped her arms around her body as she became engulfed with the still, chill air. She stood, half crouching and curled in upon herself and stared around at the foggy scene surrounding her. The Mystic’s cave was nowhere to be found and she was in a wood that looked nothing like the wood enveloping the Black Swamp.

  Where am I? Jahrra thought as she tried to remember this strangely familiar place. Then it struck her. She hadn’t been here in so long that she had almost forgotten. It was her recurring dream, and she was standing in an orchard of fruit trees in perfect, straight rows. She looked down at herself and saw that she was wearing her long, white nightgown and not the clothes she had fallen asleep in. The air felt unusually icy, not warm and humid the way it should feel after a summer rainstorm, and the ground, and her gown for that matter, was dry.

  Jahrra glanced instinctively towards the edge of the orchard where the hooded figure always stood. She waited for a short while, like she always did, and after a few minutes he stepped quietly out of the looming forest and into the realm of the orderly trees. Her heart skipped a beat and then quickened, for she hadn’t seen him in so long. His hood completely covered his head and even though she had no reason to believe so, she felt his concerned eyes watching her from behind the shadow of that hood.

  Usually the dream ended here, but this time it dragged on, and finally when Jahrra felt herself turning away and seeking the world of the wakeful, something caught the corner of her eye. She immediately became alert and turned towards the source of movement and was very surprised to spot another hooded figure moving through the orchard behind her. This figure was much shorter than the more familiar green clad one, but his face was also completely covered. The brilliant scarlet cloak he wore tugged at the heavy mist, creating small eddies across the ground as he moved through the lines of trees.

  At first Jahrra thought that the red figure hadn’t noticed the green one, but then, suddenly, the scarlet cloaked intruder turned and headed straight for the far end of the orchard. Jahrra stared in silent horror as the red-robed trespasser reached up with gloved hands and grabbed at the edges of the green man’s hood, trying desperately to pull the cloth back to
reveal the face beneath it.

  NO! Jahrra tried to scream as she watched the scene unfold before her. She couldn’t tell why, but she didn’t want that face made known. She didn’t know if it was because she feared what might be revealed or if she felt so close to her familiar visitor that she didn’t want any harm to come to him. She was sure that this other person meant to do harm.

  Jahrra made up her mind quickly to help her friend, but as she tried desperately to run, her feet stayed glued in place. Her mouth kept forming the word ‘no’ in terrifyingly silent gasps, but try as she might, she couldn’t make a sound. Jahrra struggled and struggled until her legs ached. Her heart was hammering against her ribs and panic swelled up in her throat. The green figure was much bigger and stronger than the smaller red one, but the new intruder refused to relent on his attack. The two of them fought back and forth, the tiny trespasser tearing and clawing at the other as he desperately held the hood in place.

  “Jahrra! Wake up!”

  She could hear a distant voice calling, cutting through the sound of her racing heart and the loud rush of terror in her ears. Jahrra was crying by now, sobbing in anger and fear and helplessness.

  “Jahrra!”

  The voice sounded closer, and she could feel someone holding her hand and shaking her gently.

  “Wake up, you’re having a nightmare!”

  Jahrra’s eyes suddenly flew open and she saw Denaeh standing above her with her hand pressed against her forehead. It was the Mystic who was holding her hand, trying to bring her back to the world of the conscious. Jahrra was breathing heavily and she could feel a cold sweat coating her body. Quickly, like a memory flashing past the corner of her mind, the images of her dream faded, and she drifted awake.

  “Are you alright?” Denaeh repeated, concern etched deep within those yellow eyes of hers. Her hand was gone from Jahrra’s forehead but the other she used to pull the panicked girl up into a sitting position.

  Both Gieaun and Scede looked on in concern as Jahrra slowly let her mind settle.

  “Wh-what happened?” she asked between raspy breaths.

  “We woke up when Denaeh started yelling at you,” Scede answered timidly. “You looked like you were having a bad dream.”

  “I guess I should refrain from ghost stories before bed then,” Denaeh said with a quirky smile.

  This made Jahrra feel a little better, and she did her best to make her friends believe that it had been the memory of their attack she’d been dreaming about and not something else.

  “We still have several hours before dawn, so if I were you, I’d try and get back to sleep,” Denaeh said after Jahrra’s terror had passed. “Do you think you can manage?”

  “Yeah, I’ll just think about owls.” She grinned.

  Everyone smiled and soon the cave was quiet once again, only the occasional pop of a hot coal or the whistling of the rain-soaked wind pitching around in the world outside to disturb them.

  As Jahrra listened to the rhythmic sound of the storm, she thought furiously about the dream she’d just had. No one else had ever entered her dream like that. Who was this new person? Why did they want to reveal the identity of the green-cloaked man so badly? And most importantly, why did Jahrra care either way? It was just a dream, right? she asked herself. Just a dream, just a dream . . . she repeated in her mind as the warm coals and patter of rain soothed her back to sleep.

  -Chapter Nine-

  Runes, Riddles and Days by the Shore

  The weeks following the trip to Ehnnit Canyon proved to be a bit unsettling in Jahrra’s opinion. Not only was she still disturbed by what she’d experienced and what she had seen in her dream at the Belloughs, but she had Hroombra’s heated mood to contend with. Jahrra and her friends had arrived at the Castle Guard Ruin a day later than planned, only to find the great dragon waiting for them. As soon as she spotted his gray figure lumbering across the field to confront her, Jahrra had known she’d finally taken her sense of freedom one step too far. Never had she seen her guardian looking so angry.

  “Where have you been?” he growled. “You three were supposed to be back yesterday. I thought something horrible had happened.”

  The many wrinkles on Hroombra’s face looked deeper than ever and his eyes were sharp with overwhelming relief. Jahrra felt a bubble of remorse welling up inside of her, but she wasn’t about to tell him she had safely spent the night in the Black Swamp.

  “We were late getting into the Longuinn Valley,” she muttered, “so we camped on the edge of the wetlands last night and made our way very early this morning. We’re sorry, but we didn’t want to get caught on the road through the Wreing Florenn after dark.”

  Jahrra looked up with her eyes drowning in shame and saw that it wasn’t just relief and anger lurking in her mentor’s eyes, but acute terror.

  “Thank Ethoes,” he breathed, his tone lightening just a little. Once his composure returned, he took a deep breath and continued in a more subdued tone, “School starts back up in a few days, so you had better get inside and start studying. You have exams coming up.”

  “In four months!” Jahrra exclaimed.

  “Yes, but you have other lessons to consider. The Fall Festival will be here before you know it and you’ll be wanting to go to Gieaun’s and Scede’s for a sleepover.”

  Jahrra glanced over at her friends and they shrugged, looking as confused as she.

  Hroombra smiled broadly and addressed the two siblings, “Your mother and father came over yesterday inquiring where you were. They said if you all came back alive there would be a party at your house. But I would head on home if I were you, just in case they decide to change their minds.”

  Gieaun and Scede waved goodbye to Jahrra as they trotted their horses over the hill and headed for home. Scede’s leg was much better this morning, but it would still be sore for quite some time, and the bruising would be bad. Jahrra chose not to tell Hroombra about the attack. She knew she should, but it would only upset him. She took a deep breath and unpacked everything she would be taking into her room, leading Phrym across the open space to his stable when she was done.

  The sloping pasture was now nothing more than a sea of golden brown straw, folded like frosting on a cake from the wind and rain that had passed through the night before. A few late blossoming flowers added some color to the drab surroundings, but everything else, except for the evergreens of course, had begun their autumn change, turning gold, brown, red and orange.

  After she rubbed Phrym down and fed him, Jahrra headed back to the Ruin to put her camping gear away. She knew she should take out her books and practice the recent Krueltish words Hroombra had given her the week before, but she had a sudden urge to make the large sitting room more welcoming. She went out and picked the last remaining flowers in her garden and put them in an old milk jug and placed them upon Hroombra’s massive desk.

  Jahrra fixed herself something to eat and plopped down in front of the large fire that Hroombra had lit for the cooling night. As the dragon looked over his endless scrolls, Jahrra sat lying in the warm heat, leafing through her books. Only, her mind wasn’t focused on Draggish, it was pondering what she’d seen and heard during the past few days. She wished she could confront Hroombra with these questions, but she knew he’d be furious about everything she’d ever kept secret from him, and she still wasn’t sure his irritation at her late arrival from her camping trip had completely diminished. She would have to explain why she went to Ehnnit Canyon in the first place, and then she would have to tell him about Denaeh.

  Jahrra didn’t know why, but she got the feeling that Hroombra wouldn’t approve of her enigmatic acquaintance. So instead of voicing her thoughts aloud, she daydreamed about what everything might have meant: What did those runes say in the canyon entrance? What more did Cahrume know that he didn’t tell us? What kind of magic is trapped in the wood charm bracelet from Yaraa and Viornen? What were those horrible wolves and why didn’t Denaeh believe us about the unicorn? Who was the red h
ooded figure in my dream?

  Jahrra sighed as she tossed these thoughts around her mind like pebbles jostled in a turbulent stream. After an hour of exhausting thought, she gave up and made her way to bed. In a few days she would be back in school with the evil Resai twins, and the very idea of being around them again was tiring enough. I’ll just try to focus on schoolwork, she thought. Perhaps that will get me through until exams.

  The prospect of exams did indeed keep Jahrra’s mind preoccupied. The simple challenge of surviving each school day and each night of school work kept her too busy to think about her strange dreams or her odd conversation with a sacred tree and an ancient draffyd. The Fall Festival eventually passed and Solsticetide as well, and Jahrra found herself breathing a sigh of relief during the long break from school. She worked extra hard at her defense lessons during this time, getting up early and staying late in the day until she had a new drill or exercise committed to memory. Since she had been doing so well, Yaraa and Viornen gave her a full week off. Jahrra was so excited she didn’t know what to say.

  “We want you to use this time to rest your mind and body, to give it a chance to allow all that you have learned to settle in,” Viornen said, clapping Jahrra on the shoulder.

  “Oh, don’t worry, I will!” she answered cheerfully.

  Jahrra spent her entire week off with Gieaun and Scede. Now that she was fifteen, Hroombra allowed her a little more independence, including the freedom to stay out later in the evening. Jahrra spent most of her time, not surprisingly, with her friends, often visiting all of the places she had seen on Hroombra’s map that they’d never been to before.

  Every now and then, when she was on her own with Phrym or relaxing in her garden, Jahrra would pull out her journal and puzzle over the runes she’d copied from Ehnnit Canyon. She would spend hours looking them over, only to slam her book shut in frustration. When this happened, she would lay back in the tall grass, green from the winter’s rain, or stretch out next to her silent pond and think about the other things that baffled her, mainly, the red-shrouded character that had visited her familiar dream that rainy night in Denaeh’s cave.