The Beginning

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

Jahrra smiled as she watched the start of the celebration unfold before her eyes. After the fiery raven floated back down to earth, the bonfire ignited in one large plume of violet flame, slowly dying down into a tower of dancing orange and scarlet. The musicians began playing pipes and flutes and drums, and fifty dancers, all dressed in matching raven costumes much more ornate than Jahrra’s, began chanting and prancing around the fire. The people were all invited to join in the celebration, and before long, the hallowed rituals of the festival began.

  Jahrra, Gieaun, Scede, Pahrdh and Rhudedth all watched in awe as corn, wheat and a variety of squashes were brought to the fire and thrown in. Dried meat and leather goods were also sacrificed, along with old shoes and clothes and even a few pieces of jewelry. Over the next several minutes, a multitude of objects were added to the fire, all of which symbolized an ending to the old year and the beginning of a new one.

  Jahrra watched as the figures acted out the sacred vow, the fragile connection between life and death displayed for all to see. She remembered the words of Hroombra and Denaeh as the music and the chanting voices drifted through the enchanted air: “Anything that distracts the people of Ethoes from the sacred Goddess and the importance of protecting and honoring her is fed to the flames on this holy night. Everything old and worn out is thrown into the fire to show the acceptance of a New Beginning. For the Dark Half of the year starts on this day, and both life and death are to be revered and respected during this festival. Life is celebrated in the food that has been harvested for all to live on during the cold months, while death is acknowledged as these living things die to feed the people and creatures of the world. The celebration of Sobledthe ensures that this respect and sacred cycle is instilled in all, a respect for life and a respect for Ethoes herself. No one person ever leaves the Fall Festival not knowing how important it is to honor the one that gave life.”

  The bonfire burned brightly for several hours through the night, casting strange shadows of costumed dancers and revelers against the buildings of the town, making it look as though the streets were alight with demons and spirits. As the festive night wore on and as the leaping and wild flames became tame and cowering coals, so too did the many costumed celebrants. The hours of dancing, singing and merriment had exhausted everyone present, including Jahrra and her four friends. As Echnia the dawn goddess slowly awoke, the tired people of Lensterans began solemnly trudging out of town.

  “Come on,” Pahrdh whispered quietly. “Everyone is heading towards the harvested fields to get ready for sunrise.”

  Jahrra watched with a glazed expression as the throngs of people slowly drained out of the middle of town. Gieaun pulled on her arm as Scede and Pahrdh led them all west towards the stables where their horses were sleeping. Along the way, they could see that small, individual fires had been kindled amid the now barren fields, their brilliant orange glare looking like puddles of molten rock against the black. Several families were camped out around these fires and were now settling in until the dawn arrived. At first light, they would all rise and greet the sun, Haelionn, and give thanks for his nurturing of the earth and for giving them what light he could during the darkest part of the year.

  The friends strolled by the last few vendors on the edge of town and each bought some hot apple cider, a roasted chicken leg and a caramel apple as they passed. While she trudged along sipping her spiced cider, Jahrra looked up into the sky. The moon was still above the western horizon, but its light didn’t drown out the stars as much as it had before. Jahrra paused for just a moment and looked to the east. The hills were lined with a thin thread of turquoise, rising and falling as it outlined the hilltops. The dawn will be here soon, Jahrra thought. The winter’s dawn.

  Jahrra followed her companions tiredly over to an open patch of broken earth and helped them spread a few blankets to sit on. The boys got a fire going and the girls set out the extra food they’d brought with them. Jahrra closed her eyes and breathed in the aroma of the early morning as the small crackling fire warmed her face. Winter was just around the corner and in a few months’ time she would be sixteen years old, almost an adult. She both dreaded and anticipated the fast approaching future. She would be finished with school in just over a year, and she would probably be going on to study in the great city of Lidien afterwards. At least that is what Master Hroombra will want, she thought regretfully as she watched a falling star. The old dragon had mentioned it on occasion before, his golden eyes lighting up as he described the great city and all that one could learn there.

  Jahrra sighed. She didn’t want to leave Oescienne. It saddened her to think of leaving Hroombra; Hroombra who couldn’t even make it to the Fall Festival. How would he survive without her and what would she do without him to help guide her? He had been her solid ground when her whole world had been ripped from beneath her. He had taken her in, helped her get over the grief of losing two parents, and he had taught her just about everything she now knew. Jahrra shook her head and brought her eyes back to earth. Thinking about such things brought back old memories that made her sad. I will think about what is to come some other time, she said to herself, but not now.

  Later that morning she would head back home as the natives of Lensterans continued their festival. She longed to see her Korli guardian, to tell him about the many celebrations and traditions she’d witnessed, but she knew she had to be careful not to mention what had happened in the woods. Jahrra grimaced as she once again recalled the stranger’s tight grip on her. Her rib cage hurt and she was sure she’d find several bruises in the next few days. She would just have to tell everyone she’d fallen off Phrym or tripped over her costume onto the hard cobblestone streets of Lensterans. She couldn’t tell anyone about what really happened.

  When the sun’s golden fingers finally reached up over the eastern hills, all of the people around, Nesnan, Resai and everyone in-between, sang a sad song of hope and finality as they made their slow, solemn march back to the dying bonfire in the town square. The young women carried the last flowers of the year and tossed them upon the remaining embers, their bright lights quickly winking out. As the flowers burned and hissed, purple, red and green smoke rose into the air. Everyone bowed their heads in reverence, for the Dark Half of the year had officially begun.

  -Chapter Twelve-

  Lessons, Languages and Exams

  During the weeks following Sobledthe, Jahrra found it impossible to forget about what had happened in the woods outside of Lensterans. The dismal feeling of dread would have passed in time, she was sure, if only it hadn’t been for Eydeth’s strange behavior towards her at school. Instead of glaring at her across the schoolyard and shouting out his usual insults, he resigned himself to keeping his eyes down and muttering nervously anytime she walked by. Jahrra knew it wasn’t because she’d evaded his grasp once again; it had everything to do with the strange man who had almost captured her. The fragile state of Eydeth, and his sister as well, made Jahrra feel even worse than before. She now knew by the way they were acting that the man in the forest was much more than a mere vagabond or petty thief. If he’d frightened the twins to the verge of tears, then he must be someone quite dangerous indeed.

  Jahrra tried to shake off her troublesome thoughts so that she could focus on her studies. The days were ticking by and as the winter months approached, so did exams. She stayed up late every night with Hroombra, studying and memorizing and practicing. Not only did she have her modern history, mathematics and writing lessons at school to contend with, but she also had ancient history, natural history and Kruelt with Hroombra, not to mention lessons with Yaraa and Viornen as well. She was busy with everything from interpreting difficult Draggish passages, learning the dates of important events in history, and spending weekends pushing herself to her physical limits with the elves. By the time all of her exams and tests were over, Jahrra was exhausted.

  “Ah, very accurate.” Hroombra smiled as he looked down at Jahrra’s portfolio of maps, plants and animals of Oescienne. H
e had allowed her to use them on one of his ancient history exams. “Your ability to draw is one of your best skills, I have to say.”

  Jahrra smiled, relieved she’d done so well. Unfortunately, but not at all surprisingly, she didn’t do so well in Kruelt. “I’ll never learn this wretched language!” she fumed, throwing her pencil down in distaste and puffing a loose strand of hair out of her eyes.

  “You must learn it, Jahrra.” Hroombra frowned. “We just need to work a little harder. You just need to practice more.”

  “Well, maybe if you weren’t the only one who spoke it in all of Oescienne I would have learned it by now!”

  She didn’t mean to get frustrated with Hroombra, but she’d been so tense lately because of all that had happened in the last few months that she often lost her temper. Studying and struggling through her defense exercises was stressful enough and the knowledge that her would-be abductor (who was dangerous after all) was on the loose didn’t help matters. Despite all of these misgivings, however, Jahrra managed to survive the final week of exams at school, ensuring her a final year of education at the small schoolhouse in Aldehren. Once all of her tests were over, Jahrra was able to relax a little, and soon she was back to work at convincing herself that what had happened in Lensterans was all a misunderstanding.

  Solsticetide and Jahrra’s birthday flew by so quickly that she barely had time to grasp that she’d turned sixteen. Hroombra gave her an entire set of books containing the folktales of Oescienne. Jahrra beamed at the leather-bound books and only did her smile fade when she saw that they were written entirely in Draggish.

  “Now you have a reason to learn my language well,” the old dragon told her, his eyes twinkling.

  Jahrra slouched, feeling suddenly deflated, despite her initial excitement at the gift. She hoped that someday she would be able to read them all.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” the great dragon said suddenly. “Something came for you several months ago, but I wanted to save it for your birthday.”

  Hroombra walked to the storage room behind the fireplace and came out with what looked like a large wadded, tattered quilt hanging from his mouth. He set the bundle down in front of her, and Jahrra approached it cautiously but with great curiosity.

  Once she finally peeled back the folds of the old blanket, her heart skipped a beat. It was a brand-new, four pommel saddle. Jahrra knelt down and ran her fingers over the finely worked leather, admiring the intricate oak leaf pattern and inlayed silver. On each corner of the saddle, below each pommel, there was a plate of polished silver with a finely etched dragon upon each surface.

  “It’s beautiful!” she finally said when she found her voice. “How ever did you pay for it?”

  Jahrra looked up at Hroombra with misty eyes. The saddle was obviously very expensive and she wouldn’t have wanted him to spend so much.

  “Now, what makes you think it’s from me?” Hroombra asked, grinning unflappably.

  Jahrra furrowed her brow. Who else could it be from?

  “The saddle is from Jaax, Jahrra.”

  Hroombra went on once he saw the bewildered look on Jahrra’s face, “I wrote to him many months ago and told him about your progress with Yaraa and Viornen. He was very pleased with this news and he figured you might need a decent saddle for everything you did atop Phrym.”

  He smiled down at her once more, but Jahrra didn’t smile back. In fact, she pulled her hand away from the saddle as if it were red hot.

  “Oh,” she said simply. “I didn’t know that you had written to him.”

  It was a lie, of course. Jahrra knew that many of the letters her mentor received had been sent by the Tanaan dragon, she just didn’t want to acknowledge it. She sometimes secretly hoped that Jaax had forgotten about them.

  Jahrra wrapped the saddle back up and hoisted it off the ground.

  “You must write back to him and tell him that I am grateful for it,” she said, more to fill in the silence than to express her gratitude.

  She loved the beautiful gift, but she couldn’t bring herself to enjoy the fact that it was from Jaax. Hroombra frowned after her as she carried it into her room, but he said nothing. He only wished that Jahrra would have grown to know and understand the Tanaan dragon as he did. But one cannot force roots to grow towards the sky. The old Korli dragon sighed, realizing that Jahrra would always see things her own way.

  Solsticetide passed and Jahrra took a deep mental breath, plunging into the remainder of the arduous school year. The twins still kept their distance from her, but they no longer had that look of sheer panic in their expressions like before. Instead, they donned a look of concern, something that appeared very strange on their usually sour faces. On some days, Eydeth would brag enthusiastically to his friends as Jahrra walked up the path into the schoolhouse, but as soon as he spotted her, he would stop talking in mid-sentence, a worried look clouding his pale brown eyes.

  This frightened Jahrra even more than the looks of fear. Eydeth and Ellysian, concerned about me? She would shake her head in bafflement when she thought about it. She didn’t really think that they could honestly be distressed about her well-being, but their expressions were clear and the truth was apparent; she was lucky she got away from that stranger in the woods outside Lensterans. Who on Ethoes could he have been? she would think in fear and frustration. The Crimson King himself?!

  Spring’s gentle weather was a relief when it finally arrived. The long, rainy winter brought an abundance of flowers, and Jahrra’s garden looked better than ever. The pond was brimming with water lilies and reeds, and the birds were building nests in the vines and shrubs along the crumbled wall. The warm air and sunny days turned the fields of Oescienne from a sea of green to a sea of pastels, and as the season progressed, the weeks once again grew nearer and nearer to examination time.

  “Ugh, I swear we just had exams!” Jahrra exclaimed to Gieaun and Scede one spring day after Professor Tarnik handed out the study guides in class.

  “Yes, Jahrra, five months ago!” Scede said, wondering if his friend was having an anxiety attack.

  “Honestly Scede, it feels like it was only a couple of weeks ago!”

  Jahrra had been so busy with all of her other lessons that she hadn’t noticed the days passing by so rapidly.

  “Maybe you just need to relax,” Gieaun offered kindly. “Exams are in two weeks, why don’t you take a break this weekend and we can go do something other than study. I know, let’s go to the Eight Coves! It would be nice to go somewhere else besides Lake Ossar, and it’ll help you ease your mind, Jahrra.”

  Jahrra pursed her lips, her blue eyes sharpening with thought. The Eight Coves were a network of small inlets situated along a lengthy stretch of rocky coast running from the mouth of the Raenyan River north to meet the western tip of the Elornn Mountains. Although the southern, sandy beaches of the province were often crowded with people fishing, collecting seaweed and driftwood, or merely spending a day at the beach, the coves to the north rarely had such visitors. They were isolated and almost inaccessible, and many people avoided them out of shear inconvenience.

  “That sounds like a good idea,” she finally said, smiling.

  “Tomorrow then?” Gieaun prompted. “Let’s ask if Pahrdh and Rhudedth want to come too.”

  ***

  As the dawn approached the next morning, Jahrra lie quietly awake in her small bed in her tiny room. She watched the walls grow lighter as the sun’s rays poured in through her little window, and she thought of the dream world she had just left behind and the dream that had awoken her several minutes before. She now sat in mild frustration, wracking her brain, trying to remember when she’d last dreamt of the hooded figure.

  Suddenly she remembered; it had been in Denaeh’s cave in the Belloughs of the Black Swamp over a year ago. It was then that the red-cloaked stranger so rudely entered her subconscious world and tried to do harm to her familiar friend. This newest dream had been vivid, but to her great relief, the red-hooded intruder ha
d not paid a visit. The landscape had been foggy, as it always was, and the rows of trees had disappeared into the hazy sky. Jahrra remembered stepping silently over the leafy ground, detecting the faint fragrance of apple blossoms made heavy by the cool dampness of the dew. She was wandering through the orchard, looking for something, and for a brief moment, she thought it might be Abdhe and Lynhi she was searching for. She remembered long ago, just after their deaths, how she had always sought them in her dreams, but she couldn’t remember how long ago that had been now. This is ridiculous, she had told herself in the dream. My mother and father have been dead for almost nine years. I won’t find them here.

  Then, Jahrra now recalled with a shudder, she had suddenly become very angry in her dream world, so angry that she couldn’t even cry. She looked around frantically, her heart beginning to race. She needed to run, run away from this foggy orchard she was trapped in. She thrashed through the tangled grass and as she inhaled sharply, she could feel her lungs stinging from the chill surrounding her. She didn’t know how long she had been running, or what finally made her stop. She didn’t even know how it was that she had remained in the same spot, but the desire to run, to escape, was suddenly over. She fell to her knees; standing had become too exhausting.

  Jahrra hung her head and pressed her hands into the cold, damp soil, trying hard to catch her breath. The darkness was fading, and light was dawning, but not the natural light of the sun. Off in the distance there was a glowing radiance; a soft cream-colored brilliance, as if its source were only yards away and not miles. Jahrra looked up towards the strange glow and waited in exhausted patience as her breathing slowly abated.

  She knew what was coming. She always knew in these dreams of fog and trees and enchanted sunlight. Then she saw him, the hooded figure who never failed to arrive. He moved over toward the small tree-lined knoll, stepping in front of the creamy light, creating a halo around his figure, the same familiar figure she had known all of her life.