The Beginning

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Denaeh ended her speech with a rather dramatic huff and crossed her arms once more, waiting for Jaax’s reply. The young dragon stood silent for a long time. Whether he was absorbing everything Denaeh had just said or whether he was considering a witty response, for once she couldn’t tell. His thoughts were too jumbled for even a Mystic of her distinction to read clearly. He simply gave a short nod after the space of time and turned to leave.

  “I will consider your thoughts,” he spoke over his shoulder, his voice calmer this time, “but I make you no promises. As much as you think you know me, there is still much you don’t know.”

  Denaeh nodded in response to Jaax’s statement and waited for him to say more.

  “Jahrra left on Phrym this morning after our argument about Lidien,” he finally said. “She was quite angry, but I suppose I had better go and find her. You wouldn’t happen to have any clue as to where she might have gone?”

  “I would try the shore, or the lakes,” Denaeh answered, her arms still crossed, her chin set almost stubbornly. “She goes there often. But you should give her a little more time. She’s very angry with you at the moment, and trailing after her so soon might end in disaster.”

  “Very well, though I think nothing could be more disastrous than what has already occurred,” Jaax responded acidly.

  He turned and lifted his head, looking to the northwest. He closed his eyes and sniffed the air again, catching an old familiar scent drifting on the damp wind.

  “And what shall you do until then?” the Mystic murmured. “Shall we chat some more until Jahrra has a chance to cool down?”

  Denaeh gave an impish grin, and Jaax just looked back at her, his face expressionless. “I’ll go to the Castle Ruin. I haven’t been there in a very long time. Perhaps I can think clearly there, perhaps I can find some answers.”

  Jaax began to walk away, but then paused for a moment. He turned his head to look back at Denaeh one last time. She discovered a hint of kindness deep in those clear eyes of his, buried somewhere beneath the anger, sorrow and disappointment. The Mystic did her best to return the look, a mixture of remorse, longing and compassion swimming in her own eyes.

  The dragon turned his head once more and headed up out of the Belloughs and into the northern boundary of the Black Swamp. Denaeh let out a long, sorrowful sigh. She knew what was coming that day; she had foreseen it for quite some time now, but today it burned more brightly than ever in her mind. She knew that both dragon and girl faced hardship and struggle, and sooner than they could possibly accept it, loss.

  Denaeh shivered in the cold winter air and clasped her faded shawl around her shoulders. She looked up at the cloud-mottled sky, the late morning sun hidden by the thunderheads, and closed her eyes for only a moment. She tried with all her might to imagine a clear blue sky with golden green sunlight filtering through the forest canopy. She wished with all of her heart to see such a scene, but all she saw was blackness and fire and ruin. Denaeh opened her eyes, wondering if what she felt on her face was the first drop of rain from the swollen storm clouds or the grief that was finally breaking free. Quietly, she walked back to her cave entrance and disappeared within, her heart heavy with sorrow.

  -Chapter Nineteen-

  Terror

  Jahrra breathed in the salty air, hoping that it would somehow soothe her chaotic mind as she gazed out over the expansive ocean. The scene was just as breathtaking as ever: the water stretching on for eternity, shaded by the charcoal-hued storm clouds dropping threads of silvery rain. The mountains were more blue than violet, and the low valleys and rolling hills wore the frigid green of late winter. The running climb up Demon’s Slide had helped to release some of Jahrra’s anger, but she could still feel the sting of Hroombra’s words from earlier that day.

  How could he agree to send her away? She had once thought about going away to Lidien, about seeing the entire world, but not now, not when Jaax said that she must. She loved it here, and she would never leave. At least not until the summer, she thought miserably, remembering what the Tanaan dragon had said.

  Jahrra sighed loudly, casting her worries out into the icy wind that was biting away at the side of the mountain. Perhaps I can run away and live with Denaeh, she thought hopefully. But what if Denaeh had no place for her? The Mystic had always welcomed her into the Belloughs, but Jahrra could tell that the woman valued her solitude. I know! I’ll steal that book back and take Gieaun and Scede on a wild treasure hunt! No, that wouldn’t work either. Jaax would find us.

  Jahrra huffed angrily, knowing all too well that she had no choice in the matter. She could never run away from Hroombra, not without telling him where she was going. It would hurt him too much. Jahrra grimaced at that thought, for she had already hurt him. She had said horrible things to him; told him she hated him. She pushed away this feeling of guilt, her injured pride firing up once again. Why must he send me away? Why does he have to listen to Jaax! Who gave Jaax all the power over everybody?!

  Jahrra was slowly growing angry again. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head slowly, trying to think about all of this without becoming frustrated. Master Hroombra wouldn’t let Jaax tell him what to do unless it was something he wished to do himself. He must have some reason for agreeing to send me away so soon. Perhaps I can persuade them to change their minds, at least Master Hroombra’s. Jahrra shivered, the chill gusts finally reaching to her bones.

  “Perhaps this is my punishment for lying all these years about the Wreing Florenn, about Denaeh and about Ehnnit Canyon,” she said aloud. “What do you think Phrym?”

  Phrym nickered under her, ears alert, his head pointed to the north.

  “Yes, we should be heading back down now, but let’s stay up here a little bit longer,” she answered, then added bitterly, “This may be my last chance to take a good look at Oescienne for Ethoes knows how long. I would like to enjoy it.”

  Phrym nickered again, but this time he sounded agitated. He started pawing the ground and he became unnerved, rearing up enough to get Jahrra’s attention. She reacted just in time, clutching at her semequin’s dark mane.

  “What’s the matter? Calm down, I’ll take you with me if I go north!” She patted his neck, but this time she followed his gaze with her own. “What do you see Phrym?”

  Jahrra squinted in the direction her semequin was looking. Rising off the small western edge of the Great Sloping Hill was a large plume of smoke, several shades paler than the threatening clouds above. Jahrra sat rigid in the saddle, focusing her eyes as hard as she could. She felt the blood drain from her face when she saw a tiny flash of deep, red fire, looking like a glinting speck of red gold dust from such a long way away. Her heart hammered against her ribs when she saw two more tiny scarlet flashes. Hroombra was breathing fire, and not just once, several times. Oh no, she thought, her skin tingling with dread, something’s wrong at home!

  “Come on!”

  Without pausing to consider it any further, Jahrra kicked Phrym into a full trot down the steep, sandy hill.

  He ran under her with no trouble at all, seeming just as anxious to get back to the Ruin as she was. The two of them tore down the hillside, not caring how recklessly fast they were going. The wind and the sand cut at them as they careened headlong toward the miles of beach that lay before them. The cool air poured past them like ice water, and the wet sand felt like bits of frost hitting Jahrra’s skin, but she didn’t care. They raced down the beach, faster than Jahrra could ever remember, the pounding waves seeming to rally them on.

  The semequin and his rider cut through the Oorn delta, sending up fans of brackish water and clouds of shore birds emitting stressful cries. As the miles streaked by, all Jahrra could think about was how horrible she had been to Hroombra that morning. I hope he’s just trying to demonstrate to Jaax who’s in charge! she thought, tears stinging her eyes along with the cold. But she knew that Hroombra would never act out violently; that just went too strongly against his nature. Horrible images flashed
through her head, but the one that stood out the most was one of Eydeth and his father surrounding her guardian with several of the Resai men from the great race. Jahrra blinked hard and shook her head. No, no; Eydeth wouldn’t dare.

  After many minutes of hard running, Jahrra and Phrym made a hard right turn and began traveling up the path that led across Lake Ossar. Several fishermen and women had to leap out of the way to let them pass, shouting in anger as they dragged their children out of harm’s way. Jahrra didn’t care; she couldn’t afford to stop. Once Phrym crossed the lake, they took the road heading east, flying across the valley like lightning.

  Jahrra urged Phrym on as he climbed the road that trailed up the southern end of the Sloping Hill.

  “C’mon Phrym, it’s not much farther!”

  Phrym crested the top of the hill and tossed his head nervously. It was obvious he was exhausted: his mouth was foaming and his breath was coming fast, but Jahrra couldn’t bear to stop now.

  “You’re doing great, Phrym! Only a few more miles. Imagine we are racing Eydeth again!” she shouted over the pounding of his hooves.

  He picked up his pace in a sudden burst of energy and Jahrra only hoped that when they came over the last rise above the Ruin, that all she’d seen atop Demon’s Slide had merely been an illusion.

  ***

  The old castle looked exactly as Jaax had pictured it, so similar to the image he’d kept in the secret corner of his mind since his childhood. Of course, it wasn’t the shining fortress it had been then, but that was before the Crimson King tried to destroy it.

  Several years after his terrible curse, the Tyrant had found many of the Tanaan dragons living here peacefully in the land they once ruled as humans. Many had started over with their lives, had accepted their dragon form and some had even started new families. But the evil king would never allow any degree of happiness for the people who had tried to destroy him, even after he had cursed them. Nearly one hundred years after he had defeated the Tanaan king and his people, Cierryon cursed the castle as well, turning it into the ruined building it was today. The Tanaan dragons and their dragonlings had chosen to leave, unable to stand the sight of their beautiful home slowly eroding, reminding them too much of the state of their own spirits.

  Jaax closed his eyes and let out a long, sorrowful sigh. He remembered the castle from his youth, before it was cursed, and up until this moment he thought that he would never be able to face it again. He had been among those to flee the last reminder of the Tyrant’s fury.

  Apart from the few crumbled walls and the overgrown exterior, the castle looked as if it had been sleeping for the past few centuries. Somehow, some of the beautiful glass windows still remained intact, but they were now coated with a thick layer of ancient dust. It must have been from the magic the Korli dragons put over it, to try and protect this place. That is why some of its walls still stand, Jaax thought to himself.

  The castle was immense, even from an adult dragon’s point of view, and the trees that surrounded it had changed. The young saplings he had once known were either taller than before or had grown and died, giving way to new seedlings once again. Some of the walls seemed lower, but that could be due to the fact that he himself was taller and not because the castle had further crumbled. Jaax shook his head forlornly. He was certain it was because of the latter that the walls weren’t as high as they used to be. The Korlis’ protection and the castle’s own magical defenses were failing. The palace had been fighting against this curse for four centuries; it couldn’t resist such strong dark magic for very much longer.

  Jaax let his eyes trail over the picture before him, taking in the rest of the scene. The garden, once as finely manicured as the castle itself, had become a tangle of wicked looking brambles that crawled up the injured walls, threatening to pull them down into the earth. The sprawling patios and verandas, once beautiful mosaics set upon the ground, were now invisible, covered by years of leaf litter and earth.

  A blast of chilly, moist wind shook the treetops above as if to remind Jaax of what had happened here. He shivered, but it wasn’t from the cold. He took a deep breath and stepped forward, entering the castle for the first time in centuries. He walked through the ancient entrance hall and, as if driven by some internal force, turned toward the north side of the building. He walked past broken staircases and wove between massive columns, standing in a row like cold, white tree trunks. He hung his head the entire time, relying on memory to take him where he knew he must go. When he finally stopped and looked up, he found himself standing in the ancient remains of the great dining hall. Of course, he thought to himself remorsefully. Of course.

  Jaax simply stood there, letting his mind forget the distant past for now. Instead he reflected on what had just happened between himself and the Mystic. He hated to admit it, but she was right about Jahrra. The girl had spirit; he had known that ever since his first visit after leaving her with Hroombra. Even as a child she had shown signs of the strength she would one day need. This visit to the Castle Ruin had fulfilled its purpose; it had helped Jaax focus on what was important. A pang of remorse hit him as he realized how awful his behavior towards Hroombra had been. I must apologize, he thought to himself. Hroombra has raised Jahrra the best way that he could, and no one could have cared for her better, not even I.

  He blinked and turned his face up to what was once a great painted ceiling but now was only a canopy of green. It was no more than an hour after mid-day, and he could smell the approaching rain over the ocean. Another storm, he thought ruefully. Perfect weather for the mood of the hour.

  Jaax gazed over at the faded murals upon the dying walls. He closed his eyes and reluctantly let his mind travel back into the past, into the past of his ancestors. He wondered if he could even conjure memories that old, but he knew that he could, even though it haunted him to do so. He sighed and forced those depressing thoughts from his head and instead replaced them with more pleasant ones. He pictured a time when the castle was at its finest, when the sweeping drive and elegant entrance hall were gleaming with life and joyous activity. He thought of a time when the gardens were overflowing with flowers of all colors, shapes and sizes, and not overrun with threatening thorns.

  He tried with all his might to hear the sound of happy voices that might have once graced these halls. Like Hroombra a few years before, Jaax imagined children chasing each other through the grounds with music and laughter floating from the dance hall. In that moment he could see it, the shining castle in a time of great celebration, but after awhile the music transformed into the clamor of battle and the laughter became screaming. The bursting flowers became angry flames and the children weren’t chasing each other in mirth, but running, terrified, from some unseen enemy.

  Jaax opened his eyes and found himself face to face with the final scene of the mural, the scene of the dragon shadows and the men fleeing in fear. He heard the sounds of torment and destruction, and he tried to tear his mind away. He tried to will himself back to the present, but the shouting in his mind only grew louder, and after awhile he heard something else. The scream was not human, or Elvish. It was the sound of a dragon in distress. Could my imagination be this real? Jaax thought in frightened astonishment. Could these horrible sounds be so loud in my own mind? He shook his great head and waited, and then he heard it again, the bellow of a dragon suffering. A real dragon, its roaring cries carried on the wind, a wind that was blowing from the south.

  A cold chill crept over Jaax’s scales as he realized what he was hearing.

  “Hroombra!” he rasped silently.

  Hundreds of years of avoiding the wrath of the Crimson King had made hesitating second nature to Jaax, but he could hesitate no longer. He began to move quickly, but as stealthily as possible, back towards the Castle Guard Ruin. While he hurtled towards the Ruin, a dread slowly filled his heart. His mind was working furiously, a hundred possibilities flashing through his head, but he couldn’t stop and review them now.

  Jaax bro
ke through the last clump of trees at the edge of the wood and shot his green eyes in the direction of the Ruin, his heart almost stopping as he took in the scene before him. Several yards away many broken groups of men had Hroombra surrounded, throwing stones, shooting arrows, and thrusting lances and swords at him. They wore crude armor and shouted out harsh phrases in a foreign tongue. Smoke was rising from a few charred patches of earth where Jaax was sure Hroombra had breathed fire, and a large pile of firewood was aflame, the thick smoke billowing high into the sky.

  The Tanaan dragon seethed with heated rage and hatred, but his blood froze when he saw who could only be their leader, a dark figure astride a tall horse. No, not a horse, Jaax shivered, a low rumbling beginning in his throat, a quahna. The dragon recalled what he knew of the terrifying animals. The quahna were horse-like creatures that the Crimson King had developed near the beginning of his reign. Massive in size, cloven-hoofed with the teeth of a boar, this monster struck fear into the hearts of the bravest warriors. The quahna were known to tear a soldier from the saddle, kill his horse, and then come after the soldier himself.

  Jaax shuddered once again, feeling like his blood was draining from every inch of his body. He didn’t fear the frightful animal or even the men that had assailed Hroombra and the Ruin, it was their very presence that terrified him. He now knew that Denaeh’s predictions were right; the Tyrant had finally found Hroombra, and in finding Hroombra he had finally found Jahrra.

  Jaax opened his wings, ready to leap into the air and rain a torrent of fire down upon the mercenaries, but at that very moment another rider came charging over the crest in the road. Jaax nearly choked in horror.

  “Jahrra!” he whispered hoarsely.

  She must have seen the smoke from wherever she had been and rushed back, for Phrym was slathered in sweat and the girl looked like she was about to fall out of the saddle. Jahrra wouldn’t know the danger she was riding into, and the thought of what could happen if she was recognized was something that terrified Jaax more than anything.