Jaax adopted a more serious tone when he spoke up again.
“In a few hours we’ll begin a journey, Jahrra, but not just any journey, an escape. It will be difficult, but it cannot be helped. Get what sleep you can now because it may be some time before we get a chance to truly rest again. Don’t worry,” he assured her as she shot him another timorous glance, “I’ll stay up until morning and keep watch. I have to finish checking for missing or destroyed documents.”
Jahrra swallowed hard, and with a voice no higher than a whisper, asked, “What about those, those wolves?”
Jaax didn’t speak for several moments, his eyes, like Jahrra’s, fixed intently on the fire. When he finally answered her, it was with some restraint, “They are called death hounds, murhx glehssen, and they are the Tyrant’s newest creations.”
“Grouldahs?” Jahrra turned her eyes towards the dragon standing above her. “Denaeh told us about them once.”
Jaax smiled, but it was anything but friendly.
“Oh no,” he said quietly, “grouldahs are an entirely different matter altogether. They are made of something far more ancient than the death hounds, and their intent is not nearly as malicious.” He took a pained breath and continued, “The death hounds are a recent development of Cierryon’s, created using the darkest of magic and the remains of once living things. They can smell only fear and respond only to their master’s words. They are truly an abomination in the eyes of Ethoes.”
Jahrra shivered, thinking about how close to death she and her friends had come that fateful day on the outskirts of the Cohn Forest.
“Do not fear them, Jahrra,” Jaax said, mistaking her trembling. “I killed them all. And if the Tyrant’s vermin happen to have more stowed away somewhere nearby, they’ll think twice before offering them as dragon’s fodder a second time.” He grimaced and added, “Not that I would ever eat anything so foul.”
Jahrra relaxed at Jaax’s words and nodded silently, then closed her eyes and listened to the whispering coals of the fireplace. She was grateful that she was so exhausted. If she hadn’t been, she’d never be able to fall asleep. So much had happened that day, so much pain, so much hurt and anger. Her entire world had been shattered, and she didn’t even know how to start rebuilding it. Everything that she knew, everything that she believed she was part of, was all a lie.
Jahrra tried not to think about the fact that Hroombra was gone, she tried not to think about leaving Gieaun and Scede and all of her friends, and she tried not to think about never visiting the Black Swamp or Lake Ossar again. To distract herself, she focused on the gentle fire and the carved fireplace once again. It took her a long time to relax, but finally her mind calmed enough for rest. The last thing she remembered before falling asleep was the image of the group of joyous creatures on the rounded top arch of the fireplace. They were all smiling and all looked happy and content with the world.
As Jahrra drifted off into the land of dreams, she imagined the mystical world carved into the hearth coming to life. She found herself in the magical meadow where she had first seen the unicorns in the Wreing Florenn so many years ago. They were galloping about the clearing, sending up clouds of painted butterflies and fairies. Jahrra was smiling, and when she looked around she discovered that she was holding hands with the marvelous creatures she’d only seen in drawings, dancing and making merry.
The music and laughter filled the glen and there was no longer any sorrow. Jahrra had a sudden urge to glance toward the edge of the meadow, her heart nearly stopping when she saw that her cloaked stranger from so many dreams before was standing just on the edge of the tree line. He had visited her dream world only a few days ago, and she was surprised to see him again so soon, especially in this unfamiliar setting. For the first time in her dreams, Jahrra smiled up at him, welcoming him, encouraging him to join in with the merriment. Slowly, the figure stepped back and turned to the forest.
The darkness of the woods seemed to swallow him, and Jahrra felt disappointed and sad. Where is the glowing light he usually brings with him? she wondered. She grew even more disheartened as he completely disappeared behind the black veil of trees. Soon after he left her dream world, her growing sorrow and regret caused the bright glow of magic to fade from the meadow as well. The unicorns became agitated and they scattered into the woods. The fairies dove and took cover in the ferns and grasses. The creatures that had been so happy to dance with Jahrra pulled their hands away and kicked at her as she clung to them.
Jahrra was still too caught up in the actions of the hooded figure to notice her unhappy companions. She stared at the spot where he had just left and wished that he would come back. She barely noticed when the clearing suddenly became dark and cold. After a few dizzy moments she broke free of her trance. That was when she first began to feel and smell the fire.
The sounds of howling, a howling so similar to that of the death hounds, almost like a distant, deep siren, went off in the dark. The trees came crashing down around her, torn and singed by an angry blaze. And then she felt fear, a fear like she’d never felt before. A huge, dark figure, too big to be her familiar stranger, moved towards her. Her mouth went dry and her skin became clammy. She squinted through the dark to see who this man was, but the heat and smoke of the fire burned her eyes. All around there were the howls and moans of suffering; animals and beings, the ones who she’d been playing with only moments before, being tormented and murdered. Jahrra backed away from the looming black figure, feeling as helpless as a rabbit trapped in its burrow.
A smoldering tree came crashing down in front of her, and Jahrra jumped up, awaking from her nightmare. She felt exhausted, cold and petrified. Her heart raced and for a moment she forgot where she was. She quickly darted her eyes around the nearly dark room and saw that the fire in the hearth had once again burned down to embers. The figures carved into the hearthstone were no longer dancing, but staring down at her with malice, as if they had created the nightmare themselves. Jahrra gave them a cautious look and then turned as she heard a noise.
“Good, you’re up. I was just about to come and wake you.”
Jaax appeared to have some burned documents at his feet and a grim look on his face. Jahrra was grateful to be distracted by the dragon’s interruption and she quickly pushed the awful dream from her mind.
“What are those?” she inquired shakily, still half covered by her blanket.
“Maps,” was Jaax’s simple reply.
“Maps?” Jahrra repeated.
“Maps of Oescienne and other parts of Ethoes. But not just any maps. These maps mark a few important locations of those opposed to the Crimson King. It appears the scouts from last night have acquired some vital information, and we must leave as soon as you can get ready.”
Jahrra looked at the dragon in bewilderment. “What, right now? How will I say goodbye to Gieaun and Scede, and Denaeh? And what about Viornen and Yaraa? I was supposed to have an endurance test with them next week!”
Jaax turned his eyes away from Jahrra’s confused and desperate gaze.
“There’s no time now,” he said hoarsely, confirming his weariness and guilt, “and it is better for them if we leave without their knowing. That way if the enemy ever does question them, they can honestly say that they have no idea where you have gone and they won’t become the victims of torture.”
Jahrra’s eyes burned with rage, and her throat ached from this new sorrow. How much more was he going to ask her to sacrifice?
“Are you telling me that you expect me to leave my home, possibly to never return, without saying goodbye to my best friends!?”
It was a harsh whisper, and it made Jaax rather uncomfortable. He had already done enough to upset her, now he had to do this.
“I know you think I’ve no concern for your feeling, that I only wish to ruin your life, but believe me, if I could make it any other way I would. You must trust me!” he growled lowly. “Please.”
Jaax was slowly becoming impatient. He hated d
oing this to Jahrra, but he was also growing fearful of what the Crimson King might already know.
The embers of the fire burned Jahrra’s cheeks just as the anger smoldered inside of her. Now what was she going to do? She was injured, incapable of walking on her own, and, although she hated to admit it, Jaax was right, it would be better for her friends if they just left. She was starting over with an entirely new life, and she knew that Gieaun and Scede wouldn’t understand, at least not right now. But then again, leaving with no word could also be just as damaging.
They’ll think I’ve been kidnapped. They might even think I’ve died, she thought, her heart breaking all over again. But I have to make the right decision, the one that is the best for them, even if it is the hardest one I’ve ever made.
Jahrra took a short breath, releasing it in a hiss, and made up her mind.
Through gritted teeth and forced back tears, she said thickly, “We are not leaving Phrym.”
She crossed her arms and stared at the dying coals, her eyes turned away from Jaax’s.
Jaax breathed a great sigh of relief and said, “I wouldn’t dream of it. Now what do you want to bring along with you?”
Jahrra stood slowly and limped her way into her old room, trying her best to ignore the dragon’s harshness. The pain had eased a little, but her knee and foot were very swollen and matched the stormy sky outside. She grabbed all the clothes she could find, her journal, her notes on Kruelt and her books of folklore, and the maps she’d made under Hroombra’s supervision.
Looking around the room, Jahrra found her bow and arrows and the stick she used as a sword when she first started her lessons with Viornen and Yaraa. Ha, she thought bitterly to herself. I wonder if Yaraa and Viornen knew who I was all along. Then she smiled wryly. Of course they did. And perhaps that is why they gave me this armlet. Jahrra stretched her arm in front of her, scrutinizing the rune-etched beads. Well, despite everything, it’s a good thing I did better in defense lessons than I did in Kruelt.
Jahrra gathered her weapons: her bow and arrows, the long knife from her friends and her trusty old dagger she kept tucked away in her boot. She also sought out some other items she’d collected over the years, including the scale pendant Jaax had given her (which she looped over her head and tucked beneath her shirt), a bag of dried mushrooms and medicinal herbs and Milihn’s feather from Denaeh, the blue-green rock she’d found in Ehnnit Canyon, and the small leather pouch filled with the unicorn hair she had gathered from the meadow in the Wreing Florenn.
Jahrra pulled back the loose stone in the wall, just in case she had missed something, and found one other treasure. She scooped up the necklace and earrings Hroombra had bought for her for the party in Kiniahn Kroi and dropped them into the pouch with the unicorn hair. Finally, she located her small spyglass. She fingered the smooth, cool brass tenderly as she thought of Hroombra, then wrapped it in soft cloth and placed it gently into her bag.
Once absolutely sure she had everything she wanted to take, Jahrra gathered it all in her spare quilt and dragged it back into the common room. She looked around for Jaax, but she didn’t see him anywhere. After taking one regretful look around her home, she pulled her bundled quilt over to the entrance of the Ruin and found the Tanaan dragon waiting in the pre-dawn light with a box of his own.
“I don’t know if Phrym can carry that box,” she said wearily as she hobbled out into the cold, open air.
“I only want a few things from it, the rest we’ll have to destroy.” Jaax opened the box and pulled out some maps and documents, the book Jahrra had found at the coves, and the compass with the mother-of-pearl facing. Then he grasped the box with his great clawed foot and turned it upside down. A tiny object clattered out and hit the ground, rolling to a stop in front of Jahrra.
“What’s that?” she asked, eyeing the small, shiny almond shape in front of her.
“That,” Jaax said, bowing his head ever so slightly, “is an acorn from the Sacred Oak of Ethoes. That’s where the elves of Crie found you. They gave me that acorn to keep for you, so you could have something from where you came from. It is yours now.”
Jaax stepped back a few paces, giving Jahrra room to think more clearly. She reached down and touched the cool acorn and her fingers began to tingle. She pulled her hand away sharply, but then remembered how she had reacted to the Apple Tree in Ehnnit Canyon. She reached down again, and this time she picked it up. It felt safe in her hand; it felt happy. Jahrra smiled with tears in her eyes as she decided what she would do with it. She stood up slowly, grimacing from the ache in her ankle, and shuffled over to the blackened patch where Hroombra’s lifeless form had rested the day before.
Jaax hesitated just a moment, and then made to move towards her.
“Jahrra . . ?” he queried cautiously. There was concern in his voice, but Jahrra just turned and smiled back at him.
“I’m going to plant it, here, where my home is. I’m going to plant it where Hroombra,” Jahrra took a shallow breath and closed her eyes, “where Hroombra fell. It will grow to be a magnificent tree someday.”
Jahrra plopped down onto the cold, charred earth and dug a deep hole with her fingers. She kissed the plump acorn as if it were a part of her own soul and placed it gently in the hole, covering it up safely. She left her hands over the freshly buried acorn for a few minutes, trying to transfer all of her hope and energy into the young, unborn tree.
After several moments, Jahrra stood back up and limped over to Jaax and the pile of maps, books and other objects from the discarded trunk.
“What are we to do with these then?” she asked, feeling empowered by what she had just done.
“You can tuck them into your saddle bags, but we must never let anybody get a hold of them, understood?” Jaax said, looking Jahrra squarely in the eye.
Jahrra nodded her head.
“I’ll help you over to Phrym, but you’ll have to pack all of this on your own. Can your leg handle it?”
Jahrra nodded wordlessly once again.
The short walk to the stable was a grueling one. Jahrra stumbled a few times on the wet, uneven ground and had to pull herself up painfully each time. Jaax was patient with her, however, and didn’t make his usual rude remarks. Phrym was quite pleased to see Jahrra, especially after what had happened the night before. She had him saddled (with her four-pommel saddle of course) and ready to go in no time. Getting atop Phrym’s back proved difficult, and she had to ride slowly so as to not aggravate her knee and ankle. By the time Jahrra and Jaax had everything packed up and ready to go, the sun was just starting to come up over the eastern hills.
“Wait, I have to say goodbye,” Jahrra said, her voice trembling a little.
She led Phrym around the southern end of the Ruin, past her old window, beyond her small garden and out towards her favorite eucalyptus tree. She wished with all her heart that she could sit in its branches one last time, but she knew her leg wouldn’t allow it. She settled for sitting on Phrym right beside it instead.
Standing on the edge of her Sloping Hill and looking out over the land had finally brought the reality of what was happening crashing down on her. It was all such a great shock: the tragedy of Hroombra’s death, the unexpected knowledge of finding out who she really was, and the pain of knowing she would be leaving her friends so suddenly. All of this had numbed her, but finally that numbness was wearing off. With hot tears in her eyes, Jahrra looked out over the edge of the bluff one last, lingering time. She knew that leaving with Jaax meant she may never see this place again, and she wanted to make sure that the image she held in her mind would always be one of this scene.
She gazed at her ocean and her dunes, her hills and her lakes, her trees and fields. Yes, this land was hers, and as she stared, her heart breaking, at her home, Jahrra finally understood that her destiny was more important than she had ever dreamed.
“I must save this land,” she whispered to her tree, to her home, to Oescienne. “I must save it because life isn’t wor
th living if I don’t.”
Jahrra smiled, tears streaming unashamedly down her cheeks, at the western edge of the Thorbet Mountains, white capped for the winter. She laughed softly as she recalled her short life in this place so far. It had meant so much to defeat Eydeth that day in the race. Now it didn’t seem that important. She gazed at the five lakes, where she could still recall some of her fondest and earliest memories of swimming and catching bullfrogs and fish. She laughed as she recalled the time she terrified half of her class with the lake monster she’d created with Gieaun and Scede.
She loved this land more than any one person should be allowed, but she couldn’t help it. It had shaped her, given her meaning; it had fed her imagination and given her comfort when she needed it most. Its people and its beauty had raised her, just as much as her parents and Hroombra had. It was always there, always changing with the seasons, but it was also constant.
Without her realizing it, Jaax had quietly joined her side, staring off into the distance as she did. He waited awhile before speaking softly.
“Jahrra, you must not lose heart. Things will change, that’s for sure, but you must hold on. Look at this tree here.”
Jahrra looked at her gnarled tree. It wasn’t the prettiest tree in Oescienne, but she loved it anyway. She gazed affectionately at its three trunks, one growing vertically, the other more at an angle, and the third, lying almost flat on the ground. It was this third trunk that Jahrra had always loved to sit on.
Jaax continued in a solemn, respectful tone, “This tree was uprooted and thrown down. It was burdened by the wind, but look at it now. You would have never guessed it was in peril at some point. It has survived, and not only survived, it has thrived. Who would have thought that such a strong tree was at one point fighting for its life? So you see, we all get blown down now and again, but we have to decide whether we want to survive or just lie there and let the elements take us.”
The Beginning Page 40
