“I told you what had occurred Zelspar. I interfered to help you. I knew what Dargenoin did. He interfered and so, I came to you with the warning, to help I you while there is still time.”
“What else do you know?” demanded Zelspar.
“I told what I could, and even doing so, I knew I had overstepped the boundaries of the Creator of All. I had to be able to give hope to the future of Dragons.”
“Since both you and Dargenoin horned into our lives, you have altered our destiny. You had better come up with some answers, or I swear to you now by all that is Dragon, I will peel your hide off your body as you stand here,” Zelspar growled till the rocks rattled loose overhead.
“The only part I did not say... I knew what Dargenoin did.”
“Then do so now! I have no patience for the games you and Dargenoin play with our lives,” he roared.
Wyrtregon answered. “He coerced a Weaver of the Strings. He made it so Galdean’s broken thread by death was tied. I did not know my warning had come too late. When I found out what Dargenoin had done, by deceiving a Weaver of the Strings, I knew I must help. When the Weaver re-tied the broken thread, I had no choice but to allow Galdean’s spirit to find its home. I presumed the Ancestors would help in revitalizing the spirit and flesh.”
“No. We are corrupted. We also drank and ate of an oasis Dargenoin created, because we did not know. Our spirits now fight our own flesh. Our minds are poisoned with thoughts and doubts that should never be. You must rewrite History and rectify all of this.”
“That I cannot do, Zelspar. History is written by events. I have no power to change it.”
"You will have to do something, Wyrtregon, or you will soon be making your last entry. It is in our birthright to always exist. Do you understand, always? Not to become corrupted and die out."
“Did the Ancestors give you any future Vision? Anything to give direction?”
“No-- I told you already, they refuse to be of any help."
Wyrtregon dropped his heads to Zelspar's level. When he spoke, it was in a very hushed voice.
“I know of only one other that could hold the answers you seek.”
“Tell me--” He said through his clenched jaws.
“Seek Pravietis.”
Momentarily, fear kept Zelspar silent. When his shock wore down, he replied, “I have no time for Visions or for seeking. Bring me the great Seer. Since he is the Future Walker, why isn’t he here? He must know of our plight.”
Zelspar refused to follow conventional thinking. He refused to accept their fate. His strength of Will would not be broken. While he could still assert his spirit to fight, he would fight with all his might and mind to purge the Dragons of the poison Dargenoin had given.
Wyrtregon replied, “I do not know how to bring Pravietis to you. I only know as the Future Walker; he would see what you need to stop the new future. If you could find that out, you could find the answer to change the outcome.”
“There must be something you know. You are the Historian, after all. Where does Pravietis stay? What do I look for? How can he be found?” Zelspar poured out his questions.
“He lives in the water’s depths. His body is very long and sleek and has colors of all minerals gleaming across his body. His cave runs from the waters and into the land. Those living in the waters protect him. It is said that in the time of great need you can stand at any water’s edge and stir the water. If you all out his name, he will show himself. I have it written. He aided peoples from a faraway place escape from those who came to bring harm. No matter what you have heard, he is approachable.”
“Then I go at once. Any water, even a stream?” Zelspar turned to ask.
“Yes, in the time of great need, any water will connect you to Pravietis. Find a spot which is smooth, where the waters do not ripple. You will have the best ability to connect and see or hear what Pravietis has to give to you,” Wyrtregon explained.
“By all that is Dragon, you had better hope he has answers. Dargenoin selected the wrong Dragon to play his games with.” He jumped off the ledge and split the wind, pointing to the stream which cascaded down the mountains and winds through the trees where it collects into a wide blue pool of water.
Zelspar landed at its shores and went directly to the far edge of the water, where the surface was free of all but an occasional ripple. He crouched to stir the water with one long yellowed claw. “Pravietis, Pravietis the Seer, the Future Walker! You are needed badly.”
The water swirled as the long glistening body undulated just under the smooth surface. As the water cleared, Pravietis came to the surface. “It is I, Pravietis. I have seen your journey, Zelspar. The fault does not lie with you. Dargenoin has altered the Strings of the Dragons. For this reason, I will help you. Do not hold anger against your Ancestors, they have not seen what I have seen.”
“Tell me, what have you seen? What of our future?”
“I will tell you what I saw, if the course is not altered. Be mindful, this is the future without intervention. You must know it so you can find the way out of it. I will help in any way possible and will tell you if an effort you made has changed the course. Listen and know.” Pravietis’ body wavered, and he spoke over the images coming to the top of the water.
Zelspar saw Galdean in his lair, moaning with his internal sickness. The King and Queen of Mursei were doing all they could to help him and even bringing one of his Healers to care for Galdean. He heard his name being called and saw the look of concern on their faces. The next ripple showed Galdean looking better but his image flickered, showing the disruption was still within him.
He saw a future where Galdean was a bitter Warrior. He complained he had fought battles for the King of Mursei but had naught to show for it. Galdean envisioned a greater future for himself. He worked to undermine the King’s authority, dividing the loyalty of many Hails. Where once there was harmony, now there was chaos. The poison was taking root.
An image rippled. Zelspar looked on as his very soul cried out. The Dragons had lost great numbers, battling against one another. Dragon eggs were spoiled and the few that did hatch, had corrupted souls. The most devastating image of all spread across the water-- the image of a New King removing the crown from the chosen King. Zelspar could watch no longer. The pit in his belly turned sour.
“Pravietis, show me no more of these horrors. I cannot stand looking at them,” his voice was weak and broken. “How do I stop this future? Galdean would never choose this for his future! The Dragons would not choose a future to live again with turmoil and unrest.”
“You must remove Galdean from the Hails and take the Healer with you so no further transference may occur. Remember Zelspar, you also have been contaminated. It is not as strong in you yet, because your thread was not tampered with by Dargenoin. Use what magic and medicines you have to combat this putridity. It may require creating new magic as this is a new attack on the Dragons.”
“Yes, yes Pravietis, I will return and start immediately.”
Pravietis replied, “First, you need to bring me Wyrtregon. I must talk to him. I will need his assistance for us to break any further deterioration. We must hurry.”
The old White Dragon took to the air and felt a smoldering spark of hope which he fanned with each wing beat. He clung to it with all of his might, to not be shaken by the storm.
Zelspar returned to Wyrtregon’s cave, calling on the great beast before even his talons touched the firm surface. “Wyrtregon, come. You must hurry!”
From the crevices deep within the cave emerged the Historian. “Zelspar. Why are you are making a habit of disturbing me?”
“I would not have to if you meddling Immortals had not intruded into our lives. Now listen! Pravietis calls for you. He requires your help, so you must return with me quickly. I will lead you to him then return to Galdean to begin to find a way to stop what has begun. Let us fly!”
The two Dragons made their way to the blue pool where Zelspar spoke to Pravietis. Th
e water’s swirl announced the Future Walker was ready.
“Well done, Zelspar,” Pravietis said gratefully. “You may now leave to tend to Galdean. I shall watch your progress.”
Zelspar nodded to Pravietis and Wyrtregon and tore through the air to return home.
“What is your need of me, Future Walker?” Wyrtregon inquired with trepidation.
“I saw Dargenoin deceive the Weaver of the Strings. The result will be a slow annihilation of all Dragons, either by the poison or battles amongst themselves. We must help change their altered course.”
“The Dragon you say,” blurted out Wyrtregon. “We have already butted in where we should not have!”
The force of the water exploded all around him and left Wyrtregon drenched. “Historian, have you no compassion for our kind? Annihilation! Our history shall end. This is not the direction our history should unfold, even you should be aware of this.”
“I am aware, Pravietis, but I am also aware of the wrath of the Creator of All. I do not relish being called to answer for the changing history.”
“Don’t be a fool, Wyrtregon. It is already done. Perhaps you might yet save your hide by helping fix the problem you played a part in creating,” spewed forth the agitated Future Walker.
Wyrtregon’s three heads whipped angrily through the air above the water. Pravietis had hit his mark.
“What is it you suggest we do?” He asked with his ill-hidden anger on display.
“I cannot leave my waters to reach the Weavers of the Strings, but you can find them. Approach the one who was deceived, the one in charge of Galdean’s thread. You and the Weaver must find the spot where his broken thread was tied. It will easily show as a blemish in his tapestry.”
Wyrtregon’s face showed his concern. “But surely I will be discovered…”
“Who are you worried about? The Creator or Dargenoin?” Pravietis sparred.
“I do not want the interactions of either,” he said belligerently.
“What is done is done, Wyrtregon. If we shall have to answer, we will. I tell you this, if there is a chance our help may disrupt the current path, we must take it.”
“What is it you purpose that I do?” ventured Wyrtregon.
“Only that when you and the Weaver find the hastily tied thread, the Weaver take one small hair from you to shave it into a fine thread to weave around the knot.”
Wyrtregon was appalled. “What? Have you lost your senses?”
“You think I have? Or have I merely discovered a weak link to Dargenoin’s plans?” A wry smile vividly shown through the water.
“This is unheard of, to meld one’s history with another’s thread.” complained the Historian.
A raucous, gurgling laughter brought ripples across the blue pool. “Do not be so sure of yourself, Wyrtregon. Remember, I am the Seer. You only write of History. You are not privy to the things I have seen, the things I know.”
“What will this do?”
The serpentine body slithered under the water before he spoke, “It should bind enough of the History over the Galdean’s tied thread. I believe it will help alleviate some of, perhaps most of Galdean’s torment.”
Pravietis continued, saying “I believe part of Galdean’s troubles are coming from the tying of the thread. When a thread is shortened by the tying, certainly there will be the disruption of continuity. But your hair, that of the Historian, may serve as filling in the blanks,” gloated Pravietis, exceptionally pleased with himself.
Wyrtregon’s expression changed from being appalled, to that of surprise. “Pravietis! I do believe you have something here. Could there be any ill effects for Galdean?”
“Worse effects than he currently has? Unlikely. By the Weaver shaving your hair down to a fine thread and artfully weaving it around the tied knot, I believe it will bind just enough of your History to aid in the fighting between his flesh and spirit. His spirit rebels because there are parts it does not recognize in Galdean. I realize there is a great deal of speculation on my part, but what I purpose outweighs the future path Galdean currently faces.”
“I do not know of his future, only that it and the future of all Dragons have been altered through Dargenoin’s tampering. I will do as you have suggested. In doing so, perhaps I’ll be able to aid in the recovery of Galdean,” replied Wyrtregon with hope.
“Thank you, Wyrtregon. We shall know soon enough. Make your way to the Weavers of the Strings and be quick about it, every moment which passes rewrites the future.”
“I will not rest until this is accomplished. Be well, Pravietis!” The Historian lifted up his massive body into the air and flew off to the East, a new resolve carrying him to the Weavers.
Chapter 12
Kaida woke up sobbing, arousing Molakei from his own sleep. Flower Bird joined her father next to Kaida.
“Kaida, what troubles you?” Molakei asked, gently patting Kaida’s arm.
“I do not know but it hurts,” she replied tearfully.
“Tell me more so I may help you, little one.”
“It feels like something has come and is taking part of me away! I don’t see it, but I can feel it. Oh, Molakei, it is awful,” she sobbed and buried her face into his chest.
“I know you feel bad, little one, but we are here. Perhaps it is only night visions which scared you,” Molakei whispered to the frightened child.
“No, Molakei,” she moaned. “It is very bad. It is real and it is going to tear me apart. I know it. It is like the giant birds in the sky that come down and tear the flesh from the ground wanderers. You have seen them. It is like that!”
Molakei could only hold her and smooth back her hair, gently rubbing her small arms, allowing her to expel her worries. In his heart, he felt worry. He wondered what was attacking her and why? He didn’t believe it was something he could seek out and destroy, it was something different.
Flower Bird brought Kaida a warm drink, made with leaves that would help her rest, and held it to her lips, urging Kaida to drink it down. She used the Tribe’s favorite, flowers of the plant that looks like tiny suns and the flower that grows with clusters of pink flowers bundled together. It would help her rest again she thought, as she nodded to her father.
Molakei held her close and hummed soothingly into her ear. The low rumble of his voice lulled Kaida peacefully to sleep. He held her like that until he felt sure she would not awaken and then placed her tenderly upon her bed of deep, soft furs.
Molakei motioned to his daughter to follow him out into the night air. He said, “Daughter, go mix me up the tea for talking with our Ancestors. I must hear them and seek guidance for Kaida’s night scares. I think something is bringing her harm and I must know how to deal with it.”
“Yes father. Will you be in the lodge?”
“No. I will wait here. When I finish it, I will go up the mountain to be closer to the Spirit. Stay here and watch over Kaida until I return. Watch for anything you think is not normal.”
“I will. I’ll go now to prepare your drink. I will return.” She retrieved the pouches of strong medicine and laid them by the fire pit when she left to bring in the water.
After the fire was glowing, she mixed a pinch of medicine into a bowl with water, letting their spirit mingle with the heat. She poured the hot liquid into another bowl and repeated the process until it had cooled enough to drink. Only then did she offer it to her father.
Molakei offered his prayers up for a safe journey and for understanding of Kaida’s troubled sleep or vision. He walked out into the night air, carrying only a small bag of colored rocks and a mat woven of the woody shrub that gave purple flowers. It is known for cleansing the person and bringing balance. He made his way to a well-worn path leading up the mountain.
Flower Bird returned inside after watching her father leave. She sat close to the fire, singing in low tones as she watched over Kaida. She hoped the Great Ancestor would come to her father. She could read his eyes and there was a worry in them. She sat and sang
and watched, waiting for her father to return from his journey.
Wyrtregon returned to the cave Zelspar and Galdean had stayed for a brief time. He made his way down through the passageway tunneled deep within the cave, which abruptly ended at a small chamber. His three heads with three sets of red eyes turned, looking in all directions.
Assured he was alone; he pressed his left palm into the disguised imprint in the tunnel’s wall. It rotated open. His print is the only one which could open the wall to his private domain, held secret over thousands of years. Secret for a good many reasons.
Within his lair, he has access to all points on Urthe and just as important, to points outside of Urthe. One in particular. To the location of the Weavers of the Strings. He had made many visits there, in the past. As the Historian, he would often go to the Weavers and ask to review a particular Tapestry they had woven. It was his way of ensuring that he had recorded every detail of a Dragon correctly in the book of Dragon History.
Wyrtregon walked through the hidden portal to the place of the Weavers of the Strings. It always took his breath away to go there. The Weavers sat, row upon countless row, their Strings all neatly coiled in boxes of gold, ornately bespectacled with precious stones. Gentle bubbling fountains made a semi-circle in front of the Weavers, and behind them were endless fields of fragrant blooms, in all variations of colors. The thought had crossed his mind more than once, whether this was a cruel joke the Creator of All played, or if it was a compensation given to the Weavers.
For the Weavers had no vison. The stories they weave are gained through many means, but primarily it was a direct input into their minds. Their other ability of having the sharpest hearing of any creation aided them immensely.
When a life is finished, so is the ornate Tapestry they had woven. Some were quite large and yet, when gathered for the Creator, they fold down to a parcel smaller than a wing’s claw.
The Legend of the Dragon Child Page 14
