by Joseph Lallo
"How do I know I can trust you?" she asked.
"You don't. I've kept you alive this far. Now you have to decide," he said, diving into the churning pool.
Myranda cast a nervous glance at the very anxious Myn.
"He is not getting away that easily," she decided.
She dove into the water after him, with Myn reluctantly following. The dragon hated the cold, but was determined not to leave her friend's side.
Myranda wrestled her eyes open. The water was so cold, it stung her unmercifully, and the sound of the rushing water filled her head. Leo was disappearing into the eerie light of the submerged tunnel. She fought the astounding current, clinging to the slick as ice walls with fingers that had lost their feeling after just a few heartbeats in the water. Wavelike swishing motions of Myn's tail surged her forward until she was able to grip the roof with her claws. Neither girl nor dragon could make any headway. Every ounce of effort went to maintaining their position. A slight ripple in the rocky tunnel was enough to keep Myranda from sliding back, but Myn was not so lucky.
The dragon scratched desperately at the wall of the tunnel. She was losing the fight, flailing and slipping backward. Myranda took one hand away from its grip to guide the beast to the hand hold. Now with a firm grip, the two began to slowly pull themselves forward. Leo's form was barely visible ahead, pulling himself along in much the same way. Just ahead of him was the edge. Beyond that there was only light. Daylight.
As the girl and the dragon neared the opening, the current intensified. Myranda's chest heaved as her lungs begged for air. She reached out, managing to grasp the rounded edge of the opening with one hand. With the other, she grabbed the claw of her friend. In a final flurry of effort, she pulled the two of them into the light. The current split at the opening, half flowing into the tunnel, the rest fanning out along the wall the tunnel emerged from.
The latter current caught them, sweeping the pair forcefully along the wall just as Myranda's breath gave out. Spent air burst from her lips and a desperate, raking breath pulled in a lungful of frigid water. She convulsed as she smashed into the rocky edge of the pool. Darkness was closing in about her as she felt a pair of hands grip her arm and drag her from the pool.
A series of painful coughs spewed the water from her lungs and she gulped gratefully at the fresh air. Her vision was a swirl of indistinct forms as she was helped to her feet.
"Myn!" she managed. "Myn!"
She could feel the shivering beast brush weakly against her before dropping to the dry ground. Myranda was vaguely aware of being led along. Somehow she was on her feet, shuffling with a strong arm supporting her. She was barely cognizant of her own movement. Her helper lowered her to a seat and a blanket was thrown about her shoulders. The shapes that swept before her eyes were clearing. Before long she recognized a hand. She raised her eyes and struggled to focus on the face. Her hearing was nearly as poor as her sight, the roaring water still ringing in her ears. Mingled with the sound of water was a periodic sound she couldn't identify.
As she tried to steady herself, she realized that the sharp, grating noise she was hearing was her own coughing. When she finally calmed herself and her senses returned to her, she looked to her anonymous helper. He was a young man, about her age, with brown hair and a gray tunic. A sturdy messenger bag hung over his shoulder. He was checking her eyes and spouting phrases in a variety of languages. Eventually he struck the correct one.
"Are you warm enough?" he asked.
Myranda nodded.
"Where are the others?" she asked.
"Ah, so you have a tongue, and a northern one at that. Excellent, one of my favorites. The dragon that came with you is sleeping over yonder, and the malthrope has requested to be cared for in one of our cleric huts," he said.
"What happened?" she asked.
"You made it through the cave. You also made it through the waterfall, which may be unprecedented. I will look into it," he said.
"What is this place?" she asked, looking around. Her eyes had not recovered enough to make out her surroundings.
"My, so full of questions," he said. "Though after the ordeal you've been through, I suppose you've earned a few. This is Entwell Num Garastra. In the northern tongue, that translates to . . . the stomach--no, the belly of the beast," he said.
"What!?" she gasped.
"Oh, my heavens, I am sorry. It's just a name. No cause for fear. I'll explain later. Suffice to say you have discovered our village. It is a place of learning. We exist to acquire, improve, and impart knowledge," he explained.
"I'm not sure I understand," she said.
"You will. All in time," he said. "My name is Deacon. And you are?"
"Myranda," she said.
He held out his hand. She shook it, but he pulled away quickly and began riffling through a bag that hung at his side.
"You are cold as death. Excellent! Hold out your hand," he said, revealing a perfectly smooth, palm-sized, egg-shaped crystal.
"What? Why? What is going on?" she asked.
"Open your hand. I am merely going to temporarily manipulate certain physical attributes of your body tissues so as to facilitate the timelier introduction of appropriate heat levels than nature would generally allow," he said in a bewildering flurry of logic.
While Myranda was still trying to sort through his words, he placed the crystal in her hand. He then closed her hand around it and clasped his hands over hers. A flash of light shined through her fingers and a mild glow spread up her arms and through her body. It was accompanied by a curious sensation, or more accurately, a lack thereof. Everywhere the light touched was restored to normal. Cold became comfortable, numb became normal, and nowhere in between. There was no feeling of warmth, no tingling, simply an instantaneous return to normal. A second streak of light swept over her clothes, drying them.
"There," Deacon said. "How do you feel?"
As she began to answer, he scrambled to draw a thick, leather-bound book from his bag and began marking down all that she said with a stylus he had perched behind his ear.
"I feel fine," she said.
"No excessive heat? And tactile sensation--normal? Excellent, excellent," he said.
"What did you do?" she asked.
"The procedure is quite simple. It has escaped common use because the techniques it entails are not generally associated with white magic," he said. "You seem tired. Are you?"
"Very," she said.
"That is not a side effect I had anticipated. Perhaps . . ." he began.
"I don't think your spell is to blame. I haven't slept in more than a day," she said.
"Oh, well, yes. That would explain it," he said. "I can find you a soft bed and some fresh clothes if you like."
"You can?" Myranda said.
"Oh, yes. All of the amenities," he said with a chuckle. "Follow me."
She stood, but woozily stumbled. Deacon was quick to lend his arm to steady her. As the pair moved away from the deafening falls, Myranda gained her first clear look at the place she had been striving to reach for the past few days. Stretching out before her, nestled in the shadow of the cliffs towering behind, was a small village. The houses were simple huts with thatched roofs. The perfect little buildings with the rosy sky behind them looked more like a painting than someplace that might actually exist. There was no snow on the ground. Much to her surprise, the gravelly ground surrounding the falls gave way to emerald green grass.
As if this did not distinguish this village enough, the hamlet was alive with activity. Here was a young man sitting under a tree, there a trio of older men and women in a heated discussion. Birds, butterflies, and even what she swore was a tiny, winged person fluttered by. There were representatives from a myriad of races. Elves, dwarfs, humans--all in the open and interacting. It was a surreal sight, and Myranda was entranced. It was as though she was seeing life as it should be for the first time. Her trance was broken when Deacon was knocked forcefully to the ground. She turned to see Myn st
anding atop the fallen helper.
"Myn! No, he is helping me!" she scolded.
The dragon was reluctant to release Deacon, her teeth bared and dripping.
"I am sorry, little lady. I did not realize you were awake. I would have asked your permission, I assure you," Deacon said, chuckling as he got to his feet.
He drew his crystal and healed several places where the little dragon's claws met their mark.
"Are you all right?" Myranda asked.
"Fine, fine. It was my fault. I know how attached dragons get. Had I been thinking, I would have made my intentions clear," he said, casting another spell to mend holes torn in the fabric of his tunic.
"How do you know so much about dragons?" she asked.
"Solomon taught me," he said, carefully allowing the still agitated dragon to wedge herself between himself and Myranda.
"He knows about dragons?" she asked.
"He is a dragon," he said. "When you feel up to it, I'll introduce you. He is a very enlightening fellow."
Before long, they came upon a hut on the edge of the village. It was just like any of the others, and appeared as though it had never been used. He opened the door and led her inside. There were two rooms. One had a bed, the other a few chairs, a table, and a number of shelves.
"This will be your hut. Equip it as you will," he said.
"You mean, I may live here? This hut will be mine? Just like that?" she said.
"Of course. You made it through the cave. You are one of us. We always keep one hut empty to house the next adventurer to make the trek. We hadn't anticipated three at once. Work on the other huts will begin first thing tomorrow," he said.
"Where will Leo sleep?" she asked.
"Leo is your vulpine friend, I presume. He will be spending a day or two in the cleric's hut. What happened to him? I heard a bit of the chatter when they were hauling him out of the water and it seems he has been mangled physically and spiritually. It is going to take some of our best healers to untie the knots," he said. "As for Myn here, I am sure we can make some arrangements for her, too . . ."
"Oh, she sleeps beside me," Myranda said.
"Are you certain?" he asked.
"Since she was hatched," Myranda assured him.
"Oh, all right then," he said, eyebrow raised.
"Why?" she asked.
"Well, you see, the act of breathing fire is not always a strictly voluntary one. Occasionally, they let loose a puff or two in their sleep. Not enough to kill, mind you, but more than enough to set the bed aflame. Thus, sleeping in a bed with a dragon is generally inadvisable. However, if you have been doing so for this long then it is clearly not an issue," he said. "In a wardrobe in your bedroom, you will find a number of blue robes and tunics. They should fit well enough until we can make some specifically for you. I will make the necessary arrangements for you. You just have a well-earned rest. When you wake, find the nearest person and they will set you on your way."
"But where will you be?" she asked.
"Likely I will be scribing. It consumes most of my time. Anyone in the village will be more than willing to help you, you needn't come to me. However, if you need me, just say my name and someone will point you in my direction," he said.
He took his leave and closed the door. Myranda quickly changed into the fresh clothes. They were a bit too large for her, but as the first change of clothes she'd had in weeks, they were heavenly. She fell into the bed and was asleep before Myn joined her a moment later.
As was too often the case, Myranda's dreams were tortured. This time, though, they twisted at her mind in a new way. Now she was taunted with images of Leo. Memories of all of the good he had done for her intermingled with imagined instances of lies and treachery. She was forced to relive her time captured in the church with the role of her captor now recast with the face of her former friend. The man she had trusted, who had given her the help she needed, was now tying her up. The kind, thoughtful friend was now striking down men and putting a blade to her throat. It was agony.
She was jarred from her sleep by the departure of Myn, who leapt from the bed and pushed the door open. The golden light of sunrise and the sounds of morning filtered through the doors. Myranda drifted in and out of sleep for a time. Finally she heard a voice and opened her eyes. Standing before her was Deacon. He had an amused and slightly apologetic look on his face.
"I am sorry to wake you, but we have something of a situation that you may be able to help with," he said.
"Of course," she said, pulling herself groggily to her feet.
Deacon again offered his arm, but she didn't need the help anymore.
"Leo is undergoing a rather unpleasant procedure. You see, his legs had been broken multiple times in the past. They were left to heal naturally, and many did so poorly. We have found that the best way to deal with such an ailment is to allow the legs to heal correctly," he explained as the pair moved toward the cluster of huts that had been painted white.
"Heal correctly? But you said they had already healed," she said.
"Therein lies the issue. The legs must be re-broken. Generally the patient would be put to sleep or at least deprived of feeling for such a procedure, but Leo apparently asked to have the work done free of aid. Two successful breaks had been made when your other little friend made her appearance. She has taken a stance atop Leo and will not allow any of our healers near. We've tried to take care of the situation with magic, but it appears our spells are not having an effect. A number of the clerics were eager to put the more powerful spells to work, but I thought perhaps you could handle it more easily," he said.
Myranda was led inside one of the huts. Five white-robed healers were in a circle around the table upon which Leo was lying. Standing over Leo was Myn, her jaws snapping at anyone who approached from in front and her tail lashing anyone who approached from behind. As soon as Myranda was in sight, Myn fairly began to dance in place, anxiously shifting from foot to foot. Leo whispered something in a language Myranda could not identify and the healers filed out of the hut. Deacon lingered in the doorway before leaving and shutting the door behind him.
"They tell me you have a problem," Myranda said. "Deacon thought I could help."
"Myn will not let them do what needs to be done," Leo said. "I have spoken to her, but she will not listen. I doubt that there is anything that you can do that hasn't been tried."
"Maybe she just doesn't believe you. You've given me very little reason to do so," she said angrily. "If you want me to help you, you owe me the truth."
"I do not owe you anything," he said.
"I saved your life. You yourself said that the favor needs to be returned," Myranda said.
"I led you to safety. If I had not shown you the way into and out of the cave, you would be in the hands of the Elites right now," he said. "No one will be able to enter or leave this place until the falls relent, and months will pass before that happens. The debt is repaid."
"I want the truth," she demanded.
"You wouldn't know the truth if you had it. For all you know, I could simply replace one lie with another. If you want the truth, find it for yourself. There is as much of me here as there is anywhere else. If there is truth to be found, it is here," he said.
"Then why should I help you?" she asked.
"You shouldn't, but you will. I know you better than you know yourself. I know that you would like nothing more than to see me suffer for this supposed injustice, but your heart won't let you. That is your main weakness--your heart. You care too much for those around you. One day it will cost you your life," he said.
Myranda's eyes wandered to Leo's legs. They were twisted and bent. She tried to be strong. She tried to think of the wrongs he had done. The lies he had told. Alas, among all of the half-truths and outright lies, there was one undeniable fact. He was right about her. As angry as she was, she found herself searching for some way to help him. It didn't take long for her to realize that if there was something keeping their
spells from affecting Myn, there could be only one cause. There, on the little dragon's neck, the cord that held her souvenir still held firm. The trip through the water had twisted the trinket around, where it came to be nestled between her folded wings.
With a bit of difficulty, Myranda managed to untangle the charm and remove it. The dragon seemed upset, and became more so when the door was opened to allow the healers back in. Without the charm to protect her, Myn was quickly put into a deep, harmless sleep. After a final, stern exchange of looks, Myranda lifted the little dragon and took her leave. Outside, Deacon gave her a hand with the sleeping creature.
"Might I ask what the problem was?" Deacon wondered.
"A few days ago, Myn managed to chew this little ornament off of a helmet she separated from its owner. I gave it to her as a necklace, but apparently it had some sort of enchantment," Myranda explained as the trio moved back to her hut.
The dragon was set on Myranda's bed.
"Would you mind if I had a look at that charm? If it was able to ward off our spells, it must be quite powerful," he said.
She shrugged and handed it to him. Even before it dropped into his hand, he assured her that it was the work of an Entwellian. Looking it over only confirmed it.
"Yes. Yes. I know the man who invented this technique. I believe he is still about if you would like to meet him. Well, in time you will meet everyone," he said, before returning it to Myranda, who affixed it to the sleeping beast's neck.
"What do you do for food here?" Myranda asked. Right now she was a mass of hunger and anger, and she had to do something before one or the other overcame her.
"Oh, of course, you must be famished. This way. I'll join you. I haven't eaten yet," he said.
Myranda was lead out of the hut and along a well-worn path. Around the hut she had been given were a dozen others just like it, simple structures of wood with a thatched roof. Young people of every race lingered in the area, each wearing a similar blue tunic. As they continued, Myranda came to realize that the whole of the village, and a sizable one at that, was arranged in small clusters around courtyards with a larger hut at their center. Different groups of dwellings seemed to be populated by different groups of similarly dressed residents. There were people dressed in white, others in black. There were tunics of red, brown, aqua, and yellow. Scattered among them were older figures, some in deep conversation with one another, others trailing groups of younger villagers. If this was a place of learning, as Deacon had said, then these must be the teachers.
