Just then, Elias’ stomach grumbled. His hand flew to his midsection, embarrassed by the noise.
“Listen to me, carrying on like a senile old woman!” Carina laughed. “Of course, you are hungry. Check the stew. It should be ready. Ladle yourself a bowl and bring me the marrow bone. We will share it. Tonight, we do not go hungry.” They ate the delicious stew and prepared for bed.
That night, Elias dreamt of dragons, which he had never seen, except in pictures. He was walking in the forest, and he could see them silhouetted against the night sky. Their scales glittered in the moonlight. One of the dragons touched down right next to him, and reached out its clawed hand towards him. Startled, Elias ran into the safety of the underbrush. The dragon gave chase, bellowing in fury. He ran as fast as he could, jumping over rocks and brush. His side burned. Eventually, he fell, careening face-first into the damp earth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. When he turned around, the dragon was gone. He was alone in the forest. It was the first of many dreams that he would have about dragons.
***
Chapter 2: The Discovery
Elias awoke before dawn and dressed himself in the dark. Carina slept, her chest rising and falling gently. Elias went to her bedside and tucked the quilt under her chin. She looked pale.
Last night, Carina had given Elias a list of wild mushrooms to gather, so that was his task for today. Some of the mushrooms were rare and would be difficult to find. He ate a light breakfast, filled his waterskin, and packed his rucksack with a chunk of cooked lamb and some bread. Then he left the cabin, walking quickly.
The sky was clear and the air was icy cold. It had drizzled the night before, and everything was covered with a thin layer of frost. Elias slipped his hands into his pockets and continued to walk deeper into Darkmouth Forest. The walking soon warmed him up, and it wasn't long before he was sweating underneath his cloak. It was beautiful here—so peaceful. Other boys rarely went so deep into the forest. Most hunted close to the forest’s edge. Early on, Elias escaped the village bullies by coming here. He knew how to navigate the forest, and he wasn’t scared to travel farther than a day's walk. Elias had never found anything to fear here. In fact, it was one of the places where he felt the most at home.
He knew, from Carina’s maps, that the northern part of the forest ended at the Elburgian Mountains. The longest he’d ever spent in the forest was two days, and he’d gotten an earful from his grandmother when he returned.
By mid-afternoon, he had reached a secluded clearing that he knew well. There was a natural spring on the left, surrounded by a circle of oak trees. On the right, there was a mound of rotted logs. Every type of mushroom and fungus grew there, fed by the moist air and decaying wood. Soon, Elias was gathering tiny red-capped mushrooms and collecting them into a mesh bag, being careful not to smash them in the process. They needed to be kept intact until he got back to the cottage, where Carina would sort and dry them. Even though he enjoyed being in the forest, collecting mushrooms was a tedious business. It was too cold to take a quick dip in the pond, but he could feel the sweat running down his back as he bent down over and over to harvest the tiny mushrooms.
By the time he finished filling the bag, he was tired and hungry.
“I'll just eat my lunch, and hurry back home,” he thought. “It will be cold out here after the sun sets, and I don't want to get stuck out here if it starts to snow.”
Blooming winter flowers grew everywhere, especially lilies. Elias noticed an unusual number of bees collecting pollen in the clearing. There seemed to be so many that he suspected there was a new hive right in the clearing. Wild honey was difficult to find, and even more so in the winter. “Maybe I'll get lucky and find some honeycomb. That would be a rare treat for us.” He observed the bees for some time, and he was rewarded when he saw the opening to a beehive in a nearby tree.
“What a stroke of luck! If I can come back with some honey, grandmother will be delighted,” he thought.
Elias set to work on a smoke stick. He stripped a sturdy branch of its leaves, and then wrapped the end of with some dried bark and grass. Then he rolled the end in pitch.
He crawled up the tree slowly, glad that there were only a few dozen bees at the mouth of the hive. Even when calmed by smoke, the bees were still dangerous, so Elias put on his hood and wrapped a piece of cloth tightly around his face, leaving only a slit for his eyes. He whispered a short spell under his breath, and the end of the stick caught on fire. It burned with a greasy black smoke.
Elias jammed the smoke stick into the opening. The effect was immediate, and the bees started to stumble around the hive. Perfect. The hive was small—about arms-reach into the tree trunk. He could smell the delicious scent of wild honey. There was also something strange—a piece of the honeycomb looked green, as if something had grown into it. He grabbed his knife and cut combs from the hive, moving fast to prevent being stung. Bees swarmed on his cloak, and as he removed the precious honeycomb, a bee landed on his thumb and stung him.
“Ow! Sweet Baghra, that hurt!” He jumped down from the tree, running a safe distance while shaking off his cloak. He removed the stinger, sucking his thumb. His thumb throbbed, but it was worth it. He wrapped the honey in leaves and tucked it into his bag. His grandmother would appreciate this treat. He considered using a healing spell to stop the swelling, but decided against it. His grandmother said that sometimes is was better to just let your body heal naturally.
Elias left the clearing. The sun was low in the sky, and the air felt colder. “I must hurry or I will be stuck here after nightfall,” he thought. Instead of walking, he ran the entire way back to Persil, and made it to the forest’s edge just after sundown.
“Grandmother!” he shouted as he flew through the door, “I have a surprise for you!”
Carina was hunched over the hearth, stirring the leftovers of the previous night’s stew. She seemed better today. “Elias? You’re home late. Was it difficult to find the mushrooms?”
“No, I found them and filled the jar, just like you asked. But look! I found a bee hive. I got honey!”
“Really?” Carina’s wrinkled face broke into a wide grin. “Let’s see it!”
Elias pulled the broken honey combs from his pack and unwrapped them. It was only a small amount, about the size of a man’s fist, but it was such a rare indulgence and Carina was ecstatic. “Oh, my lovely boy! What a marvelous treasure. I will make some flatbread and we will enjoy it with our leftover soup. Tonight, we eat like kings!”
“I only got one sting, on my thumb.” He stretched his hand out, and Carina grasped it. The right thumb was badly swollen.
“Tsk. I’ll fix this for you, my dear.” Carina went to her cupboard and pulled a jar off the shelf that was filled with a gooey black substance. “This will reduce the swelling and draw the poison out. Your finger will be normal by tomorrow morning.” She spread a thick film on his affected thumb and wrapped Elias’ hand with a clean strip of cloth. “There you go, boy.”
“Thank you, grandmother. It feels much better.” It was the truth. The pain was almost gone, and Elias could feel the swelling going down.
“Have a seat, Elias—you’ve done enough work for today. I’ll pour you a big bowl of stew. It will only take a minute to warm the bread.” Carina went to the cupboard, and took out three pieces of brown flatbread. She placed them near the fire on a flat stone.
Elias sat down near the fire, stretching his hands out. The cabin was tiny—not more than a one-room shack, but it was warm and comfortable. It felt good to be home. The soup bubbled softly, and he watched Carina ladle a giant helping into his bowl.
“There you go. Eat the soup, and I’ll go spread some honey on the bread.” Carina turned to the table and opened the leaves that held the honey comb. “Tsk. One of the honeycombs has a bit of muck inside of it.”
“Yes, I noticed it when I was collecting the honey, but I was in such a hurry to get out of there that I didn’t remove it. It’s probably fungus.”
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Carina dug into the comb with her fingernail and pulled out a greenish stone, about the size of chicken’s egg.
“No! It can’t be!” she screamed.
“Grandmother! What’s wrong? What is it?” Elias ran to her side. Her face was white.
“It’s—it’s not... it’s not a fungus. It’s a stone. An emerald. Elias, where did you find this?”
“An emerald? Really? I wonder how it got inside the tree?” Elias walked to the table and picked it up. The surface of the stone was carved in a negative image, like the opposite of a cameo. “Grandmother, look! It’s carved into the shape of a dragon!”
“I know. It’s an intaglio—a Dragon Rider’s gem. Elias, I haven’t seen anything like this in years.”
“Really? They must be very rare! We could sell this—make lots of money!” Elias’ eyes glittered with excitement.
“No! Elias—you don’t understand. This gem once belonged to a rider. Simply possessing this gem could have us both killed.”
“But why?” asked Elias.
“Dragon stones have immense power. When a dragon is wild, the gemstone on its throat is smooth. The uncut gem is a cabochon—opaque, and shiny. If a dragon accepts a rider, powerful spells are cast to bind the dragon to the rider. During the binding ceremony, the dragon’s gem splits, and an image is scorched into the gem. The dragon stone is then divided in two by magic. The rider gets one half, and the other half stays embedded in the dragon’s throat. That is the way it will remain until they die. The dragon and the rider are united together permanently. Their minds link, and they are as one.”
“I wonder how the stone ended up in Darkmouth Forest?” asked Elias, his hunger forgotten.
“It could be very old. This is not the dragon’s half—this half belonged to a rider. You can tell because the image is carved into the stone. The half that remains with the dragon is a relief carving—a cameo. The two halves of the stone fit together—like a mold and its casting.”
“If we have the stone, does this mean that this rider is dead?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure what happens after a rider or his dragon dies. If the stone is shattered, then it usually kills the rider and the dragon, too. This stone is undamaged, so I don’t know if that means the rider is alive or dead. Some riders wore the stone as a pendant, but many opted to have the stone implanted permanently in their chest. That ended up being a mistake, because during the war, the Emperor’s men would merely strip off the rider’s shirt to confirm their identity. If they found a rider, the emperor would kill him or her on the spot.”
“Does the stone have any magical power?”
“Yes. The stone links a dragon and his rider together. The stone also makes it possible for a rider to communicate telepathically with other dragons. A dragon and his or her rider can communicate as soon as they are bound together. A dragon’s language is a combination of guttural sounds and telepathic images. Learning dragon-speak is extremely difficult, and it requires telepathic abilities.
Some independent mages learned how to communicate with dragons, but it always took years of training. However, it is said that elves can communicate with dragons effortlessly, as they can with all creatures.” She picked up the gem, sticky with honey, and traced the image with her finger. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve never seen one up close. It’s green, so it would have been from an emerald dragon. That’s—that’s all I know about them.” She placed the gem back on the table.
“This is incredible!” Elias grabbed it and held it up to the light. “Grandmother, be reasonable. It’s valuable, and we could use the money. Let’s sell it to Frogar.” Frogar was the village junk merchant. Unpopular for his sour character and greed, he was also useful, because he would buy almost anything—if the price was right.
“No! It’s too dangerous. Frogar is a liar and a cheat. He would skin his own mother for a bag of coppers. Take it back into the forest tomorrow and put it back where you found it.”
“But grandmother…” Elias started to protest, but she shook her head.
“Do not argue with me, Elias. My decision is final. Tell no one of the stone. Take it back where you found it. We cannot risk bringing this type of attention upon us.” Carina took the stone and hid it in the cabinet, behind her bottles of herbs and remedies.
Elias hung his head, annoyed. Why let something so valuable go to waste, just because of some silly superstition? They finished the rest of the meal in silence. Even the delicious taste of the honeyed flatbread could not improve his mood.
When he went to bed that night, Elias dreamt again of dragons. This time, a single green dragon approached him in the forest. It was twice the size of a horse, but he was not afraid. The dragon reached out to him and Elias saw the carved stone embedded in the dragon’s throat. The stone was identical to the one that Elias found in the forest. The dragon’s claw scratched at his throat, and Elias woke up in a cold sweat. “Aaaaugh!” he yelled. His heart pounded. It was only a dream.
Elias rolled back over and went to sleep.
***
Chapter 3: Frogar, the Junk Merchant
When Elias awoke the following morning, he shivered with cold. The fire had died down during the night, and the tiny cottage seemed darker than usual. He shuddered, got up, and fed another log to the fire. He peeked outside his tiny window and saw the ground covered in snow.
“Blast! The snow will make it impossible to find any food in the forest,” he thought. His breath escaped in a cloud of warm vapor. Elias took a deep breath, snuck into the kitchen, and grabbed the dragon stone. He looked over at Carina and saw that she was still sleeping. He put the stone in a pouch and hung it around his neck.
Elias donned his warmest cloak, a thick wool garment that had once been his grandfather’s. It was simple, but very well-made, and it kept him warm even on the coldest days. Carina had given it to him two years ago as a gift. He also had some leather boots and a hat that was lined with beaver fur. He hardly felt the cold as he stepped outside. The snow crunched under his feet as he walked towards the village square.
Persil wasn’t a large settlement, but it bustled with activity. There were children running in the streets and farmers carting their winter harvest for sale. The village was defended by local militia, and men patrolled the village borders with simple weapons. Most of Persil’s revenue came from fur trading. The hunting had been poor this year, and many families were struggling.
A farmer dragged a large selection of winter squash through the street. The squash came in different sizes and colors. Some gourds were the size of a child’s fist. Others were pumpkins; larger than a man’s head. A few women strolled up to the farmer, haggling with over price. One woman was holding an infant swaddled tightly in blankets, except for his mouth nursing at her breast.
Last year the pumpkin farmer would not have garnered so much attention, but this year, food was scarce. A single large pumpkin could feed a family.
“Eeee! Kemril, give us a good price on your pumpkins. I want two of these big ‘uns you’ve got here.” The housewife plucked two large pumpkins from his cart.
“I can give you a good price. Them smaller squashes are sweeter and good for makin’ pastry.”
“Ohhh, Kemril! Who has the money to make pastry these days? No, no, these pumpkins will cook in my soup pot with water and potatoes—they’ll stretch better that way. I have five mouths to feed. I don’t have any coppers, but I’ll trade you some butter; freshly churned this morning. All our goats are still giving milk, thank Baghra.”
“Alright, I’ll take the butter. Come back with it and we’ll trade.”
And so it went on like this for several minutes; the village housewives haggling back and forth. Few had any coins, but all of the women wanted to trade.
Elias watched the lively exchange for a few minutes before continuing on his way. In the village square, the cottages were built closer together. The homes were all small, painted white, and made from rock or mud brick. In
the heart of the village, there was a cluster of shops. The butcher, the candlemaker, and the local glazier all ran their businesses here. Elias kept walking briskly and reached the last two homes, which were backed up against the forest. Only two structures stood in a snow-covered meadow. One was the farrier’s place, and the other was Frogar’s house.
Frogar was a scrap dealer. He bought all kinds of rubbish. The outside of his shop was filthy, the ground littered with garbage. The inside was even worse. Boxes stacked to the ceiling; every inch filled with empty jars, gadgets, and dusty knick-knacks. Frogar lived in squalor, but was actually quite wealthy.
Elias walked into the shop, and a little bell rang on the doorjamb announcing his arrival. After a few minutes, Frogar shuffled to the counter.
“What do you want, boy?” His body smelled sour, like old whiskey. Frogar’s cheek was stuffed with chewing tobacco, and he spat into a brass cup. Elias’ nose wrinkled, and he put his hand up instinctively to hold his nose, but caught himself in time. He didn’t want to put Frogar in a bad mood.
“I have something to sell. A jewel.”
“A jewel, eh? What kind of jewel?”
“An emerald! And it’s as big as an egg!”
“Bah! Sure it is!” Frogar frowned. “Do you think I’m a fool, boy? Blast you for waking me and wasting my time.” Frogar turned and started to walk away.
“Wait! Don’t leave. It’s real!” Elias cried. He reached inside his tunic and pulled out the deerskin sachet.
“I don’t buy river rocks,” said Frogar. But he waited.
“I swear, it’s real.” Elias placed the little pouch on the counter, and it opened like a flower, revealing the emerald inside. “It’s a dragon stone. I found it in the forest.” Frogar’s eyes popped.
Dragon Stones (Book One in the Dragon Stone Saga) Page 3
