“Yeah, and exaggerated it ten times worse than what actually did happen,” Jahrra sniffed, sitting taller in the saddle.
By the time the three companions made it to the Castle Guard Ruin, the yellow glow of the daylight hours had faded into hues of washed-out indigo. Jahrra turned Phrym down the narrow path that led to the withered building and stopped, turning to her friends.
“I’ll see you later, maybe tomorrow?” she asked.
“Mother and father might need us to help out in the fields with the horses, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you joined us,” Scede offered.
“I’ll see what Master Hroombra has planned. Goodbye!”
They said their farewells and Jahrra jogged Phrym across the field to his stable. As she took off his saddle and rubbed him down, she talked with him as if he were Gieaun or Scede. “One more school year gone. I can’t believe it.”
Phrym just whickered contentedly, nibbling at the oats in his trough. Jahrra looked off into the west and sighed. She wondered if next year would be any different. If the twins are still in school, then probably not, she thought ruefully.
Jahrra finished up with Phrym and took her time walking back to the Ruin, the chirping of crickets and alarm calls of frightened birds accompanying her the entire way. She stepped through the small door of her home to find Hroombra crouched in front of the massive fireplace in the equally massive common room. She looked past him, a little surprised not to find him at his desk, and saw a large pile of logs stacked in the center of the stone fireplace. Jahrra looked up at her mentor, her brow furrowed.
“Are you building a fire?” she asked, thinking of how ridiculous the idea was on this warm evening.
“Yes, I am,” was Hroombra’s simple reply.
Jahrra sighed, knowing out of experience that he wasn’t about to explain. “And why are you building a fire? It’s the beginning of summer.”
Just as Jahrra was beginning to think that her guardian had lost it, he smiled brightly, eyes glittering. “This will be no ordinary fire,” he said.
Jahrra was growing frustrated with Hroombra’s lack of information, so she threw her hands up and exclaimed, “Alright, what do you have planned now?”
His grin deepened as he chanted, “This fire will be neither hot nor cool, and it will neither burn nor freeze.”
Jahrra was flabbergasted. What kind of a fire could freeze? she thought with a befuddled look on her face.
Hroombra stood and walked over to the fireplace. He took a short breath and quickly exhaled, blowing a vibrant ball of red flame onto the pile of wood. The dry timber caught fire immediately, crackling and sparking aggressively, but the red flames soon turned to a blue-violet color, and they began rippling like water.
Jahrra was no longer confused, but intrigued. She slowly walked over to look at the strange flames, reaching out a hand to see if it felt hot, but there was no sensation of heat whatsoever.
“Go ahead and brush your fingers through it, it won’t burn you.”
Jahrra looked up at Hroombra and saw the truth of that statement in his honest eyes. He nodded his great head, so she quickly trailed her hand through one of the ripples. The effect was nothing more than that of a tiny puff of wind passing through smoke. Jahrra pulled her hand back and looked at it. No mark had been made, and she didn’t feel a thing. It felt just as it would if she were waving goodbye to her friends.
“What is this?” she asked in wonder, still staring at her hand.
“It’s ancient magic, long banished by the Tyrant King. The wood is ordinary, but the herb used to light the fire and the words I spoke over it earlier are magical. I have much of the plant stored away, but I only use it on special occasions since it is near impossible to come by these days.”
Jahrra thought of the locked room in the back of the building and suddenly wondered what else might be hidden in there.
Hroombra reached his great foreleg out and passed his own hand over the flame, leaving it there for several seconds. His claws began to glow the same color as the fire, and Jahrra became worried. “Master Hroombra,” she began anxiously.
“Don’t fret, you’ll see.” he answered before she could continue.
He left his massive hand there for awhile longer, and then pulled it out slowly, his glowing claws leaving a trail of hazy blue smoke as they cut across the space between the fire and the floor. He then pulled his toes in and began to draw something on the ancient stone floor with the claw of his forefinger.
Jahrra watched carefully, the blue light of the fire and weak yellow flames of the few lit candles throughout the large room casting strange shadows on Hroombra’s stern face. The old dragon looked to be writing something, and when he was finished, the marks glowed blue-violet upon the floor. Jahrra stared at the characters, which looked oddly familiar.
“What does that say, Master Hroombra?” she whispered as a log crashed behind her, sending indigo sparks flying through the enchanted air.
“It says Kruledth, edth chormiehn epit edth Krueldhnen, and in the common tongue, Kruelt, the language of the Dragons.”
Jahrra looked even more perplexed than before, blinking up at Hroombra like a dazed bird.
“It’s time, young Jahrra, that you begin learning the language of the ancients, the language of the dragons.”
Jahrra returned her gaze to the glowing letters. “Is this the language you spoke of when we went to see the castle a few months ago?” she asked.
“Yes, it is.” Hroombra looked down at the child with serious eyes and took a breath. “I’ve found a few empty books for you to copy down the characters in, so tonight I’ll write out the Kruelt alphabet for you, and you are to copy it down. During the summer you’ll take out this alphabet and practice it each night. When you have learned the alphabet and can read it confidently, you’ll begin to learn the words of the dragons.”
Hroombra had been pacing back and forth as he said this, and when he stopped, he turned his head and looked down at Jahrra once more. She appeared to be slightly overwhelmed, but set her mouth in a determined manner just the same.
“Another thing you must know Jahrra, is that this language has been forbidden by the Crimson King of the east, and you must never tell anyone about it, not even Gieaun and Scede. You must promise me that.”
The glance that Jahrra received from her mentor was a most serious one, and she nodded heartily. Hroombra didn’t often ask her to keep secrets, so she knew that she must keep this one.
“Very well, let us begin. I’ll first start with the capital letters, and tell you what each one corresponds with in the common alphabet. The characters will remain glowing upon the floor as long as the fire burns, so take your time in copying them properly.”
Jahrra grabbed one of the empty books and a quill and inkwell and slowly began to copy down the strange letters that glowed before her eyes. For the next few hours, Hroombra reached into the fire and pulled its magic into his sharp claws. He carefully wrote each letter, telling Jahrra what it stood for. He insisted that she write it down several times on one line and go back later to make a single list. By the time they reached the lowercase characters, Jahrra’s fingers were stained black and her hand was cramping up.
Finally, after what seemed like ages, she had the entire alphabet, upper and lower case, copied down. Hroombra, who’d been watching her aptly, faced the fire and blew red flames upon the violet ones. The two colors melded in a beautiful dance, and soon the violet fire completely dissipated as a natural orange fire took over, taking the glowing characters with it. Jahrra was sad to see the strange fire go, but equally glad that her writing was over.
“Now,” Hroombra said suddenly, allowing the wood to burn its natural way, “it’s time for you to learn the story behind this language.”
He invited Jahrra to make herself comfortable and then he began, “The language that you are about to learn is called Kruelt, or Draggish.”
The old dragon had Jahrra repeat the words a few times both for
pronunciation purposes as well as for memory purposes.
“The Kruelt language is the ancient language of the dragons. As you well know from what I’ve taught you, there are separate races of dragons, just as there are separate races of elves and other creatures of Ethoes. Dragons call their races “kruels”.
“Now each kruel of dragons that has the ability to speak has its own dialect, but they’re not so different that one cannot understand another dragon from a different kruel than their own. A long, long time ago, only dragons spoke Kruelt. There were other races in existence, but they spoke their own languages. The elves spoke Elvish, the dwarves, Dwarvish, the Aandhoulis spoke Aandhoulin, the Nephaari, Nephaarye, and so on and so forth.
“But when Ethoes created her final race, the humans, she gave them no language and gave the dragons the responsibility to look after them, so naturally we taught them our way of speech. Each tribe of humans picked up the dialect of the group of dragons that taught them. You’ll be learning the Tanaan dialect of Kruelt, because my kruel of dragons, the Korli, were responsible for the Tanaan race.”
Hroombra paused to make sure Jahrra was following, continuing only when he saw that her eyes were wide with curiosity.
“The interesting thing about Kruelt, or Draggish as I have mentioned, is that true Kruelt can only be pronounced by a dragon. The humans however, created their own dialect using the same words and emphasizing the same syllables. The only difference was that their tongues couldn’t handle certain accents, so they sounded slightly different from the dragons who taught them. If you keep to your lessons of this language, then eventually you’ll be able to read the writing on the walls of the Castle Ruin.”
Hroombra looked down at Jahrra and was glad to see she was still paying attention.
“Do you have any questions?” he asked delicately.
“I do have one question,” she began hesitantly.
“Go on,” Hroombra encouraged.
“I was just wondering, not that I don’t want to learn Kruelt or anything, but why is it important that I learn it? I’m Nesnan, and everyone else speaks the common language here, so why learn a language that’s forbidden?”
The old dragon smiled broadly. Jahrra wasn’t trying to be insulting or insolent; she simply didn’t see the importance of this. And of course she doesn’t, Hroombra thought quietly. But someday she will.
He took a deep breath, exhaled and said, “That’s a very good question Jahrra, and I have a very good answer. First of all, I’m a dragon, and I speak Kruelt, and I’d like to be able to communicate with you in my native language. It’s been far too long since I’ve had that pleasure.
“Secondly, I’d like you to be able to read the many ancient documents and paintings in this old place. I know that as time goes by you’ll have many questions about the history of Ethoes, and I’ll be too busy to answer your questions. Fortunately, everything you need to know is written down in my scrolls and documents, only it’s all in Draggish. So as you can see Jahrra, you’re learning Kruelt because it will someday be convenient for me.”
He smiled again, and Jahrra realized that he was teasing her.
“Oh, I don’t mind learning Draggish, I was only wondering,” she said nonchalantly, smiling back.
“I know you were young one, I know. But remember, you mustn’t tell anyone about this. I cannot stress enough how important it is that this remain a secret.”
Jahrra nodded soberly, promising once again to keep the secret between the two of them. If she was being completely honest with herself, the idea of learning a secret language no one else knew was both intriguing and quite appealing. Perhaps all those questions she had about the story of the Tanaan would be answered after all . . .
Hroombra yawned widely and stretched both his useless wings. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m tired. We’re done for the evening, but tomorrow night we’ll start practicing writing common words in the Krueltish alphabet. You’ll start by writing lines of letters.”
Jahrra groaned as she flexed her ink-stained hand, surprised to feel that it no longer felt tired.
“I’m off to bed. Will you be staying up much longer?”
“Oh,” Jahrra answered, forgetting about her hand, “only for a bit longer, I want to re-write the characters more neatly and next to the common alphabet in one column. I’ll see you in the morning.”
As Jahrra plopped down on her stomach by the fire with her feet dangling in the air, her full concentration on writing the characters down properly, Hroombra couldn’t help but feel a sense of joy in his heart. She was so eager to learn, so happy to listen to him. How long will it last? he thought ruefully. How long until she grows tired of my stories and no longer wants an old dragon around?
Hroombra sighed and tried to shake off his morose thoughts. Jahrra isn’t like that. She would never shut me out, he thought, sorrow clenching his heart. But she’s so much like, like him, like he was at that age. She’s full of spirit and curiosity, just like he was. She’s intelligent and strong, just like he was. He looked at Jahrra one more time, humming softly and writing down her characters. No, he convinced himself, she’ll persevere; she’ll not succumb to the horrors of this world.
All Hroombra could count on was to do his best in guiding her towards her destiny and keeping her happy today. Beyond that he couldn’t know, he could only hope.
He yawned once more and peered down at Jahrra’s fresh writing, the still wet ink glistening in the light of the dimming fire. It did him good to see the old language written by a human again, even if it was only one. As long as I’m here with her, she’ll be alright. She’ll be safe. Hroombra rested his head beside the glowing fire, content in knowing that Jahrra was protected for now, and drifted off to sleep.
***
The remainder of the summer consisted of the typical activities that any summer would be made up of. Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede occupied their time riding horses, helping on the ranch, going on camping trips to the lakes and on occasion, making a few trips into town.
The camping trips to Lake Ossar were definitely their favorite thing to do however, despite the ghost stories Kaihmen still tried to spook them with. The Resai man was sorely disappointed to discover that the children weren’t as frightened of his stories as they used to be, often grumbling to his wife as the three friends giggled under their blankets.
“Kaihmen, they’re getting older, they know your stories aren’t true!” Nuhra would tell him.
“Oh, but they are true!” he’d insist as the children let loose a fresh round of laughter.
The trips into Aldehren or Toria Town were a welcome change from riding and camping. That is, they were until they spotted Eydeth and Ellysian stepping gingerly out of one of their ridiculous carriages, their puffed up mother just behind them. Jahrra stared in wrath as the crowd of commoners parted out of their way like abused dogs avoiding an angry master. It took Jahrra and her friends less than three minutes to collect their horses and head straight home.
“We see enough of them at school,” Gieaun commented dourly.
“Besides, there are much more interesting things to do than wander around town,” Scede said severely.
Gieaun simply huffed and slouched her shoulders, loosening her grip on Aimhe’s reins. She wanted to go looking in all the trinket and clothing shops, but Scede thought this was the most boring thing he’d ever heard of. Jahrra thought that some of the stores were appealing, but she really would rather camp and ride Phrym all over the less populated parts of Oescienne than wander around through cramped, overly-perfumed shops. She didn’t mention this to Gieaun, however, and tried not to look too elated that the evil twins had ruined this particular expedition.
While Jahrra spent most of her summer days seeking out adventure, her nights were spent by the fireside with Hroombra, learning the delicate intricacies of the language of the dragons. It proved much harder than she’d anticipated, and although Hroombra was supportive and patient, Jahrra was disappointed with
her slow progress. The pronunciation was the hardest part for her, and by the end of the summer, she’d only learned a few dozen words.
“At least I know the alphabet by heart,” she told Hroombra in a disappointed voice.
“Don’t worry, Jahrra, you’ll learn it. Languages take time,” he encouraged.
Summer came to an end with little fanfare, and the first half of the school year seemed to pass with ease, but Jahrra assumed it was only because of all the extra work she was now doing. Although her school work took precedence over her Draggish lessons, Jahrra found herself spending a good deal of time on the ancient and intriguing language. Instead of going to Gieaun’s and Scede’s for the Fall Festival this year, Jahrra stayed home and listened to a Sobledthe story from Hroombra. Jahrra was thrilled to be hearing a new tale from her mentor, that is, until Hroombra informed her it would be recited entirely in Kruelt.
Jahrra slumped and pouted the entire time, only to realize that by the end of it she had followed the story line pretty well.
“Wow!” she told Hroombra afterwards. “I didn’t think I’d be able to understand!”
The great dragon smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Now you see, I told you that you’d get it after a while.”
Hroombra didn’t have the heart to tell her that he’d used only the easiest of words and the simplest of pronunciations for this particular story.
The fall gradually drifted into winter and Jahrra began counting down the days to Solsticetide. She was especially excited because Gieaun, Scede, Kaihmen and Nuhra would be joining them for Solstice dinner.
“I can’t wait!” Jahrra told her two friends on their way to school the final day before the winter break. “It’ll be so much fun with you all over for the holiday.”
She smiled wistfully, not at all worried about what Eydeth and Ellysian might say to her this day. It was going to be the best Solsticetide ever and nothing, not even the twins, could ruin it. At least, that is what she told herself.
The Finding Page 18
