The Author's Blood

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  Owen and his ragtag band of followers were more rag than tag after walking day and night through town after town of empty huts and deserted streets strewn with toys and belongings—pointing to the quick withdrawal of the people. Now they stealthily approached the fortress known as Dragon City.

  Vaxors guarded the four entrances, so it was impossible to see exactly what was going on inside, but by leaving his companions hidden and climbing a mountain, Owen was able to observe the construction of buildings and grading of roads. Horses and oxen did the heavy lifting, but many workers were humans. These were no doubt taken from the villages Owen and his group had been through. Owen’s heart broke when he saw children forced to help.

  He rejoined the others and said, “Since the Dragon’s killed our army, he can do what he wants with the others.”

  “And then throw them into the coliseum for his amusement,” Tusin said. “Most of those people are going to be killed by the Dragon’s animals. How different the King is. He gives life, but the Dragon saps it from the people.”

  Owen pulled out The Book of the King and read:

  “Near the end of days, the people will be carried away into darkness and made prisoners by the evil one. His amusement will know no end as he constructs his stronghold. But it will not stand. The King comes to give life and life to its full.”

  “It’s almost as if the Dragon has read this and is trying to fulfill it for himself,” Tusin said.

  Owen nodded. “He wants to prove the King wrong. But he’s playing right into the King’s hands.”

  “How so?” Starbuck said. “Those people are not coming out. And all our friends have been killed.”

  “Things are not always as they seem,” Owen said. “If you were to tell the people where I live that the evil of the Dragon exists, they would think you were crazy.”

  “But we know he’s real,” Starbuck said. “We see the effects every day.”

  Batwing fluttered and sighed, clearly exhausted from his flight to speak with Machree. Owen had spoken with Batwing briefly about his findings but asked him not to tell the others what he had learned.

  “What does that mean for us?” Batwing said. “What do we do now?”

  “Keep track of the Dragon’s progress,” Owen said, “and remember everything that happens inside the city—when they change guards, when work crews come out, where prisoners are held. We need all the information you can gather.”

  Owen felt breath on his shoulder and turned. Rogers had moved behind him and stood looking at the intricate designs of the book. The boy had a special ability to move almost without being noticed.

  “I cannot read anyway, sir,” he said. “But why are there pages at the back that have no writing on them?”

  Owen flipped to the back. “I used to think this was simply where the missing chapter would go, but now I’m not sure.”

  “Maybe just extra pages,” Starbuck said.

  “Nothing the King does is wasted,” Owen said. “The pages are here for a reason. We just need to discover what it is.”

  “What will you do now?” Tusin said. “If we stay here, where are you going?”

  Owen closed the book. He had not told them what he had discovered from his study of it while breaching the fourth portal. He had read passages he had seen several times before, but it had only become clear to him during his final trip with Mucker what he was looking for and the consequences if he did not succeed.

  “I’m taking Rogers with me, and we will be gone awhile,” Owen said.

  Rogers’s face lit up. Starbuck frowned.

  “We have an important mission, and then I’ll send word to you. Do not lose heart. No matter what happens, no matter what you hear, no matter what you see, you must trust that all is for the eventual good. Do you understand?”

  Tusin and Batwing nodded.

  Starbuck seemed confused. “Why does Rogers get to go? Why not me? If it’s about what happened back at the valley, I can explain!”

  “Please,” Owen said, “keep your voice down. It’s not because of anything you have done or not done. You had no control over what happened in the valley. Rogers is simply better suited for this journey and mission. You are valued no less than before.”

  Starbuck hung his head.

  Owen put a hand on his shoulder. “You have been through much. You have lost much. But no matter what you have lost, it will be returned to you. Filled to overflowing. What was given up for the cause of the King will be paid back again and again.”

  Starbuck looked at him, mouth agape, as if Owen were speaking gibberish. “How? Can you bring my family and friends back to life?”

  Again Owen looked deeply into the boy’s eyes. “‘The King will one day dry every eye. Death itself will die. You will have no reason to grieve. You will not experience pain and heartache. Open your ears to my words. The things which are now will pass away and that which is new will come.’”

  Starbuck’s eyes darted. “Is that from The Book of the King?”

  “It is one of my favorite passages. When I came upon the valley where our friends were buried, I had to look at it again for myself. Do not be ashamed of your anguish. I cried as well. But there is good news for all who follow the King. There is great hope for those who put their trust in him.”

  When it was dark again, Owen took Rogers up the narrow, winding ridge from where he could see the entire city of the Dragon. He shuddered at the encampment, torches illuminating soldiers reveling in making fun of their prisoners, human and animal alike. It was all Owen could do to keep from charging down upon them with his sword.

  “Why have we come here?” Rogers whispered.

  Owen held a finger to his lips and looked skyward, whispering, “It’s almost time.”

  The trees fluttered as if some unseen storm were descending upon them. Owen raised his hands to his mouth and made a noise both scary and wonderful. Soon two large winged creatures landed. Rogers seemed scared of them until Owen introduced them as his friends Grandpa and Petunia.

  “How did they know we were here?”

  “They know me,” Owen said. “They are ready to serve us.”

  Owen nuzzled Petunia and climbed onto Grandpa’s back. Rogers clambered onto Petunia.

  Owen leaned close to Grandpa and spoke into one of his huge ears, and they were off.

  When out of sight of Dragon City, Grandpa changed direction and Petunia followed, flying away from the moon and everything familiar.

  Talea, the girl inside the palace assigned to tend the Dragon’s offspring, was young with stubby teeth and flaxen hair that had a mind of its own. Every day of her life had been difficult, and this duty proved no different. Tending to Drucilla’s every demand for more wood or less wood was driving her crazy. The eggs were never the right temperature; wind made the room drafty, but the windows needed to be open so fresh air could feed the fire . . . and on and on it went.

  Talea toiled so hard for her mistress because she believed she was saving her family. She had left her parents and her older brothers in the dungeon to work in the “nursery.”

  Beyond reuniting with her family, Talea thought there was no hope for her.

  No hope, that is, except for the impossible. No hope, unless it came from outside the palace. Talea believed that no one in the entire kingdom even knew about this dreary place. The shores of the black beach stretched for miles, and rocky crags rose around the palace and gave it the appearance of the very end of the earth.

  During the heat of the day, Talea stood with the wooden shutters open, staring out at the endless water and the waves lapping the shore, wondering if this would be where she and her family would die. But something would spring up inside—a feeling that she couldn’t describe, much like when her mother had snuggled close to her in the night, whispering tales of times when there had been music, hope for a better world, hope for a future not filled with darkness and dragons and pain. Hope was a whispered world too beautiful to describe, too wonderful to speak of—a fut
ure with the true King in control, where you were not imprisoned in some old castle, not ordered about by the only remaining female dragon (and reminded of it every day), and not commanded to care for the next generation bent on the slaughter of her people.

  Talea could barely imagine true paradise any more than a person blind from birth can imagine a sunset. The closest she had come to knowing paradise was through the love of her family. There had been some haunting beauty to the life they shared that spoke of something greater, something just out of their grasp, something in the future that promised more.

  Drucilla broke Talea’s train of thought with a shout.

  The girl, gathering the chain by her blackened ankle, moved to the door and peeked into the hallway. “Yes, my lady?”

  “Salve the eggs and put fresh logs on the fire,” Drucilla bellowed. “Then go to sleep.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Talea did not know where Drucilla came by such a substance, but it was clearly something dragons believed necessary for the proper nurturing of their young. She tried to breathe through her mouth so the smell wouldn’t turn her stomach. This salve—“dragon grease,” as she called it—was rancid, like something dead or rotting. She applied it to the pulsating eggs, spreading it evenly over the veined shells. Of all the things Drucilla made her do, this was the most disgusting. But Talea was doing this for her family.

  Talea looked away from the horrible eggs and spotted something in the shadows. In the corner a figure moved. She stopped and stared, chin quivering.

  “Don’t be frightened,” the figure said.

  In the Highlands it is said that someone will go to the ends of the earth for a cause. This, of course, does not mean that there is an end to the earth but that nothing will stop him from achieving his goal.

  However, in the Lowlands, there truly was an end of the earth, at least in terms of a place a person would never want to go.

  As Owen had come through the fourth portal, he had read a passage near the end of The Book of the King. With renewed interest he pored over it, committing it to memory.

  Call unto those who are poor, those who are outcast, those who cannot see or hear, the ones who need good news but are left in the throes of despair and don’t know that help is on the way. The pain of those who have been cast into ravines of grief has reached the King. Behold, the one who will bring healing to the land has come and will rescue even those who feel beyond hope. They will become shining followers of the King and his Son, helping usher in the new wholeness.

  This passage had jogged something, but it wasn’t until Owen stood over Watcher’s grave that the thread running through his mind connected with words of the past. A conversation with her when they were escaping Connor’s wrath came floating back. He had looked into the distance from the Valley of Shoam and asked what lay in the other direction.

  Watcher had shuddered and said, “Wilderness as far as you can imagine. And a place known as Perolys Gulch.”

  “Who lives there?”

  “A race of cursed people. Outcasts. Diseased. If ever you even dream of going there, you will go alone.”

  Owen had been surprised at Watcher’s fear. She was usually eager to venture into any setting, no matter the danger, but just the mention of Perolys Gulch had made her voice tremble.

  Owen felt pain in his stomach even now at the memory. She had not known she was predicting something that would come true. “If ever you even dream of going there, you will go alone,” she had said, and now, on the back of Grandpa, that was exactly what Owen was doing. He grieved Watcher anew, holding on to the hope that he would one day see her again—or that something of her would survive.

  He had left Rogers at the Dragon’s secret hideout and had given him an assignment, assuring him he could accomplish it and reminding him how important his success was. Owen knew Rogers could slip into any situation undetected, for this was his gift.

  The mists rose in the foreboding darkness, and Owen huddled close to Grandpa’s back to keep the cold wind from his face. The sun had receded over the horizon behind them where he had first entered the Lowlands, now washed out by the breaching of the Mountain Lake. Trees lay like toothpicks at the bottom of the valley, and he strained to see the home where Bardig and his wife had lived.

  As they flew the scenery changed. Owen had ventured through the desert near Erol’s home and crossed the Valley of Zior, but he was not prepared for what he saw now. The ground rose and fell in a jagged pattern, and the landscape was filled with rocky crags. He had never seen trees like this—bare bark and no leaves or needles. They looked like twisted sticks, their branches reaching toward the sky like worshippers raising their hands to God for help.

  It was so barren—even more so than the desert—that it pained Owen to look at it. He was sure the land had once supported plant life, but now the area looked like something only a Dragon would love.

  They flew toward a precipice that overlooked a cavernous valley, and Grandpa pulled his wings up and headed in the opposite direction. Owen guided him back, but once again the transport flyer balked at venturing into the chasm. Speaking gently, Owen coaxed him near a rocky ledge, but though he had developed a great power to influence animals—even the most evil of beasts—he could not get the flyer into the valley.

  “All right,” Owen said. “I can see you are frightened. Wait for me here.”

  Grandpa looked back at Owen, and his eyes said, “You will never return.”

  Owen stroked the beast’s flank. “I promise I’ll be back.”

  Talea grabbed a stick from the woodpile. The stranger stayed in the darkness, but she could tell he was shaking. At first she thought he was crying, shrinking in fear, but then she looked closer.

  “Why do you laugh?” she said.

  When he moved into the light, she stepped back and raised the stick. “Don’t come any closer.”

  “I come with an important message,” he said with a deep voice and a wonderful smile.

  “I’ll scream for Drucilla!”

  He held up a hand. She could tell he was young, and his eyes looked kind and not at all evil like Drucilla’s or the guards’.

  “I mean you no harm, princess.”

  Talea cocked her head. “Princess? Have you come to mock me? How did you get in here?”

  “‘Nothing that lasts is ever quickly attained,’” the stranger said.

  She squinted. “What?”

  “I did not even know you would be here. But I can tell by watching that you are decent and trustworthy.” His gaze fell on the chain manacled to her leg. “I was sent to find the eggs of the Dragon. As for how I got in here, I can only say that stealth is my gift.”

  She held up the stick again. “I cannot allow you to get near those eggs.”

  He bowed and stepped back. “I have no quarrel with you. You are an innocent bystander.”

  “If anything happens to any of them, I will die as well as my mother, father, and brothers.”

  The stranger bit his lip and looked at the fire. Compassion showed on his face, though Talea still feared he might lunge at the eggs.

  “Where is your family?” he said.

  “In the dungeon. But if I tend these eggs and keep them safe until they become hatchlings, Drucilla will release my family back to our farm. We can live again in peace.”

  The stranger clasped his hands as if begging. “I must gain your trust, but I can’t do that here. It’s crucial that I get you away from this place and that the Dragoness not know of my presence.”

  “Leave,” Talea said. “I won’t tell her.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t understand. You are in grave danger. She will never let you live in peace; she will tear you to pieces. You would not understand this danger unless you had heard what the book said. The Wormling told me—”

  “Wormling? And what book? Books have been banned here from before I was born.”

  “I know. Please, now allow me to tell you of—”

  The str
anger stopped as a thump, thump, thump came from the hallway.

  “Drucilla,” Talea whispered. She dropped her stick and sat quickly on the stool, spreading the foul grease on the eggs. The door swung open, and Talea looked up at Drucilla as if nothing were wrong, but her heart beat furiously, and she wondered if the Dragoness could smell her fear.

  “I heard voices,” Drucilla said.

  Talea stared at the eggs, then back at her mistress. “Voices, Your Majesty?”

  The Dragoness’s eyes swept the room. No one was there. Talea wondered if the stranger had gone out the window or scurried behind the far fireplace.

  Drucilla summoned a guard and asked if he had heard anything.

  “The girl talks to herself, perhaps to the eggs,” he said.

  Drucilla turned back to Talea. “My babies need their rest if they are to grow into strong young dragons. Do not speak to them or do anything to disturb them. It won’t be long until they see their father.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  When Drucilla marched away and the door closed, Talea whispered, “Are you still here?”

  The stranger moved, and she was amazed at how he had blended in with the stone walls. “Yes. Thank you for not alerting her.”

  Talea wiped her hands and leaned toward him, speaking just loud enough to be heard. “Who is this Wormling, and what does he have to do with me?”

  “Oh, he is wonderful! You would love him. He has come here from a place where books are read at will and stories pass from parent to child. Songs too.”

  “It does sound wonderful. But why would a person who lives there come here?”

  The stranger crept closer. “That’s the best part. He was given The Book of the King and has read beautiful passages to me. He was sent to help us and the people of his world.”

  Talea’s eyes brightened. “The writing of the true King is in the book?”

  “Yes.”

  Finally they introduced each other and shook hands, Rogers telling her, “My parents were killed by the Dragon. I have sworn allegiance to the King, his Wormling, and his Son, who is soon to return.”