Dragon's Tongue: Book One of the Demon-Bound

by Laura J Underwood

  “Never mess with the Wall, Alaric,” Fenelon said. “She’ll just tie you into a little knot.”

  “The Wall,” Alaric said and grinned. “That’s an apt name for her…”

  “We only call her that behind her back,” Fenelon said. “A lot of woman, eh?”

  “Her name is actually Cora Ni Wallace,” Etienne’s voice sounded from a short distance away, “and if you are wise, Alaric, you will never be disrespectful to her as Fenelon is…”

  “But I’m disrespectful of everyone,” Fenelon said cheerfully. “It’s one of my better traits.”

  Etienne came out to greet her guest. She wore a black gown trimmed with blue and silver. Quite lovely in spite of its severe nature.

  “This way,” she said. “Let me introduce you to my students.”

  She took Alaric’s arm and gently led him into the next chamber where a table had been set for six before the fire. This was different in Alaric’s opinion. He was used to sharing meals at Gordlea Hold with a number of folk. Family and servants generally dined together and it was always noisy. He clutched the psaltery case which Fenelon had insisted Alaric bring and glanced at the three who gathered dutifully in a line.

  “Alaric Braidwine, welcome to my chambers,” Etienne said. “This is Shona NiWarden…” The lass who had met them at the door bobbed in a curtsey then set off to finish the table. “This is Katriona Greyweaver…” The second lass smiled shyly and rushed off to help the first. “And this young lad is Tobin Mallowell…”

  The youth was probably five years younger than Alaric, but much taller. He thrust forth a hand, and Alaric shook it, then Tobin rushed off to assist the lasses.

  “Well, come on now,” Etienne said. “The meal is ready. Fenelon, you may sit there at the far end. I want Alaric beside me at my end. Katriona, you may sit to Alaric’s right. Shona, you will sit to Fenelon’s right and Tobin will sit over here. This way, we shall be evenly dispersed in gender.”

  Alaric moved to his seat, waiting until the ladies were in place. He assisted Katriona with hers since Tobin moved quietly to hold the chair for his teacher. That left Fenelon to play gentleman to Shona.

  With all the excitement of the day, Alaric fell on his trencher like a wolf. He didn’t realize how hungry he was.

  “So, Alaric,” Etienne said. “I hear you fought a demon and survived.”

  “Hardly,” Alaric said, glancing at Fenelon who wore a smirk.

  “Well, now, I thought you survived Mistress Miranda’s healing quite ably,” Fenelon said. “Believe me, that woman made the other demon who attacked you look like a child with a tantrum…”

  Etienne fixed Fenelon with a brief disapproving scowl, then shook her head. “So why did the demon attack you, Alaric?” she asked.

  “I have no idea,” Alaric said with a shrug. “Perhaps he disliked my songs? I have no idea how long he was riding around in my psaltery.”

  “I’m willing to wager it has something to do with the fact you’re so sensitive to demon essence…” Fenelon said. “And that map the creature stole. Which reminds me, love. Did you have time to decipher those runes?”

  “Indeed,” Etienne said, “and I am not pleased with the results.”

  “How so?” Alaric said.

  “They are indeed old Haxon runes, but the words they spell out, they are not all in the old Haxon tongue. Some are in another, even older language.”

  “So what do they say?” Alaric asked.

  “Wyrm tongue,” Etienne said. “Though I think in this language, wyrm is synonymous with dragon. And a word I was not familiar with, though I think it had to do with a key or a riddle. But what bothered me more was the second row you copied, for they spelled out a name I have heard before in my studies. Na’Sgailean.”

  “Na’Sgailean,” Alaric repeated.

  “Horns,” Fenelon said. “I know that name too. It literally means In Her Shadow.”

  “She was the mother of the Shadow Lords,” Etienne said. “The mother of Arawn, some say. She was also called the Dark Mother, and she was said to rule in the times before the Great Cataclysm. She spread darkness and death before her, and all lived in fear of her. In different cultures, she had different forms. Haxons called her Hellas, and say she was shadow and death. In other lands, she is called Dark Mother and cannot bear the true light of day. Some say she had demonic countenance while others called her a dragon. Her true shape has never been known. But what all stories agree on is that her destruction cost the lives of many gods.”

  “What had that to do with the map?” Alaric insisted.

  “Everything and nothing, perhaps,” Etienne said with a frown. Alaric glanced down the table. The others were eating quietly, while Fenelon was staring into his wine in thought. “In this part of the world, the tales of the time before the Great Cataclysm are only remembered in stories and songs. Very few of the tales of the Old Ones who walked among men, and the Dark Ones who were their enemies have survived to this day in written form of which we are aware. However, among my ancestors who came from Haxony before it was known as The Ice Plains were scholars and priests and healers. They kept the stories of the time before alive in the runes. And some of those tales would indicate that the death of Na’Sgailean was the cause of the Great Cataclysm.”

  “One of many factors,” Fenelon interjected, still looking thoughtful. “What has never been clearly proven was how the gods killed Na’Sgailean…Hmmmm. You know, I think we need to go visit the real map of the Shadow Vale first thing tomorrow…after lessons, of course.”

  “I would agree for I think this key may hold the clue as to what your demon’s master wanted it for,” Etienne said.

  “He’s not my demon!” Alaric insisted.

  She smiled and put a gentle hand across his. “I speak metaphorically, Alaric,” she said. “Now, let us finish this meal. I hear you wrote The Ballad of Ronan Tey, and I would love to hear you sing and play.”

  “All right,” Alaric agreed. “But only if you promise to tell me one of the stories from Ross-mhor, preferably one of the popular ones.”

  “Done,” she agreed. “A story of my countrymen for a song about one of yours.”

  Alaric smiled, but he could not shake a chill.

  THIRTEEN

  “Ronan Tey, Ronan Tey

  There he did lay,

  Stabbed to the heart,

  His life ebbing away

  They took his hand,

  And a string from his harp,

  And left his poor corpse

  For the ravens…

  Oh, Ronan Tey, Ronan Tey

  Where have you gone?

  What joy you have brought us

  With story and song.

  We miss your sweet voice

  And the ring of your harp.

  Farewell to thee, Bard of

  Far Roaming…”

  Alaric ceased to sing, feeling the old remorse trying to force itself out of him. He touched fingers to the strings of his psaltery to still it, and slowly glanced up at his small audience.

  “That was beautiful,” Etienne said and clapped her hands. “And yet so sad.”

  Shona and Katriona had put down their needlework to join their applause to that of their teacher. Across the room, Tobin looked up from the game board where he was mentally and magically wrestling Fenelon in a game of Knights and Crowns. The youth offered an approving smile.

  “Well done, Alaric,” Fenelon said. Without taking his eyes from the board, he caused one of his knights to shift into a row with the rest to block the advance of Tobin’s crowns. Fenelon smiled and added, “Sorry, Tobin, you lose again.”

  Tobin turned back to the board with a look of utter astonishment and began to study it to see where he might have erred.

  The whole scene was very peaceful and homey in Alaric’s opinion. Such familiar events after dinner could have easily passed for any evening at Gordslea Hold, except Father would have played Knights and Crowns with the husband of Alaric’s eldest sister, and they
would have moved the pieces by hand.

  “Now, my lady,” Alaric said, smiling. “You promised me a story.”

  “I did indeed,” Etienne said. “Well then, where to begin?”

  Alaric pushed his psaltery back into the case and took up his wine. He was seated on the furs that scattered the floor before the hearth because there was a shortage of chairs, and now he drew his knees to his chest. “Well, the beginning would be nice,” he said.

  “Horns, don’t tell her that, Alaric, or we’ll be here all night,” Fenelon said. He waved a hand over the board and whispered, and the game pieces restored themselves to their proper starting position.

  “Oh, that was very amusing, Fenelon,” Etienne said and sneered at him. “As if you would never keep us up all night with a heated discussion on your theories of magic.”

  “I thought you liked my theories,” Fenelon said reproachfully, though his smile belied his tone.

  “And I thought you liked my stories,” Etienne replied, arching her brows.

  Alaric watched the exchange for clues. It seemed harmless enough, like childish prattle. “Well, if you two are going to start arguing, I suppose we will be here all night,” he said in a mocking manner.

  “Oooo, no more wine for you, my young friend,” Fenelon said and wagged a finger. “You’re getting too bold and cheeky.”

  “I’m learning from the master,” Alaric said and saluted Fenelon with the wine glass

  “Horns!” Fenelon said and laughed.

  “Ah, repartee and a wit to match your own, Fenelon,” Etienne said. “You’d best be careful, lest you lose your place as Dun Gealach’s chief jester. Spoken like a true bard, Alaric. For that, I shall grace you with the full tale, and Fenelon can just go find a corner to doze in, if he likes.”

  “And miss all this fun,” Fenelon said. “I salute you, Alaric. I can see you are not at all dull.”

  Being here at Dun Gealach did seem to be changing that, Alaric was wont to admit. There was a time when he would have denied the charge. But not tonight. Perhaps it was the wine and good company that made him feel bold…or the fact Etienne did seem to be siding with Alaric. Perhaps there was hope she saw him as more than a callow youth after all.

  “The whole story, then, from the beginning,” Etienne said. “And any who are tired and do not wish to hear may feel free to leave.” She glanced expectantly at her students. The three of them rose almost in unison, presenting curtsies and bows as they muttered their goodnights to all present. Alaric looked a little surprised as they made for the chambers off to the side.

  “Oh have no fear, Alaric,” she said and smiled when she caught his look of uncertainty. “They have heard my tales many times before. Besides, they have early chores as part of their schooling here, and this way, you can sit in a chair.”

  “Tobin stays here too, there?” Alaric said as he rose and claimed one of the deserted seats. “Isn’t that against the rules?”

  “He is my student, and my apprentice,” Etienne said, “and by the rules, he is allowed to stay here, but as a young man, he is still forbidden to leave these chambers and wander the halls unaccompanied.”

  “Oh,” Alaric said. “You have three apprentices, then?”

  “Yes,” she said. “It is not unusual. Fenelon is the unusual one.” She glanced over and Alaric followed her gaze. Fenelon had stretched out, and now leaned back with his eyes closed. “You are his first apprentice, you know.”

  “I was starting to get that impression,” Alaric said and smiled.

  “That’s right,” Fenelon said. “Talk about me when I have my eyes closed.”

  Etienne sighed and smiled. “Well, now, Alaric, you must forgive me if my eloquence does not match your own. As a child, I loved to listen to the skaldi of my homeland, and I used to memorize their tales to share with my own cousins. Alas, my delivery is not so refined as your own.”

  Alaric smiled. Skaldi. He would remember that word, for it had a nice ring.

  “In the beginning of time,” Etienne said softly, “there was only the void, a place of mist and stone, and it was cold and without form. Now these stones floated around, crashing into one another, and when they did, there were sparks that ignited the mist and made it swirl and dance around. One day, two of the largest stones crashed together and a huge spark flared, and the mist convalesced into the form of a great white cow. She was very hungry, this cow, so she began to chew on the stones that floated in the void, but they were tasteless and only gave her indigestion. So she spat them out and walked away into the mist in search of nourishment.

  “Now from the stones that she chewed and spat out, several giants were born. Like the cow, they were hungry, but unlike the cow, they could eat the stones in the void, and that made them grow until they were taller than the tallest mountains we have ever seen. And tallest among them was a giant named Ymir.

  “Like most his kind, Ymir had little to do other than eat stones and shat them out again, and sometimes where he shat them, they would lock together and form ranges of floating mountains. And like all giants, Ymir was bored with his existence, so he and the other giants often quarreled and stirred the void. Their battles were colossal, and one by one, the lesser giants fell. Their bodies became stone again, so that only Ymir remained. He was quite content to have the void to himself. But it was a lonely life too, and giants are so easily bored.

  “Now, one day, Ymir began to stir the mist to amuse himself. And as he stirred, the mist rubbed against itself, creating little sparkles of light. So Ymir began to capture these bits of light as they appeared. Soon so many of them gathered together, they caused the darkness to draw away in fright and filled half the void.

  “For a time, Ymir watched the dark and light move about him as day and night. But soon enough, he bored of this game and sought to play another. Ymir began to seize pieces of light and crush them in his mighty hands until they took solid form, and in this way, he made the sun which grew so hot from the pressure it burned even more of the darkness away. He then took pieces of the dark and crushed them in his hands, and it became the moon whose cold surface turned white as he polished it with his hands. Finally, he took pieces of the light and the dark, and he tried to crush them together, but they would not mix so easily, and fell sparkling into the void to create the stars.

  “Next, he crushed bits of stone and mist, and little beings squeezed out of his hands. These were the demons, and they were said to be first born. Some of them were as beautiful as the light, but others were malformed and ugly, and he quickly noticed that the ugly ones would hide in the shadows. Finally, he took a great ball of light and formed a white she-dragon as brilliant as the sun, and from stones and darkness, he formed another she-dragon as black as the darkest corners of true night. And these he set to guard the path between light and the dark. But as soon as the dragons were set loose, they began to quarrel. So Ymir was forced to separate them with his great bulk.

  Alas, giants are rather short witted, and in no time, Ymir tired of this game. So he lay down in the space between the dark and the light, and he fell asleep. And while he was sleeping, the white cow came wandering out of the light. She saw the bits of dark and light that Ymir had dropped in his work which were scattered about among the stars, and because she was still hungry, she began to lick them. And as she licked them, they took form until there were birds and beasts and reptiles and fish. Still others, she bored of licking because they did not taste as well, and these misshapen creatures went scuttling off to hide in the dark places from whence they have plagued man ever since.

  “Now Ymir awoke from his long sleep, and he was startled to find all these different creatures wandering about his domain.At first, Ymir was amused, for these new creatures of darkness and light proved rather quarrelsome like the dragons and the demons, and did fight one another. But after a time, he grew bored of their bickering. So Ymir smote them, dark and light alike, mortalborn and magic born, killing some and wounding others.

  “Fi
nally, Ymir bored of killing, and so he went to sleep. The dragon of light, though grieved by the loss of her beautiful ones, kept her place as she had been bid, but the dragon of dark was not satisfied to be so confined, and so the dragon of darkness would push at the edges of the light on one end or another, and the light would yield, only to swirl into the dark and fill it with her glow. Round and round they went, and their perambulations awoke Ymir again. He was so angry at being disturbed that he set himself in the middle and divided the void with his presence.

  “The dragon of light was content to remain this way. Some of the beautiful demons came to her, and she gifted them with light and magic and music, and looked after them as her children. The dragon of darkness was not happy and hated Ymir for keeping them apart, so she too began to gather the demons that preferred to hide from the light. She corrupted them with tales of woe and formed them into an army and set them against Ymir as he slept. Those dark demons slew Ymir and cast his great body aside…but as soon as they did, the dragon of light threw her brilliance into the air. Some of the dark demons died, and others merely sought the shadows of the dark dragon in which to hide. And the dark dragon was driven back by the brilliance as well.

  The dragon of light then took the body of Ymir, and she built the world from his flesh and bones, and filled the rivers with his blood. His skull was the dome of the sky to keep the void at bay, and to force the stars and sun and moon to follow paths instead of wandering aimlessly. It was said worms crawled out of his marrow and became the Stone Folk, and the moist breath of his lungs mixed with the cold air to become the Hidden Folk. But his heart, it is said, she buried deep within the earth his body formed, and set Stone Folk to watch and protect it so the heart of Ymir could make the rivers flow and the world turn so all parts of it saw darkness and light. The darkness she called the realm of night, and light became the realm of day. And she and her creations vowed they would keep this balance of all things for all time.