The Dragons Return

by J. J. Thompson

He reached home at about dinner time, with several bunches of garlic bulbs and chives in his backpack and his promise to deliver some tomatoes and onions to Heather as soon as they were available.

  He led Tammy into her stall in the stable that he had built against the back of his tower. Chief and Sunshine, his stallion and other mare, were excited to see them both and he spent a little time soothing them before rubbing down Heather and putting her tack away. He checked the other stalls and saw that there was enough water and hay to last until the next day when he would let the horses out to run in the pasture along the shore. His home had been built overlooking a small lake. He had worried that Kronk might not remember to care for the horses but, as usual, his fears were unfounded.

  Simon walked around the tower. He checked the ward stones that were buried at each corner of the square stone structure, exactly twenty feet out from the building. He knelt and brushed off the flat tops of the stones and pulled out a weed or two that had begun to obscure a couple of the runes etched into the stones. Then he placed both hands palm-down on the symbols and murmured the spell that topped up the charge on the wards.

  I know it’s not like topping up the oil in an engine, he thought. But I always seem to think of it like that.

  His task done, he made his way to the front of the tower, walked up four stone steps and stood in front of the heavy oak front door. He examined it closely for any signs of tampering but there were no marks or scratches to be found. The three iron straps that reinforced the door were showing spots of rust though and he made a mental note to scour it off when he had a chance.

  He didn’t really think that anyone would have tried to get into his home since his wards were intact but it was wise to be cautious now. He was quite sure that somewhere, someone or something could easily breach his beginner’s runes guarding the tower. So far he had been lucky.

  He laid his palm on the door, closed his eyes and muttered the pass ward. He heard the triple snap as the bolts opened and the double slide of the crossbars pulling back and he opened his eyes in time to watch the door open smoothly.

  Before the tower was built, there had been a little cabin here on the shore of the lake. Simon had bought the property on a whim. He had wanted a place to get away from the city and the pressures of everyday life. And the price had been right.

  The tower was square and forty feet on each side. It rose to a height of sixty feet and had three floors included an attic for storage. There was a deep cellar beneath the building. The walls were two feet thick and well insulated. And it now felt like home.

  The interior was dark as he entered and he stood a moment to let his eyes adjust from the bright sunlight outside.

  “Welcome home, master,” a quiet but deep voice rumbled from the gloom.

  Simon sighed. “Kronk, how many times do I have to tell you that you don’t have to call me master?”

  “Of course I do, master. You are the one who summoned me. By right of power, you are my master and so must I call you.”

  As his eyes adjusted, Simon could just make out the figure standing several feet in front of him. No more than twelve inches high and made of bits and pieces of sand and gravel, Kronk was an elemental.

  Elementaling, Simon reminded himself. He was as close to an elemental as Simon was to a real wizard . Or so Kronk had told him on several occasions.

  He was shaped along humanoid lines, but his head was just a blob of fused pebbles with two eye slits and a small gash for a mouth, and his arms and legs ended in round clusters of rocks instead of hands or feet. Nevertheless, the little rocky figure was incredibly useful. Simon would never have left for Ottawa if he had not had Kronk to care for the horses and keep watch over the place. He doubted that the elemental would be of much use defending his home but he (Simon had decided early on that Kronk was male) was very useful around the place in many other ways.

  Simon left the door open so that he could see better and walked across the room to his kitchen table. He dropped his pack on it and sat down on a chair with a sigh of relief, looking appreciatively around his home.

  The room was open without dividing walls. The inside of the tower wall was covered with pine paneling. At one end was his kitchen. There was a long granite counter, with a sink built in and a pump that drew water up from a deep well underneath the tower. A heavy pine kitchen table with a half-dozen chairs was covered with a linen table cloth and a vase with spring flowers in the center. Two candlesticks sat on either side of the vase.

  At one end of the kitchen counter, a wide-mouthed fireplace made of rough stone had been built, while at the other end was a heavy iron wood stove that Simon usually only used during the winter.

  The other side of the main room contained a leather sofa, several comfy chairs and two tall cabinets. Over the sofa was a large painting of a stormy sea; a gift from Simon's late mother.

  Across from the front door, a wooden staircase led up to the second floor and down to the cellar.

  “Thanks for taking care of the horses, Kronk. They look fine.”

  “My pleasure, master. Since they have become used to my presence, the horses don’t mind me feeding and watering them.”

  He walked over to the table, his little legs moving quickly with a rat-tat-tat sound that always reminded Simon of someone tap dancing. Kronk jumped on to a chair and then up to the table top. He walked over to Simon and sat next to him on the edge of the table with his legs dangling over the side.

  Kronk reached out and tapped the backpack. “Any luck, master?”

  Simon shrugged and picked up the pack. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  He pulled out the metal box and put it on the table.

  “I found this in the ruin of Daniel’s home. It may have been left for me. It may be nothing important. Until I get it open, there’s no way to know.” He looked at Kronk. “Could you open it?”

  The elemental stood up and tapped over to the box. He laid his two stubby 'hands' on the top and stood silent for a moment.

  “Yes, I can open it, master.”

  Simon grinned. Now we’re getting somewhere, he thought.

  “But that might not be wise.”

  The grin faded from his lips. “What do you mean?”

  “I can feel something of what is inside. There is a small chip of what you call flint and a heavy oily substance as well.” He stopped again and ran his hands over the sides of the box. “It is very flammable, master,” he said.

  Simon thought about that for a moment. “It sounds like a primitive booby-trap. So if we force the box open, the flint ignites the oil or whatever it is, and the contents are destroyed?” He looked at the elemental who nodded.

  “Yes, master. I think that is what it is. There is wood inside, the feel of paper. Perhaps a note? I can’t tell more than that. I’m sorry.”

  Simon shook his head and stood up. “Don’t be sorry. Without you, I would have tried to pry open the lid and possibly destroyed a message from Daniel.”

  He began pacing around the room, thinking. When he came to the open door, Simon stood in the doorway and looked out across the clearing toward the forest, lost in thought.

  A trap suggested that Daniel had only wanted the person who held the key to open the box. But he didn’t have the key. In fact, he didn’t have any keys. When he had fled the city, he had left everything behind that wasn’t essential. That included the keys to his apartment, his car keys, for a car that no longer worked anyway, and the keys to his office. Fast and light was Daniel’s advice and he had taken that advice quite literally.

  He turned back and walked to the table. He sat down again and kept mulling the idea of keys over in his mind. Finally he sat back and looked at Kronk again.

  “I don’t have the key for this box. And I have no idea where Daniel might have left it. Certainly he wouldn’t have left it in his house and, if he did, there’s no way I could find it in that rubble.” He shuddered. “And I have no intention of going back to face those…whatever they were, thin
gs, that were chasing Sarah and her friends. So, now what?”

  “You have waited for three years to find this box,” Kronk said. “Surely you can wait a while longer until you figure out a way to open it, yes?” His tone was eminently practical.

  Simon grimaced. Leave it to the elemental to see the most reasonable solution, untroubled by any emotion. He had, after all, never known Daniel.

  “Yeah, I suppose you're right. It's been sitting this long unopened. A little longer won't hurt.”

  Simon stood up and stretched, feeling the muscles loosen in his back.

  “I'm tired and dirty, Kronk. I'm going for a quick swim to wash up and then maybe catch a nap. Can you check on Tammy for me? I rubbed her down, but she's worked hard and I don't want to take any chances that she might have overexerted herself.”

  Kronk jumped off of the table and headed for the open door.

  “Of course, master. I'd be happy to. Perhaps I'll heat some bran and water, give her a treat.”

  Simon grinned broadly. “Now that is an excellent idea. Go right ahead.” He grabbed his pack and walked toward the stairs. “I'm going to unpack, get some clean clothes and head for the lake. See you later.”

  Kronk waved and left the tower while Simon began to climb the stairs, his fatigue making each step feel a little higher than usual. His mind was filled with what had happened in Ottawa.

  What had those unseen hunters been like? Were the Changelings, and especially Sarah, really okay? Or had they been caught? He'd probably never know. All that Simon did know was that he had no intention of ever returning to that city. He'd said his goodbyes and almost gotten himself caught and possibly killed in the process. Ottawa was now officially off-limits. Permanently.

  Chapter 4

  The banging on the front door echoed through the tower. Simon lost his concentration in the middle of casting a spell and the smell of burnt skin rose from his fingertips.

  “Damn it!” he said, and quickly dipped his fingers in the bowl of water he kept on the table. After the first failed incantation a few years ago he always kept water nearby when experimenting with new fire spells.

  He looked carefully at his hands and shook his head ruefully. More scars, he thought. His fingers were lined with calluses from the earth spells and scars from the fire spells. Well, he thought, at least air and water spells don’t leave scars; just headaches.

  The pounding on the door began again. He sighed in resignation. Probably his neighbor looking to barter for some of his vegetables.

  Interruptions always seemed to happen at the wrong time, he thought, as he made his way out of his small study toward the staircase leading to the ground floor.

  He stopped abruptly. It can’t be Heather, he realized. She wouldn't cross the line of wards around the tower. She couldn't cross it!

  He hesitated a moment and listened to the continued pounding. Then he hurried past the staircase and into his bedroom. The window in there overlooked the entrance to the tower and he could take a look at whoever was knocking before he decided to answer the door or not.

  He opened the shutters as quietly as he could and winced as they creaked slightly. Going to have to oil them, he thought, and slowly leaned out so that he could see the front steps below.

  All he could see was a flash of green fabric twenty feet below the window. The lintel over the door extended just far enough to block his view of his visitor, who seemed to be leaning on the door as they pounded.

  Simon took a deep breath. “Yes, who is it?” he called. The pounding stopped.

  “Where are you?” he heard. The voice was female.

  “Um, I’m up here.”

  The woman stepped back from the doorway and stood at the top of the steps. She looked up and shaded her eyes against the bright sunlight.

  “Well, what are you doing up there when your door is down here?” She sounded irritated.

  Simon rolled his eyes. He couldn’t quite make out her features in the glare of the sun, except that she wore a green jacket and pants and had blond hair. She sounded young.

  “I’m up here making sure it’s safe before I come down to let you in. You should not have been able to knock on that door.”

  She looked at the door and then back up at him. “Why not? It looks like a perfectly fine door to me. Why can’t I knock on it?”

  “Oh for the love of…” he muttered. “Never mind!” he yelled. “I’ll be right down.”

  She just nodded, crossed her arms and stared at the door.

  He hurried to the staircase and went down to the main floor. A quick scan of the room reassured him that the place was at least fairly tidy. He wasn’t a great housekeeper but he did like a sense of order around him.

  He got to the door and took a deep breath. Then he lifted off the two crossbars and pulled back the three bolts at the top, middle and bottom of the door. He opened it and stepped back.

  The woman at the door stared at him. “You really like to feel secure, don’t you?” she said and glanced at the door.

  Simon flushed. “It’s a dangerous new world,” he said. “I don’t like to take chances.”

  “Yes, I can see that. So, are you going to invite me in, or do we just stand here and stare at each other?”

  He looked at her for a moment. She was quite small and slim. She wore some sort of leather clothing dyed in several shades of green. Simon couldn’t see any weapons.

  “Oh, yes. Of course. Come in, please.”

  He stood back and she strode into the room. She glanced around, noting the heavy furniture and throw rugs scattered about and the far side of the room where he had his kitchen set up, then she walked over to his kitchen table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

  Simon just stood and stared at her for a moment. She looked back at him.

  “Don’t stand there letting the flies in. We really need to talk and I don’t have a lot of time.”

  He shut the door and slid in the middle bolt just to keep it closed. He walked over to the far side of the table.

  He hesitated a moment, then said “Would you like something? Some tea perhaps?”

  She smiled for the first time. “Tea would be nice,” she said. “What do you use to make it?”

  He turned to the fireplace and hung the iron kettle of water on a hook over it to boil.

  “Chamomile. I’ve had my only real success growing it, although I keep hoping that my neighbor will come up with some other varieties that I can try to raise.”

  He opened a cupboard and brought out a tin can, scooped some of the dry tea into a teapot that was sitting on the counter and then turned to look at the woman.

  “So. What can I do for you? And if you don’t mind me asking, who are you?”

  Her smile widened. “I’m sure your real first question is, how did I get past your runes, isn’t it?”

  He felt his jaw drop but before he could answer, she continued. “Yes, Simon, I know what they are. And I know what they can do, for those affected by them. But that sort of magic doesn’t bother me and mine.” She laughed lightly. “But they are a very good idea. I’m pleased that you thought to ward your tower. It gives me some hope that you might be one of the ones to survive; at least for a while.”

  The kettle started to boil and before he asked the questions that were crowding into his mind, he decided to make their tea.

  “Do you take anything in it?” Simon asked her.

  “Honey, if you have any,” she replied.

  He nodded and reached into the cupboard again. He grabbed the small crock of honey and opened it.

  “Just a spoonful would be good, thanks.”

  He nodded again and added a spoon of honey to both their cups. Then he replaced the crock, carried the cups to the table and set both down.

  “Thanks so much,” she said. She picked up her cup and sipped delicately. She closed her eyes appreciatively. “Ah, very nice.”

  “Thanks,” he said and sipped his own tea. He had to admit that it was quite good. />
  “Now you can ask your questions,” she said with a smile.

  He took a deep breath. “Okay, you know my name. And you are…?”

  “You may call me Ethmira, if you like. Of course, that isn’t my true name but it will do.”

  “Your true name?” Simon was confused. “A name is a name, is it not?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. You must know that by now. After all, you are still calling yourself Simon, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. It’s my name.”

  She shook her head. “No, it isn’t. It was your name, back before you Changed. But this person,” she reached over and lightly touched his chest, “is altogether new. You are no more Simon O’Toole now than I am.”

  Simon looked at her skeptically. “Then who am I?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I have no idea. That is for you to discover. And you had best do so soon, if you want the new magics you are learning to work properly. Before you can work the true magic, you must know your true self. Or so I am told.” She sipped her tea.

  “So how do I find out what this true name is?”

  She shrugged again. “I am no expert on these things. But I believe that you must simply be open to inspiration. You will know, if you are alert and keep an open mind, what your true name is in time.” She paused and then narrowed her eyes as she watched him. “But this is not the reason I have come here. And since I do not have much time, I suppose that I will simply have to explain my mission to you without waiting for your questions.”

  He sat back and folding his hands together on the table. “Okay, I’m listening.”

  “Good. Please pay attention.” For a moment her tone reminded him of several teachers he’d had in school. He found himself sitting up straighter in his chair.

  Ethmira smiled at him. “Now, where to begin. Ah yes, Atlantis. Have you heard of it?”

  He nodded. “My friend Daniel and I talked about it many times. He seemed to find the subject quite fascinating. It was an ancient city that sunk somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean, wasn’t it?” She nodded and he continued. “It supposedly achieved a high level of technology, perhaps had even discovered flight, before its destruction. But it might just be a legend. No one’s ever found any real trace of it.”