by A. R. Wilson
The scholar stretched hard. “Find anything on the map?”
“Yes, Jurren. Find anything on the map?” Logan’s amusement felt like needles against Jurren’s ears.
“I’ve been too busy suffering pointless questions.”
“You two still pecking at each other?” Arkose’s tone was similar to Logan’s.
Jurren looked back at the map while walking toward Cale. At least the cobalt dragon had the decency to give Jurren his space by opening one eye and closing it again, pretending to go back to sleep. How much of that conversation had they all heard?
Soft thudding came up behind Jurren. “You misunderstand my warning.” Logan craned his neck around to look Jurren full in the face. “The best way to prepare for the future is to understand the past. That is why my vision contained so much of your life. You did not leave the Highland way of life, only its scenery.”
Logan withdrew his head. Jurren noticed the map in his hands starting to shake. It was a lie. It had to be a lie.
All those years studying at the Highlander school in Ukiah, and for what? The day he learned their eternal youth spell was actually an antidote they put him on trial for treason. Only Highlanders willing to maintain the guise of their way of life were allowed to remain in the mountain villages. Those who could not simply disappeared. Most ended up dead at the hands of Aiden or the Siren, as had nearly happened to Jurren. But, like him, maybe some survived the journey. And like him, were equally silent about their past.
Jurren squatted on the ground to spread out the map. Wave upon wave of vision and memory swarmed in his mind, fighting to move to the front. He let the storm come. Let it rage like a fire engulfing everything in its path. Though he prayed for the flames to destroy all they consumed, everything remained as it was after the storm passed. The memories, the hurt, the betrayal, the need.
Then he saw it. A tiny circle on the map at one end of a charcoal mark looked familiar. Jurren lifted his head south. The rock face far beyond the clearing was the same shape as the mountain drawn below the circle. He gestured Kidelar over.
“That mountain there looks the same as this point on the map.” He indicated a grouping that started at the bottom of the page to the left of center.
Kidelar looked at the map then squinted into the distance. “How can you tell? Never mind, your eyes are better than mine. I’ll trust your word.”
“Maybe we should start our search there.”
“It might help us know what we’re looking for.” Kidelar nodded and reached for the map.
Jurren rolled it up. “You don’t trust me with your gift from the seer?”
“What’s a scholar without his collection of parchment?”
Cale raised himself to take a long stretch. Fully extended, he was nearly fifteen feet. His cobalt scales gleamed their metallic shimmer as he positioned himself to take on his rider.
“You don’t talk nearly as much as Logan. I like you.” Jurren patted Cale on the neck as he climbed to sit ahead of the dragon’s wings.
He waited for the other two men to mount their dragons before taking to the sky. Without a saddle or bridle, riding Cale felt more like clinging to hope than to a beast. Trees and rocks whizzed beneath Jurren while great streams of wind pushed across his face.
Logan pumped his wings as he inched himself forward of Cale. Jurren grinned. Leaning forward, he patted his hand against Cale’s neck. The dragon understood the signal and increased his effort. Cale banked to the right as he moved around Logan. The straps of Jurren’s pack dug into his shoulders as the force of wind increased.
A dark, purple head pivoted in their direction. Jurren kept his gaze forward as he moved ahead of Logan and Kidelar. Cale kept the lead all the way to the base of the mountain. Muscles rippled along Cale as the dragon made a calculated landing between two trees. The ground thudded behind them a moment later.
“I let you win. Competition is a human need.”
Jurren turned to face Logan. “Who are you trying to convince? Me, or you?”
A low rumble accompanied a glow between Logan’s teeth.
Kidelar jumped down, holding out the map. “Let’s take a look at this, shall we?”
Logan lowered his hind quarters, the glow in his mouth dimming.
Another thudding shook the ground as Helmsley came up behind Logan, carrying Arkose. “What was all that about? I nearly lost you.”
“Just testing the limits of my new friend here.” Jurren slid off Cale then ran a hand along his neck before rubbing the dragon under the jaw. “Looks like he’s a keeper.”
Cale bumped his head into Jurren’s shoulder. “Focus on the map.”
The blue dragon’s voice was similar to Logan’s, though without the arrogance. Jurren gave Cale an affectionate shove back then moved closer to Kidelar.
“The welkin tracing follows that stream over there.” Pointing to the right, Kidelar indicated the line of water coming around the side of the mountain. “See how the line wraps to where the second circle is?”
Jurren looked at the map. “Should we follow from the ground or the sky?”
“Along the ground I presume. The tops of these trees are dense, and I don’t want to miss any details. We are not quite certain what we’re looking for.”
“What about the dragons?”
Kidelar looked at Logan then toward the mass of trees leading around the rock face. “If it becomes too difficult then we’ll adjust our plan.”
Taking the lead, Jurren walked over to the trickle of water and turned to follow it upstream. The water veered to the right, following the base of a steep canyon. Though the dragons had plenty of breadth between the trunks of the trees, thick foliage blocked out any view of the sky. The ground was barren of any undergrowth, save for a few mushrooms.
As Jurren followed the stream, it gradually thickened to a small river.
By midday, they reached a pond nearly a hundred yards across, not fed by a stream on the other side.
“This spring must be the first circle on that welkin line.” Jurren looked over his shoulder at Kidelar.
The scholar reached into his cloak to pull out the map. “It looks that way.”
“Where do we turn from here?”
Logan craned his neck up, looking down into the water. “There is a ring at the bottom.”
Jurren squinted and saw the glint of something in the middle of the pond.
“That would explain the circle within the circle.” Arkose stood hovered over Kidelar’s shoulder.
Jurren kept staring into the pond. “I guess it’s worth a look.”
“Don’t you dare,” Kidelar snapped.
He looked back in response to Kidelar’s tone. Was the man worried about another kraken? “This time we have three dragons with us. I think we can venture the risk. Besides, we don’t know what we’re looking for, right?”
Kidelar clamped his mouth into a frown. Jurren shook off his travel pack and cloak. Cool water pooled around him as he waded into the pond. Within a dozen steps, he was up to his waist and started to swim. Once he reached the middle of the pond, he took a deep breath and dove under. Making steady, rhythmic strokes he quickly reached the bottom.
A gold-colored circle poked out of the mud. He hooked his hand into it, but it wouldn’t budge. Placing his feet on the ground to brace himself, he pulled harder. The ring loosened but didn’t pull straight up. Rather, it shifted left as it pulled open a metal door attached to it.
What?
Silt and mud from the floor of the pond clouded up and filtered down into the hole underneath. A glimmer of light came from somewhere deep below. Suddenly, a surge of vision pushed across Jurren’s eyes. He knew this place. The trees, water, silver, and rings culminated at this point.
He swam back to the surface.
“There’s a door down there!”
“How is that even possible?” Kidelar took a few steps into the water.
“I’m going to check it out.”
“No, let�
��s talk about this first.”
“Search your vision. You know I have to do this.”
Jurren watched the color wash out of Kidelar’s face. “And then one of us will get hurt.”
Awareness gushed into Jurren’s soul. Images of screaming, shadow, and walking trees. One of them would get hurt, but he couldn’t sort out who. Sensations of wind, pelting sand, and isolation pushed over the previous stream of memory. He nearly breathed in a mouthful of water trying to stay afloat.
“Not today.” Jurren gasped for air as the vision subsided. “No one will get hurt today. I will be back soon.”
He dipped below the surface of the water before Kidelar could respond. An inner knowing pushed him toward the open door at the bottom of the pond. Somehow, he knew this was taking him closer to Tascana. He followed the four-foot wide passage into its depth. It led down farther than Jurren anticipated, straightened out, then started to lead upward. As he swam toward the dim light ahead, he crested into open air. Sputtering at the sensation, he looked around to see he was in a well-lit cavern with a sandy beach at one end.
Where was the light coming from? The thought was overshadowed by the sight of a young girl tied to a post at the end of the beach. With her back to him, he saw thick, red welts on her wrists. He swam toward her.
As he came out of the water, a thin voice pleaded with him. “Let me go.”
Jurren walked around to face her. Cheekbones stood out on the girl’s emaciated face. Her arms were barely more than skin covering bones. A ragged cloth draped over her shoulders from the remains of a dress. Yet not a single cut or ulcer stood out on her skin from being held against the post. Had she only recently been placed in this den? Dusty, dark brown hair hung in matted clumps around her head. Glazed, half-opened eyes looked through him.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” Jurren knelt in front of her.
Her head bobbed and rolled to the side. “No...”
“I’m here to help.” He pulled a dagger from his wet boot. “This is to cut the ropes from your wrists, okay?”
“I know... you won’t... you’re here... finally.” Her voice trailed into a mumble.
He cut her bonds. “How could anyone do this to you?”
“I... am here... to wait... for... to...”
She slumped onto the ground the moment the ropes fell free. Jurren delicately scooped her into his arms. She felt so light. Her cracked lips crusted with blood. After carrying her to the pond’s edge, he dripped some water from his cupped hand into her mouth. Her head snapped back and she flung free of his embrace to immerse herself. Jurren pulled her back above the surface.
“Please more.” Her voice shook with need.
“I promise. First we need to get you out of here.”
She nodded, shaking from the brief exertion. Turning her face toward his chest, she muttered something like, “Mmm hmm.”
“It is a long swim back to the outer pond.”
“I am... a Child of Destiny. I cannot die.” Her voice sounded as though she were talking in her sleep.
He held her close, worrying his efforts may have come too late. “Who did this?”
“Goblins.”
Ice prickled along his arms and into his spine. The push of his gut instinct signaled he needed to get her out of here. But how? She was so weak.
He lifted her chin to make eye contact. “Goblins brought you here?”
Her eyes flickered open. “Yes.”
Jurren looked up and down the beach. Aside from the wooden post, cut ropes, and a few discarded chains, not a single sign of anyone else having been there appeared along the shore.
“Think you can try to hold your breath while we take a little swim?”
“I don’t need to. I cannot drown.”
First she makes sense, then she talks crazy. Must be the lack of food.
“Well, try to hold your breath. My friend is waiting for us outside and is probably panicking by now.”
Her head rolled back onto his chest. Searching his gut instinct, he chose to trust the nagging that he needed to get her back to the surface as soon as possible.
Jurren walked into the water. Once the coolness surrounded the girl, she turned her head away from him to take in another mouthful. Watching her drink, he paused to consider the route back. Would she survive? In her frail condition, the mere act of dragging her through the tunnel might dislocate a joint or break a bone. Yet that inner knowing, the one deeper than his gut instinct, continued to urge him on.
“Take a deep breath.” He adjusted her in his arms to hold her close with one hand and swim with the other.
Her frail body melted into him. Taking a deep breath, Jurren dove toward the tunnel. Swimming one-handed, trying not to jostle her, he returned to the outer pond. As he crested the surface, Jurren heard the anxious call of Kidelar.
“There you are! Oh, sweet mercy!”
Jurren hoisted the girl to lie over his shoulder. Her legs tucked up into him like how his Little Mally used to curl up as a toddler.
“Who is that?” Arkose splashed into the pond to help them both to shore. “How did you find a child?”
Taking Arkose’s hand to help steady himself, Jurren walked up the sharp incline into the shallows. Once out of the pond, Jurren lowered her to the ground. She sputtered a few times then rolled facedown onto the grass. Her thin hands tugged to pull all close vegetation into her mouth.
“Whoa, take it easy.” Jurren lifted her back into his arms. “Your stomach’s too weak for that. We’ll make you some broth.”
A slight spark came into her eyes as though the warmth of the noonday sun filled her with the courage to hope. “I told you I cannot die.”
Even the sound of her voice was stronger.
“I have dragons. Their fire can cook you a good soup in no time. I promise.” Jurren eased her down again, holding the small of her back with his hand to keep her in a seated position.
Her eyes turned toward Logan, who was coming closer. “Thistle soup is a mediocre task for so great an animal.”
Jurren looked to Logan to find out why the dragon did not answer. Something that looked like a mix of recognition and distrust squeezed around Logan’s eyes as he stared down at her, even pausing to take a step back.
“What is it?” Jurren gazed back and forth between her and the dragon.
Logan flinched as his attention snapped to Jurren. “You don’t see it?”
Jurren looked again. A gaunt child, no more than ten years old, sat nibbling on a handful of grass. Her dark, matted hair pressed against her head at odd places. Pale skin clung loosely to the scant muscles across her bones. Tatters of cloth gave her enough of a covering for her to stay modest, even with the wetness sucked against her body. Much of the dirt had swirled and streaked down her skin from the swim under the pond. Exactly what did Logan find so unnerving that he took a step back in fear rather than forward in concern?
“Perhaps it is just as well.” Logan lowered on his haunches, turning his head away but still watching from the corner of his eye.
Kidelar’s voice broke into the awkward silence between them. “Child, what is your name?”
She plucked a few more blades of grass from the ground and slipped them into her mouth. “Montanya, from the village of Chlopahn.”
“Let’s get you something a little gentler on your stomach.” Kidelar was already moving to his travel pack to untie the small pot attached to the side.
“We should go.” Montanya pulled up another twist of grass. “The goblins will return.”
The scholar dropped the pot. “There are goblins here?”
“They took me to that cave.” She pointed at the water.
Watching her calmly sit, Jurren thought he saw a hint of what Logan was talking about. This was not the girl on the edge of death that he met several minutes earlier. Life shined in her eyes. Strength had come into her joints, allowing her to sit as though she were merely fatigued. Since when did a few mouthfuls of water and grass re
verse the effects of starvation so quickly?
“I think we can risk a few more minutes.” Jurren took his hand off her back. “Tell us how you ended up in that underwater cave.”
“I ran away. But the goblins found me.”
“Why would you run away?”
“Do you not know what it means to be a Child of Destiny?”
“I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Then I guess you could not understand. I want to escape my destiny, but it was foolish of me to think I could do it alone. Now I know why my father never let me leave the protected groves of my people.”
Jurren stared at her. The only thing more astounding than her explanation was the health that continued to seep into her voice.
A rumbling snort came from Logan. When Jurren looked up, Arkose stood in his line of sight, shrugging as if to say, ‘What now?’
Jurren turned to Montanya. “Where is your father?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would he be in Chlopahn?”
“I guess.”
“How far is your village from here?” Jurren gestured for Kidelar to come closer.
“I don’t even know where here is.”
“Do you know how to read a map?”
Her eyebrows dropped as though she had received the greatest insult of her life. Then Montanya’s forehead softened as she pulled her knees to her chest. “Yes.”
Jurren took the map from Kidelar. “Does any of this look familiar to you?”
Montanya pointed to a spot. “There, but outsiders are never allowed in.”
The place under her finger was two hills west of the last point on the line of three they were following on the map.
Jurren’s vision suddenly blurred with screaming, shadows, walking trees, and silver light. The smell of fire and death heightened the reality that one of them would get injured. And yet that inner knowing beneath his gut instinct assured him this was the only way. Though the next few days would be painful, they would also be necessary.
“Most people are cautious of outsiders.” Jurren handed the map back to Kidelar, then flicked a glance in the direction of Logan. “But leaving you behind isn’t an option.”
