***
Jahrra found it hard to sleep that night for a number of reasons. First, she was still bristling about how easily she’d fallen into the twins’ trap. Secondly, she was nervous and terrified about what she was about to do the next morning, no matter how many times she tried to convince herself the witch didn’t exist. And finally, she was feeling overwhelmingly guilty about the lie she had told Hroombra.
The old dragon had warned her so many times not to go into the Wreing Florenn, and not only had she disobeyed him once, but she was about to do it again. Worse yet, she was going to wander into the deepest part of the forest. It was a long time before she finally drifted into a restless sleep full of strange and dark dreams.
Jahrra rose early despite her grogginess, dressing in her usual leather pants and loose tunic, adding a vest to help fight off the chill of the morning. She paused only long enough to pull her long hair into a messy braid before grabbing her thick riding cloak on the way out of her room. She hastily packed a lunch, sneaking around the Ruin so as not to disturb the great sleeping reptilian mountain that was Hroombra.
She saddled Phrym just as quickly, looking mournfully towards the Danu Creek flowing peacefully out of the Wreing Florenn. The creek was fed by a natural spring, deep within the heart of the forest. This spring also filled up the basin between the two rows of hillocks in the center of the great wood. This soggy basin was the infamous Black Swamp.
Jahrra shivered and wondered if Eydeth and Ellysian were already waiting for her on the edge of the forest. Them and the entire school, she thought, a feeling of dread slowly filling her hollow stomach. She’d been too nervous to eat breakfast. Jahrra and Phrym walked gravely across the field, still gray in the early morning light. They met up with the creek and headed east towards the forest.
As they trudged along, Jahrra thought about her friends’ offer to go along with her. Despite the fact that Gieaun was terrified out of her wits and still angry that Jahrra had actually accepted the challenge, she wouldn’t let her friend go on such a dangerous endeavor alone.
Jahrra cringed when she recalled her friend’s wrath from the day before.
“Have you gone quite mad?” the Resai girl had wheezed. “Jahrra, what’s the matter with you? You can’t go into that swamp! Don’t you know what’s in there? It’s not just any witch but an evil witch of Ciarrohn that lives in the hollow of the hills, you remember the story. Jahrra! You’ll most definitely be killed, and then Eydeth and Ellysian will have won for sure!”
Jahrra pushed Gieaun’s voice and Scede’s dark eyes to the back of her mind. In the end they had agreed to go with her, refusing to let their best friend go into dangerous territory alone. Jahrra had almost cried; she wanted to be brave, but she couldn’t imagine doing this without them.
Phrym’s rumbling whicker pulled Jahrra from her reverie. Up ahead, the towering trees of the Wreing Florenn were beginning to swallow the Danu Creek. Jahrra felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t realized how far they had traveled. They came around one more bend of the shadowed stream and saw the entire school standing on the edge of the forest like a funeral procession. Jahrra thought she was going to faint. She spotted Gieaun and Scede off to the side on their own horses and she timidly led Phrym over to them.
“Am I late?” she whispered harshly, her mouth strangely dry. “I thought I left early enough.”
“No, you’re early, but they all got here even earlier,” Scede said tensely, looking how Jahrra felt.
Jahrra gritted her teeth and fought the sudden waves of nausea. “I guess we’d better get this over with then.”
She took a deep breath and led Phrym over to where Eydeth and Ellysian stood. Gieaun and Scede looked on in horror, their nerves slowly melting into pools of fear.
Jahrra addressed the twins, “Alright, what are the conditions, how far do I have to go in?”
She was no longer whispering, and she could hear her own voice trembling.
Eydeth reveled in her dread awhile before answering with a twisted smile, “You’ll have to go all the way to the Belloughs, at the very end of the swamp, where the witch lives. Bring back some evidence that you’ve made it that far or else we won’t believe you.”
There was an audible gasp at the mention of the word Belloughs, but Jahrra forced herself to ignore it. The Belloughs was the worst part of the swamp. Going all the way to the Belloughs would be like diving into the middle of Lake Ossar where the lake monster supposedly slept as opposed to simply wading on the shore. Jahrra pushed the daunting comparison out of her mind and instead focused her attention on Eydeth’s continued ridiculous suggestions.
“How could I possibly prove that!” she snipped, forgetting her fear for the time being.
“Oh, I don’t know, bring back something that belongs to the witch.”
Ellysian and a few of their friends snickered and Jahrra flushed with sudden anger. That boy is so evil! He knows I can’t bring back any proof!
“Very well,” she finally answered, straight-faced and unsmiling, “but if I do, I want something in return.”
If she had to prove she made it to the Belloughs, then she wasn’t going to do it for free. Something that looked like surprise flashed across Eydeth’s face, and Jahrra felt her spirits lift just a little. He hadn’t expected her to counter with her own demands.
“If I come back with evidence,” Jahrra continued coolly, “then I want you, your sister, and all of your friends to stay away from Lake Ossar. Forever.”
Jahrra sat up rigidly in the saddle and held her head up as high as she could. A mixture of annoyance, anger and defeat churned behind Eydeth’s cruel eyes. He was obviously fighting the desire to deny Jahrra what she wanted, but he was also deciding whether he should sacrifice one small advantage for her in order to ensure she would still go through with his dare.
Finally, after what seemed like hours, he spoke, “That mud hole? No problem! If you come back with believable evidence of the hag, then you and your Nesnan-loving friends can have that puddle all to yourselves.”
Eydeth crossed his arms and smirked, trying to hide the fact that he was annoyed his enemy might be getting something out of this. Jahrra smiled widely and glanced over at Gieaun and Scede, both looking somewhat cheerful for the first time that morning.
“You’ve got a deal.” Jahrra nodded to the twins and trailed her eyes over the rest of the crowd, reassuring herself that they had heard the bargain. She pulled Phrym’s reins around and guided him towards the tiny path that eventually led into the heart of the Black Swamp. Gieaun and Scede followed suit on Bhun and Aimhe, Scede looking three shades of grey and Gieaun looking like a wilted flower.
“Hold on, what’s this?” Eydeth said suddenly in feigned amusement. “An entourage?”
Jahrra turned around on Phrym, bracing herself for what she knew she was going to hear.
“You go alone, Nesnan. No buddies to help you out, or our deal about the pond is off.”
Eydeth and his sister crossed their arms firmly, glaring even more contemptibly than before.
A dramatic muttering swept the crowd as Jahrra looked nervously around, not quite sure what to do. I should’ve known he wouldn’t want them coming with me! she thought miserably. She looked at Scede, dread building in her eyes, but he just stared back, a look of helplessness on his own face. Gieaun appeared to be paler than a ghost and seemed to be beyond speech.
“Jahrra!” she finally managed to whisper hoarsely. “You can still tell them no!”
Jahrra turned away and took a deep breath. She knew that if she wanted to win this battle, to win back her favorite place in the whole world, she would have to do this alone.
She released the air in her lungs and with eyes still closed she said, “I’ll go alone.”
The crowd gasped, obviously shocked at her decision. Eydeth and Ellysian had expected her to back out, but she wasn’t going to give them the satisfactio
n. She opened her eyes and looked at her friends one last time. Scede looked frightened, but encouraging at the same time and his sister was cowering next to him, on the verge of tears.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. But don’t you dare go and get Hroombra until the afternoon if I don’t come back, alright?”
Gieaun and Scede reluctantly swore they’d give their friend plenty of time to complete her task. Jahrra hugged them both from Phrym’s back and then turned and led him in the direction of the swamp once more.
“If any of you are expecting me to die today, you’re wasting your time. I’ll go to the Belloughs, but I don’t plan on staying,” she boldly shot behind her, guiding Phrym into a canter just before disappearing over the small rise in land that eventually dropped into the swamp.
After she crested the low hill, Jahrra let out a long sigh and slouched in the saddle. Her bones felt like rubber and her skin like jelly. No point in looking brave now, no one is around to see, she thought as her mouth became parched again.
Phrym walked tediously along the narrow trail stretching in front of them, his hooves making a sucking sound in the black, sticky mud. A sense of dread filled the air and the surrounding woods were oddly silent, the only noise, other than Phrym’s feet of course, were his puffs of discomfiture. The air smelled woody, metallic and stale and it reminded Jahrra of the scent of blood. She shivered and tried hard not to imagine stumbling upon a massacre wrought by some horrific beast.
Despite her fear, however, Jahrra encouraged Phrym deeper into the darkening wood. Soon the tall, bright eucalyptus trees were replaced by black, crouching oaks and the first signs of the dark bog crept into view. The scent of putrid water filled the air, and Jahrra’s restless mind unwillingly dredged up everything she had ever heard about the Black Swamp. At that moment her memory was recalling an excerpt from one of Hroombra’s books:
The Black Swamp, as it is so called by the many elfin tribes that inhabit Oescienne, is a stretch of wetlands nestled between the two small rows of hillocks within the Wreing Florenn.
The swamp gets its name from the blackish mud that makes up its belly, not to mention the dreary and dank atmosphere it exudes from the knotty, sick looking ancient black oaks that guard its boundaries.
Not many a soul ventures into the Black Swamp and only a few brave its borders to collect the coveted mushrooms and rare herbs that grow within its dark interior. It is also said that the best mistletoe grows in the canopies of the black oaks there, but even fewer people venture in deep enough to collect it.
The dreary environment and unpleasant surroundings are not the only reason people avoid the swamp. According to local legend, many fearsome and mysterious creatures are said to live there, and in the past many children have gone missing.
Something splashed into the dank water only a few feet from the trail, stirring the cool, heavy mist that engulfed the landscape. Jahrra yelped and instinctively pulled on Phrym’s reins, the disturbing thoughts resonating in her head quickly drowned out by the sound of her pounding heart. Phrym quickened his pace and made a few discontented noises of nervousness, but as Jahrra shakily coaxed him back to a slower pace, she noticed that the sound had been caused by a turtle taking cover under the water.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, laughing nervously as she released it. She reached down and patted Phrym.
“It’s alright boy. It was only a turtle.”
Phrym nickered and snorted, seeming satisfied with Jahrra’s explanation. She encouraged him onward, and soon they were moving at a steady pace once again.
As they journeyed deeper into the swamp, Jahrra tried hard to be positive and not think about what might be watching her from the thick brush beyond the trail. She especially tried not to think about the legendary witch that may or may not live in the Belloughs, but the chilly woods conjured up memories of campfire ghost stories that kept the fear fresh.
She squeezed her eyes shut and tried desperately to repeat the words of meditation that Viornen had taught her, but all she could hear was Kaihmen’s voice echoing in her head, “The witch came from the far east, fleeing from the Crimson King. It is said that she double-crossed the evil king and is now hiding out in fear of him . . .”
Jahrra shuddered. The idea of someone double-crossing the Crimson King terrified her; he sounded bad enough as it was without being angry. I’m just being paranoid, she told herself, there’s no one in this swamp except maybe some frogs and leeches. But no matter how hard she tried, Jahrra couldn’t get her mind off of the terror that had settled inside of her like heavy silt settling in a riverbed. Her hands were clammy and she could feel sweat trickling down her back, despite the cold.
Phrym nickered lightly, and Jahrra pulled him to a stop, hoping to recover her bearings and calm her mind. They’d been walking for about a half hour, and so far Jahrra hadn’t seen anything to make her feel so nervous. She blinked and looked around at the surrounding scenery to distract herself. The swamp was tangled with a variety of plants ranging from tiny, almost luminescent toadstools of multiple colors, to the giant, dominating oaks that choked out everything else but the dark poison ivy that wrapped tightly around their trunks. The moss that hung from the twisting branches looked like thick, matted hair and was a dark, dry olive color.
Jahrra pulled her eyes from the thick canopy and glanced down at the path she and Phrym were following. The black tendril of soil stretched thinly above the bank of the wetlands before disappearing into the obscure, thick fog in the immediate distance. After several minutes, Jahrra took a deep breath and decided it was time to move on.
Regardless of the quiet atmosphere and the fact that nothing horrible had happened after an hour of walking, Jahrra still couldn’t settle down. Phrym jerked back his head at the screech of a bird followed by a vigorous flapping of wings, and Jahrra had to take a few breaths to calm her racing heart. This was the first thing she’d heard since entering the swamp besides Phrym’s horsey comments and the retreating turtle.
Phrym came to a stop once again and Jahrra took a few more deep breaths, the taste of the cool, mossy air calming her nerves a bit. The fog was thicker now; a result, Jahrra thought, of some dark, evil magic brewing in the hidden corners of the Belloughs. They had to be close now, she could feel it.
Jahrra shuddered and swallowed thickly. The Belloughs of the Black Swamp. Her stomach took another plunge at the very thought of the name.
“Phrym, you have to make sure I stay focused,” she whispered nervously down to her strangely calm semequin.
Phrym merely turned his ears back towards her and kept on walking carefully past the brown ferns and oily green liverworts. A few minutes later the trail began to decline into the chill air of the belly of the swamp. The atmosphere not only grew colder and mistier, but darker as well, as if a premature twilight had begun to set in. It’s only because of the cover of the oaks; they’re growing closer together here, Jahrra told herself, trying really hard not to let the heavy atmosphere smother her.
A loud, sudden CRACK cut through the silence when Phrym stepped on a dead branch.
“Whoa!” Jahrra shouted, her entire body tensing out of instinct.
Phrym tossed his head and started to canter.
“Stop Phrym, slow down!” Jahrra pleaded as she pulled back on the reins which were easily slipping through her sweaty palms. She was trying hard not to panic and give in to her raw nerves as the cool air caressed her hot face. Phrym slowed after a few dozen yards and Jahrra slumped limply up against his strong neck.
“It’s alright, Phrym, you only spooked yourself!” she breathed nervously, a little more loudly than she ought to.
She scratched his neck once more and his nervous snorting gradually calmed. But Phrym wasn’t paying attention to her. He was standing stark still; his ears cocked forward, his stance tense. Jahrra froze. She was afraid to look up, but she forced herself to. She hadn’t noticed the tall hills closing in on either
side of them. She suddenly felt like a panicked insect rushing into a funnel spider’s trap.
Jahrra blinked through Phrym’s tangled mane, her blood freezing as she recognized the scene before her. The parallel rows of hills met up not too far ahead, forming the unmistakable crook of the Belloughs. She had made it, and she was still alive and in one piece.
Well, here goes.
Jahrra drew on every ounce of courage she possessed as she gently led Phrym down into the Belloughs of the Black Swamp.
-Chapter Twenty-One-
The Witch of the Wreing
Phrym released a small snort, his breath steaming in the chill air, letting Jahrra know in his own way that he was beginning to have second thoughts about this venture. Jahrra ignored him and surveyed the surrounding scenery, her senses on high alert. She squinted through the dense, gray mist, her heart thudding erratically when she realized the dark blotches against the base of the hills were caves.
Jahrra tightened her fingers around Phrym’s reins, her knuckles growing white from the pressure, and tried to stop her mind from imagining what might live in those dark caverns. The cavern entrances themselves made her think of gaping, black mouths crying out in pain, and the ropes of moss clinging and streaming from their edges like the bedraggled beards of men long dead. The very thought sent chills down her spine, and she knew if a witch did live in this dank swamp, she would most definitely reside here.
Jahrra took a deep breath, inhaling the unpleasant scents of sulfur, stale dampness and old ashes. It was eerily quiet here, even more so than the stretch of swamp they had already passed. Nevertheless, Jahrra thought that if she strained her ears enough she might hear the strange whispering of a magical language or the black words of a terrible spell.
After surveying nervously for several minutes, Jahrra looked down at Phrym, trying to gauge his judgment. The semequin must have found the place safe enough after all, for he continued to look straight ahead, almost in curiosity. Strange, she thought, how can he be so calm while I’m ready to turn and bolt?
Terrified but unwilling to give up after coming this far, Jahrra grudgingly eased Phrym forward, her heart rate steadily rising until it pounded in her ears. The pair delicately wove their way around gnarled tree roots and through tangles of vegetation, coming to a stop when they reached the point where the land flattened out and became dry.
From this new vantage point Jahrra was able to see the Belloughs a little more clearly. There was life here, and not just the grim, depressed life she’d come to expect in a place without regular sunlight or fertile soil, but life that had been coaxed and pampered into existence.
Jahrra stopped Phrym and gazed around in wonder at the sight before her. There were strange plants that she’d never seen before, not even in Hroombra’s books on botany: leafy plants with crinkled, bruise-purple foliage and woody plants with alien-like flowers. Jahrra was dumbfounded at this discovery. Of all the things she expected to find here, she had not expected to find a garden.
Jahrra continued to brush her eyes over the well-tended rows of plants, gasping when her eyes fell upon a huge colony of mushrooms. These were even more intriguing than the rest of the plants growing hodgepodge around the caves, and Jahrra soon forgot her overwhelming trepidation.
Fungi of all shapes and sizes, colors and patterns dotted the dark section of earth like the diverse buildings of a tiny city. There were mushrooms that appeared to be as tall as Phrym, some so tiny that hundreds of them together looked like a small blotch of blue or red or yellow paint spilled upon the ground. Jahrra noted red mushrooms with white spots and brown mushrooms with yellow stalks. There were even mushrooms that were covered in what appeared to be tiny taste buds, and others that looked like umbrellas turned inside out. She even spotted some of the incandescent toadstools she’d seen at the swamp’s entrance.
Jahrra climbed down from Phrym and led him over to the edge of the strange garden. She stalked, wide-eyed, towards the mushroom patch, blocking out all other sights, sounds, smells and sensations. She dropped Phrym’s reins as if in a daze and squatted down to get a closer look at the glowing toadstools. She reached out her hand to touch one of the more peculiar large mushrooms, a pale, creamy green thing that had short, nubby branches and tiny hair-like appendages all over it, when the silence was abruptly broken.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?”
Jahrra screamed and fell awkwardly to the ground at the sound of the unfamiliar, crackling voice. Phrym panicked and backed up nervously, snorting and whinnying aggressively. He would’ve bolted, but Jahrra was on the ground in a vulnerable position and he wouldn’t leave her. Jahrra quickly righted herself, putting her hands behind her to prop herself up. While still sitting in the soft, damp soil, she stared up at a much disheveled, very old woman.
Oh no, she thought with impending dread, the Witch of the Wreing! I’m done for! She tried to stand up, but her legs and arms were useless and her entire body felt like it had been drained of blood, leaving a sick, acidic feeling in her muscles. The woman rocked forward, and Jahrra desperately began crawling backwards, smearing black muck all over herself.
“Don’t worry, I’m no witch, and I’m no hag,” the haggard woman rasped. “Unless you think me a goblin or a troll, you have nothing to fear.”
Jahrra would have sworn the woman was smiling, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at her face. It was hard enough looking at any part of her at all. Jahrra decided to focus on her feet, which were actually hidden by a patched and worn skirt.
“Beautiful, aren’t they?” the woman asked again, gesturing stiffly towards the mushrooms.
The pounding in Jahrra’s ears had subsided enough to allow her to take notice of her voice. It wasn’t gruff, but was worn and friendly, not at all threatening.
“It’s quite alright, I won’t harm you,” the woman insisted.
Jahrra didn’t know whether to be frightened or friendly. She breathed deeply and slowly like Viornen and Yaraa had taught her to do when faced with a potential enemy.
She then swallowed her fear and took a good, long look at the strange person in front of her. Jahrra blinked; the old woman wasn’t overly impressive or frightening after all. In fact, she looked like she had risen right out of the swamp itself and Jahrra, after traveling through this strange landscape, wouldn’t have been surprised if she had. She wasn’t tall, maybe just a few inches over five feet at the most, and had flaming red hair unlike any color Jahrra had ever seen before.
Reluctantly, Jahrra forced herself to look at the woman’s face, relief flooding through her when she didn’t find the expected sallow features with hollow eyes and rotten skin. The woman did look quite old, however, and very haggard, with crooked teeth and wrinkled skin, and her heavy clothes were filthy and patched. Jahrra wondered again if this was the witch everyone feared, and understood why they would think that. If anyone had seen her from a distance wandering these misty woods, they would’ve run away in fear. But up close, she didn’t seem frightening at all, and her voice, although scratchy and tired, was actually warm and welcoming.
Jahrra continued to stare as the woman took a few more steps forward, moving gracefully for someone who looked so fragile and weathered. As she drew closer, the woman’s face became more visible in the dim light of the swamp. It was an old and bent face, and the lines were deeper than Jahrra had noticed at first, easily putting Hroombra and his wrinkles to shame. The old woman smiled once again, revealing missing teeth, but her topaz eyes overflowed with strength, fire, and a deep wisdom.
“You’re a quiet one, not what I expected. Not what I expected at all.”
She cackled softly, looking not at all deterred by Jahrra’s rude staring.
Jahrra hadn’t realized just how frightened she still was until a wave of calm washed over her, pushing away the feeling of faintness. Miraculously, she heard her own voice, although the words she tried to speak got caught in her throat, “Wh-who, wha-what . .
.?”
The old woman’s face cracked into another smile. Jahrra swallowed and tried again, doing a much better job this time.
“I, I’m so sorry,” she managed lamely, stammering slightly in embarrassment.
After gaping like a suffocating fish for a few seconds, she continued, “I was mesmerized by your collection of plants, they’re quite amazing.”
Jahrra tried to smile, but realized it was a weak effort. She bit her bottom lip instead and allowed her gaze to falter, watching her hand sink into the black soil beside her instead.
“Ah yes,” croaked the ancient woman, sounding not at all offended. “I’ve worked many hours keeping it happy.”
“I’m terribly sorry to intrude,” Jahrra repeated abashedly. She wondered why the woman hadn’t yet questioned why a young girl had been trespassing and poking around in her yard.
She continued on, her face growing hot, “My classmates challenged me to come to the Belloughs. I had no idea anyone really lived here or I wouldn’t have been so intrusive.”
The old woman looked at Jahrra with her head cocked slightly to the side, as if trying to read her mind.
Jahrra suddenly wished she was a turtle so she could retreat within her shell, but unfortunately she didn’t have that luxury.
After a few more moments of her scrutinizing stare, the woman spoke more quietly, “Most people avoid this part of Oescienne, so there was no way you could know anyone lived here. But I’m sure you’ve heard stories of a monster or a hag, and thus wished to see for yourself if such tales were true?”
The woman’s golden eyes twinkled, revealing a startling youthfulness, and Jahrra turned from pink to crimson. The old woman was exactly right, of course. Yes, Jahrra had ideas of a vile creature lurking in the caves, but she’d never stopped to think that there just might be someone living here trying to avoid the very outsiders who persecuted them.
Jahrra sat in uncomfortable silence, ignoring the dampness soaking through her clothes.
It was only a short while before the old woman spoke once again, “No worries lass,” she rasped. “I rarely receive company, and now you can tell your friends you’ve come face to face with the Witch of the Wreing. Come, you can’t sit in the mud forever.”
Jahrra looked up suddenly, forgetting her apprehension and before she could stop herself, she blurted, “Are you really a witch?”
The woman, who had her gnarled hand held out to give Jahrra a hand up, exploded in raucous laughter, lightening the atmosphere just a bit. Jahrra shrank farther into the mud.
“Well, the answer to that question really depends on who you ask,” the woman said when she had regained her breath. “To some I am a witch; to others I’m a hag. To most I’m just a crazy old woman.”
She gave a jagged smile, pulling up the timorous girl who’d finally taken her rough hand. Jahrra was surprised at how easily the woman yanked her up.
“My name is Archedenaeh, but you can call me Denaeh. I’m a Mystic and I’ve been awaiting your arrival for some time now.”
Jahrra gaped at her, pausing in the middle of her effort to wipe off as much of the mud clinging to her backside as she could.
Once she found her voice, she stammered, “How, how did you know I was coming?”
“Like I said, I’m a Mystic.”
Jahrra stood in the middle of the little clearing, her eyes wide with surprise. A million questions ran through her head, but this time she thought before speaking. In the calmest voice she could muster, she queried, “What exactly is a Mystic? Is it like a fortune teller?”
The woman laughed once again, clearly amused by these naïve questions. Normally, Jahrra would’ve been annoyed by all the laughter at her expense, but she could tell that the woman’s amusement wasn’t malicious in the least. Jahrra, slightly discomfited by her lack of knowledge, returned her focus to the ground, staring at a tiny golden mushroom that had strayed from the main crop.
The woman finished her fit of laughter and answered as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
“It is not.”
Jahrra braved a glance at the Mystic. She simply stood there grinning, the gleam of laughter lingering in her eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Jahrra pushed on. “What’s the difference, then, between a fortune teller and a Mystic?” And before she could allow the woman any more awkward pauses, quickly added, “And where do oracles come in? And if you are a Mystic, why do people say you’re a witch?”
The old woman looked pleased at these questions despite the urgency in which they were asked and simply answered serenely, “A fortune teller does mostly guess work, interpreting cards or signs they believe have significance. A fortune teller speaks in half-truths because they don’t have all of the facts and essentially don’t know the future. A fortune teller often only wishes to make a profit and will find a way to tell the listener what they want to hear, usually something vague that could be applied to any fortunate or unfortunate event in a person’s life.”
The old woman, standing hunched over with the tips of her knobby fingers pressed together, paused and looked at Jahrra to make sure she was following. Jahrra rubbed her arm and smiled in encouragement.
“A Mystic is a step above that,” the woman continued, “interpreting the spiritual signals they receive from the world around them. A Mystic tells you the part of your future they can see, but emphasizes that they can only see a small portion. Most of it is up to that particular person and what they make of it. A Mystic will feed off of what spiritual essence a person possesses and will try and make an assessment of that information.
“An Oracle, on the other hand, is a being that actually knows the past, present and future. They speak in riddles because they know the absolute truth will drive any living being mad. An Oracle will tell you enough to help you through a rough patch, but will seldom give you more.”
The old woman drew her sleeve-draped arms behind her back and began to slowly pace in front of Jahrra before continuing, “There are many fortunetellers in this world, fewer Mystics, and unfortunately, only two of the five Oracles of Ethoes remain in existence.”
Jahrra was fascinated and completely enraptured with Denaeh’s explanation. Hroombra would never tell her this much if she ever asked him.
She took advantage of this woman’s willingness to answer her questions and asked a few more, “How does someone become a fortuneteller or a Mystic? And could you tell me more about the Oracles? Why are there only two left?”
Denaeh smiled again and released a small chuckle. “Fortunetellers are everyday people who require little training compared to Mystics. Mystics require extensive training and are changed significantly before they are qualified. Mystics also require a pre-existing gift toward the art of reading the future, and they must be magical.”
Jahrra moved her mouth to form a question, but the old woman held up a withered hand to stop her. “The Oracles were created by the goddess Ethoes and are considered highly sacred. Originally there were five, like I said, but two were killed during the rise and fall of the god Ciarrohn, and another was killed by the Crimson King, Cierryon. The Oracles are the supreme power when it comes to inquiries of the future, but Mystics have exceptional powers as well.”
Suddenly, a branch snapped in the distance and Jahrra instinctively glanced in the direction the sound came from. As soon as she returned her eyes to Archedenaeh, she gasped in shock and took a quick step back, almost tripping over a decaying log. Instead of the old, haggard elderly woman that had been telling her all about Mystics and Oracles, she was looking at a young, beautiful woman standing exactly in her spot.
When she grinned, Jahrra noticed she had the same smile (but with several more teeth), the same glittering topaz eyes, and the same vibrant red hair that the older woman had.
In a much younger and more melodic voice, she said, “We Mystics also have a special power. We have the ability to take on three stages of life; infancy, youth and
old age, but I rarely find use for infancy.”
She said this as if instantaneously changing from an old woman to a young one were as natural as breathing. Her smile and eyes held laughter once again and before Jahrra’s very eyes she melted back into the old woman, once more taking on the hunched posture and weathered features of age.
“Will that do for now, Jahrra?”
Jahrra started, not at the rough change in Denaeh’s voice, but at the sound of her own name being spoken.
“You know my name.”
It was more a statement than a question.
“Oh, yes lass, I know much about you. You are twelve years of age, I believe, the tallest in your age group at school, and you are unlike all of the other children you know, in more ways than you think. But don’t bother to ask how or why I know these things, because now is not the time for you to know.”
Jahrra had a sudden image of Hroombra telling a portion of one of his stories, and she began to wonder why this Mystic, living in the middle of the Wreing Florenn isolated from all of civilization, could know so much about her. But if Denaeh was what she claimed, Jahrra guessed she could tell anything about anyone who wandered into her swamp.
This feels dangerous, said a small voice in her head. Jahrra twitched and pushed the voice aside as she tried to think. This is crazy! the voice insisted. You don’t know this woman! Make some excuse and get out of there! But an overwhelming blanket of calm and safety muffled her blaring conscience. She suddenly felt at ease and was able to get back to her own thoughts.
Jahrra gazed into the mysterious, golden eyes of the old woman as she tried to determine her intentions. She could definitely be an ally when it comes to the twins, she thought shrewdly, but is all this kindness just a façade? Could she really be evil and simply be waiting to gain my trust, like the witches in all the old stories?
Jahrra pondered these thoughts for a while, but in the end decided that the Mystic Archedenaeh wasn’t dangerous in the least. She’s probably just glad to be talking to someone else after all her years of isolation. Jahrra smiled once again, wondering if during all this time the woman had been reading her mind.
“Tell me about your garden,” Jahrra said cheerfully, trying to cover her conspiratorial thoughts.
“I thought you’d never ask!” Denaeh beamed, turning once again into her younger, more vibrant self and leading Jahrra through the patches of mushrooms and clumps of grasses and vines.
Once she’d completely done away with her lingering hesitance, Jahrra spoke freely and easily with Denaeh. She found it comforting to talk with the Mystic, and soon she was telling her own story about her life and her friends and school. Denaeh listened carefully, nodding in the right places and smiling when Jahrra’s story needed encouragement.
Although Denaeh seemed to be intrigued by Jahrra’s stories, the Mystic wasn’t paying particularly close attention to what the girl was saying. Not that she was insensitive to Jahrra’s troubles, however. Denaeh merely needed to assess the girl, to figure out what she was made of. Yes, the Mystic thought to herself as her eyes glittered, making Jahrra believe she was smiling in response to her description of Kiniahn Kroi, you are special indeed . . .
“. . . and then he pulled me down from the face of the waterfall, just like that, and I fell almost thirty feet!”
Jahrra’s enthusiastic tale broke past Denaeh’s thoughts, and the Mystic realized that she would have to think about the future later. Right now she needed to befriend this young girl, gain her undying trust and loyalty, and make sure she had some kind of influence on her life from this point on.
Jahrra paused, giving the Mystic an odd look. After a few moments, she continued on with her story, forgetting that her new friend had seemed to lose focus for awhile.
“Anyhow, we went back to their house, and Gieaun, Scede and I were able to spend the whole evening in the kitchens with all of the cooks and maids. It was the best Solstice Eve I’ve ever had. And can you believe it? I didn’t even want to go!”
Archedenaeh grinned broadly over the small fire she had kindled beside her garden and added, “Yes, Jahrra, you’ll learn in life that many of the things you wish against turn out to be the best things that ever happen to you.”
Jahrra smiled at this. She liked this strange woman and at the same time wondered if Hroombra was aware of her presence in the forest. But her mentor would have told her by now, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t stress how dangerous the Wreing Florenn was if he knew about Denaeh. Jahrra sighed wistfully. The Mystic was so much easier to talk to than the other adults she knew, and was so much more willing to answer her endless questions.
While Jahrra was reflecting on her sudden good fortune, a strange, crackling call cut through the thick air and a big, dark bird flew out of the mist, swooping down onto Denaeh’s shoulder.
“Whoa!” Jahrra exclaimed, falling to the ground in surprise.
The strange bird grumbled and fluffed up his feathers while Denaeh laughed, absent-mindedly stroking its glossy wings. Jahrra quickly rolled back into a sitting position, gawking openly at the odd bird. It looked like a raven, but it was larger with shorter legs. She stood up slowly, brushing herself off for a second time and approached Denaeh cautiously. She let out a low sigh when she realized the bird wasn’t black but a deep, dark blue color with silky feathers all around its neck, legs and back. Its neck feathers were streaked with a creamy yellow color, and the feathers on its back and legs were the same.
The bird made another strange cawing noise and Jahrra noticed that it had some sort of seed or acorn lodged in its glossy beak.
“Very well, Milihn, plant it on the edge of the mushroom patch,” Denaeh said to the bird, smiling and smoothing its silky feathers.
The raven-like bird fluttered off of her shoulder and glided to the other side of the garden. It landed rather awkwardly, hopping to a stop, and quickly shoved the seed into the soil, using its beak to cover it back up with black soil.
“What on Ethoes was that?” Jahrra queried breathlessly.
“Ah,” Denaeh said, smiling broadly, “that is my bird, Milihn. He’s a korehv.”
“What’s a korehv?” Jahrra asked, still stunned, wondering if she could find it in any of Hroombra’s books.
“A korehv is a bird native to Felldreim similar to ravens and crows. They’re also highly intelligent and are prone to collecting seeds and other useful objects, so you can see why he and I are so compatible.”
Milihn croaked contentedly and flew back to his master’s shoulder. He fluffed up his feathers and shook, dropping one large wing feather as he did so. Denaeh reached out and plucked it from the air before it hit the ground. She turned the feather in her fingers, examining it. Then she held it out to Jahrra.
“A gift from the both of us, it will bring you luck.”
Jahrra took the feather speechlessly, as if she were being offered a rare gem. She looked at it for a while, the shimmering blue color none like she’d ever seen.
“Thank you,” she finally said, tucking it away safely into a pocket inside her vest.
“He keeps me company in this lonely place,” Denaeh continued calmly after a short silence.
Milihn was now cocking his head to the side, observing Jahrra with one black, glossy eye. He let out a low, grumbling noise, causing Jahrra to flinch.
“That means he approves of you,” the Mystic said, grinning and scratching behind the bird’s neck.
“Oh, well, I like him too,” Jahrra replied sheepishly.
Once the shock of Milihn’s arrival wore off, Jahrra and Denaeh spent most of half an hour admiring the Mystic’s exotic garden. Not only did she have every kind of mushroom that grew in Oescienne, but she grew many wild herbs and plants and spices as well, all useful in helping with different ailments.
“Now, this kind of mushroom,” she said, leaning down and pulling up a dark purple one, “is very good at curing headaches. And this herb,” she continued, plucki
ng the leaves off of a green and white plant, “helps to ease the stomach.”
Jahrra got out her journal and sketched and listed all of the different plants and fungi that Denaeh had growing in her garden. While Jahrra drew, the Mystic weeded, pulling at tough and stubborn plants that seemed to bring the whole earth up with them when she finally loosened them.
“Ugh, awful things these weeds, if only my other plants were so determined to stay alive,” she said, and then to end the silence that had been emanating from the girl sketching next to her she added, “So, Jahrra, tell me more about yourself. What do you do with your friends other than get into trouble with your classmates?”
Denaeh flashed Jahrra a teasing grin, but the girl’s head had flown up and her eyes had grown as large as apples.
“Oh no!” she said suddenly, shutting her journal with violence.
“What is it?” Denaeh asked, afraid she’d said something to offend her guest.
Jahrra saw the worried look on Denaeh’s face and adjusted her tone. “No, nothing is wrong. It’s just that I forgot. My friends will be worried about me. They’re probably thinking I’m dead or captured! I’m sorry, but I have to go now.”
“Oh, is that all?” Denaeh said, grinning impishly as she dusted off her soil-stained hands.
Jahrra scrambled to her feet in her haste, but stopped before moving any farther. She put her hand to her forehead and groaned.
“What now?” Denaeh asked, looking puzzled.
“Nothing, it’s just . . .” Jahrra began.
Denaeh raised her eyebrows and Jahrra sighed. “Well, you know my classmates dared me to come here, but the thing is I have to prove that I came all the way to the Belloughs. But I have no idea how to prove something like that!”
Jahrra then told the Mystic everything, about the challenge, about her stupidity in falling for the twins’ ruse, and especially about Lake Ossar.
“You see, only if I bring back some proof will they stay away from Lake Ossar for good. It was the only place I could go to get away from them.”
Jahrra sighed deeply and slouched back to the ground, her legs crossed and her shoulders slumped. What was the point in going back if she had failed? She could bring back one of Denaeh’s mushrooms, if the Mystic would let her, but what would that prove? It was no use; she had nothing to show for her accomplishment. She almost wished now that Denaeh had been a witch intent on eating her.
Denaeh gazed down at Jahrra, her lips pursed in scrutiny. She drew one hand up to her chin and her young face took on a pensive look. Jahrra didn’t notice when the Mystic’s thoughtful stance relaxed, but when she finally looked up at the young woman, she was beaming brightly at her.
“What?” Jahrra asked, confused by the Mystic’s sudden joy.
“Jahrra, how good are you at acting?”
That was an odd question, considering the circumstances. But Jahrra simply shrugged. “I guess I’m alright at it, I’ve never really acted before. Why?”
“Well,” Denaeh grinned, her golden eyes sparking with mischief, “I have an idea . . .”
-Chapter Twenty-Two-
What Goes Around Comes Around
“Eydeth! Just let us go! What if she’s hurt or needs our help?”
The only thing that consumed Scede more than his anger was his fear, but Eydeth and his sister just smirked.
“I said she had to do it alone or no deal,” he purred.
“It’s been nearly four hours!” Eydeth screamed, his face turning red. “Surely that’s long enough! And I don’t care anymore, the deal is off!”
Scede stalked off to where Bhun and Aimhe were tied to a sapling, but Eydeth’s voice called over the crowd of students still waiting around to learn Jahrra’s fate.
“Oh, no you don’t. She got herself into this and she can get herself out. No help from her loser friends!”
Scede turned around and glared back at the other boy. Eydeth had called upon his thugs and they were now standing in a semi-circle, blocking off the trail Jahrra had taken earlier that morning.
“You think we’re bad now, wait and see what happens to you at school if you try to go after your stupid friend.”
Ellysian got up from the giant log she’d been sitting on and moved to stand next to her brother. A few more reluctant girls, who were often seen following her around, joined her. Scede looked over at Gieaun, leaning against a eucalyptus tree so she wouldn’t fall over. Ever since Jahrra had disappeared into the woods that morning, she’d grown more and more tense and nervous. Now she was just barely holding on to the little sanity she had left.
Scede secretly cursed his friend for going through with this stupid dare and hoped more than anything that she’d just twisted an ankle or had managed to get lost. He refused to believe she was in any real danger, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. Throwing one last glare of hatred in Eydeth’s general direction, Scede snatched up Bhun’s reins and hopped into the saddle.
“You’d better move unless you want to get trampled!” he shouted to the crowd blocking the path. He meant every word.
Scede looked down at his sister and she stared back, grim faced, but nodded. She hoisted herself up and staggered over to Aimhe who was staring after Bhun in a perplexed manner. Gieaun used an old tree stump to get into the saddle and soon drew her horse up next to her brother’s.
“Now, are you going to move or not?” Scede demanded.
“What’s the use in going in after her?” Eydeth said, trying to keep the twinge of fear from his voice. “If the witch hasn’t captured her then she has most likely died of fright. In fact, that’s probably what has happened to her. She saw an old gnarled tree and thought it was the witch and died on the spot! She would be just dumb enough to do something like that!”
The crowd tossed around a light, nervous chuckle, more to pass the time than for any other reason. They’d been standing around for hours, waiting for either Jahrra to return triumphant or for someone to finally decide she wasn’t coming back at all. A few people had left and a few had come back, but little else had happened since Jahrra’s brave disappearance into the Wreing Florenn. Everyone was ready for a little action, and now that Scede and Gieaun were up on their horses, it looked like something was finally going to happen.
“Have it your way,” Scede said coldly. “Gieaun?”
Gieaun nodded once, gravely, and as the two prepared themselves to charge at the stubborn crowd, a loud, grating cry split the air. Everyone froze, gasping and ducking as a great black creature came flying out of the woods.
“What the . . . ?!”
Scede jerked to the side as a large raven swooped between him and Gieaun. Gieaun screamed, spooking Bhun and Aimhe even more. The horses stomped their feet and whinnied in terror.
The sound of several people shouting and scattering made Scede turn his head. Bhun was still trying to bolt, but Scede had control of him. A crashing sounded over the screaming group of students and Scede almost fell out of the saddle when he saw what it was.
“Run! Get out of here, RUN!!!!!!”
“JAHRRA!?” Gieaun screamed.
“Gieaun, Scede, everybody, RUN, NOW!!!!!”
She looked like a wild animal on top of Phrym, her hair flying free of its braid, her shirt and pants covered in mud. There was plant debris stuck under the saddle and Phrym’s flanks were damp with sweat. Jahrra’s eyes were dark, her face was pale and her jaw was tense with fear.
Everyone stopped their scurrying long enough to ogle at the bedraggled girl who'd flown out of the trees, but then something else happened. A fierce, wicked cackle split the stressed atmosphere. Everyone shivered and darted their panicked eyes back towards the wood where the horrible sound had come from.
“RUN!” Jahrra shrieked again, kicking her heals into Phrym’s sides, causing him to whinny in protest before bolting forward.
And then, before anyone else could move, a dark, hunched figure dressed in a ragged c
loak darted between the two largest trees only fifty yards away. If Jahrra’s panicked voice and face hadn’t made her classmates move, the sight of the Witch of the Wreing did.
Ellysian was the first to scream, followed by her brother. If Gieaun and Scede hadn’t been so frightened, they would have laughed at them. The twins hurtled past everyone else, running at full speed to where they had tied their jumpy horses. After that, it was utter chaos. People were screeching and crying and clawing to get away from the forest’s edge. Gieaun and Scede just sat on top of their own nervous horses, staring numbly in shock. Jahrra’s voice finally broke them from their strange trance.
“C’mon!” she rasped. “It’s the Witch of the Wreing! Let’s go, now!”
Jahrra forced Phrym into a full trot, with Gieaun and Scede right on her heels. Scede’s heart was beating out of his chest and Gieaun looked as pale as death, but they kept up with Jahrra as she and Phrym tore across the fields in the direction of the stables above the Castle Guard Ruin. By the time they got there, Gieaun was close to fainting and Scede was shaking violently. Jahrra, however, looked as calm as Lake Ossar on a windless day.
Once he caught his breath and found his voice, Scede gasped, “What happened back there?! Jahrra, how are you even still alive?”
Gieaun had to cover her mouth to keep from getting sick.
Jahrra took a deep breath, the fear that had dominated her eyes long gone. She glanced down the slope at the Ruin to make sure Hroombra hadn’t seen them. She had a lot to explain and she wasn’t ready to let her guardian in on what she’d been doing today.
“You have to promise not to be angry,” she finally said.
“Angry?” Gieaun whispered. “How could we be angry, you’re alive! The witch almost had you, but you escaped!”
Jahrra dropped her eyes and fiddled with Phrym’s reins guiltily. She took a deep breath and released it.
“There is no witch.”
“What!” Scede barked. “Did you not see that, thing, chasing you!?”
“She’s not a witch.”
“Alright, hag then. Jahrra, that wasn’t your imagination this time, it was real. We all saw it, right Gieaun?”
Gieaun gave a short nod, looking sick again.
“No, she’s real,” Jahrra continued carefully. “Only she’s not a hag, or a witch. She’s a Mystic and her name is Archedenaeh.”
Both Gieaun and Scede stared at her looking completely aghast. It was a while before either of them spoke and Jahrra had to fight hard not to squirm as she waited.
“What?” Scede managed.
Jahrra gritted her teeth and looked both of them in the eye. “I’m going to tell you what happened, but you have to promise not to tell anyone, alright?”
They both nodded, looking more confused than frightened now. They all slid from their horses, their legs still wobbly from their ordeal. As the three horses lowered their heads to eat field dandelions, Jahrra closed her eyes and began her tale. She told them how she had found Denaeh’s garden and how the woman had surprised her. She told them about how she was a Mystic and knew who Jahrra was before she introduced herself. She told them about Milihn and the acorn and even about how Denaeh could transform from an old woman into a young woman in the blink of an eye. Then she told them about their plan.
“You see, I told Denaeh all about the dare and how I had to bring back proof to Eydeth. Then she got this idea. Why not pretend like she really was the witch? Why not act like I had gone into the Belloughs and angered her, and then have her chase me all the way back here? Wouldn’t that be proof enough?”
Jahrra was afraid to look up. Not once had Gieaun or Scede interrupted her. She had no idea what they could be thinking right now. Probably really angry with me for terrifying the wits out of them. She braved a peek and met Scede’s hard expression, impossible to read. She glanced over at Gieaun and found the same look on her face.
“I, I’m sorry,” she attempted. “I didn’t want to scare you two, but it was the only way to make sure our plan worked. And look at it this way, now we can have Lake Ossar back!”
“Who cares about Lake Ossar!” Scede shot venomously. Jahrra cringed, shrinking against Phrym’s shoulder. “Jahrra, we thought you were dead! In fact, we were about to come in after you!”
Jahrra had never seen Scede so angry, and Gieaun’s silent observance was even worse. Scede marched over to a gopher mound and kicked it fiercely, sending a cloud of sand into the air, startling the horses. Jahrra just stood silently, afraid to move from Phrym’s side. Scede kept kicking at the gopher mound until it was leveled to the ground. By the time he was finished, he was panting and shaking. Jahrra wanted to go over and talk to him, but she was afraid he would lash out at her. Instead, Gieaun abandoned her place next to a grazing Aimhe and walked over to her friend, looking her up and down. Jahrra flinched, waiting for her tirade.
“Your hair looks terrible,” she said quietly. “Did it get that way on its own or was that all part of the act?”
Jahrra’s jaw dropped. Of all the things she was waiting to hear, that wasn’t one of them. Gieaun’s voice wasn’t angry or frightened, but calm.
“Aren’t you mad at me?” she asked.
Gieaun contemplated this. “Yes, but I’m more relieved that the witch, or whatever she is, didn’t kill you.”
Jahrra sighed deeply and smiled. She was so glad at least one of her friends didn’t want to pummel her.
“Come on, Scede. You’re going to forgive Jahrra, right?”
Scede glared over at them, but it didn’t take long before his face softened and his anger passed. He walked over to his sister and his friend, grumbling the whole way.
He looked up at Jahrra, still not completely done with being angry at her, and said, “I guess so. But you owe us big time for scaring us like that.”
Jahrra grinned. “Oh, don’t worry, I know.”
Gieaun let out a tiny yelp and threw her arms around Jahrra and Scede.
“Gieaun! What are you doing?!” Scede muffled past his sister’s hair.
Jahrra simply gave in and hugged both her friends right back. Scede squirmed.
“Girls!” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.
Gieaun finally released Jahrra and her brother and held them at arms’ length. Her green eyes were bright and she smiled widely.
“Well, it isn’t noon yet. We have the whole day ahead of us, what should we do?”
Jahrra shot a wry glance at Scede who returned a smug grin. “I know. Let’s go to Wood’s End Ranch and pack a picnic. I happen to know of a nice little island that won’t be visited by a certain brother and sister today.”
Gieaun squealed in glee and Scede laughed out loud. They snatched up their horses’ reins, jumped in the saddle and turned them up the dirt road leading south and eventually to Lake Ossar.
As they lazed on their tattered quilt spread over the soggy earth of Reed Island, Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede talked and laughed until they had stitches in their sides and tears in their eyes. Jahrra was overjoyed at the twins’ reaction to her trick and Gieaun and Scede were fascinated by Jahrra’s description of Denaeh and her garden.
“I still can’t believe it worked! It seemed impossible when Denaeh suggested it,” Jahrra admitted, trying to keep her eyelids from drooping.
“Trust me, it worked!” Scede insisted. “I’ll be surprised if the twins ever leave their house again!”
Jahrra smiled, hoping what Scede said was true. Her eyes drooped again, but she forced them to stay open. She heard one of her friends yawn next to her and decided it was no use fighting her fatigue. She had been up early and had spent half the day scared to death, so she might as well give in to a short nap. She only knew she was sleeping when she sat up and found herself in a cool orchard cloaked in mist.
Jahrra sighed and smiled, knowing that she would soon see the stranger who stalked these dreams so often. The last time she’d seen him in her d
reams was several years ago, right after the death of her parents. Jahrra frowned, hoping her dream wouldn’t suddenly turn into one of the nightmares she’d experienced during that awful time.
A faint glowing light began to unfurl near the eastern edge of the orchard, so Jahrra knew her friend was coming soon. Friend? She rolled this idea around in her mind, wondering why it hadn’t occurred to her before. Well, I guess he is my friend, whoever he is. She stood up, feeling strangely stiff and groggy, and moved toward the inviting light. The hooded figure hadn’t shown up yet, but Jahrra knew it was only a matter of time. She trudged through the thick, dew-drenched grass, but before she reached the place where the hooded man would inevitably arrive, something moved in the corner of her eye.
She shot her head around and gasped when she saw a golden unicorn standing only twenty feet away from her. He was beautiful, more beautiful than the one she had seen in the meadow of the Wreing Florenn. He pricked his ears forward when he saw Jahrra looking at him and released a cry, a chiming, melodic whinny. Jahrra immediately forgot about the green cloaked stranger and cautiously approached the unicorn, fascinated by his metallic coat.
The unicorn let her pet him for a while but then turned and trotted out of the orchard. Jahrra quickly followed, entranced by this amazing animal. She walked easily through the forest surrounding the copse of fruit trees, moving downhill, always downhill. She struggled a little with the underbrush and had to push aside low hanging branches, but the unicorn always stayed in sight, not yet disappearing into the thick mist.
Finally, after several heart-racing minutes, the unicorn stopped dead in his tracks and stared down over a drop in the land. Jahrra slid next to him and focused her eyes on what he was seeing. She gasped. Below them was the Belloughs, Denaeh’s garden and the cave she called home in plain view. A tendril of smoke curled from a small chimney in the hillside, but Jahrra sensed no movement from the cave or the surrounding trees.
Jahrra glanced at the unicorn, his pale eyes locking with hers. Suddenly, she felt happy and carefree, like she weighed no more than a feather. The unicorn slowly edged forward, and she gladly followed, not wanting to be torn from the blissful feeling the magical creature was emanating.
Jahrra was sure she would’ve followed this animal into a forest fire if he wished to lead her there, but suddenly something seemed to pull at her mind. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it threatened to release her from the unicorn’s trance. No, she thought, he wants me to go down there, I must go. But the force that pulled on her mind wouldn’t relent. It gently surrounded her thoughts and lightly pushed the giddy feeling away. Jahrra gasped as the last thread of joyous peace was ripped from her mind. She clutched her head and took deep breaths as common sense returned to her.
What had she been doing, straying away from her safe orchard? Wasn’t it dangerous to go wandering around in dreams, even ones this familiar? Jahrra shook her head, wondering if she was even still asleep. When she looked up from her crouched position, she knew that she was. She was still deep in the woods, far away from her orchard, but there, just in front of her was the tall, enigmatic figure she had grown to rely on. He gazed down at her, as always, from the shadow of his hood. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel them locked with her own. His arms were crossed and his back rigid, but she didn’t feel threatened by him at all.
He stood aside and held out an arm as if inviting her to walk ahead of him. Jahrra nodded and slowly got back on her feet, rocking slightly from the dizzy after effects of the unicorn’s influence on her. She stumbled forward, taking longer than she thought to get back to the orchard. Her hooded friend stayed right behind her, always keeping the same distance, and when they got back to the place where she had woken up in this dream, he nodded his head and she obediently lay back down upon the mattress of soft weeds.
Before she drifted off to join the world of the conscious, Jahrra asked him a question, her voice sounding strange in this otherworld, “You didn’t want me to go with the unicorn, did you?”
He nodded, keeping his arms crossed and not saying a word. Jahrra swallowed.
“Why?”
But all he did was drop his arm in a welcoming gesture, signaling to her that now was the time to wake up.
Jahrra nodded and hunkered down into the thick grass. She didn’t want to wake up yet; she had too much to think about and this was just the place to do some deep thinking. She thought about her new friend, Denaeh, and wondered if the strange path of this dream had anything to do with her. The Mystic was eccentric, Jahrra had to admit, but she liked the woman and felt that she could be a source of comfort and advice.
Jahrra thought about Hroombra and Jaax, wondering if two dragons could really know what was best for her. They were a mystery to her; Hroombra and his secrets, and Jaax and his mysterious life outside of Oescienne. Jahrra frowned mentally when she thought of the enigma that was the Tanaan dragon Raejaaxorix. She wondered about his mood swings and the way he looked at her, like he was always trying to figure out what she was, and she wondered about his mysterious friends, Viornen and Yaraa.
Jahrra loved her new trainers, but who were they really? Why did she have to keep their lessons a secret? And why did she have to keep the dragons’ language a secret as well? Hroombra and Jaax had told her it could be dangerous if she told others about Kruelt, but if it were truly dangerous, why teach her at all? She knew there had to be more to it than what they claimed, but when would she be old enough to know the truth?
Jahrra sighed and buried her face in the fragrant meadow grasses, wondering if the hooded figure was still standing guard over her. She struggled to settle her mind and was surprised to finally feel her rackety thoughts calming and subsiding. Slowly, every muscle in her body relaxed and before she knew it she was listening to Scede’s soft snoring, Gieaun’s sleepy murmuring, and the gentle lap of water. Jahrra grinned, eyes still closed. There were several voices ringing over Lake Ossar that afternoon, but not one of them belonged to Eydeth or Ellysian.
-Epilogue-
Letters from Afar
Hroombra gazed languidly through the small window perched above the ledge in his study. The golden stalks of dying flowers and grasses nodded their heads lazily as the sun touched down over the azure ocean. Summer was coming to a close, and soon the long warm days would grow short, heating up one last time in the middle of autumn before succumbing to winter’s chill.
The old dragon breathed in sharply through his nostrils and released a slow, heated breath. He could hardly believe all the time that had passed since Jaax had first brought Jahrra here those dozen odd years ago. A chuckle fought its way free of the dragon’s throat. Of course I can believe the quick passage of time, what is twelve years to me? What is a hundred, or even a thousand? He’d seen so much time pass it was almost unnecessary for him to keep the history books the elves had written up for him.
What was the point in looking through them if he already knew, from personal experience, what had happened? But they were for Jahrra to learn from, for there were things that had happened in the past, terrible things that the historians hadn’t known to write down. Things that he’d seen happen and had allowed to happen, things that Jahrra shouldn’t know about, at least not yet.
Hroombra drew another breath and then glanced back at his desk. As usual, it was cluttered with age stained scrolls and creased maps. Beside these familiar items lay several white pages, newer paper just arrived earlier that week. Letters from the beautiful city of Lidien, and some from Nimbronia, he mused. They’d been written with magic, the writer using the same technique he himself had used once to draw up the Kruelt alphabet for Jahrra.
Magic that would be much easier to obtain within the mystical province of Felldreim, the old dragon reminded himself. These particular letters hid a variety of emotions, if one read between the lines, and an abundance of information, some good, some not so good. These letters concerned Jahrra, the chos
en one, the savior of the world, and they had all been written by the dragon Raejaaxorix.
Hroombra cast one last lingering look over the hushing fields and silent forest before settling himself comfortably behind his desk. He found his dragons' spectacles and managed to situate them between his snout and eyes and began to study the letters again. It was safe for him to review this information now, not only was it written in Kruelt (a language Jahrra still had trouble with), but Jahrra herself was gone for the weekend on another camping trip with her two best friends. No need to worry about her stumbling upon any information that she was too young to bear. Hroombra cleared his mind and started reading.
The first letter had been dated more than a month ago, and began with a curt but respectful tone:
Hroombra,
Ever since leaving Oescienne the last time I visited, I’ve been tempted to take a trip east to gather what information I can. Not just to Rhiim or even the western expanses of Terre Moeserre, but all the way to Dhonoara Valley and perhaps beyond. I feel that this may be a risk worth taking because before long, Jahrra will be of age and what we have been waiting for and have prepared for will surely be upon us. I have not been beyond Terre Moeserre in over a hundred years, and much might have changed since then. Naturally, I wanted your opinion before undertaking such an odyssey.
For now I will resign myself to my usual task of scouting the more secluded areas of Torinn, Felldreim and Rhiim, searching for both enemies and allies alike. Much time has passed since I’ve recruited the help of others, and I’m hoping they’ll be more willing to help our cause this time around. Just two weeks ago I found a small community nestled in the Kouriohnt Mountains, a place I had passed over before maybe fifty years earlier. The locals were elfin, perhaps even Resai, but they did not fear me and they spoke displeasingly of the Crimson King. A good sign, even if they weren’t ready to jump up and storm the king’s city right then and there. I told them who I was and that I would keep in touch. They seemed pleased to know that someone was watching out for them. Of course, I told them nothing of Jahrra.
I found a few more small settlements, nothing larger than a few hundred residents, and a good number of them were fearful of dragons so I didn’t even land. Before coming to Lidien, where I am currently residing, I flew into Crie. Aydehn and his wife Thenya were pleased to see me. They seemed spirited enough, very glad to hear that Jahrra was doing well in Oescienne, disheartened to hear of the death of her parents but approving of your taking her in. Every time I stop by the tiny village they harass me about seeing her again. Someday I think I’ll have to bring her there, even if it is just to show her where she came from.
A month has passed since I came to Lidien and I will be leaving before the week is ended. I have looked at many of the schools they have here, and have narrowed my choices down to three. They are all excellent and will provide Jahrra with everything she needs when she is old enough to attend one of them.
I will end my letter on a positive note: everywhere I go I feel less and less of the oppression that seemed to grip the land not twenty five years ago. It is almost as if the land itself senses Jahrra’s presence and is passing it on to those souls living upon it. It is a good feeling and it gives me hope.
Sincerely,
Raejaaxorix
Hroombra let his eyes linger over the last few sentences for several minutes. It gives me hope too, the old dragon thought. He felt joyful, peaceful and happy. Not only was it a good sign that Jaax had found more possible allies in the inevitable war against Cierryon, but the younger dragon felt hopeful. This wasn’t just good, this was downright wonderful.
Hroombra smiled a true, heartfelt smile. For so long Jaax fought the possibility of the prophecy coming true. And why wouldn’t he? Holding out hope for hundreds of years? Almost anyone would grow jaded and weary of clinging on to hope for so long, it was exhausting. Hroombra was only able to manage it because he was already old when the prophecy was born and he’d grown accustomed to the necessity of patience. He could wait a hundred thousand years for diamonds to form if he wished and not feel burdened at all.
Jaax however, like most Tanaan dragons, had inherited that human trait along with so many others: impatience, determination and stubbornness. No wonder Jaax and Jahrra ground so harshly against one another. Hroombra lost his smile at that sudden thought. He knew there would be more trouble between the two in the future. Jahrra wasn’t getting any less headstrong and Jaax wasn’t one to lose a fight. But that’s a long way away, Hroombra reminded himself, narrowing his gaze to dive into the next letter.
Hroombra,
I am in Nimbronia now. It took me several months to get here since I stopped off in Cahrdyarein along the way. I never meant to spend any time in that strange elfin city, but a late blizzard trapped me in the Hrunahn Footmountains and I had no choice but to wait it out. What I found, however, astounded me. The elves of these footmountains know much about the Crimson King and his past grievances. I was surprised, for you know as well as I do that very few people of this land know the truth behind the Tyrant’s ascension to the throne.
Once I informed them of who I was and what my mission entailed, they showed me their city. They tell me the stone they use for their buildings is unique to the region, formed deep in the earth and later tempered on the frozen peaks. I was impressed by their society and their concern for this world, and I am more than happy to inform you that they have agreed whole-heartedly to join our cause.
I must confess, I nearly informed them of Jahrra’s existence, but I avoided that temptation. After all, their adopted leader is younger than I am, and I know little of their history. I did tell them that the future looked hopeful, from what I have gathered from the surrounding provinces, and that I was finding more and more support for our purpose.
After leaving Cahrdyarein I headed straight for Nimbronia. In fact, I arrived only a half hour ago and haven’t even had time to see the king. I plan on speaking with him soon but thought you would like to hear my news about Cahrdyarein first. I’ll follow this letter with another as soon as I find the time.
Sincerely,
Raejaaxorix
Hroombra grinned, his smile reaching his eyes. He imagined Jaax standing next to the king of the Creecemind, and the picture was something comparable to that of a small housecat standing beside a wolf. Despite the dragon king’s immense size, Hroombra doubted Jaax would let this intimidate him. He could see the smaller dragon now, standing in the enormous frozen halls of Nimbronia, looking the king directly in the eye with the same cool indifference that he gave everyone else.
Hroombra sighed and moved to look at the next letter, dreading both its brevity and its informal heading. There was usually only one reason not to address a letter personally, that reason being there was a chance it might get intercepted by the wrong person. The first two letters had been quite positive so Hroombra feared that this final correspondence might contain bad news.
Dear Reader,
I have spoken with his majesty and unfortunately have met with some bad news. He has informed me that his spies have noticed suspicious groups of people moving along the southern border. I immediately left the region to witness this for myself, and I fear that what he told me was true. I have seen with my own eyes the threat lingering on the southern border, your northern border, and so I felt it necessary to check elsewhere.
The news from the eastern rim is the same. Large troops of men seem to be congregating outside of the province, looking for weak links in the chain, places that can easily be entered. Furthermore, small camps and even military bases have sprung up in a few places, all positioned in such a way as to make them hard to spot from the air, and I cannot help but suspect an eventual invasion. As far as I know, the border has not been breached, but I fear it won’t be long.
His majesty has promised to deploy patrols to the northern border, something I am eternally grateful for, but I must find a way to se
cure the south and the east. I will write again as soon as I can, until then, keep your senses broad and your heart close.
This letter wasn’t signed, but Hroombra knew who had sent it. A shiver ran down his long spine and he felt a sudden fear grip his old bones. He read the last line again, lingering on the words keep your senses broad and your heart close. Jahrra was his heart; that was the code word for her in letters such as these.
But Jahrra wasn’t close. She was somewhere camping with her friends. Hroombra’s eyes darted to the date of the letter, only a few weeks ago. Could whoever was trying to sneak into Oescienne have done so by now? No, Jaax would have returned if they were even close to invading. We still have time . . .
Hroombra shivered against the evening air trickling in through the window. Jahrra is fine, he assured himself, she’ll be back tomorrow.
The old dragon finally convinced himself not to worry about Jahrra anymore, but he couldn’t rid his mind of what Jaax’s last letter claimed. The Crimson King was no longer dormant. The search for Jahrra had begun, whether the Tyrant had gotten word of her birth or not, he was no longer sitting in his wretched fortress waiting for her to come to him.
“So now the world changes,” Hroombra whispered into the encroaching twilight. “So now it begins.”
Pronunciation Guide
Aimhe – AIM-ee
Aldalis – AL-di-lees
Aldehren – AL-der-en
Archedenaeh – ARK-uh-di-nay-uh
Baherhb – BARB
Bhun – BOON
Ciarrohn – CHI-ron
Cierryon – CHAIR-ee-on
Dharedth – DARE-edth
Dhonoara – DEN-or-uh
Edyadth – ED-ee-adth
Ellysian – EL-lis-ee-en
Elornn – EE-lorn
Ethoes – ETH-oh-es
Eydeth – AY-deth
Felldreim – FELL-dreem
Gieaun – JOON
Hroombramantu – HROOM-bruh-mon-too
Jahrra – JARE-uh
Kiniahn Kroi – KIN-ee-an KROY
Kruelt – KROOLT
Lensterans – LENS-ter-ans
Magehn – MA-jen
Nesnan – NESH-nan
Nuun Esse – NOON ESS
Oescienne – AW-see-en
Oorn – OH-orn
Ossar – OH-sar
Phrym – FRIM
Raejaaxorix – RAY-jax-or-iks
Raenyan – REN-yun
Resai – RESH-eye
Samibi – SAM-ee-bee
Scede – SADE
Semequin – SEM-ek-win
Sobledthe – SO-bledth
Srithe – SREE-the
Strohm – STROME
Tanaan – TAN-en
Thorbet – TOR-bet
Viornen – VEE-or-nin
Wreing Florenn – WRAING flor-EN
Yaraa – YAR-uh
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to all those people who have supported me on this long and rocky road to publication:
To Sister Mary, who first taught me the intricate inner workings of the English language.
To Frank Wies, for his help with getting the cover for my first novel just right.
To all of the children and families of St. Patrick’s School, for their undying inspiration, support and encouragement; for making sure I never gave up.
To my fellow author friend Rachel, who knew what I was going through and provided much support, both moral and literary.
And finally, a very special thanks to Suni Mills and her sixth grade class, for providing the light at the end of the tunnel.
JEJ
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jenna Elizabeth Johnson grew up and still resides on the Central Coast of California, a place she finds as magical and enchanting as the worlds she creates.
Jenna received a BA in Art Practice with a minor in Celtic Studies from the University of California at Berkeley. It was during her time in college that she decided to begin her first novel, The Legend of Oescienne - The Finding. Reading such works as Beowulf, The Mabinogi and The Second Battle of Maige Tuired in her Scandinavian and Celtic Studies courses finally inspired her to start writing down her own tales of adventure and fantasy.
Jenna also enjoys creating the maps and some of the artwork for her various worlds. Besides writing and drawing, she is often found reading, gardening, camping, hiking, bird watching, and practicing long sword fighting and archery using a long bow. She also loves getting feedback from readers, so feel free to send her a message any time.
Jenna Elizabeth Johnson can be contacted at [email protected]
Other books by this author:
The Legend of Oescienne Series
The Finding (Book One)
The Beginning (Book Two)
The Awakening (Book Three)
Tales of Oescienne - A Short Story Collection
*Read excerpts of these books here*
The Otherworld Series
Faelorehn (Book One)
Dolmarehn (Book Two)
Luathara (Book Three)
Ehriad - A Novella of the Otherworld (Book Four)
Ghalien – A Novel of the Otherworld (Book Five)
Lorehnin – A Novel of the Otherworld (Book Six)
Caelihn – A Novel of the Otherworld (Book Seven)
Faeleahn – A Novel of the Otherworld (Book Eight)
*Read excerpts of these books here*
Connect with Me Online:
Twitter: @AuthorJEJohnson
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorjejohnson
My Website: https://www.jennaelizabethjohnson.com/
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/authorjejohnson/
Instagram: https://instagram.com/authorjejohnson
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/authorjejohnson
The Legend of Oescienne - The Finding (Book One) Page 11
