Jennifer Scales and the Messenger of Light (9 page)

Finally, Xavier stood up again. “This is preposterous! Ambassadors for peace? The Ancient Furnace is corrupt! She cannot speak for us. Neither can the bloodthirsty hellion who spawned her. We should—”

“For the moon’s sake, Xavier, hold your tongue!” This was a new voice, impatient at the moment but full of depth and wisdom. An enormous trampler stood, her olive green skin pale enough to reflect the light of both fire and moon. Her nose horn was brittle, but the red was still bright in her eyes. Jennifer recognized the features instantly—this must be Catherine’s grandmother, Winona Brandfire.

“I’ve heard enough of your hateful prattling for one evening. You act as if the entire Blaze is behind you. It isn’t. I’m the Blaze’s eldest, and I’ll speak now.” These words made Xavier Longtail sit down under a cloud of discontent.

“First of all,” Winona continued to the entire gathering, “I owe this girl my thanks. So do we all. Jennifer Scales quelled a stampede that would have hurt or killed some of us, my granddaughter among them—”

“Is Catherine okay?” Jennifer knew as soon as she interrupted that she shouldn’t have. Winona’s hard, reptilian features swiveled to her and took in the platinum hair, the leather jerkin, and the twin sculpted daggers. An uncomfortable silence followed, during which the elder scratched her own jaw with a wing claw. Jennifer caught a glint of metal on a wing claw—she could not quite make it out—and then Winona spoke.

“She’s fine. Her leg was injured, and so she is resting now, before her own trial.”

Jennifer bowed her head.

“As I was saying—because of this girl, we have the luxury of this Blaze, instead of a funeral ceremony. It was a feat worthy of the myths behind the Ancient Furnace, and it does not matter what shape did it.

“Second, her good heart does not excuse the fact that her bravery would not have been necessary at all had she adhered to the rules of her people—our people. Revealing the portal of this world to my granddaughter was foolish. This refuge has remained both hallowed and secret from the time our beloved ancestor—Seraphina, daughter of Brigida herself—discovered it and molded it for dragonkind. It is a place where we know our people will survive, even if the worst happens.

“I know how persistent Catherine can be—” And at this the old dragon’s eyes almost twinkled. “—but the truth remains: You broke the law of this land.”

“I’m sorry,” Jennifer mumbled with her head down, trying at once to apologize and avoid interruption. The elder appeared to approve the attempt and went on.

“Third, Crawford and Jonathan withheld the truth from us. Even when done with good intentions, deceit is deceit. Were the Ancient Furnace truly corrupt—and I don’t believe she is—the lives of many weredragons would be in danger. This, though, is an issue for another day.

“The discussion we must have now is what to do with you, Jennifer Scales! For while I believe you may be trustworthy, the elders cannot stake the entire safety of our people on a warm and fuzzy feeling. My colleague”—she gestured to Xavier, who was nursing a sneer—“is not alone in thinking we cannot afford to allow you among us ever again. And while your father may not feel a trial is justified, that is not his decision alone. Banishment is not out of the question just yet. In fact, in the old days, death was appropriate!”

This caused the younger dragons gathered in the amphitheater to protest. Jennifer smiled slightly as she recognized Alex Rosespan and Mullery, a dasher and a creeper who served as her tutors last year, among them.

Winona raised her wing for silence. “I didn’t say either treatment was likely. But neither can we just pretend nothing has happened here tonight. Frankly, we have never had to deal with this sort of thing before. I don’t know quite where to start.”

“If I could say a word, Eldest?” Jennifer smiled at the steady, Missouri-bred voice and the dragon who owned it—Ned Brownfoot, the aged trampler who had taught her lizard-calling. “There’s a way out of this mess, p’rhaps. Takes believin’ a legend or two…but I reckon it’d work. We could try the Fifty Trials.”

This raised some interest in the crowd. Jennifer looked questioningly at her father, who signaled her to hold steady.

“Ned, the Fifty Trials are in tales we tell children,” Winona pointed out. “We don’t know whether they really ever happened, or if they were accurate. We don’t even know what all of the trials were supposed to be!”

“We don’t know everythin’,” Ned admitted. “But I’ll lay two teh one…Crawford ’n’ his folks would work it out with us. We could change what we don’t like…fill in gaps as we go. We’re smart enough, ain’t we?”

Crawford picked up on Ned’s idea immediately. “If Jennifer were to pass trials the Blaze chose itself, perhaps that would allay everyone’s fears, Eldest. Even the venerables couldn’t argue with that!”

“We should discuss this,” Winona agreed.

Instantly, the gathering dissolved into dozens of separate conversations. Elder dashers, tramplers, and creepers all whispered back and forth, turning their heads this way and that. It looked to Jennifer as if each elder was trying to consult with as many other elders as they could, as quickly and thoroughly as possible.

“What are the Fifty Trials?” she asked her father in the midst of this din.

“You remember what your grandfather taught you about Allucina and her fifty children?”

“Sure.” Jennifer recalled the legend of Allucina, the first perfect shape-shifter. After her death, there had been an epic fight among her children. Bruce the werachnid, Brigida the weredragon, and Barbara the beaststalker were the only survivors, and their descendants had fought ever since.

“Well, over thousands of years, there have been attempts at reconciling the three peoples again. Occasionally, a werachnid or beaststalker approached us with an offer for peace. But weredragons learned to be wary. Too often we found ourselves betrayed. So to weed out the spies and identify true friends, we came up with a series of tests. Of course some of this is bedtime story stuff, but chances are some of it is true. It makes sense that we’d have some way to tell good apples from bad ones.”

“So, how do I prove that I’m, um, a good apple?”

“That’s what we’ll have to work out. If the Blaze agrees, your grandfather will help them draw out some tasks for you.”

Jennifer wished that she could be part of the conversations, but it wasn’t like she got to pick what Mr. Slider would put on her geometry quizzes. Tests were, after all, tests.

“You talked about venerables. You mentioned them the first time we came to Crescent Valley. Will they help judge? Who are they? Will I get to meet—”

Her father had no time to reply to any of these questions. As if on cue, the deliberations ended. Winona stood again. “We will move forward with Elder Brownfoot’s plan, and start designing the trials tomorrow. It will take some time. The Ancient Furnace will submit to the trials on the last day of October.”

“But that means I’ll miss the school Halloween dance!” Jennifer blurted out. “And I already told Skip yes!”

“Skip?” Xavier’s voice rose once more. “Skip Wilson?”

The entire amphitheater hushed. Once again, Jennifer experienced the cold feeling the brain brings as it catches up with the mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see both her father and grandfather glaring at her. “Um…yeah…”

Xavier seemed beyond indignation. “The very same boy your father claims deceived your family and nearly caused a ruin worse than Eveningstar…is your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jennifer protested. “We’re just, um…”

Jonathan jabbed her in the ribs with a wing claw. “While what Xavier says is true, Skip Wilson’s actions in Otto Saltin’s lair ultimately saved us, and he has expressed regret for his betrayal. He and my daughter have forged a friendship that may, in time, advance the cause of peace.”

“Oh, the sneaky spider-boy is friends with the sneaky beaststalker-girl,” the veteran dasher deadpanned. “That makes me feel better!”

“The spider-boy, as you call him, is the son of the late Dianna Wilson. Some of you assembled today know that this werachnid and I were good friends, years ago. I can vouch for her integrity—”

“We know of your association with the eight-legged witch,” Xavier taunted. “It seems that you have always had trouble finding a home among your own kind, Jonathan Scales.”

Jennifer’s ears pricked. What did that mean?

“Perhaps, Xavier,” Jonathan offered in a thin voice, “I seek friendship and truth wherever I can, in an effort to counter the bigotry and idiocy that—”

“If we could simply set that issue aside for now,” Crawford pleaded, stepping between the other two. “My granddaughter will submit to the Fifty Trials, as Ned has wisely suggested. If and when she passes them, we can deal with the issue of whether or not her relationship with Skip Wilson is wise. Eldest?”

Winona sighed, and motioned for Xavier to sit down. “Very well. Such complicated times require patience. We will deal with each matter separately, as you suggest. The Blaze will convene tomorrow to begin preparations for the trials.”

Jennifer started to protest again—the Halloween dance!—but her father’s firm wing claw landing on top of her head suggested silence.

“If I may, Eldest,” he called out, “I would like to take my daughter back through the lake with me until the week of her trials. Before my father sent word for me tonight, I was already on my way. There is an urgent matter that requires our attention.”

The elder trampler seemed relieved at the request. “Very well. Take the Ancient Furnace home. She is to return by the morning of the last day of October.”

Jonathan bowed to the gathering, nodded to Crawford, and then yanked Jennifer up into the air. She barely had time to morph into dragon form before her feet left the ground.

So much had just happened—the hunt, the Blaze, Xavier and her father’s confrontation, the way her tongue had slipped about her mother and then Skip—she did not know what to say. But her father spoke first anyway.

“Sweetheart. Apple of my eye. Fruit of my loins. Remind me to go over Blaze etiquette with you, someday.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. This is all really confusing. Just as I was finally getting comfortable with who I am, everybody else starts freaking out about it!”

“I understand. But you have to learn when to stop talking and listen! Thank goodness Ned and your grandfather came up with the idea of the Fifty Trials. Things could have gone a lot worse down there.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad I got there in time to face down Xavier! But as I said earlier, I was coming anyway.”

“Why is that?”

“I heard from Cheryl Alder.”

Jennifer shook her head a bit as they whistled over the elms. What did Cheryl Alder have to do with anything that had happened tonight?

“Detectives on Jack Alder’s case shared some interesting news with her,” he went on. “Apparently, there was a tiny bit of fluid left at the scene. It resembled blood or spittle, but was unlike anything they had ever seen. However, it does contain DNA. And as you know from science class, DNA evidence can help tell us who was there with Jack Alder before he died.”

“So whose DNA is it?”

“They can’t pin it down exactly, but since the Alders have known about me, Cheryl asked if I would supply a blood sample for a discreet species comparison. We used an investigative lab near Roseford with weredragon connections. I was happy to help, but we found out something disturbing.”

“What’s that? Does your DNA match their sample?”

“Not exactly.” He turned to look at her. “But whoever was with Jack Alder when he died is a weredragon. And that person is related to me.”

CHAPTER 6
Logic Puzzles

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For the next month, Jennifer tried to put her father’s news about Jack Alder out of her mind. It was, after all, preposterous. The only two weredragons alive related to her father by blood were herself and Grandpa Crawford—and both of them had been here in Winoka the entire weekend in question.

But the idea of a killer in her family consumed her. How was this possible? She became distracted at school, which bothered her friends. In class, which bothered Mr. Slider. And at home and the cabin…which bothered her mother.

During beaststalker training at the cabin, during a chilly Friday afternoon under a late October wind, she lost her concentration repeatedly. Three times her mother disarmed her with simple maneuvers she had learned back in June, and the best bird she could summon was a screech owl—better than the pygmies she managed before, she admitted, but nothing like the snake eagle she had gotten that one day, or the pair of golden eagles her mother could call. They circled overhead now.

“Okay, enough,” Elizabeth finally said. She couldn’t hide the impatience in her voice. “It’s a good thing it’s a new moon tonight.”

“Why? All the dragons already know you’re a beaststalker now.”

“Because if there were any around, they’d laugh you out of this place. You’re about as scary today as a hamster to a dragon. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Jennifer slipped her daggers back into their sheaths. “Doesn’t Dad’s news about Jack Alder still bother you, too? And how about these trials, whatever the heck they are, which are next week? I still have no idea what they’ll ask me to do! Not even Dad knows!”

“Of course all that bothers me. The difference is that I don’t let those emotions detract from my performance. It’s a lesson you need to learn.”

Once again, her mother’s ice-cold demeanor bothered Jennifer. “If being a beaststalker means I have to squelch my emotions, then perhaps I’m happier just being a dragon!”

Elizabeth sighed. “I did not say I squelch my emotions. I said I do not let them trip me up. Instead, channel them. Passion is a gift, but so is focus. At our best, we beaststalkers use both in balance. At our worst, we let one dominate.”

The thought of beaststalkers at their worst reminded Jennifer of her conversation with Catherine. “Mom, what happened at Pinegrove?”

The color drained from her mother’s face. “What do you mean?”