The Beginning (17 page)

“Where does the water come from?” she asked aloud, looking up at the top of the fall as she stepped down from Phrym.

Once again the draffyd waited a long time before answering, “The fall was once fed by a spring that flowed freely long, long ago. Now most of the water from that spring is dried up. The water you see today is the last remnants of the snow melt from the eastern mountains.”

Cahrume looked down the twilight-painted canyon with mournful eyes. “It was very different then, in that time now past,” he almost whispered. “When we creatures of myth had nothing to fear.”

Jahrra looked up at the great beast in sympathetic scrutiny. This was not the first time she’d seen someone gazing off into the distance with such a deep and woeful look, as if remembering some great sorrow that had never completely worn off. It made her think of all the ancient fairy tales she knew by heart, and she was starting to wonder if all of these ‘Stories of Old’ held more truth then she had previously thought. Were those stories more than just imaginary tales of brave kings and fierce dragons and the triumph of good over evil? Everyone she knew who seemed nearly as old as Ethoes herself (Hroombra, Yaraa, Viornen, Denaeh, and now this new acquaintance, Cahrume), all of them seemed to be distracted of late by something far away. It was something that happened before this time, at least, that much Jahrra could fathom. She was beginning to realize that perhaps, just perhaps, Hroombra’s and Denaeh’s tales had really taken place in the past, and that her elders may have even played some part in them.

Jahrra watched Cahrume silently, his gaze remaining distant. He looked so sad, so old in the fading light, as if he might disappear before her very eyes like some phantasm left to haunt this place. She closed her own eyes and pictured those that she knew, those who often became disconnected with this world as the draffyd was becoming disconnected now.

The scene she recalled was one of Hroombra sitting at his great desk. He was looking over some ancient scrolls, crisp, yellowing parchment stained black with lines and lines of Krueltish characters. Jahrra had been studying near the fire, too wrapped up in her own world to notice her worrisome mentor. When she’d finally bothered to look up, frustrated over a particularly hard problem, she had meant to pester him for help. Just before her question rolled off her tongue, however, she noticed that the great Korli dragon had wandered from his studies. His usual calm composure had been overtaken by a wearied, worn appearance. His eyes, like fathomless depths, rested themselves upon the western ocean. He looked like a weathered statue that might belong inside the Castle Ruin. Jahrra had quickly forgotten her irritation and moved on to a different question.

Hroombra wasn’t the only one she had seen in this state, however. During many of her visits to the Belloughs, Jahrra often noticed Denaeh falling victim to some indiscernible gloom, staring off into the deep of the swamp as if anticipating the arrival of a great horror she’d been expecting for years. When the Mystic did this she didn’t necessarily look fearful, but mournful and sorry about something.

Even Jaax seemed concerned at times. That is, when he was around long enough for her to take notice. Jahrra’s temper flared at the sudden thought of the arrogant young Tanaan dragon. It had been a long time since he’d graced Oescienne with his presence, but she didn’t regret it for one moment. Life was so much more relaxing without him standing over her shoulder and breathing down her neck about one thing or another. But she couldn’t help recalling the many times he disconnected himself with either her or Hroombra, only to gaze off into the distance thinking about Ethoes knows what.

Jahrra sighed, brushing away a hungry mosquito as she returned her thoughts to the present. She couldn’t tell if her elders’ strange behavior had been going on for years, or if she had just begun to perceive it now that she was getting older. She sometimes felt the way they behaved: that a sense of helpless dread was slowly taking over her. She would shake it off and attribute it to the fact that she was simply picking up on the dragons’ and Mystic’s behavior. Yet, she couldn’t deny that something wasn’t quite right in her world of late, like the feeling one gets before the arrival of a storm or the slow, gradual restlessness one feels between seasons.

“Do you see that Tree growing up there young Nesnan?”

Jahrra’s thoughts slipped from her mind at the sound of that harsh voice. She turned her head back around to face Cahrume’s penetrating eyes. She blinked dazedly and looked up to where he was now gazing. Above the waterfall she could see the massive, black branches of a tree, twining and stretching over the cliff’s edge, reaching for the darkening sky. It was much bigger and looked ages older than the many oaks and laurels that stood next to it.

“Yes, it looks enormous. What kind is it?”

“That,” Cahrume said, again attempting his small smile, “is the Sacred Apple Tree of Ethoes, the first apple tree she ever created. It is the reason why I am in this canyon. I am here to watch over it, to make sure no harm comes to it.”

Jahrra absent-mindedly reached for the armlet secured snuggly to her wrist. She had grown so used to it on her arm that she often forgot about it, but not today. Yaraa had told her that the beads were carved from the wood of Ethoes’ sacred trees. Could one of its beads have come from the tree up above? And how was it connected to the runes in the tunnel?

Cahrume smiled proudly, this time his grin more apparent and surprisingly warm. “And,” he continued, “the tree that bears the fruit that Denaeh sent you for. But my guess is she sent you here for another reason, and I ask myself again, and you for that matter, why? Why would she send three young ones on such a dangerous venture to an unknown place, knowing who I am and what I might do to you three?”

Cahrume now turned around and moved towards Jahrra. Once he was only a few feet from her, he looked her straight in the eye and asked much more seriously, “Why did she want you to come to this canyon?”

The nearby campfire popped and several golden sparks escaped and fizzled in the cool sand. The red-orange flames danced beside each other in the draffyd’s eyes and Jahrra took a tiny step back. She felt very intimidated by Cahrume’s presence, but she wasn’t afraid. She knew he would do her no harm.

“I have been asking myself the same thing, ever since I realized how dangerous the canyon is, and especially since I learned that she could’ve picked the apples herself. Perhaps,” Jahrra added cautiously, swallowing back an uncomfortable knot in her throat, “perhaps it has something to do with the writing and the symbols that are etched in the archway at the foot of the canyon?” She paused and took a steadying breath. “My guardian, the Korli dragon Hroombramantu, has shown me some symbols in books and manuscripts. But I’ve never seen anything like the runes on the archway before.”

Jahrra looked up at Cahrume, but his gaze was suspicious. The sound of blankets being shaken out and pans being stacked interrupted the temporary silence. She had completely forgotten about her friends and now she looked over at them, barely able to make out their faces in the encroaching darkness. Scede stood up and looked warily at Jahrra. She nodded, letting him know she was all right talking to Cahrume alone.

“Perhaps Denaeh wanted you to know who came through this canyon long ago. Maybe she wanted you to know its story,” Cahrume answered after awhile. “Do you know the history of Ehnnit Canyon child?”

Jahrra shook her head.

“I know very little myself. Few truly know the history of this place, for many have taken means to hide the truth in one way or another.”

Jahrra looked Cahrume in the eye, again thinking about the way she had been feeling about dreadful things happening. Suddenly it felt as if this had something to do with it.

“I will tell you these stories, after you and your friends get your camp set up and get a bigger fire going. This way I will have a full audience, receiving stories the way they were meant to be received, over a bonfire. In the mean time, I will see if I can find you three some food.”

The great beast tilted his head skyward, then spread his immense wings and took flight, rising silently into the darkness. Jahrra walked over and joined Scede and Gieaun who were now making good progress on their campsite. She clutched her arms to her sides and as she looked up at the darkening sky, she noticed that the stars, tiny pinpricks of light pushing their way through the thin veil of deep blue, were beginning to emerge for the night. Jahrra smiled, feeling comforted by their continual endurance. No matter how bad things got, those stars were always there, burning through the darkness like beacons of hope.

The three children spent the next several minutes quietly collecting what firewood they could find. The wide beach of the canyon was littered with branches that had been bleached and dried by the sun. Jahrra threw a few logs into the small blaze and dropped the rest of the kindling beside the fire pit, listening to the sticks clatter together like old bones. She took a deep breath to calm her weary nerves and tired brain, picking up the wild aroma of the canyon as her lungs expanded. The strong spice of the chaparral brush blended with the smoke of the fire, creating a scent that made her eyes water slightly. The mournful cry of a dove drifted through the night and a soft breeze brushed against her sun-baked skin. Jahrra took one more deep breath and sunk to the ground next to Gieaun.

“So, are you two ever going to talk to me again?” she asked quietly, burying her fingers into the dry sand of the canyon floor.

Gieaun looked over at her, her eyes reflecting the fire. Scede picked up a piece of wood and added it to the flames.

“I’m still a little dazed by it all,” Gieaun admitted, her voice sounding dry as parchment.

“Me too,” Scede added as he silently settled down next to them. “I’ll feel better once I’ve eaten, I think.”

By the time Cahrume returned from his hunting trip, the sky had turned a deep, indigo blue with just a tinge of turquoise cresting the western horizon. The great draffyd touched down lightly, his great wings stirring up dry sand and leaves into a silent whirlwind. He carried what looked like three medium-sized game birds in his mouth.

“I hope these will suit your tastes young ones,” he said after dropping them beside the fire. “They are very common around here and I feel less guilty taking the plentiful prey.”

Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede nodded quietly in acceptance. They had spent the day eating dried meat, cheese, bread, and wild seeds and fruits, so the fresh birds looked rather appetizing. After the fire had died down to flickering flames and glowing coals, and once the birds were roasting on a spit, sending a tantalizing aroma drifting through the air as their skin browned and crackled, Cahrume began the tale he had promised them.

“Now, the story of this canyon begins long ago, long before the Tanaan race of humans ruled the province of Oescienne and long before the last human prince led his people to their doom. The truth of this tale has been lost in time, and very few living souls can remember it. All that remains is that which is now etched upon the walls of the stone tunnel at the entrance to this very canyon. It tells of a saga of the past, and it reveals a glimpse of what is to come.”

The draffyd sat back, taking on a regal posture, and gazed wisely down upon the attentive children. Jahrra looked over at her two friends, both finally appearing relaxed, their faces glowing orange from the hot coals of the fire.

Cahrume continued after his short pause, “Long, long ago, even before the Tanaan tribe of humans traveled over the eastern mountains to settle in this great province, Oescienne was unknown to all but Ethoes herself. Everyone knows the story of how Ethoes, Mother of All, offered her own body to become the world we now know, creating and cherishing all that exists.

“She and Haelionn, the great sun god, gave rise to many children, all gods and goddesses to look after their mother’s creation and to be respected by those living on the earth. Their final son, Ciarrohn, however, never appreciated his parents nor his brothers and sisters. He turned sinister and attacked the earth, his own mother. He turned the elves against her and many other races joined them in their attack on the land itself. He proclaimed himself the one and only god, and that only his chosen should live a life of prosperity, power and wealth.

“Many years after the rise of the god Ciarrohn, and before the humans were even created, the sons and daughters of Ethoes, the good dragons and the good elves and all the other good races of the world, rose up against Ciarrohn and somehow defeated him, casting his body upon the western coast. The ancient people believed, and many still do, that the Elornn and Thorbet ranges make up his skeleton, and that the land west of that, much of southern Oescienne, is a dreaded land. The land where the Demon fell; the land that no one dares set foot upon.

“Others claim that Oescienne became a place of sanctuary, for if anyone could pass through the mountains they would be safe, safe from a world now thrown into turmoil. Yes, the terrible god had been defeated, but those still hungry for power and wealth were hatching their own plots to rule the world.”

The fire leaped and flared suddenly when a runnel of grease from one of the birds dripped down upon it. Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede blinked at the spot that still sizzled and bubbled, returning their gazes to the draffyd only after he continued with his tale.

“Years upon years passed,” he said, “and peace returned to the world when Ethoes purged the land of evil and created the human races. The peace lasted for some time, but the great malevolence could not be completely defeated. Many of Ciarrohn’s followers lived on, passing their hatred down from generation to generation. The wicked god’s supporters increased and moved throughout the land, but there was one place where they feared to go. The western mountains, you see, the very remains of Ciarrohn himself, frightened away those who were once loyal to him. Many believe, still, that the mountains are corrupt, but the ancestors of the great Tanaan race of humans realized that they could use old superstitions to their advantage.