The Beginning (5 page)

“Eleven years passed, and the boy grew into a young man. He remembered what the Crimson King had done and how his mother had died, the entire time plotting vengeance for the people of the west. The young prince learned everything he could about the world, biding his time for the day he would be able to enact his revenge. He waited until his mentor was absent from the province and then, and only then, did the young prince gather his followers to once again march upon the east.”

Denaeh paused to catch her breath and to cast a glance under her eyelashes at the three children sitting below her. She grinned inwardly, almost allowing the smile to reach her lips. Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede were completely caught up in this tale. She had nothing to worry about; they were drawn like moths to the flame.

She drew a lungful of air and continued on, “The guardian dragon of the Tanaan prince returned to find his ward missing, and it wasn’t long before he realized where the young man had gone. He gathered his fellow dragons and whoever else was willing and tracked the prince and his army across the vast land of Ethoes. Despite their unyielding pursuit, the dragons were too late. The Crimson King had called upon the dark magic of the evil god to transform the entire race of Tanaan into dragons themselves.

“And so, the Tanaan prince and his people were now dragons, creatures bound for the slave yards of the Tyrant King. Fortunately, they escaped this last act of torment: the Korli dragons were able to release these new dragons from their captor, but they could not be released from the king’s curse. The Tanaan fled the land of Ghorium, borne on their new reptilian wings, making their escape into the great expanse of Ethoes.

“The Crimson King’s fury was immeasurable, and he sent his armies out into the world to track the dragons down. Cierryon’s soldiers and the Morli dragons were able to find a mere handful of the Tanaan and bring them back, but the one he wanted the most eluded their hunt. The Tanaan prince had evaded him; he’d escaped the terrible grasp of the monster that had once been the mortal Cierryon, the man who had killed his father. Over time the King’s fury abated, but he never forgot the Prince of the Dragons, and he vowed to never cease hunting him.

“But the story does not end here,” Denaeh paused before continuing. She watched the three eager faces before her become pinched with excitement before adding, “Oh no, the story does not end. For the Tyrant’s poison has seeped into the land, strangling the life out of it. The Noreaster Arm of this world, once a place of serenity and beauty, is now a cold, festering desert. The crystal blue sea that once rested within the mountains has become polluted with sulfur; the magnificent forests, cut down and burned. The entire basin that was once a breathtaking landscape of cold weather wildflowers and enchanted creatures has become a barren tundra littered with rocks and sparse grasses.

“The faraway Noreaster Arm, and especially the great province of Ghorium, is now a wasteland, a destroyed face of Ethoes that, at one time, thrived with life. That is all gone now. The crystal sea is now the Sulfur Sea, a great, festering, sickly green lake where nothing lives. The Sulfur Swamp that surrounds it was once a great marsh, teaming with life. But now the swamp is nothing more than a putrid bog, poisoned by the noxious chemicals that seep into it.

“The Noryen River, once wide and clear, now drains the tainted waters into the northern sea. No longer is it a ribbon of blue cutting across the great flatlands, but a channel of yellow-green sludge, a reminder of the Tyrant’s spreading influence across the land.

“The Frozen Mountains are the only part of the landscape that remain untouched, and that is only because the cold makes them an inconvenience for the Crimson King to destroy. When they become a hindrance to him, then they too will be gone.”

Denaeh stopped speaking and closed her eyes, letting her chin drop towards her chest. She looked as if she were trying very hard to visualize the awful place she’d just described.

Jahrra also took the moment of silence to imagine the Noreaster Arm. Denaeh had described such a horrible place, a place of destruction and neglect. Jahrra could never imagine Oescienne being turned into such a place, but then again, the Noreaster Arm had once been beautiful like Oescienne, and the thought of such a thing happening here made her stomach turn and her heart ache.

Jahrra was jolted out of her reverie when the Mystic began her tale once again.

“Gradually, the peoples and creatures of the east began moving westward, westward and southward away from the diseased earth. Some had been supporters of the king, but found they could no longer live in such a place. Many, on the other hand, were not among his supporters. They hated and feared what the Tyrant had done to their land. Many settled just outside of the boundaries of Ghorium, others moved much further away. Those who knew of things that they would surely be killed for, those that were a threat to Cierryon’s power, were the ones who fled the furthest, some even as far away as the unknown lands across the great western ocean and beyond the southern mountains of Terre Moeserre.

“Many years passed while the people suffered in silence, grateful that the Tyrant remained in the east, quietly recovering from the curse he placed upon the Tanaan, but depressed and disheartened that his influence still governed the whole world.

“Then, gradually and quietly, like a murmuring breeze heard only among the trees, there arose a prophecy. The remaining Oracles of Ethoes had come forward with a foretelling of a new human child to be born in this world now empty of humans, a child that would somehow overthrow the ever-powerful Crimson King. At the time no one knew for sure if the prophecy spoke of truth or false promises, and no one knew when to expect such a strange and impossible savior. But the words had been spoken and those words burned with the glimmer of hope.

“The people no longer lived like wilted oaks, struggling against an endless drought. They could smell the long awaited rain just beyond the horizon, and so began the patient wait for its arrival. The people of Ethoes had no idea when this child was to arrive, but they were willing to wait for her as long as it would take.”

Denaeh paused and gazed at the children, her eyes like amber torches.

“Her?” Jahrra blurted out, unable to help herself.

Gieaun flinched next to her and Scede gave her an odd look.

“Yes, Jahrra.” Denaeh spoke quietly with a faint smile. “The Oracles named a female child as the one to bring about the downfall of Cierryon.”

“Wow!” Jahrra exclaimed, ignoring her flummoxed friends. “Girls are never the ones who do the saving, it’s always boys, kings, princes, knights, warriors. It’s never a
queen
or a
princess
or a
maiden
that saves the day!”

Jahrra could hardly contain herself. She’d heard the story of the Crimson King and the Tanaan dragons once before from Hroombra, but he’d never mentioned any prophecy, and he had
definitely
not mentioned a girl being the hero.

“When will she be born?” Gieaun blurted out.

Jahrra turned and looked at her as if she’d appeared out of thin air. She had been so wrapped up in Denaeh’s words that she’d forgotten her two friends were sitting right next to her.

The Mystic gave a knowing smile. “Ah, well, the Oracles didn’t give away that information.”

“But, they must know. Don’t Oracles know everything about the future and the past?” Scede insisted.

“Yes, they do know, but they rarely give away the exact time something is to happen, especially when it comes to this prophecy.”

“Well, why not?” Jahrra asked. “Why not say when the human will be born?”

Denaeh looked down at her, a hint of some emotion hidden behind those strange golden eyes of hers. But exactly what emotion, Jahrra could not tell.

“Because,” she answered at the end of a deep breath, “because then the Crimson King would know when to expect the one who would mean his downfall.”

“And then he could find her and destroy her,” Scede finished, his voice so quiet they almost didn’t hear it.

But Denaeh did, and returned with the same degree of quietude, “Exactly so Scede, exactly so.”

They sat in silence for a long time, only the sound of the crackling fire and an occasional grumble from Milihn to intrude upon their private thoughts. Of all the possible tales she’d hoped to hear from Denaeh today, Jahrra hadn’t expected this.
A human girl who’ll defeat the Crimson King? How is that possible? Humans are extinct.
Then again, she had seen some impossible things herself.

Jahrra took a slow breath and broke their hushed surroundings. “How will we know when she has been born?”

Denaeh turned to look at her, her smooth face unsmiling. “I do not know.”

Jahrra nodded. How could anyone know? Even if she were to be born tomorrow, how would anyone know if she was even
human
? Jahrra shook her head as if to clear imaginary cobwebs from it. It was too much to think about right now.

“Well,” Denaeh gave a small grin and clasped her hands together, “now that I have completed my tale, how about we get to work on these costumes . . ?”

They spent a few moments deciding on what to make of the mounds of horsehair, finally deciding on one of the dark creatures that roamed the earth on Sobledthe.

“I think you should all go as grouldahs, the wolves that hunt down lost souls,” Denaeh offered after they had argued for quite some time. “They have a mane of grayish, grizzled hair running from their head to their tails, and you have plenty of tangled hair here to use.”

She picked up a tuft in one hand and eyed it in scrutiny.

“That sounds a little scary,” Gieaun said uneasily, dropping her handful onto the pile with a soft
swish
.

“It’s probably the best and easiest way to use up your horsehair, without dressing as horses that is,” the Mystic added, smiling. “Besides, I doubt anyone else will be dressed as grouldahs.”

“I think we should do it, come on guys!” Scede exclaimed, practically bouncing. “We can pretend we are searching for lost souls on Sobledthe Eve!”

With some more pleading from Jahrra and Scede, Gieaun reluctantly agreed on the costume idea. Scede was thrilled. Like any boy, he loved the idea of dressing as a terrifying creature.

“We’ll just tell everyone that we are demon wolves, okay?” he told his squeamish sister.

“Oh, alright!” she concurred in exasperation, not at all enjoying the idea of dressing as something hideous. “I don’t see how calling ourselves demon wolves instead of grouldahs makes it any better.”

Denaeh silently observed the three children, chatting quietly about the tale they’d just heard while working through the tangled horsehair. Although the Mystic’s eyes were open and she donned a pleasant smile, her attention wasn’t with them. Her thoughts were far away from the three young people sitting beside her fire. She thought of Jahrra especially, and as she thought of Jahrra, she thought of the girl’s guardian.

He would have already told her some things; he would want her to be somewhat prepared, but why not everything? Yet it is not just the old dragon’s essence I can sense surrounding the girl, there is something else.
She pursed her lips in concentration as she tried to think of what it was that was bothering her; a presence of some other authority in the corner of Jahrra’s young mind, an authority that had some power over the older dragon who watched over her.
No, it’s not the Korli who keeps the truth from her. He is being influenced by someone else, possibly someone who could be dangerous.
Denaeh shivered as she thought about who could have that kind of power over the great Korli dragon Hroombramantu.

The Mystic stored away her thoughts for another day and drew herself back to reality, seeing the children once again. They were still talking about the mysteries of the prophecy when her full attention finally returned to them.

“She’ll have black hair for sure,” Jahrra said as she braided brown and grey strands of mane into a rope. “Black hair is so intimidating. And black eyes. She couldn’t have blue or green or hazel eyes, who can intimidate a tyrant king without dark eyes?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Jahrra!” Gieaun proclaimed. “It doesn’t matter what her eyes or hair looks like, she has to be strong and tall!” She was picking around the pile of horsehair looking for the lightest colors.

“What do you think Scede?” she added after finding what she was looking for.

Scede was suddenly attacked by two pairs of eyes, and he fumbled a little bit before answering.

“I hate to take away the thrill you two are having by thinking a girl is going to save Ethoes, but I think it will be her
army
that really destroys the king, not her all by herself.”

“Oh, Scede, you ruin everything!” Gieaun said, throwing her arms up in the air in mock outrage.

Scede shrugged and got back to work untangling his own pile of horsehair, not caring much whether he dashed the hopes of the girls or not.

The three finished their simple costumes that day, and it was late afternoon before they finally waved goodbye to Denaeh and headed home, still discussing the prophecy.

“Why don’t you just ask Master Hroombra about it?” Gieaun queried. “I’m sure he knows something, he knows everything about Ethoes.”