The Quest For the Black Dragon

by D.E. Dunlop

  “Tinne…Tinne.” Ren shook his shoulder and pulled his pillow off of his head. Tinne sat up with a start. He was sitting on the floor with his bedding wrapped all around him. He looked at Ren with a stupefied look.

  “Gotta smoke?” He asked nonchalantly.

  “Some old chick named Ephimeranon is here. She wants the Gorchan.” Ren said.

  “What?” Tinne was still dazed.

  “Ephimeranon. She says it’s time and she needs the Gorchan.” He said again.

  Tinne stood up and Janice approached him. “Sir.” She said with her helmet under her arm and her hand out to greet him. He shook her hand hesitantly.

  “Why the formalities?” He asked.

  “Are you not the one?” Janice asked.

  Tinne raised an eyebrow as if to say, ‘what?’

  “In the time of greatest despair one who is yet green and uncertain will rise up and prevail against the darkest of all odds, bringing peace back to the Black Dragon and the Story Teller’s Union.” She explained.

  “That’s all very well, but who the hell are you?” He asked rather indifferently and with a complete lack of protocol.

  “Tinne…” Ren said, meaning, “Do you have to be so rude about it?”

  “Ephimeranon…” Janice answered with fumbled and nervous words.

  “You’re not Ephimeranon. Ephimeranon is at least a thousand years old.” Tinne said.

  “No. I’m not Ephimeranon.” She said after regaining her composure. “Ephimeranon has sent me to collect the Gorchan.”

  Tinne looked at her briefly and then brushed by her toward the door. “Sorry, but you don’t risk life and limb for something and then hand it over to the first complete stranger who asks for it.” He briefly inspected the doorframe with a long look as if he didn’t believe it was in sound condition. He stopped abruptly on the step when he saw the coach and armed guard.

  “Good morning, Tinne.” I said to him. “It’s good to see you’re recovering well.” He looked at me with a puzzled look for a moment. He looked hesitant to release the thing he risked so much to obtain so I set his mind at ease. “You don’t have to give me the Gorchan. If you would rather you can ride with us. We’re on our way to the Field of Lords.”

  “Who are you?” He asked with children and wounded soldiers and women crowded all around.

  “I am Ephimeranon, the Observer.” I answered.

  “What is your part in all of this?” He queried.

  I oversee the Telling that the rules are kept and I observe the events as they unfold. I said to him. Now come along, the Black Dragon grows anxious. He was growing fidgety at the step of the coach so I opened the door. You cannot keep the dragons from their task forever, my dear boy. After a moment’s hesitation he stepped out of the commotion and into the coach-and-four. It was very dark within the carriage and he groped around to seat himself.

  “You’ve chosen well, young man.” A familiar voice said in the blackness as the cart began to move.

  “Grumpy?” Tinne questioned in disbelief. “What kind of joke is this?” He began to protest.

  “It’s no joke, my son.” Earl reassured. “I told you we would come together again.” Earl said.

  “But, I thought that was just a hallucination.” Tinne argued.

  “You thought wrong. You should feel important, now. It’s not often the Observer chauffeurs the Story Tellers.”

  “It’s the first time I’ve seen it.” Another voice said from the dark.

  “How many people are in here?” Tinne asked with surprise.

  “Four. Until now only half of us could actually see so it was rather pointless to open the blind.” Earl explained.

  Tinne continued to stare in disbelief at his long lost great- great- grandfather after the blind was opened.

  “This is Stephen or, Grey Eyes as he prefers, lately.” Grey Eyes smiled and extended a hand. “This is Waiting Fox, Stephen…Grey Eyes’ apprentice.” Waiting Fox extended his hand as well and smiled, but seemed a little distant and very much humbled. There was grey beginning to appear in his locks on the side of his head. There was a strange look in his eye; one that insinuated great trials and conflict had been dealt. Tinne noticed another person sitting in the corner, but couldn’t see the face for shadow. “And, I believe, you’ve already met Katharine.” Earl finished.

  Tinne nearly jumped out of his skin. “Are you serious?” Tinne snapped as he recoiled in horror.

  “Relax, son. She’s quite harmless, now, thanks to you and old Grey Eyes here.” Earl expounded.

  “You mean, thanks to the Master.” Grey Eyes interjected.

  Earl twirled a finger beside his temple to indicate he figured Grey Eyes was crazy. “Yes, of course, the Master.” He said, not wanting to get into the discussion. Disregarding the idea he returned to his previous topic. “She will hear her last Story Telling as will Grey Eyes and I and then live out her final days as any grandmother would; telling tales by the campfire and tickling the grandchildren.”

  They all looked at the Queen and saw a very displeased look on her face.

  “Well, maybe there won’t be any tickling and most likely the stories she tells will be scary.” Earl corrected himself and at this Katharine smiled.

  The coach-and-four bumped and rocked its way through the forests and fields, over hills and down into valleys. We wished to interact as little as possible with other people so we carried all we needed and travelled on more remote roads. We wandered along the north shores of Lake Simcoe in order to avoid the remaining Sittyan armies in the south.

  As we meandered along the months we beheld the changing foliage of the beech trees become brilliant yellow and the maple were turning all the upper colours of the rainbow. When we reached the Field of Lords everything was covered in a thick hoar frost and the sky was a dull grey that enveloped everything beyond thirty metres. Quite fitting for a place between times. We found that many of you Story Tellers had already arrived and were camped about the field. The guards quickly set to work in the centre of the field. They cleared a large area for the Telling and built several large fires around it. So there you have it, the general idea of the events since the last Telling. Now, ladies and gentlemen, before we begin, you’ve, no doubt, noticed something different about this gathering. The men and women you see encircling us are the Gorchan Guard. From this day on they will dedicate their lives to the keeping and protecting of the Gorchan. They will raise families and teach them to keep the Gorchan. They will not have the authority to use the stones, but the stones will always remain in the keep of the Guard. This young lady beside me is Janice. She has agreed to be the commander in chief of the Gorchan Guard. Also, she will choose from among you my replacement.

  Now, young man, it is time. I see the Gorchan is glowing through your clothing. Janice will you kindly accept the dragons from master Tinne, please?

  ####

  Thank you very much for reading the first installment of the Story Teller’s Union series. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed writing it. You may have noticed some of the characters like to quote their favourite musicians. I would like to give credit to those musicians here: Talking Heads, Sarah McLachlan, Cypress Hill, Faith No More, Beck (the house band at Sorotchynski’s Place is inspired by the album cover for Midnight Vultures), Pink Floyd and Jane’s Addiction. If I have forgotten any I do apologize. My friends and I often speak in terms of lyrics and movie dialogue. Over the years the source of some quotes may have been lost.

  If you are interested in contacting me you may e-mail me at:

  dedunlop@live.com

  Okay, maybe a peak at the next one…

  Ryan sat his horse and watched pensively as the column passed. The breeze on his face felt of rain. Good. He thought to himself. We could use it. He looked about at the foliage and found his confirmation. The yearning of the grass and trees was evident in the
richness of their hue. He was proud of himself. The King had placed him in charge of four squads after his strategies against the southern invaders the month before. He inhaled deeply the scent of the earth being trod as they marched passed. Fifty horses, one hundred and twenty infantry equipped with automatic rifles and to top it off they had two howitzers in tow. He recalled his father's praise when he received his rank. Your grandfather would have been proud. He had said. He knew it was so. Only a true Kausloff could handle the sword. His grandfather's words echoed in his head and then his father's. Now you are Kozlov. His father had announced as he presented the young man with the ancient sword. He pressed his shoulders forward to feel the position of it and hoped for the chance to use it. There was something about the blade. He could feel it yearning for battle and blood. He just wasn't sure if he would get that chance. In the game of guns and knives guns always won. At least from a distance anyway which of course was the reason the sword lost. You had to hope your opponent ran out of ammunition without killing you first. Needless to say there were only a dozen swords in his company including his own. The others had admired the blade when he showed them. He could see that familiar sparkle in their eyes as they beheld it. Even the women were taken aback by the perceived violence emanating from its simple blade.