Mystic Dragon

by Jason Denzel

  Vivianna tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. “Mistress Yarina sent proclamations to Moth’s three barons, declaring that the days of Crow Tallin would begin soon, and culminate at the next full moon. She told them to expect an increase in fay sightings, and provided a list of precautions everyone could take. The barons, of course, did a poor job of conveying that to their commoners, and now many of them are flocking to Kelt Apar for protection.” She jabbed at some runes on her forearm as if annoyed by the addition of more work.

  “What is she doing to provide that protection? Will they need it?” Pomella said.

  “We are hosting the largest gathering of Mystics in the world,” Vivianna said, “including all seven High Mystics. There’s a tide of rangers, and possibly more than a hundred soldiers. I think they’ll be well protected.” She pursed her lips and turned to Vlenar. “Do you have an updated count of rangers and soldiers?”

  Vlenar shook his head. “I will gattther that.”

  “Thank you,” Vivianna said. “I need to make sure the other cabins are ready for the High Mystics. Oh, and, Pomella, Grandmaster’s robes arrived as well. Since you have little else to do, can you remind him to wear them to the ceremony tonight?”

  Pomella tightened her jaw. She knew Vivianna was overwhelmed with all her duties, but it wasn’t her fault that Lal didn’t want her helping. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you,” Vivianna said. “Now, where’s Oxillian?” She looking up from her forearm. “I need him to—oh, never mind.” She flicked the air with her finger, and the sound of a silver bell filled the air.

  The ground rumbled and churned. Calm as tea, Pomella took a half step backward. Oxillian, the fabled Green Man known throughout Moth, rose from the ground near their feet. His massive form rolled upward, shaping itself into a towering, broad-shouldered man. Dirt and stones and grass from the nearby ground formed his body. His eyes were made of polished pebbles that had, until moments before, rested deep beneath the ground. A long beard, formed from the nearby lawn, swayed in the breeze.

  “Hello, Ox,” Pomella said.

  The Green Man bowed to them both. “Mistress Pomella, welcome home,” he said. His familiar deep voice rumbled like an avalanche in Pomella’s stomach.

  “Any new reports?” Vivianna asked.

  Pomella looked at Oxillian expectantly. As the guardian of Kelt Apar, and having the unique ability to sense certain kinds of activity across the entire island, Ox was often the first source for knowing if something unusual was occurring. Between him and the handful of rangers roaming across Moth, Kelt Apar was reasonably well informed of happenings.

  “No, Mistress,” Oxillian said. “But all of the rangers have returned. They report that the High Mystics are arriving on time.”

  “Has there been anything to indicate more slavers are slinking around the island?” Pomella asked.

  “There are always groups of people who ride with horses and carts,” the Green Man said. “But I cannot determine their plans or intentions.”

  “OK, thank you, Ox,” Pomella said. “Where is Grandmaster Faywong right now?”

  The Green Man shifted his bulk, and for a moment a distant look crossed his face. “He is returning to his cabin from the south woods. Would you like me to pass a message to him?”

  “No, thank you,” Pomella said. “I will find him myself. Besides, I think Vivianna could use your assistance.” Turning to her friend, she added, “I’ll take care of the robes.”

  “Thanks,” Vivianna said, returning to the list of runes on her forearm.

  * * *

  Grandmaster’s cabin was as dull as ever.

  Pomella slipped her shoes off as she crossed the dwelling’s lone threshold. The familiar scent of incense and spices mingled in the air. Broon, the old brown dog, struggled to stand from where he’d been lying.

  “It’s just me,” Pomella said to the dog. “Don’t get up. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

  As usual, Broon ignored her, licking her feet and wagging his tail.

  Lal sat straight backed on top of a blue cushion. He sat as though meditating, with his legs crossed and tucked beneath him. Chillybumps rippled over Pomella’s arms. Whenever she was around her mentor, the Myst stirred in subtle yet powerful ways. By being in his presence, it was as if the Myst sang to her more loudly.

  Lal lived a humble and unusual life. It bothered her that he insisted on keeping the most ragged hut on the grounds as his dwelling. He was a grandmaster. Pomella had grown up in a wooden house not much larger than this, so she understood his choice to live simply, but sometimes she wished he’d allow himself to accept at least a little more prestige. She, Vivianna, the rangers, and Oxillian had built a newer, larger cabin last year, which they’d offered to Grandmaster, but he’d declined.

  She pressed her palms together, touching them to her forehead, and gave him a small bow. “Hello, Grandmaster.”

  Lal opened his eyes. “Ah, Pomella,” he said in his thick, breathy accent. “Welcome back. How’d trip go?”

  “Exhausting. Lots of problems with the fay.”

  She stepped carefully around clutter lining the floor. Lal had very few possessions, but lately he tended to neglect small things. Broon’s wooden water bowl was overturned. A wooden vase held a bouquet of wilted lilies. The one cabinet in the dwelling that contained dishes was open, with its contents sitting on top, flecked with crumbs.

  Pomella picked up one of the dishes and dusted the crumbs off. “How has everything here been?”

  “Loud. Lots of people. I stay out of way.”

  Pomella set the dishes into a bin that to be washed later. Checking his food container, she saw it was empty. She made a mental note to refill it, and to include strawberries from her garden, too. “Are you ready for tonight’s ceremony?” she asked.

  “Not going.”

  Pomella paused. “What? Why not?”

  “Retired.”

  Pomella narrowed her eyes. “Every High Mystic from the Continent will be here. Retired or not, you’re still a grandmaster.”

  “I just Lal.”

  Frustration welled within Pomella. He could be so stubborn. She loomed over him. “Yes, I know. But with respect, you’re also my master, and Mistress Yarina’s former teacher. From what she’s told Vivianna and me, this is the most important ceremony in the century. You can’t miss it.”

  “Won’t miss. Crow Tallin happens everywhere.”

  Pomella stared at him, incredulous, before huffing away to stack more dishes. “I wish you would let them honor you. They’ll probably want to see you.”

  “Crow Tallin important. No time to … what do you sometimes say?… ‘shiver my ego with kisses.’”

  Pomella flicked another jagged crumb off the plate. She loved Lal, but he could be so damn frustrating. “It’s ‘skiver.’”

  “Still make no sense.”

  Pomella plunked a plate down, hard. “What makes no sense is that you’re one of the foremost Mystics in the world and you’re going to hide in your cabin when you should be seen by your peers, who all aspire to be like you!”

  She realized, too late, that she’d gone too far.

  “Shite. I’m sorry, Grandmaster. I—”

  Lal sighed. “Sit down, Pomella. Bring tea.”

  Pomella closed her eyes and took a calming breath. “I’m not good at making tea.” She almost added, I’m not Yarina, but thought better of it. Apparently, Lal had become used to Yarina’s ability to masterfully craft perfect cups of tea during her years as his apprentice.

  “Please,” Lal said.

  Pomella suppressed a grumble and dropped a pinch of tea leaves from a nearby wooden container into Lal’s only cups and filled them with the last of the water from his pitcher.

  Lal gestured for Pomella to sit next to him. “Tell me about trip.”

  Stirring the leaves in her cup with a finger, Pomella told Lal about the fay she encountered at the Fortress of Sea and Sky, and at Oakspring.r />
  “Mm, Crow Tallin comes,” Lal said when she’d finished. “The veil between this world and Fayün thins.”

  “So what does that mean?” Pomella asked.

  Lal shifted off his cushion. He looked out the window and his eyes took on a faraway expression. He sat there for a long minute. Pomella knew to wait. This was Lal’s way.

  Finally, he returned his gaze to her, and she could see the depth in his eyes. The Myst surged in her body, tingling her.

  “When I apprentice, sixty years ago, all High Mystics met in Kelt Apar. Sixty years before that, they did, too. And sixty before that they came, and sixty before that, all the way back for centuries. Each time, they come when Treorel passes the night sky.”

  “Treorel?” Pomella asked.

  “A star. Mystic Star. But not like other stars. Treorel not flicker. It shines steady, and shines red. Like blood and fire. It moves opposite way from other stars. Some Mystics say it another world, like ours.”

  Well, that explained the meaning of blood and fire. “Another world? Like Fayün?”

  “No. Not Fayün. Not mirror world. Maybe another place, with different oceans, different lands. Different people. Maybe like us, or like lagharts, or very different. Nobody know.”

  Pomella tried to imagine a different world, with other people and creatures and who knew what else. She’d only begun to understand the idea of Fayün, but now it made her head spin to think there could be other worlds you could walk on.

  Lal must’ve seen her mind buzzing with the ideas, because he waved a hand to dismiss it. “Treorel important for other reason. When it comes, human realm and Fayün come closer. The veil thins until, in some places, it becomes hard to tell difference between worlds. At peak time, Treorel passes behind the full moon. When that happens, Crow Tallin—Mystic Twilight—begins, then…”

  He shook his head.

  “What?” Pomella urged.

  Lal stared at his teacup. “When that happens, the veil vanishes. Fay roam our world freely. People get lost in Fayün. Worlds merge.”

  Pomella’s chest tightened. “So this is why there’s been a surge of fay sightings across Moth,” she said.

  “Will see more,” Lal said. “Soon.”

  “Why do the High Mystics come to Moth then?” Pomella asked.

  “The veil always thin on Moth. Especially thin. As days of Crow Tallin arrive, whole island and Fayün become one. Very chaotic.”

  “So what do we do?” Pomella said.

  “Yarina and High Mystics keep peace. You help. Do as they say. I retired.”

  Pomella perked up. “Really? I thought you didn’t want me involved.”

  “The Myst stirs, Pomella,” Lal said. “You will feel it change soon, if you haven’t already. Listen to it. Follow it, even if it leads you away from normal path. Besides,” he added, “you not listen to me anyway. I tell you to focus on finding Crossroads. You ride to help Unclaimed.”

  Pomella’s stomach roiled. “They were being sold as slaves, Master.”

  “Huzzo,” Lal said, taking her hands and using her Mystic name. It was a name he’d given her when she’d become his apprentice, shared only between the two of them. “I know you want to make difference in world. But you only tend a single tree. I try to show you how to change whole forest.”

  Pomella didn’t see how. Most days, all she did was sit and meditate. While it was true that helped her have better mastery of the Myst, it was just a tool. “But I am trying to change the forest,” she said. “Many commoners and Unclaimed look up to me because of the opportunity you’ve given me. I really feel like I can make a difference in their lives.”

  “Change, by its very nature, reflects impermanence,” Lal said. “The Myst is unchanging, fixed, eternal. Strive for that. Find it, and you find yourself. Find everything that could ever be. Fix everything for everybody. Make impact that lasts forever, in all places and times.”

  “But how?” Pomella said. “I don’t see it.”

  Lal’s face softened. “My Huzzo, you never will if your eyes are looking only at this world.”

  Pomella had to force herself to not squeeze the fragile cup in her hand too hard. “Is this how you taught Mistress Yarina when she was your student?”

  “Yarina is still my student. She has different role than you. Requires different methods.”

  “Well, I’d love to know what my ‘role’ is,” Pomella said.

  “Don’t know,” said Lal. “For you to discover. Crow Tallin be good for you. Do as Yarina say, show respect to other High Mystics, and be one with the Myst. When Crow Tallin comes, best opportunity to seek the Deep.”

  Pomella looked away. Meditating and connecting with the Myst was fine, but she still felt she needed to have a practical connection to the world. And if she needed to do that on her own, she would. “I’m sorry for my outburst earlier,” she said after a long moment of silence.

  “It’s OK. I was young once, too.”

  Pomella swirled her cup of cold tea and changed the subject. “Vivianna ordered dresses for her and me to wear to the ceremony tonight. Mistress Yarina wants us to all wear red. All of us.”

  “Yes,” Lal said. “Red important. Match energy from Treorel.”

  It surprised Pomella that Lal didn’t put up more of a fight. “So you’ll go?”

  “No.”

  Pomella looked at the ceiling, not sure how to put this delicately. She supposed it was best to just lick the petals and see what stuck. “At least do it for tradition’s sake?”

  “I’m sorry, Pomella. I cannot.”

  Pomella clanked her cup onto the floor and stood. “Do you remember how you made me run around the perimeter until I could barely walk? You said it was important for me to be present in my body. Well, I think it’s also important to be present in the world you lived in. You aren’t dead yet, Master. Nothing prevents you from following your path while also demonstrating support for those that need or respect you.”

  “Mmm,” said Lal. “Be careful during these days of Crow Tallin, Pomella. Dangerous.”

  Pomella sighed. She gathered the bin of dirty dishes into her arms and moved to the door. “Good night, Lal.”

  She left without waiting for a reply.

  SEVEN

  THE HIGH MYSTICS

  Icy water coursed around Pomella’s hands as she mindlessly scrubbed Lal’s dishes at the river.

  Lal’s description of Crow Tallin worried her. Pomella couldn’t imagine the whole island merging with Fayün. As a Mystic, she had a certain familiarity with the silvery land and its denizens, but how would all of that appear to everybody else? Likely there would be panic, not to mention people hurt if the fay animals became scared or threatened. And according to Vivianna, there were other, worse, denizens of fay beside forest animals.

  She took a deep breath. The river always calmed her. It ran north to south through Kelt Apar, dividing the grounds into two parts. The western portion housed the cabins where she and Vivianna lived, and the eastern part was where the central tower stood in the middle of a wide lawn, encircled by a ring of wildflowers. Today, of course, that open area around the tower was dominated by tents and people milling around as they prepared for that night’s ceremony.

  A tiny stream of silver appeared in front of her, followed by several more, streaking above the river before fading from the human world. Pomella watched them dissolve. Such visions weren’t uncommon to her in Kelt Apar, but this one felt different.

  A large fay bird misted above the water. Pomella stared in wonder. The bird was unlike anything she’d ever seen before. It was twice her height in length, with magnificent plumage that ripped through an unseen wind. It had the head and beak of a falcon, but its body was more exotic, with individual tail feathers that were longer than her arm. It glided above the river, beating its wings once to propel itself upward into a looping arc. On the downward rush, it dipped its wings below the surface but did not stir the water.

  It seemed to Pomella that the bird
was dancing around her and the river. She looked toward the cabins, hoping to catch Vivianna, but her friend was nowhere in sight. Pomella wanted to reach out to see if she could touch the bird’s plumage. But as she lifted a hand, the bird rolled itself to the side and flew west, toward the treetops. She waited for it to fade, as most fay typically did after a few seconds.

  But the bird continued to fly, and, if anything, seemed to become more opaque as it flew away from her.

  Pomella bit her lip. If Crow Tallin was coming soon, she wanted to better understand the fay. And the bird was so beautiful, how could she not want to follow it?

  She slipped her shoes off and hitched her skirt above her knees. There were several bridges that crossed the river, but none were close enough to get to without risking losing the bird. She stepped into the water and sucked her breath in at the cold. She waded across, barely managing to hold her skirts, shoes, and Mystic staff out of the water. She stretched to her tiptoes to keep as much of herself out of the water as possible.

  When she reached the far shore, she shook her legs out and ran after the bird. It dipped below the treetops, close to the monument of past masters. She could hear soft music now, just a single haunting note coming from the same direction.

  Pomella emerged into the small clearing and came to a stop. A gray-scaled laghart wearing red robes and holding a curved Mystic staff stood beside the tall bone-white pillar of the past masters. The Mystic turned his head toward her, and slipped his hood off. Green and gray scales accented the Mystic’s eyes and other features. Pomella had only met a handful of lagharts in her lifetime but knew well enough that their scale coloring differed just as much as human skin tone. Like all lagharts, this one, which she identified as male, had the same three-swirl pattern of scales inherent to everyone in their species. This was the first time, however, that Pomella had ever seen a laghart Mystic.

  “Hello,” Pomella said, bowing. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I was following…” She gestured to the large fay bird now resting beside the laghart. “… Your fay bird.”

  The Mystic bowed in return. “Itt isss fffine,” he said. His tongue zipped out, tasting the air. “You are nottt disssturbing me. I am admiring your monumenttt.”