[Oescienne 01.0] The Finding

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Hroombra glanced hesitantly down at Jahrra, knowing that recalling such memories would be a burden to him. But how could he deny such an eager request?

  “I’ll tell you Jahrra, but don’t be too disappointed when you see what remains.”

  “I won’t,” she assured him, holding her hand over her heart as if to make a pledge.

  “Very well.”

  Jahrra straightened up, becoming disinterested in the wayside flowers and the startled insects. The old dragon now had her full attention as they trekked along. He took a deep breath and reached into that part of his memory that held the tale he now told.

  “The castle was once called Estraelh Castle, home to the king of Oescienne, the most beautiful palace in all the land,” he began. “It was built on the highest end of the Great Sloping Hill, for the very first king of this province wished to see all of his land from its walls. With each passing generation, the royal family would add something new to the castle, building it slowly into the palace it became. The first king’s son had the patio gardens constructed; one queen insisted a studio and art gallery be added to one of its many turrets. A later king designed a music room, while one royal family built an observatory in another tower.

  “Finally, an extensive library was added to the southeastern wing. A sweeping driveway, several more gardens, and a small orchard of trees were included in their own time. Those trees became the wood that now surrounds the castle; the trees that encroach upon the Wreing Florenn. It was once a place of magic Jahrra, built with the palest green granite and marble containing small flecks of all the colors of the natural world.”

  Hroombra paused and huffed a small sigh. When he went on, a hard note peppered his voice, “It’s hard to see all of that now, due to the years of decay. Now the mossy green stones have become dull and faded, looking more like mud-caked slate. The gardens have gone wild and the walls have crumbled.”

  Jahrra slowed her already unhurried walk to gaze up at her guardian with a furrowed brow. He seemed to be distracted, but he blinked, took a breath and continued on as if not a moment had passed.

  “The inside of the castle was even more glorious than the exterior. As I mentioned, it had an observatory, a library, an art gallery and a music room, but it also had an enormous dining hall and ball room for great feasts, parties and dances. Throughout the halls and rooms there hung or stood many works of art and sculptures of man and beast alike. The bedrooms were extravagant with great carved canopy beds and enormous fireplaces just like the one at the Castle Guard Ruin. The kitchen could serve just about any dish imaginable and employed the most gifted chefs, but the most magnificent part of the castle was the entrance hall.”

  Hroombra spoke more enthusiastically now and Jahrra gazed off dreamily into the trees, imagining all of the decorations and details of the castle, forgetting the miles as they walked.

  “The hall was enormous, large enough to fit a large party of dragons,” Hroombra continued. “In those days dragons were not feared as they are now. The ceiling was high and domed, and painted on the floor was the great symbol of the dragons, the three point star, with the qualities that we strive for written around it in the dragons’ language. The kings and queens and all of the people of the land tried hard to meet the standard of the dragons, so they had our code etched upon their fortress. Ahhh,” said Hroombra breaking off his lesson, “here we are at last.”

  Jahrra had been so wrapped up in her guardian’s story that she hadn’t noticed how far they’d walked. She gazed up the path in front of her and gasped; several yards before them stood the skeleton of a once great structure resting quietly behind a screen of trees. Jahrra blinked, fearing this wonderful new place might disappear, but it didn’t. She swallowed her wonder and focused all of her energy on the scene before her.

  In the center of the thick wall rising before them was a crumbled arch that had once been a great doorway. Beyond that stood the remains of a staircase, looking very much like an old, arthritic man hunched over from age. Many more broken arches receding further into the structure suggested the intricate ceiling system Hroombra had talked about. Jahrra decided that the arches and buttresses looked like the rib cage of some great beast that had perished long ago.

  Ferns and mosses, lichens and liverworts grew between cracks in the granite. Patches of sod, covered in forest violets and tiny star lilies covered the multitude of broken staircases, making this place seem like a fairy realm directly out of Felldreim. As Jahrra stepped through a gaping hole in the outer wall, she noticed that the layers of this castle continued on forever.

  A strange feeling of magic and mystery tickled Jahrra’s skin, a feeling similar to the one she’d experienced at the Dragon’s Court above Edyadth a few years ago. The sudden memory caused her to trip over a solitary stone, tossing up a large chunk of black earth and debris in the process. She looked back, slightly heated from her clumsiness, and saw evidence of a stone floor hidden beneath. Jahrra scrunched her eyes in scrutiny. Hroombra spoke, however, before she could query, “I’m afraid the floor beneath our feet has been completely covered.”

  “How exactly did it come to be like this, the castle I mean?” Jahrra asked forlornly, running her fingers over a moss-covered stone.

  “That, my child, is a very long story,” replied Hroombra, not making any attempt to elaborate.

  Jahrra nodded solemnly, deciding not to complain in this quiet, empty atmosphere.

  “May I look around?” she asked Hroombra suddenly, hoping that by moving or talking she could shake free of the strange feeling that surrounded her.

  Jahrra looked up at the dragon when he didn’t answer and froze when she saw his eyes. He was gazing into the heart of the old castle with an emotion Jahrra had never seen before playing across his face, turning his golden eyes to amber stone. It frightened her for a moment, so she kept quiet, not repeating the question. After some time, however, Hroombra looked down at her, suddenly realizing that she’d asked him something.

  “You may look around,” he said automatically, his voice seeming to be stuck in some other time.

  Jahrra took off running towards the building before Hroombra could say anything more. He chuckled to himself, crossing the shadow of what was once a great courtyard, slowly following the girl. When Hroombra reached the great arch that had been the entryway for the dragons, he found Jahrra there, standing with her face turned towards the dappled canopy above.

  “What on Ethoes are you doing now Jahrra?” he asked with a wrinkled brow.

  “Oh!” The girl jumped with a start. “I was just thinking about the great ceiling and I was trying to imagine it here.”

  She smiled at Hroombra, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Do you know,” he began, “that this used to be the great entry hall for the dragons?”

  Jahrra shook her head, but kept her gaze on Hroombra.

  “Oh yes, as I was telling you before, the races of dragons were welcome here. In fact, many of the king’s relatives had been tutored in the way of the dragons, by dragons themselves.”

  Hroombra stepped forward and took a deep breath, expelling a great blast of air across the floor, causing black soil, moldy leaves and grime to go shooting in great chunks through the air. Jahrra closed her eyes and waited for the debris to settle. When she opened them again there was no longer the rotting carpet of the forest floor, but rather, patches of ancient worn and faded tiles below her feet, stained from the decay of many centuries’ worth of leaves.

  “Wow!” Jahrra exclaimed. “What’s that!?”

  The colored tile below was not random, but revealed an intertwined triangular symbol set in a mosaic pattern. The symbol, which was only partially revealed, looked as if it covered the entire center of the enormous floor.

  “That, Jahrra, is the Great Crest of the Dragons, something we call the Baherhb in our language. Each point stands for one quality, and each quality has two more aspects.”

  Hroombra closed his eyes as if he were mentally flippin
g through an ancient book. He took a small breath and continued, “The three qualities are Knowledge, Strength and Loyalty. Knowledge isn’t the capacity of knowing or not knowing, it is so much more. In order for Knowledge to exist, one must have Truth and Understanding. Only true Knowledge can be gained when one knows the truth and when one understands it.

  “Strength is not just the power that one can enforce. True Strength requires both Patience and Endurance. Without patience and endurance, one can never be strong of heart, mind, body and spirit; they can only be strong of body.

  “Loyalty is the third quality of the Baherhb, and it is composed of Love and Honor. One cannot be loyal to another if they do not love and honor them. It is our way, and it binds us all: Korli, Creecemind, Gilli, Lendras, Tiynterra, Aquandaas, and now Tanaan as well; all the kruels of dragons created by Ethoes.”

  Jahrra stood still as Hroombra recited the ancient code of his kind, soaking in every word. Although she didn’t quite understand what all of this meant, she could tell from his tone that this symbol, this code of words, was important to him.

  Silence followed Hroombra’s lesson and soon the songs of the late afternoon birds drifted through the woods, echoing strangely against the eroded walls. It was Hroombra who spoke first, many moments later, “So young one, are you through with exploring? You can’t have gone much further than this spot.”

  Jahrra was snapped back to the present at the sound of the dragon’s voice. “Oh no, I want to continue exploring, if that’s alright.”

  Hroombra grinned and nodded as she padded off to another location on the vast grounds.

  He waited a little while longer this time before following in her wake. This place had meant so much to him so long ago, and now that he had returned he realized it still did. The great, withered reptile closed his old, tired eyes and stood as Jahrra had, staring close-eyed at a ceiling that was no longer there. Yet the longer he stared, eyes tightly shut, the more he could see the great arching ceiling of times past.

  He saw the beautiful paintings of the gods of Ethoes surrounding a great image of the Baherhb, complete with the three qualities written in his language. In his mind’s eye he witnessed the light streaming in through the tall windows that once lined the walls. Great bundles of vine and brilliant scarlet flowers spilled through the upmost vents on this bright spring day long past, their sweet fragrance drifting in with them.

  Hroombra began rebuilding the walls of the castle in his mind, walls covered in artwork created by people from all over Ethoes. He noted the collection of marble statues in the hall and the tapestries that hung from ceiling to floor, following the arched line of staircases that led to the many wings of the great castle. He smiled as he heard the people of the past taking part in pleasant conversation. Humans, elves, Nesnans, Resai, dwarves, dragons; every beast imaginable that lived in Ethoes, all were welcome in this place.

  His smile grew when he recognized the great king that last ruled this land. He passed by, hand-clasped with his beautiful queen, her blond-red hair falling behind her like an autumn field. He could feel their happiness flowing around him; it was impossible for them to hide it. The seven eldest princes stepped in behind them, all fair haired like their parents. They laughed jovially and intermingled easily with the visitors of the castle. No person or being was turned away, rich and poor walked side by side.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, Hroombra saw another child, the youngest son of the king, his final child. The boy was no more than seven or eight in this scene of the past that played across his memory, but Hroombra’s heart ached with regret like it hadn’t in a very long time.

  The young prince had been the Korli dragon’s favorite, and now he saw the boy as he had known him, happy and carefree, completely innocent and unknowing of the fate that would someday befall him. He looked like his father, tall for his age and strong featured with golden hair. His eyes were also like his father’s, bright and clear and shrewd, but they held the intelligence and fervor for life that defined his mother the queen.

  Hroombra began to grow morose, and this colorful, blissful image began to fade from his mind. That’s enough for now, he thought to himself forlornly, I mustn’t dwell too long on that time. It has passed, and I cannot change it.

  Hroombra shook off the last vestiges of his fantasy and opened his own amber eyes. He’d expected to see darkness and blandness, but he was surprised at the scene before him. True, the beautiful castle had disappeared, but the sun still shone as brightly as it had those many centuries ago. The dragon sighed and began to head in the direction that Jahrra had run off. May she have a better fate than those who came before her, he thought.

  In the time that Hroombra had been reminiscing on the previous life of this haunted place, Jahrra had been further exploring the grounds. She poked her head in and out of every emaciated room she could find, wandering into a few of them to see what she would discover there. She climbed a few disintegrated steps of an ancient staircase hugging a massive wall, only to find that it abruptly dropped off ten steps up. The walls that somehow survived the ages were veined with massive holes and cracks. It was like walking around in a maze, Jahrra thought, a maze that had no beginning and no end.

  Jahrra tried with all her might to imagine what this pile of eroded stones might have been like so long ago, eventually forming a clear picture of a shining castle in her head. Oh, she thought delightfully, how Gieaun and Scede would love this place!

  She relished this thought as she passed through a particularly large broken archway into what might once have been a grand hall. Jahrra pushed past the bushes that had grown up here and there, wondering if this had been one of the ball rooms Hroombra spoke of. She pictured smiling people dressed in flowing gowns gliding around the candlelit space, hardly noticing the towering dragons that would have been sitting in the corners of the great room.

  A gentle breeze rustled the canopy above, creating a whispering rhythm the imagined dancers could sway to. Jahrra smiled at her illusion, letting it pass through her mind the way she passed through this enchanted space.

  Jahrra released a relaxed sigh and turned her attention to the worn stones stacked before her, forgetting the obscurity of a time long past. After brushing her eyes along the injured walls for several minutes, she spotted something out of place in front of her. It wasn’t anything spectacular, but just enough of a change in the stone’s color and texture to catch her attention.

  She squinted and tilted her head as she peered at the strange inconsistency that seemed to be calling out to her. She approached the wall and ducked behind the tall bush that was hiding most of what she’d seen. Reaching out a timid hand, Jahrra began rubbing away the loose grit and thread-thin roots that stretched along the layer of soil caked against the vertical stone surface.

  Hroombra found his ward there, pressed between a shrub and the ancient stone, following a design with her finger, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

  “There you are!” he announced jovially, trying to mask the hollowness he imagined lingered in his voice.

  “I’ve found something,” she said simply, not moving or looking away one inch from the obscure image.

  Hroombra pulled his entire length into the remains of the room, turned his head, and caught his breath in a strangled gasp too quiet for Jahrra to hear. He knew this room. A clear, bright picture of it coursed behind his eyes like a flash of lightning, and he realized then exactly what Jahrra had found.

  He allowed her to study the wall a few minutes more, forcing his mind’s activity to ebb; his startled heartbeat to relax. When she attempted to brush away some more of the dust and grime, Hroombra decided it was time to speak up. His voice sounded like a deep, dry cavern, “Here, this might help things a bit.”

  He motioned Jahrra to stand back, and then took one mighty breath and let out a massive blast of air, just as he’d done in the entrance hall. The effect of this act was immediately visible, and what was now revealed was astounding.

&nbs
p; “Wow!” Jahrra gasped, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide. She no longer looked at a grimy old wall covered in stringy roots, but a faded painting that must have continued on under the layers of dirt all along the entire interior of the massive room.

  “What is this?” Jahrra whispered, looking up at Hroombra.

  “It’s a mural, a story painted upon the wall. This was once the great dining hall of the castle, and this is where the history of Oescienne is recorded. It starts over here somewhere with the story of how Ethoes created this earth we live on,” Hroombra nodded to the opposite side of the entrance, “and it continues all the way around the room to about where you are standing.”

  Jahrra was standing about twenty feet away from the entranceway, and decided she had been looking at part of the final installment of the great mural. She moved closer to the paintings on the wall and began soaking in the faded images.

  “Here, let me clear some more for you.”

  Jahrra stood back as Hroombra let out several more blasts of air, clearing one whole wall and the small section on one side of the doorway.

  “That should be enough for now,” he said, nodding.

  Jahrra began in the corner of the northwest wall and worked her way southward, following the painted scenes with her eyes and her fingers the entire time. She found dragons and elves, dwarves and a strange variety of other beasts and beings. The mural depicted battles and celebrations, births and funerals, peaceful times and periods of turmoil.

  The colors were dull now, but Jahrra could tell that this painting once held immense detail and more pigments than she could name. She placed her hand on the wall and closed her eyes. She could almost hear the clash of weapons, the music and laughter at a wedding celebration, the intense silence of the night sky painted above much of the scene. A feeling of wonder crawled over her skin, and when she looked more closely at the wall in front of her, she realized that she’d finally reached the end.