by GARY DARBY
“Dragon heart trees?” I mumble as I glance around, not recognizing the giant trees beforehand.
“Yes,” Amil replies as he motions toward the looming trees. “A whole stand, in fact. In all my travels, I’ve only seen a few of them, and always they grow singly, never together like this.”
A grove of dragon heart trees, I think to myself. My head is resting up against one of the giant trees, so I reach up with one hand to touch the bark. The tree’s outer covering is rough to the touch, and the bark seems to be split into pieces as big as dragon scales.
However, from what I understand, tear away the bark and underneath is wood that is incredibly strong yet in the hands of an expert craftsman is supple enough to be fashioned into powerful longbows.
I have to wonder, it seems that the golden does things for a particular reason, so what could be her purpose in leading us here?
A shaft of moonlight suddenly appears through a break in the trees and catches my eye. I turn my head slightly, and my breath almost catches. The moon’s glow falls directly on the golden. She gleams a burnished gold, an aura that seems to shine and wave in the night.
I follow the shaft up to the three moons. They look so close together as if they were one in the sky, shining brighter than I’ve ever seen. And then, just for an instant, three beautiful faces are in the moonlight, smiling. They give me a small nod as if to tell me it’s time and then disappear.
I glance back to Phigby. “Phigby,” I ask gruffly, “how close did I come to dying?”
“Well . . . ” he begins hesitantly, “you — ”
“Phigby, how close?”
Cara answers gently for Phigby. “Very close, Hooper. I helped Phigby dig that arrowhead out.”
She draws in a sharp breath. “I saw what he had to do. You’re lucky to be alive.” Her face takes on an odd expression. “I guess it sort of evened out, you saved ours and Phigby’s life, he saved yours.”
I let out a breath, give Phigby a small smile. “Thank you, Phigby.”
He waves a hand in acknowledgment but knowing how close I came to dying has made up my mind. That arrow was meant for Helmar with its Wraith Worm, the golden led us to a grove of dragon heart trees, there was that aura surrounding the golden and the Gaelian Fae appeared as if encouraging me to act.
It’s time.
I must deliver Pengillstorr’s tear jewel to the guardian before it’s too late.
I try to rise, but Phigby puts a hand on my chest to push me down. I push his hand away. “No Phigby, I’ve got to get up. It’s important that I do, more important than any of you realize.”
He and Helmar exchange quick, surprised glances. “Is he — ” Helmar begins before Phigby quickly shakes his head and answers, “No, once he became fully awake, that meant the potion had worn off. He’s lucid, even though he’s not making any sense.”
“I am making sense,” I grumble, “now either help me or get out of my way.”
The two of them put a hand behind my back and ease me into a sitting position. “Now, help me to stand, please.” They push and pull me to my feet. The pain’s returned a bit, and I grimace, but I nod toward the small campfire. “Over there,” I whisper, “in the light.”
With Phigby on one side and Helmar on the other, I manage to shuffle over to a smooth fallen log that’s close to the fire. I ease myself down and look around to make sure everyone is close.
“All right, Hooper,” Phigby asks sternly, “what’s this all about? And by the way, if you start bleeding again, don’t blame me, you should be lying down.”
“I know, Phigby,” I answer soberly, “and believe me, if it weren’t so important, I wouldn’t leave that bed for a fortnight, or longer.”
I gesture with my hand toward his bag. “Phigby, the sealed book, would you bring it out, please?”
He gives me a sharp, questioning look before he opens the bag, reaches deep inside, and brings out the mysterious book. He hesitates for a moment before he begins to slide it onto my lap.
I shake my head. “Would you hold it, instead? I don’t think I can with this arm.”
He hesitates, then sits down, holding the book tightly. Cara quickly takes a seat next to him, no doubt anticipating that something is about to happen with the book, perhaps even, that we’ll be able to open the thick manuscript.
With Amil’s help, I stand, take a few steps forward before I turn and face my companions. I take a deep breath, reach into my tunic, fumble for a moment before I bring out the gemstone.
In the firelight, its hue seems to spread from my hand to illuminate all of our faces in a soft radiance.
Cara utters a little, “Oh . . .” and both Helmar and Amil suck in quick breaths. Phigby’s wide eyes appear as if they’re in a trance and his mouth sags just a bit.
I hold the gem out and start to speak when suddenly, I hear the plodding footsteps of the dragons. I peer upward, and now my own eyes go wide.
The four adult dragons, led by the golden, along with the sprogs, lumber over to form a semi-circle behind us, each gazing intently at the jewel.
They’re drawn by the dragon gem, just as Golden Wind was attracted to the Gaelian Fae pillars; the gemstone calls them.
I’ve never been to church, but I’ve heard that it’s solemn and reverent. In this moment, I can’t help but feel that we and the dragons are in a sacred place. The night air grows still, with only the small fire’s crackling disturbing the silence. Even Scamper joins the circle, his eyes on the crystal, too.
I glance at the gem and see that not only has the tiny frond fully unfurled, but the gemstone itself now radiates with an emerald hue, which to me is the final sign that what I’m about to do is absolutely correct.
“This is a dragon tear jewel,” I whisper. I stop and glance at the golden. “Given to me by a very special green dragon just before he died.”
I take in a deep breath and let it out. “I’ve had it for some time, but,” I choke, “it’s not mine to wield its powers. I was called to be merely its caretaker, to carry it until I found its guardian.”
I hold the gem a little higher. “Why I was asked to carry it I don’t know, I only know that this belongs to the true Gem Guardian, the one who can exert its powers.”
I take in a breath, hold it for a moment before saying, “Which isn’t me.”
My companions’ eyes are questioning, puzzled, even a little fearful, and flick between my face and the jewel. The gem’s soft glow seems to fill the small glen.
“In my own way,” I give the golden a quick, little glance, “and with a little help, I’ve been searching for the guardian and now I’ve found him.”
I can’t help myself and laugh lightly. “Believe it or not, thanks to that cursed arrow, it pointed me straight to him.”
I take in another deep breath, take two steps and hold the gemstone out. “Helmar,” I murmur, “you are the Gem Guardian.”
His mouth parts and I can see his breathing quicken. His eyes hold a certain eagerness, and he starts to grab the jewel from my hand. At the last instant, he hesitates with his fingertips just touching the gem. “Are you sure, Hooper?”
“I am very sure,” I answer and cock my head toward my injured arm. “And this proves it.”
I lick dry lips and nod toward the dragons. “Just as the gem draws them, the jewel draws other things — ” I glance at Phigby with my mouth screwed to one side.
“Like an arrow with a Wraith Worm spell meant for the Gem Guardian. For all intents and purposes, it was an accident that I got between you and that shaft, nevertheless, it proves to me that you are the guardian.
“When I woke, I suddenly realized that through all this, if I had died before I delivered the jewel . . . ” my speech trails off almost to nothing before I can go on.
“If I died before I had the chance to deliver the jewel, then perhaps the gemstone would be lost, and we would not have its great power to counter Vay and her evilness.”
I point at the seat I left and almo
st command, “Helmar, sit down, for there is one other thing. In my dreams, I saw how the jewel and Phigby’s book go together.”
I glance first at Phigby and then at Cara. “I know how to open the book, or rather, I know how the Gem Guardian can open the book.”
I meet Helmar’s eyes. Mine are firm, knowing, while his — well, even with the eagerness, there is the tiniest hesitation, born perhaps from confusion, or even fear. A look I know all too well, but one I’m sure will pass once he holds the gem in his hand.
He sets his face in the firm features of the Helmar I know, and with quick strides, makes his way around the log’s gnarled end and plants himself into the spot I vacated.
Phigby’s expression is troubled, questioning, nevertheless, he passes the book to Helmar. Helmar, in turn, peers up at me with his own quizzical look.
With one last look at the gem, I slowly hold it out and point down at the book. “It goes in the first hole,” I instruct, “like this.”
I bend down and place the gemstone in the first depression on the left-hand side. It fits snug as if it and the book were made for each other. For a heartbeat, nothing happens, and then a warm light spreads from all sides of the book.
Cara gasps and points. On the front, shimmer the words, The Ode of the Gaelian Fae. The glimmering grows brighter and then with a loud crack the clasp in the orb pops up, the strap snaps back, and the book opens — to blank pages, and even then, only a few; the rest of the book remains sealed.
All of us exchange quick glances before Cara scrunches closer to Helmar to get a better look. Even the dragons stretch out their necks to peer at the pages. All except the golden. She just stands there, stoic and impassive.
The jewel glows a little brighter in its depression, and the page shines with an almost blinding light. Then, floating above the pages, letters appear, each colored a light gold and each shaded by deeper, glittering gold. The letters hover for a moment before they snap onto the page.
No one says anything for several heartbeats before Cara nudges Helmar and murmurs, “I think you’re supposed to read it.” Helmar takes a breath and in a rumbling tone, reads:
Four there were, the Gaelian Fae
Osa, Nadia, Eskar, and Vay
Given a place below the gods,
Where neither Drach nor dragon trod
The gods created all creatures both great and small
Some to fly, some to walk, and some to slither or crawl
On worlds far below to the heavens high above
Some in spite and some with love
But of the dragon, the Fae lay claim
Talon and tail, and fiery mane
Brought them forth as to reign
Over hill, forest, and starry train
But Drach their equal was to be
On land, sky, and deep-blue sea
Gaelian Fae who set their scales
Green to tread through forest dales
Red to thunder in fiery fight
Orange and Yellow to shimmer in flight
Sapphire faster than even the wind
Violet to royalty, its knee will bend
Blue to swim under wondrous ocean
Each creation most carefully chosen
Seven of the bow that colors the rain
Over hill, forest, and starry train
Vay it was who broke the trust
Brought forth the golden to slake her lust
One dragon to rule them all
One Queen, to her we’d fall
For greed, fear, and mighty power
So that o’er all she would tower
The dragon to rule over its own kind
But to her, she would bend the mind
Of the Drach and dragon, too
That to her only, they would be true
One Dark Queen upon her throne
Seeds of evil she has sown
And of the moment, we did partake
But now the right, we must make
From heaven above to the world below
The gods will grant that we must go
To set the right
In fiery fight
Seven have come, Seven are done,
Four did sleep, Now three will weep,
For now comes the eighth, Open swings the gate,
On high the four shall align, A portent, an omen, a blazing sign,
That chains have burst, The evil that thirsts,
Will walk once more, On hill, dale, and rolling moor,
As a seed, it will grow, Up high and down low,
Rage and ruin, merciless death, Pain will come with every breath,
All to slave, all to obey, All to serve the Domain of Vay.”
“Phigby,” Cara says, “you must have read this book at some time, how else did you know the words?”
“Yes,” Phigby slowly acknowledges, “but how and when? Truly, I don’t remember.”
“So,” Amil rumbles, “you were right, Phigby, the Dreaded Age has begun. Vay is unleashed on our world, to rage and bring ruin and destruction.”
Phigby brings a hand up to stroke his beard. “Yes,” he murmurs, “but there is another name for your ‘Dreaded Age’ Amil, and that’s the Age of Magic, when magic returns to our world.”
“For both good and evil, I presume,” Helmar says.
“I’m afraid so, Helmar,” Phigby acknowledges. “Magic is like anything else, there will be those who will use it for good, and there will be those who use it for wickedness.”
He draws in a breath. “It’s all a matter of choice, and Vay and her minions have chosen the evil path.”
Phigby pauses before saying, “There is also this, the portal is widening, but it does not mean that it is entirely open.”
“So are you saying,” Amil asks, “that like a door opens with just a small crack, it must be swung completely wide for the full measure of Vay’s power to come through?”
“That’s right,” Phigby nods in assent. He flicks his eyes my way and then says, “For sixteen seasons, at springtime, the time of new birth, the moons have been close to aligning.”
He pulls at his beard. “Throughout those seasons, a little more each time as the moons grew closer, Vay’s evilness and influence have seeped through to our world.”
“And now,” I whisper, “they’re fully aligned. The door is opening wide.”
“But,” Cara says, “doesn’t that also mean the same thing for Osa, Nadia, and Eskar? That, their power is pouring through too?”
“It does,” Phigby sighs in response. “Fortunately, for our sakes.”
“Is Vay stronger than the three?” Helmar asks. “Is that why she’s appeared more?”
“No,” Phigby answers firmly. “Her magic has no more power than her sisters’; at least for the moment.”
“For the moment?” Helmar questions. “What does that mean? Are you saying that she could grow in strength to do more than she has?”
Phigby reaches down and picks up four small stones, all practically equal in size. He holds three in one hand and one in the other hand. “When the gate opened, and the four came forth, their power was the same, like these stones, are close to the same in size.”
He reaches down and adds small pebbles to each hand. “Good or evil,” he says, “only grow when you and I first acknowledge them, then accept them, finally embracing them, and acting accordingly, either for the good or for the bad.”
He shakes the pebbles in his hand holding the one stone so that they clump together as if he would make a larger stone. “Vay’s power increases when others join her cause, choose to follow — to embrace her dark arts.
“Or, if,” he mutters low, “she uses vile methods to bring others under her influence.”
“And we, Phigby?” Cara asks in a small voice. “What have we chosen?”
He drops the stones representing Vay and holds out the hand with the three stones. “We have chosen well and good, my dear,” he answers Cara, “and unless we have a change of heart, we shall
continue to do so. And because of our choices, and others’ who will reject Vay and join our cause, the three will grow stronger to counter Vay.”
As Phigby finishes, I take a step toward the log’s end. My charge is over, I’ve completed my task, delivered the jewel to the guardian, and my burden is lifted. But then, I hesitate and turn back to the others. A feeling that I’d left something undone sweeps over me. But what?
“Phigby,” I ask, as a sudden thought enters my mind, “we’ve already heard most of what was written there.” I point to the book. “Is it possible that there’s more?”
“Eh?” he replies and bends over to peer intently at the book. Suddenly, there’s a gust of wind, and just as back in the forest when Phigby had held his book in his lap, the page abruptly turns.
Instead of being blank, these pages glow in a light green luminance. Lifelike illustrations of trees, bushes, plants of all sorts, adorn the page, all of them swaying as if a gentle breeze ruffled their leaves. Small, green dragons seem to move in and about the foliage, lifelike in their movement and mannerisms.
Then, amazingly, rising from the page, an image begins to take shape. It wavers for a moment before it grows bright and sharp.
My eyes grow big and round, and I take a step forward. I can’t help the sharp intake of breath as the form raises its head and gazes at me with a kindly expression.
It’s Pengillstorr. But instead of being old, he’s young, vibrant — alive.
He bows his head to me, as if in gratitude for safely delivering his jewel to the Gem Guardian, and then his image fades away and in its place appears emerald-hued lettering, floating above the page.
They hang there for a moment before they snap onto the page, each letter glittering bright green and edged in gold. Helmar needs no urging and begins to read,
Green its scales were set to be
Green to match both leaf and tree
Created to wander forest and dale
Given to roam over hill and vale
Born it was to live life free
And to stand on unbent knee
Three as sentinel both day and night
They to watch with clearest sight
Ever to watch for the one to come