The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set

by William David Ellis

As Belle was standing to leave,

  Good for her.

  three assassins shot at us.

  See, I knew I should have been there! Sarah sat up, focused on the next line.

  I took out two and another chose to commit suicide by jumping out the window four hundred feet above Paris. I do not know who those men were. I am not sure that I was the target.

  Harry, you made her mad with that baby talk… of course you were the target.

  Belle was severely wounded.

  Or maybe not?

  I took her to a French hospital where after surgery her supernatural regenerative abilities have seen her through. At the moment I am seated by her bedside, thinking about you.

  Oh my goodness, seated by her bed thinking about me? Any other man would think he had the best of both worlds, and I would be furious… but I know this one. He is hurting… confused and struggling to do the right thing. But what is she thinking?

  Please write me back soon?

  I love you!

  Harry

  Sarah was wide awake. She had not transitioned into a dragon but realized she was on the verge. The fact that she controlled it pleased her; she looked forward to telling Kusaila in the morning. Harry’s letter had jolted her and there was no way she would be able to sleep; she would ponder it all night and probably even dream about it. So she might as well write a response now.

  “Speaker, you still there? I want to write Harry back now. Can I do that?”

  “Yes, Sarah, although I would recommend you sleep soon. You are more exhausted than you realize.”

  “All right, good; I am going to start now. Wait a minute! Speaker, you have been with Harry, right?”

  “Yes, Sarah, I have been trying to advise Harry and just left him.”

  “So, you have seen firsthand his attacks and his conversations with this witch Belle Rodum, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, Sarah, I have seen Harry’s conversations and struggles with Belle Rodum.”

  Okay. How do I ask this? she thought to herself.

  “Sarah, you do know that I am in your mind and privy to all your thoughts, so I already know what you are going to ask… so out with it.”

  “Well then, is he attracted to her?”

  “Not any more than any man in his health and at his age would be.”

  “That was not an answer, Speaker.”

  “Sarah, you have me at a disadvantage. I know Harry’s thoughts but I also know yours. I have observed the children of men for almost two thousand years, give or take a century or two, and one thing I am sure of: they do not know their own minds most of the time. They feel a lot of things; they change their minds often. They fall in and out of love and hate, all the time. For instance, you may not be aware of it, but you are attracted to Kusaila.”

  “I am not!” she roared, smoke curling around her face.

  “I am sorry to have to disagree with you, Sarah, but you most certainly are attracted to him.”

  “No!” Sarah screamed. She was exhausted, her emotions frayed like an old rubber band. Through a day that she thought would never end she had been forced to face the hidden graves of old betrayals, and now with one accusation, the speaker’s words had exposed her traitorous heart again!

  She had eaten well and drunk some of the honey mead offered to her at Kusaila’s table. She had gulped it down, thinking it was a type of soda, till the wise whispers of a knowing chieftain’s wife warned her it was not simply a sweet drink. By then it was too late. Good food, full belly, alcohol, fatigue, and shame collided. The results were explosive. Without warning, she shifted. One minute a one-hundred-twenty-pound human, the next a full-grown dragon. The tent blew apart.

  She tore through the linen walls, screaming, “Oh-oh, ohh nooo… roarrrrrrrr!” Grasping for breath like a drowning sailor desperately fighting the ocean, she slung curtains and cushions, lamps and rope into the air.

  Her hands tangled in strips of shredded tent and her head poked out the top. When she finally paused to gulp a lungful of oxygen, the tattered remains of the shredded pavilion fit around her like a shroud.

  “Oh shi…oooott!” she cursed, changing the vowel at the last minute in memory of her grandmother

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Sarah’s tent was in flames. People were running toward her shouting, and she was still half-drunk from the soda honey mead that no one had warned her about till it was too late. Wide-eyed, she looked at the crowd running toward her. She was panting like a steam engine about to blow. Smoke rose from her nose and her heart was pounding, her ears were ringing and all she wanted to do was be alone, so she ran. The ground shook under her strides before she bent and launched herself into the sky, taking the flaming tent with her. Like an earthbound comet streaking into the sky that birthed it, Sarah raced into the heavens. She flew up… up… higher than she had ever flown. The tent fell away from her like small meteors blazing off a large one. She climbed through the clouds and into the icy air above.

  The cold felt good to her steam-filled body. She hovered for a moment, then soared eagle-like on the currents, letting the wind take her where it would.

  She lost track of time as she glided on the cold streams of the upper winds. Finally, she noticed a faint glow on the eastern horizon, the sun’s rays peeking over the curvature of the earth.

  She looked on as the world turned to meet its bright friend. Instinctively she braced, preparing to fend off the thoughts she knew waited for her. Condemnation was her immediate escort. “What kind of a person am I? Is it just the nature of dragons to destroy all they touch? How can I betray Harry again? What’s wrong with me?”

  As Sarah tipped her wing to turn back toward Kusaila’s camp, she was startled to see a large dragon flying alongside her. It was the largest dragon she had seen, but she had only known three, including herself, so she didn’t know how large dragons could be. The beast was magnificent. Its dark green scales glistened and the strong puffs of fire that it blew out with every exhalation lit up the early morning sky in dragon-made sunshine.

  The dragon had a golden mane wrapped around its long neck and two fierce horns protruding from the back of its head. It did not seem to be evil or threatening. It didn’t have to be. It dwarfed her and if it had intended malice there was nothing she could have done. She wasn’t afraid. Which surprised her. Whether it was her emotional or physical state, she did not know and really didn’t care. That was when she noticed that the magnificent beast had a rider, and he was more glorious than his steed.

  The man was perched at the base of the dragon’s long neck. He did not use a saddle or reins. When the rider saw that Sarah had seen him, he smiled. She was close enough to have been swallowed by the huge dragon but felt no dread, and now the rider’s smile disarmed any remnants of fear. She watched as the rider’s long hair blew back in the breeze, his beard dancing.

  As the rider and his beast drew close enough for her to see his eyes, she gasped, stopped in midflight, and hovered. Harry had told her about his meeting with the dragon rider King. How he had walked toward him in the great hall of dragon riders and bowed before him, how unworthy and dirty he had felt. She understood now. Even at the pinnacle of the earth hovering among the star-crowned clouds, she understood. Suddenly the world tilted, she saw the fireflies’ tiny sparks circling like a swarm of bees, and in a twinkling everything changed. She no longer hovered exhausted and ashamed above the earth. Now she stood in her human form on a red-carpeted walkway in front of a great throne.

  “Sarah,” his deep voice resonated throughout the hall. She heard a noise behind her, glanced back quickly, and saw an army of dragons and their riders come to attention, standing in rank after splendid rank. She felt dirty and ragged compared to them.

  “Please come closer. You’re not in trouble.” Seeing she was trembling, he got up from his throne, stepped down to where she stood, and sat on the bottom stair so he could look directly in her eyes. “Sarah,” he said again.

  When he called her nam
e, she felt she was home. So many times, her safe places had been torn from her. As a girl she had desperately tried to gain her parents’ attention only to have even the small bit she had gained robbed by Romlott Hus.

  Her grandparents the Linscombs had died to save her; Harry loved her through centuries but was never with her. All the opportunities for a home in someone’s heart, never secured, never held, now seemed to gather in his voice calling her name. Her lip trembled, and her head bent down.

  She felt his hand lift her head. She looked into his eyes and heard him sigh. “You’re right, Sarah, I am home. Your home and Harry’s and Kusaila’s, and, if she would have me, even Belle Rodum.”

  At the mention of Belle’s name, Sarah stiffened. The King saw it and said, “Sarah, everyone has a story, a hidden pain. They cannot help who birthed them or how they were shaped as a child, but every single being has a moment or more when they are free to choose. The choice may be subtle or painfully obvious, but they have those moments when they can turn toward home. Belle Rodum will have moments as well. And to be truthful, Sarah, you as well as Harry will be the ones to give her those moments.”

  Sarah’s heart lay bare before the King and her eyebrows lifted at his last words. But she did not ponder them long.

  Everything Harry had told her about his meeting with the King—the great hall, the legion of dragons and riders, the throne, all of it from the red carpet to the King’s voice—was true. But there was so much more. Sarah’s heart felt like it would burst; it actually ached from joy. Her nerves tingled and she knew her silly grin must have made her look childish, but she didn’t care. Her eyes were wide and fastened on the King.

  “Sarah, Harry told you about his first experience with me. I think he called it his commissioning, didn’t he?”

  She nodded, beaming and wishing she could think of something to say instead of standing there grinning like an idiot.

  The King chuckled and shook his head. “Give me a second.” He slowly waved his hand and the great hall parted like a window curtain. Suddenly they were in a dining room. She gasped and he looked at her and said, “This is a friend’s house. I meet people here often; as a matter of fact, not long ago I met Harry here. He hasn’t had time to tell you about it, but when he sees you again, he will. Would you like some tea or something to drink?”

  The change in surroundings had a calming effect on her. She exhaled a long, slow breath and shook her head like someone trying to wake from a nap that wasn’t long enough and then answered, “Tea would be fine, sir.”

  “Hot or cold, my dear?”

  “Excuse me?” she asked, bewildered.

  “When Harry was last here, we drank sweet tea East Texas style. I was wondering if you wanted your tea like that or hot like they serve in England.”

  “Oh.” She frowned, thinking, Sweet tea like in Texas… It brought back a fleeting memory of how her grandmother always served sweet tea and wouldn’t allow soft drinks in the house. But her grandfather would take her to Jamie’s and let her order ice-cold Dr Pepper.

  She was about to say sweet tea when the King interrupted, “Or you could have an ice-cold Dr Pepper if you would like.”

  Sarah giggled. The King’s eyes twinkled, he chuckled, and she got tickled. He responded with a loud throaty laugh that reminded Sarah of thunder pulled along by a rainfall across her grandfather’s pasture. Which only made her laugh more, and then she couldn’t stop. Tears rolled down her cheeks and the more she tried to stop, the worse it got until, frustrated, she finally forced it to a halt. She took a deep breath to celebrate her victory and hiccupped. The King chortled, vainly trying to hold back his exploding mirth, and it started all over again. Finally, her sides were sore and she was pleading, “Oh, no more… come on…” Giggles. “Stop… oh my.” Gasp, short breath. “Oh my”—sigh— “goodness.”

  “Wow,” he said. “All that over a Dr Pepper… simple pleasures of life…”

  Sarah sighed and said, “Yes, sir, it was fun, but I will probably be sore tomorrow. But you know… some things are worth it.”

  “Yes, they are, my dear. Yes, they are… Now that you have got over your jitters, and your giggles, and that terribly embarrassing—at least to you—and funny case of inconvenient hiccups…”

  His eyes twinkled again and she thought, Oh no, not again. The King shook his head, quickly assuring her they were not going to go another round with the giggles.

  At that moment, interrupting the flow and its tendency to drown them in a torrent of laughter, a small woman with horn-rimmed glasses dressed in dark and proper clothes from the Victorian times of England walked in with a silver tray and two iced glasses of Dr Pepper. The King smiled, took one, and handed it to Sarah.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re welcome, my dear.” He held his glass toward her in a swift salute and took a drink. She did the same. The cold, sweet bite of the beverage reminded her of her grandfather and the sweetest times of her life.

  The King looked back at her and said, “Sarah, we need to talk, about a lot of things. You have been through a lot. And there is more to come.” Sarah winced but the King caught the expression and quickly continued, “Not all of it is bad; some of it is amazingly sweet. There will be battles, the literal kind with peoples and monsters enslaved by the darkness, and just as dangerous but less obvious… battles with your own heart.”

  At the mention of her own heart, Sarah’s head dropped and her eyes found a spot on the dark-grained wood floor to stare at. An awkward silence reigned. Finally, her curiosity won and she lifted her head. Looking into his eyes was like staring into the eyes of a lion—they were fierce but they also held the look a lion gave its cubs and not its prey.

  He spoke. “Sarah, everyone fights those heart battles. Every single person. The fact that you have them and even stumble over them is not wicked. It isn’t the stumbling that is the end. It is the refusing to get up and lying where you have fallen, believing the lies of your accuser, that is the most treacherous. You need to understand something, Sarah.”

  He rose from his chair and extended his hand. Automatically she stood, her eyes narrowed, and, uncertain but accepting his invitation, she took his outstretched hand. Music began filling the air. The beautiful strains of a violin flowed like a tide; then an instrument she could not place, familiar but unknown, similar to a piano but bolder, added its song. Other instruments joined at just the right time in just the right way. The King moved Sarah’s hand to his shoulder and slowly they began to dance.

  If you can imagine all the father-daughter dances of all times, all cultures, all weddings; if you could synthesize them, measuring each chord and embracing each note; if you could blend them all together in the richest of harmonies, you might get close to what Sarah heard. The music pumped through her veins and swirled through her soul; her heart kept time and she was delighted to see that the King was a great dancer. She had not been to a dance in over a thousand years and forgot how much she loved them. She could not place the song—it was familiar, darting in and out almost being recognized; it touched her heart and swept through dry places in her soul that had forgotten the healing rhythms of song. Her spirit lifted, filling her and surging through her veins. A couple of times she thought she saw beings of light seated in a spectral orchestra pit, but every time she focused on them, they disappeared. Halfway through the song Sarah realized she was healing, growing, being made whole. When the last notes faded away, she stood smiling at the King, this time not gaping in awe but mended and grateful.

  She looked at the King, curious as always, and said, “Who wrote that song?”

  He raised his eyebrows and with a bemused smile answered, “Nobody yet. It’s waiting to be born. Did you like it?”

  “Goodness, yes! It was… It was… I can’t begin to describe it! Will I ever hear it again?”

  “Of course. Yes indeed. As a matter of fact, if you want to, I can give it to you and you can write it when you get back home.”

 
Sarah smiled a weak smile, thinking, I don’t know anything about music. Should I tell him?

  The King laughed. “Sarah, dear, in my house words and thoughts are about the same.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, blushing.

  He laughed again. “But it is perfectly all right, and what you don’t know is that dragon people are amazing musicians and singers. You just haven’t had time to find that out yet. Some of my dragon people even go into battle singing!”

  “Really!”

  “Of course! I don’t think the song I am giving you is made for that, but you never know. It’s your song; do with it as you will.”

  They crossed the dining room dance floor and sat back down. The King began, “Sarah, you are so special to me. You are a daughter of great beauty and courage, and you have a heart that is wise and discerning.”

  Her head started to drop but was stopped in mid-droop by the King’s “Uh-uh, none of that now. The part of you that granted the accuser access is whole, so you lift up your head. Not everyone gets to drink Dr Pepper and dance with me, hon.”

  Sarah grinned shyly but she knew he was right, and she felt it. She was a princess, the apple of her King’s eye. She was a warrior dragon and in time a prophetic songster, and that was something to grin about!

  “Now,” he continued, “is there something you want to talk about?” A chuckle slipped from his lips and aroused her curiosity.

  “What?” Her face paled just a tad as her fingers reached up to hide her lips.

  “Oh, I was just remembering what Harry did when I asked him the same question.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened asking. The King’s smile answered. “He wanted to know… actually, all he could even think of was you. And I answered him and he was content.”

  The hint of a frown slipped onto Sarah’s face. The King noted it and said, “If you want to know what I told Harry, you will have to ask him yourself. That was his question and his answer.”

  Sarah grimaced and started to apologize, stuttered to a safe halt, and just shook her head quietly laughing at herself. “This is like living in a glass house.”