The Finding

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  The Legend of Oescienne

  -The Finding-

  By Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Copyrighted Material

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons and places is entirely coincidental.

  THE LEGEND OF OESCIENNE

  -THE FINDING-

  Copyright © 2009 by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art by Randy Vargas Gómez (www.vargasni.com)

  No part of this book or its cover may be reproduced in any manner without written permission from its creator.

  For more information and to contact the author visit www.jennaelizabethjohnson.com

  For Dad, who instilled in me a deep respect and admiration for Nature and all her endless wonder.

  For Mom, who taught me to see the good in humanity, and to cherish and strive for that goodness in myself.

  And for Cate, my one and only sister, who makes me laugh more than anyone else I know.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  Evasion

  ONE

  A Very Surprising Discovery

  TWO

  Hroombramantu

  THREE

  Dreams, Dragons and Making Friends

  FOUR

  Surviving the First Day of School

  FIVE

  Tricks and Traps and Fighting Back

  SIX

  Phrym

  SEVEN

  The Stranger and the Dragons’ Court

  EIGHT

  A Long, Cold Winter

  NINE

  Moving On

  TEN

  The Castle Ruin

  ELEVEN

  The Legend of Oescienne

  TWELVE

  Blue Flames and Draggish Words

  THIRTEEN

  An Unwanted Invitation

  FOURTEEN

  A Party, a Prank and a Near

  Death Experience

  FIFTEEN

  Friends in Unexpected Places

  SIXTEEN

  Chasing Unicorns

  SEVENTEEN

  Dueling with Dragons

  EIGHTEEN

  The Elves of Dhonoara

  NINETEEN

  Invasion of the Twins

  TWENTY

  The Dare

  TWENTY-ONE

  The Witch of the Wreing

  TWENTY-TWO

  What Goes Around Comes Around

  EPILOGUE

  Letters from Afar

  Pronunciation Guide

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by this Author

  Connect with me Online

  Excerpt from The Legend of Oescienne - The Beginning

  The Legend of Oescienne

  -The Finding-

  -Prologue-

  Evasion

  Morning’s first light poured into a cramped, dank cave casting strange shadows against its distorted walls. It was a very ordinary cave as caves go, and up until a few days ago it seemed things would remain that way. The cave had sat empty in a cliff above the western sea, left alone to inhale the ocean’s salty air and capture the sound of the waves crashing below. Hidden and unseen in a cove only a few knew about, the cave had remained empty for so many years. But that was all about to change.

  A piercing beam of light fought its way through a narrow hole in the ceiling of the cavern, breaking into the empty chamber and making the sunlight flooding through its mouth seem dimmer. The ray came to rest upon the pale face of a figure bunched upon the cold, dirty floor like a pile of discarded rags. His eyes were closed in sleep, but the silent expression on his face was far from restful. His dark hair was unkempt and his face appeared almost bloodless. He was as still as death, but his tense features and the grim cut of his mouth confirmed the struggle that only the living possessed.

  The man stirred awake and rolled onto his side, sending a scraping and soft groaning sound playing against the curved walls. Wincing and gasping in pain, he clutched his shoulder and dragged himself up into a sitting position. The bright beam of light was now slanted across his profile, illuminating the distinct characteristics of his race. His fine features and narrow, sharply tapered ears proved that he was of elfin descent, but it was his dark hair, pale skin and uncommonly tall stature that revealed him as one of the Aellheian elves of the east.

  He blinked his eyes as the waves of pain ebbed and passed, looking blankly around the natural room that he’d been sleeping in. The cave was littered with jagged stalactites and stalagmites, making it resemble the mouth of a yawning dragon. Several conical tunnels were scattered throughout, giving the impression that a giant had pressed its fingers into the small space while it was still a soft cavity of clay, leaving their indentations behind.

  The injured elf breathed deeply as he recalled climbing up here only a few days before. He was grateful despite the exhausting effort; at least now he could rest easy. This place was a great secret not known to his pursuers. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. A sharp, metallic taste in his mouth forced him to recall the skirmish he’d had not long ago, the one that had landed him in his current situation. He sighed and rested his head against the wall, listening to the low rumble of the waves outside as he tried to distract himself from the endless sound of dripping water echoing throughout the cave. The smell of saltwater and pine resin, dust and distant fog hung in the air like a delicate feather, reminding him of the thick forest perched on the edge of the cliffs just above his head.

  Despite his hot skin and the relatively relaxing rhythm of the crashing waves, the elf felt a cold chill clenching his heart. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair as if this action might comb away the grogginess and pounding headache that seemed to swallow him. He’d been in this place for three days now, or so he thought, and he feared the wound in his shoulder might be infected. He’d cleaned it and treated it with an herbal balm, but it was swollen and throbbing.

  For several months he’d managed to evade the Tyrant’s men but now it seemed they’d finally caught their prey. He’d gone so far as to enter the land west of the feared Thorbet and Elornn mountains, a place the Crimson King would never go, but it was clear the Tyrant’s soldiers thought differently. They’d finally moved in close enough to place an arrow deep in his shoulder just to the left of his heart. Desperate, injured and out of options, he headed farther west towards a land he’d once considered home only to find a familiar place of sanctuary. This particular cave would hide him well, but he also knew that if he died here so would the secrets he carried.

  The elf trembled again, blinking against the harsh light hitting his face. Whether the shivering was a result of an encroaching fever or from the thought of his world crashing down around him, he couldn’t tell. He drew a long, deep breath and carefully pulled a leather-bound journal, a pen and an inkwell out of the saddle bags he’d had the sense to grab before fleeing on foot. He propped himself up against the wall, quietly thanking Ethoes it was smooth, and leaned forward so that one of the empty pages of the journal lit up to a blinding white from the sunbeam pouring through the roof. He thought for a while as he continued to fight off the sickening heat emanating from his shoulder. After several moments of reverie, he dipped his quill into the inkwell and began to write:

  It has been three centuries and more since the world changed, but not much has happened since. Whether that fact bodes good or ill towards the people loyal to the Goddess, I cannot tell. The pages before this tell the story of the world and how Ethoes created all the living and nonliving things that exist upon its surface, of the rise of the god Ciarrohn and Traagien’s defeat of him, of the folly of
the elves and the creation of the humans and their eventual end. All of the pages before this one hold that story and the secrets of the royal family of Oescienne.

  Therefore I, the last Magehn of the Tanaan king, will not waste time with the tales of old. What I can tell you, however, is that three hundred years ago the Crimson King cast a terrible curse upon the last race of humans, transforming them into dragons and severing their link to the province of Oescienne. From that point on, the tie between the western province and its rightful sovereigns, the race of humans, was destroyed, setting in motion the Tyrant’s first steps in clearing the way for the complete domination of all seven provinces of Ethoes.

  A muffled shout followed by a torrent of angry words brought the Magehn’s pen to a stop. His heart quickened its pace and the throbbing in his head and shoulder fell into rhythm with it. The noise came from above, and through the tiny skylight in his cave the elfin man could barely make out the foreign tongue of several of the Tyrant’s men. He hoped they wouldn’t find his horse, but then he remembered he’d removed its bridle and saddle, encouraging the animal to flee just before he made his way down the narrow trail leading to his hiding place.

  Although he couldn’t decipher what it was the men said, the Magehn knew that they’d tracked him this far. How they found the courage to cross the mountains is beyond me, he thought bitterly. Then he realized it hadn’t been courage but fear. Those loyal to the Crimson King may have feared the far western mountains, but they feared their king more.

  The elf listened silently as the voices trailed off. When he was certain they had moved on to search for him in some other location, he got back to his work, focusing on finishing while he still could:

  Though the humans are now dragons, and those dragons are now scattered, there is reason yet to hope. The Tyrant still suffers from the wounds inflicted upon him in that final battle with the last Tanaan prince and his people; he still struggles to regain his strength from the effort it took to transform them. Yet no one knows when the Crimson King will regain his former might and attack the remaining provinces. Most believe it is only a matter of time, and time is running short.

  The last Tanaan prince is now lost. Many claim he is long dead, for wouldn’t he have returned to his people and rallied them by now, even in their reptilian forms? Yet I saw his transformation and witnessed his escape within the confusion of the aftermath of the great battle. I believe with all of my heart, though I may not live out my immortal existence as I had once hoped, that a day will come when the Tyrant’s curse is lifted and the Tanaan humans will return to rule in Oescienne once again.

  The elf halted his hand, staring down at the stark black marks he’d sketched upon the paper. He was writing in his native language, the language of the Dhonoaran elves, descendents of the Aellheians. He should have felt pride for their development of such a beautiful language, but instead he felt a bitter taste of disgust rise in his throat. So much sorrow, so much pain, destruction and avaricious betrayal had come from his people that it brought him some shame, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault.

  The Magehn drew a sharp breath as a sudden stab of pain ripped down his arm. He had been about to continue his notation but instead he paused, his jaw clenched, willing the ache to pass. As he waited in agony, he returned his thoughts to the ugly circumstances of his world. Instead of thinking of his ancient elfin ancestors, however, he recalled his own loved ones harmed or corrupted by the Tyrant King. He thought especially of the one whose trust he’d lost, someone who was still dear to him. Soon he felt another pain, a pain that would never heal. The ache in his shoulder and the ache in his heart mingled, combining to form one great pang of anguish.

  The elf took a deep breath, suppressing the distracting memories that were now surfacing in his mind. I don’t have time to tell my own story. I have time only for this . . . He forced his screaming thoughts to the back of his mind and continued on with what he had started. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, but he wrote on:

  I have spent long years mourning my king and my people, but I could not hide from the terrors of this world forever. I came out of my hiding no more than six months ago, and it took the blessed words of hope to make me finally face my fears. I knew the Tyrant searched for me, that he seeks vengeance, even now. He is aware that I hold the secrets of the Tanaan and believes that I know the location of their prince. But I braved his wrath and went forth into the world despite the great danger, for I had received word of something amazing, something extraordinary.

  Before I was tracked down and wounded by the Tyrant’s minions, I had been riding throughout all of Ethoes, spreading this great news, news of an answer to our plight. The Oracles, those that still remain with us, spoke of a miracle promised by Ethoes herself, one that could mean the salvation of our world.

  Pain beyond description flared through the elf’s fevered body. He cried out in anguish as his pen dragged across the bottom of the white paper leaving a long, jagged black line. This ache was worse than the ones before, and it struck fear into the Magehn’s heart. His eyes watered and his vision became fuzzy as he wondered about the origin of the arrow that had caused this wound. Perhaps it had been poisoned. He felt lightheaded and sensed his mind being pulled in and out of consciousness. Furiously, and with fresh determination, the last Magehn of the Tanaan king began writing as fast as he could, able to produce one more sentence before he knew no more:

  I have done what I can to spread this new prophecy throughout the land, a prophecy about the return of a lasting peace, a prophecy about a lost prince, and a prophecy about a young, pure-blooded human girl born to save us all.

  -

  Chapter One -

  A Very Surprising Discovery

  Jaax wrinkled his nose as the sound of a chattering bird pulled him from his slumber, but he kept his eyes shut and remained motionless nonetheless. Not that he could’ve moved much anyway, for the small, fern-laced hollow he’d tucked himself into the night before was just big enough to accommodate his large size, wings and all. He sighed softly, releasing a hot, smoke-tinged breath that forced the damp leaves plastered to the forest floor to peel and curl in protest.

  After a few heartbeats he risked a peek, opening one silvery-green dragon’s eye to catch a glimpse of the damp, grey morning that congested the forest like a heavy cold. Most dragons had eyes of yellow, orange or red, dominated by a wild intelligence. It was only the Tanaan dragons whose eyes were shaded in the blues, greens and browns of their human ancestors. Jaax shivered at the recollection. A terrible curse had meant the end of the humans in Ethoes, the same curse that had brought about the existence of his particular race of dragons nearly five centuries ago.

  Jaax blinked several times as if doing so would remove these dark thoughts from his mind the way tears dislodged grains of sand from one’s eyes. And his eyes were quite unique, even for a Tanaan dragon. They shone with a fierce obscurity, as if they’d been tame at one time but had since returned to being wild. Why they had become this way, however, was a mystery known entirely to the soul buried behind them. It was only during this first waking moment that Jaax revealed any clues as to what sorrows and secrets he kept locked away, but that small amount of time was never long enough for anyone to discern the dragon’s troubles.

  Jaax sighed and continued to listen to the singing bird from earlier. It was a heartsong sparrow, a harbinger of luck, hope and love. The tiny creature trilled on before it was frightened away by something larger foraging for food. Well, the dragon thought with an amused smile, at least it wasn’t me this time.

  With his fine musician flown, the dragon lifted his triangular head and gazed more thoroughly at his surroundings. The feathery ferns that brushed against his face acted as a fragile screen between his tiny vale and the outside world and the great, gnarled oaks stretching overhead resembled giant, arthritic hands reaching up out of the earth to grasp at the insubstantial fog. Despite its early morning lethargy, the forest was alive with a varie
ty of scents: cold fog, decaying leaves and the distant tang of a fresh fire being the most prominent. Jaax tilted his head to listen for possible intruders, but all he heard was the drip of condensation gathering and slapping against the leaf-litter below.

  The Tanaan dragon smiled softly, his eyelids drooping lazily as the cool silence weighed heavily upon him. His initial instincts told him there was no threat here. The instincts that ran deeper, however, told him something else. As the heartsong sparrow had announced earlier, there was change in the air, and not just any change, but a good change, one that had led him to this secluded corner of Ethoes to begin with.

  Yawning widely, Jaax stretched himself out of his forest bed, snapping twigs and cracking joints as he stood to his full height. The strong scent of earthworms and wild mushrooms filled the space around him as he pressed his weight into the dark, rich soil, and the taste of damp, mossy air filled his mouth and throat as he breathed. Jaax smiled despite himself. He loved the absolute quiet and heavy scents the fog evoked.

  The foraging animal from earlier, a towhee, noticed him immediately and twittered energetically as it fled the scene. The dragon grinned again as the bird’s distress calls disappeared into the mist. He was used to being feared but he never took it personally. As he shook the cold and sleep from his body his irony scales, rough and glimmering like polished granite, gradually changed from the bland colors of his surroundings to shades of copper, rusty bronze, deep-green and turquoise.

  Finally fully awake, Jaax at last allowed his mind to consider his long awaited duty, and the letter that had called him to it. He was here on the bank of the Saem River to retrieve a young child, a newborn baby to be exact, and, according to what the correspondence had claimed, the only one of her kind. It was a very odd task for such a large dragon, but there was a chance that this child held the fate of the world in her tiny hands.