The Finding

by Jenna Elizabeth Johnson

  Abdhe looked down at Jahrra crouched beside the rocking chair like a timid puppy. What am I to do? he thought, brokenhearted and vulnerable. Lynhi had contracted the horrible fever, the one responsible for so many deaths. The doctor had told him she had at the most a week left to live, and that he was already showing signs of the fever as well. What will happen to our Jahrra? he thought mournfully, who’ll make sure she grows up safe? Abdhe could no longer hold back his tears.

  The sight of her father’s pain caused Jahrra to crumble. “Oh, Pada!” she cried, “What’s wrong?”

  Abdhe looked at his young daughter through glistening eyes and saw the future of Ethoes in her face. He smiled quietly, the smile of one who’d been defeated but still had so much left to give. He and Lynhi had lived a good life, many years long. He didn’t fear this fate, but he did fear for Jahrra.

  Oh little one, my daughter. What trials and tribulations you will someday face. If only I could be there with you. At least this disease can’t hurt you. You don’t know it, but you are immune; your pure human blood resists this plague . . . he thought sadly as Jahrra cried freely against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, cherishing every second he could still hold her close.

  Two days later, Lynhi died from the fever. She’d lost consciousness the day Jahrra had come home to find her father in his wife’s rocking chair, her patchwork quilt wrapped around him. Abdhe himself lasted a little while longer, but Jahrra watched him deteriorate over the next week. Abdhe knew he was doomed the day the doctor arrived and told him of the fever, but he couldn’t worry about that, he had to find Jahrra a new family to live with. The obvious choice was Kaihmen and Nuhra, but before they could be consulted, Hroombra stepped forward insisting that Jahrra become his ward.

  The doctor, not surprisingly, didn’t approve. “A dragon raising a little girl? It’s unheard of!” he had puffed.

  But he was in no place to challenge a full-grown dragon.

  As soon as Hroombra had heard about Abdhe’s and Lynhi’s condition, he’d immediately sent word to Jaax informing him of the tragic events, begging the younger dragon to bring the anecdote. By the time Jaax received Hroombra’s frantic message and found the medicine, it was too late.

  Jahrra was never supposed to know of this, but sometimes adults are not as careful as they think. She’d taken to sleeping in the living room after her mother’s death, but most of the time she spent the night awake, crying into her pillow. The doctor had turned the room into a makeshift hospital, and although he tried in vain to keep the girl away from his contagious patient, she refused to leave her father’s side.

  It was during one of these restless nights that Jahrra overheard a conversation between Hroombra and the doctor, informing him that Jaax was being summoned to bring the cure for the sickness. Jahrra pretended to be asleep and listened quietly to the two adults whispering to each other through the window.

  “Raejaaxorix knows where the medicine can be found. If only this province hadn’t run out of it!”

  Hroombra sounded very angry and frustrated, a frightening combination in one usually so calm. Jahrra quietly wondered if Hroombra felt this way often, but only revealed it when she wasn’t around.

  “Will he get it here on time?” the doctor asked nervously.

  “We can only hope,” Hroombra replied solemnly.

  Jahrra’s hopes rose a little despite her sorrow. Jaax will save my Pada! she thought fervently. She was still rather numb from her mother’s death, but losing her father as well would be unbearable. As she snuggled under her thick quilt she hoped beyond all hope that Jaax would come with the medicine in time.

  When the remedy finally did arrive, Jaax himself did not bring it. Rather, it was delivered by a man whose face and name Jahrra never learned. He rode up in the dead of night, speaking to Hroombra in what sounded like a strange language. Jahrra slept more easily that night, believing that her father would be saved, saved by the dragon she’d always thought of as a hero. But it had been too late; the fever was too far gone.

  On the day that Abdhe died, Jahrra was brought to sit next to him. “She must be allowed to be near him or she’ll regret it for the rest of her life.” Hroombra told the doctor who still feared the young girl might contract the disease.

  Jahrra sat down beside her father’s bed and set her face obstinately against the tears forming behind her eyes. You’ll be alright Pada, I know it. Jaax brought you the medicine. I heard them talking, you’ll be alright, she thought stubbornly.

  The final hours were hard, with Abdhe falling in and out of consciousness and finally passing into some kind of delirium where he no longer recognized his daughter. Jahrra kept clinging to her small shred of hope, believing he would survive because Jaax couldn’t have failed him, couldn’t have failed her.

  But Abdhe kept calling for his daughter and his wife, and Jahrra kept saying, “I’m here Pada, I’m here!” through angry and desperate tears.

  When her father finally passed, Jahrra lost all faith in hoping, and she began to hate Jaax more than she hated anyone or anything in the world. It was a resentment he didn’t deserve, but it was the only way for such a small girl to deal with her sorrow. Her grief and anger distorted her thinking and although she should have realized that her father’s death was no more Jaax’s fault than it was her own, her young mind equated the two.

  Jaax, the hero of all those stories, the one who’d brought her Phrym, had failed her when she needed him most. The great dragon she once admired now became a vessel to deliver all of her pain; all of the sorrow she felt for losing her parents, all of the anger she felt towards those who taunted her at school, and all of the fear she felt towards being suddenly alone in this world.

  The weeks that followed became a black, empty space in Jahrra’s mind. She walked around as if in a fog, unaware of the world and people around her. Kaihmen, Nuhra, Gieaun, Scede and Hroombra watched her carefully and often had to say her name several times before she heard them. Jahrra was drowning in her grief and even avoided Phrym while she stayed at Wood’s End Ranch.

  After her parents’ funeral, Jahrra moved into the Castle Guard Ruin with Hroombra. She shuffled through the small entryway without even gawking at the high, vaulted ceiling. She walked past Hroombra’s massive desk littered with scrolls, parchment and its usual variety of glass jars containing an odd assortment of objects, but this familiar scene held no magic for her today. She almost lost her footing when she stepped down into the enormous living area, her boots scuffing against the stone floor. The great, black yawning mouth of the fireplace on the northern wall matched her mood, but she hardly realized it was there. Even the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on either side of the fireplace went unnoticed.

  Hroombra came quietly in through the larger entrance at the north end of the building, making plenty of noise to disturb the eerie silence. Whenever Jahrra was here it was seldom silent, but he could understand why she hadn’t said a word the entire time it took him to carry her from Wood’s End Ranch. She was now staring into the small room he’d once used as a storage space, staring but not seeing. Kaihmen had helped him clean it out the day before and now Jahrra’s bed and scant furniture occupied the room.

  The dragon took a weary breath and let it out slowly. “That,” he said tentatively, “will be your new room, Jahrra.”

  A single tear slid down the girl’s cheek. She didn’t say a word, she didn’t even nod. She simply moved forward like a ghost and sat down heavily on her bed. Jahrra missed her apple trees and cottage terribly. She missed the pigs, chickens, and their dairy cow, always happy to see her with a bucket of feed. She was far too distracted now to be grateful they’d been taken to Wood’s End Ranch instead of being sold away to strangers. She missed the crooked walls and the roses growing helter-skelter on the fence, and she especially missed the half finished tree house she and her father had started last summer.

  Hroombra’s heart broke as he watched the girl, once so full of life and vigor, sit
ting defeated and broken before him. He wished more than anything that he could comfort her somehow, but he knew the only true comfort was time, the slow and healing passage of time.

  As Jahrra lay in bed that first night in her new room, she tried so hard not to cry while she thought about her lost parents and her abandoned home. It’s hard now, a quiet voice inside of her said, and it’ll take a long time to heal, but you’ll heal, and life will get better. Jahrra’s last image before she drifted off to sleep was one of her mother and father, smiling down at her, their heads surrounded by a garland of pink apple blossoms.

  -

  Chapter Nine -

  Moving On

  In the end, it took Jahrra more than a year to get past her parents’ deaths. She finished her schooling with Hroombra that spring, not once stepping foot in the classroom in Aldehren. The old dragon knew this was the best for Jahrra, believing that being away from the hateful Resai children would speed up her recovery. Gieaun and Scede, no longer on bad terms with their best friend, visited her every day, filling Jahrra in with what she was missing at school. At first, she found it hard to concentrate on her lessons, but by the time summer arrived she was as fluent in history, mathematics, science and grammar as her friends.

  Jahrra appreciated the delicate kindness everyone bestowed upon her, but it was Phrym who was the biggest comfort of all. The young semequin offered something no one else could by simply being present to listen to her sorrows without casting her sympathetic glances.

  “Soon, I’ll be able to ride you across these fields Phrym, and maybe I won’t feel so sad anymore,” Jahrra would whisper quietly as she leaned her head against his warm shoulder.

  He was nearly full grown and it wouldn’t be long before he’d be old enough to ride, but even that pleasant thought did little to pull Jahrra out of her misery.

  When summer arrived, Jahrra found herself looking forward to something for the first time in months. She spent much of her time at Wood’s End Ranch, perfecting her horse riding skills with Gieaun and Scede as the three of them raced along the edge of the Great Sloping Hill. They’d start at the Castle Guard Ruin and sweep in a long curve, dodging around the great eucalyptus trees on the bluff’s edge until they reached the border of the Wreing Florenn. They would leave their horses tied several yards away and then venture towards the dreaded forest. They would move as close as they dared until becoming so spooked they’d run screaming in the opposite direction, leaving anyone who might be watching staring in puzzlement.

  “Someday I’ll go in there! I mean it!” Jahrra breathed as they skidded to a halt in front of the startled horses.

  “Yeah right!” Gieaun exclaimed. “You won’t even swim in Ossar Lake without getting scared!”

  That statement caused the corners of Jahrra’s mouth to curve upward in an unfamiliar way. It’d been such a long time since she last smiled that it actually hurt to do so. The laughter continued all the way back to the ranch, all three of them clutching their sides. When Hroombra, Kaihmen or Nuhra saw them together like this their grief for Jahrra would melt away, if only for that moment.

  The summer passed by rather quickly now that Jahrra had taken notice of time again. By the beginning of her third school year, she’d become much more knowledgeable in the many subjects Hroombra had taught her, and she actually felt ready to face her old classmates. The first day of school began on an oppressively hot fall day with Mr. Dharedth picking Jahrra up at the Castle Guard Ruin instead of in front of her little cabin.

  The mailman seemed to treat her more delicately now, knowing that she’d faced tragedy. He spoke more gently and laughed less aggressively, softening everything about him. Jahrra appreciated his kindness, but she missed the jovial mailman of old. When they arrived at the schoolhouse, Jahrra’s fragile confidence shattered. The second they set foot out of the mail cart they learned that their old schoolmaster, Mr. Cohrbin, had left to teach in another town.

  Their new teacher was a middle-aged Resai man who had shrewd black eyes, a balding head and wore a sneer of disgust whenever Jahrra, Gieaun or Scede brushed by him on the way to the classroom. He had a narrow face and was shorter than most of the older students but walked around like he was the tallest person in the world. He wore mostly black except for a white, tight collared shirt that seemed to stretch his neck out, making him look like a sallow-faced crane.

  The small amount of graying brown hair he did have left on his head was pulled tightly into a neat ponytail at the base of his skull. Jahrra was tempted on many occasions to pull it as hard as she could, but feared it might come right off. He was a despicable man that disliked non-Resai children and had extremely high standards, which included his insistence on the children calling him “Professor” Tarnik.

  The worst part about their new teacher, Jahrra decided, was that he favored Eydeth and Ellysian above all the other students. He constantly complimented them, admiring the impeccable way they wore their uniforms or praising their shoddy class work. Jahrra often made a face at Gieaun and Scede when Tarnik extolled Ellysian’s terrible art project or gave high marks to Eydeth’s atrocious grammar.

  “He only likes them because their parents are rich!” Gieaun said in distaste.

  “Father and I saw him in Toria Town a few days ago bowing as Ellysian’s father walked by. He almost fell down trying to impress him!” Scede said, trying hard not to snigger.

  The three had a good laugh over it time and again and soon found comfort in mocking their horrible teacher in secret. Jahrra wouldn’t have minded their awful teacher so much if Tarnik’s fawning hadn’t made the twins more conceited than ever. Their teasing had gone from occasional quiet comments under Mr. Cohrbin’s careful watch, to daily public berating under Tarnik’s blind eye. Eydeth and Ellysian insulted Jahrra right in front of their biased teacher and had even started calling her the “Nesnan Orphan.”

  “Oh, poor little Nesnan Orphan!” Eydeth exclaimed placing his hands on his cheeks dramatically. “No one wants her now that her parents are dead, not even her friends. She has to go live with that old lizard!”

  Some children would laugh hysterically at these comments, but others became disgusted.

  “What’s wrong with you!” a small girl with auburn hair said one day. “How’d you like it if your mom and dad died and people made fun of you?”

  Jahrra, who’d been blasted with a sickening wave of anger and hurt from Eydeth’s comments, stood gaping at the girl. No one, besides Gieaun and Scede of course, had ever stood up for her before. As grateful as she was, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for the girl. She and her brother were new students this year and they hadn’t yet learned the pecking order at the schoolhouse yet.

  Eydeth just sneered at the comment and said, “You’d better be careful what you say Rhudedth or you’ll be joining the Nesnan and her two loser friends.”

  The girl simply crossed her arms and scowled, obviously not wanting to cause a scene but determined to show Eydeth she wasn’t afraid of his threats.

  The girl called Rhudedth walked away with her brother to the other side of the yard, and Eydeth, gratefully, forgot about Jahrra and her friends. The three of them climbed up into their oak tree and listened blandly to what Ellysian was saying across the yard. It turned out that she and Eydeth could trace their pure elf ancestry back just three generations, and she had no problem blaring it in her whiny voice for all to hear.

  “My father,” she piped obnoxiously, “is the grandson of a very important pure elfin noble who lives in the east.”

  She then began strutting about the yard like an overstuffed peacock, shouting out orders and demanding that every student do as she said. Eydeth was no better. He acted as one of her guards, making absolutely sure that the “queen” got her way.

  “Bow before the Queen!” the young boy would snarl.

  “Queen Ellysian’s” tour of the yard continued with Eydeth keeping everyone in line. Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede laughed into their hands wildly, trying not to make
a sound as the children following Ellysian scattered about the meadow, desperately looking for them as she screamed, “Find the evil Nesnan and her traitorous friends!”

  Luckily, Ellysian and Eydeth grew tired of this after a few weeks as the other students became less inclined to do their bidding. Once again, to her great relief, Jahrra became invisible, an outcast both inside and outside of school. Anytime she saw one of her classmates in town or at Lake Ossar, they gave her a wary look and quickly moved away as if avoiding a rabid animal.

  Jahrra knew that this was mostly because of the twins’ influence, but she wondered if some of it had to do with her constant depression. She tried hard to be the person she was before her mother and father died, but most of the time she was withdrawn and morose, as if she had a raincloud following her around all the time.

  The crimson and gold of fall faded into shades of grays and blues, and Jahrra found herself dreading the approaching winter. The Harvest Festival and Solsticetide crept by and Hroombra, Kaihmen, Nuhra, Gieaun and Scede were careful of what they said around her during this dark time of the year. Jahrra’s ninth birthday passed pleasantly, but her improvement of spirit suddenly began slowing down and came to a standstill when the first anniversary of her parents’ deaths arrived.

  Jahrra spent that day alone, looking out over the edge of the Great Sloping Hill, allowing the sun’s distant warmth to flood over her. She thought of her parents and wondered how she’d survived this first year without them, but she already knew why.

  In the end it was because of a familiar figure, not in her daily life, but in her dreams. Jahrra used the day’s quiet somber mood to recall the strange dreams that had haunted her for nearly a year, dreams that she kept fiercely to herself. During the months following that tragic week, Jahrra had woken regularly in the night, crying uncontrollably. Hroombra had stood outside her door, his great head looking dark and menacing as he did his best to calm her, wishing he could do more than just whisper comforting words.