The Second Prophecy (Part 1 of the Dragdani Prophecies)

by R. Alan Ferguson

  “Well, at least I don’t have to carry the thing.”

  He set off in the direction of the smoke at a run, his chest following his every step.

  There were trees at the borders of the field; Peter could see some them clearly. They had brown leaves and yellow trunks.

  As Peter went, he felt lighter than before, as if he had lost weight without even knowing it. He began to run faster and faster.

  While he ran, the loose muck from the ground that came off his track shoes splashed up the back of his black hoodie, covering the picture of the silver Dragon on the back and the seat of his jeans. Now he was completely covered in mud front and back. The front had dried with the force of the wind blowing against him.

  At his top speed, he had reached the cottage in a few seconds. There what Peter thought to be a horse like creature was pulling a plough, but it looked twice the size of any horse that the boy had ever seen. Then again, he had only ever seen about three or four horses in his life. The creature’s head was oddly shaped, though at that range, Peter couldn’t see its full features. He could see, however, that its head was considerably small by comparison to its overall size. Its plump, thick body led to the assumption that it was very well looked after and hardly did any work, though its legs told a different story, for they were large and finely-tuned.

  The young King could also see a man behind the creature steering the plough (presumably the farmer).

  “HELLO!” Peter shouted after the man.

  The farmer turned. “Your name, stranger,” he said as he started toward the boy.

  Peter also walked forward.

  “My name is -” Peter paused, not knowing whether he should use his Wizard name or Normal name. After a moment he decided. “My name is Peter.” He thought this best, as he did not know how well known his Wizard name might be in this new world.

  “What happened to you?” asked the man curiously. For these were surely strange sights to behold: a boy-covered head to toe in muck, not to mention the floating chest which Peter had forgotten about, and the boy’s clothes.

  “I fell in the mud.”

  “I’ll say. Well, you better come in,” the farmer said as he moved his head to gesture for Peter to go into the house.

  “Did you see that light in the sky, Jert?” said a large woman at the door of the house.

  “Huri, we have a visitor.”

  “Oh, yes, right. Well, if you what to - what happened to you?”

  “I slipped and fell in the mud,” Peter repeated.

  “Well, we’ll have to get you out of those dirty clothes. You better come in,” said the woman, who now had fixed her sight on the floating chest. “This is your chest is it?” she asked.

  “Yes, it’s one of those new chests from Earth, designed so you don’t have to carry it. Handy, don’t you think,” Peter lied.

  “That’s funny,” said the farmer smiling, “I thought it was a Wizard’s chest, and it looks by no means new.”

  His wife laughed, and Peter blushed and felt like an idiot.

  “If you’ll go on in, I’ll explain how I know what I know,” said the man.

  The farmer’s wife got Peter some clothing from a cupboard and sent him to a room to change, which he did quickly. When he emerged from the room, he was wearing a thin crimson shirt and trousers to match; he still wore his own track shoes. He made for the small living room that he had seen on his way in. Jert was sitting in one of three puffy plump chairs, which to Peter’s eyes looked very comfortable.

  “Ah, that’s a good fit,” he said as saw the boy enter. “The clothes belonged to our son.”

  “Where is he?” asked Peter keenly.

  “He’s dead,” said Jert gravely. “He left the farm for the Wiz-Wit city, Cayer-Huld, to join the Ves-guards and was killed in battle.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Peter somberly.

  “I find it’s good to think of him. Besides, we were very proud that he had decided to join the Ves-guards.”

  “So your son was a -”

  “A Wizard, yes he got it from me,” said the farmer. “You see, I was once a Ves-guard myself, and I have seen my fair share of war. Or should I say that I’ve seen too much. And after the battle of Kealhal, I went into early retirement and set up this farm.”

  “So your son followed in your foot steps and became a Wizard?”

  “Yes,” said the farmer’s wife, who peered round the corner. “In fact, we encouraged it, although I myself am not particularly fond of magic. We thought it best that Tiore know both sides of his heritage. It was only fair, after all.

  “And if you’re ready to eat, dinner’s ready,” the woman added. “You are hungry, aren’t you, Peuer?”

  “Yeah, and it’s Peter.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. It’s such a strange name. Well, the dinner’s ready, so hurry before it gets cold.”

  “It’s a Normal name,” said Jert when they sat down, “which means he’s from the Normal world, Earth. Am I right? You mentioned it earlier.”

  “Would you like a drink?” asked Huri, as though her husband had said nothing.

  “Yes, please,” replied Peter politely while taking a look about. The dining room was just as modest and quaint as the rest of the house.

  “I am right, aren’t I?” asked the farmer again.

  “I’m afraid we only have Taljun juice. Will that be all right?”

  “Please, Huri, don’t interrupt me when I’m talking to the boy,” said Jert, obviously irritated by his wife butting in.

  “You’re not talking to him, Jert; you’re interrogating the poor lad. It’s not polite.”

  “It’s okay. I came out of nowhere, and you were good enough to take me in. You have a right to ask questions,” said Peter happily.

  In truth, Peter had no idea why he was so happy. He thought it had started shortly after he took his first look around. He was amazed at how good this new world made him feel. At last he had finally felt as though a great weight had been lifted off of his chest. He felt like he had found the place where truly belonged.

  “So do you have a last name your people usually do?” said the farmer.

  “My last name is Stark, and they’re not my people, not any more,” said Peter coldly.

  “Stark?” repeated the former Wizard. “You’re not a relation of the Wizard-Elf King Jastark, his Normal name was -”

  “John Stark, he was my dad,” said the boy just as he lifted his tankard to take a swig of the juice the farmer’s wife had just set down for him. But when he did this, the sleeves of the too-short shirt that Huri had given him pulled back to reveal Peter’s wrists. The farmer saw marks on his right arm, marks that Peter did not even know about. Like his father, one of the marks was a star and the other was of the moon, though the marks on Peter’s arm were a little different. The star was not a four-point star, but an eight-point star. The moon was full instead of half, and Peter had one other mark, which the Dragdani called the Dragons eye.

  “Drago?” said the Wizard. “Ohmigods!”

  Peter and Huri both observed that the man suddenly looked as if he had been hit in the face with a shovel.

  “Is there something wrong, Jert?” asked his wife anxiously.

  The Wizard got up and grabbed his wife by the arm, which caused her to drop a couple of roast spuds onto the table. The farmer was a small, very thin man, and his wife was even smaller than him, though she had a considerably larger waistline. So he struggled to stop her from stumbling and hurting herself.

  “What his gotten into you, Jert?” asked the woman.

  “Huri, I thought I knew him from somewhere. He’s the Wizard King, and he’s sitting in our dining room about to eat from our table, and you ask me if there’s something wrong, my love. No, everything is great. Things have never been better,” the Wizard laughed. “I think I know what that light in the sky must have bee. It was him Phazing into our world. How high was the light?”

  “It was very high.”

  “Which
means he must have fallen from a great height.”

  “You say he’s the King of the whole Wiz-Wit world?” asked Huri, thinking that perhaps she had heard him wrong.

  “Yes.”

  “Omigods!” said the woman.

  “Yes, I know. That’s what I said.”

  “No, it’s not that. I don’t think we have anything that would be fit for a King to eat. I mean, what do Kings like to eat?”

  The farmer shook his head. “I don’t know. We could always ask,” he suggested.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not King yet,” said Peter, who could hear them both clearly with his new enhanced hearing. “Whatever you have is fine.”

  “Listen to the poor dear. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. He must have struck his head hard when he hit the ground,” said Huri fretfully.

  “I think he knows what he’s saying,” said the Wizard rolling his eyes.

  But despite her husband’s objections, Huri went straight out the door and over to their neighbors to see if she could borrow a good piece of meat or at least the best they had. When she returned twenty minutes later, she wasted no time in cooking the fresh Buthwut, which was a big hairy beast that smelt like a large lump of dung. Other than that, Peter was sure that the thing would be all right.

  It was not long before they were ready to eat. The farmer’s wife had cooked the creature nicely, and it smelt fantastic. Huri also put out some other dishes and, like the meat, Peter had never seen nor tasted them, though was more than willing to try them. Except for the pudding that unfortunately smelt of smelly, cheesy feet. When he was offered a piece of the offending dessert, he respectfully declined. He claimed that he was full after the dinner.

  “Are you sure? Trust me when I say that you don’t know what you’re missing,” said Huri.

  “Yeah, I know, but I can’t take any more. If I do, I think I’m going to burst.”

  “Well, at least you’ve had your fill, my lord,” said Jert.

  “You don’t have to call me that,” said Peter. “I’m not the King just yet.”

  “Oh, but you became my lord as soon as those marks showed up on your arm. You became the King of the Wiz-Wit world.”

  “What marks?” Peter looked to see what the man was on about, for as far as he knew, he had no marks of any kind.

  “You have had those all your life, but the marks of a Wizard-Elf only show when their powers are released.”

  “So what now?” Peter asked.

  “Now we need to see Euol.”

  “What’s a Euol?”

  “Euol is the owner the tavern in town,” said Jert. “He also belonged to the Ves-guards, and he was the one that I left the city of Cayer-Huld with. He was also liaison to your father before his untimely death.”

  “When are we going?” asked the boy, sounding more enthusiastic after the mention of his father.

  “As soon as you’re ready.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  “I’ll be back in a day,” the farmer said to his wife affectionately.

  “If you think that I’m waiting for you here by myself bored out of my skull while you go down the pub, you’re sadly mistaken,” said Huri. “Besides, I need to buy another Buthwut for the one we borrowed.”

  “Fine then, we’ll all go. Get whatever you need.”

  “All I need is money to buy the meat.”

  The farmer reluctantly put his hand in his pocket and brought out five Hiwwerts. “Here that should cover it.”

  “Well, actually, I want to get a few other things.”

  Again he reached into his pocket, and again took out five Hiwwert’s. “There, is that enough?”

  “We’ll see,” said his wife.

  The Wizard went for the bookcase where he lifted a small rectangle box. He opened it and took out his old wand.

  “Are you expecting trouble, husband?”

  “In this world at such a time, it would be irresponsible not to take precautions,” replied the farmer.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Jert?”

  “Lord Drago is the King of my world. Therefore, the Dark one will try anything to stop him from reaching our city,” said the farmer.

  “Jert, you will destroy us if you mention him here,” said the women fearfully as she cowered slightly at the thought of that evil coming to their happy home.

  “And as I said, taking my wand is only a precaution and nothing more.”

  The truth is, Huri never really liked the supernatural, though she did not care that Jert was a Wizard, which means she still would not stop him from using magic, for in fact, he had used magic to help them start the farm.

  “If you think it’s for the best?” said his wife.

  “I do,” replied the former Wizard.

  An uneasy silence had griped the room.

  “Lord Drago... Sorry, is it Drago, or do you prefer Peter as your name?”

  “Drago is fine,” said the boy, now regaining his senses. Really, he did not know why he referred to himself as Peter to the Wizard-farmer and his wife. “And please leave out the lord part,” he added.

  “Well then, Drago, would you like to help me get the cart ready?” asked the Wizard.

  “Really, Jert, this is your King, not a stable boy,” said his wife to the surprise of her husband and the boy King. Neither had expected the woman to react this way to the boy; she was a Normal after all. However, she had seen something in the young hero that reminded her of her own son, and therefore she felt it her duty to look out for his interests.

  “I don’t mind,” said Peter.

  “Good. I wanted the chance to talk to you man to man so to speak,” said Jert. The farmer went out first, and Peter gladly followed. They did not have go far before they reached the shed that held the coach.

  “So how heavy is this cart?” asked Peter.

  “Oh, we don’t have to worry about that,” said the farmer. He held up his wand and waved it at the shed, and its doors flew open. The Wizard slowly brought the wand back and the cart came out. When it had passed the threshold, the man waved the wand again, and the shed doors closed. He then turned to the stables again. He waved the magical rod, and the stable doors were thrown open, and an old horse appeared. This time Peter was sure that was a horse, though it was a little ragged. But what the boy didn’t know was that in that part of the world, it was rare for any farmer to own a horse, for they were very dear in price.

  “Are you sure that horse can pull that cart?” asked Peter.

  “The cart will move on its own. It’ll only appear as if the horse is pulling it,” replied Jert.

  Peter felt something nudge him from behind. It was his new, old chest that had followed them out of the house.

  “Well,” said the boy gesturing at the cart with his hand, “What are you waiting for.”

  As the trunk had not only heard but also understood, it rose up and placed itself on one of the bundles of hay that sat on the back of the cart.

  “Well, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, at least I don’t have to carry the thing,” said Peter.

  “You will when we get to town,” Jert pointed out as he fixed the horse to the cart.

  When the horse and cart were ready, Huri walked out, which meant the farmer never got the chance to talk to Peter alone.

  “You can sit in the front, and I can sit in the back if you like, my lord,” said Huri.

  “No, its okay. I’ll sit in the back,” said Peter, gritting his teeth. He hated it when they called him lord.

  Peter jumped onto the back of the wooden cart and stretched across a few of the bundles of hay. For most of the trip, he was looking up at the grey cloudy sky. The clouds had begun to break up, and for the first time Peter saw the sky in that world.

  “The sky it’s ...it’s purple!”

  “Yes, a beautiful light shade of purple, don’t you think?” said Jert. “It’s different than the Normal world isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, the sky there is blue,” replied the
boy.

  The color of the sky made no difference to the sun, for its rays were yellow, and as the clouds were breaking in the distance, it looked as though it might be a beautiful day.

  Half an hour was all it took to get to the town. As they passed through the wooden gates, Peter saw that most of the buildings were like the old English townhouses, like those of the mid-1600’s. Most of them were white, others were yellow, and some were even cream colored. They were built of stone or brick, up to a certain part. From there, beams of wood were placed in. Some of the beams were exposed. Most, however, were hidden within the buildings themselves. A lot of buildings were slated; others had only wood to cover their tops, though there were some that were still thatched. All of the slates looked brand new, and it looked as though soon enough all of the rooftops would be slated, for it seemed that a few of the buildings were stripped of whatever had covered them before and were now being fixed with slates as well.

  The farmer stopped the cart right in front of the inn that he had told Peter of, which was just across from the market stalls where Huri was headed.

  “We better hurry. The sun will be going down in about five hour’s time,” said the man while laughing.

  “I’ll be over in the market if you need me,” said Huri, letting on she didn’t hear her husband’s jest as she hurried to the stalls. She didn’t even wait for an answer.

  “Fine,” said Jert, even though he knew she was already gone. The Wizard took the horses reins and was just about to lead it forward to the small wooden stables. Just then, Peter’s magical chest sprung to life yet again and lifted itself off of the hay. Peter sprang forward and caught it. He half expected it to struggle. To the Draga-Wizard-Elf’s delight, nothing happened. Peter jumped off of the cart chest and stood there while the Wizard tied the horse to one of the wooden posts set in the stables.

  The boy held the chest tightly in his arms just in case it changed its mood and decided to dance down the street in front of any passersby.

  There were not very many walking the streets at that time, but Peter knew if even one person were to see the chest moving on its own, it would not take long for the story to travel, especially in such a small community.