SPARX Incarnation: Mark of the Green Dragon (SPARX Series I Book 1)
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; keep
Paplov shut his mouth tight, filled his cheeks with air, and did his best to muffle an oncoming flurry of coughs. I took the opportunity to blurt out something that should have been said years ago.
“Last time I went… there was something not right about the forest,” I said.
“Not right?”
“I thought it was a tree at first, but…” I trailed off. I didn’t know how to say it.
“But what?” he said.
“It moved.”
“Pardon?” he wheezed, trying to suppress the inevitable.
“It moved,” I replied, “and not just a little. It came at me. It was gnarled and crooked, with jaws and teeth and…”
Red-faced, Paplov raised his hand, shook his head, and then began to cough-roar at the notion. The act cleared his throat, at least. His voice was scratchy.
“Oh really?” he said, swallowing. “Boogalies too? And did you hear the flip-flap-flopping of their floppy wet feet? Maybe they were in the trees.”
“It wasn’t like that,” I said.
He cough-roared again, then took a long moment to regain his composure.
“Maybe you are having false recalls,” he said. “One thing’s for sure, Uncle Fyorn doesn’t miss a beat, especially in his own woods. And he never, ever mentioned anything to me about talking trees.”
“They chased me. I didn’t say they could ta—”
“I meant walking trees… whatever
I didn’t say anything, but the glance I made at my branded wrist tipped him off.
“That has nothing to do with anything,” said Paplov. “Looks like a rash. Better get it checked out – the Diviner probably has an ointment or some other remedy that’ll take care of it. Did you scratch yourself against something up in that attic?”
My eyes went wide.
“Yes – I know you were there,” he continued. “Rashes can be stubborn. They can persist for years. Does it come and go?”
I shook my head. He took a closer look, and muffled another cough.
“That mark has been there just about as long as I can remember, so no worries. You know, I’d say it was smaller years back
His explanations were ludicrous, but to pursue the matter further would be pointless – my grandfather had no real answers to offer, only mockery and half-disguised criticisms.
*
The rest of the day I spent at Webfoot Hall and that evening, I packed what I needed. At the hall, I met up with Old Remy and filed the lease records Paplov and Mayor Otis had agreed upon. He sat by himself in a cluttered corner of the administrative wing, stacks of paper and rolled maps strewn everywhere. He was the only one in Webfoot who understood the filing system, if you could call it that. The grizzled old Pip’s head was unusually small and shriveled, with only a few tufts of white hair that sprung forth from the scalp. Frog-like, his bloodshot eyes bulged out of their sockets. He reminded me that Council would still have to sign off on the final documents before they would become valid. While I was there, I got to talking about mineral claims. Old Remy provided me with a claims map and the forms that I would need to stake a claim. He said I could have them free of charge, but I paid the normal fee anyway. He also said I would have to make my own claim posts.
Back at home while packing, I pondered the coming excursion. Going to Deepweald without Paplov just didn’t seem right at first, but as night drew nearer the idea grew on me. It could be fun. I would combine my two trips into one. What could be better after visiting Fyorn than a treasure hunt? And maybe – just maybe – we could get a start on a mining claim.
I debated which cloak to bring and whether or not to bother with boots. I chose the heavier of my two cloaks, despite the fact that the weather was warming up. It would keep the bugs from biting through the material in the evening on our way home, and it would also show better to Holly. And oh yes, Holly definitely would be invited. I could only hope that Mer remembered to make that point clear when he passed on my message to Bobbin at the Flipside – Stout memories are so unreliable.
Boots… I hated wearing them. The return trip could be problematic though, with bugs nipping at my toes near sundown. I decided to carry a light pair in my pack. I hooked my bow in as well, unstrung, in case my uncle had time for target practice. I expected a lighter load on the return trip, since Paplov already had a full stock of deepwood. As for the stone that Mer had referred to as some form of light-emitting, ancient tree gum, I wrapped it in leather to hide the flashing and stuffed it into my pocket.
*
The next morning, I skipped breakfast to save time. Fully burdened, I made my way to Paplov’s night chamber to bid him farewell. It was empty. I stumbled in the dark to the study, and found him asleep in his favorite wicker chair again.
Now Paplov would have never let me go to Fyorn’s without him if he was not sick, and adding time for treasure hunting afterwards would have been a tough sell. Lately, there had only been time for work, one kind of training or another, and chores. It was suffocating. Not to mention the recent dangers to travelers that everyone was talking about. This trip is freedom, I decided, as I watched him in his sleep.
Paplov jerked when I touched his shoulder ever so lightly. In the dim light, the spittle that ran down from the corner of his mouth was barely noticeable. I spoke quietly.
“I’m off to Uncle Fyorn’s now, OK?” I said. “And then some treasure hunting.”
Eyelids pumping, Paplov turned his head towards me and murmured something unintelligible.
I took that as a “Yes,” whispered a soft goodbye, and left him sleeping as I set out to town. And that is how, without so much as breakfast, I was out the door and down the road in no time flat. Making up the lost meal would be easy enough: plenty of wild forage could be found on the way, even that time of year – sour moss berries that had wintered well and bitter catkins, for starters.
I picked up Gariff along the way, already hard at work with his kin – it was a family business. His “Pops” liked to get out early and accomplish as much as possible “before the bugs woke up” as he would say. With both hands grasping the sturdy wooden handle of his shovel and leaning all his weight on it, Gariff’s father spoke with a gravelly voice.
“Come to steal away my best worker?”
“I’m not go’in anywhere,” said a cousin.
Gariff was in the midst of lifting more than he should. He couldn’t even see over the blocks he was carrying. The stumble in his step didn’t deter him. When he unloaded, he looked up at his father like a hound waiting to fetch. All he got was a lecture.
“Why didn’t ya tell me earlier?” said Pops to his son.
“Never plan yer day around a Pip,” said an uncle. “Don’t ye know that?”
Gariff shrugged his shoulders. Pops rubbed the beard on his chin, thick and grey-speckled, then sighed. “There’s no arguing that point. Ahh, go on,” he said. “It’s nigh summer. Just be back in town before dark. Got it?”
“Got it!” said Gariff.
“And bring Kabor wit’ya this time!” he said. I detected a hint of annoyance in his voice.
Gariff brushed the dirt off his shirt and pants, took his hat off to give it a shake, and then placed it firmly on his head. According to him, Kabor hadn’t left the Flipside, so we headed there next to round up the other three.
When we arrived at the inn, we met round Bobbin first, who just happened to be tidying up the foyer. As Pips go, he was a bit of a novelty. In the right light, the splotches of color along Bobbin’s neck matched the pattern of a devil’s paintbrush, replacing the usual muted green or brown markings that appear on most Pips with a slash of red. Although a few years younger than the lot of us, he made up for that deficiency through sheer entertainment value and, being the only child of
the more than generous Numbits, by virtue of the palatable benefits that extended to his friends. He habitually raided the kitchen on our behalf.
“Hello Nud! Hello Gariff!” he said as we entered. “Mer told Holly who told me all about the treasure hunt and the claim staking. Are we leaving already?”
“Right away,” I said. “I have to stop at my uncle’s first though.”
“What?” said Gariff.
“Is he the important Elderkin you were supposed to meet?” said Bobbin.
“That’s him,” I said.
Gariff mumbled something under his breath.
“Where’s Holly,” I asked Bobbin.
“We don’t serve holly here,” Bobbin tootled. “The berries are toxic.”
Gariff shook his head. “Here we go.”
“Don’t worry, Loverboy,” Bobbin said to me. “I’ll find her. She’s excited about going. Give me two shakes to get some food together too. We have to eat, you know.”
Loverboy? My face felt hot, flush. What does he mean by that? Gariff chuckled and Bobbin wore a goofy look from ear to ear.
“Shut up!” I told the Stout, and gave him a shove. It was like trying to move a tree stump. He turned to Bobbin.
“Have you seen my busy cousin?” he said.
“I didn’t know you had one,” replied Bobbin.
“Too busy for work, that is,” said Gariff.
Bobbin stopped. “Oh, that kind of busy. I haven’t seen him at all this morning. He’s probably still sleeping.”
The young Numbit ran out back to the cookhouse to pack as much food as he possibly could carry and also to find Holly, who was not in her room.
Gariff went to fetch Kabor, leaving me alone in the foyer.
It was too early for the breakfast crowd. The greeter’s desk was vacant, the hearth gloomy and lifeless. Stepping into the great room, I immediately felt a sense of loss, as though I had just missed my own birthday party. The place didn’t look quite right so empty, so calm. It was too quiet, and too tidy.
The floor had been swept and the tables wiped clean, and extra chairs stacked up to one side of the stage. Windows were open, but the fresh morning breeze could not hide the layering of smoke, ale-soaked wood, and scented hints of old clothes left too long in a pile.
My stomach began to churn. I couldn’t stop thinking about Holly. I wanted to remember everything about that night, but only if it was good. And what if it wasn’t?
Just then, Holly entered the great room, alone and carrying a book. She wore a loose shirt and a form-fitting skirt. Her lean athleticism struck me.
“Hello, Holly,” I said. “You look good.”
“Thank you, Nud,” she replied. “And good morning, what brings you here so early?”
“Plans have changed,” I told her, “We’re visiting my uncle and going treasure hunting, all in one day.”
Holly bounced with excitement as though her perfect wish had just come true. “We get to do both!” she exclaimed. “That’s even better than what Mer told me.” She went on to very specifically confirm that, indeed, we were to visit a real, bonafide Elderkin.
“What’s his name?” she asked, ears pricked. Her olive eyes shone and her slender jaw hung slightly open with anticipation.
“Fyorn,” I said.
“Fyorn,” she repeated, “that’s a nice name.” She said it again musically, teasing out the syllables with inflection. “Fy-orn.” Dreamy-eyed, she raised a hand to her chest and ran her fingers along the beaded necklace that she wore. It was the same one she had worn that night when I first saw her.
Holly granted me a mischievous smirk and a gentle shoulder nudge. Her voice was playful. “You tried to kiss me,” she said outright.
“I… err… sorry. I don’t even remember the part about kissing girls—” She cut me off right there.
“Girl-ss,” she said, emphasizing the ‘s.’”
“I mean…”
Disaster.
“Great. How nice for you,” she said. I don’t think she really meant it.
“Humph. I have to put my book away.” She turned to go.
“What book is it?” I asked, my attempt at damage control. She paused and turned her head, nose slightly in the air.
“Elderkin legends,” she replied. “Your friend Kabor helped me to track it down. He is quite resourceful and good company. Does he ever mention me?”
That was not what I wanted to hear. “No,” I said.
Holly shrugged and left me standing there alone again. I shook off my carelessness as best I could, and then took out the claims map to study more carefully than I had at the hall.
*
Gariff returned first, fully laden. His adventuring gear had already been packed and ready. Kabor followed soon after and then Holly, minus the book.
Gariff addressed me about the map. “What do we have here?” he said, peering over my shoulder. Kabor and Holly came over to have a look as well. As we went over it, I explained to them everything that Old Remy had told me.
“I can make the claim posts on the fly, no problem,” said Gariff. “I just need to know what to put on them.”
“Do you know where to put them?” I said.
Gariff scratched his scruff. “I have an idea. I can bang them in the ground where I think they should go, but Mer should be the one to verify that they’re placed right.”
“Do we really need him?” said Holly.
“Sure do,” said Gariff. “Like I said, I know enough to get us started and I can make a few pretty good guesses… maybe, but a professional has to look it over. There’s lots to know when it comes to prospecting, if you want to do it right.”
Bobbin was taking his sweet time.
“NUMBIT!” Gariff’s voice boomed, and then echoed back.
From the cookhouse, our well-rounded friend squeaked back politely. “Coming,” he said. Moments later, he repeated his assurance: “I’m coming… just a minute…”
Bobbin’s jolly red face eventually bobbed into the great room, arms fully laden with everything he would need – food. His pack was already so stuffed he could not close it properly. Holly approached him and began fussing with it. She quickly became frustrated with his lack of organization.
“Don’t worry,” said Bobbin. “It’ll be a lot less full on the way back.”
“Not if you fill it with Fyorn’s maple candy,” I said. His eyes lit up. Holly grunted as she pulled hard on the straps, sealing the pack tight.
“The last thing he needs is more candy,” she said, her voice stern. Bobbin’s face went sour.
Despite all the antics and minor setbacks, all were eager for an adventure that morning. We set out for Deepweald together.
It promised to be a fine day for travel – cool and foggy so early in the morning, but it wouldn’t be long before the sun burned through the mist and a good breeze blew up. That would keep the bugs down and spirits up.
CHAPTER XII
Interlude - Some great thing
Once, I was much like a typical flesh-bearer, awake at dawn and asleep after nightfall. But now that I am scaled and bark-skinned, sleep is more of a seasonal thing. So I have no qualms about carrying on after sunset and into the dawn, and all the next day again and the day after that too, if need be. The real night for me is long and cold and goes by the name of “Old Man Winter.” Not to say that you will never see a Green Dragon about in the winter months – it just doesn’t happen very often.
No worries then, plenty of time, everything will be recorded before its too late… if I hurry. All must be scribed before that ranger’s perfect storm arrives. The winds are howling tonight; it’s the fury from the east he’s been waiting for so patiently, all through the fall. So many colorful leaves will be blown to oblivion if this keeps up.
You might recall that early on, one of the first comments I made was that this tale is “the beginning of the end for some great thing.” I suppose all beginnings are the beginning of an end of sorts. What begins and never e
nds? – sounds like a child’s riddle. Maybe that all eternal Time is not a bad answer, but even Time is so constrained. Then so must everything be… well, almost everything…
It is coming. I can feel the surge through my heartwood. In all the days I was my former self – my flesh-and-blood self – I believed this saga began with the coming journey, the outing from the Flipside that I am about to tell tale of. But now that I am tapped into the Hurlorn consciousness, and as I near the very end alluded to, I know better. This part I speak of next is more of a tipping point than the beginning of an end.
My involvement was inevitable, really, and integral to the progression of a cycle that I had no idea even existed. I had become an important cog in a great wheel without even knowing it. It’s the little things that the Hurlorns seem to pick up on, the subtle ways that can make all the difference when you sum them all up. I am sure that the stubbornness of the Leatherleaf family played a crucial role, as did an engrained independence streak and an overwhelming sense of civic duty. The ability to negotiate a deal factored in as well. Contacts also had to be an indispensible part of the grand scheme. But more importantly, it was the interplay of these factors on the great undertakings of my time, hanging in the balance, that made all the difference, together with the right combination of means to adapt to whatever came of them.
As so often seems to happen in life, the chains of events loop in on themselves. In a sense, the beginning and the end are ever entangled. Recognizing such things for what they are is important to a Hurlorn.
CHAPTER XIII
Friendly passage
Gariff obsessed over the prospect of buried treasure. He kept our wandering minds fixed on the “real purpose of the trip” as we made our way out of town. “Nevermind Fyorn,” he told us straight away, and “Don’t waste yer time on Elderkin fancy,” whatever that meant. My personal favorite: “Save yer energy for diggin’.” He spoke over anyone that tried to get a word in edgewise, which was unusual for Gariff. Not even Holly chose to take issue with him, which was unusual for one so contrary. Excitement bubbled into every word, every breath, and that was all before we even reached the gate out of town. Once beyond the tall, oaken arch, the Stout seemed satisfied to have said his piece. For a long stretch, I took simple pleasure in the sounds of our footsteps and the fading voices of wall guards as they chatted endlessly about town gossip and the weather. But Gariff wasn’t quite done talking yet.