by Linda Jordan
It was still early as the men saddled their horses to hunt again. They would leave nothing behind. The cask from the ale was burnt last night, the metal staves bent and put in someone’s saddlebag. The deer meat was divided up, the carcass buried and the fire pit covered over with moss and quickly transplanted short plants. Ewan carefully swept the entire area with branches, erasing foot and hoof prints. Once they were back on the road, their camp would look as if no one had been there.
A guard yelled out and they stood alert as hoof beats clattered on the rocks and a messenger rode quickly into their midst. Ronan recognized him from his father’s household.
Roderick took the messenger aside and listened with a grim face. He motioned to James and Eric, his two most trusted advisors and spoke quickly with them.
Ronan watched and exchanged glances with Ewan. He put his face in Pinecone’s mane and breathed horse scent in deeply. He wanted nothing more than to go to Aste’s and find out about Mira.
Roderick got everyone’s attention, announcing his need to return home. As they packed up, his father pulled Ronan aside and spoke quietly.
“One of my spies has informed me that Nakia and the Sorcerer are plotting against the dragons. This cannot happen. If humans and dragons go to war, the dragons would make us all vulture food. I have decided to seek alliance with the dragons. You are the only dragon speaker that I can trust, I wish you to go contact them and ask for their help.”
Ronan felt alarmed at such news. Roderick sighed deeply, then rested a hand on his shoulder.
Such a step by the Queen and Sorcerer was suicide. For his father to ask such a thing of him meant the time grew near to act. However, even if the dragons would talk with him and not fry him alive, chances were not good they would agree to an alliance. “What do you want me to say?” he asked.
“Tell them there is a plot against them and we ask for their help in removing the Queen from power. When you are finished, come to me and I will have something for you to relate to the pooka.”
He finished packing, mulling over the news. His father would finally be making the move they had planned for turns. He watched Roderick walk through the camp speaking privately to Ewan and then to each of the men in turn. He knew Roderick was arranging for all things to be set in motion.
As he mounted up and began to ride off, Ewan grabbed his leg. “Have a care brother,” Ewan said. “You have the easy job. I must meet with Lady Otalla and persuade her she wants to be on our side.” He dramatically shuddered with distaste.
Ronan laughed. “We will meet again,” Ewan had never been able to break through Lady Otalla’s distaste of young lords. He had steadily been making friends with other nobles throughout the turns, traveling around the land with the pretense of sightseeing and hunting. Ronan did the same, but with his special abilities, his mission lay elsewhere.
The trail through the Azure Mountains led directly past the Witch. If these were going to be his last days alive, he would at least learn more about the redhead, he thought while riding through the woods. He reached the Witch’s home while it was still early morning.
He left Pinecone to graze beneath the tree and climbed the staircase. Knocking on the door, he searched for words. Ronan felt torn for the first time in his life between what he wanted and doing important work to depose the Queen and bring his father to rule. Work only he could do, but it would take time to pursue Mira. She would be difficult to impress. His job was to talk to dragons and pooka and do the other things Roderick would come up with. Somehow he must find a way to do both.
His turmoil was interrupted when the door opened. Aste stood in the doorway. He saw steam rising in the background, but little else. As he opened his mouth to talk, she shushed him and motioned for him to wait, then closed the door.
A few moments later she returned and said, “I wondered how long it would take you to come to your senses. The woman you seek is named Mira. She leaves here the day after tomorrow and must travel to the Tower of the Black Opal. She will need assistance on the road, especially after she passes over the mountains. Once her presence is discovered, she will have many deadly enemies. Wear this pouch around your neck and contemplate what you are willing to do to have her in your life.” She turned to go.
“Please, Aste, wait.”
“Ah, so you do know my name,”
“Of course,” he said feeling embarrassed. “I must warn you. I know you have kept yourself isolated from politics lately, but huge changes are coming. They may effect you, because the Sorcerer is involved.”
Aste spat, “That vile creature has made his own path. It will be ended. Do not worry about him. I will take care of my mistakes.” She paused and looked him in the eye, “Surely, you did not come to tell me this?”
He felt his face flush. “No, you are right, I came about the redhead. Mira.”
“Good, take care you choose the right redhead.” She turned and went inside.
He stood for a minute looking at the closed door puzzled about what she said. He, like everyone else, didn’t find the Witch’s riddles amusing. As he descended the stairs, Ronan wondered what he needed to do, to change to have Mira in his life? Would she be worth him doing something he knew was wrong? No, he decided. He wouldn’t go that far. Did Aste mean he needed to change himself? But, he would do almost anything that felt right to gain this woman.
Calling Pinecone, he realized the pouch was still in his hand. He smelled it, flowery, pungent and strong, then tied it around his neck, tucking it into his shirt. Instinct told him to trust Aste even as he wondered what the charm was meant for. Some clarity would certainly be welcome. Pinecone nuzzled the bag beneath his shirt as Ronan untied him.
They set off down the trail to find the dragons. While riding, he tried to understand Aste’s words but realized there would be no clear answer until later. His thoughts moved towards the dragons.
There was no surety they would talk to him. When he contacted them last, several turns ago, a separatist movement had grown and gained power within their political system. They wanted no humans around.
He found the old road and Pinecone almost flew down it, so eager to run. Ronan felt his loose hair whipping behind him, tangling with the horse’s mane as he crouched, his face near Pinecone’s outstretched neck. The wind blew through their nostrils and the pounding of the stone road beneath them reverberated throughout their bodies. He loved times like this when their oneness was complete.
After a time Pinecone slowed to a trot and Ronan speculated about how to approach the dragons. If they had all became separatists, he’d be most unwelcome and his news and offer would be inflammatory.
His tutors had told him the problems between humans and dragons began fifty turns ago with the great unicorn massacre. Unicorns of every color , black, white, pinto, roan, bay, golden and even speckled had filled the plains. White unicorns were the most common and the herds seemed healthiest with this balance. Many unicorn horns were spotted or patched with color, frosted or roaned as well, and highly prized by humans as an aphrodisiac. Because of the danger, the horns were only taken from dead unicorns. The glorious herds had been incredible to watch, he was told. Occasionally dragons or humans preyed on them, humans for the horns and dragons for the meat. Unicorns possessed their own very alien magic and used it when cornered, making them deadly.
The dragons flew in abundance at that time. Their number increased and many bonded with humans. The two species shared a smooth relationship; fertility and ease had covered the Land of the Black Opal.
The unicorns, many of whom became so fearless and powerful that they wandered the city streets. They trespassed into the royal gardens and dined on Nakia’s rare black roses, which only bloomed once a turn. The Queen, who had become mentally unstable, decided to teach them a lesson. She persuaded the dragons to join in a hunt with humans and the destruction that followed was unanticipated by all.
Nakia tapped into very dark magic and made a potion for all the human hunters. As they d
rank their emotions seeped into the dragons joined with them. A blood rage rose among the dragons that was insatiable. The joined pairs began the hunt. All the unicorns in the city were slaughtered. The massacre spread to the plains where they were nearly all killed as well. The only survivors were black for they ran into the Black Silk Canyons and vanished among the rocks. Even the dragons could not see them and humans were unable to flush them out. Eventually the surviving unicorns moved into the mountains far away from most humans and stayed hidden. No one had caught even a glimpse of anything other than a black unicorn since that time.
As the potion wore off, humans returned to their former selves. They and their dragons felt appalled after realizing what they had done. They had been bewitched by evil magic. The human and dragon pairs felt such despair they committed suicide by dashing themselves against the sharp cliffs near the Inland Sea until it ran crimson and amber with blood. The remaining dragons vowed never to join with humans again or to reproduce unless the unicorn population began to recover and the white unicorns reappeared. The number of dragons dwindled and the fabric of their world began to unravel.
Ronan asked Pinecone to slow to a walk. He shifted in the saddle and rubbed the horse’s neck affectionately.
Many humans not only felt little regret for the devastation to the unicorns, they still continued to hunt them. One of his tutors pinpointed the massacre as the first slippery footstep down the slope to where their world was now. People gave up being nomads. The tutor surmised they stood only about three more steps from falling into a boiling pool of swampy water, from which there could be no return.
After a day of hard riding they reached Fire Pass, the highest pass in the mountains. He left Pinecone, unsaddled, close to a hidden cave. Horses felt uneasy around dragons. Pinecone looked at him worriedly. Ronan brought up an image in his mind of the horse safely grazing with a herd and sent it to the stallion. Pinecone relaxed and found a place large enough to roll. Then Ronan turned and walked up the canyon floor.
Beginning his ascent to the tallest butte, he marveled that the warm rocks looked red up close. From a distance they seemed a lavish blue, beneath the indigo light, hence the name Azure Mountains. The cliff held heat and the crunchy rocks crumbed beneath his hands, making climbing difficult. He put one foot on a large stone. As his weight shifted to that foot, it slid beneath him. His heart leapt. He regained his balance, but kept losing ground. Fear of the dragons didn’t leave. He didn’t want to die after finally finding a reason to live. Mira was the woman he had waited for.
Ronan began the climb again, ignoring the cuts on his hands from the sharp rocks. After much effort he reached the top. It lay wide and flat as if sheared off by some monstrous storm. The wind whipped his hair around, but was not strong enough to make him lose his balance. He put his hands to his mouth and called in the direction of the coast of the Masay Ocean, using the ritual language with the most formal tone. He stood silently and waited.
A dragon would either come to talk or kill him. Or both. He felt tension and anxiety run throughout his body. Though he sat and did the ancient calming exercises, relaxation didn’t come. The cold wind made his muscles tighter. He gave up on his body and did a focusing exercise to clear his mind. His thoughts must be clear.
A beautiful, sea green dragon appeared and cautiously circled above him, probing. He called again. The dragon spiraled lower, its wings full out, gliding. He moved to the edge of the butte, giving the dragon room to land. As it got closer, the gale created by the dragon felt like a storm at sea. His hair and clothes blew backwards, threatening to tear off. The creature was close enough that its belly glistened like the inside of an old sea shell, the pearl color which looks like a rainbow. The dragon landed and the soft stone he stood on shook with its impact. Ronan sensed the dragon was female. She smelled like seaweed and the ocean.
She stared at him, flapping her translucent, pearly wings in agitation, taking his measure. He bowed at her, in the old way, touching his head to his knees, hoping she wouldn’t feel his fear. She had arrived very quickly. He doubted she simply flew by and happened to hear him. It meant the dragons still sent out patrols to guard the weirs.
“Why do you call us?” she asked. She didn’t give her name, which meant he was beneath her notice. So the dance began. His tutor told him it always came to this with dragons, these days. Humans needed to try their best to outwit them, a difficult task since dragons were born very smart and grew more intelligent by the day. Old dragons were very wise creatures.
“My name is Ronan, I wish to speak with the High Dragon.”
After a long pause, she tipped her head sideways and said in a smooth voice, “My name is Gossa.”
He smiled inwardly, although his neck and shoulder muscles still clenched with apprehension. By being exceedingly polite, he had shamed her into introducing herself.
Gossa continued, “Why do you wish to speak with our High Dragon?” she asked suspiciously, pink flushed through her wings.
That was good, she felt flustered. “It is a matter concerning both dragons and humans. My father has found a plot against you,” he said, quietly, trying to stay relaxed and alert. Roderick had felt sure the dragons didn’t know of the plot. They no longer any contact with the Black Opal City, not since the massacre.
Gossa thrashed her wings in anger. She said, “The High Dragon is on retreat for several days. I will give him your message when he returns.” She paused and cocked her head the other way, scales shimmering with emotion. That they flickered so much with a stranger she distrusted hinted to Ronan that she must be very young. “If he should choose to speak with you, he will find you.”
The fact she told him so much, made him feel the dragon would not kill him today. He breathed deeply with relief.
The statement was her way of saying, do not bother to wait.
He knew his father wanted him to speak with the pooka, but he also knew his father calculated it would take several days to contact the dragons, and that Ronan might not survive. That was the risk one took when learning to speak with dragons. Which was why Roderick had known of no one else who could do it, secretly. Dragon speakers didn’t live long lives and there were few of them. His father would make plans for someone else to contact the pooka if Ronan didn’t return.
With luck and a little planning, he might be able to help both Mira and his father. He wanted to do the right thing for Roderick, but couldn’t stop thinking of Aste’s words about Mira needing help. He tried to gauge how long it would take her to ride through the forest and over the mountains. “I will be here again in two days,” he said.
Gossa nodded and said, “I will tell him.” She shook her wings out and turned telling him the conversation was over.
As she coiled into the air, the wind she created nearly did knock him off the butte. After regaining his balance, he looked out across the mountains. The Opal light faded to dimness. He could see the Great Inland Sea behind the Tower of the Black Opal to the East. The City lay where the sea curved in towards the land to meet it. He sighed at the stark beauty surrounding him, so different from the lush forest. He loved them both and would do anything to protect this land.
He climbed down to get Pinecone, who felt relieved to see him, despite the tasty grass patch he found. The stallion nuzzled him, seeking reassurance that no danger existed. Ronan breathed in deeply, smelling the wind off the sea. They were too high up to smell the saltiness, but the air was fresh. His muscles gradually relaxed and he made Pinecone feel their safety.
They rode back into the forest and made camp for the night. As Ronan ate dried meat and some old bread, he thought again about Mira. What did he want from her? More than to simply have her in his bed. He’d been with enough women to know he wanted more.
Mira’s magic had curled around him like soft velvet; he remembered the feel of it as he led her to the sister’s footprints. The memory of it caressed his skin. She seemed unaware of those sensations, he thought. The wildness of her magic t
old him she didn’t have much training. He knew she held powerful potential, but it felt largely untapped, like a deep underground reservoir no one knows is there.
He wanted her to look at him with the same fierce love she felt for the child. He wanted to see her strength, to know what drove her passion.
Ronan dreamt of Mira again that night. She wandered lost in the forest, afraid. He kept trying to reach her and could not. She stood just out of his sight, although he could hear her crying.
He slept fitfully and woke early. While saddling Pinecone, he chewed more dried deer meat. Dew had settled on his saddle during the night and he wiped it dry before mounting the stallion. Pinecone danced around, eager to be on the road.
They started off westward towards Aste’s home. He’d spend the night in the forest near the Witch’s home to be there when Mira departed the next morning.
Chapter 8 - Mira
Aste came back inside, picked up a mug and handed it to Mira and nodded towards Amanda.
“Here, drink this,” said Mira, sitting on the bed.
Amanda took the cup and drank, screwing up her face. “This tastes terrible.”
“Sometime medicine does,” said Aste.
Amanda looked at her dubiously, then at Mira. Mira pointed to the cup. Amanda scowled as if about to argue, shrugged as if she decided not to, then downed the rest of the medicine. “Where am I and who are you?” snapped Amanda, handing the empty cup back.
“I am Aste, a Healer. As to where you are, well you are in my world, the Land of the Black Opal. We are west of the Azure Mountains in the Forest of Analla .”
“Why am I here?”