The Vanishing Sculptor

by Donita K. Paul

  moon, ’neath the moon, ’neath the moon. Chugaroon, chugaroon, chugaroon, chugaroo, a wife for me and you and you.

  The song went on to a second sailor who found a woman who knitted shoes and a third whose love attracted a host of animals. Just when Beccaroon gratefully assumed there was no more story to tell, Prince Jayrus began the verses about the progeny of the sailors. Even a golden voice couldn’t smooth out the rough spots of this nursery tune. Surely this inane ode to the absurd wasn’t sung in music halls. No, nurseries would be the proper place to perform the mindless words. The babies probably went to sleep to avoid the torture of more lyrics.

  Beccaroon’s impatience grew. “Are we going to the center of the earth?”

  “No, only one more turn.” The prince did not begin his song again. “Sage, I’ve brought company. May we enter?”

  “Yes, enter, dear boy.”

  Flabbergasted, Beccaroon blurted, “He spoke!”

  Jayrus nodded, a smile on his winsome face. “Many of the older dragons did. But Sage is the only one I know of who does now.”

  “Why? I mean, why not? I mean, why do the dragons not talk?”

  “Sage says it is because they are a lazy generation, and it takes years of training to develop the skill.”

  The noise of the dragon shifting positions scraped through the entry. His deep voice echoed against the stone walls. “Are you coming in, or are you going to lallygag in the hallway?”

  Prince Jayrus gestured for Beccaroon to follow and went around the bend. The big bird trailed behind, wondering how he had managed to come to this place. His intention had been to cross-examine a young emerlindian, not converse with an ancient dragon.

  The cavern sparkled with over a thousand colored crystals. Not just the blue lightrocks Beccaroon had seen before, but golds, greens, reds, and purples dotted the walls and cast a lovely glow in the room.

  The dragon lay on a bed of straw, bony elbows and knees pressing against baggy red skin. Sage was no bigger than a draft horse and didn’t rise when they came in.

  “Welcome, stranger. It has been a very long time since I have seen a grand parrot.”

  “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Beccaroon bowed. “May I ask what type of dragon you are?”

  “I was a major dragon, but I am nearing the end of my existence. I no longer eat, and my body is diminishing.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.” Beccaroon cast a chastising look to the young emerlindian. There had been no chance of Sage pouncing on a feathered visitor and devouring him as a tasty morsel. Much like the prince’s dragons, the boy enjoyed mischief.

  Rather than looking abashed, Prince Jayrus returned Beccaroon’s glare with a cheeky grin.

  The red dragon allowed his eyes to drift closed, and a smile lifted his lips. “It is of no matter. I am assured of my existence beyond this world.”

  Sage opened his eyes and looked at Jayrus. “Why have you come, boy?”

  “The people who came to the valley with the parrot have a great need, but to answer that need would break the covenant I made before Prince Surrus died.”

  Sage held his head higher and, with bright eyes, examined Beccaroon. “Where have you come from?”

  “Indigo Forest.”

  The dragons head drooped. “No, Jayrus, this is not the time.”

  “But some of his questing party come from much farther away.”

  The dragon raised his head again and quirked an eyebrow at Beccaroon.

  “A place called Amara.” Bec watched enthusiasm take hold of the old dragon and boost him to his feet.

  Sage wobbled and sank, but his voice still held energy. “I had begun to believe that I wouldn’t be here, even though the Creator told me I would.”

  Jayrus stood straighter. His face glowed with anticipation. “Am I the one to leave?”

  “Yes, Prince. You shall become the Creator’s herald. Aid these travelers. Learn from them and be ready.”

  “I can go?”

  The dragon chortled. “I’ve said so. Did you not suspect when the guardian allowed these outsiders into Mercigon?”

  “Wait!” Beccaroon ruffled his feathers and glared at the prince and the dragon. “Explain. Explain in detail. Ever since that wizard and his librarian walked into Byrdschopen, everyone has talked in circles or in cryptic nonsense that sounds like it might mean something if someone would just elaborate. So elaborate!”

  Prince Jayrus nodded, the serious look on his face once again tempting Beccaroon to reevaluate the young man’s mettle.

  Sage grumbled. “It is too much work for me.” He lowered his head to rest his jaw on his front legs. “You do the honors, Jayrus, and I shall correct you if you err.”

  “Have a seat?” Jayrus pointed to a long quartz formation that resembled a fallen log.

  Beccaroon perched and looked pointedly at the prince, hoping he wouldn’t try to evade the subject.

  Jayrus rested against an uncomfortable-looking boulder. “For generations, the dragon keeper has been chosen by the previous dragon keeper. I was chosen by Prince Surrus when I was seven. He found me in a marketplace and persuaded my mother to send me away for an education with him. We came to the tower, and Prince Surrus instructed me. He groomed me to be his successor, understanding the dragons, establishing a relationship with the kimens, and preparing to be the champion of the Creator should this age be the one in which He chose to bring Chiril to Awareness.”

  Beccaroon squinted his eyes against the image forming in his mind. This Wulder that Verrin Schope spoke of sounded suspiciously similar to the prince’s Creator.

  Jayrus rubbed his hands back and forth on his thighs. “No dragon keeper truly believes… I mean, no one expects to be the one… My expectation was to live and die in the valley, except for my one journey out to choose a successor.”

  He sighed and focused on Beccaroon. “My charge is to hold the fort, take care of the Mercigon Range and the dragons that live here. To lead the advance would surely fall to some dragon keeper born generations from my time. But I…” He looked at Sage. “I am the one to complete the mission.”

  Beccaroon’s claws tightened, but unlike a perch in his forest, the stone did not yield to his claws. Pain jabbed at his feet, and he loosened his grip. “And what exactly is that mission you are to lead? What is the advance?”

  Sage spoke up. “He is the bridge. He will carry knowledge, words, and enlightenment from the Amaran people to the citizens of Chiril. You could liken him to a town crier who not only relays the good news that all is well but will also be able to explain why this is so.”

  Jayrus stood. “I get to leave the valley.”

  Sage laughed and wheezed. “Yes, I believe we have established that fact.”

  26

  Going Places

  In the tower’s Great Hall, Prince Jayrus announced that the dragons would go on Verrin Schope’s quest and he would come along. A thrill raced through Tipper, leaving goose bumps in its wake. Her father could be saved. She would ride one of those magnificent steeds. And…

  Perhaps some of Prince Jayrus’s finesse would rub off on her. When he turned those blue eyes on her and spoke with that slow, low, and soothing voice, her hands trembled, her mouth went dry, her heart pounded, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. When she was mad at Prince Jayrus, she could think of exactly what to say. When he irritated her, his manner didn’t stop her body and mind from functioning. But she couldn’t stay mad at him for long.

  If she studied him, maybe she could learn his tricks. Twenty-two years living almost exclusively at Byrdschopen had not prepared her for the rest of the world. As they had ventured out on this quest, she’d become painfully aware of her lack of sophistication. The Boss Inn, the dance in Tallion—both had proven she needed a different education. She grinned. Boscamon provided one more person in this juggling act. And whether she believed in the old fable or not, she was pleased with the additions to the questing party.

  Prince Jayrus invit
ed the travelers to have another meal in the tower and to spend the night in his castle. To Tipper’s disappointment, the young emerlindian cornered her father and the two men from Amara. He seemed intent on learning everything they knew about life in the foreign land. He showed particular interest in Wulder.

  Tipper grew tired of their intense conversation and went outside to sit on a wooden swing in the garden. Beccaroon perched in the tree. Crisp air shivered her skin, and the view took her breath away. The evening sky shone with bright stars, much brighter than they were at Byrdschopen. The moon rose over a ridge of mountains, tinting the silhouette with a pale blue glow.

  “It’ll be cold out here tonight. Don’t you want a chamber in the tower?”

  The big bird tsked and shook his head. “I’d feel like I had taken refuge in a blinker owl’s nest.”

  “Yes, the rooms are small.” Tipper kept herself from elaborating. Beccaroon had already seen one of the tiny rooms with only a bed and a chair in it. “But the bed is soft, and the linens are wonderful.”

  “Kimen-made.”

  She nodded. She recognized the finely woven texture that only the kimen people could produce. “I wonder where they are.”

  “Another odd occurrence. Do you ever wish, dear Tipper, that we could just go back to trying to figure out how to pay the village shopkeepers on your father’s behalf?”

  “Sometimes, Bec. But really, I do want my father back whole and hearty. That would make Mother happy too.”

  “I imagine Lady Peg would also be happy if the world didn’t fall apart.”

  Tipper rolled her eyes. “Yes, that would be a good thing.”

  Tipper’s excitement flowed through her, making her want to jump about, hug everyone in sight, and sing at the top of her lungs. Instead she stood with Bealomondore beside Wizard Fenworth and her father and listened as the two experienced dragon riders gave out advice.

  “Your dragon will be aware of your thoughts,” said Verrin Schope. “The dragon will open up communication. You need not worry about that.”

  Fenworth held up one finger. “Speak kindly to your dragon carrier. One tip, and you’ll be lost forever.”

  Librettowit rolled his eyes.

  Verrin Schope continued as if there had been no interruption. “Wear warm clothes, as the higher you go, the colder it will be. And breathe deeply—the air is thin.”

  “Clothes! Tut, tut, oh dear. I wonder if I packed clothes.” Out of the folds of Fenworth’s cloak came dragon saddles and riding clothes. “And this,” said the wizard as he pulled out a long leather strap, “is especially made for one such as our young tumanhofer friend.”

  “What is it?” asked Tipper.

  “It’s a belt for holding someone in his seat while dragon riding.”

  Tipper burst into laughter, but Bealomondore sat on a rock, groaned, and buried his face in his hands.

  When the dragons were ready, Prince Jayrus paired up rider and steed. Librettowit and Bealomondore rode together on Kelsi. A black dragon named Ketmar would carry Wizard Fenworth.

  Prince Jayrus stood before Tipper, bowing with the air of assurance she envied. She felt her smile grow and listened raptly to what he had to say.

  “My dragon is Caesannede, and we would be honored if you rode with us.”

  Before she could answer, Verrin Schope stood beside them. “That is very kind of you, but my daughter will ride with me.”

  Her father smiled graciously, but Tipper saw his ears twitch. The situation amused him.

  Jayrus bowed to the older emerlindian. “Gus has agreed to accommodate your needs.”

  Verrin Schope lost his composure. “Gus?” he sputtered as he laughed. “You have one dragon named Caesannede and another named Gus?”

  The prince’s brow lowered. “I don’t name them, you know.”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Forgive me.” Verrin Schope took Tipper’s arm. “Come, my dear. I’ll show you how to saddle a dragon, if you can lift the contraption onto his back.”

  “Her,” called Prince Jayrus.

  “If you can lift the saddle onto her back.”

  “Flying is the best part of questing,” Tipper told her father. She sat facing backward with her shoulders resting against Verrin Schope’s back. She had a good view of the land below. Trees looked like splotches of green. Animals appeared as dots against the grass. Rivers flowed through the land like strings of blue yarn.

  She breathed deeply. The cool air tasted clean and somehow lighter. She enjoyed the feel of the dragon’s muscles powering her great wings and relished the bond with the dragon. Through that connection she knew that Gus delighted in carrying her passengers. Tipper felt as if she were born to fly and wished her new friend felt the same way.

  “I hope Bealomondore hasn’t thrown up again.”

  “It’s good he emptied his stomach before we left the ground. Fen-worth gave him a flask of medicated water to drink. That will soothe his nerves. Perhaps he will even sleep.”

  “What type of medicine is it?”

  “Ground momile shells.”

  Tipper pictured the small yellow beetles that ate aphids in the garden. Momiles were useful for several things. “How did you convince Bealomondore to get on Kelsi?”

  “Both Grandur and Zabeth are riding with him. His fear brought on a physical reaction, and the healing dragons will help him.”

  “You did something else, didn’t you? I saw him before you talked to him and after. Before, every muscle twitched. Afterward, he seemed asleep with his eyes open.”

  Through her back, she felt a huge sigh from her father.

  “It’s something a wizard can do, although we consider it cheating. But our poor young artist’s sensitivities were overwrought, and I mesmerized him as a compassionate means to dull his suffering.”

  “Mesmerized?”

  “Entered his thinking and suggested he calm down. The suggestion will not last forever, but by the time it wears off, he will have seen that no harm is going to come to him. And the two healing dragons are working on him, to keep his physical reaction to fear under control. They will be tired tonight.”

  “The dragons?”

  “Yes.” He sighed again. “We will be in Fayetopolis this evening.”

  “Papa, are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. We will have the first statue by this time tomorrow.”

  Tipper had been so delighted over the prospect of flying that she’d only partially listened to the dinner conversation the night before. “Bealomondore saw the statue in the home of a wealthy lawyer in Fayetopolis less than six months ago?”

  “Yes, but immediately afterward, he heard it was sold to Bamataub, a man Bealomondore does not like.”

  “Why doesn’t he like this man? I thought anyone who admired your work would be considered a fine fellow by our tumanhofer friend.”

  Verrin Schope coughed, and it took him a moment to get his breath back before speaking. “Bealomondore says that this man is not worthy of owning an exceptional piece of art. A lump of clay molded by a toddler would be more equal to Bamataub’s capacity for appreciation. That is, according to Bealomondore.”

  “Bamataub must have liked Morning Glory to spend all that money to buy it.”

  Verrin Schope shook his head. “People buy art for the strangest reasons. The color goes with the draperies. A person he hates desired the same painting. A neighbor has two good sculptures, so the man acquires three. The space in the corner looked empty.”

  “That last one is true in our house.” She paused. “I am sorry, Papa, that I sold so many things. Beccaroon and I tried many schemes to bring coins into the coffers, but I’m not very good at that sort of thing, and as it turns out, neither is Bec.”

  Verrin Schope laughed, which made him cough again. He wheezed when he spoke. “I never expected Beccaroon to manage Byrdschopen. His estate, the Indigo Forest, does not run on commerce.” He panted for a moment, then continued in a stronger voice. “I trusted the parrot as my good fr
iend to instruct you on ethics and morals and integrity. And I believe he has succeeded in instilling in you the basics of what is right and wrong.”

  Guilt swept through Tipper as she thought of all the times she’d not heeded Beccaroon’s teachings.

  Her father’s voice interrupted the flow of condemnation before Tipper had even listed a dozen instances in her mind.

  “Don’t wallow in regret. I learned while I was in Amara that it is impossible to always choose right without the friendship and guidance of Wulder. And even with His backing, handling life in an upright manner is still a struggle.”

  “So everyone, even this Wulder, fails from time to time?”

  “Wulder defined what is good and bad, right and wrong. He doesn’t make mistakes. Fenworth told me it is impossible for Wulder to choose to do wrong. Can you imagine that?”

  Tipper leaned her head back so that it rested between her father’s shoulders. “No, I can’t.”

  27

  Fayetopolis

  They landed in a valley outside the city as the late afternoon air began to pick up the chill of evening. Tipper’s legs surprised her by refusing to provide support. She and Bealomondore were labeled “novice riders” and told to sit under a tree and gently massage their legs while Grandur and Zabeth worked healing on their stiff muscles. The others busied themselves with removing the saddles and rubbing down the dragons in appreciation for their cooperation.

  “You’re better off than I am,” Tipper complained. “You, at least, walked over here by yourself.”

  Bealomondore laughed at her. “The prince did not insist on carrying me. You probably could have walked had he given you the chance.”

  “I don’t think my father and Beccaroon appreciated the prince’s gallantry.”

  “They probably thought of it more as presumption.”

  “Well, Beccaroon couldn’t carry me, and my father—” She stopped. She didn’t want to voice what had come to her mind.

  “I know,” said Bealomondore in a low voice. “I’m worried too. Even in the short time since I met your father, I’ve seen a drain on his energy.”