Once clean, they entered their small, shared bedroom and pulled on fresh clothes. Neither said much. If Aaron was still thinking about how they would afford the provisions they needed, he didn’t mention it.
Back in the main room, Josan waited for them at the head of the table. Timothy sat down at the crete’s left hand, while Aaron occupied the seat opposite him. With a soft sigh, Josan eased into his own chair. Timothy reached out to help him prop his crutches against the cabinet. The years had not been kind to the crete. Yet, he wasn’t even that old. Despite his missing leg, he still displayed signs of youthful strength, and his long hair was far more brown than gray, but his lined face told a different story—much like Aaron’s.
If only they could somehow make his life easier after all he’d done for them. Josan had looked after the two of them ever since the mine collapse that had killed their father and cost Josan his leg. Through all the many ups and downs of the past several years, he had been the one to hold them together and remain a positive example of contentment and steadfast trust in Elôm. He was always the first to make any necessary sacrifices.
This manifested itself when, immediately following a heartfelt prayer, Josan divided their lean supper, pouring less of the thin soup into his bowl than into Timothy’s and Aaron’s. When he came to the last small spoonful, he moved to divide it between the two of them, but Timothy stopped him.
“Give it to Aaron.”
His brother looked up to protest, but Timothy didn’t give him the chance. “You work even harder than I do and need it more.” Sure, Harold worked him hard, but at least he didn’t have to swing a pickaxe and move rock all day. He didn’t know how his brother did it sometimes. It just proved that being shorter had nothing to do with how they could work.
As stubborn as he could be, Aaron was too tired to argue over it tonight, and silently accepted the extra portion.
Timothy brought a bite of the soup to his mouth, the weak broth settling on his tongue. He swallowed slowly and took small bites in hopes of tricking his stomach into thinking there was more than there actually was.
“I’ll be off in another day,” Aaron broke the silence that had settled. “I’ll go hunting. We’ll need anything extra we can bring in this winter.”
“I’ll go with you,” Timothy told him. Thank Elôm their one day off a week was the same; otherwise they would barely see each other. Timothy wasn’t sure what he would do if Aaron decided he needed to work seven days a week just to keep them fed.
Aaron nodded with a bit of a smile—a good thing to see after today. Though Timothy wouldn’t be able to help much in the way of hunting, since any innate archery skills that came with crete blood had somehow skipped him, at least he could carry back game. It would be good for the two of them to get out of town and into the mountains for a while.
For the last few minutes of their meal, they filled Josan in on everything that had transpired at the mine, and about their pay cuts. When they finished, they cleared the table of supper dishes, and Josan turned to Timothy.
“I finished making copies of the letter. You can look them over if you’d like.”
“I’ll do that before I study.” Timothy knelt down in the corner of the cottage near the fireplace and pried up a loose floorboard. Reaching down into the hole beneath, he fished out a worn leather satchel containing the most valuable possessions they owned. He set it on the table and pulled out the Scrolls. Each one contained copies of the words of Elôm, written by God-inspired men through the ages. To Timothy, they were more precious than all the gold in the Valley.
Across the table, Aaron reached for a scroll, and Josan joined them. This had been their nightly routine for many years—to sit after supper and study together. It always brought Timothy back to the days of studying with his father. They’d spent hours poring over the Scrolls together. Even as a young boy, Timothy had soaked it all in with an insatiable hunger. His father had always told him he was special, and that Elôm must have great things planned for him. Timothy suspected this was only the praise of a proud father, but he kept himself open to any opportunity Elôm presented.
Before taking his own scroll to study, Timothy skimmed through the stack of parchments Josan had passed to him. Each one contained a letter, sharing a portion of the Scripture from the Scrolls, as well as words of explanation, comfort, hope, and exhortation. He checked for errors, making sure each was identical, right down to the one word signature—Taan.
Nodding, he laid them near Josan. “They all look good. I’ll deliver them tomorrow night.”
He normally would have delivered them right after supper—heaven knew the faithful believers of Dunlow needed the encouragement after the mine accident and the growing threat to their faith—but Timothy didn’t think his body would take him more than a hundred yards from the house. Already he struggled to stay awake.
Quiet came again as Timothy rolled open the scroll before him. The words were like a soothing, warm bath to his battered soul, and he drank them in with as much ardor as when he was a child. Through them, he could hear Elôm speak—something that was difficult in all the day to day hardship—and it restored him.
He kept no track of the time, but read until the words blurred in front of him and forced him to stop. With a sigh, he rubbed his gritty eyes and looked across the table. Aaron sat, his chin propped in his hand and his eyes closed. It was a wonder he hadn’t collapsed even before their study.
Timothy shook his head. How could his brother ever do more to take care of them? He would work himself to death. He had done so even when their father had been alive just so Timothy would have even a little extra time to study with the man.
Timothy would never find a truly adequate way to express his gratitude for his brother’s unselfish care. He could only keep thanking Elôm for a brother so dedicated to his family. Things could be much different. After all, quite an age gap existed between them—a full twelve years. Timothy had been a surprise child, and with his birth claiming their mother’s life, Aaron could have grown up bitter about the loss. Instead, he’d spent the last twenty years doing everything in his power to protect his little brother. If only Timothy could find some way to lighten the load.
He pushed to his feet with straining muscles. Josan looked up from his scroll, and Timothy gave him a half smile as he walked around to Aaron. He shook his brother’s shoulder to bring him to consciousness. Aaron looked up, blinking his tired eyes.
“Let’s go to bed,” Timothy said.
Aaron rose without speaking and followed him into their bedroom, where he practically fell into the bottom bunk. Timothy crawled up into his, pulling the coarse covers up to his chin, and managed a few silent words to Elôm before sleep claimed him.
The first telltale swish of approaching dragon wings rustled the trees shortly after lunch. Excitement rippled through camp as everyone so eager for their arrival gathered to watch the sky.
In moments, the first dragon dove down through the trees, scattering dead leaves as she came to a graceful landing. Kyrin smiled in recognition of the rider—Talas. She’d hoped Darq would send him to teach them to fly. A second female dragon landed next to him, this one bearing a female rider. Nine more dragons followed behind them—six males and three females.
All around Kyrin, the people from camp murmured in awe, especially the children who launched into begging their parents for a dragon of their own. Kyrin grinned and looked up at Kaden. He’d talked of little else for the past twenty-four hours, and was just itching to go flying.
She looked around for Jace. When she spotted him lingering at the back of the group, her smile faded. He’d been unusually withdrawn since their meeting the day before. He took pains to hide whatever bothered him, but he couldn’t hide it from her completely. The vibrant sea-blue of his eyes had a way of deepening when he was in turmoil.
Putting it aside for now, she turned back as the two riders dismounted from their dragons. She had never felt particularly tall, especially next to h
er brothers, but she did now. Though near to Kyrin in age, the crete girl who’d accompanied Talas barely reached five feet tall. Like the crete men, her clothing was mostly of leather, but in a more femininely constructed vest that she wore over a sturdy lavender-colored shirt, along with a short wrap skirt over a pair of dark leggings and knee-high boots. Did she also have any similar tattoos under her sleeves?
“Welcome back,” Trask told Talas as he stepped up to meet them. “We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”
Talas smiled widely, taking in the sight of the gathering. “I see. And which of you are to join us in our mission?”
Trask motioned them forward. As Kyrin and Kaden approached, Talas grinned at them and said to Kaden, “Looks like your wish came true.”
Jace was the last to join them, and claimed a spot next to Kyrin. She offered him a gentle smile, hoping to reassure him. He looked very reluctant about the whole thing, as if he would rather watch from the shadows somewhere.
With a nod of apparent approval, Talas said, “A couple of you know me already, but for those of you who don’t, I’m Talas Folkan of the Fox Clan. And this,” he motioned to the crete girl, “is my cousin, Leetra Almere of the Hawk Clan.”
Kyrin’s eyes shifted again to the female crete. Despite her small stature, she made full use of every inch of her height, standing tall and proud, her hands planted on her hips. Black hair fell to her waist and sported an array of beads, leather, and hawk feathers. Her flashing lavender eyes tangled with Kyrin’s momentarily. Kyrin wasn’t sure she liked the imperious vibe she sensed, but tried not pass judgment too hastily.
“Leetra’s one of our finest dragon riders,” Talas told them.
The crete girl’s face remained stoic at his praise. Humility, like friendliness, didn’t appear to be a crete’s strong suit.
Following his introduction, Talas stepped forward to meet each individual in the group. Leetra remained where she was, apparently content to gather their names from there. Talas worked his way down the line, shaking hands and greeting everyone with an enthusiastic smile. His grin was especially wide when he came to Kyrin and Kaden.
“I’m very pleased to see that you two will be part of the team. I enjoyed our talk yesterday, and look forward to getting to know you.”
Jace was last in line. He said his name with a slight tremor of hesitation and looked away in embarrassment when he had no family name to give. After all, the cretes were, at the very least, meticulous about their lineage. Kyrin’s heart reached out to him. If only she could encourage him, but she was grateful that Talas, in his accommodating way, greeted Jace no differently than he had everyone else. He did give Jace a keen look, no doubt guessing his mixed blood, but it didn’t seem to give him pause.
Talas then turned back to Trask and the business at hand. “We plan to meet up with Captain Darq the day after tomorrow in the Sinnai Mountains. I know that’s not a lot of time, but it’ll give you the rest of the day and tomorrow to train with your dragons.” He added good-naturedly, “Don’t worry; there’s nothing to it.”
He motioned for them to follow. “First, you’ll have to choose your dragons. There’s one for each of you.”
All eyes turned to Trask for the order of their selection, and a smile grew on his face. “Go ahead, Kaden, you choose first.”
Kaden’s eyes went wide. “Really?”
With Trask’s nod of confirmation, Kaden just stood staring at the creatures for a moment before Trev clapped him on the back with a teasing grin. “Hurry up; I want my turn.”
Kaden eyed each of the waiting dragons. Finally, he nodded to a sleek male dragon, who peered at him with just as much interest. “I want him.”
Talas nodded his approval. “That’s Exsis. You two will get along splendidly. Now, who’s next?”
Trask looked over the group. “Kyrin, why don’t you choose next?”
She smiled, her heart already set on a particular dragon. One of the females had scales of a slightly bluer hue than the others, and reminded her of the necklace her father wore. “I’d like the female one next to Exsis.”
“That’s Ivoris, but we always call her Ivy,” Talas said. “She’s from the same hatch as Exsis.”
Kyrin traded a grin with Kaden. “Twins. Perfect.”
The rest of the men talked amongst themselves and made their selections. The final pick came down to Jace and Holden, with one male and one female dragon left.
Holden turned kindly to Jace, so differently from the hostility he’d once shown him. “Which one do you want?”
Jace shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. You choose.”
“I guess I’ll take the male then.”
“That’s Brayle,” Talas told him. “And Jace, you’ve got Shalmar. Now, let’s introduce you.”
The group moved forward again, closer to the dragons, but Kyrin slowed when Jace hung back. His attention had snagged on the ninth, unclaimed dragon that had arrived with the cretes. She lay off by herself, her head on the ground and her eyes half closed with disinterest—the opposite of the other vibrant and curious dragons.
“What’s wrong with her?” Jace asked.
Talas looked over his shoulder, first at Jace and then at the dragon. “Gem? Her rider died in a training accident with another dragon.” The crete’s voice dropped regretfully. “She’s been this way ever since. She barely eats or shows interest in anything. We brought her along in hopes of distracting her, but it isn’t working. Dragons can go some time without food but, at this rate, she probably won’t survive long.”
Jace’s gaze lingered on the dragon, and Kyrin sensed his sympathy for the creature. Tyra was proof of his soft spot for injured or sickly animals. Finally, he joined the group, though he seemed distracted.
“We need to introduce each of you to your dragons to let them know you’re friends; otherwise, they won’t let you ride them.” Talas motioned for Kaden. Stopping in front of his dragon, he said, “Exsis, ámi.”
The dragon let out a little rumble and lowered his head to sniff Kaden, who smiled and laid his hand on Exsis’s head. Kyrin would never forget the joy in his eyes.
“It won’t take long for the two of you to form a bond.” Talas turned to encompass the others. “They’re young dragons—about two and a half years old. The older they get, the stronger they’ll bond with you.”
Now he gestured to Kyrin and introduced her to Ivoris. The female dragon lowered her head and rested her scaly chin in Kyrin’s outstretched hands before emitting a deep dragon purr. Kyrin chuckled and stared into her sparkling eyes, her breath taken that this magnificent creature now belonged to her. Others would have paid fortunes just to get their hands on a dragon.
One by one, Talas introduced each member of the group to their dragons. No one said much, but words didn’t seem adequate at this point. Kyrin forgot all about Leetra, until the crete’s clear voice rang out behind them and startled her.
“Now that you’ve met your dragons, it’s time to begin our lesson.”
Almost as one, they turned to face her. She stood with her hands still on her hips and an impatient gleam in her eyes. Kyrin shifted. If only Darq had sent just Talas to teach them.
“As you can see, each dragon is already saddled. We’ll show you how to tighten the saddles and remove them after flying. Tomorrow, we’ll teach you to put them back on.”
Kyrin’s brows inched up at the girl’s drill-sergeant manner of instructing. There’d been enough of that sort at Tarvin Hall. She glanced at Jace. He didn’t appear impressed at all.
“The saddle will be your primary tool for controlling your dragon; at least in the beginning.” Kyrin’s attention snapped back to Leetra. “There are two bars on the saddle. One, which will be in front of you, is like a saddle horn. If you have to hang on, grab that.”
Kyrin breathed out a short, quiet laugh. If they had to hang on? Why would they not, especially when taking off and landing? Apparently, cretes didn’t think like that.
“The bar
in front of it is the one you’ll use for control. When you shift it left or right, straps put pressure on the dragon’s neck, just like neck-reining a horse. The same goes for pushing the bar forward or back. Push it forward to dive lower, and pull back to climb. Does everyone understand?”
Down the line, they nodded. If they didn’t understand, no one would admit it. Leetra certainly didn’t invite questions or anything she might deem incompetence. Kyrin glanced at Talas. His expression displayed a cross between amusement and exasperation.
“Dragons can also be commanded by voice,” Leetra moved right along. “Ámi means friend. If you want your dragon to wait somewhere for you, stay is tolla. To tell them to follow you, the command is réma. For flying, unai is up, taro is down, eidi is right, and fen is left . . .” Kyrin didn’t know how the others would remember all this. She would have to refresh them all later when Leetra wasn’t around. “. . . and if you happen to be attacked, the command for fire is roven.”
Kyrin cast a wary glance at Ivoris, and then at the other dragons. The men did the same.
Leetra arched her brow at them. “They’re smart enough to understand when it’s given as a command or merely spoken. These are the basic commands, but there are many more that can be learned. Dragons are always trained in the crete language. They’re incredibly intelligent creatures. More intelligent than any dog.” She said this peering straight at Tyra, who sat near Jace, but kept a respectful distance from the dragons.
Kyrin stiffened. She looked at Jace. His jaw muscles bunched, and a cool light glinted in his eyes. Kyrin shot Leetra a hard look, but the crete girl gave no notice as she went on speaking.
The King's Scrolls Page 5