by B C Penling
Zen spread his wings and leapt into the updraft. He ascended a few tiers to another platform where he landed and then trotted to a wooden door with a golden latch. With a flick of his talon it unlatched and he pushed. The door swung open to reveal shadowy towers of folded clothing. A large aisle separated novelyear clothing and yearend clothing.
Noticing the darker dyes of yearend, Lana slid from the saddle and walked to the right side of the room. She began rummaging through the chattels of her ancestors.
Centuries of clothes were piled in the room as if it were kept as a time capsule, pieces of elvin history. The farther into the room, the shabbier things became. A variety of dilapidated storage trunks sat in the shadows of disrepair and neglect. Dressers with lopsided drawers erupted with dry and cracked leathers. Wardrobes sat open with splintery wooden doors and rusted hinges. It was a sepulcher of aged and forgotten personal effects. Even gold statues winked dimly from beneath their veils of dust, long overlooked gifts to the elves they were intended for.
Lana shook out pieces of clothing and held them up to see if they were close to her size. Picking out sizes that were closest to hers, she carefully rolled them and placed them in the leather sack. She already found attire that matched her coat and set it aside. She dressed herself in yearend clothing and put the coat over the top.
Zen lay in the doorway, barring the entrance, which allowed Lana privacy to don her new garb.
Lana set the bag beside him. “All finished.”
Zen grabbed the bag and hung it on one of the spikes near his shoulders. “We’ll keep the other bag empty for any food we gather. Oh, and grab one of these.” He slid his tail along the floor and flicked open a wardrobe door. “Pick a bedroll in case you get cold. The ones on top are the newest and freshest laundered.”
Lana, after choosing the warmest looking one, climbed upon his back and sat heavily in the saddle. She fastened the strap across her waist and laid the bedroll on her lap.
Zen walked out of the room. A beam of sunlight slid across Lana’s bloodstained dress as he shut and latched the door. It was left in a wrinkled heap; a sad reminder of the end of elves, their allies, their friends.
He trotted to the platform and leapt into the air. He banked right and flew past a waterfall that shot out of the side of the cliff face, a torrent of white water. It was noticeably hotter than the mountain air as it sent up a massive steam plume that rose on the updraft and drifted over Bledsoe Keep. The fine water mist that strayed from the main stream was sent aloft and turned to snowy drizzle that fogged the air around the peaks.
Zen glided along on the cold wind and rocketed past the entrance doors and the snoozing wyverns. The wind caught him from behind and pushed him north at a quick pace. Soon they were deep in the Bledsoes and halfway to the sands of Gour.
A disturbance far to sunrest caught their eyes. Clearly a mountain was moving, its snow was roused into the air. He knew somewhere over there, was Kyshta. Somewhere deep inside, Zen wished the mountain would fall on her.
The craggy mountains passed beneath them and soon gave way to stony foothills and rolling grasses. On he flapped and on they flew. The grassy foothills diminished into desolate lands that stretched far in front of them. Large dots were visible among the sea of blowing golden sands. Cacti, some as old as the mountains, were slowly migrating across the desert.
Sunrest had just met the horizon and bathed the land in crimson light. Long shadows stretched across the sands, originating from the gourts. A thin red vein of sparkling water coursed its path from north to south.
"Zen, what’s that?" Lana yelled.
"That’s Poison Stream. It comes from Poison Lake and feeds the Dead Lake. Its cursed waters end up in Bledsoe Lake. It smells delicious and entices you to take a drink. It has poisons that will cause hallucinations and ultimately kill you if you don't receive a remedy for whatever poison it gives you," Zen said over his shoulder.
"It decides?" Lana asked. "You speak of it as if it were living."
"In a sense, yes it's living but not entirely living," Zen replied.
He folded his wings and spoiled the lift he received from the warm thermals that came from the hot sand below. He descended from the sky, like a mountain to the prairie, to the stream below. It was a blackish red and oozed along like blood from a vein.
Zen dared not go too low nor too close. Lana peered over the side. Although she was securely fastened in the saddle the sight of the stream made her feel vulnerable. Beneath the oily red surface she was able to see ghostly outlines. She wasn’t quite sure what was more unnerving, the sight of water, if that’s really what it was, or what lingered beneath the surface.
"Why are there dead people under the water?” Lana asked loudly and disgusted.
Zen chuckled. "They aren't dead, Lana. Those creatures that you see beneath the surface are in fact a type of nymph. They’re called naiads. They try their best to lure weary travelers to have a drink. That’s why it’s wiser to keep a distance away. Any closer and we would be tempted to drink their water and thus would fall under their spells, poisons and enchantments; depending on how much they dislike you.”
He flapped his wings and left the naiad stream beneath them. Their shadows flickered and wiggled over the dunes and cacti. The sand was a cherry hue and the downy clouds high above them were colored like novelyear's flowers. The second sun sank fast, casting the land in twilight.
On the very edge of the beginning of the marshlands that stretched sunwake, Zen finally landed. The evening was starting to chill and Lana was exhausted. She didn’t hesitate to hop off and unroll her sleeping sack. She climbed inside after shaking it out and nestled down for the night. Zen walked up and lay down beside her. The warmth of his body warmed her to her soul. His presence was calming. She felt peaceful when she was with him. Thoughts vacated her mind. She closed her eyes and drifted quickly to sleep, thankful that she had Zen.
CHAPTER 6
GOUR'S PRINCE
The morning was cool when the suns began to rise. The sky was a calm periwinkle, sparsely dotted with lazy pink clouds. She stretched when she felt Zen stir next to her.
Although the morning was chill, she was quite warm in her yearend deerskin outfit. Zen once again hung her bags on his shoulder spikes and crouched so Lana could climb into the saddle.
“Where do we go now?" Lana knew he was supposed to take her to Elventon but a flicker of hope for otherwise made her ask.
"We will head sunrest and follow the Cliffs of Gour. Elventon isn’t too far from here," Zen replied.
With a glum sigh she tightly fastened herself in the saddle. Her sigh was not unnoticed by Zen, who felt like doing the same. He wasn’t happy they were nearing their destination. He wondered if the elves would mind having a dragon around. Returning to Bledsoe Keep was the last thing he wanted to do.
Zen unfurled his wings and stretched them wide. "Not a lot of updrafts this early," Zen said over his shoulder.
"Meaning?" Lana questioned.
"Lots of flapping."
Lana thought that was a good thing. Maybe it would take them longer to reach Elventon. If it did, she didn’t mind. She wanted to spend more time with Zen. She longed for it because she had no one else. Mailaea told her so much about him that she felt like she had known him forever. Plus, her mother was right, in many ways Zen was like her brother Lonen; caring, protective, reassuring, loyal. The only things that didn’t match what Mailaea had described to her were the Elders. They were a massive disappointment compared to the noble leaders she envisioned from what her mother told her.
Zen unfurled his wings. “I’ll try to take off smoothly.” He charged forward, parallel with the forest to the north, and flapped his wings. Lana felt his body tense he prepared to leap into the air. She felt his hind quarters recoil and leaned forward with anticipation. Zen leapt toward the sky. But it was only for a split second. Instead of taking flight, there was an unexpected jerk that would have launched Lana clear out of her seat if she ha
d not been belted. Her legs strained against the straps as Zen fell from beneath her and impacted the ground forcefully.
Zen continued flapping, clawing the sand with his front talons, and swinging his tail violently from side to side. His whole body writhed and jerked. Lana was being jarred from left to right and up and down. She knew something was wrong.
A throaty suctioning sound came from below them. Zen stopped jerking his body about and flapped his wings as fast as he could. They made an airy crack with each vigorous beat. With each downwash of his wings’ beats, the sand rippled and pulsed. Sand billowed around them.
After minutes of flapping as hard and fast as possible, Zen only sank deeper. As if from a nightmare, the sand bubbled for a moment then erupted in wide tendrils that took hold of his wings. He tried shaking them off but failed. Like large sandy hands they wouldn’t loosen their grip and dragged him to the ground, pinning him down.
"GET OFF!" Zen yelled. “NOW!”
Lana unfastened the straps and did as she was told. She ran down his tail, jumped as far as she could, and hoped for firm sand. She landed lightly and turned around. Zen was partially submerged now and sinking by the second. The rippling sand, she noticed, was no different than normal sand but it was very alive. With each writhing undulation that coursed around Zen, he sank further.
"Lana," Zen said, desperately. "Follow the trees and head to the cliff. Walk the stone path at its base and don’t deviate from it. Continue along until you reach a small encampment. They will be elvin kin and they can take you to Elventon. Be quick and be careful."
"Zen," Lana sobbed. "I'm not going to leave you!"
"Go now, Lana! Nothing can be done!" Zen yelled with anguish. “Go before it gets you, too!”
Lana cried harder. Through her teary eyes she saw Zen sinking to his death.
"Help us! Someone! Help us!" Lana screamed.
"GO!" Zen bellowed so loud that smoke issued from his mouth. Only his neck, head and back were above ground, the rest was submerged in liquidy death. "Just remember me," he added in a whisper.
Lana couldn’t run; her legs felt limp as willow limbs. She stood with knees trembling and eyes streaming.
"HELP US!" She felt it futile but she screamed with all her might.
Zen’s head reached the sand and his horns were swallowed. His snout would be the last thing taken by the deadly sands, a couple feet from suffocation.
Startling, a barking laugh came from the line of trees. Lana spun around; appalled that anyone could be laughing at such a horrible sight. A tall man stepped into the open. On his broad shoulders were black leather pauldrons. A dark billowing cape flowed behind him as he strolled towards them casually. A braided leather belt held a scabbard that housed a long sword. He held a dark staff in his left hand, the same color as his hair, a rich, dark auburn.
"My dear dragon!" his strong voice said. "You look a little under the weather."
He laughed heartily. Lana scowled, took a few threatening steps toward him, and was about to yell at him when he lifted his hand to shush her. His brown eyes burrowed intently into her own. She gave him an indignant glare; withholding the urge to punch his smug face.
“Take a deep breath, dragon,” he remarked.
Lana didn’t find that remotely helpful but Zen apparently did because he took a noticeably large breath. The sand was at his eyes when the man lifted his staff and struck the ground hard. On the third hit, he confidently said, “Haulten ishts.” Sparks flew from the end and the sucking noises ceased. The sand hardened with pops and crackles.
“That’s better,” the man said.
“It’s an improvement,” Zen replied. “But I’m still stuck.”
The man laughed again. “Here,” he said, twirling his staff beside him and stepping forward. He brought it over his head and down to the ground. When it struck, it sounded like a small chime. It reverberated through the ground and echoed softly through the air. What followed was nothing as gentle. The sand erupted around Zen as violent as a volcano. Lana jumped and shielded herself from the raining sand.
The heavy dust began to clear and Zen emerged from a deep, sandy hole, unscathed. He shook himself then said, "Perfect timing. It looks as if I owe you."
"Yet again, might I add?" the man said jovially. "It’s been a long time, Zen. Why haven’t you come to visit?"
"A very long time," Zen replied with a cordial bow of his head. “Elders have kept me busy.”
Lana wiped her eyes and walked over to Zen. Sand still clung to his body and wings and the leather bags that held their gear were sucked off the spikes they were hung on, their contents now scattered everywhere from the sudden upheaval of sand. Lana hugged his leg and Zen smiled down at the teary eyed elf and nuzzled her with his nose.
"Thank you, sir," she said demurely to the man. "I would have been lost without him."
"With honor," Barator bowed. "Call me Barator. This is not the first time I’ve had the privilege to meet this magnificent dragon. Come! Let us talk story! You can join me on my walk back to the castle. I'm sure they would love seeing you again, old friend." He poked Zen on the chest with his staff. He then turned on his heel and strode to the forest edge, which began abruptly.
Zen smiled at her. “If he hadn’t come when he did, I would’ve been cactus food.”
She looked at him, startled.
“That’s how they feed,” Zen said, answering her facial expression.
“Are you both waiting for them to come back?” Barator shouted from the trees. “I recommend you come have a meal with me instead of becoming a meal for them.” He pointed to the desert behind them.
Lana turned around. Gourts, at least a dozen of them, were shifting on top of the sands in what she believed to be a silent flanking move. The thought of being hunted by an oversized house plant made her neck hairs prickle uncomfortably.
Zen nudged her toward the forest with his snout. “Ladies first.”
“You’re aware Barator went first, right?” Lana whispered.
Zen chuckled and followed her.
The deeper they traveled into the forest the more sodden the soil grew. The air was chilled beneath the trees. A thin mist lingered around tree trunks and shrouded plants and shrubs. Despite being the desert’s immediate neighbor, the forest was lush and plentiful with wildlife. Birds sang happily in the canopy and squawks of curiosity greeted the passersby.
Lana walked along a narrow, winding path beside the wide trail Zen and Barator sauntered on. She was enjoying the sights of the gorgeous forest. It was much more appealing than the Desert of Gour. Her feet fell silently on the trail and she felt at peace in the wood. Her fear of losing Zen, memories of murdered loved ones, her worries, her sadness, were all melting like morning frost in novelyear. Above her, she caught a glimpse of a large bird playfully foraging for breakfast. It’s fabulously radiant feathers were a sharp contrast to the dark green leaves. She was so busy watching canopy life, she paid little attention to where she was treading. She walked right into a low shrub. Out of it shot a furry two-legged, winged creature. It made for the nearest tree, protesting loudly with an awful cry. Lana leapt back three strides. Her heart had jumped into her throat. That, of course, made Barator laugh much to Lana’s agitation.
“You’ve managed to anger the calmest mard in the forest,” Barator explained. “You must’ve stepped near its nest.” He smiled jovially.
The mard continued to screech at her and tear away the bark from the tree in an intimidating territorial display.
"Calmest?" She replied. "I would hate to see what the meanest mard can do."
Barator chuckled, "Although they look menacing, Lana, they make great pets. They’re very popular in my kingdom."
“They’ll only eat a couple toes, so they’re safe pets,” Zen said sarcastically. Lana smirked, not amused but appreciative of his humor. Rather than sacrifice any toes, she decided to travel alongside Zen. She would hate to tread on a more temperamental mard and experience their territoria
l temper tantrum firsthand, or maybe even foot.
The mard had triggered a cacophony; twitters, croaks, roars and low, disapproving growls. All around them, animals made their presence known. Lana could only imagine what crept in the shadows beyond her eyesight. Certainly, Barator knew them all by name.
As they traveled on through the forest they passed many streams that all fed into an expansive, deep sapphire lake. The foliage around it was dense and emerald moss grew right into the shallows of the calm waters.
“Oh!” Barator exclaimed. “You must try these.” He strayed off the path and pushed his way through ferns and shrubs. He stopped at the base of a wide tree with thin bark that looked like it was smeared with many different colors of clay. At its trunk was a bush his height with vines extending in every direction and even creeping up the tree.
“Come on,” Barator waved Lana closer. “You’ll enjoy these. Don’t worry. I already scared off anything living around here.” He chuckled quietly.
Lana stood at the threshold of trail and wildland, apprehensive yet curious. On the vines, she could see, were fruits. They weren’t uniform as other fruits she knew and loved. They each had their own, unique color and shade. Lana stepped off the path, tiptoeing carefully through the undergrowth until she was at Barator’s side.
“See these?” he asked. “Notice how they’re all different colors. For each color there’s a different flavor. Some will be similar but not identical. So, here’s lunch. Pick some colors and enjoy! You’ll only dislike them if they’re gray, black, or brown. Those colors mean they’re bad, rotten, or about ready to explode.”
“Explode?” Lana looked around for any colors that might launch an offensive any time soon.
“That’s how they disperse their seeds, you see,” he replied. “That normally happens in novelyear but you can never be too careful.”
“Which color explodes?” Lana asked.