The Quest for the Lost Shards of Power

by F M Andrews

  The strange tugging sensation of the shard was strong, its presence almost overwhelming, but it was also confounding him as it felt to be coming from all directions at once. It was close but he could not pinpoint it at all.

  “Welcome to our home,” Yonla rumbled, interrupting his observations. The pride and affection she felt filled her thoughts. Turrin stood open mouthed and stared. Everywhere he looked dragons were flying. Some on routine errands, others just revelling in the glory of flight. One group of small youngsters was taking turns to dive into the lake from ever higher altitudes, daring each other on. Another group of older dragons, probably the equivalent of teenagers, Turrin thought, was enjoying a communal dust bath in front of a large cave a level below where he stood. Half the basin was in shadow, as it was plainly late afternoon and, as he watched, the shadow marched further across the lake and began to nibble at the cliff on the far side as another day passed into evening.

  How many days had passed while he had been sick? How many days did he have left? Sudden panic caused Turrin’s heart to thud in his chest. He had to find his pack and look at the Errin’s parchment of days. Dismay clouded his thoughts. He could not remember seeing the pack in the cave at all. Had it been left behind in the canyon? He racked his mind to try and remember if he had had it on when Syran had snatched him from the jaws of death but he couldn’t. Placing a hand on Yonla’s warm leg to steady himself once more, every fibre in his body screamed to ask about it yet, he knew that the first thing he should do was thank his saviours for his life and for the care they had given him.

  “I don’t know why Syran saved me and why you decided I was worth healing, but I am so grateful to you both,” he thought with sincerity. “I don’t know how to repay you for all your kindness.”

  Yonla could sense the strong truth in Turrin’s words and lowered her head until she was at eye level with him. “You are most welcome little one. For one so small you possess a large amount of courage and strength.”

  He did not feel particularly courageous or strong right at this moment although, he did need to find out about his pack. “I need to ask you something important,” he began, forcing himself to look into Yonla’s large, attentive eyes and taking her silence as encouragement, he continued. “Did I have a back pack on when Syran rescued me?”

  Yonla’s eyes took on the distant, faraway look of someone trying hard to recall an event. “I am not sure what you mean by ‘back pack’; however, when Syran brought you to me a piece of you fell away. We thought it was your wings to start with but we couldn’t see how they would work. We kept it in case you would like to say farewell and mourn it in the proper way. It is safe in Syran’s cave. I will ask him to fetch it on the morrow.”

  Once again, Turrin heard each word but could not understand what they meant. What was she talking about? He scanned the vista below him, trying to decipher her meaning. Watching the dragons swoop and glide, he suddenly saw that most things on this world had wings. He was basically a wingless freak to them. Another thing that struck him was that there was absolutely no evidence of buildings, tools, clothing or anything that had been made. The beings did not need to make things. They would have had no idea that his backpack was not a body part, so when it fell off, it must have been quite a shock for them. With a smile Turrin tried to explain.

  “Our people don’t have a nice warm place, like this, to live in and we are quite weak and small so we need to make things, with our hands, to survive.” He held up his hands and wriggled his fingers. “What fell off me was something we made out of dried plants so that we could carry things on our backs over long distances. I had some things in there that were very important, so thank you for keeping it for me.” He was beginning to feel weary again. It was alarming just how little activity it took to tire him. At this rate of recovery he would never be able to make the long return trek to the pickup point. Stumbling back inside, he lay down once more, to rest.

  When next he opened his eyes, it was to the clear light of a new dawn slanting through the cave opening. Small motes of dust, illuminated like fireflies, drifted lazily in the air. There was a fresh, clean smell to the day and Turrin took a deep breath in, stretching. His aches and pains seemed to have faded into a background annoyance and the action only elicited a small wince as the scars across his chest refused to play the game. He lifted his tattered tunic to examine them and was amazed by how much they had healed. He knew that back in Feld, wounds like that would take many moons to knit into such neat scar tissue. The healing powers of the dragons was indeed powerful. He fingered what was left of his tunic ruefully. It was crusted with blood and smelt really bad. Taking a sniff at his armpit he nearly choked. Maybe it was time for a bath.

  This morning he had been alone when he woke. Yonla obviously thought her patient was out of danger, and for the first time he had space to think and take stock of his situation. He was alive, he had nearly recovered, he was safe and being cared for and the shard was somewhere very close by. Could be worse he thought, scratching a small, itchy scab on his arm. It all depended now on whether he had enough time left to pin down the shard’s host, persuade them to come back to Feld with him and then return to the pickup point.

  He stood, arching his back and yawning. Taking a step forward he promptly tripped over something soft on the ground. Crouching down, he fumbled for the offending object and his hands closed around what could only be his backpack. Gingerly he examined it, fearing the worse, but it appeared to be intact. Taking it to the light he opened the flap and saw all his precious belongings inside and a strong emotion of relief ambushed him. He had felt as if he was drifting in a world where he had no roots, where there was nothing familiar to hold onto, but seeing these objects that connected him to his reality, his world, suddenly made him more solid somehow, more real.

  Sniffing he rummaged inside until he found the parchment and holding his breath in anticipation and a little dread he counted the days. There were ten strokes left, not terrible news but not good news either. Enough to give hope but only just. It was time to turn his attention to his mission and the first thing on the list was to find the shard bearer. Placing the list back in the pack he ambled to the ledge outside the cave and sat down, his legs dangling over the edge. It was a long way down but what a view! In his estimation it would take a whole day to walk across the basin, it was that large. The lake looked so inviting, glistening in the morning light, and the sight of it made him feel even more grubby and uncomfortable. The trouble was that there was absolutely no way he could get down to it until he regained enough strength to be able to “leap” there.

  Dragons of every shape and size could be seen glinting in the sunshine, their scales sparkling as they caught the light. He could hear their joyful trumpeting as they greeted each other for the new day. Still more were perched on sunny ledges, wings partially extended to soak up as much warmth as possible. Turrin spotted Yonla nearby, eyes closed and a blissful expression on her face. He envied her this moment of pure enjoyment. If only his life was so simple.

  As if she felt his scrutiny, she stretched, and gave herself a little shiver to settle her wings back in place. Turrin waved when she looked his way and with one graceful glide she came in to land almost silently beside him.

  “Every day you exceed my expectations, little one. You will be flying soon,” she chuckled in greeting. Turrin smiled up at her

  “My name is Turrin,” he offered, then added wistfully. “I wish I could fly.” Both sat for a moment staring out into the amphitheatre before them, each with their own thoughts, a companionable silence. Annoyingly, in this silence the clamour of the shard grew louder and louder. The more he healed the more in tune he had become to its presence, yet still, he could not pinpoint its location. Maybe the surrounding cliffs caused an echo? Or maybe he was not well enough yet to tap into enough talent to track it down?

  “If I could fly, I would go to the lake and have a wash. I must smell terrible,” Turrin mused, scrubbing his hands through
his matted hair. Yonla turned to look directly at him, lowered her head and sniffed.

  “Well, Turrin, you smell the same as you always have to me,” she thought, sounding confused. “But if you would like to go to the lake, it can easily be done. One of us could take you.”

  Turrin swallowed nervously. The thought of dangling from a great height, clutched by those sharp talons did not appeal one little bit. His reaction must have been so strong that Yonla had picked up on it and laughingly she sent an image of Turrin sitting on her back.

  “This is how we take our newly born to the water,” she explained. He was not sure if it would be less frightening but, at least, it would be less painful. “Syran can take you, he is big and likes adventure.”

  Turrin did not want this to be an adventure; however, he nodded, knowing that it was going to be the only way he was going to be able to leave the cave for now.

  A short time later, Syran’s large form dropped onto the ledge beside them and a strange feeling stole over Turrin. He was not sure what it was until, like a lightning bolt from the blue, it all became startlingly clear. With a shock his world tipped and all sorts of alarms began to go off in his head and heart. How had he not felt it before? Every nerve ending felt as if it were being pulled toward the magnificent, silver beast next to him. He was drowning in a rich, warm syrup of certainty, knowing that at last he had found what he was searching for. Somehow, somewhere, Syran had the shard. He was the shard bearer. No wonder he had heard Turrin’s cries for help, the two of them would have been connected as soon as Turrin arrived on this world.

  Syran shifted slightly so that he could get a better view of Turrin.

  “You look well, small thing. Even your eyes and mouth look bigger.”

  Turrin snapped shut his mouth and quickly looked down, he must have been gawping like a small kid.

  “His name is Turrin,” Yonla offered, “and he wants to go down to the lake. As you are so big and strong, I thought you would be able to take him?” Turrin found the sly look she gave Syran hard to interpret.

  “Well, Turrin,” Syran bowed formally. “Do you think you can hold on tight enough? I would hate for you to fall. I am not sure that even the great Yonla would be able to heal you then.”

  Ah! There was definitely something going on between these two, Turrin thought to himself. A courtship of sorts, maybe? He eyed Syran’s large body uneasily. He was not even certain he would be able to scramble up to his back let alone hold on but the most pressing question at the moment was, where was the shard? The only way to find out the answer was to stay as close to Syran as he could. Syran extended a long fore leg and indicated with a flick of his head, that Turrin should climb. Nervously he grasped the leg and found, to his pleasant surprise, that he could get his fingers under the edges of the scales. Each one was about the size of a small plate, warm, smooth and iridescent. He was cautious at first; however, when Syran assured him that it did not hurt, he became bolder and eventually he found himself astride the big silver’s neck, just in front of his wings. Clamping his knees as if he were riding a horse and holding onto the edges of two scales, he nervously let Syran know he was as ready as he would ever be.

  “I will make it as easy as we do for our young ones on their first ride. I will start with a simple glide.” And with that, he opened his huge, beautiful wings, gave a gentle push off the ledge and suddenly they were airborne. Turrin’s stomach dropped. Gasping for air he squeezed his eyes shut. There was the distinct falling feeling but it was a slow, smooth decent and eventually Turrin plucked up enough courage to peek, immediately wishing that he hadn’t. The ground was not only rushing swiftly past, it was also rushing rapidly up towards them. His knuckles were white and his legs were beginning to tremble with effort when they finally touched down on the sandy shore of the lake with as little disturbance as if they were a leaf falling from a tree.

  “We are here Turrin, you can let go now,” Syran chuckled, turning his head and blowing a puff of warm air into his face.

  Turrin did not need to be told twice and quickly released his aching fingers and slid down the proffered fore leg. Solid ground had never felt so good before. He managed a polite “Thank you” before wading gratefully out into the refreshing, clear waters. Embarrassingly a slick of dirt began to ebb away from his body but Turrin was beyond caring. Diving under the cool waters was wonderful. It felt as if he had immersed himself in a soothing, healing balm. All his itches, aches and irritations vanished. It was bliss.

  He washed his hair before wading back to shore. Taking off his clothes and grabbing handfuls of sand, he began to scrub. Once he felt they were clean enough, he lay them on the beach to dry and returned to the water to scrub himself. Syran had sat sunning himself during the whole process but when Turrin turned and dived back into the lake he couldn’t resist, and with one quick hop landed right beside him, causing a massive tidal wave that left Turrin bobbing uncontrollably away and the game was on! Eventually, exhausted, the pair dragged their weary, dripping bodies from the water and sat side by side on the sand warming themselves. It had been fun, reminding Turrin of similar games he had played back in Upper Hull with Werrin. He wondered how Werrin would react if he was ever able to tell him about swimming with a dragon. The image of his incredulous face made Turrin grin.

  They sat there for a while, getting their breath back, idly watching a group of youngsters having a sand bath further down the beach. They had taken no notice of him at all. It appeared that all the dragons had accepted him. Maybe it was because he was with Yonla and Syran or maybe it was just because they were accepting of everyone.

  “I can hardly recognise you now that you have lost your smell and your colour. You are fading away.” Syran mused, staring down his nose at Turrin.

  “Believe me, I prefer it this way. They used to have to make me wash at home but I don't think I was ever quite this filthy before,” Turrin replied, lying back on his elbows so that he could take in more of the surrounding cliffs.

  “Tell me, little…, I mean Turrin, where is home? Where do you come from? I have never seen a creature like you before; in fact, the only other animal I have seen without wings is the Bazoni and I hope you aren’t related to them.” Syran sounded as if he were trying to solve a puzzle that had been bothering him for a while. “You have a very strong earth essence but you are so small and so weak. How did you survive in the barren lands?” Turrin had no answers. He did not want to reveal his mission until he knew exactly how to pitch it. He knew he would probably only get one chance at it so he had to stack the odds in his favour as much as possible.

  “My home is a long, long way away and it is very different from here,” Turrin began tentatively, drawing idle circles in the sand with his finger. “There a lots of others like me, although we do not have anyone as magnificent as you,” he finished, slyly looking up at Syran to see if he had gone too far.

  Syran sat up straighter and puffed out his chest. He knew Turrin was teasing but he could also tell that it was the truth. Syran played along with the joke. “Well, of course you wouldn’t have, after all, I am the one and only silver in the basin.” He laughed, lifting his chin and swinging his tail round to curl over his front feet to complete the picture of magnificence.

  Turrin chuckled. He did indeed look imposing and regal, his polished scales reflecting the blue of the lake and the sky. The tip of his tail caught Turrin’s attention and he took a closer look. It was like a large heart-shaped arrowhead but in the centre was an oval scale that looked quite different from the others and with a shock Turrin suddenly realized that this was the shard.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Turrin could not take his eyes off the shard.

  Trying to suppress his excitement, he casually leaned over and examined the glowing jewel. It looked as if it was part of Syran’s tail, as if he had grown the jewel instead of a scale. “Do you all have a decorative scale like this in your tails?” he asked curiously. Syran lifted his the tip and squinted at it,
almost like he had forgotten about it.

  “Oh, you mean the colour stone!” he replied, as if that answered everything then, seeing Turrin’s brow crease in puzzlement, he elaborated. “Let me explain. You see those young ones over there?”

  Turrin nodded.

  “They all have drab colours, muted pastels, greys and browns,” he continued, indicating each colour with a tip of his head. “When we reach about twenty turns of age, we shed that skin and our true colour is revealed beneath. That is when we are deemed to have come of age as an adult, and to celebrate this we each receive our own colour stone from the elders. These stones are handed down through the generations. When one of us dies, our stone is removed and held for the next dragon to reveal their colour. At a special ceremony, one of the elders cuts a line in our tail and inserts the stone. It takes about a moon to heal over and then the stone is sealed in place. It is really annoying because you have to take things quietly the whole time.”

  Turrin could sense Syran’s memories of irritation, frustration and boredom. Clearly it had been a trying ordeal for the energetic silver dragon.

  Syran seemed willing to communicate so Turrin made the most of it. “Is this the only community of your people?”

  “No, there are several, each with their own source of water, but they are all so far away from each other that we don't have much to do with them at all. There is a lot of desert in between each settlement so it is difficult to visit each other.”

  Turrin was encouraged to ask more questions. “How do you feed all your people if you only have a small area to grow things in?”