by David Angelo
“I bet you’d love to get to know everyone,” Rocklier said, “but right now we have some things to sort out.” Rocklier motioned in the direction of a large, round tent located near the right wing of the campsite.
“Shall we?” Rocklier asked.
“Okay,” Fin wearily replied, not knowing how else to respond. He followed Rocklier through the flap in the tent, followed close behind by Black-Tooth and Kaw-Ki.
The inside of the tent resembled a makeshift study, with stacks of books holding up legless tabletops, tree stumps acting as chairs, and an assortment of knickknacks and other strange objects sitting on every surface. Antique swords and knives, small statues, finely formed clay jugs, brightly colored masks, and a handful of musical instruments were some of the items Fin noticed lying around. The tent was held up by a single pole positioned in its center, which poked up from a floor of brightly decorated rugs. Whoever dwelled in this abode, Fin thought, must lead a pretty interesting life.
“Sorry about the clutter,” Rocklier said as they made their way through the sea of antiques. “It’s been a while since I’ve attended to my collection, and it’s gotten a bit out of hand, if you can’t tell.”
Fin sat down on a nearby tree stump and took in the many sights and wonders of the tent.
“I’ve never seen so much…” Fin searched for the proper word.
“Junk?” Rocklier asked. “You don’t need to tiptoe around it, Fin. Everything in this tent is a pile of worthless clutter, the product of my years as an explorer of Edon’s many corners. The only reason why it’s all still here is because robbers are too spooked by these woods to try to take any of it. Granted, it wouldn’t hurt if someone were to relieve me of part of this hoard.”
“How far did your travels take you?” Fin asked.
“He traveled to every inch of Edon,” Black-Tooth said, leaning against the center pole. “There isn’t one part of this land that Rocklier hasn’t visited.”
“That might be a bit of an exaggeration,” Rocklier replied as he dug around the inside of a massive wooden chest filled to the brim with old scrolls. “But it’s not too far off from reality.” Rocklier pulled out a large piece of rolled-up parchment, withered with age and fastened closed with a piece of old string. “And it was all because of this scroll,” he said, turning to Fin with a satisfied look on his face. “This battered piece of parchment, which is older than you, me, and most dragons alive today, was the reason why you were arrested and nearly put to death.”
Rocklier unrolled the parchment on a nearby tabletop, displaying words that were written in ancient Edonion hieroglyphs. Fin craned his head over the edge of the table, observing the incomprehensible scribbles on the dried-out old paper, wondering what it all had to do with him.
“You can leave if you feel like it, Kaw-Ki,” Black-Tooth said.
“I’m fine,” Kaw-Ki replied, taking a seat on the floor next to Fin and crossing her legs. “I like hearing this story.”
“Tell me, Fin,” Black-Tooth said, “do you read the Elder’s scriptures?”
“Not much,” Fin replied, shaking his head. “I don’t think I’ve read it entirely since I was a kid. Why?”
“Well, you surely know about the great famine that our ancestors endured over a thousand years ago, right?”
Fin bit his lip and tried to think, but it had been so long since he had read his copy of the scriptures, he could not conjure up a single recollection of any famine.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Rocklier replied. “I guess I can’t judge you too harshly. Anyway, according to the ancient manuscripts, the early Edonions suffered a terrible famine about four hundred years after the great connection, which was when our ancestors first came into contact with the Cullidons. It was all the fault of a virus that affected the crops and caused a catastrophic shortage of food. Thousands of Faranchies and Cullidons died of starvation, and some even resorted to cannibalism to survive. Charming little scenario, isn’t it? Before I go on, tell me: Have you ever heard of Mount Hath?”
“Yes,” Fin said. “It’s a portal to the Upper Realm, where the souls of all dragons go when they die.”
“Actually,” Rocklier said, “it’s the summit that contains the portal. But that’s not important right now. The thing you need to know is that, at the time of this horrible famine, there lived a small nomadic tribe of Faranchies who settled at the base of the mountain. Kemp, whom you met just now, is actually descended from this tribe. Anyway, the leader of this tribe was a prophet named Zoraxis, the fourth of the great Faranchie prophets who lived during Edon’s infancy. The tribe in which Zoraxis dwelled was mostly spared by the famine, but the leaders of the tribe feared that their luck would run out. Zoraxis, being the self-proclaimed prophet that he was, took it upon himself to save his tribe, and his fellow Edonions, from inevitable starvation.
“Now, any good scholar knows that Zoraxis ascended Mount Hath, entered the portal to the Upper Realm, known simply as the Catolie, and asked the Elder for a cure for the famine. It was pretty groundbreaking what Zoraxis did, as this was the first time in history that an Edonion actually entered the Upper Realm and spoke to the Elder face-to-face. Of course, Zoraxis came back from his trip with a solution to the famine in hand, which he later used to cure Edon’s crop of the virus, and now there will never be another famine on Edon for as long as Faranchies and Cullidons continue to exist. The end.”
“Oh,” Fin said, a memory flash appearing in his mind. “Now I remember that story. Someone told it to me when I was a kid.”
“I’m sure,” Rocklier replied. “But you were only told half of what happened. What you, I, and every dragon were told as a bedtime story when we were growing up was actually part of a larger, more complex narrative. While Zoraxis was inside the Upper Realm, the Elder gave him a message to convey to the rest of Edonion society, and it was called the Prophet’s Song. You don’t remember it because it was censored from the Elder’s scriptures centuries ago. The Cullidon-controlled parliament deemed it a threat to their superiority and had the Prophet’s Song erased from all printed editions of the Elder’s scriptures. Any of the Elder’s scriptures that contained the Prophet’s Song were destroyed, and those who continued to preach it were put to death. This scroll that I have laid out here is one of the only surviving copies of the Prophet’s Song in existence today. I found it by accident, and I have spent a great portion of my life retelling it to Edonion society. This is what Zoraxis had to say:
“‘As the sun dawns upon a new morn, a new threat to our being emerges from the fleeting shadows. Like a blood drop in clear water, it spreads. It won’t be long before it takes control of the crown, wrests it from the hands of the anointed, and makes all of Edon bow before its wretched feet. I stand with you, forced to live under the weight of a rock, as the red eyes of deceit force a wedge between us, elevating one and damning the other. I watch young girls forced from their tents and made to give themselves up to a stranger’s lust. I see boys broken under the weight of hard labor, the pain too much to bear, death their only option for escape. Not even the holy scrolls provide solace, for they have been raped and turned into bastards of their former selves. There is no end in sight, my children, no end.’
“Zoraxis is talking about us, our current crisis, and the damnation we endure under the Cullidons. The Elder gave Zoraxis a vision of the future as a way to prepare Edon for the Cullidon ascendancy, which would happen centuries later, when Emperor Rixis declared that Faranchies were inferior to Cullidons and thus should be oppressed. It seems all doom and gloom, right? But Zoraxis was not done with his song. He concluded his testament with a message of hope and a message of deliverance from oppression. Now, Fin, I want you to pay very close attention to what Zoraxis says next:
“‘But lo, for while our plight may be long and hard, we will know freedom when it is over. Look for a youth at a watering hole, his mate at his side, bound together by chains of lust and desire. They are encamped behind a fort, protected by the
drunkards, stealing a moment of calm before the storm. In walks a jester, his mind filled with wickedness and unclean thoughts. Scorn brings out the worst in both of them, the boy and the jester. But the boy gains the upper hand. Down the blows come, and out the blood spills, and the jester is no more. This is the first sign. The second is his knowledge, his ability to understand and know the world around him and see through the lies of his oppressors. Finally, check his hand, for it will bear the mark. The soul of the prophet lives within him. These are the signs to look for, and if he lives a life of goodwill toward his fellow dragons, the bonds that hold you down will vanish, and Edon will be united once more under the Dragon Storm. But he must choose.’
“Let that sink in,” Black-Tooth said. “What does that remind you of?”
Fin stroked his chin, the words of the prophet repeating themselves in his mind until he could no longer deny what he was hearing. The event depicted in the song sounded eerily like the fight that had broken out in the bar just three weeks prior. But no, it was impossible. It was not talking about him, was it? Fin crossed his legs and started to squirm, thinking as hard as he could, trying to find an alternative, but it was just too obvious.
“You saw me in the bar on the night of the brawl,” Black-Tooth said. “I witnessed everything that happened, and it happened exactly like it does in the song. I also overheard your little conversation with Scaljon, proving to me that you can see through their web of deceit. But none of those things matter, because the one thing that confirmed it all for me was the mark.”
Rocklier handed Black-Tooth a piece of shriveled-up old parchment, which Black-Tooth handed to Fin.
“Hold this up to your right palm,” Black-Tooth said, “and tell me what you see.”
Fin looked at the scabby, crescent-shaped burn on his right palm. He looked down at the parchment that was in Black-Tooth’s outstretched hand, on which a strange circular drawing was inscribed. At first, Fin could not see anything unusual about the design, which looked to him like a perspiration ring that the bottom of a cup would leave. But as Fin took a closer look, strange details in the drawing began to pop up. One end of the circle was pointed, like the snout of a reptile, with a small spot nearby that looked like an eye. Above the eye was a perfectly defined horn, and beyond this was a massive wing. The design ended in a pointed tail, which curled up and nearly touched the nose. To Fin’s eye, the drawing resembled a winged dragon flying head over heels in a perfect circle.
Fin looked back at his hand.
Horror and surprise filled Fin’s soul as his eyes locked onto the eye of the dragon on his palm. Every characteristic was there, a mirror image of the sketch he was just shown. Fin’s jaw nearly hit his chin as he wondered how he had never seen it before. A perfectly drawn image of a dragon had been imprinted on his palm, sitting under his nose every day for the last several weeks, and he had not noticed until now. This was the reason why Black-Tooth had acted so strangely on the night of the fight. This was why Scaljon and Huac acted like they’d found the meaning of life when they studied his palm. They were all seeing something that Fin could not: the symbol of the Dragon Storm.
Fin got up and started to pace back and forth, panting heavily as he did, his mind swimming in a sea of questions. There were so many things Fin wanted to ask, but every time he opened his mouth, the questions would crash into each other and lodge themselves in his throat. Finally, Fin spat out the first thing that came to mind.
“Are you telling me that this…song…or whatever it is, is about me?”
“In a way,” Black-Tooth replied, “yes.” He handed the drawing back to Rocklier. “When I saw the Dragon Storm symbol on your hand, I knew what to expect next. I did not expect you to get captured, but I knew that if the story of the brawl leaked, your life would be in danger.”
“And it did leak,” Rocklier said. “A witness must have said something to someone else while a police officer was nearby. The rumor made its way up the chain of command until it reached the highest authority in Edon, at which point you became a wanted man. You, Fin, are the greatest threat to the Cullidon parliament that Edon has ever known. The only thing more dangerous to the Cullidons would be if the Elder herself came down from the Upper Realm and lit the capital, Sebeth, ablaze with her fire breath. They will try to do everything in their power to end your life.”
“Wait a second,” Fin said, trying to make sense of the situation. “Why would the Elder choose me?”
“It wasn’t the Elder that chose you,” Rocklier said. “At the beginning of time, the Elder broke off part of her soul and let it move throughout the generations until it reached you. So far, it’s chosen four Faranchies to become prophets, which makes you number five.”
“Okay, whatever,” Fin said hastily, “but look at me! I’m not strong, and I hardly know how to fight—I can barely hold a crossbow without shooting my damn eye out. Back at Triticon, I relied on you all to save me and get me out of there. Wouldn’t a prophet be able to bring down the entire jail? I couldn’t even jump on a damn horse!”
“Well, no one’s perfect at first,” Black-Tooth said. “If we train you, though, who knows what you can do?”
“This is too weird,” Fin said, sitting back down on the tree stump. “I’m not saying you guys are crazy or anything, or even that you’re wrong. I just…I…I mean…you’d think that the Elder, or whatever it is, would have chosen a little better. Guys, I’m not even that good of a follower. I haven’t prayed to her since I was ten. I’ve doubted the existence of a higher power numerous times. I’m a borderline atheist. Why would the Elder entrust the fate of her people to such a mediocre follower?”
“We’ve all been in your position, Fin,” Black-Tooth said. “We can’t all be saints, and there have been times when we’ve all doubted the existence of a greater being. But keep in mind that the Elder had nothing to do with picking you. The soul of the prophet lives outside of her choosing. We may never know the meaning behind its motives, or why it does the things it does. But what we do know is that it picked you because it saw something that none of us, including the Elder, saw. You may never know why it picked you out of the thousands of other Faranchies who populate this land, but whatever the reason, it had a motivation behind it.”
Fin clasped his hand to his mouth, shaking his head slowly, his body tingling with chills and small quivers. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of other people’s thoughts and questions that would never be answered. The whole world seemed to rest on Fin’s shoulders, pushing him deeper into his seat. It all seemed too weird to be true. Was this some sort of dream? Fin expected to wake up at any moment, look around the familiar confines of his room, and find that everything was back to normal. But such a phenomenon did not occur, and Fin continued to live in this bizarre realm that he knew as reality.
“I need to think about this,” Fin said.
“What else is there to think about?” Rocklier said. “Fin, you can’t—”
“Rocklier,” Black-Tooth interrupted, “give him a minute.” Black-Tooth knelt next to Fin and put his hand on his shoulder.
“Fin, you’ve been through a lot. Go home, rest a bit, and when you’re ready, come back to the dead oak. Chok will take you home, and he’ll stay nearby in case you change your mind. Now let’s go. Kaw-Ki will take you outside.”
“All right,” Fin said wearily. He got up and followed Kaw-Ki out, leaving Black-Tooth and Rocklier alone in the tent.
Rocklier sat down at a nearby desk and sighed. “We broke into one of the biggest prisons in all of Edon to save him,” he said, “and he just turns his back on us and walks away?”
“What do you expect, Rocklier?” Black-Tooth replied. “He was arrested, interrogated, brought within an inch of death, and then told that Edon is counting on him to unify all of dragonkind? He’s been through more in twelve hours than most go through in twelve years. If only I had made contact with him sooner, perhaps he would never have been captured, and then things would have been a litt
le easier. Either way, I know he’ll change his mind. I knew from the look on his face that he believed it. He didn’t want to, but he took it as a fact nonetheless. Just wait—he’ll come back.”
“I hope you’re right,” Rocklier replied, “or else we may have to wait another century or more for the soul of the prophet to make its choice again.”
9
A LIGHT SNOW BEGAN when Fin departed, and it was sunset before he was back in Notnedo. Everything was as he had left it—the same muddy roads, the same thatched roofs, the same drunkards sleeping on the sidewalk. The familiar pub sign greeted Fin like an old friend, after what felt like an eternity away from The Deacon of the Meadow’s quaint charm. When Chok halted the horse at the front door, Scarlet came running out to greet him, while the rest of Fin’s foster family waited at the threshold. Fin was hardly off the horse before Scarlet was hugging and kissing him with a severity he had never known. She looked as if she had not slept a wink the night before; her eyes were shot with blood, and her face was pale and gaunt.
“Oh, Fin,” Scarlet said, squeezing the air out of him. “I thought you were dead.”
“I’m so sorry, Baby,” Fin replied, patting her on the back.
“Well, it’s all over,” Scarlet said, looking up. If her eyes were not so dry, she’d be crying. “Let’s go inside; supper’s waiting.”
“Good,” Fin said. “I’ve never been so hungry in all my life.” Turning to Chok, who was busy tying his horse’s reins to a nearby post, Fin asked, “Would you like to join us?”
“Sure,” Chok replied. “I think I can murder a leg of lamb right now.”
“Actually,” Scarlet said, “we’re serving seared bass this evening.”
“Oh, well, either way. I’m game for anythin’.”
They went inside, where Alto was waiting for them by the bar, looking like he had aged ten years since the last time Fin saw him.