Onyx Dragon (Book 1) (6 page)

Wrothgaar contemplated those words carefully, not fully understanding, but willing to keep an open mind. If this Dragon is the heart of all life on the island, then surely his death would mean the end of everything, or the beginning of something horrifying. Neither prospect seemed very pleasant to the Northman.

The trail started downhill again, winding deep into another forested region. The path itself seemed more pleasant now, softer and covered with pine needles and leaves. It was much easier on them and the horses, who themselves were weary.

“I think this is a good place to find a camp,” Eamon suggested. “We should be able to hunt some rabbit here. I’m tired of dried deer.”

“As am I,” Wrothgaar agreed.

After dismounting, the two set their horses free to graze and wander. They were both exhausted and needed a night’s rest. The woods here seemed like a good spot. Though shady, there was still plenty of sunlight filtering through the canopy above to light their camp, and the pine trees were widely spaced. It was a pleasant, comfortable setting that would provide a peaceful night’s sleep.

Wrothgaar began to clear an area for a fire pit while Eamon searched for stones. Within a few minutes, the Northman had a good sized spot of bare ground, but Eamon was unable to find any good stones.

“It looks like we’ll be rolling into the campfire tonight,” he joked. “No stones worth picking up.”

“Not a problem,” Wrothgaar replied. “I’m not afraid of fire, just snakes and banshees.”

Eamon laughed. “We should scout the area for some wood and maybe a rabbit or two.”

“Good idea,” Wrothgaar agreed.

The men headed off in the same direction, gradually spreading out as they went. Wrothgaar picked up a few small branches, but there weren’t any logs to gather. Eamon had the same luck.

“I should have known,” Eamon said to himself. A forest comprised of nothing but pines wouldn’t provide much firewood. The branches of this particular breed were small and fragile, with nothing larger than his own wrist. Frustrated, he tossed the few small sticks he had found to the ground.

“Eamon!” Wrothgaar called from a distance. “Come, my friend.”

The Prince headed toward Wrothgaar’s voice, finding the Northman staring excitedly at a small cabin tucked into a small grove of larger pines. It was in good order, complete with glass windows, shiny brass fittings, and a chimney that billowed smoke.

“A cozy little cabin,” Eamon remarked. “I wonder who lives here.”

From behind them, an old man’s voice said, “I do.”

The two men turned, startled. Before them was an old man dressed in simple earth toned robes, with an overstuffed pack and a twisted oaken staff. He was bent and wrinkled, but seemed spry and lively for a man his age.

“Well,” the old man said impatiently. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me with this pack?”

“My name’s Jodocus,” the old man said, inviting the men inside. “These are my woods.”

“Your woods?” Wrothgaar asked.

Jodocus stopped short, put his fists on his waist and stared the tall man in the eyes. “Yes. What of it?”

“Nothing,” Wrothgaar shrugged, glancing out of the corner of his eyes at his snickering friend.

The old man turned, going to the fireplace to fetch his teapot. Eamon set the man’s pack down on the floor, looking around. “You keep a clean house,” he said.

“Thank you, Prince Eamon,” Jodocus replied.

  “You recognize me?” Eamon asked. “Have we met?”

“Of course not,” Jodocus laughed. “But you are unmistakable. Why, your friend’s people refer to you as the Dark Prince. And now I see why.”

Eamon looked down at his clothing, mostly black with only small amounts of dark purple trim. “Ah yes.”

“
Tumsi Prins,
” Wrothgaar clarified in his own tongue. Then, to Jodocus, “How did you know?”

“I’m a Druid, boy,” the old man replied, bringing the piping hot teapot to the table. “The spirits of the Earth tell me these things. Now sit down and have some chamomile. It will soothe your pains and help you relax.”

Eamon and Wrothgaar each took a seat at the small round table. Each place setting already had a small mug waiting, as if the old man knew they were coming.

“I knew you were coming,” Jodocus stated. “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“It was almost thirty years ago,” Jodocus began, “back when I was only slightly less old than I am now—you see I hate to use the word ‘younger’ since I was never really younger. I’ve always been old—but anyway. I felt the coming of something cold and dark. Something that came to this world as if by some magical doorway. I felt the Dragon recoil in discomfort, as if the new invader’s presence had disturbed his slumber—or his peace—who knows?”

Jodocus paused, giving himself a moment to think. The two young men leaned in closer, waiting for him to continue.

“I spoke with the Dragon for days, hearing his tale of an ancient battle once fought against a being of similar nature. Something that was chaos itself. Or negative energy. Possibly the same being. Who knows? But this ancient battle was fought at the request of the Great Mother. He was the Mother’s warrior spirit, after all, and was the only one fit to wage war. It was a battle that the Dragon ultimately won, but it cost him much of his power. When it was decided during our communion that the Dragon himself was too weak to fight again, he thought that he should take human form and bring his seed onto the Earth once more—that’s you, Eamon. But you knew that—where was I?”

Jodocus stopped for a moment, scratching his chin.

“Oh yes,” he continued. “I decided to travel to Dol Drakkar to greet him, as we had been friends for centuries. There, I met with his servants; the Priests of Drakkar.”

Jodocus stopped again, pouring the two men another cup of tea. He swigged from a small bottle he took from his robe, then replaced it without saying a word. Eamon looked to Wrothgaar from the corner of his eye, seeing the Northman mirroring the gesture.

“I told the Dragon of your mother and her twin sister. I described their character to him as best I could, and he decided on the lovely Siobhan, instead of the equally lovely Maebh. They’re twins, after all. But he liked the sound of a future Queen who would lead her people into battle herself. What bravery, he thought! What character. She would be an excellent Queen, and an excellent vessel for his offspring.”

“Did he love her?” Eamon asked.

“He did,” Jodocus replied, nodding his head slowly, smiling. “Indeed he did.”

“Then why did he never return?”

“He did, on occasion. He witnessed your birth, your coronation, and even your first battle against the islanders. He was proud, and still is to this day. He will be glad to see you, Eamon.”

Eamon sat silent, not sure how to react. Finally he said, “I’m not sure I will be happy to see him. I’m not even sure I want to see him, even under these circumstances.”

Wrothgaar put his hand on Eamon’s shoulder. “My friend,” he said, “many of my people never get a chance to meet their fathers. And those that do are happy to do so, no matter how long it takes.”

“Your friend is right, Prince Eamon,” Jodocus said. “The Dragon has his reasons for the way he works. No one knows why he chose to seclude himself underground, letting his body rot away. No one knows why he walks the Earth in human form, either. It’s just what he does...or did, rather. He is an ancient being, older than time itself—on this world, anyway—and his reasons are far beyond the comprehension of any mortal.”

“What of the other creatures that the Jindala travel with?” Eamon added. “What are they?”

“Living voids, it seems,” Jodocus said. “Strange beings, like the Lifegiver, that have the power to draw the life from all things around it. Wherever they appear, things die—unusually fast, I might add. I have had to travel to many locations around the kingdom to restore life to the places they have drained. Not an easy task, I tell you. But the most disturbing thing is that they are sentient beings, not just objects that the enemy carries around in a box. They walk among us like demons. But they are not demons. They simply are—and aren’t...”

“I do not understand,” Wrothgaar said, scratching his head. “How can they be and not be?”

“I understand your confusion. But it’s the only way I can explain it. They seem to exist in this dimension and their own dimension simultaneously. Their own reality and ours, so to speak. They have not fully entered our world as the greater being has done, but are somehow stuck between worlds. They use this bridge to feed upon the energy of this world, that they may grow stronger in their own. And if they succeed in gathering enough life force in this world, they may be able to cross over fully. Such a being would upset the balance greatly, as the Lifegiver has done. A creature from a negative universe existing in our own universe…well, you can imagine the consequences. Very disturbing, indeed.”

Eamon quietly sipped his tea, feeling the burden on himself and his friend grow heavy. He wondered if they would be able to fight the creatures, even with the Dragon’s help. It would be a difficult and dangerous task, but for the sake of the kingdom, and possibly the entire world, they must succeed, or die trying.

“Come,” Jodocus said, rising. “We will go to my chambers. I have a few things that may be of great value in this struggle.

The door the three entered opened into a stairwell that led down underground to another door. Through the second door, a cobblestone-lined hallway led into the darkness. Though dark and dusty, the hallway was dry and not at all unpleasant.

“This hall leads to my tower,” Jodocus said. “It’s hidden from view, obviously, and the hall is the only way into it.”

“Ingenious,” Eamon stated. Wrothgaar nodded in agreement.

“Do not worry about your horses,” Jodocus assured them. “They’ll be fine. My forest is guarded by the spirits of the trees. They will protect them and keep them from wandering off.”

Eamon had completely forgotten about them, but Wrothgaar seemed unconcerned. Then again, he didn’t care for horses to begin with, so his indifference was not surprising.

  Jodocus lit the way with his staff, which glowed brightly at the tip with a greenish light, revealing intricate runes carved into the stones. There were runes of unknown origin, pictograms, and many other glyphs written in long dead languages.

“I see you’ve noticed the writings on the wall,” Jodocus said. “They were carved by the Priests of Drakkar many thousands of years ago when this tower was built. It was originally inhabited by the lich, Traegus, a powerful human sage who used his magic to bring himself back from the dead. Smelly fellow, as you could well imagine, but rather pleasant to talk to.”

“I’m not sure what a lich is,” Wrothgaar stated.

“An undead Priest or wizard,” Jodocus answered. “Some of them are so devoted to their craft, and the pursuit of knowledge, that they refuse to allow themselves to pass away. They stay alive, despite the fact that their bodies are dead.”

“Ah,” Wrothgaar said. “Interesting, and repulsive at the same time.”

Jodocus laughed. “Indeed, my friend. Indeed. They are one small group of individuals that seem to always upset the balance. Burns me, it does. When it’s your time to go, it’s your time to go. They just refuse to accept that.”

“And what of you?” Wrothgaar asked. “Why have you refused to let death take you?”

“I haven’t!” Jodocus snapped in mock anger. “I just haven’t died yet. But I will. Someday. I have been here for as long as men have walked the Earth. Even longer. But when my time comes, I will happily let myself cross over. I look forward to returning to the Earth.”

The group reached the end of the hall where there stood a heavy oaken door. It was adorned with steel bands and rivets, ornate hinges, and a fist-shaped handle. Jodocus turned the handle and pulled the heavy door open. It swung open with little effort, apparently well balanced enough to glide easily on its hinges.

“Go on in,” Jodocus offered.

The two men entered, looking upward to the dark, featureless shaft that loomed above them. There was not much to see. No stairs, no windows, no torches. Only a large round platform upon which they all now stood. With a wave of his hand and a tap on the floor with his staff, Jodocus began to raise the platform.

Wrothgaar and Eamon stumbled slightly when it began to move, but quickly caught their balance. Jodocus chuckled, mumbling to himself in amusement as the platform slid smoothly upward.

“Levitation is the easiest way to harness the natural energy of the Earth,“ Jodocus said. “It’s the first trick that all apprentices learn to use, whether seer, wizard, druid, or what have you.”

The two younger men glanced at Jodocus briefly before turning their attention back to the empty blackness above. After a few more moments, the platform stopped, resting at another large door, similar to the one at the bottom of the pit.

“Here we are,” Jodocus said, opening the door. “Go on.”

Eamon and Wrothgaar entered the chamber, finding it octagonal in shape, decorated with arcane symbols, alchemy equipment, and maps of the stars and planets. It was similar to Maedoc’s chamber back home, but somewhat more wild-looking in appearance. The sunlight poured in through tall, rectangular windows on each tan stone wall, and various plants were hung or potted in each corner. The windows themselves were overgrown with vines and ivy, some of which boasted beautiful white or lavender flowers.