AutumnQuest (5 page)

A robed and hooded figure came out the door and approached me, hands held out in welcome.

“Donavah,” came a deep, feminine voice from within the hood. “Welcome. May you find peace here.”

I reached out to take her hands in the traditional greeting, but snatched them back at the first touch of skin on skin. The same vibration I’d felt from the dragon egg thrilled through me.

The red stars first were strewn across the sky. They spoke to one another across the void, drawing ever closer until they resided in community: the constellation of The Red Dragon.

She grew in knowledge and wisdom until she gave birth to the world.

And the world gave birth to another Red Dragon, the matriarch of all life.

From her womb sprang the earth and the water, the fish and the animals, all flying and creeping things. And to humanity itself.

And herein lies the symbiotic relationship between humankind and dragonkind, who must rule together. The kings and queens of the world bring emotion and compassion to temper the overwhelming power of the dragons.

To violate this power structure is to endanger the balance of life itself.

~from
The Book of Wisdom

The hands reached up and slowly drew back the hood. Blue eyes in an old face surrounded by a cloud of curly brown hair stared at me in the same shock in which I stared back.

“I am Oleeda. Come inside.”

I nodded without speaking. Kibee, who whistled as he uncovered the wagon’s load, called after me, “I’ll take your trunk to your room, darlin’.” Then he started up his tune again without waiting for an answer.

Oleeda led me through the kitchen and down a long, wood-panelled passageway. Near the end, she stopped and opened a door on the left.

“This is your room.” She moved aside, and I went in. She followed me. “Master Foris sent word of the misfortune that has befallen your brother.”

I spun around to face her. “He didn’t do it. He’s not guilty.”

Oleeda raised her hands palms outwards, just as Master Foris had. “I did not say that he was. It is not for me to judge. What is for me is to see to your comfort and your studies whilst you are here.”

I looked around the room. Elegant and spacious, it was at least twice if not three times the size of my cell back at Roylinn. A large desk sat in front of a window that overlooked the meticulously manicured grounds. Two huge candelabra on the desk would provide more than enough light at night. And the bed was almost big enough to swim in.

“The room is beautiful,” I said, “though maybe too fancy for a mere novice.”

Oleeda smiled. “Perhaps. But nonetheless, it is yours for as long as you stay with us. Supper is in one hour, and afterwards, we must speak together, just you and I.”

She looked at me closely, and I tried not to squirm. “All right,” I said, wondering what she wanted to talk about. “Can you please show me to the washroom?”

She pointed to one of two closed doors along one of the walls. I walked over and opened it, then gasped when I discovered a private chamber the like of which I’d never imagined in my life. I turned back to say something to Oleeda, but she’d gone, leaving me alone.

I washed, using the herb-scented soap I found on a shelf next to the basin. As I dried my hands and face with a soft towel, someone knocked on my door. It was Kibee with my trunk.

“So how do you like your room? A sight better than what you had back at the ol’ academy, eh?”

“Too big by at least half.”

“I expect you’ll get used to it in a hurry,” he said, pulling open the other door, behind which was a built-in wardrobe big enough to walk into.

“I don’t think so,” I said as he set my trunk down carefully.

He rose and chucked me under the chin. “You see if you don’t. Now, I’m fixing up something special tonight, so don’t you be late to table.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m starving!”

“See you later, then.” He closed the door behind him when he left the room.

I went to my trunk and pulled out a fresh robe to change into. As I slipped it over my head, I found that the cloth had absorbed some of the scent of the cedar wood. The odor was outdoorsy, seeming to call me outside, as if it were preparing me for further journeying.

There was enough time to meditate, and it would surely do me good. I searched the desk and found, as I hoped I would, a meditation set. The candles were no different from what we used at Roylinn, but the candlesticks were much nicer. Back at school, we used plain, simple ones. These ones here had been crafted to evoke that which they represented: Autumn’s silver candlesticks flowed like water, Winter’s copper ones had the solidity of earth, Spring’s crystal was clear and pure like air, and Summer’s gold glowed like fire.

I couldn’t help but smile; these candlesticks were a joy just to hold. What would it be like to meditate with them? Only one way to find out.

A rolled-up meditation mat stood propped in a corner of the room. I unrolled it, put the clarity candles into the silver candlesticks, lit them, and began the routine.

My mind cleared.

My breathing slowed.

The rhythm of the earth pulsed through me. Be one with the earth; be one with life. Let life restore my strength. Peace. Harmony. Surety.

The simplicity of being alive.

I slipped out of the routine and put out the candles. It had been a simple, successful meditation. A welcome relief after the surprising trance of last night.

Someone rapped lightly on the door and a girl’s voice said, “Supper, miss.” I put the meditation things away with a sigh and left my room.

At the end of the passageway, a serving girl pointed me towards the dining hall. The murmur of voices from the other side of the closed door made me inexplicably nervous. I took a deep breath and let it out, then opened the door quietly.

“. . . say he’s going mad,” one of the masters was saying.

“I always said he would,” said another. “His mother going mad herself and cousin to her husband. You know how it is with royalty.”

The door closed behind me with a soft click, and everyone at the table—all wearing red master’s robes—looked up at me in surprise. I just stood there, not knowing what to do and hoping I didn’t look as stupid as I felt.

“Ah,” said one of them, rising to her feet. “You must be the student Oleeda told us about. Come in and take a seat.”

“Thank you,” I said, barely squeaking out the words. I looked at the long table, trying to decide where to sit. I didn’t fancy trying to join the adults’ conversation. The door opened behind me.

“Ah, Donavah. Here you are.” Oleeda rescued me and led me to a place in about the middle of the table. I wondered how many more people were coming and whether the table would be filled.

It wasn’t, and the food arrived shortly after I’d sat down and awkwardly placed the linen napkin on my lap. Succulent baked fish, sweet potatoes, fresh bread and butter, and a chilled fruit salad for dessert. I could get used to this, I thought before I remembered that I wasn’t going to get the chance. I needed to put my plan into action as soon as possible—preferably tonight.

During the meal, Oleeda kept our conversation to safe topics: the trip down from Roylinn, what subjects I liked best to study, the village my family came from. It turned out that her sister-in-law’s neice was our village magician. Grella’s knack with water dousing was legendary amongst farmers, and Papa had been pleased beyond words when our village council had succeeded in luring her away from her previous post a number of years earlier. At first, I felt awkward sitting with so many adults—masters!—but Oleeda’s obvious interest in what I had to say helped distract me from all those red robes at the end of the table.

After a last cup of sweetened dessert tea, Oleeda leaned over and said, “Shall we?” She nodded towards a door. I followed her up a carpeted staircase and into a study the size of my room, lined with books and filled with objects I didn’t recognize but that seemed to pulse with power. Through an open door on the far side of the study, I glimpsed a bedchamber.

Oleeda gestured towards a pair of wing chairs in front of a fireplace. She put more coal onto the fire as I sat down. A black-and-white cat lay curled up in the other chair, and Oleeda picked it up to sit down, then set it in her lap and stroked it back to somnolence. The contentedness of the cat brought a smile to my face.

“So how long have you known?”

I looked at her in confusion. “Known what?”

“Why, that you are maejic.”

I shook my head. “Maejic? What’s that?”

Oleeda’s hand paused ever so slightly in stroking the cat, and it raised its head from its paws, looking at me with half-lidded eyes. Finally, Oleeda spoke. “Surely you must know.” But I heard uncertainty in her voice and something about the intensity of her gaze unnerved me.

“Know
what?
”

Another long pause during which it felt as if something were tickling my very thoughts. “Let me begin again. You know you have a gift with animals?”

Instantly, my emotions flew out of control, and Oleeda reeled back as if they’d struck her across the face. Her eyes widened in concern, but I scarcely noticed as I tried to bring some semblance of order to my mind.

Don’t think about it, I breathed to myself. Just pretend it didn’t happen. I closed my eyes, trying to expel the memories.

“Donavah,” Oleeda’s gentle voice pierced the chaos in which I was drowning, “this is not healthy. Whatever it is, please tell me. You can trust me.”

I shook my head. To speak it aloud would make it real.

“Open your eyes and look at me.”

With difficulty, I did as Oleeda instructed, not noticing that I was crying until the tears dripped off my chin. I didn’t wipe them away.

Oleeda leaned forward and our eyes locked. It was almost a physical sensation. Then she raised a hand and made a strange movement with her fingers, as if she were plucking the strings of a harp. She placed her other hand on something that sat on the small table between our chairs. I heard a humming noise, then realized it was in my head, maybe only in my imagination.

“Set it free, child. No one should hold emotions of this strength inside. Release it. Let me help carry the burden.”

In a miasma of conflict, I struggled against the desire to do exactly as Oleeda suggested.

But in the end, I lost the battle, giving in with intense relief.

I wept for a long time, whilst the images associated with the memory flowed out of my head. When I finally regained control of my emotions, I found Oleeda holding a crystal sphere about eight inches in diameter, filled with a reddish colored smoke. She still watched me, but, oddly, the cat gazed into the smoky depths.

“Shall we see?” Oleeda asked, her voice carefully neutral.

I took a shuddering breath and then nodded, although I had no idea what she meant.

She held the sphere up so we could both see, moving her fingers a bit as if to make sure that they were positioned exactly right.

The red smoke cleared, and there I saw before me our barn—the barn at home. Without realizing I’d moved, I found myself on my knees before Oleeda, watching in rapt attention. She didn’t need to warn me not to touch the sphere; the power emanating from it was enough.

Papa opened the barn door carrying our kaphound, Jinga. I crept in a few moments later. Inside, Papa knelt next to the dog, probing her foot.

“There’s a thorn, Papa,” I heard my ten-year-old self say.

He looked up at me, a frown creasing his brow. “What do you mean?” Back then, I’d been too young to recognize the sharpness in his tone, but watching now, it was all too clear.

“Here,” I said. “I’ll show you.” I took Jinga’s paw in my hand, carefully parted the fur between her toes, extracted the needle-like thorn, and held it up triumphantly to my father. He didn’t smile, and my face fell.

“How did you do that? How did you know?”

“She told me, Papa.”

I wanted to close my eyes and not watch what I knew would happen next, but somehow I couldn’t.

Papa grabbed my shirt collar and jerked me to my feet. He hauled me across the barn, dragging me behind him when I couldn’t keep up with his long strides.

He snatched up a riding crop from the workbench, pulled down my leggings, and proceeded to whip me. “Do . . . not . . . ever . . . say . . . that . . . you . . . hear . . . animals . . . again.” A stroke fell with each word. It wasn’t long before I was screaming in pain. But now, watching the scene inside the sphere, I saw what I hadn’t back then: tears streamed down Papa’s face as much as down my own.