Page 58 of Redeeming the Dragon

My attention had been fixed on the walls of the vast canyon supporting the brightest blue sky I’d ever seen and not on her. I was also gazing upon lush palm trees, sprouting at clumps here, there, and all about, from whom I supposed the thatch on the huts was made. Three distinct waterfalls streamed down the canyon walls, falling into a river that flowed along the foot of the canyon, disappearing beneath the stones at the far end. At the far end of the encampment, stood a single tree. A tree with yellow bark and strange black leaves that didn’t move even when a breeze happened to blow.

I nearly tripped at having to come to a halt so hastily. Embarrassment heated my cheeks, and I hoped the translucent veil hid my blush.

“Sit, sit,” she insisted, flapping a hand impatiently, then ordered, “Meigh, fetch food.”

A small girl, perhaps eight years younger than myself, hopped up from the mat on which she’d been sitting, weaving another colorful mat from a bundle of dyed grasses on the ground beside her. The directsunlight overhead didn’t appear to bother her, which was remarkable, for I was already perspiring.

“Yes, Grandma,” she said, and scurried away after motioning me to take a seat.

My guide and I stood in a circle of stones for chairs, and I dropped onto the nearest one. A small fire snapped in the center of the circle, ringed by rock, and over it was suspended an iron pot from which steam and delicious smells emanated. Despite the discomfort of the sunlight and heat, my stomach growled, reminding me that it had been quite some time since the cave had provided a meal. My location was uncertain, but I sensed no danger to my person and my person was ready to eat.

“May I ask where I am?” I inquired, turning to the old woman who had taken the stone beside me. “I am Lorna, from the Jeweled Isles. I am Sanlyn. I was sent here, as I said, by the Simathe First. He thought you might be able to assist me. However, I don’t know who you are, beyond the name Jearim, and I do not know where I am, except a place called Brightstone.”

Before the old woman could speak, a chorus of squeals and giggles erupted. Startled, I glanced to my left, only to see a flock of young children charging towards us. Following hard on their heels were teens and mature women, whom I assumed to be older sisters and mothers. From the youngest to the oldest, these folk shared my guide’s deep skin and brown-green eyes, her bright, colorful clothing, and her pretty pebbles strung creatively for jewelry. Some wore copper bangles and bracelets, along with copper earrings. Some of the women had their hair braided around their heads, while others wore multiple braids reaching to their waists, and a few had their hair tied up in a knot woven with a bright scarf or colorful threads.

I also noticed, while there were male children in the group, no men followed the group. Nor did I see any about the village. Where were the adult males? So many questions, yet I had to wait to ask them as the children piled into a screaming, laughing heap around the fire and about my feet.

“Grandma, Grandma!” they were gasping. Their thin arms waved, their hands flapping in excitement as they pointed and gestured at me. “A Blinded! A Blinded!”

“Yes, a Blinded,” the elderly woman chuckled. Leaning closer to me, she said, “Most have never seen your kind. It has been years since a Blinded has visited. You must have a dire need. Tell me.”

Chapter 33

Here it came. The crux of the matter. I still didn’t know where I was, who I was with, or to whom I spoke. I knew the chain of events that had sent me here in my tiring quest to find Moonswept. The mirror to the fairy, the fairy to the immortal warrior, the immortal warrior to the Jearim. I wanted to ask questions. I wanted to make inquiries. I wanted to ask why so many women and children? Where were the men? Why was this tribe so remote, so hidden? Why did they hold themselves apart from the rest of the realm? What protected them?

Clearly, living in their valley of white stone, they were in a defendable position. It would not take many warriors stationed atop the cliffs to render the valley well-nigh impregnable. Except, perhaps, from attacks by air. Only the Warkin with their flying beasts possessed that capability, to my knowledge.

I was curious about these people, whose simple wooden huts with thatched roofs, seats of polished rocks from the cliff walls, and colorful, bright garments proclaimed a humble, festive way of life that Icould identify with. I smiled at the children who shyly reached out to touch my clothes, my hair, and my bag, murmuring amongst themselves in their distinct dialect. I chose to allow their inquisitiveness and to make no further inquiries of my hostess, reminding myself that I was the guest here and I needed her help, not the other way around.

“I should go back to the beginning,” I chuckled. “As I said, I am Lorna. I am Sanlyn, from the Jeweled Isles.”

“The Jeweled Isles.” A younger woman about my mother’s age came and squatted next to the older woman with whom I’d been speaking. I noticed she also wore her hair in a braided crown studded with colorful pebbles like gems. “Which sea boasts the Jeweled Isles?” she asked. “What folk be Sanlyn?”

“My daughter, Jyn,” the older woman smiled, reaching out to pat her daughter on the back. “I am Crina, the Miltasa of our tribe.”

“Is that…a queen?” I asked tentatively. “I would pay you the respect of your station.”

“My mother is Miltasa. Elder. The eldest soul in our tribe,” Jyn replied shortly. She was less warm, less welcoming than her mother, and I did not blame her. A complete stranger appearing out of thin air? She had cause to be suspicious. “We honor her as such. Now, stranger—Lorna—questions must be answered.”

“Of course,” I replied hastily, bowing my head in deference to both Jyn and her mother. “The Jeweled Isles lie in the South Seas, south of Laytrii, Aerisia’s capital. We are fisherfolk, merchants, and sea traders.”

Jyn nodded sharply. “How came you here? How came you to Brightstone? One moment, nothing. The next? You. By what magic came you here?”

I glanced at Crina, her mother, who still regarded me with a kind countenance. Since I’d already explained to her that the Simathe Firsthad sent me, I waited to see if she would pass this information to her daughter. She didn’t. I realized that, although Crina, the mother, was honored as the tribe’s leader, it was Jyn through whom I must pass to gain help.

Flashing a smile at the children—more of whom kept gathering at every moment, lured by the sight of a strange-looking newcomer—I began to talk, telling the story of who I was and how I’d arrived in this magnificent valley.

During my recital, the children slowly backed away, having had enough of exploring my clothes and hair through touch, and sank onto the ground, cross-legged, absorbing my tale with wide, brown-green eyes and toothy, white smiles. Meigh had brought food—sliced fruit and coarse, hearty bread on a thick, broad leaf that served as a makeshift plate. While I talked, I ate, using my fingers, since no utensils had been offered.

I noted that, while the women and older girls listened to my story, they worked. Not one sat idle. They wove baskets, peeled and chopped fruit, stirred the pot over the fire, sharpened knives, or stitched and dyed bright fabric. Some of them had carried their work with them when they ran over. Some of the tasks had already been waiting here, beside the fire. The only two who did not work were Crina and Jyn, which I supposed was because these two would judge my tale and decide my fate.

Because of the children, I glossed over certain parts of the narrative, such as Kidron visiting my bed at night, albeit nothing physical had occurred. Still, I’d no wish to give the wrong impression or speak of things beyond the children’s years. Instead, I told a tale of falling in love with a stranger who turned out to be a dragon prince caught beneath a witch’s curse: a curse I’d vowed to break. My hunger was finally sated around the same time that I closed my story. I wiped myfingers on my pants, and one of the younglings hopped up to take the leaf and cast it into the closest fire. I smiled my thanks, before turning back to the two leaders.

“And that is why I am here,” I concluded. “I have traveled far, and still haven’t come far enough, for I know not the way to Moonswept, the Scraggen’s keep. It is east of the sun and west of the moon, wherever that may be. I’d hoped you might know where it lies.”

Jyn and her mother glanced at one another. A couple of the women in the group shifted in place—nervously, or anxiously, as if they wished to speak but restrained themselves.

Even the children had quieted, although I thought it was because of the seriousness of their mothers, rather than any understanding of their own. They still cast happy looks at one another, flashing smiles, and then one little lass, perhaps six or seven years of age, broke the silence by asking shyly,

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