ȼhɨℓď ๏ƒ ƒɨя€ (ώąţţ¥ ąώąяď$ 2012) OLD VERSION

Chapter 17: Discovery

“I was orphaned at a young age just like you.” Elijah spoke breaking the glass of silence.

“How did you know I was thinking of my parents?” I asked surprised.

“I could see it in your face, it reminded me of me when I lost my parents.”

“Oh,”

“They were killed in the war before the King’s father took the throne. I was only eighteen; it was hard since I had no siblings to lean on. No one cared enough to house me so I found my way on my own.”

“That’s horrible.”

“Yes but it made me the man I am today; just as your parents death will do to you. It makes us stronger.”

“I bet, but it hurts a lot,” I gave a tenitive smile tears glistening in the corners of my eyes. From there the trip was short. As we entered the small village that reminded me of the market back home; Elijah led to a small farm on the edge of town. He dismounted; I followed him.

“Watch them,” He said handing me his horse’s reins. I stood and watched as Elijah walked away, he knocked on the door and when an elderly man opened the door he casually entered the modest cabin. Elijah returned taking his horse from me; he was followed by an elderly man who had answered the door.

“Hello,” the old man smiled. He had balding white hair that was no more than thin wisps; his face resembled old shoe leather, crow’s feet happily lined his eyes. “I can take her,” he nodded, I handed him Lady’s reins and he walked to a pen not far from his house.

“Let’s go, oh your hood, go on and put it up.” Elijah advised. I pulled up my hood covering most of my distinct hair; Elijah also donned his hood as we headed deeper into the small village.

We weaved through the buzzing crowds that darted about the market place. I tried my best to keep my hands to myself, but some particularly brash people forced  me to react and push back.

Elijah finally stopped in front of a small shop; just down an ally off the main strip. The wood trimming was rotting off and in bad need of a fresh coat of paint; it was slowly beginning to chip away. The sign was only half hung; the other end was dangerously low and the chinks of metal holding the other end up looked rusted to oblivion. Tilting my head to the right I read the sign “Redhurst Books.”

“Are you coming?” Elijah asked a brow arched as his hand rested on the knob.

“Of course.” I shook my head clearing my mind. Following Elijah we entered the ramshackle store, as he pushed the door open a tiny bell rang.

The store was coated in layers of dust. Ornate rugs littered the floor, others were stacked in corners. Every wall was covered in wooden book shelves; on them were old dusty books and yellowing scrolls. The shop was incredibly narrow, even more so with books piled as high as the ceiling, some of the taller stacks teetered nervously. To the left was an aureate looking desk; it was made of red wood, it hauntingly reminded me of the doors in the castle. Gold was imbedded into the wood and the corners were hand crafted.

“Elijah!” Smiled an older man; he appeared from behind a moth hole ridden curtain. His brown hair was speckled with gray paired with an equally gray bushy beard.

“Rowan,” Elijah smiled warmly stepping forward brining Rowan into a friendly embrace. Rowan looked not to be much older than Elijah; most likely in his fifties. “this is Ariya.”  Elijah beckoned me forward; he reached out pulling the hood from my head. “She is…” but Rowan sharply cut him off.

“A dragon heir; your arm child, your arm.” His voice was filled with a giddy fever. Unsure I glanced to Elijah who gave me an encouraging nod. Nervously I lifted my left arm to Rowan; he nearly yanked me off my feet attempting to get a closer look. “My gods.” He muttered under his breath as he ran his rough hands over the scarred mark. “Curious, very curious.” Rowan dropped my arm and scurried past the curtain. Rustling was ensued by the falling of books.

“Rowan?” Elijah asked stepping towards the curtain.

“Fine! Fine, make yourselves at home!” Elijah and I shared a glance at one another. By the look I gave him he clearly saw my optimism about Rowan.

“Rowan is a bit eccentric, but he posses vast knowledge.” He assured me. Rowan came tottering back out his boots looked to be two sizes too big.

“I am not some crazy old coot my dear.” Rowan laughed motioning Elijah and me to the counter. “I may be a bit scattering brained but crazy I am not. If I was then this wouldn’t be you.” As he was speaking he flipped through the massive leather bound book he had returned with. Delicate gold inscriptions covered the entire spine and covers; it appeared to being foreign language. “That’s the language of the gods my dear,” he turned the book towards us his finger resting on a hand painted picture. It was a girl with hair like flames, she looked remarkably like me. “My dear this was written two hundred years ago; a prophecy.”

“I’ve heard it; the gypsies have it as well.”

“I doubt they have the full prophecy, merely shards. This book has been solely in my possession since before the War.” Reflexively my hand snatched up Elijah’s; he squeezed my hand; resting his other arm over my shoulders. Elijah painfully reminded me of my father.

“What does it say?” Elijah spoke, asking the words I was too scared to say.

 “It reads,” Rowan’s finger glided along the words as he spoke them. “After the Fall of the Dragons one shall rise from the ashes. Born of ash and flame the Child of Fire is born. Rider and Dragon shall be as one with many, and Dragons shall prosper at the Death of the inciter of Death himself. Passion and Fire shall bear a child greater than the one risen from ashes.” Rowan’s words hung in the air like ice forming on glass.

“Passion and Fire shall bear a child? What is that supposed to mean?” the new prophecy frightened me by far more than the other one.

“Regardless of that, Ariya didn’t you hear, ‘Rider and Dragon shall be one with many.’ It implies what we already know. You are the Child of Fire. Rowan she can speak to Illyria just like I can as well as become one entity in flight.”

“Curious, I shall answer both your queries.” Rowan flipped through more pages along with more muttering. “Here we go.”

Illustrations covered every inch of the page. On the left was a depiction of the Child of Fire he red hair wreathed in a gold crown. On her left was an indigo blue dragon like Moorwin, her right was a pale jade green dragon, Illyria.

“This is your dragon,” Rowan smiled pointing to the blue dragon. “and this,’ his finger tapped the other. “Is yours.” His eyes connecting with Elijah’s.  The girl had a hand on each dragon; she was robed in obsidian black, everything was done in impeccable detail. Both dragons had individual scales.

Rowan’s face suddenly grew dark. “From what I can tell Elijah, I fear in telling you but the connections in this image between the girl and the two dragons, if this is indeed Illyria, somehow she becomes her dragon,”  when he said her Rowan’s eyes flicked to me. His words were met with silence. Slowly I turned to Elijah meeting his eyes. I knew how closely a dragon and their heir bonded. Taking Moorwin away would be the equivalent to ripping my soul in half.

“Elijah you know I would never take Illyria from you.”

“I know that child,” Elijah looked inexplicably perplexed.

“You have a theory.” Rowan spoke causing both Elijah and I to jump.

“I do,” his voice growing somber. “It could be that I die, and since Illyria is somehow bonded to you; you are her tether to life.” Elijah’s words left us all in silence. Nor Rowan or I know what to say.