“So, are you two ever going to talk to me again?” she asked quietly, burying her fingers into the dry sand of the canyon floor.
Gieaun looked over at her, her eyes reflecting the fire. Scede picked up a piece of wood and added it to the flames.
“I’m still a little dazed by it all,” Gieaun admitted, her voice sounding dry as parchment.
“Me too,” Scede added as he silently settled down next to them. “I’ll feel better once I’ve eaten, I think.”
By the time Cahrume returned from his hunting trip, the sky had turned a deep, indigo blue with just a tinge of turquoise cresting the western horizon. The great draffyd touched down lightly, his great wings stirring up dry sand and leaves into a silent whirlwind. He carried what looked like three medium-sized game birds in his mouth.
“I hope these will suit your tastes young ones,” he said after dropping them beside the fire. “They are very common around here and I feel less guilty taking the plentiful prey.”
Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede nodded quietly in acceptance. They had spent the day eating dried meat, cheese, bread, and wild seeds and fruits, so the fresh birds looked rather appetizing. After the fire had died down to flickering flames and glowing coals, and once the birds were roasting on a spit, sending a tantalizing aroma drifting through the air as their skin browned and crackled, Cahrume began the tale he had promised them.
“Now, the story of this canyon begins long ago, long before the Tanaan race of humans ruled the province of Oescienne and long before the last human prince led his people to their doom. The truth of this tale has been lost in time, and very few living souls can remember it. All that remains is that which is now etched upon the walls of the stone tunnel at the entrance to this very canyon. It tells of a saga of the past, and it reveals a glimpse of what is to come.”
The draffyd sat back, taking on a regal posture, and gazed wisely down upon the attentive children. Jahrra looked over at her two friends, both finally appearing relaxed, their faces glowing orange from the hot coals of the fire.
Cahrume continued after his short pause, “Long, long ago, even before the Tanaan tribe of humans traveled over the eastern mountains to settle in this great province, Oescienne was unknown to all but Ethoes herself. Everyone knows the story of how Ethoes, Mother of All, offered her own body to become the world we now know, creating and cherishing all that exists.
“She and Haelionn, the great sun god, gave rise to many children, all gods and goddesses to look after their mother’s creation and to be respected by those living on the earth. Their final son, Ciarrohn, however, never appreciated his parents nor his brothers and sisters. He turned sinister and attacked the earth, his own mother. He turned the elves against her and many other races joined them in their attack on the land itself. He proclaimed himself the one and only god, and that only his chosen should live a life of prosperity, power and wealth.
“Many years after the rise of the god Ciarrohn, and before the humans were even created, the sons and daughters of Ethoes, the good dragons and the good elves and all the other good races of the world, rose up against Ciarrohn and somehow defeated him, casting his body upon the western coast. The ancient people believed, and many still do, that the Elornn and Thorbet ranges make up his skeleton, and that the land west of that, much of southern Oescienne, is a dreaded land. The land where the Demon fell; the land that no one dares set foot upon.
“Others claim that Oescienne became a place of sanctuary, for if anyone could pass through the mountains they would be safe, safe from a world now thrown into turmoil. Yes, the terrible god had been defeated, but those still hungry for power and wealth were hatching their own plots to rule the world.”
The fire leaped and flared suddenly when a runnel of grease from one of the birds dripped down upon it. Jahrra, Gieaun and Scede blinked at the spot that still sizzled and bubbled, returning their gazes to the draffyd only after he continued with his tale.
“Years upon years passed,” he said, “and peace returned to the world when Ethoes purged the land of evil and created the human races. The peace lasted for some time, but the great malevolence could not be completely defeated. Many of Ciarrohn’s followers lived on, passing their hatred down from generation to generation. The wicked god’s supporters increased and moved throughout the land, but there was one place where they feared to go. The western mountains, you see, the very remains of Ciarrohn himself, frightened away those who were once loyal to him. Many believe, still, that the mountains are corrupt, but the ancestors of the great Tanaan race of humans realized that they could use old superstitions to their advantage.
“Once a free and peaceful tribe in the east, the Tanaan now found their safe world torn apart by greed, hatred and terror, and their only choice was to move far away into the west. A few hundred years before the Tanaan race became the Tanaan dragons, a large group braved the mountains and entered Oescienne. Only half of them made it to this paradise alive, and it is said that the few that did make it here came down this very canyon, when it was still flowing with water.”
Cahrume paused and took a deep breath, the whispering fire, the play of water against stone, and the faint click-clicking of bats flying overhead the only sounds to disturb him and his small audience.
After a few moments, he continued, “You see, Ethoes herself led them here, or so they believed. As they crossed the mountains in the late summer months, they had little food and no water. But Ethoes pointed them in the direction of this canyon, and in the direction of her precious apple tree, heavy with fruit. Normally, apple trees do not show their fruit until the autumn, but the people believed that Ethoes asked the tree to bear fruit earlier for the sake of her people. Ever since, the tree’s fruit has ripened this time of year.
“Thus, the Tanaan people were saved by the early and abundant fruit and flowing water. They named this canyon after their sovereign, King Ehnnit, and they gave thanks to Ethoes and the gods and goddesses of the earth and sky. They found the entrance very much like it is today, later carving the tunnel and an archway to mark it as a sacred place. They etched their story into the walls of the tunnel, adding more as the years went by.
“The story of the return of Ciarrohn and the rise of the Crimson King is written there as well, along with the account of the Great Tanaan king and the creation of the Tanaan Kruel of dragons. It is written in the original language of the Tanaan, before they were taught Kruelt, and it is said that no one alive knows the language any longer except for the last Tanaan prince, if he truly still lives in his dragon form. It is rumored that he returned to this very canyon after escaping the Crimson King to record his own tragic story, signing it with his true name. But, of course, it is only a rumor, one that has been passed down through time. That is all I can tell you from my own knowledge. I wish I knew more, but unfortunately, the language in the tunnel is a dead one. No one can translate it now, not even I.”
Cahrume gazed at the three sitting across from him on the other side of the fire, a look of stoic satisfaction written on his sharp-featured face.
Jahrra remained quiet, her mind working furiously despite her own stony composure. If only the words in the tunnel were Krueltish! At least I could write them down and translate them later. How I would like to know the name of the last Tanaan prince!