Jahrra glanced up, looking at her surroundings for the first time since entering the forest. She and Phrym were slinking down into the tiny hollow that came to an end at the Belloughs. She saw evidence of the recent wind and rain; it had flattened much of Denaeh’s garden, but the mushrooms looked as healthy and un-harassed as ever. A thin tendril of smoke curled from a tiny vent in the hillside, the chill wind sending it dancing through the trees.
Jahrra had already climbed down from Phrym and was leading him to the lean-to stable when Denaeh stepped out from behind her moss curtain, quite surprised to see her visitors.
“Why Jahrra, whatever brings you out in this weather? What if it were to start raining again?”
The Mystic looked slightly concerned, her topaz eyes evaluating the scene before her. She melted into her younger form and stepped down from the stone stairway below her cave, her heavy, patched dress dragging sluggishly across the damp ground.
“I had to get away from the Ruin,” she answered grimly. “And I have to talk to you.”
Denaeh watched her closely, as if trying to figure out what she would say to the girl next.
“You have much to tell me, don’t you Jahrra? But for goodness sake, let us go inside and hear this tale by the fire.”
The Mystic held back the curtain of thick, hanging moss for Jahrra to pass, then held her fingers to her teeth and let loose a trilling whistle. Milihn, who had been sitting quietly in the bare branches of a tall eucalyptus tree like a grave sentry, croaked and flew down past Denaeh and into the cave. He landed delicately on an old coat stand fashioned with a perching stick that sat in the corner of the room near the fireplace.
Jahrra and Denaeh followed the bird into the dark cave and sat down by the crackling, blazing fire. Milihn gave Jahrra a curious glance from a glittery black eye then ruffled up his feathers and tucked his beak beneath one glossy wing.
“I have to tell you about something I found, something my friends and I found almost a year ago,” Jahrra said grimly as Denaeh handed her a cup of hot tea.
Jahrra took a deep breath and delved into the story of how she and her friends had come to find the new cove and all that they’d discovered there. Denaeh listened patiently, nodding her head every now and again, with her arms crossed, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed in that all familiar way of hers.
When Jahrra finally finished telling her tale, she risked a look at the Mystic. Denaeh sat patiently in front of her, a million different sentiments playing across the youthful face she always managed to keep placid. Jahrra stared at her for a long time, attempting to read the Mystic’s thoughts as easily as she always read her own. After finding this impossible, she settled into the thick quilt Denaeh had given her and turned her eyes back to the dancing fire. She took a deep breath and waited for the Mystic’s response.
Denaeh’s mind raced furiously. She was sure that if Jahrra had kept looking at her face even a moment longer, she would’ve seen those thoughts written there as plain as words were written on a page from a book. Jahrra has found the Lost Magehn! It can’t be! But the journal and the compass . . .
The young woman let out a short sigh and addressed Jahrra.
“Do you have the book with you?” she asked, trying hard not to let the emotion in her voice break free of the weak hold she had on it.
“No,” Jahrra said shortly, staring into the cup of black tea in her hands. “Jaax snagged that right up. He and Hroombra are looking through it right now.”
Jahrra kept her eyes lowered, so she didn’t notice the change that flared up in Denaeh’s eyes.
“Did you get a good look at it?”
Again, the Mystic tried not to sound too impatient, but Jahrra heard it in her voice this time.
She looked up, head slightly cocked, and inspected Denaeh through narrowed eyes.
“You know what’s in that book, don’t you Denaeh?” she asked slowly.
Denaeh glanced back at Jahrra, determined not to falter, but it was no use, she would have to tell the girl the truth. The woman rose out of her old rocking chair and walked past her young friend to gaze out of the entrance of her cave.
She crossed her arms and pulled her faded mustard shawl tightly around her shoulders and began, “I don’t know the truth Jahrra, but I have an idea of what might be in that book. If the man you found is who I think he is, then there is much that needs to be said.” Denaeh paused and shot Jahrra a meaningful look. “He could be the last Magehn of the Tanaan King from so long ago.”
Milihn released a grumbling croak without lifting his head from his wing, perhaps in response to an avian dream, and fluffed his feathers as the fire popped and crackled.
Jahrra just stared blankly at her friend. What on Ethoes was a Magehn?
Denaeh took a short breath and continued on stoically, “The king’s Magehns were magicians, warriors and spies all wrapped into one, and they were valued above all of the king’s soldiers and servants. This particular Magehn of whom I speak was not human but an elf, and he was the most loyal of all the king’s men. He carried with him a secret book which gave the true names of the king, his queen and his eight sons.”
Denaeh swallowed and continued, her eyes still focused on the bleak world outside. “The king and his family went by code names in public and kept their true names secret. But The Book of Kings, as it is sometimes called, holds other secrets, great secrets that only the Oracles know. It is said to contain history that is no longer known by any living soul, and it is said that the chosen child, the future savior of this world, is listed by name somewhere on its pages. The Magehn,” Denaeh turned and gazed down at Jahrra with a gaze as solid as stone, “the Magehn guarded this book with his life.”
Jahrra gave Denaeh a strange look. She had never heard this woman sound so detached from the living world before. Before she could ponder it any further, Denaeh started speaking as if reading from a book, “It is said that the youngest son of the king, the last Prince of Oescienne, owned a magic compass, passed on to him after his father and brothers perished in the east. The compass had one of the symbols of Ethoes etched into its dark red base, the blood rose, and its face was that of mother of pearl. The compass you described sounds very much like it.
“Legend says, for no one knows for sure, that when the young prince and his army marched upon the Crimson King, and after they were transformed into the Tanaan dragons, that somehow, the Magehn got hold of the compass, vowing to keep it until the prince was found. But no one ever found the young prince after that dreadful day, and many believe that this last Magehn of the king wandered the world looking for him. While he searched, he allegedly kept a meticulous journal, a journal written in the ancient script of the royal family. What led him to Oescienne and what caused his death is a mystery, that is, if the skeleton you found is really the remains of the one most loyal to the king.”