“Oh, don’t worry. If Eydeth believes the rubbish that Tarnik has been teaching us, and I’m sure he does, then he won’t believe what I said,” Jahrra answered briskly as she assessed Phrym, checking to make sure he hadn’t hurt himself while breaking free of his stall.
“Jahrra, this is no joke! His father breeds semequins! He knows for sure that they’re hard to find and really expensive. He’ll make up some story of how you stole him!”
Gieaun seemed to be getting overly anxious, and Jahrra began to have second thoughts about antagonizing her enemy. Maybe she should’ve just let Eydeth have the last word and leave it at that.
“Hopefully he just thinks I’m crazy, like he always has. Come on, we need to get moving,” Jahrra answered.
When she saw the look on her friend’s face, however, she said, “Oh, Gieaun, don’t worry so much!”
As they rode through the schoolyard, Scede nodded at the pair of twins glaring menacingly at them. “No doubt he’s told his sister what happened,” he commented.
“Yeah, and exaggerated it ten times worse than what actually did happen,” Jahrra sniffed, sitting taller in the saddle.
By the time the three companions made it to the Castle Guard Ruin, the yellow glow of the daylight hours had faded into hues of washed-out indigo. Jahrra turned Phrym down the narrow path that led to the withered building and stopped, turning to her friends.
“I’ll see you later, maybe tomorrow?” she asked.
“Mother and father might need us to help out in the fields with the horses, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you joined us,” Scede offered.
“I’ll see what Master Hroombra has planned. Goodbye!”
They said their farewells and Jahrra jogged Phrym across the field to his stable. As she took off his saddle and rubbed him down, she talked with him as if he were Gieaun or Scede. “One more school year gone. I can’t believe it.”
Phrym just whickered contentedly, nibbling at the oats in his trough. Jahrra looked off into the west and sighed. She wondered if next year would be any different. If the twins are still in school, then probably not, she thought ruefully.
Jahrra finished up with Phrym and took her time walking back to the Ruin, the chirping of crickets and alarm calls of frightened birds accompanying her the entire way. She stepped through the small door of her home to find Hroombra crouched in front of the massive fireplace in the equally massive common room. She looked past him, a little surprised not to find him at his desk, and saw a large pile of logs stacked in the center of the stone fireplace. Jahrra looked up at her mentor, her brow furrowed.
“Are you building a fire?” she asked, thinking of how ridiculous the idea was on this warm evening.
“Yes, I am,” was Hroombra’s simple reply.
Jahrra sighed, knowing out of experience that he wasn’t about to explain. “And why are you building a fire? It’s the beginning of summer.”
Just as Jahrra was beginning to think that her guardian had lost it, he smiled brightly, eyes glittering. “This will be no ordinary fire,” he said.
Jahrra was growing frustrated with Hroombra’s lack of information, so she threw her hands up and exclaimed, “Alright, what do you have planned now?”
His grin deepened as he chanted, “This fire will be neither hot nor cool, and it will neither burn nor freeze.”
Jahrra was flabbergasted. What kind of a fire could freeze? she thought with a befuddled look on her face.
Hroombra stood and walked over to the fireplace. He took a short breath and quickly exhaled, blowing a vibrant ball of red flame onto the pile of wood. The dry timber caught fire immediately, crackling and sparking aggressively, but the red flames soon turned to a blue-violet color, and they began rippling like water.
Jahrra was no longer confused, but intrigued. She slowly walked over to look at the strange flames, reaching out a hand to see if it felt hot, but there was no sensation of heat whatsoever.
“Go ahead and brush your fingers through it, it won’t burn you.”
Jahrra looked up at Hroombra and saw the truth of that statement in his honest eyes. He nodded his great head, so she quickly trailed her hand through one of the ripples. The effect was nothing more than that of a tiny puff of wind passing through smoke. Jahrra pulled her hand back and looked at it. No mark had been made, and she didn’t feel a thing. It felt just as it would if she were waving goodbye to her friends.
“What is this?” she asked in wonder, still staring at her hand.
“It’s ancient magic, long banished by the Tyrant King. The wood is ordinary, but the herb used to light the fire and the words I spoke over it earlier are magical. I have much of the plant stored away, but I only use it on special occasions since it is near impossible to come by these days.”
Jahrra thought of the locked room in the back of the building and suddenly wondered what else might be hidden in there.
Hroombra reached his great foreleg out and passed his own hand over the flame, leaving it there for several seconds. His claws began to glow the same color as the fire, and Jahrra became worried. “Master Hroombra,” she began anxiously.
“Don’t fret, you’ll see.” he answered before she could continue.
He left his massive hand there for awhile longer, and then pulled it out slowly, his glowing claws leaving a trail of hazy blue smoke as they cut across the space between the fire and the floor. He then pulled his toes in and began to draw something on the ancient stone floor with the claw of his forefinger.
Jahrra watched carefully, the blue light of the fire and weak yellow flames of the few lit candles throughout the large room casting strange shadows on Hroombra’s stern face. The old dragon looked to be writing something, and when he was finished, the marks glowed blue-violet upon the floor. Jahrra stared at the characters, which looked oddly familiar.
“What does that say, Master Hroombra?” she whispered as a log crashed behind her, sending indigo sparks flying through the enchanted air.
“It says Kruledth, edth chormiehn epit edth Krueldhnen, and in the common tongue, Kruelt, the language of the Dragons.”
Jahrra looked even more perplexed than before, blinking up at Hroombra like a dazed bird.
“It’s time, young Jahrra, that you begin learning the language of the ancients, the language of the dragons.”
Jahrra returned her gaze to the glowing letters. “Is this the language you spoke of when we went to see the castle a few months ago?” she asked.
“Yes, it is.” Hroombra looked down at the child with serious eyes and took a breath. “I’ve found a few empty books for you to copy down the characters in, so tonight I’ll write out the Kruelt alphabet for you, and you are to copy it down. During the summer you’ll take out this alphabet and practice it each night. When you have learned the alphabet and can read it confidently, you’ll begin to learn the words of the dragons.”
Hroombra had been pacing back and forth as he said this, and when he stopped, he turned his head and looked down at Jahrra once more. She appeared to be slightly overwhelmed, but set her mouth in a determined manner just the same.
“Another thing you must know Jahrra, is that this language has been forbidden by the Crimson King of the east, and you must never tell anyone about it, not even Gieaun and Scede. You must promise me that.”
The glance that Jahrra received from her mentor was a most serious one, and she nodded heartily. Hroombra didn’t often ask her to keep secrets, so she knew that she must keep this one.
“Very well, let us begin. I’ll first start with the capital letters, and tell you what each one corresponds with in the common alphabet. The characters will remain glowing upon the floor as long as the fire burns, so take your time in copying them properly.”