“Ah, there you are. Did you have a good day?” he asked casually.
“I guess so,” she shrugged.
“So . . . ?” Hroombra said with smiling eyes. “Are we all going to the party then?”
“Yes,” Jahrra mumbled in a defeated voice.
“It won’t be all that bad,” Hroombra replied, turning back to the old papers strangely illuminated by the crackling fire.
Noticing the unfamiliar documents and looking for anything to distract her from negative thoughts about the twins, Jahrra walked over to the hearth and stood beside Hroombra’s shoulder.
“What maps are these?” she asked. ”I’ve never seen these ones before.”
“More maps of Ethoes,” Hroombra answered. “See, here’s the known world up until a few hundred years ago, before the threat of Cierryon discouraged the mapmakers from continuing their work.”
Jahrra gazed down at where Hroombra pointed with his great forefinger. She recalled the map hanging in the classroom in Aldehren and remembered seeing a few smaller ones in Hroombra’s study, but nothing of this detail or size.
The old worn map was large enough to be a quilt. The document showed the entire Norwester Arm, the part of the world that was known, at least to the peoples that inhabited it, and was enhanced with detailed topography and natural wonders.
The Great Hrunahn Mountains in the north, so tall that they pierced the clouds and almost touched the heavens, were drawn towering over the lower peaks below them. The Great Rhiimian Gorge, a huge canyon that cut long, deep and wide into the desert of the east, looked cavernous, an effect she was sure the mapmaker intended.
Jahrra noted the huge blue splashes representing the giant lakes of the west and the enormous Samenbi Desert, depicted as a blush painted across the land, in the center of the great continent. She let her eyes travel southeast and they fell upon the gold-tinged Dunes of Ehrann, and then to the lost mountain range that cut the Norwester Arm off from the south. The map faded away after this range, showing that these lands hadn’t yet been explored by the people of the Norwest.
After admiring all of the shapes and colors, Jahrra took a closer look and found that the map was also labeled quite clearly. The names of these places were both in the common language and, just below, in Kruelt. Jahrra immediately loved this map, and she soon became entranced, grazing her eyes over it again and again. She read out some of the names in the dragons’ language as best as she could pronounce them, looking to her mentor for help.
“Here,” chuckled Hroombra, pushing over a much smaller map, only as big as the top of a small table, “you might want to start out with this one.”
Jahrra looked dazedly at the new document and saw that it was just as detailed as the first one, only this map showed all of the province of Oescienne.
“The landmarks are printed in Kruelt, but you need the practice anyway. You can copy it and carry it with you so you won’t get lost.”
Hroombra then pushed over a blank scroll small enough for Jahrra to keep in Phrym’s saddlebags, but large enough for her to copy the major features of the Oescienne map. He also pushed a box of drawing and coloring pencils in her direction and Jahrra soon began her work, completely forgetting about her anger at the old dragon and the dreaded party she had to attend.
“You may help yourself to the roast on the fire as well. I figured you might not have eaten.” Hroombra nodded to the remains of a large wild pig roasting deliciously over the large fireplace.
Jahrra lay in front of the hearth for hours, working on her map and looking at the others, eating the roasted pork and enjoying the warmth of the fire on this cold night. Hroombra answered all of her questions about the many maps he pored over and even helped her with her own map.
When Jahrra finished all of the details, she scribbled in the names of the different places and checked to make sure everything was as accurate as she could make it. She gave the map the same colors as the old one in front of her, but the newer drawing glowed with the vibrancy that time had not yet stolen.
When the hour grew late, Jahrra yawned hugely, realizing just how tired she was. Her map was not yet finished, but she could work on it later. As she stretched her back and bid good night to Hroombra, he reminded her of her fitting at the tailor’s tomorrow.
Jahrra groaned, suddenly remembering the past two days. She shuffled off to her room, feeling the warmth from the fire slowly seeping away. She climbed reluctantly into bed, dreading the arrival of morning, but managed to calm her anxious thoughts with painted scenes from her new map.
The next day Hroombra and Jahrra traveled to Aldehren in hopes of finding the perfect outfit for the Solsticetide party. The journey was slow going and although Jahrra loathed the idea of spending a day away from her friends, she couldn’t help being curious about the many fabrics the tailor might have to offer.
The bustling town of Aldehren was busy with the clamor of the season and Jahrra suddenly remembered the last few times she’d walked through town with a huge dragon. Once it been her first day of school, and she frowned as she recalled the menacing scowls and guarded whispers from the early morning crowd that autumn day so long ago. The second time had been during a trip through Edyadth, when they had witnessed a slave auction. Jahrra shivered as she recalled the chained people and a pair of bright green, elvin eyes that had made her uneasy. And just like the first time in Aldehren, the people of Edyadth had regarded Hroombra with disdain, moving away and muttering as he’d passed. Jahrra now wondered if her guardian would get the same treatment today.
Either the people of Aldehren had finally gotten used to the fact that a mystical beast lived on the great hill above their town, or they were so caught up in their own business of the day that they hardly noticed his presence now. There were the few stares and pointing fingers of the enthralled children being dragged along by their mothers from one over-stuffed shop to the next, but nothing like what Jahrra remembered. Everyone, except for a few wagons drawn by two or four horses, stuck closely to the sidewalks, easily distracted by the glittering and bedecked storefronts. No one seemed to care about the dragon passing by.
Jahrra relaxed a little and looked around. She smiled at the people shuffling about, tripping over decorations and long ribbons or trying hard to balance gift boxes piled high in their arms. The air held the dancing scents of hot-baked cranberry cobbler, spicy cinnamon cider and roasting chestnuts. Jingling bells hanging from polished harnesses played throughout the city streets, and Jahrra felt a pleasant chill creep over her skin as the smells and sights of the Solstice season overwhelmed her.
Hroombra eventually stopped in front of an obscure little shop painted a dark, brilliant blue with a wooden sign hanging above the holly-draped door. The sign read Gahlen’s Fine Clothery, and Jahrra realized with a tiny grimace that this must be the tailor’s shop. She reluctantly slid off of Hroombra’s back as he stood blocking the flow of traffic. It seemed people were taking notice of him now, giving puzzled looks and muttering irritably as they shoved passed him.
“I’ll wait right here for you Jahrra,” he said in a low voice, eyeing the person-sized door in front of them.
“Alright,” she gulped.
Jahrra turned the handle of the door and pushed, causing a cheerful jingle of bells to chatter above her head. She stepped cautiously into the small, cramped tailor’s shop, the buzz of the crowd ceasing as the door swung shut. Jahrra blinked as her eyes became overwhelmed with an explosion of vibrant color.