Phoenix Rising (Dragon Legacy) (7 page)

“You can call me John, I suppose,” he crinkled a smile at them, “but I'm more curious about you three. Where did you come from?” He raised a thick left eyebrow.

Mtumba answered him. “We're refugees. Lost. Our ship blew up and we landed here.”

“Obviously,” the man replied genially. He leaned forward on his staff. “I'm glad to see you're all right. That must have been quite an explosion.” He gestured at the gaping hole in the wall he'd just walked through. Stella and Mtumba shared a glance, and old John continued. “How would you like some hot tea and a meal? My cottage isn't far, and I doubt you'll run across many more doddering old men in this area,” he chuckled. He clearly wasn't the type who doddered, Stella decided.

They nodded, following him at a quick pace down the side of the mountain, keeping inside his steps on the rough narrow trail, through a long canyon of snow and stone, seeing the mountain from the other side now, she supposed. Stella was breathing hard and working up a sweat, and Mtumba huffed a bit from the exertion. She wondered at how the old man could be so fast. Their breath steamed in the cold air, though it seemed warmer than yesterday. They followed old John all the way to a large stone gate set within an immensely tall wall of ice.

“Almost there,” the old man said, tapping his staff on the ground three times. “This way.”

As they approached, the doors groaned open wide, revealing a magical vision. Stella didn't even believe it at first. Through the gate were things that her mind told her couldn't exist in this icy waste. Fields of green grass. A large lake of what looked like clean water. Trees gently swaying to a melody only they could hear.

A warm breeze welcomed them in, and they followed the old man inside, staring wide-eyed at the suddenly verdant landscape around them. Mtumba was looking around in shock at everything, and Stella was too stunned to let anything escape from her lips other than, “Huh.” The old man must have noticed, because she heard him laugh softly.

Rok appeared highly intrigued by the drastic disparity between the other side of the gate and this one. He looked behind them a few times, just confirming it was real.

The old man led them to a small white cottage set amidst a low garden of cabbages, squash, carrots, and other plants she didn't recognize. She looked behind them, and saw the gate had closed itself. Above them, the sky seemed unchanged. Magic, she decided. If she believed in magic, that is. Which she didn't. She shook off the thought and kept moving.

“Mind you step around the radishes, not on them,” the man said with a grandfatherly smile, crossing the porch and opening the door to the cottage. They went in and he motioned for the three youths to sit at a small wooden table by the window looking out at the garden. So they sat, not sure what to think as they looked around the charming interior.

A warm fire crackled in the hearth, and the cozy room was neatly organized with quilts, cookware, leather-bound books, and big glass jars of purple jam and pickled fruit. Stella caught the familiar scent of lilacs from her left, and noticed a vibrant floral arrangement by the window. Mtumba looked at her with a nod of approval at the tidy cottage. They were finally safe and warm, and Stella could feel herself relax.

“Here we are,” the old man chuckled as he brought over a tray of cups, a kettle, and some buttered biscuits. “Good and warm.” He set a cup in front of each of them, and a fourth out for himself. Old John lifted the teakettle and carefully poured them all a divine lavender-scented brew. Stella was in heaven. Mtumba dove right into the biscuits. As they sipped the tea, Stella's tension melted away, and tears fell down her face. They were all okay now. Mtumba drank in silence, eyes closed and breathing slow. Rok was fascinated by all of it, and munched on a tasty biscuit while he took in their surroundings.

“It's all right,” old John said. “You're safe now.”

Stella felt a surge of gratitude, and walked over to hug old John. He seemed surprised, but patted her gently on the shoulder with an understanding sigh. After a while, Mtumba and Rok came over, too. John let it go on for a few moments, then shooed them back to their seats with a chuckle.

“So, I'd very much like to hear how you ended up in that mountain,” old John said as he stood to ladle four earthen bowls of thick, hearty stew from the pot over the fire, “and I'm curious how you made it through that rather significant explosion.” He put the bowls on plates, loaded them up with bread and hummus, and rejoined them at the table.

Stella and Mtumba related what had happened between spoonfuls of the hearty vegetable stew, mopping it up with the chunks of thick almond bread and spicy hummus. By the time they were finished eating, and had washed everything down with a cool glass of water, John was nodding respectfully, and the sun was setting. John put some more wood on the hearth fire, then made cots for them, each boasting a thick quilted blanket and big, fluffy pillow on a plush down mattress. Heaven...or close enough for now, Stella decided as she pulled the covers up to her chin with a yawn.

Mtumba looked over at her and whispered, “I'm glad he found us.”

Stella nodded. “Me too, Mtumba. Me too.” She closed her eyes and started to dream about how maybe old John could help them find their families. Maybe they could make it to the garden Citadel, after al...

She let out a contented sigh and finally sank into a deep, blissful slumber. The soothing melody of an old lullaby floated in from the porch, reminding her of when her mother had played it for her. Stella hadn't felt this comfortable or safe in months. Soon she was softly snoring, dreaming about raking the fallen leaves with her father. They were at the house they'd lived in when her mother had still been alive. They were welcome dreams, even though bittersweet.

Out on the porch, John strummed his guitar and looked up at the stars. “Interesting,” he whispered, and paused to drink the last of his herbal tea. “I wonder how much more time I have.” Not much, he figured, but shrugged and settled into his chair, leaning his instrument against the wall. He closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep under the clear night sky.

The next morning found them busy with chores. Turned out the old man had a goat, a cow, a donkey, and two horses. Beautiful horses, Stella had to admit. Andalusians, he'd called them when she'd asked. Stella asked if she could ride one, and he'd said he'd teach her later if she took care of the chickens. Oh, yeah, he also had chickens. She snorted, and a persnickety red hen ran between her legs, clucking.

“Uh-huh?” she asked, going around the outside of the henhouse and picking up the eggs through the slots. One of the hens pecked at her, but fortunately, she was fast enough to avoid being nicked...this time. She was reminded of earlier when she'd been caught lagging, evidenced by the red scratches on her hands. She'd learned quickly that this was no game for the timid.

“Yeah. He's weird,” Mtumba continued, walking beside her.

“Weird how?” she asked, standing there with a basketful of colorful eggs.

“What, it's not enough for you that he came out of a crystal?” Mtumba laughed, shifting his weight and crossing his arms. He waved the trowel. “That kid's just strange. There's something about him that seems really familiar, you know?”

“No. No, I don't. Familiar how?” Stella asked, stopping what she was doing and cocking her head to the side.

“I can't-”

“-Talk about it. Figures,” she replied, returning to her task. “Well, how about we talk about something else then? Like what you're gonna do with all that egg on your face?”

“The wha-” Mtumba stumbled backwards once he realized what she meant, but she nailed him in the chin before he could get away, and he landed on his rump. Stella heard a voice from behind her.

“You can tell that to Mtumba,” he said as he tossed her a clean red cloth. She got the hint and walked over to Mtumba, who scooted away from her, hurt.

“I'm sorry, Mtumba.”

“I bet.” He crossed his arms and looked away, egg dripping off his chin. She offered the cloth to him, but he didn't take it. She sighed, standing up, and he grabbed it and wiped off his chin, then handed it back to her. “Never mind,” he said, and then stalked off.

Old John broke the silence after a few moments. “He cares about you.”

“I care about him, too,” she said, confused.

“Mm-hmm. Lunch is ready when you are.” He walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She didn't know why Mtumba couldn't take a joke, but figured she wouldn't have been happy about it if it'd been her. Suddenly Stella was overcome with guilt, and sat down on the ground, remembering to be careful with the eggs. A shadow fell across her and she looked up. There was Rok.

“Hi,” he said, golden hair seeming to glow in the sunlight. “You coming to lunch?”

“In a bit,” she said. “You go. You're hungry.”

“Yeah.” He looked at her, confused, and then sat down next to her. “I know you might not want to hear this right now...but your hand's covered in egg.”

She looked down and saw he was right. She let out a growl, and Rok quickly got up and ran inside. Boys, she laughed, looking around at the animals. The ugly red hen looked at her angrily, clucked once, and then ran off to join the others.

Those halcyon days blended into weeks, and the weeks almost into a full month before their world changed again. They were working in the field when it happened. Rok and Mtumba were getting stronger from the work they'd been doing day in and day out, and Stella for her part was now able to run from the cottage to the lake and swim for an entire afternoon when she had a mind to, which was often. Old John just laughed as he watched them act like kids again, and he'd teach them things as time permitted, like how to fish. By the time the visitor arrived, each of the youths felt confident about working on the farm, in the field, and in the garden, and of course, they had a family of sorts. Life was good.

They didn't know what the sound was coming from at first. When they spotted the source, it just looked like a streak of light across the sky, but soon they saw it was a small ship. Rok was fascinated, of course, since everything seemed to elicit that reaction from him, but Stella and Mtumba were concerned about who might be showing up, and why. It could be pirates, they suggested.

Old John told them they could relax. He'd been expecting company, but wasn't sure when they'd arrive, and hadn't wanted to spoil their time at the cottage by worrying them.

“Does this mean we have to leave now?” Mtumba asked. He'd grown to love this place, where everything seemed so righteously vibrant, but Stella was eager to find her father, and didn't say anything.

“I believe so,” said Old John, straightening up. He didn't have his staff with him today. Just a worn-down shovel. “It'll be all right, Mtumba.” That seemed to be enough to help Mtumba calm down, at least for now. Stella was still confused about why her friend wasn't as excited as she was, but then again maybe he was, and simply enjoyed this, too.

The man who stomped down the ship's ramp wore the distinctive black and silver armor of a Brigadier Knight. Stella and Mtumba blinked, not believing what they were seeing, but Rok clearly didn't understand the significance. The tower of a man made a crisp beeline toward Old John and stopped at a respectful distance, bowing with his hand over his heart.

“Your Highness,” the Knight began in a voice that sounded well-suited for yelling orders across a battlefield, “King Harris begs an audience to discuss matters of the greatest importance to the kingdom. Normally we wouldn't disturb you, but it's in regard to certain actions by your Regent that may spark a new dragon war.”

Old John paused before calmly responding. “Tell Harris that I'll come when I'm truly needed.”

The Knight nodded smartly, and continued. “He wishes me to assure you that it will be soon. His agents in the Prime Citadel inform him that there is concern in several of the kingdoms that you have been too long absent from your throne. King Harris believes a show of power may be required to set things right.”

Old John sighed, and held up his hand before turning to Stella and the boys. “Can you go and prepare supper? I need to speak with Commander Tobias for a while, and it pertains to things I'd rather you not have to hear.” Stella looked into his eyes, and saw sadness, but shepherded the boys inside while old John spoke with the visitor.

By the time all the places were set, John and Commander Tobias entered through the front door. The mood was somber as they sat at the table, crowded with the extra guest. Commander Tobias looked both incredibly uncomfortable and honored to be eating with them, though somewhat confused about who the teenagers were. He didn't ask, and old John didn't bring it up. They ate mostly in silence, and John seemed deep in thought during most of the meal. Not like his usual cheerful self. At the end, he stood up with a sigh and walked back outside without even thanking them for preparing the food.

Stella was worried about him, and orchestrated the cleanup. Rok and Mtumba didn't complain as they cleaned the dishes and the table, but the silence was thick with speculation. What was going to happen? Who was old John, really?

She had a feeling that things were about to go crazy again, and she didn't like it one bit. Then, for the first time, she saw an old portrait of a beautiful dark-haired woman and girl hanging on the wall of the cupboard to her right. At the bottom was written only one word. Marialis. A name, perhaps? Why only one, though? Moreover, why had Stella never noticed it before? Who were they?