Dragon! Book One: Stealing the egg

CHAPTER TWO

The red ox trudged ahead at a pace equaling Gareth’s sluggish movements. Gareth handled the plow ripping the earth into neat, even rows with practiced ease, however, a long morning tired him. Like most farmers, no matter how much it made him sore and sweat, he enjoyed the solitude of plowing. Gareth appreciated the act of getting the dark soil ready for the fall planting of winter rye.

The solitary activity also gave him mental relief and time to think. His body was larger and stronger than most his age, and he enjoyed the daily grind of working on Odd’s farm, but the warnings of the night whispers insisted his future lay elsewhere. Danger lay ahead in Dun Mare, mortal and immediate. Upon waking each morning, the whispers didn’t evaporate as did his dreams, and they warned him to be silent about revealing them.

The inn and the few houses clustered in Dun Mare were his home. He’d lived there since his earliest memories, yet he never belonged. Not really. Now, the night whispers insisted it was time to leave. They spoke louder and more often. They’d first started in the early spring and lasted all summer. He feared sleeping now. He also feared his sanity. But, he found he believed them and he had to leave Dun Mare.

The plow blade dug deep into the damp earth. Gareth twisted it to his left, avoiding a large root, then steered right around a boulder too big to move from the field. A hard summer rain had softened the soil three days ago, so the plow barely hesitated in its quest to slice open the fallow field of weeds, grasses, and wildflowers. Gareth kept half an eye on the other two plows tilling the same land. Behind one was a farmer named Odd. He was the elder of the family that Gareth worked for, a wizened relic of indeterminable age. Whether the name signified his demeanor or something else, Gareth didn’t know for sure, and never asked. Across the wide expanse, Odd stumbled along behind his ox as he had for countless other seasons, content with his life cycle of plowing, planting, and harvesting.

The third plow broke earth ahead of a younger, more muscular version of Odd. Most called him Jared, Odd’s son. The size of Odd’s farm required three men to do the work of plowing. Odd’s oldest son had died of a fever four cold winters ago. At the urging of the teachers, Odd had hired Gareth for the third plow, along with planting, harvesting, and other chores as needed in exchange for a space to build a small cabin near the stream, and a share of food.

Sara, Odd’s youngest child, stood at the edge of the field in the shade of an elm, a blanket spread at her feet. More than old enough to marry, she remained a maiden, relishing in her simple life of caring for the two men in her family, and now for Gareth. She flashed a shy smile in his direction.

Odd and Jared left their plows and hurried towards her. Gareth moved his ox to a stand of fresh grass so the animal could also enjoy some mid-day feed. Then he rushed to catch up with the others, not so much for the noon meal but because Sara always carried fresh, cold water from the brook and her pleasant demeanor cheered him.

Sara spoke to Gareth as if asking the most important question of her young life, “Hungry?”

“Thirsty,” he replied, as was the custom. “But I can eat if I have to.”

Her smile warmed him as he accepted the mug of cool water. While she was, at least, ten years older, he never failed to feel attracted to her soft features and friendly ways. He could do a lot worse when the time came to select a wife. Too bad I won’t be here for much longer to face that decision.

Jared busied himself eating, but had nodded politely in Gareth’s direction as he arrived. Odd settled cross-legged on the blanket, a fistful of brown bread clenched in his left hand, a mug of water in his right and two cold chicken legs on the plate in from of him. He cleared his throat to attract Gareth’s attention, but instead of eating or speaking, his eyes centered on the far end of the field.

Gareth followed his gaze. Two figures stood, waiting. No telling how long they had been in sight. As always, both appeared tall, thin, and were dressed alike in the heavy, dark green robes of teachers. They covered their heads with the peaked hoods typical for their sect, and robe hems falling down to their sandaled feet. Like the trees standing behind them, their erect and motionless posture displayed timeless patience.

Well, they’ll have to wait a little longer. Gareth turned his back and reached for the bread.

“You’d better go,” Sara said.

“I’m eating.”

“You know you have to . . .” She reached for the mug, tugging it from his reluctant fingers. “I’ll save your food, and enough water for a long pull.”

“Why do they only come for me?”

Odd interrupted in his soft, simple voice, “Go.”

Gareth spun and walked away, towards the teachers, head down and doing little to conceal his annoyance as he trudged across rows of lumped and freshly turned soil, and soft footing. Lately, his temper flared easily. Probably from lack of sleep because of the whispers waking him.

As he closed the distance, he realized they were new teachers instead of the familiar ones who gave him daily lessons to master. But they had the same look about them as all others in the past. Calm, slow to move or react, and sparse of words, the teachers appeared in the village of Dun Mare at random times, always wanting to speak with Gareth. Alone. They were always asking their questions and speaking of things old and far away, and people he’d never seen or met. History, math and reading, all of little use to a farmhand.

Folding his arms across his chest, he allowed his voice to take on an edge. “I have fields to plow, or I won’t earn my keep on the farm, and Odd will replace me with a field hand who works all day instead of sitting and speaking with teachers. If I lose my job, I’ll starve this winter.”

The two watched him with listless and uncaring eyes. They seemed deaf to the anger in his words, immune to his tone. The nearer one, the younger of the two, adjusted the edge of his hood slightly before speaking in a voice hardly louder than the rustle of a soft breeze on dry leaves. “You are hunting the egg of a dragon.”

Not a question. The words and tone formal.

Faring must have talked to someone about their trip up the mountain to the nest. No, he wouldn’t do that. Still, the word of their expedition had somehow reached the teachers. They always seemed to know more than was possible. And shared only what little they wished.

“Are you asking me about it?” Gareth asked, using a neutral/formal voice so he didn’t betray his feelings or fears.

“No. You are hunting the egg of a dragon. We have come to tell you that this activity must cease,” the same teacher said.

The other spoke as if continuing the same thought, “Female dragons protect their eggs against all, and will kill you just for being in the vicinity of a nest.”

The first took over the speech again without pause, “You are never to place yourself in mortal danger with such foolishness. This is not our wish, but a requirement. A demand, if you prefer.”

The second quickly continued, “Do you understand this requirement?”

Neither one of them had so much as slapped at an insect landing on them or even twitched in irritation as they flew around their heads. As usual, their hands remained hidden inside the voluminous long sleeves of their green robes. Their loose hoods covered their shaved heads, as was true of all teachers. The eyes below their shaved eyebrows rarely blinked. At least, it seemed that way. Their eyes seldom looked directly at his. They often focused somewhere past his left shoulder, as if looking directly at him was forbidden. Teachers were always beardless, a rarity in a land of bearded men. In that manner, he looked like them. Gareth noticed one stood slightly taller, but otherwise, they were nearly identical, as were all of them.

The night whispers didn’t like the teachers. They never said so directly, but he could feel the hatred in the murmurs. Gareth said in his even toned scholarly voice, “Now there are requirements and demands that you make of me? Do you make these same of others you teach?”

The slightly shorter one questioned him again without a change in expression or tone. “Do you understand the requirement, Master Gareth?”

“I understand what you’re saying,” Gareth said, thinking that understanding and obeying are two far different things. Then an idea came to mind to voice his protest. “However, when Odd has a requirement of me, he pays me in some way. Will you do the same?”

They exchanged glances, the most reaction from his questions that he’d seen from a pair of teachers in many years. Clearly, he walked on the new intellectual ground and held in a smile from erupting.

The taller one said, “That is not a question we are prepared to respond to at this time. However, we will ask about it on your behalf.”

Gareth looked from one to the other in a new light and took his time while thinking about the response. The teachers never revealed information, unless it was part of a well-prepared lesson. However, these two had thrown open doors. They said they would ask, which implied they were subservient to someone higher up. Therefore, it must be possible to negotiate payment, in some form or fashion. If not, they would have simply said no. His mind leaped from one idea to another, following a trail of mental stepping-stones, as if crossing a shallow creek on them. If payment could be negotiated, then the amount could be bargained for, too. He said, “You will ask if you might pay me to keep myself safe?”

“Life is valuable,” the shorter one said, quoting a well-known verse.

“Amen,” the other added as if one phrase brought the other automatically.

What else will they pay me for not doing?

The shorter one said, “In review, our task today was to explain that you are not allowed to hunt for dragon eggs. Additionally, we have agreed to ask on your behalf if you might be rewarded for your cooperation. When we receive an answer, you will be informed.”

They started walking away slowly, and as if they flowed over the ground instead of walked. Their actions appeared smooth, partially because their sandaled feet were hidden by the hems of the long robes, and their bodies remained motionless and upright as they walked with small steps, with no sway to either side, like feeling their way with their toes. They walked away from the village towards Broken Bow, a small village down the valley, but not the path Gareth would take if that was his destination.

Perhaps he should follow them to see where they went, and who they spoke to.

But, as always, he decided to let them go without interference. These days he had another objective that was more important. Once he escaped from Dun Mare he had to pay for sleeping at inns and for the food he would eat. He might need a mule to ride. Or clothing. All requiring silver and copper. Once on his own, he might need to supply for himself with necessities for a year or more. The future was unclear, and what he knew was murky at best.

The revelations of the short conversation raised his spirits and gave him fodder to think about for hours. Were these two teachers more careless than others he’d met over the years or was he becoming smarter, more devious, and able to ferret additional information from their few clues? The subject required intense and uninterrupted thought, most easily achieved while performing mindless work, such as walking behind an ox and plow. His mind would be busy after eating his mid-day meal.

He looked to the fields as he strode back through the rows of freshly turned dirt. Odd and Jared were already hard at it again. Sara sat on the blanket watching and waiting for him. He gave her a cheerful wave, and she raised a hand in response. It held the mug, presumably filled with cold spring water.

Suddenly he felt thirsty, again. Thirsty and more determined than ever to steal the egg of a dragon.