The Crystal Odyssey

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. They circled high in the sky, protectors of the great black obelisk peeking ominously from within the dark gray storm clouds perpetually spinning around it. Its arrival was sudden. Loud cracks of thunder and flashes of blue and white lightning accompanied it. The storm had erupted with such ferocity it framed the night sky like daylight.

The mysterious object loomed over the landscape, an inverted pyramid. Shortly after its arrival; they emerged like a cauldron of bats. Great reptilian monstrosities with ridged backs, massive horns and glowing golden eyes, the heavy beating of their leathery wings masked only by the rumbling thunder in the heavens. Fire rained down on the city of Sundar, and a viscous mucus that melted anything it touched. Some even said a certain number of the beasts could breathe lightning, but no one was certain.

Swooping down like birds of prey, they left nothing but death and destruction in their wake. The targets of the onslaught lay dead or broken, and as the screams of the dying lessened, the dragons settled to the ground, depositing their riders.

Helmets masked the riders’ features and their dark armor design was a complement to the beast that bore them to the fields of battle. They wielded powerful weapons, short lances shooting lightning, and without remorse, they cut down any who did not kneel before them. The early morning sunlight cast its waking rays upon a field of misery and ruin.

Ridley didn’t remember any of it. She hadn’t even been born when the Dae’Goth arrived, nor had anyone in the village. As far as they really knew, the Dae’Goth had always been here, and those were just stories to propagate the fear. The myth is what the tellers repeated during the Celebration of Melodies. She was certain there was truth to it. The dragon berth, a black upside-down pyramid to the north, the dark gray swirling clouds. It was clearly visible, and if anyone actually listened to the tellers, it was the home of the Dae’Goth’s Empress Sephyrus.

Small moving specks were visible circling the point of the obelisk. They had to be dragons. It was difficult to tell from atop Apple Hill. They looked more like tiny insects to her. She longed to see a dragon up close, but by Dae’Gothian decree, no human, unless under the guard of the Legion, could travel those lands. Her Pa said it was a good twenty leagues from here.

Sighing, she refocused her attention on the miserable weather plaguing the free time she had worked so hard to attain. Drizzling rain made for an unpleasant day. Her plans to meet up with Pate and go frog dig’n wouldn’t pan out. Frogs liked the rain, and they would be plentiful, but Pate’s Ma wouldn’t allow him out in damp weather.

Before the sun had risen, she was hard at work in the barn, milking Ole Mule, their cow, slopping the pigs, and tossing fresh hay to the sheep. Her sister, lolly-gagging in the house's loft, would find all of her chores already done and be thrilled, but Ridley had a plan. Tomorrow, she would sleep until the sun crested midday and Cera would be stuck with the actual work.

Ridley grinned. Pa told her they were shearing the sheep tomorrow. They only had four, but their winter fleeces were thick and dirty. She giggled. It was a good plan. The look on Cera’s face would be priceless.

She perched at the crest of Apple Hill, looking down on the village below. The nearly bare branches of an apple tree serving as rudimentary shelter, and failing at that. It wasn’t far from home. A small homestead with an acre or two of land. Land was scarce in the valley, and they lost more each year to the encroaching Dae’Goth legions.

Ridley hated being wet, and in her haste to shelter from the rain, the hem of her feed sack dress had plunged into the mud, anchored securely under the heels of her feet. Her shoes were three sizes too big and rode high over her ankles. There had been no string to lace them, and like the back hem of her dress, they had been slowly sinking deeper into the mud. Ridley was far too focused on her own melancholy to notice her impending predicament.

Running in her shoes was a challenge. It was a battle to see if they would remain on her feet or go sailing ahead of her as she ran. Red and white wool striped hose covered her legs—well, at least one did. The other drooped lazily around her shin, held in place at the rim of her shoe.

Hand me-downs were common among the people of Shadowbrook. With the tariffs and taxes imposed by the Dae’Goth, there was little left for the people of the village. Just last month, Pete O’Dule’s family got caught hoarding food, and there was a mandatory village assembly called by Mayor Stanz. Everyone had to attend and watch Pete get flogged in the town square, by the Mayor’s own hand. Her Pa turned her and Cera away. They didn’t need to see a fine man beaten because of political lies.

The hood of her cloak was catching water dripping from the branches of her makeshift shelter, or lack thereof. It flowed forward from the hem of the hood down in front of her face, with an occasional drop splashing against her freckled nose. The water continued its descent, finding the easiest path and pooling within the folds of her dress, which was tucked between her knees, as was proper.

Drenched and cold, she considered just going home. Her tousled dirty-blond hair clung to her face and knotted under the hood of the cloak. Goose-bumps covered her skin, and she shivered. So far, the spring weather had been unforgiving. Late snows from the winter pushed the planting out, and there was very little food left in the winter store. The O’Dule’s had to share their hoard with the Mayor for proper dispersal. He would give it to those in need. Twelve sacks of tubers, three salted hams, and a couple of chickens. If that was hoarding, then what her Pa had stashed under the floorboards of the farmhouse would get him more than a flogging. That same night, the Mayor invited several notables for dinner.

Continuing her scrutiny of the village left her even more bored. Stable hands worked at clearing the stables, tossing manure into a nearby cart, while others worked around the main square, compelled to endure the wet weather. The blacksmith, Samuil Dirk, was busy hammering away at the forge. She could hear the ringing of his heavy hammer as white smoke plumed from the massive brick chimney.

Mistress Morella sat rocking in her chair on the wood planking of the porch encompassing her bordello. A few of the ladies were out and about, but they wouldn’t be working too hard at this time of day. There wasn’t much business in Shadowbrook from the locals. They relied on the through traffic heading to and from the north.

There were only a few men-folk in the village who weren’t married, and they didn’t visit Miss Morella’s girls. Lips flapped freely among the women of Shadowbrook. They were insatiable gossips. No local man wanted their names on a forked tongue. No, most of the bordello’s patrons came from abroad. Some from neighboring villages. It was rare, but not out of the question. Most were traveling merchants, or tradesmen, looking for a respite from their long journeys.

To Ridley, the men were mysterious and never gave names, paying for the guarantee of silence. Ridley surmised that was why Mistress Morella had set up shop in Shadowbrook. It was a major thoroughfare for travelers heading to and from the lands of the Dae’Goth, and the shortest path was right through the Sundered Mountains.

Her Pa had forbidden her to go anywhere near the bordello, but she wasn’t a child anymore, in just two days was her thirteenth name day. The day they stripped out the pigtails and called her a woman. Truthfully, she almost never wore pigtails and didn’t even have the blossoms women grow into—yet, at least not like the other girls. Regardless, she knew what happened within those walls. Cera, her elder, by two years, had filled her in. The whole idea was repulsive, and she unconsciously tucked the front of her dress deeper between her knees, which released a torrent of water flowing from its temporary damming right into her shoe.

Her gaze fixed on another figure in the village, Darpin. The local drunk sat upright in town square, half leaning on an overflowing rain barrel at the corner of her Pa’s mercantile, sleeping off the previous night’s spirits. Mindless of the spill-off from the barrel soaking him to the bone.

Ridley giggled. There had been many practical jokes at his expense and she was certain that to this day he still didn’t know who had filled his shoes with white talc. His feet had puffed white for days every time he staggered down the street. She wasn’t even certain if he had noticed. The townsfolk had a good laugh about it, some still brought it up in mixed company.

Along with the people of the village, there was the Obsidian Guard. More proof that the stories the tellers rattled off were true. The Obsidian Guard were members of the Dae’Goth Legion. Their skin was as black as midnight and their eyes were as white as clouds on a bright summer day. Dark armor, like the stories said, looked like leathery dragon skin, as if she actually knew what a dragon skin looked like.

From beneath their helmets stark white hair cascaded around their shoulders, so fine it looked like banks of cobwebs. Once, and only once, she had seen one of them remove his helmet. A strong, slightly overhanging brow shadowed his large, slanting white eyes, and he bore a tapering jawline which ended at a nearly pointed chin. His lips were thin, and more blue than black. If she weren’t dead set against the idea of taking a husband, she might have thought he was handsome. Except for those pointed ears.

The Legionnaires didn’t give a snot about the people of Shadowbrook, and only spoke to them to give commands, or to demand a tax. They knew that the people of the village and the surrounding areas had little, and rarely harassed them for coin. However, if they were feeling peckish, they would. If the citizen didn’t have what they demanded, they received a decent crack on the skull or a sturdy kick in the seat.

In reality, the people of Shadowbrook were slaves to the whims of the legion, and raising a hand against one of them was punishable by death. Not even the constable or the mayor could stave that off. The legion had immunity to crimes against humanity. They didn’t carry those mythical lances that shot lightning, but they did have rather vicious looking swords.

When the legionnaires weren’t harassing the locals, they were harassing the merchants seeking refuge in the village from their travels. Tariffs for merchants seeking passage to the north were exceedingly high, and often the legionnaires would confiscate large portions of their goods. The merchants knew that the coin they could earn in the north far exceeded the paltry theft of some of their merchandise.

If the merchant traffic was light, the Legionnaires thinned their purses in the confines of Mistress Morella’s Bordello, smack dab in the middle of Shadowbrook with a large wooden mansard sign saying so. Well, Ridley presumed that’s what it said. It was illegal for girls to learn how to draw words.

After much contemplation, at least as much contemplation as a twelve-year-old could muster, she decided that going back home and hiding in the barn was her best recourse. As she sprang to her feet, the hem of her feed sack dress, still firmly mired in the mud beneath her feet, pulled taut with her sudden vertical motion, forcing her off balance. As she tried to step forward, the pull of her dress yanked her back and she sprawled out in the mud, arms wide with a splat. Her feet left her shoes, and she lay there, toes up in the mud.

It surprised her to discover how difficult it was to get up out of mud, especially after sinking into it a bit. Struggling to move, the mud sucking and squishing with every movement, she wriggled toward the base of the nearby tree, leaving a deep trail in her passing. By the time she freed herself, it painted her front and back. Breathing heavily, she propped herself up against the tree and simply stared at where her shoes remained. She couldn’t help but laugh as she spit to the side and then shook mud from her hands. Pieces of thick, wet earth flew from her fingers, splatting back into its place of origin. Her Ma was going to tan her hide for sure.

“Ridley!” a young male's broken voice called out. Changing tones mid word.

Ridley perked up. It was Pate. How did he escape? She was certain his Ma would have him tied to a post before allowing him out in the rain. “Up here, Pate!” she called out. “I think I need yer help!”

Pate broke free of last year's tall underbrush, smiling and waving. His look of joy quickly changed to confusion and then hilarity. He almost didn’t recognize her, a muddy stump leaning against a tree. “What in the name of Oberon happened to you?”

Ridley leveled a stare at him that could have withered flowers. “I fell, whatcha think happened?”

Pate was laughing so hard he nearly fell himself. He saw her shoes mired in the mud, and one of her striped hose strung out from their location.

Ridley wiped the mud from her arm and flung it at him. He dodged it easily and headed to retrieve her footwear. “We gotta get you some string Rid’s. This is becoming a habit.”

She nodded in agreement. That was the least of her worries at the moment. “How’d you escape yer Ma’s apron strings?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

“I took a page from the book of Ridley,” he said as one of her shoes released from the earth’s embrace with a loud sucking noise. He tossed it to her.

Her response was a smile. That meant his Ma didn’t know he was out here. “I planned ta go frog dig’n, but now I think I gotta get a brush and some lye soap from the barn and go try to scrub this stuff out at the brook. Iffin, I come home looking like this—I’m going to have to do the laundry alone for a month!”

Pate nodded his agreement and offered her the other shoe. “I can help.”

Ridley raised an eyebrow. “How ya gonna do that? Water ain’t deep enough fer me to hide under it. You ain’t seeing me like that!”

Sudden realization dawned on Pate, and he flushed crimson. “Yer right, I’ll find my frogs a fair distance from you.”

“You will!” Ridley snapped, with a vigorous nod. Just the idea of Pate seeing her particulars chilled her to the bone.

The house she grew up in was not large, nor was it spacious. Two rooms downstairs, one as living space, the other a bedroom for her parents. She and Cera shared the loft which protruded over the living space. Once a week her Ma would yank a thin copper tub out of the corner and fill it with water warmed on the fire. She and Cera took turns bathing. Cera, being the oldest, always went first. That peeved Ridley, having to bathe in her sister’s dirty water. She never considered that her mother went last. Until today.

The idea of bathing in the shallows of the brook west of the village was already giving her the shivers. She was going to have to remove all of her clothes and give them a good scrubbing to avoid trouble with her Ma. Worse, Pate was coming to do some frog dig’n. There weren’t too many places to hide with the brush still stunted by the cold weather. Pate seeing her in her skin was not an option. If she could get the dress clean, and avoid the embarrassment of Pate seeing her without her dress, coming home soaking wet wouldn’t be unexpected—with the rain and all.

Every home in the valley had a barn, and their homestead was no different. They corralled a broken down mare within, used for general labor or to pull the cart to the village. She was too old to ride with a bowed back. Ole Mule liked it outside, where she could graze contentedly. Sometimes the hardest part of milking the old heifer was just catching up to her.

Turnips were her Pa’s crop of choice, and they planted more than usual this season, but he maintained a garden of other vegetables for the family. In a few short weeks, her chores would once again expand to weeding the garden. A chore she abhorred. Her Pa spent most of his time at the mercantile in town. He owned it, but with the heavy taxes the Dae’Goth imposed, it wasn’t enough to keep the family well fed or in good lodgings.

As she approached the farthest point of the paddock fence, Cera appeared on the stoop of the house, glancing around nervously as she pulled her hood over her freshly brushed hair. Ridley, immediately intrigued, hid in the brush nearby, pulling a confused Pate along with her.

“Shhh,” she hissed, looking through the tall grass at her sister.

Cera scurried to the barn. Ridley had never seen Cera scurry anywhere, but there she was scurrying and looking over her shoulder. Was that her new dress? Cera looked back over her shoulder one more time and ducked into the barn, closing the door behind her.

Amazement filled her mind. Cera being out of the house wasn’t strange, but going to the barn willingly? That was definitely out of character.

Quiet like a bull moose, she moved closer to the barn along the fence line. Pate followed more quietly. Last year’s tall brown grass served as a wall of invisibility. Skittering along, they closed the distance to the barn. She hated the dresses her mother made her wear; it was very difficult to be sneaky in a dress.

In her mind, she was the stealthiest person in all the lands. Anyone nearby would say otherwise. Even if Cera had heard her approach, she wouldn’t peek out. Ridley knew for a fact she wouldn’t do that. Behind the barn shutters were spiders. Spiders gave Cera the willy’s. Last time she saw one, she turned sheet white and nearly fainted.

There was another way into the barn that didn’t involve opening the front door. A secret way she and Pate had discovered two years prior. Rolling under the fence, she made her way to the hole where the old mortar had broken away. The loose stones pulled out easily, and she peeked up into the dark corner of the barn. Last year it had been tight getting through and she had grown a lot since then. Now she was uncertain if she would fit. Pate would not. He had filled out—a lot. Just last summer, he was four inches shorter than her. Now she was looking at his chin. His shoulders were more like wooden shelves now.

There were voices coming from within the barn. Cera wasn’t alone. Ridley’s curiosity grew ravenous.

Nodding to Pate, she said, “You stay here, and I’ll get the stuff I need. Besides, I don’t think you’ll fit through the hole anymore.”

Pate nodded his agreement, his eyes measuring the diameter of the hole.

Ridley looked into those eyes. They were blue; she had never noticed that before. His thick, shortcut dark brown hair was the perfect contrast to his light skin. Strong eyebrows enhanced those eyes somehow. It was always easy to read his expression. A light red tint filled his cheeks from the cold and his breath puffed from between his full lips. It was the first time she realized he was cute.

Pate’s eyes narrowed as he noticed her staring at him. “What?”

Shaking her head, she admonished the thought and turned away. “Nuttin!”

Without further hesitation, she poked her head into the hole and squirmed in. It was tight, but not impassable. Her head poked through into the shadows of the barn. Cera wasn’t in view and her Pa had moved old barrels into the corner somewhat blocking the hole.

Wriggling away, it took time to get through the opening. She heard a tear. Grimacing, she knew she had just added another element of her Ma being very unhappy with her. Sewing was not in Ridley’s wheelhouse. She was going to have to deal with the punishment for that, but not the mud—hopefully.

The voices in the barn had stopped. Listening intently, she thought she heard breathing. Resuming her efforts to get into the barn undetected, checking to make certain her dress was going to stay where it was supposed to, she slithered onto the floor behind the barrels and took a few breaths of bravery.

Getting to her hands and knees, she peeked over the barrel top and nearly squeaked when she saw Cera lying back on a boy in a pile of hay. Was that Jessob, the saddle maker’s son? His face was down on her neck and she was breathing funny as one of his hands moved inside of her blouse and the other…

Ridley’s eyes went wide, and she grinned mischievously. There would be no more mucking the stalls for her and, better yet, no more dinner dishes.

“Hey Cera,” she squeaked, popping out from behind the barrels. Some of the mud on her dress fell to the floor with a soft splat.

Jessob’s hands darted behind him so fast they were nearly impossible to see, but it didn’t matter. She had already seen.

Cera was battling with getting her dress back in sorts while trying to close the buttons up to her neck, and failing at both. Jessob scurried away as if he had never been near her, but she had been leaning back against him between his legs, and now she sat off balance. It all happened so fast that hay literally flew up into the air.

Ridley giggled in delight.

“Ridley!” Cera screamed at her. “What are you doing lurking around the barn?”

Ridley beamed and kicked up a foot, turning and taking a large step parallel to where her sister was trying to get to her feet. Cera’s face was a crimson red. She wasn’t sure if the color was from embarrassment or rage. Taking another gigantic step, she then turned around and headed back the other way. All the while grinning at her sister. Her large shoes made a dollop of a sound followed by an audible squish.

She paused her exaggerated pace to speak, “Well…”

“How much did you see?” Cera asked, her eyes narrowing. Her voice was three octaves higher than it should have been.

“Well, I didn’t see Jessob’s hands,” Ridley smirked with a shrug, and then leaned forward with her fists on her hips, not hiding her grin of mischievousness.

Cera ground her teeth. “So you saw nothing?”

Ridley maintained her white-toothed grin. “I saw how red your face was and heard the soft little noises you were making, too. Was Jessob looking for something particular in your knickers? I mean, from his angle, he could only see down the top of your dress.”

Cera’s face went from angry to afraid. “You can’t tell Pa and Ma.”

“Oh,” Ridley snorted with mocking surprise. “But I can.”

Jessob moved to speak, but Cera shushed him and pushed him away. “Ridley,” she continued, trying to keep calm. “Swear you won’t tell them!”

“Whatcha got to barter?” Ridley asked, returning to her exaggerated pacing.

Cera’s eyes narrowed again. She recognized a Ridley trap when presented. There was no way to avoid what was coming next. “What do you want?”

Ridley put a finger to her cheek as if in deep thought. “This is pricey.” She looked at her sister with mock innocence. “Don’t ya think?”

Again Jessob tried to interrupt, and Cera turned and shoved him. “Be quiet or we’ll both be in a world of hurt!”

“Hey wheatgrass, I got some coin.” He tossed three copper chits into the hay in front of her. “Now go buy some sweet meat and leave the adults be.”

Ridley scooped up the coins with a laugh. “Thanks, hadn’t even thought of that. I am actually surprised you even had coin. It will reduce how much I exaggerate when I tell Pa what you two were doing in here.”

“Ridley!” Cera screeched.

“See ya,” Ridley waved and turned, heading to the shelf to gather the soap and brush she needed to keep herself out of trouble.

“Let her go,” Jessob sniped. “So what if your parents find out we’re in love?”

Cera rolled her eyes and turned at him with a venomous stare. “Love? You can’t be serious. You’re pretty handy with those things,” she pointed with frustration at his hands, regretting her choice of words. “That ain’t love Jessob!”

Chasing after her younger sister, she grabbed Ridley by the shoulder and spun her about. “What’s it going to take? And why are you all muddy?”

“What?” Ridley questioned innocently, looking at her mired clothing. “I fell.”

“You little shite!” Cera hissed between clenched teeth. “You want something? Tell me what it is.”

“Oh,” Ridley replied with an evil little grin, which was emboldened by the dangling weapon of information she now had tucked away. “I will. In time. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me—for now. I will let you know when it’s time for you to pay up.”

Cera’s hand dropped limply from her sister’s arm at the realization of what Ridley was saying. Her options were simple. Let Ridley lord what she knew over her or fess up to her parents what she had been doing in the barn with Jessob, which was most definitely not an option.

“Fine.”

Ridley waved her hand in a shooing motion. “You can go now. You’ve lost all that color in your face. I’m sure Jessob can help with that.”

With a soft giggle, she turned away, clumsily skipping. Miraculously, her shoes, given the amount of mud within, stayed put.

Cera stood numbly in the barn's doorway for a bit before turning back inside. Jessob would have to be educated on the ways of Ridley Macar.