THE ATTEMPT

Banim shuddered watching the foolish Myende boy loose sparks from his wand into the dragon pit. Banim was a slave on the Emperor’s land. Like all Munde men, Banim was short and stocky. He had straggly brown hair and a wild beard. A filthy shirt and breeches covered his body and hung loose, with rents and tears throughout.

Banim continued watching the boy, who was now shouting what Banim supposed were spells of some kind. Sparks kept flying out of the boy’s wand showering the dragons who watched him from the pit below.

Banim knew there was a special magic on the pit. It drew any drab yellow dragon who crossed the mountain into it. Once inside, the dragons appeared to be unable to leave. Elite Myende boys were brought here, in hopes the dragons would bond with them. If they did, the dragons would turn a shade of red, blue, green, or brown.

The dragons could leave then. But the immoral Myende men had the Munde feed them meat that kept them docile. So meek, that if the evil Emperor attacked one of the riders bound to the dragons and killed them, the dragon would do nothing, before it subsequently burst into flame when the rider died.

Banim had heard the Elite speak when they deigned to come to this portion of the Emperor's lands known as the Valley of Dragons. They believed the war between Dumaira and Myencihn had rekindled, and that was where the Elite bonded with dragons had disappeared to. Banim knew the truth, although none would believe him were he to attempt to tell him. He was just a Munde man, after all.

Banim almost turned away and retreated in the forest, but then turned back around, shaking his head. Banim knew he shouldn't do it. He couldn't. If he were caught placing hands on a Myende child, he would be whipped at the very least. Sweat poured down his neck as he crept closer. When he was right behind the boy. He grabbed him, pinning his arms, and pulled the child back into the surrounding trees.

“Let me go!” the boy screamed.

Banim walked backward into the forest, dragging the boy until he was sure he was well away from the pit. The Munde had no magic of their own, but the Creator had endowed them with great physical strength. So Banim held the boy easily. He shook the child slightly. “Now you listen here,” he said harshly, “Master catches you he will kill you on sight.”

The boy continued to struggle wildly in his arms. Luckily for Banim, the child was on the smaller size for a Myende. He more than likely had some growing left to do. But if he was going to save this boy he had to get the wand away. Any Myende with a wand was a danger to a Munde.

Banim reached further with his left hand to encircle both arms. He quickly reached down with the other hand and tried to pull the boy’s wand from his hand. Sparks shot out, as the boy fought him for control. Finally, Banim yanked it out of the boy’s grasp and threw it as far as he could before quickly putting his left arm back around the boy.

He kept telling the child about his master, the Emperor and the other boys he had seen killed in that pit. But the boy wouldn’t listen. Banim grew exasperated. There was a log near, and he sat, and manhandled the boy across his knee. He held the boy’s torso with one arm, and smacked his backside with the other.

Outraged shouts turned to yelps, and finally the boy screamed, “Stop! Please stop!”

Banim ceased the onslaught. “You ready to listen?” he asked

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The boy lay stiff across Banim’s knee, indignation pouring off him in waves.

“I will listen,” he promised.

“I know not what you were trying to do,” began Banim. “But if Master had caught you, you would be killed. You would not be the first I have witnessed him kill in that pit.”

“I j-just wanted to free them,” said the boy.

“Well,” said Banim as he thought, “If you want to free them, mayhap you ought to get a mite stronger in that magic of yours. And mayhap,” he continued, “you might get a dragon of your own. One that eats not the meat he gives ‘em to keep ‘em quiet.”

“I have a dragon,” the boy whispered. “She will come back for me when darkness falls.”

“Well then,” said the man. “If you promise to behave, I shall let you up, and take you to where you shall be safe until she can claim you.”

MARA

Eirathem's bottom ached fiercely. He sat upon the ground squirming as he continually adjusted his position. He scowled at the speaker telling the tales, resentment burning in his chest.

The speaker, Rhacmidon, the leader of the snake-masters of Denu’n Rhaciu, seemed oblivious of Eirathem's ire. Though his blond hair was braided and fell to just above his waist, the man still reminded Eirathem of a proud lion. He wore leather ankle bracelets and a simple leather loin-cloth that fell to mid-thigh. He was tall and lean compared to the shorter stockier Munde audience that had gathered to hear the storytelling. His bonded, a large diamond-headed snake with contrasting red stripes was draped around his shoulders. The man had a long staff made out of logwood, a common tree from the southern forest of Wudui'n Rhaciu, the Forest of Snakes.

"Today," began Rhacmidon as he met the eyes of his Munde audience, "I tell you the tale of Mara, one of the three maidens of the Fremde people that saved our world."

A hush fell over the Munde.

“In the beginning, our world was populated by a tall willowy people called the Fremde. It is said that the Creator, Sibris, gave them the ears of the fox and the heart of the wolf. And he bestowed upon them the gift of Magic when the world was young."

"Sibris gave them three tenets: love Him, love others, and care for the great world they had been given. He left the Laerahndseli to watch over our world and guide the Fremde. But in time, the Fremde forgot Sibris and his tenets. They forgot to care for each other and their world. And thus the world was dying."

Eirathem jumped up and stalked away from the circle before the man could say anymore. He pulled at the leather bands on his wrists that prevented him from using the magic that resided in him. He didn't need to listen to the tale of Mara. He had heard it many times when he lived among the Fremdefyr people of Puethion.

And he knew where the man would end the tale. He would tell them about the sealing of Thiracon, the great portal that used to exist in the Forest of Dolboro Grove, just across the Cwildbeorg mountain range. He hated that particular tale about his ancestors. For Eirathem was the direct descendant of the first Emperor of Myencihn, one of the thirteen men who had sealed the Thiracon. He was sure everyone knew.

It wasn't fair. Rhacmidon could have his snake, but Eirathem couldn't commune with his dragon. Eirathem loved his dragon. When he failed to free the dragons yesterday, she had brought him here, to this Valley in the south of the continent of Annea. She had abandoned him, and Eirathem missed her dearly. He reached for her in his mind. She answered immediately, of course.

“Go,” she said, “Do the work of your hands as the Munde must, and show Rhacmidon you will obey. He shall teach you what you need to know to free my children.”

Eirathem turned, automatically obeying. It was then that he spotted her in the forest. Four-foot tall, the color of the earth, with pointed ears like the fox, and wrinkled brown skin like leather. She was dressed in a brown tunic that fell to her knees and had a simple staff almost as tall as she was. She was staring straight at him.

"Mara?"