Jennifer Scales and the Messenger of Light Page 7

  There were whispers among the ancients. Jennifer made out a few of the words—“outrage!” and “corrupt!” among them. But the majority in the amphitheater remained silent and anxious.

  “Wait a second!” Jennifer called out. “Okay, um, I’m guessing that nobody knew my mother’s a beaststalker…”

  The dark dasher looked triumphant as the crowd murmured. “She admits it!”

  “All right, all right,” she tried to reassure them, standing up with palms out. “This must be freaking some of you out. But you’ve got to see that I’m not dangerous to any of you. I mean, I just did that battle shout to save Catherine, not to hurt anyone!” She desperately looked for Catherine in the crowd, but could not find her.

  Crawford’s voice was just loud enough for Jennifer to hear. “Niffer, sit down, please. Let me handle this.”

  Given the dubious looks of the surrounding crowd, she had to agree with his suggestion.

  “My friend Xavier Longtail is right,” Crawford began. “This matter is my responsibility. I’ll answer for it. My granddaughter is here under my protection. And my son and I did conceal the other half of her heritage from you all, until we could find a way to introduce the truth to the Blaze of Elders.”

  Blaze of Elders? Jennifer cocked her head at the expression. Was that like a crash of rhinos, or was it more like Congress?

  He turned to face her with a frown. “Unfortunately, we would have done well to remind the Ancient Furnace herself of our people’s misgivings toward beaststalkers.”

  Jennifer’s face fell. While she knew he would protect her, she also knew how badly he and her mother got along. Having a beaststalker shape here in front of all these dragons must be an insult to them, even him! She decided to shift back into dragon form, but before she could he turned to the others and raised his voice.

  “But what I would have told her after warning her, and what I must tell all of you here at this Blaze now, is no less true for my forgetfulness. Our kind needs to come to terms with our old enemies. It is time we made peace!”

  There was a great deal more noise at this than before—exclamations of surprise, with several shouts of “No!” and a few of “Yes!” spotted throughout. It was hard for Jennifer to sort out who felt which way, but one thing was clear: Xavier Longtail did not care for this opinion at all.

  “Talk of peace sounds lovely,” the dasher spat. “So understanding, so moral. But it ignores one fact—you cannot make peace with a people who are devoted to your destruction. The descendants of Barbara the Self-Righteous worked horrors at Pinegrove, and they are not yet finished. These beaststalkers are all the same—every one of them lives for the chance to do our kind in, like their patron saint.”

  “That’s not true!” Jennifer piped up. Once again, she felt the heat of everyone staring at her. She gulped and continued. “My mother would never kill a weredragon! She married one!”

  “You will remain quiet,” Xavier commanded with disdain. “You are an abomination, and have no voice here.”

  Jennifer felt the blood rush to her cheeks. “Oh really? You want to hear my voice again, buster?”

  The ancient dasher roared, raised his triple-ended tail, and smashed it against the ground. It was like no tail shock Jennifer had ever seen. Three explosions shook the ground and burning rock flew in all directions. She flinched as bits of granite sailed by her ear.

  With his roar still echoing throughout the amphitheater, Xavier pounced from his stone seat and landed right in front of her. Spittle flicked off of his sharp, yellowing teeth, and his golden eyes gleamed. “If you think that you are fast enough to raise those pretty knives of yours and try that shout again, go ahead, little girl! But I daresay the breath of this Blaze will roast you before you get the chance. And my fire will be the first to its target, you lying—”

  A wild bellow from above interrupted the elder. Everyone looked up in time to see a shadow drop from the sky and crash right between Jennifer and Xavier. The amphitheater shook. Smoke fumed and billowed over her. In the firelight, scales pulsed an angry rainbow of dark colors. With another wild roar, the newcomer raised its head and blasted the gloomy sky with a column of fire. Jennifer had never seen a dragon so furious and reckless before.

  Then her jaw dropped as she recognized the creature. It was her father. His right wing lashed out, and the claw gripped shut the dasher’s crocodilian mouth.

  “Xavier Longtail! Keep that mouth closed and your claws away from my daughter!”

  Xavier shook off the other’s grip and curled his lip, but did not answer.

  Jonathan took in the whole Blaze as his skin settled back into a stable shade of indigo. Vapor still leaked from his snout. “This is not a trial,” he called out. “My daughter hasn’t done anything wrong!”

  “She has broken two serious laws,” the dasher said coldly. “She has shown our sacred refuge to an uninvited guest, and she has become one herself! Before this night is through, there will be a trial and a sentence—and not just for the beaststalker, but for her father and grandfather as well!”

  The reaction to this statement surprised Jennifer. Instead of support, or even anxiety, disapproval rippled through the crowd. There were cries of “No!” and “Let them speak!” Apparently, she guessed, her father and grandfather—and maybe even the Ancient Furnace herself—still commanded some measure of respect here.

  “Peace is not just a dream,” Crawford pressed. He had come down from his seat to stand by his family. “I have learned this over the years. Like many of you, I used to hate and distrust every beaststalker out there. And when my son met and fell in love with one, I nearly disowned him.”

  The crowd stayed quiet. Crawford glanced at Jonathan before he continued. “But over the past fifteen years, I have come to know Elizabeth Georges-Scales. And I have watched her daughter grow up for fifteen of those years. These two are not like those beaststalkers that attacked Pinegrove. Their hearts are true. They may be ambassadors for peace. And there may be others like them.”

  No one spoke for a while. Jennifer watched thousands of dragon heads across the amphitheater turn this way and that, trying to make sense of all this.

  Finally, Xavier stood up again. “This is preposterous! Ambassadors for peace? The Ancient Furnace is corrupt! She cannot speak for us. Neither can the bloodthirsty hellion who spawned her. We should—”

  “For the moon’s sake, Xavier, hold your tongue!” This was a new voice, impatient at the moment but full of depth and wisdom. An enormous trampler stood, her olive green skin pale enough to reflect the light of both fire and moon. Her nose horn was brittle, but the red was still bright in her eyes. Jennifer recognized the features instantly—this must be Catherine’s grandmother, Winona Brandfire.

  “I’ve heard enough of your hateful prattling for one evening. You act as if the entire Blaze is behind you. It isn’t. I’m the Blaze’s eldest, and I’ll speak now.” These words made Xavier Longtail sit down under a cloud of discontent.

  “First of all,” Winona continued to the entire gathering, “I owe this girl my thanks. So do we all. Jennifer Scales quelled a stampede that would have hurt or killed some of us, my granddaughter among them—”

  “Is Catherine okay?” Jennifer knew as soon as she interrupted that she shouldn’t have. Winona’s hard, reptilian features swiveled to her and took in the platinum hair, the leather jerkin, and the twin sculpted daggers. An uncomfortable silence followed, during which the elder scratched her own jaw with a wing claw. Jennifer caught a glint of metal on a wing claw—she could not quite make it out—and then Winona spoke.

  “She’s fine. Her leg was injured, and so she is resting now, before her own trial.”

  Jennifer bowed her head.

  “As I was saying—because of this girl, we have the luxury of this Blaze, instead of a funeral ceremony. It was a feat worthy of the myths behind the Ancient Furnace, and it does not matter what shape did it.

  “Second, her good heart does not excuse the fact th
at her bravery would not have been necessary at all had she adhered to the rules of her people—our people. Revealing the portal of this world to my granddaughter was foolish. This refuge has remained both hallowed and secret from the time our beloved ancestor—Seraphina, daughter of Brigida herself—discovered it and molded it for dragonkind. It is a place where we know our people will survive, even if the worst happens.

  “I know how persistent Catherine can be—” And at this the old dragon’s eyes almost twinkled. “—but the truth remains: You broke the law of this land.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jennifer mumbled with her head down, trying at once to apologize and avoid interruption. The elder appeared to approve the attempt and went on.

  “Third, Crawford and Jonathan withheld the truth from us. Even when done with good intentions, deceit is deceit. Were the Ancient Furnace truly corrupt—and I don’t believe she is—the lives of many weredragons would be in danger. This, though, is an issue for another day.

  “The discussion we must have now is what to do with you, Jennifer Scales! For while I believe you may be trustworthy, the elders cannot stake the entire safety of our people on a warm and fuzzy feeling. My colleague”—she gestured to Xavier, who was nursing a sneer—“is not alone in thinking we cannot afford to allow you among us ever again. And while your father may not feel a trial is justified, that is not his decision alone. Banishment is not out of the question just yet. In fact, in the old days, death was appropriate!”

  This caused the younger dragons gathered in the amphitheater to protest. Jennifer smiled slightly as she recognized Alex Rosespan and Mullery, a dasher and a creeper who served as her tutors last year, among them.

  Winona raised her wing for silence. “I didn’t say either treatment was likely. But neither can we just pretend nothing has happened here tonight. Frankly, we have never had to deal with this sort of thing before. I don’t know quite where to start.”

  “If I could say a word, Eldest?” Jennifer smiled at the steady, Missouri-bred voice and the dragon who owned it—Ned Brownfoot, the aged trampler who had taught her lizard-calling. “There’s a way out of this mess, p’rhaps. Takes believin’ a legend or two…but I reckon it’d work. We could try the Fifty Trials.”

  This raised some interest in the crowd. Jennifer looked questioningly at her father, who signaled her to hold steady.

  “Ned, the Fifty Trials are in tales we tell children,” Winona pointed out. “We don’t know whether they really ever happened, or if they were accurate. We don’t even know what all of the trials were supposed to be!”

  “We don’t know everythin’,” Ned admitted. “But I’ll lay two teh one…Crawford ’n’ his folks would work it out with us. We could change what we don’t like…fill in gaps as we go. We’re smart enough, ain’t we?”

  Crawford picked up on Ned’s idea immediately. “If Jennifer were to pass trials the Blaze chose itself, perhaps that would allay everyone’s fears, Eldest. Even the venerables couldn’t argue with that!”

  “We should discuss this,” Winona agreed.

  Instantly, the gathering dissolved into dozens of separate conversations. Elder dashers, tramplers, and creepers all whispered back and forth, turning their heads this way and that. It looked to Jennifer as if each elder was trying to consult with as many other elders as they could, as quickly and thoroughly as possible.

  “What are the Fifty Trials?” she asked her father in the midst of this din.

  “You remember what your grandfather taught you about Allucina and her fifty children?”

  “Sure.” Jennifer recalled the legend of Allucina, the first perfect shape-shifter. After her death, there had been an epic fight among her children. Bruce the werachnid, Brigida the weredragon, and Barbara the beaststalker were the only survivors, and their descendants had fought ever since.

  “Well, over thousands of years, there have been attempts at reconciling the three peoples again. Occasionally, a werachnid or beaststalker approached us with an offer for peace. But weredragons learned to be wary. Too often we found ourselves betrayed. So to weed out the spies and identify true friends, we came up with a series of tests. Of course some of this is bedtime story stuff, but chances are some of it is true. It makes sense that we’d have some way to tell good apples from bad ones.”

  “So, how do I prove that I’m, um, a good apple?”

  “That’s what we’ll have to work out. If the Blaze agrees, your grandfather will help them draw out some tasks for you.”

  Jennifer wished that she could be part of the conversations, but it wasn’t like she got to pick what Mr. Slider would put on her geometry quizzes. Tests were, after all, tests.

  “You talked about venerables. You mentioned them the first time we came to Crescent Valley. Will they help judge? Who are they? Will I get to meet—”

  Her father had no time to reply to any of these questions. As if on cue, the deliberations ended. Winona stood again. “We will move forward with Elder Brownfoot’s plan, and start designing the trials tomorrow. It will take some time. The Ancient Furnace will submit to the trials on the last day of October.”

  “But that means I’ll miss the school Halloween dance!” Jennifer blurted out. “And I already told Skip yes!”

  “Skip?” Xavier’s voice rose once more. “Skip Wilson?”

  The entire amphitheater hushed. Once again, Jennifer experienced the cold feeling the brain brings as it catches up with the mouth. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see both her father and grandfather glaring at her. “Um…yeah…”

  Xavier seemed beyond indignation. “The very same boy your father claims deceived your family and nearly caused a ruin worse than Eveningstar…is your boyfriend?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Jennifer protested. “We’re just, um…”

  Jonathan jabbed her in the ribs with a wing claw. “While what Xavier says is true, Skip Wilson’s actions in Otto Saltin’s lair ultimately saved us, and he has expressed regret for his betrayal. He and my daughter have forged a friendship that may, in time, advance the cause of peace.”

  “Oh, the sneaky spider-boy is friends with the sneaky beaststalker-girl,” the veteran dasher deadpanned. “That makes me feel better!”

  “The spider-boy, as you call him, is the son of the late Dianna Wilson. Some of you assembled today know that this werachnid and I were good friends, years ago. I can vouch for her integrity—”

  “We know of your association with the eight-legged witch,” Xavier taunted. “It seems that you have always had trouble finding a home among your own kind, Jonathan Scales.”

  Jennifer’s ears pricked. What did that mean?

  “Perhaps, Xavier,” Jonathan offered in a thin voice, “I seek friendship and truth wherever I can, in an effort to counter the bigotry and idiocy that—”

  “If we could simply set that issue aside for now,” Crawford pleaded, stepping between the other two. “My granddaughter will submit to the Fifty Trials, as Ned has wisely suggested. If and when she passes them, we can deal with the issue of whether or not her relationship with Skip Wilson is wise. Eldest?”

  Winona sighed, and motioned for Xavier to sit down. “Very well. Such complicated times require patience. We will deal with each matter separately, as you suggest. The Blaze will convene tomorrow to begin preparations for the trials.”

  Jennifer started to protest again—the Halloween dance!—but her father’s firm wing claw landing on top of her head suggested silence.

  “If I may, Eldest,” he called out, “I would like to take my daughter back through the lake with me until the week of her trials. Before my father sent word for me tonight, I was already on my way. There is an urgent matter that requires our attention.”

  The elder trampler seemed relieved at the request. “Very well. Take the Ancient Furnace home. She is to return by the morning of the last day of October.”

  Jonathan bowed to the gathering, nodded to Crawford, and then yanked Jennifer up into the air. She barely had ti
me to morph into dragon form before her feet left the ground.

  So much had just happened—the hunt, the Blaze, Xavier and her father’s confrontation, the way her tongue had slipped about her mother and then Skip—she did not know what to say. But her father spoke first anyway.

  “Sweetheart. Apple of my eye. Fruit of my loins. Remind me to go over Blaze etiquette with you, someday.”

  “I’m sorry, Dad. This is all really confusing. Just as I was finally getting comfortable with who I am, everybody else starts freaking out about it!”

  “I understand. But you have to learn when to stop talking and listen! Thank goodness Ned and your grandfather came up with the idea of the Fifty Trials. Things could have gone a lot worse down there.”

  “Thanks for coming.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad I got there in time to face down Xavier! But as I said earlier, I was coming anyway.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I heard from Cheryl Alder.”

  Jennifer shook her head a bit as they whistled over the elms. What did Cheryl Alder have to do with anything that had happened tonight?

  “Detectives on Jack Alder’s case shared some interesting news with her,” he went on. “Apparently, there was a tiny bit of fluid left at the scene. It resembled blood or spittle, but was unlike anything they had ever seen. However, it does contain DNA. And as you know from science class, DNA evidence can help tell us who was there with Jack Alder before he died.”

  “So whose DNA is it?”

  “They can’t pin it down exactly, but since the Alders have known about me, Cheryl asked if I would supply a blood sample for a discreet species comparison. We used an investigative lab near Roseford with weredragon connections. I was happy to help, but we found out something disturbing.”

  “What’s that? Does your DNA match their sample?”

  “Not exactly.” He turned to look at her. “But whoever was with Jack Alder when he died is a weredragon. And that person is related to me.”