Emily Rodda - Deltora Quest #8 - Return to Deltora

Icling to the hope that one day Prince Endon might find it. Even Endon’s friend, young Jarred, might do so, for though Jarred has no great love of books, his wits are keen. He may remember the library if one day he is in urgent need of knowledge. I know in my heart that if Deltora has a future, it lies with these young ones. It would be my joy to know that in some small way I have helped their cause. In faith —

Josef

Writing in the city of Del in the 35th year of the reign of King Alton.

It is generally believed that the Deltoran Dragons are extinct, having been at last wiped out by the Shadow Lord’s Seven Ak-Baba. Many farmers, whose herds were preyed upon by Dragons, say this is no loss. Those who know old tales of girls being carried off so their long hair could line Dragons’ nests agree. More thoughtful students of life think otherwise.

In general, Dragons hunted only to satisfy their hunger and feed their young. As soon as villagers began to leave out tresses of hair in Spring, for example, Dragons no longer took maidens at nesting time. Dragons were dangerous, there is no doubt. But they had no particular wish to harm. Native to Deltora, they were part of the natural order and owed no loyalty to any creature other than themselves. The Seven Ak-Baba, which can now patrol Deltoran skies without hindrance, are a very different matter.

Furthermore, I suspect that Dragons, the most ancient of Deltora’s beasts, were linked with the land more closely than we understand. The Dragons were divided into seven breeds — just as the original Deltoran people were divided into seven tribes. Each breed shared its territory with one tribe, and, most interestingly, each had its own color.

The undersides of all were the same, changing color with the sky so that flying beasts would be hard to see from the ground. Each breed, however, shone a different color on the back — the color of its territory’s totem stone, the gem which became, in the time of Adin, part of the magic Belt of Deltora.

Thus, the Del Dragons were golden, like the topaz. Those of Raladin were ruby red. The Dragons of the Plains shone with all the colors of the rainbow, like the opal.The Mere Dragons were darkest blue with points of silver, like the lapis lazuli.The Dragons of Dread Mountain were emerald green. The Toran Dragons were purple, like the amethyst. And the scales of the Dragons of Jalis glittered like the diamond.This is a great mystery, and one which must make us all think carefully before rejoicing at the Dragons’ disappearance. If they have truly gone from our land, we could have lost far more than we realize.

But I am not convinced they have gone. My reading over the years has given me great respect for the wisdom of these beasts. It would not surprise me if, after centuries of loss, the last Dragons decided to hide themselves so that their race could continue. I hope with all my heart that it is so. The decline of the Dragons is a powerful symbol of the way in which, slowly but surely, the balance of Deltora’s natural world has been twisted and ravaged by the evil mind that broods over the Shadowlands.

And the corruption of the natural world is itself a symbol of what has happened to our society. Once united, thriving, and strong, the people are divided, suffering, and fearful. The heirs of Adin, once our trusted leaders, guardians of the magic Belt of Deltora, are locked away from us, and kept in ignorance of our fate.

I heard this morning that King Alton is gravely ill. If he dies, young Prince Endon will take his place. There is neither grief nor rejoicing in Del. The people no longer care what goes on in the palace. Ranesh says hunger and misery rule, and it does not matter who is king. Dark clouds have been gathering over Deltora for a long, long time. I fear a great storm is coming. And it is very near.

It was the season for skimmers, and this year more skimmers than ever were coming over the Wall of Weld.

From dusk till dawn, the beasts flapped down through the cloud that shrouded the top of the Wall. They showered on the dark city like giant, pale falling leaves, leathery wings rasping, white eyes gleaming, needle teeth glinting in the dark.

The skimmers came for food. They came to feast on the warm-blooded creatures, animal and human, that lived within the Wall of Weld.

On the orders of the Warden, the usual safety notices had been put up all over the city. Few people bothered to read them, because they were always the same. But this year, in Southwall, where Lisbeth the beekeeper lived with her three sons, they had been covered with disrespectful scrawls.

No one knew who was writing on the notices — or so the people of Southwall claimed when the Keep soldiers questioned them. Like everyone else in Weld, the Southwall citizens were very law-abiding. Most would never have dreamed of damaging one of the Warden’s notices themselves. But many secretly agreed with the person who had done so.

Rye, the youngest of Lisbeth’s sons, had the half-thrilled, half-fearful suspicion that his eldest brother, Dirk, might be responsible.

Dirk worked on the Wall as his father had done, repairing and thickening Weld’s ancient defense against the barbarians on the coast of the island of Dorne. Brave, strong, and usually good-natured, Dirk had become increasingly angry about the Warden’s failure to protect Weld from the skimmer attacks.

Sholto, the middle brother, thin, cautious, and clever, said little, but Rye knew he agreed with Dirk. Sholto worked for Tallus, the Southwall healer, learning how to mend broken bones and mix potions. The soldiers had questioned him when they had come to the healer’s house seeking information. Rye had overheard him telling Dirk about it.

“Do not worry,” Sholto had drawled when Dirk asked him anxiously what he had said in answer to the questions. “If I cannot bamboozle those fancily dressed oafs, I am not the man you think I am.”

And Dirk had clapped him on the shoulder and shouted with laughter.

Rye hoped fervently that the soldiers would not question him, and to his relief, so far they had not. Rye was still at school, and no doubt the soldiers thought he was too young to know anything of importance.

As the clouded sky dimmed above them, and the Wall darkened around their city, the people of Weld closed their shutters and barred their doors.

Those who still followed the old magic ways sprinkled salt on their doorsteps and window ledges and chanted the protective spells of their ancestors. Those who no longer believed in such things merely stuffed rags and straw into the chinks in their mud-brick walls, and hoped for the best.

Lisbeth’s family did all these things, and more.

Lisbeth sprinkled the salt and murmured the magic words. Dirk, tall and fair, followed her around the house, fastening all the locks. Dark, lean Sholto trailed them like a shadow, pressing rags soaked in the skimmer repellent he had invented into the gaps between the shutters and the crack beneath the door.