The Dragon Rock
Aleksandar Budjanovac
Copyright© 2015 Nebojsa Budjanovac
Cover Design by Andjela Budjanovac
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine, or journal.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Contents
Prologue: The Dweller
Chapter 1. One Dream Shattered
Chapter 2. One Peace Lost
Chapter 3. Haar - ol - garot
Chapter 4. The Enlightened
Chapter 5. The vision
Chapter 6. Keol
Chapter 7. The mission
Chapter 8. The People of the heights
Chapter 9. The premonition of storm
Chapter 10. Elf king
Chapter 11. The Army without hope
Chapter 12. The Forest Castle
Chapter 13. The battle
Chapter 14. The decision
Chapter 15. Arios
Epilogue
About Author
Prologue: The Dweller
Mornings were always cool, up there on the high slopes of the Blue Mountains - scattered white clouds, the wind gliding toward distant plains, and tall pine trees, dark green, straight and silent. The spirit of self-sufficient solitude ruled inviolably over these green hillsides. It was rarely that the foot of man, or any other creature which belongs to the arrogant races victoriously treading through the world, left its print on the mountain meadows. This was the land of Nature’s spirits, whose quiet existence could not stand any disturbance of the Unity. Only those who would bow to their laws could live up here. It was a rather lonely country.
On the little plateau at the bottom of the Eagle’s Peak, fitted into surrounding rocks, there was a cottage. Made of thick pine trunks, with moss-covered roof, it was almost invisible from afar. On the back side, the cottage was supplemented with a small pen. Nothing revealed any presence of living beings anywhere near. In this time of the morning, the cottage’s inhabitant was usually visiting one of the steep pastures which extended on the slopes above his dwelling place. Gentle breeze was inaudibly passing by the cottage, carrying the fresh scent of the forest, calm beeches and ancient pines.
A man was sitting on the edge of the rocky cliff and observing the depth beneath, the surrounding mountain ranges, which, in the clean morning air, seemed so close, and magnificent shapes of the clouds in the sky ocean.
Judging by appearance, there was no difference between him and other few shepherds who spent summers with their flocks on the hillsides of the Blue Mountains - leather clothes, long black hair, shaven and sun-burned face, in places furrowed with shallow wrinkles.
Dark eyes expressed nothing of what was happening in his mind.
Behind him, five goats jumped around the meadow in carefree manner, browsing low vegetation.
The shepherd’s thoughts were far away, with the tiny bright speckles circling in heights above a distant range called the Dragon Rock; it towered above other mountain ranges, mastering the northern horizon.
Flying high, ruling the skies unchallenged, hiding unimagined knowledge in their mysterious minds - the inhabitants of the Dragon Rock always fascinated him. It was quite understandable. From time immemorial, the dragons were the greatest mystery of the High Countries, distant and intimidating. Old legends told that the descent of the dragon in the lands of men is an evil omen, bringing unpredictable changes. There was no one alive who knew if there was some truth in the old tales - for the centuries, the dragons lived far, separated, and mysterious. The man on the cliff liked them.
He hadn’t had any special name for himself. The name Arios the Black, which he carried in the days of his youth, had been given to him after entering the order of Consecrated, and it meant nothing to him any more; he had almost forgotten it. Here, on the mountain, there was nobody who could call him by any name. Besides, he learned here that names meant nothing if there are no people here who would give them meaning. He was what he was, trying to merge his personality with the nature in which he lived, and believing himself content with that. Naming things meant separation from the Unity. And separation meant loneliness. Besides, in the world of humans, names too often concealed the truth.
As the years passed, he got used to the solitude, and he was not too interested in what was happening on the distant plains. Still, a vision of the old age in complete solitude was growing strong in his deepest nightmares. As time passed by, the feeling was ever harder to ignore. His sub-consciousness was not as clean as he liked to think. Often it seemed to him that his spiritual harmony was only resignation and giving up of life.
He was afraid of the world, and he had a good reason for that (at least he thought so), and at the same time, he wanted to return among the people. But he had not enough courage to solve this problem.
That morning, there was a sense of something unusual in the nature. It was not anything a man could point his finger at and say “This isn’t right.” The sun was shimmering in the tiny drops of dew on the grass, the light breeze was flowing over the uneven surface of the rocks, and the mountain was silent. Still, in his inner eye Arios saw that something unusual, something hideous has happened. Maybe the monotonous life developed his senses to the point in which they received messages unreadable to the mind, or it was the whisper of the mountain spirits, passing in moment from one place to another and talking to those who knew how to listen. Anyway, the lonely shepherd never underestimated these messages coming from nowhere, so he decided to lead his little herd back home and wait there for anything this day could bring.
“Let’s go,” said he to the goats, and these obediently started to follow him, breaking their play. Then he turned to the dragons in the distance.
“’Till tomorrow,” said he quietly.