Sauragia: Journey to the Red Mountain

Chapter 9

Over the course of the next few days, Bard continued his slow recovery under the constant supervision of Alyssa, though they kept conversation to a minimum. Oftentimes Alyssa had Martha tend to Bard instead, just to avoid having to deal with him. This initial dislike for each other gradually shifted to a sort of neutrality in which neither was rude to the other outwardly, but nor did they go out of their way to be overly polite.

After many days, the Alvarosaurus regained his ability first to stand, then to walk. He could at first only manage short distances on his injured leg, and always with help. Though it had now essentially healed, it retained a wicked-looking scar where the branch had pierced his calf, and still pained him if he moved it the wrong way. Astron and Rob were always happy to offer assistance, and he accepted it more willingly from them than from Martha or Alyssa. During this period the young ones were told not to disturb him or get in his way, though they found this increasingly difficult as he spent more and more time in the nursery.

Thus it happened that Arnor slipped into the nursery while Bard was in there one day. The fire was blazing bright, but the door was wide open, so he figured it was safe to enter. He did not notice the weathered old Alvarosaurus sitting quietly at the corner table as he went in to seek a book for his grandfather. The study was full of all sorts of volumes, but there were some that had to be stored in here for lack of space. He scanned the lower shelves for the dusty old book, then spotted it with his sharp young eyes.

“Aha!” he exclaimed, and he plucked it off the shelf. He dusted it off and looked at the title: Verses with Meaning. He hated the sound of it. Poems were just a bunch of strange, long words used in short, choppy sentences that bored him immensely. Tales of heroic exploits and books of facts were enough for him. Poetry was much too mushy. Nevertheless, he dutifully tucked it under his arm and prepared to take it to the king when the low, rough voice of Bard halted him.

“Odd choice for one your age.”

Arnor jumped with fright and whipped around to answer, “It’s for my granddad.”

“Oh. All right, then.”

Bard sat back and took a sip from a mug. It was filled with some sort of drink that only grown-ups drank, Arnor could tell by the smell. Mead, he believed it was called. Bard’s face was illuminated on one side by the firelight, and Arnor could see all the scars he had gotten over the course of his long, hard life. He hoped he never looked like that. He wanted very much to rush out of the room and deliver the book to his grandfather, but something made him stop and ask, “Do you read much, Mister Bard?”

“Did a bit at your age. But no, not lately. Never stayed in one place long enough to sit down and try. Reckon I’m pretty bad at it by now. Hard to believe I used to know how in three different languages.”

“Really?” spoke Arnor, fascinated by this little bit of information. He stepped a little closer.

“Oh, yeah. Used to know Old Saurian, the kind the Evandrians used. An’ then another used on the Star Point Isles. They called it…”

“Stellesian?” offered Arnor.

“‘Sright!” said Bard with mild surprise. “How’d you know that?”

“I’ve read about it in the study,” replied the young prince, swelling with pride. “I like languages.”

“Do you really? Well, that’s good I guess. Good to know when you’re out on the road. You know Stellesian script, then?”

Arnor shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard of it.”

Bard nodded. “Hop up here, then, and I’ll show you.” He indicated a seat across from himself.

Arnor set the book off to the side, then sat down as instructed, his tail wriggling with excitement. Bard took out his dirk and began scratching the table’s surface. It was an old table that the children had marked up a lot anyway, so he figured no one would mind. Arnor certainly didn’t. He watched with fascination, his eyes fixed on the blade as it carved strange shapes into the top of the table. Bard spoke in a low, instructive voice as he concentrated hard on the task at claw.

“Stellesian, as you may know, has thirty-two letters as opposed to our twenty-nine. One for each sound in the language. The first set looks like this.” He carved a row of twelve symbols with his dirk tip, which Arnor studiously examined. “These are the most common sounds. That’s why they’re at the top. Then come the other two sets like so.” He continued to work away until there were two more rows of ten letters each. When he finished, Bard added, “You’ll notice that all the letters consist of straight lines an’ no curves.”

“That’s because they don’t write on parchment like us, and straight lines are easier to carve,” stated Arnor knowingly.

“Very good. I guess you have studied this.”

Arnor again nodded and grinned. He was not sure why, but he liked being complimented by the old warrior. Bard really was a good teacher too.

“How do you know all this, Mister Bard?” he asked. “Did you read about it?”

“Some when I was younger.” He paused. “A lot younger. But mostly I had to learn it while there. Had some monks teach me all about it.”

“Do you remember what sound each letter makes?”

“A little,” replied Bard, surprised at just how much he did remember. “Enough to do this, anyway.” He began carving again, using the symbols on the chart. He finished with a five-letter word that repeated one of the symbols at the end. Arnor looked at it and felt he almost knew what it meant. But he finally had to give up and ask, “What does it say?”

“Well, it’s you,” replied Bard with almost a smile. “Your name, anyway. Arnor.”

Arnor looked at his name written out in the funny-looking lettering. It was boxy and very bold. He liked it. He regarded Bard closely.

“Very nice! Can you do others?”

“Sure,” Bard replied, and quickly set to work carving a new name with six letters.

“Who’s that?” asked Arnor.

“That’s your dad, Astron.”

“Oh,” said Arnor, examining it closely. Suddenly a brilliant thought came to him, and he again regarded Bard.

“Could you teach this to me?”

“What?” spoke Bard, a little stunned.

“Stellesian,” pressed Arnor excitedly. “You seem to know it pretty well.”

“I dunno ‘bout that. I mean, I barely remember these letters, much less the entire language. You’d be better off learning from one o’ your books.”

“Oh.” Arnor’s shoulders slumped a bit with disappointment.

“Speakin’ o’ which, shouldn’t you be gettin’ that book there to your old granddad?”

“Oh, right.” Arnor picked up the book and hopped down from his seat. “It was nice talking to you, Mister Bard.”

“Hold on there, mate,” said Bard as Arnor was about to leave. “I’ve got a little somethin’ for you.” He beckoned the lad closer and reached into his pocket. Arnor watched in fascination as he drew forth a large silver coin and held it in front of him.

“This came from the Star Point Islands,” Bard explained. “I spent most of these years ago, but I’ve kept a few for memory’s sake. I want you to have this one. Take it. It’s yours.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Arnor, grabbing the shiny piece. “Thank you so very much.”

“Take good care of it, lad. Oh! And for your brother and sisters.” He pulled out three smaller coins. “They’re not as valuable, but they’re still rare down here.”

Arnor took the other three in stunned silence. Was this relative stranger really giving him these valuable little silver objects to keep? It was unbelievable!

“Run along now.”

Arnor nodded and made for the door.

“And Arnor!”

The boy stopped once more.

“No need for the formalities. Just call me Bard. I’m no mister, an’ definitely no sir.”

Again Arnor nodded, smiled, then headed happily down the corridor toward the study at the opposite end, unaware that his mother had witnessed the entire scene from just outside the room. Perhaps, she decided, there was more to this battered dinosaur than met the eye.