Dragon Quest - I - Chapter 3, Part 4

4 - The Silver Harp (pp119-129)

Twenty days passed.

Unable to calm himself, Aleph was sprinting across the northern sand dunes with bounding steps. He made it up to the top of the next dune in three strides.

Aleph could see the profile of the town of Garai ahead. The evening sun was setting in splendor behind it.

It had been six months since he was last here. Six months since seeing the pretty Cecille. Aleph nearly tumbled down the dunes in his rush to arrive.

When he reached town, he headed for Cecille’s house straightaway. Definitely going to their house first, Aleph thought. I’ll just say hi to Cecille - but then, just as he rounded the corner around the cafeteria, he stopped in shock.

Cecille’s house had been completely boarded up. They weren’t new boards, either. The ocean air had already rusted the nails, and the wind had stockpiled a hefty layer of dust at the base of the entryway.

“Cecille! Cecille!” Aleph called, banging on the door.

120

No answer, save the wind that blew in from a nearby alley.

Aleph hit the door and called her name one more time.

“I see you’ve returned,” came a familiar scratchy voice from behind him. It was the fortune-teller. Aleph had just passed her place.

“What happened to Cecille? And her mother and father?” he asked quickly.

“The proprietor and his wife were murdered,” she replied.

“No!”

“By an agent of the Dragonlord. The shadow knight.”

“Shadow knight!? What about Cecille!” Aleph yelled, grabbing the old woman by her robes.

“She was taken away!”

“When!?”

“The Month of Ishtar!” she growled back, slapping his hand away in irritation.

“It was around when the crops were sprouting, because we had gotten so much rain. Everyone was in good spirits, and it was an abnormally warm night. Suddenly we heard a scream. People went running, but when they arrived, they found Cecille’s mother and father already dead and lying in a pool of their own blood. They had been killed, and Cecille had been taken away.”

121

Aleph listened, the knot in his gut swelling larger. I was attacked by those shadow things around the Month of the Phoenix… that means that they came to Garai right after! But why did they kill Cecille’s parents and abduct her? A violent, indescribable hate rose up in Aleph’s throat.

He clenched his fist tight and swore, and slammed his fist into one of the boards nailed to the inn’s windows in an expression of his aimless anger.

But the wood didn’t fight back; it just made a hollow thud. The wind continued to blow.

Aleph breathed a deep sigh that shook his shoulders, then bit his lip as he stood stock still in the middle of the road. Eventually, he began to walk off, almost dragging his legs behind him.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To Garai’s grave,” responded Aleph, glaring at the old woman with anger in his eyes,knowing full well she was not the target of his frustration.

“F, fool! Still spouting nonsense! After I told you to stay away!?”

“I need the silver harp. No matter what.”

122

“What are you on about!?” the fortune teller gaped, blood rushing from her face. “Why would you willingly take the harp?”

“You told me last time I was here - that the gravesite can only be unsealed by a descendant of Loto, one that performs a special ritual. Well, I can perform the ritual now.”

“A-And who did you learn this ritual from?”

“From Garai.”

“You mean to tell me you met the bard himself!? Impossible!”

“Look,” said Aleph as he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out the pendant. “This Pendant of Ritual will allow me to open his grave.”

The old woman’s eyes went round as she stared intently at the pendant. Eventually she grabbed Aleph and tugged him along, sputtering “C-c-c-come with me. Come on!”

She pulled him off the street and down the alley, leading him into her basement home.

“What do you mean you met Garai? His ghost showed himself to you, did it?”

“He did. Your prediction was spot on.”

“It was?”

123

Aleph told her all about what happened in the Cave of Loto after he had left town, and about how he was now on a search for the artefacts Loto had entrusted to his sages.

“But you can’t be,” said the old woman and shook her head. She still couldn’t believe that the blood of a hero ran through the veins of the young boy in front of her.

“Your prediction matched perfectly with the hidden sigil on this map,” said Aleph as he took out the old folded parchment from his sack.

The fortune-teller stared suspiciously at the mark, then gasped as her eyes wandered to the runic letters in the bottom right corner.

“That’s the script of the Mitra…!”

The script read, ‘To the followers of Mitra, with many thanks for your love and courage. Loto.’ Despite recognizing the letters, however, the old woman couldn’t make out what it meant.

“W, where did you get this map?”

“Apparently, a magician from Garai arrived on the day I was born and gave it to me.”

“But that would mean…” began the fortune-teller, eyes growing wide with surprise once more. “You were born in Domdora!”

124

“How did you guess that?”

“Guess, pfah! I was apprenticed to a master magician for a long time. His name was Zeraphin, and he lived in the mountains far to the south of here. He died about ten years ago, but before he did, he once told me a story…”

The old woman took a deep breath and prepared to speak. “A story about an old map.”

In mid-winter, about fifteen years ago, Zeraphin had a dream. In his dream, the god Mitra appeared before him and spoke: ‘The age of Winter is nearing its end. Your duty is to aid the hero that will bring about the dawn of Spring. This map belonged to the followers of Mitra that once fought alongside Loto. Go to Domdora, and give this map to the youngest child you find.”

The next morning when Zeraphin awoke he found a strange old map, folded up into a square, tucked beneath his pillow. He took the map, traveled to Domdora, and gave it to a newborn baby boy before returning to Garai.

“To think, that babe was you,” reflected the fortune-teller, looking at Aleph with brightened eyes. Her look had a newfound sense of esteem. She finally accepted him as Loto’s descendant.

125

“Glad you came around,” said Aleph. “Anyway, in order to acquire one of the artefacts, the Staff of Rain, I need to get my hands on Garai’s silver harp. Without it, I can’t get to the Dragonlord’s island, and I can’t defeat him!”

“I know. Descendant, you just may be able to open the seal on Garai’s grave. Not only that, but you may be able to safely play his harp, too.”

Tears began to fill her eyes. She may even see the day, before she breathes her last, of peace finally returning to Alefgaard. A warmth began to spread throughout her chest. For the first time in a long time, the old woman was glad to be born.

“Thank you, great spirit,” she said softly as she placed her hands together in front of her, offering up a small prayer to Rubiss.

The fortune-teller spread the news throughout the town. Around dusk, a troupe that included the town mayor and about twenty able-bodied villagers head up to the gravesite on the cape. The sun had nearly set, and stars glittered in the sky.

Aleph sat in front of the great stone door, staring at Garai’s crest, engraved into its surface. He held the amulet in both hands, fingers locked into a pattern, and began.

“Our Hero, Loto… We entreat you to open the seal on Garai’s grave,” he spoke softly, focusing all of his energies into the shapes of his fingertips and his words.

The fortune-teller and the other villagers swallowed hard and watched.

126

Aleph’s face suddenly flushed and great beads of sweat fell from his forehead. He began to shake uncontrollably. Then, a beam of bright yellow light shot out from his fingers towards the door, striking it and slowly engulfing it with its light. The light eventually faded, and with a load groan, the heavy door swung open. It was easy to believe it hadn’t been opened in three hundred and twenty years. A wave of shock spread throughout the townsfolk.

“I did it!” said Aleph as he tried to stand, but was too dizzy and quickly plopped back down.

The ritual took up all of his stamina and focus in an instant. Aleph was exhausted and could barely move.

His audience looked on with warmth. Some of them even had tears in their eyes. It was only natural, seeing and believing in the descendant of Loto for the first time in their lives.

“Are you alright?” asked the old woman, rushing to Aleph’s side.

Aleph used the last of his strength to stand, then lit a torch and headed through the door.

Inside was surprisingly cool. The anteroom was wide, and had a large set of stairs that led downwards. The pillars and walls were engraved with sun and moon crests and varied plants and animals.

Using the torch to guide his footsteps, Aleph descended the stairs. He came to a landing that led to another set of stairs down, and finally, at the base of the new set of stairs was the door to the grave.

127

It opened to the faintest touch.

Aleph was surprised by what he saw when he went inside and hoisted his torch to illuminate the room.

Brilliant silver candlesticks adorned finely-crafted antique tables. Shelves were filled with books, lovely jars and plates from all over the land, a silver shield, mirrors, rare musical instruments. The walls held a map of the Alefgaard continent, along with a set of spears and bows with arrows. There was also a worn-looking rocking chair.

On the desk in front of Aleph laid a well-loved feather quill. It was as if Garai’s study had been left exactly as it was in life.

On a shelf behind the desk sat a silver harp. The body of the harp was engraved to resemble a naked fairy, adorned with emeralds.

“This must be the silver harp,” Aleph muttered to himself, stupefied by its craftsmanship. Without thinking, he took it in his hands and plucked a string.

Pling.

The note echoed through the grave - a sad, soft sound.

Aleph suddenly thought of Cecille’s face, and of the story that she told him on their first meeting about Garai’s quest to use his silver harp to calm and free the hearts of monsters.

Pling.

128

Aleph plucked another string, but this time, it was his anger that came surging up. He thought of the kidnapped Cecille, and of the shadows that took her - and then a shrill grating sound came from behind him.

Aleph jumped and turned his back to the wall, afraid he had accidentally summoned monsters after all. Not a quite a monster, but now sitting in the old rocking chair was a half-translucent Garai, wreathed in blue-white flame.

“You!” exclaimed Aleph. Garai was seated, but still floating several inches above the chair. His image was rocking back and forth. Perhaps the sound was part of the illusion, or perhaps the energy force of Garai’s spirit caused the chair to squeak.

“What are you intending to do with that silver harp?” asked Garai, eyes looking to Aleph with a soft wisdom.

Aleph nodded and recanted what happened with the witch at the Rain Shrine.

“Oh, that witch?” asked the bard with a face of recognition when Aleph mentioned the witch.

“She also said that someone with Loto’s blood could open the seal on your grave and bring back the silver harp. Only someone with Loto’s blood,” Aleph explained.

129

“So, the witch wants the silver harp… Isn’t that something,” Garai muttered and let out a sigh. He seemed to wipe a tear from beneath suddenly bitter eyes.

“Descendant.”

“Sir.”

“Even more rigorous trials await you ahead. You will surely encounter those who are able to change fate just by becoming involved with you, and those who may lose their lives because of it.”

The faces of Cecille and her parents once more floated to the back of Aleph’s mind.

“However, you were born for a purpose. To defeat the Dragonlord. Under his rule, the people of Alefgaard are suffering a much worse fate. Think hard on the blood and tears shed by all of its people on your journey. So that you can become a true hero,” said Garai.

Leaving Aleph with that, he slowly faded away.