The Princess and the Dragon

Previously on Saga of the Jewels…

The life of seventeen-year-old RYN, bookish son of a wealthy landowner, changes forever when his hometown is destroyed by the EMPIRE and everyone he has ever known is killed. Ryn discovers that the Empire are seeking TWELVE PRIMEVAL JEWELS which grant the power to manipulate different elements, and that his father had been hiding the FIRE RUBY. He sets out to take revenge on the Imperial General who killed his family and retrieve the Fire Ruby, and along the way meets NUTHEA the lightning-slinging princess, SAGAR the swaggering skypirate, ELRANN the tomboy engineer, CID the wizened old healer, and VISH the poppy-seed-addicted bounty hunter. Together the companions decide to find all of the Jewels in order to stop the evil EMPEROR from finding them first and taking over the world. They have thus far succeeded in retrieving the Fire Ruby, borne by Ryn, and the Lightning Crystal, borne by Nuthea. They have now come to the land of FARR where they intend to compete in a hand-to-hand fighting tournament in order to attempt to win its prize, the EARTH EMERALD…

EPISODE THIRTY-THREE: THE PRINCESS AND THE DRAGON

One night before the Tournament.

Ryn sat down next to Nuthea on one of the simple wooden chairs.

Around them, about a hundred or so people were sitting on their own chairs too. The hubbub of the chattering crowd enveloped them like a warm blanket.

The wooden seat was hard and uncomfortable, but Ryn barely noticed it. His pulse was quick inside his head and his heart fluttered about inside his chest. It was all he had been able to afford from the common purse, anyway. The balconies had been far too expensive.

I’m out on a date with a princess, he thought. No, a Queen. We may not be ‘exploring the possibility of a romantic relationship’, but that’s still what this is. We’re spending time with each other just to spend time with each other.

He was terrified.

Don’t mess this up.

He was keenly aware of her presence at her side, like a fire burning in his peripheral vision. Should he say something? Was he meant to say something? He didn’t know what to say.

He didn’t even know if he should be looking at her. Were there even any ‘shoulds’ in this situation? Instead, he stared straight ahead.

Over the many heads of the people sat in front of them–mainly short, stocky, tanned Farrians, but also people from other countries–he could see the raised wooden stage at the front of the room. At the moment it was bare and unoccupied, though on the wall at the back of it had been depicted a forest of tall trees with thick trunks and curved, finger-like branches reaching up to the ceiling of the play-house, bedecked with myriad painted-green leaves.

“Tell me what this play is about again, Ryn?” said Nuthea next to him.

A bolt of shock spasmed through Ryn and he nearly fell off his seat. He coughed on purpose and tried to make it look like it was the cough that had unsettled him, but he wasn’t sure how successfully he managed it.

He glanced at her. She was still expecting an answer from him, her eyebrows raised quizzically.

“Er,” he said. “I’m not entirely sure. It’s called ‘The Princess and the Dragon’. It looked pretty good from the poster–it had a very detailed picture of a fire-breathing dragon and an armoured knight fighting it.” Ryn had liked that. That had been what persuaded him to change plans from taking Nuthea to a tavern to taking her to a play. That and the fact that Sagar was going with Elrann to a tavern and he didn’t want to accidentally end up in the same one. “All I know is that it’s being put on by a traveling theatre troupe that just got into Shun Pei. They’re meant to be very good. They’re called the ‘Manniro’ or something.”

“Oh, the Manyiro!” Nuthea corrected him. Of course she knew the proper pronunciation. Of course she had heard of them before. “I’ve seen them perform many times in the palace when they were passing through Orma!”

Poodoo. Ryn had dared to hope that he had found something special that Nuthea had never experienced before.

Perhaps sensing his disappointment, Nuthea said “They are excellent. The Manyiro are a traveling people group who make their living by performing plays. They’re the best at what they do in the whole of Mid. Have you never seen a Manyiro performance?”

“Er…” Ryn decided he might as well tell the truth. “...no. I don’t think they ever came to Cleasor…” He had seen plays, of course, and been in silly little ones put on in his schoolhouse or the village hall. But no, he had never seen a Mid-famous traveling play-acting people-group perform before. Of course Nuthea had.

“Well you are in for a treat,” said Nuthea. “I love watching the Manyiro perform. They are masters of their craft. This will be a great way to relax and take our minds off things before the Tournament. Good choice, Ryn.”

Ryn brightened a little at that. He wanted so much for Nuthea to enjoy this. He also wanted so much to tell her how he felt about her…but one thing at a time.

“Have you seen this particular play?” he asked her, wary.

“No, I don’t think I’ve ever seen ‘The Princess and the Dragon.’”

Phew. That was something, at least. “Well, the poster for it looked really good.” Idiot. You said that already. Or something like that, anyway…

Their conversation lulled. Ryn looked at the empty stage again. When was this play going to start?

He cast around in his mind for something else to talk to her about. He couldn’t risk Nuthea growing bored. She had to enjoy this evening. This evening with him. Especially if she ever ended up going to a tavern with Sagar as well…

But his mind had gone blank. What should he say to her?

He remembered something. Something that he had been wondering about for a while. Yes, he could try that.

“Nuthea?”

“Yes?”

“When you project lightning, why do you shout the word ‘bolt’?”

“Ah, yes.” She appeared to take this as a signal to switch into lecture mode, but Ryn didn’t mind–at least she would be talking, which would buy him time to come up with more interesting things to say. “That’s called a ‘focus-word’. They’re not essential to use to project your element, but those who train in the use of Jewel-gifts usually end up employing them. You will find that when your mind is more focused, concentrated, or engaged, you will ‘spell’ (if you call it that—everyone has different names for it) more effectively and powerfully. So one technique that was developed very early on was to utter a word around which to focus the mind when you are ‘spelling’, or projecting, or manipulating your element, or whatever you want to call it. Naturally, the best word to use is the word most closely associated with whatever it is that you are projecting. So, when I am projecting a lightning bolt, I shout ‘bolt’. I would have taught you about focus-words before, but you seemed to be using them anyway.”

“That’s right…” Ryn said, thinking back to the first time he had manifested fire, in his hometown, Cleasor, the day the Empire had attacked. “When I projected for the first time, I shouted ‘fire!’ when I did it, as far as I can remember. I just did it, without having to be told to do it. And I’ve been doing it instinctively, ever since then.”

“There you go,” said Nuthea, nodding approvingly at him like a pleasing pupil. “See? That is your focus-word for projecting your element, naturally.”

“But sometimes I’ve noticed you say the word but you don’t finish it properly—it changes into a sort of shout.”

Nuthea’s nod became knowing rather than merely approving. “Yes, that does happen too. When you are casting a large spell—channelling large amounts of mana—the focus word is even more helpful and necessary to keep the element under your control, but it can be hard to get all of it out because the toll on the body from the projection is so great. So sometimes when I cast a particularly large lightning bolt, or series of lightning bolts, I lose control and the word loses its shape… I’m working on it, but at the use of certain levels of magic it becomes virtually possible not to let out a shout or even a scream at the end of the word. So sometimes it sounds a bit like ‘boltah’ or ‘boltaragh’ or even ‘boltagah’.”

Ryn pondered this. “Thanks, that actually makes a lot of sense. I guess I should carry on using focus words to help me focus my ‘fire’.”

“Absolutely. Captain Sagar and Grandfather Cid use them too—I’m sure you’ve heard them. I don’t know if Sagar was ever taught to use them–he probably just uses them on instinct too–but I’m sure Cid has specifically trained in using them. And as you practice and train and get stronger and more proficient in your gift and your mana capacity grows, you may find yourself developing different projection techniques as well, for which you may want to use different focus words. I haven’t developed any myself yet but I know Grandfather has several, for different techniques in manipulation of the element of light which gives energy to all living things: ‘cure’, ‘heal, ‘syphon, even just ‘raise’. He has been practicing for a long time and has a very large mana pool. He is very proficient in his gift.”

“I think I may have actually starting doing that already…” Ryn realised out loud. “Once when I fought Vorr on the train in Imfis I suddenly found myself shouting ‘fireburst’ and I projected this really big and hot flame attack... It was more flame than I had ever projected before, and possibly ever have since. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever managed to project fire with the same intensity and ferocity since then… I can’t quite explain it; it’s still fire, but it’s like it comes from a different part of me, a deeper, more desperate part of me…”

“Aha,” said Nuthea, her eyes lighting up like a teacher unlocking a revelation in a star pupil. “That was certainly a different focus word and technique, but it may also have been what we call a ‘limit break’.”

Ryn’s brow crinkled. “A limit break? You mentioned that once before. What’s a limit break?”

Lecturing just came so naturally to Nuthea. “‘Limit break’ is the name that people have given to another kind of elemental projection, when you are absolutely exhausted, or hurt, or wounded, or depleted of mana, but you need to project for whatever reason, usually because you are fighting for your life, and you intuitively draw on your soul’s deepest, hiddenmost reservoirs of mana to unleash a massive, unprecedentedly powerful attack. It’s a known phenomenon. It’s actually a sign that you are progressing in your projection, because in the long term it increases your mana capacity and proficiency in your gift. But in the short term, after the attack is spent, it leaves you completely exhausted. It’s like destroying a muscle only for it to grow back stronger—the best way to train and get stronger. That’s why it’s been called a ‘limit break’—because when it happens you go past your mana capacity limit and ‘break it’, but then once you have recovered it means your mana limit is permanently bigger afterwards.”

Ryn nodded. “That makes sense too… After the time I used my fireburst on Vorr, I was definitely exhausted, until Cid healed me. But once I was healed, I somehow felt stronger, and my fire has come even more easily since then. Thanks Nuthea, you’ve explained a lot to me.”

“No problem at all.” The princess’s blue eyes glittered. “I’m quite jealous of you, actually. I’ve never actually performed a ‘limit break’ myself yet, even when I’ve been in life-threatening situations. Even when…even when my mother died.” She paused for a moment and Ryn worried she was about to start crying, but then she swallowed and carried on talking. “I’ve had to rely on increasing in skill solely through the regular kind of practice, which still works more slowly, but doesn’t provide the big leaps forward that limit breaks can give. And I can’t even do that lately, because… Well, never mind. You really are doing very well in your training with your gift, Ryn.”

Ryn was about to ask her why she couldn’t train in the regular way with her gift at the moment but then she smiled at him brightly, and his heart nearly broke its limit.

A hush fell upon the playhouse all of a sudden and the chattering of the rest of the audience died away.

In his reverie, Ryn’s first thought was that somehow the whole world had gone quiet before Nuthea’s smiling beauty, but then he heard someone behind them whisper “Shhh! It’s starting!” to their neighbour, who had still been talking quietly, and he realised that the play was finally beginning.

A man walked onto the stage and stood front and centre, facing the audience. He was very tall–well over seven feet, Ryn reckoned–and well muscled, with tanned skin, a strong chin and blue curls that came down to his shoulders.

A flash of insecurity twinged in Ryn’s chest. What had he been thinking? Surely this was the sort of man that Nuthea would be attracted to, that she was destined to end up marrying. Not a naive pussywillow greenhorn farmboy.

The man was even dressed in the part of a princely suitor. In a royal blue tabard thrown over shining chainmail visible on his arms, and with a spiked golden crown to top it all off, he looked like one of the Kings of Old Efstan.

Ryn fidgeted in his seat.

The actor-king held his hands up–a gesture with which he brought the audience to total silence, commanding the room, capturing the attention of everyone in it. He launched into his opening soliloquy.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” spoke the man in an affected and well-educated voice, so loudly that it resounded clearly through the whole playhouse. “My, but thou art in for a treat tonight! Travel with me, if thou wilt, to the ancient island kingdom of Efstan, where our tale takes place tonight. In this tale, I, Zigfrid Alanthreonusson, First Among The Manyiro, shall play Prince Pendafigion of Efstan, famed Dragon Slayer of old. In the course of the action I shall rescue the fair maiden Princess Frionessa, played by Riss Aronwy, from the clutches of the foul and fell drake Kandraug. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give thee: The Princess and the Dragon!”

He bowed, then made a subservient, flowing gesture with his hand as he walked backwards to the right off the stage.

A moment later a couple of different male actors strode onstage dressed in peasants’ clothing, beginning some kind of banterous dialogue in the same poor imitation of an Old Middish dialect that ‘Zigfrid Alanthreonusson’ had used.

At this point Ryn stopped paying attention to what they were saying. He had too much else on his mind to think about.

He risked a sidelong look to his left at Nuthea. She was completely transfixed by the play, that huge smile still spread on her face but now directed toward the stage, utterly oblivious to Ryn sneaking a look at her to check how she was finding it. He was glad she was enjoying it at least.

Could I ever make it with Nuthea? he thought to himself again. She’s not just a pretend play-princess, she’s a real-life princess. Or am I just deluding myself here? Was she attracted to that actor who was on before? What am I doing here? I should be training for the tournament, practicing my flames, getting better at swords with Cid, not wasting my time here trying to court a princess I won’t ever have a chance with…

The play rambled on with the two peasant-men continuing their dialogue, setting the scene and warming the audience up, Ryn supposed. They got a few chuckles and chortles from some of their more obvious jokes. Ryn didn’t see what all the fuss was about, really. So these were meant to be the greatest players in the whole of Mid? They weren’t that different from the amateur players he had seen at home, really… Sure, their costumes were very well-done and detailed, and their script had probably been honed for hours on end, and they had probably learned all their lines perfectly off by heart, and they were quite convincing in their performances, and these two were now getting quite a few laughs from the audience but…so what?

Maybe Ryn was just being bitter…

The lead actress walked on.

He knew she was the lead because she was dressed like a princess. She wore a long flowing pale-green gown with sleeves that came down to her hands, a sparkling necklace made of diamonds–fake or real, Ryn couldn’t tell–and a crown of her own, a yellow-gold tiara much like the circlet that Nuthea wore, only more ornate with a raised front inlaid with coloured gemstones.

In the case of this actress, however, that was where her princesslyness ended. She actually looked a bit too young to be the counterpart of the male lead, barely a teenager, and certainly too young to be playing his romantic interest.

There was also something distinctly…off about her. As she walked stiffly to the centre of the stage, an awkward grimace barely concealed from her face underneath her bob of shocking green hair, it didn’t take Ryn very long to work out that she was feeling uncomfortable and that she didn’t want to be there. Either that or the character she was playing was supposed to be feeling awkward and uncomfortable, but somehow Ryn doubted that. It would help for figuring it out either way if she had had any lines yet, but she hadn’t.

What’s the deal with this actress?

She had stopped in the middle of the stage, but facing to the right, the same pained, slightly scared expression still on her face.

The audience was silent, but not because of her charisma. She didn’t have any. Maybe everyone else was also curious as to what this young girl who apparently couldn’t act very well was doing on the stage in a Manyiro play.

The actress’s eyes fluttered very slightly, Ryn noticed.

From the right of the stage, on walked a dragon.

Ryn gasped along with the rest of the audience, everyone sucking the air out of the room all at once.

The dragon didn’t look like it was made out of any kind of material or like there were any people inside it. It was covered all over in glistening green scales that glittered brilliantly in the light from the candles in the chandelier that hung from the ceiling of the playhouse. About the height of two men and the length of two chocobos, it had four legs that ended in vicious black claws which gripped the wood of the stage, two wide wings tucked into its flanks, and a long snout filled with interlocking, knife-sharp teeth, from which a wicked forked red tongue flashed out moment by moment. Set in its head, underneath a pair of curved, dark horns, were two massive, golden-pupiled eyes that had personality behind them.

It looked utterly real. In fact, Ryn was pretty sure that it was real.

How had the Manyiro players managed this? How had they caught and tamed a dragon to perform for them?

In response to the dragon’s appearance, the princess-actress fell back to the ground in ‘shock’. She still did it in a wooden way though, like it was a pre-rehearsed fall, and her mouth hung artificially open in an expression of pretend surprise.

The audience didn’t seem to care. Instead, they sat enrapt, in full silence, just like Ryn was.

Nuthea looked as enrapt as everyone else.

Ryn’s curiosity got the better of him. He leaned over towards her a little and whispered, as quietly as he could manage while still being heard by her, “That’s amazing. How do you think they’re doing that?”

To Ryn’s surprise Nuthea turned to look at him, wrenched away from her fascination at the spectacle. The colour had drained from her face; her eyes were stuck wide.

“Not ‘they’; ‘she’,” the princess said. “Ryn, I think that girl is Jewel-touched.”