Jory and the Magic Seed

Jory and the Magic Seed

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley…,” the minstrel sang from the small stage. He was performing at the Red Rooster Tavern, one of five taverns in the town of Flunderhill. The Rooster was crowded! It was a weekend night, so the Rooster was featuring live music, and the drinks were flowing freely. The song, titled Jory and the Magic Seed, was a crowd favorite, and the minstrel was really getting into it. The song explained how Jory Tannerson had found the magic seed and planted the dragon tree that lured dozens of dragons to the valley right outside of Flunderhill. This of course made Jory the most disliked person in the whole town, even though everyone loved the song.

“I hate this DAMN song,” Jory muttered darkly as he slunk down in his chair, trying his best to avoid the eyes of the tavern’s patrons who had turned his way when the song started. He was half-heartedly picking at a bowl of Cock-a-Doodle Stew, a house special, as he sat by himself in the corner of the tavern. Pipe smoke, and the smell of roasted meat, hung on the air rising upwards to infuse the wooden rafters. The Rooster was a popular tavern due to its antique wooden design, its clean atmosphere and generous portions of food and drink. Most of the glares directed at Jory by the patrons contained standard disgruntlement but some bordered on outright anger.

“What is up with this minstrel…this is the third time he’s played this song tonight!” Jory thought miserably as he tried to sink even further into his chair. How was he supposed to have known what a magic seed did? It’s not like he was a wizard, or someone who studied magic at some fancy magic school. He just found it in a half rotten pouch at an abandoned campsite. He knew it was magical the moment he touched it though, as a shocking kind of energy had run through his hand. He just hadn’t known it would grow into a tree that would blossom and draw dragons, like flies to honey. Something smacked him in the back of the head, drawing him out of his thoughts. A bottle cork rolled to a stop by his foot to the sound of laughter behind him. He turned around but too many faces were laughing to figure out who had thrown it. He was still looking around the common room as the minstrel hit the chorus:

Jory just didn’t think

He just didn’t think about dragons…

Jory planted his seed

It grew without heed bringing dragons…

Jory left us this curse

Not one could be worse than the dragons…

Jory can’t take it back

Left us holding the sack

Sack of dragons….

He found his traitorous foot tapping along to the music, his big toe raised above the other toes just a bit. His cheeks turned red as he looked around quickly to see if anyone in the room had seen him enjoying the song. He truly hated this song, but he was willing to admit, at least to himself, that the rhythm was exceptional. The Red Rooster was the only tavern in town that still allowed him through the doors. That was probably due to the fact that his brother-in-law, Bastian, owned it. But that was still an iffy thing, as he, Jory, was the pariah of Flunderhill, and Bastian knew it.

He strained to think of some way to get rid of the tree and the dragons! He just wanted to be welcome in town once more! Maybe even find steady work or someone to love, and then settle down.

“As if someone would look at him twice in Flunderhill, even if he DID get rid of the dragons,” he snorted. Looking around the tavern and seeing no warmth in any woman’s eyes, he further mused, “Maybe an out-of-towner.” Trying to chase thoughts of the future from his mind, he chided himself, “Focus Jory, Focus.”

The only saving grace in all of this was the fact that the dragons mostly left the town alone. Occasionally one would fly overhead and poop kind of like a bird. That was always bothersome. Other times one or more would come sauntering through town heading someplace. Sometimes stuff would get damaged or knocked over. Again, bothersome. Nevertheless, apparently the blossoms that the tree produced, which lured the dragons here, were also some sort of drug to them. Similar to a cat nip for cats. “Sooooo like dragon nip,” Jory supposed. The dragons just seemed to laze around the tree or chase their tails and act like children. Of course, a few accidents had happened but there had only been one death - and that wasn’t really the fault of the dragons.

Early on, in the five years that the tree had been here, a young traveling wizard, Haubutanian by name, had deduced that the blossoms held great magical power. He surmised that if he ingested the flowers, the magic would then be passed on to him. He made a big show of marching to the tree, inviting a large portion of the town to come and watch him perform this feat. Pulling a blossom from the tree with a flourish, he ate the flower petals and waited for the magic to be absorbed. It did not take long. About ten seconds to be exact. The traveling wizard’s skin started to shine with the tree’s magic glowing out of every pore on his body … then, he exploded showering everything around him with shiny, metallic glitter followed by a strong scent of cinnamon. It was really quite lovely. In fact, initially many of the townspeople made sounds of “oooh” and “aaah” when the wizard exploded – very reactionary. Even the children in attendance were initially delighted. Of course, revelry turned to screams of horror immediately afterwards. It was terrible. The minstrel wrote a song about it called Pop Goes the Wizard. It was another stupid song with a great beat that seemed to help the townspeople handle the truth of what had happened. In any case, he was the only causality in the five years since Jory had planted the magic seed. And because he had planted the seed, the town blamed him for the explosion of Haubutanian.

There had to be a way to get rid of the tree. A few townspeople had originally tried to cut, or burn, the tree down when the dragons first started to arrive. But the dragons protected the tree and chased away anyone who came near it that had aggressive thoughts. They didn’t kill anyone or burn them to death with fire. They just chased people away, or sometimes when someone was really persistent, the dragons would pick them up and fly them back into town. It was pretty humbling. Still, it made sense that it should be a lot easier to get rid of the tree, as opposed to trying to get rid of the dragons.

The minstrel had finished the song and Jory figured he could leave without drawing too much attention. Jory determined, “I’m doing SOMETHING tonight to rid Flunderhill of the tree!” With this commitment in mind, he carefully left the tavern with only one person trying to trip him on the way out. He pursed his lips, stumbling out of the Rooster. He would show them all that he wasn’t some idiot who ruined a town. He wasn’t the fool that everyone thought he was!

And so, five hours later in the middle of the night, he found himself standing in the dark about 50 feet from the tree with a shovel in his hand. “I’m a fool,” he thought to himself. It was pretty dark out here, but he still tried to see if there were any dragons around to protect the tree. He had thought, and thought, after leaving the tavern, but the only idea he had come up with was to try to dig up the tree and hope it died or something. Not seeing any dragons, he focused on the tree. The tree, at night, looked a lot different than the tree appeared during the day. It glowed at night. It had an ethereal shine to it - on its leaves and on the trunk. It also seemed larger at night. During the day it was about fifteen feet high, but at night – it was easily double that. The shining tree reached for the stars, or at least it seemed that way.

Jory approached the tree as quietly, yet as quickly as he felt comfortable with trying. As he got close to the tree, he saw a large dark shape off to the right side. It was a dragon.

Jory grimaced, “Of course there’s a dragon here. Why would things go easy for me just because my life is so wonderful all the time?” Jory just stood still. The dragon was so close Jory could hear it breathing. It sounded to Jory like rocks being shaken together, so he figured the dragon was snoring or sleeping, or whatever they did. Jory decided to keep moving forward. Tiptoeing right up to the tree, he set the tip of the shovel in the dirt and figured that if he was careful, the dragon wouldn’t hear him.

“I can totally hear you”, the dragon said in the still night.

Jory froze, and puckered up, his shovel about halfway into the earth by the tree trunk. Panicking he thought, “If I stand really still and don’t look at him, he might go back to sleep.” Jory realized that this, of course, assumed the dragon was a male, but he wasn’t able to deal with that now. The dragon started making noises that sounded to Jory like it was going breathe fire! Expecting to horrifically die in the next few seconds, Jory was about to scream when he realized the noise the dragon was making was … laughter. Well, probably closer to a rumbling chuckle, but still … Jory was shocked, and he was starting to get angry! His patience had reached an end, “It’s laughing at me? I have been yelled at, ridiculed, shunned and more by the townspeople. Now, the dragon is laughing at me? This is too much!” With a disregard for his personal safety, he pulled the shovel from the earth and shook it at the dragon!

“Stop laughing at me!” he called to it. “I will have you know I am trying my best to right my wrongs here, and I won’t be mocked for it!” The dragon just stared at him silently for a long minute. Jory stared back and then, coming to his senses, began to realize that he was shaking a shovel at, and talking to, a dragon.

“Ahhhh s-sorry”, he stuttered starting to feel fear creeping back into his sanity.

The dragon blinked at him, “What exactly are you doing?” it asked.

Jory flushed, “I was … uhh you see … I was just trying to,” he hesitated … “dig up the tree.”

“Why would you do that”, queried the dragon, leaning in closer so Jory was able to see it a bit more clearly against the light of the tree. The dragon was a scaly bronze color and looked a lot meaner than it sounded. Its maw was layered with tiny spikes, hundreds – maybe thousands of them, and its breath smelled like meat and … cinnamon. “Why is it talking to me?” Jory wondered.

However, he answered the dragon before he finished those thoughts, “Well you see, all these dragons,” he started and then stopped abruptly, paled with fear. He continued, “What I mean to say … and I just want to be up front and say that this isn’t you.” He smiled wanly. “I mean I’m sure that it wouldn’t be you. But all the OTHER dragons around here are causing problems for the town of Flunderhill.” He pointed limply toward the town and flinched waiting for the dragon’s response.

“The tree called to us,” the dragon responded.

Jory nodded, happy to be on some common ground, “I know that part. I just thought if I got rid of the tree, that then maybe the dragons would leave.”

“Hmm”, the dragon rumbled. “Have you talked to the tree about it?”

Jory blinked at the dragon. “Talked to the tree?” he asked incredulously.

“You ARE the seed-bearer are you not?” the dragon asked him.

“Well, I did find and plant the seed yes,” he related.

The dragon nodded, “Then why don’t you talk to the tree?”

“Just talk to the magic tree the dragon says,” Jory mumbled to himself, “Sure why not? I’m already talking to a dragon, so how much weirder can this get?” He walked over to the tree, and put forth his right hand palm open, and facing up, “Hey tree…how’s it … uhh … growing?” he wisecracked. He was nervous and always joked when his nerves were rattled.

The dragon snorted a wisp of smoke out of its nostrils, brow furrowed a bit, “Put your hand on the tree Seed-bearer,” it instructed.

Hesitantly, Jory raised his hand to the trunk of the tree and pressed his palm to its ethereal bark. Tiny tingles of shocking energy ran over the palm of his hand and down his arm like when he had first held the seed. Somehow, instinctively, he reached out with his consciousness and touched the mind of the tree.

“Hey,” greeted the tree.

Jory looked at the dragon, but responded telepathically to the tree, “Hey!”

“Were you trying to dig me up?” asked the tree.

“Yeah, I guess I was,” he admitted, “but only because I have to find a way to get rid of you so I can get rid of the dragons.”

The tree creaked in the night, the calm wind gently brushing by its leaves and limbs. It spoke to him, “You could just ask me to reseed. As Seed-bearer you have authority over my growing, as well as where I grow,” the tree explained.

“Umm what?” he chirped confused, “I’m sorry Mr. Tree, How do you know I am the Seed-bearer?”

“I know because you planted me, and a minstrel came by the other morning and sat beneath me and sang a song about you. The rhythm was amazing,” the tree explained.

“Yeah,” Jory sighed disgustedly. “It really is, Mr. Tree”

The tree gave a not-so-subtle shake. “I have a name … it’s not just Mr. Tree.”

“Oh-jeez, I’m sorry!” Jory apologized, “What’s your name?”

The tree rustled, “I don’t know. You haven’t given me one yet Seed-bearer. It is your job to name me,” proclaimed the tree.

“Oh ok,” Jory complied, as he began to think of all the tree-sounding names he could think of. Nothing sounded good in his own head. “How about Thrandill,” he suggested as his best sounding name.

“No,” the tree responded immediately.

“What about Evergreenery,” he tried again.

Again the tree immediately responded, “No.”

“Barkzilla? Quadattlebaum?” he proposed.

“Absolutely not!” the tree replied.

Dropping his head, and looking back up at the bark, he questioned, “I thought I got to name you?”

“Well, you do, of course,” replied the tree, “but since it is my name, I should have some say in it, to be fair.”

Jory scratched his head with his left hand. “I guess I can understand that,” he admitted. “Did you have something in mind?” he asked the tree.

“Steve,” the tree announced with a flourish of ruffling.

There was a noticeable pause. He looked over at the dragon, but it looked like it had fallen asleep. “Umm, did you say Steve?” he asked.

“Yes, I have always wanted to be called Steve,” Steve stated proudly.

Jory mentally shrugged, this was how his life went it seemed. “Sure, why not…Steve the Tree doesn’t sound weird at all,” he deadpanned.