~Billy Bob Thornton
Crash Landing
Drakthira landed hard on her left side, barely keeping enough wits about her to curl around Dax so his frail elf body wouldn’t be squashed beneath her or broken in the fall. Her wings and lungs burned from exertion and she was too tired to do much more. She finally rolled to a stop at the foot of the small mountain she had tried, unsuccessfully, to land on. They were in a small clearing surrounded by evergreen trees, the smell of pine needles slowly bringing her to her senses.
Getting shakily to her feet, she looked down to see Dax sitting up and holding his head while letting out a long groan. Seeing he was alright, she turned her attention to herself. Nothing seemed to be broken other than a few scales on her left side that were missing. She wasn’t worried about that; she knew they would grow back good as new in a few short days. One claw on her left foot was broken and she ached all over, but the most serious injury she found when she stretched out her left wing. The wing muscles ached terribly, but she held it aloft long enough for her to see the long, jagged tear in the membrane of her wing. It didn’t hit any of the muscles or tendons, but it was large enough that it effectively grounded her. If she tried to fly with it she knew it would let too much air through and she would only be able to glide in circles.
Daxon also saw the tear in her wing and instantly stopped groaning about his aching head and reached for his small backpack. All students were required to keep a pack of first aid supplies and a few days’ worth of food at all times during training, and at this moment he was thanking Obrin and Roila for their forethought. He didn’t immediately find the pack strapped to his back, but after looking around he found it about ten feet away hanging on a prickly bush.
He went and retrieved it and rummaged around inside until he found the large dragon needle and thick thread used to sew up dragon wings. Dragons were very well armored with their nearly impenetrable scales, so riders carried the needle and thread only for injuries to wing membranes since the needle wouldn’t stand a chance of going through the scales.
Dax quickly threaded the needle. “I’m going to have to sew that up, ‘Thira,” he said, advancing towards her. She was lying down and barely blinked to show him she understood. He knelt beside her and gently took the ragged ends of the membrane in his fingers, holding them together to make sure a chunk hadn’t been torn out. That would take much longer to regenerate and heal. They were in luck, however, and Dax didn’t see any missing pieces, so he quickly sewed her up, and then rubbed some healing ointment over it. He didn’t have anything large enough to bandage it up with, but he thought the ointment and stitches would be good enough as long as he kept it clean.
Finished, he wiped the blood from his hands with a small rag and looked around to take stock of their situation. Drakthira was snoring softly and he left her to her rest knowing she would need it. He was pretty sure the wild red hadn’t followed them down off Daegonlot, but he didn’t want to start a fire to draw attention in case he was wrong. Besides, he had never been off Daegonlot, and other than knowing the people who inhabited this part of Darkenfel probably hadn’t seen a dragon in over one hundred years, he didn’t know much about their surroundings.
When the land split more than a century before and Daegonlot ascended into the sky, it effectively cut off the people on the ground from being able to reach it. This suited the dragons fine since people were always blaming them every time a sheep or a cow turned up missing. Over time the people forgot about the dragons and the riders, and the dragonriders did nothing to change that. Even all these years later, the riders would still speak of the terrible war that drove the land apart even though only the oldest of them were alive when it happened.
Shaking these thoughts from his head, Dax turned his mind to more pressing matters, like their lack of water. It also bothered him that he had no idea where they were since nothing was ever taught about the land below Daegonlot other than the history of how it was separated. He would have given his boots for a map. He knew they had flown over the western side of Daegonlot, but after that he wasn’t sure. Looking up into the sky he didn’t see Daegonlot floating above, so he figured they had either flown too far or it was blocked by the mountain; he wasn’t sure which.
Afraid to leave ‘Thira alone while she slept to go look for water, he walked back to her and lay down by her warm belly. The light was already leaving the sky and there was a slight chill in the air. His last thought before drifting off to sleep was they would find water tomorrow and figure out how to get back to Daegonlot. He was wrong on both counts.
Company
Dax awoke to the sound of someone or something rifling through his pack. He cautiously opened one eye and saw a large dog that looked to have his head stuck in his pack and was trying to shake it off. From what he could see of the dog, it was silvery gray in color, with rusty red markings on the insides of all four legs and on its chest. Instead of a tail, it had a short little stub no longer than his finger, which at the moment was wagging uncontrollably.
As he watched, the dog finally managed to get the pack off its head, although the arm strap was still around its neck. The dog had eyes of the clearest gray with a slight greenish cast to them. The same rusty red coloring on his chest and legs was also evident above his eyes and around his muzzle, which was long and slender. The head was large, but slender, and topped with long, pointy ears.
The most astonishing thing about the dog was not its unusual color, but its sheer size. Dax rubbed his eyes, thinking he must still be asleep, but the dog was still standing there when he opened them again. Moving carefully so as not to frighten or alarm it, Dax got slowly to his feet, pulling his knife cautiously from its scabbard as he did so. The dog stood there, panting, and tilted its head to the side as he watched Daxon.
“It’s ok, boy,” he said soothingly as he walked towards the donkey-sized beast. “Let me help you get that off your head.” He tightened his grip on his knife, not wanting to hurt the beautiful beast, but unwilling to trust it wouldn’t bite him when he tried to take the pack from it. Step by cautious step he approached until he was standing only a few feet away. The dog never moved, just simply watched him approach with his clear grey/green eyes, ears pricked in interest, and head tilted slightly to the side in a questioning manner.
Dax slowly reached out to take the pack from around the dog’s head. When his hand was a few inches from the strap, the dog abruptly lowered its head, stuck its hind end in the air, the small stub wagging so quickly it looked like the whole back end of the dog was having a small seizure. Unsure of what the dog was doing, but starting to think it was trying to play, Dax made a swipe at the pack strap. Right before his hand made contact with it, the dog deteriorated into a thick grayish green mist. Daxon was so surprised he didn’t at first notice the stinging pain shooting up his arm.
Gasping in pain, he brought his arm up against his chest and inspected his hand. It was covered in large, yellow blisters, the skin an angry reddish purple color. As he watched, the blisters started popping. When they popped, they released a small gray/green smoke and a thick yellow substance that burned his skin and started eating into his flesh. The pain was excruciating. Through tear filled eyes Dax watched as all the blisters popped and ate the surrounding flesh until there was nothing left except glinting bone.
Still in shock, Dax looked around for the dog and found him standing no more than five feet in front of him, watching him intently, and head cocked to the side. He took one tentative step towards Dax, and a small whine came from him followed by another step. Daxon, unsure of what the dog had done to him, but at the same time sure it was the dog that had injured his hand, took a step back. He thought quickly about calling out for ‘Thira, but dismissed the idea as quickly, not wanting to get her involved in case the dog could also do the same thing to her.
“You should stand still, young man,” said a voice behind Dax. He whirled to the side so fast he almost collapsed, keeping his back so he could still
see the dog and whoever this newcomer was. “Sylas was only playing; he didn’t mean to hurt you. If you stand still I’m sure he will fix it.” The owner of the voice turned out to be the oldest man Dax had ever seen. He wore blue robes that hung on his skinny frame and that seemed to only be held in place by the wide, gold belt around his middle. He had a long walking stick that he was leaning on, observing Dax. Despite his apparent old age, he had an ageless looking face free of wrinkles, and eyes that seemed young, yet filled with the wisdom of time.
“Sylas?” Dax said dumbly, looking at the gray dog. “Yes, he’s just a big baby. He sometimes forgets how deadly he can be,” the old man said, walking towards Daxon. “Just let him see your arm, quickly though, before it’s too late.” Unsure if he should trust the guy or his deadly baby dog, Dax figured he had little choice. The damage to his hand was already done, and if the dog wanted to finish the job he doubted there was anything he could do to stop it. Slowly, he held his hand, which was now little more than a skeleton, out towards Sylas.
Never taking his eyes off Daxon, the huge beast stretched his muzzle out towards his arm. As Dax watched, the dog’s strange eyes began to glow dimly and he started to lick the bones of Dax’s hand and forearm. Eyes round in disbelief, Dax watched as new muscle, tissue, and finally skin began to form and knit itself around the bones until, finally, his hand had been fully restored without even a scar to show what had happened.
“Very good, Sylas,” said the old man, “you must be more careful when playing.” Sylas hung his head a little and looked up at the old man and Dax in what Dax could only assume was an expression of apology. “It’s alright, Sylas, all is well that ends well,” said the old man as he scratched the massive dog behind his pointy ears.
Remembering ‘Thira, Dax turned and saw her still asleep no more than fifty feet from him. “Damn dragon will sleep through anything,” he muttered to himself, turning away from the crazy old man and his atomically deadly dog to check ‘Thira’s wing wound. Before he had even taken five steps, the old man and his donkey dog were standing in front of him. “Is that your dragon, young man?” the old man asked.
“Is that your donkey, old man?” Dax asked sourly, trying to step around the old man and his dog. To his surprise, the old man laughed, a deep, hearty sound. “No, not really,” he said, “no one can really own a being such as Sylas, but he does seem to enjoy my company.” Not knowing what the old man was talking about and not really caring, Dax continued to ignore him and make his way toward ‘Thira. Falling into step beside him, the old man continued, “So, is that your dragon then?”
“No,” Dax said shortly. “She doesn’t belong to anyone.”
“Ah,” the old man said, “a wild dragon, then.” Dax whirled to face the old man, surprised he would know there was a difference in wild or tame dragons since dragons had not existed in this part of Darkenfel in over a hundred years. But, then again, the guy was old; he could have been older than a hundred years by the looks of him. “How do you know of dragons?” he asked.
The old man absent-mindedly removed the pack strap from around Sylas’ head and handed it to Dax. “Oh, I remember dragons,” he said. “The world was a much better place in those days, and all of us had our own part to play in Darkenfel…” He trailed off, his eyes misting over with memories of the past. “But,” he said, shaking his head and focusing once again on Dax, “that was long ago. I didn’t think I would live long enough to see another one. She is beautiful, and young by the looks of her. How did you manage to get off of Daegonlot? Did you fall?”
“How do you know of Daegonlot?” Dax asked cautiously. “Only dragon riders and their descendants live on Daegonlot. We are not welcomed in other parts of Darkenfel. We live longer than normal humans and elves, so we thought by now no one would even remember we still exist.”
“And you would be right,” the old man said, “but I am not most people. I have been alive many, many long years. I never forgot the dragons, or the riders, or Daegonlot. How could I? It was my home for many years.” The old man sounded wistful as he spoke, but Dax couldn’t believe his ears. “You lived on Daegonlot? How? And how did you end up here?”
“That is a story for another time,” the old man said. “It looks as if your friend is injured. If she will allow, Sylas can probably help her heal quicker. Not sure if he can heal her completely as it was not him that injured her, but he should be able to help.”
Dax eyed the dog warily while Sylas looked back at him innocently. “I guess,” he said slowly, not wanting to sound rude, “as long as she will allow it.”
“Of course,” the old man said, “You should never force a dragon to do something it doesn’t want to do, or force something on a dragon it doesn’t want, don’t you agree?” Dax thought that was a weird question coming from the old man, but then, nothing about the old man seemed normal, so he just mumbled an assent and continued on to check on ‘Thira. “You may want to wait here while I wake her up,” Dax said, “I don’t want you to startle her before I get a chance to tell her about you.”
Without waiting for a reply, he walked up to Drakthira and kicked her in the snout. Nothing happened. Scowling, and annoyed that she had slept through everything that had happened to him, he kicked her again and at the same time shouted “Wake up!”
‘Thira slowly opened one eye, saw Dax scowling at her, and blew a jet of hot air at him that was strong enough to knock him down. Then she promptly closed her eye again and emitted a long, obnoxious snore. Daxon jumped to his feet and pointed a finger at her accusingly, “You are not asleep, ‘Thira,” he yelled at her. “I almost died not more than fifty feet from you this morning and you just slept through it all,” he continued yelling, getting angrier the more he thought about it.
Lazily opening one eye, ‘Thira regarded Dax and said, For someone who almost died, you seem quite lively to me. Dax stood there fuming for a full minute, knowing it was useless to argue with a stubborn dragon before remembering about the old man and his dog. Grating his teeth and taking a deep breath to regain some composure, he said, “We also have company.”
Unlike the story of his ‘almost’ death, this announcement made ‘Thira perk up and look around. Dax waved the man forward. “This is uh…” he said before realizing he didn’t even know the old man’s name. “Trakon,” the old man answered smoothly, executing a small bow to ‘Thira, “and this is Sylas.” At his words, the dog materialized at his side and, mimicking Trakon, dipped his head amusingly at ‘Thira. She lowered her head and sniffed first the old man, who stood patiently, and then Sylas, who stretched out his muzzle to sniff her as well, then tilted her head to the side like a confused puppy.
You are neither what you appear, she finally said.
“True,” Trakon said, “but neither do we mean you harm, or your young friend. We would help you if you would but allow. Sylas may be able to help mend your wing.” ‘Thira regarded them both for a long moment before unfolding her wing and holding it within reach of Sylas. The dog went straight to the wound and began licking the damaged membrane and tissue, its eyes once again glowing dimly. When he was finished the wing was almost completely healed.
Dax inspected the wing closely. “You shouldn’t fly for a few days yet to minimize the chance of tearing it open again.” He put more ointment on the seam where the wing membranes connected. “But other than that it’s pretty much good as new.”
‘Thira folder her wing to the proper position behind her back and dipped her head in thanks at Sylas, who licked her muzzle enthusiastically.
“Looks like you found a friend,” Dax laughed.
When ‘Thira had enough licking and Sylas didn’t show any signs of stopping, she blew a strong gust of air out of her nostrils and he went rolling away from her, still licking at the air enthusiastically, before disappearing into a wave of mist. Trakon watched it all and laughed uproariously and even Dax couldn’t help a small chuckle at the huge dog’s antics.
“So what are your
plans now,” Trakon asked a short while later. “It will be a few days before ‘Thira can fly, and even then I’m not sure she’s old enough or strong enough to fly both you and her back to Goldspine.”
Dax looked at Drakthira, pondering their next move and knowing Trakon spoke the truth. Most of the way down they had glided, and no matter how large ‘Thira was, she wasn’t a full grown dragon and her wing muscles were still relatively weak. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I guess the best we can hope for is a search party, but that’s doubtful.”
“Well,” the old man continued, “You are more than welcome to stay with Sylas and myself until you figure it out. After all, it’s been many years since I have been gifted with the company of a dragon and rider, and I must admit I wouldn’t mind hearing your tale.”
We accept your offer, Drakthira said before Dax could even think of a response. He whirled to look at her and without thinking reached out to speak to her mind to mind. We don’t even know them, he said. And I don’t trust them, he added when she didn’t immediately respond.
They helped us, she replied, and right now we need help and I need rest until my wing is fully healed. With that, she shut him off from her mind and began following Trakon and Sylas into the forest. Fuming, but left with little choice in the matter, Dax slowly followed them.
Chapter 8
As a child, I heard many warnings from teachers about the perils of talking with strangers. Yet now, fairly late in my life, I can think of not many things better than to talk with strangers. The idea of being a stranger is also very appealing.
Dragon Orb (Dragons of Daegonlot, Book One) Page 7
