Reecah's Flight

by Richard H. Stephens

Living on the mountainside and having little contact with the villagers, Reecah never knew what day it was. Every now and then Grammy would tell her about an important date coming up, but other than the passing seasons, Reecah never bothered to worry about it. If Grammy hadn’t prepared a special supper a fortnight ago, she’d never have known it was her birthday. Poppa had said her birthday fell on the spring equinox—whatever that meant.

  A few stragglers scurried across the commons, past the mercantile toward Father Cloth’s ramshackle temple, paying no attention to her; except one man loping along on his own. Reecah stopped and stared at the size of the man, wondering if he was one of those giants the kids had gone on about when Grammy and Poppa used to frequent their friends in the village.

  The man stopped and motioned for her to go ahead of him, likely thinking she was attending the service. He doffed his worn leather sailor’s cap and bowed his head—his great black beard bunching on his massive chest.

  Reecah smiled at the man and shook her head, motioning for him to go first. As he should. She was taught to respect her elders.

  “Why thank you, li’l miss,” was all the man said, a great smile lifting his bushy mustache, and off he went.

  She had seen the man many times while in Poppa’s company. Apart from his size, his disposition separated him from the rest of the villagers. He was always happy.

  She waited until everyone disappeared up a steep flight of steps and through the temple’s double doors before she strolled across the commons. On her right, the Niad Ocean broke along a rickety pier jutting into the water—lapping gently against the shore.

  She paused in front of the mercantile, the largest building in Fishmonger Bay besides the temple. Carved dragon corner posts held aloft a great porch sheltering the shop’s grimy windows. Broadcloth and fanciful wares were displayed amidst an odd assortment of armour and weaponry. Trappings for the well-to-do.

  “Reeky Reecah!”

  She froze. A group of boys burst out from behind the sagging warehouse near the pier. Jonas Waverunner’s establishment. She recognized the youths as the ones who had caused her grief when she was younger.

  She glared at them, too afraid to say anything. They were much bigger than her now. Clutching her package tighter, she scrambled past the temple, a place she absently thought the boys should have been, and spotted the most colourful building in Fishmonger Bay.

  Glancing back, she cringed. The boys were following.

  Picking up her pace, she bounded up three, broad, flagstone steps onto the porch of a lavender washed cabin; the building surrounded by an odd assortment of dragon statues and carvings.

  A large shingle in the shape of a dragon—its wings spread wide—appeared to float in the air of its own accord. Written across the dragon’s belly were the words: Grimelda’s Clutch.

  The top half of a stained-glassed door was held open by a thong. Reecah glanced back the way she had come. The boys had stopped by the temple. Seeing her look their way, they pinched their noses and doubled over laughing.

  Reecah’s ears reddened. She had broken more than one of the boys’ noses once upon a time—especially the three, blonde-haired, Waverunner boys.

  The cobwebbed interior of the shop smelled of incense, herbs and something stronger Reecah couldn’t identify. Clear jars lined ill-designed shelves bearing insects and animal parts, salves and powders of varying colours.

  She jumped as a raven cawed noisily from the back corner. The scruffy bird, perched on a gnarled branch embedded into the log wall, provided the proprietor with a warning that someone had entered the shop whenever the witch was elsewhere.

  Mustering her nerve, Reecah strolled through the bizarre array of goods toward the counter at the back of the room—the beady-eyed bird watching her every move. She couldn’t remember, but she was certain the raven hadn’t been here several years ago—the only other time she had visited the shop, with Poppa and Grammy.

  “Can I help you, dearie?” a gruff voice sounded behind her.

  Panic leapt through Reecah’s body.

  A wizened old woman scrutinized her with wide, bloodshot eyes on either side of a hooked nose. An old smock draped the witch’s bony frame; her thin waist cinched tight by a grubby apron.

  Reecah tried to step backward but the counter held her firm. The raven cawed in short bursts, as if laughing at her.

  Even though she spoke the words, Reecah recognized the grizzled woman confronting her. “Uh, I’m looking for Grimelda. M-my grandmother sent me.”

  The old crone tilted her head. “Reecah Draakvriend. What brings you here? You were a wee lass when I saw you last, no?”

  “Um, yes. I was, uh, four or five.”

  Grimelda cackled and poked Reecah’s thigh with the knobby stick she used to support her hunched frame. “A fine specimen you have become. Marinah’s daughter for certain, eh?” She ran a long, yellowed fingernail down Reecah’s exposed forearm.

  Reecah shuddered, instinctively pulling her arm back.

  “Hmm. I wonder…” Grimelda let her hand trail away and limped around the end of the counter, almost disappearing behind its height. She stopped before a dusty shelf and removed an octagonal brass bowl, the unwieldy object seemingly too heavy for the old lady to lift. Blowing the worst of the dust from its tarnished surface, Grimelda lifted the bowl to the countertop.

  Reecah’s curiosity got the better of her. She placed her package on the counter and observed the witch polish the dust and grime from the peculiar object. Large runes etched into each of the bowl’s eight sides materialized from beneath the tarnish. Reecah had no idea what most of these particular runes meant, but she remembered Poppa reading to her from books inked with similar pictographs.

  Grimelda worked quickly, her tongue between her lips. Smaller runes appeared around the circumference of the bowl’s flattened rim. Apparently satisfied, the old crone disappeared beyond a ratty, plaid blanket covering the doorway to a backroom.

  Just when Reecah thought the witch had forgotten about her, Grimelda pushed past the blanket, a large flask in hand, and poured its contents into the bowl.

  Reecah couldn’t contain herself. “What’s that?”

  “A curious creature you are, hmm? Good. Good. Much like Marinah,” Grimelda said as she adjusted the position of the bowl on the counter and dispensed several pinches of a powder she obtained from an apron pocket.

  Watching the powder dissolve, Grimelda broke the surface of the opaque liquid with a fingernail. Small ripples, more than should have occurred as a result of her simple touch, made their way to the centre of the bowl, curiously narrowing into a triangular formation before disappearing. “Are you ready for an augury?”

  “A what?”

  “A vision, child.”

  Grimelda reminded her of Grammy in a strange sort of way. “I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.”

  Grimelda cackled. The raven emulated her.

  “Oh, child, you are too naïve to be a Windwalker.”

  Reecah frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.” She looked over her shoulder, hoping for a distraction of any sort. The old woman gave her the creeps. She fleetingly hoped the boys would take it upon themselves to enter the shop. “Um, I should get going.”

  Reecah stepped away and was about to bolt, but Grammy’s package caught her attention. She swallowed her rising tension and pointed at the cloth-wrapped bundle. “Th-that’s for you. It’s from Lizzy Draakvriend. My grandmother.”

  Grimelda’s disturbing eyes flicked to the package before boring into Reecah. “I know who it’s from, child. It’s about time the foolish old woman sent it. Perhaps with you here, I can put it to use, eh?”

  Reecah had no idea what was inside the cloth bundle, nor did she wish to stick around to find out.

  “Sure, I guess. Um, I have to go. Grammy will flay me if I’m not home before sunset.” Reecah didn’t wait for an answer. Knocking into a dusty, life-sized, stuffed mountain lion in her haste to escape the mystic shop, she stum
bled down the centre aisle.

  Grimelda’s raspy voice followed her from the store, “Don’t you want to know what happened to Viliyam?”

  As much as that statement startled her senses, Reecah was too frightened to stop. She burst through the door and leaped the three flagstone steps, crunched into the gravel, and ran north through the village.

  The boys were sitting on the stairs in front of the temple but by the time they noticed her, she had run wide of the building and was past them.

  The boys gave chase, calling after her—the older ones slinging sexually crude innuendoes. Most of what they said didn’t mean a lot but her cheeks flamed hot. She wasn’t totally naïve.

  By the time she hit the trailhead, the boys had fallen far behind. Living in the mountains, evading the potential dangers, and clambering the grueling surfaces, Reecah had become a proficient runner. She was a quarter of the way up the long hill before the boys stopped at the trailhead, giving up their sport. Their voices followed her up the hill long afterward.

  Confronting a Bully

  Reecah’s insatiable need to understand what had led to Poppa’s death consumed her after her visit with the witch. She had always wondered what had happened, but when she asked Grammy, the old woman refused to say any more on the subject.

  Something about the crone’s words resonated deep within her. Perhaps it was Reecah’s age. At six, she hadn’t the maturity to question Poppa’s tragedy, but now, reflecting on that fateful day, Reecah’s curiosity demanded an answer.

  Sitting in the darkening hut, studying Grammy before her loom—the old lady staring vacantly out of the grimy front window—Reecah saw the pain etched on her features. She wished she knew what went on inside Grammy’s head. Was there ever a time she didn’t think of Poppa?

  Grammy became blurry as Reecah fought to contain her welling tears. It had been over six years, and yet her grief was no less. It still felt as if Jonas had just arrived on their doorstep.

  Jonas! He knew what had happened that day. The brute had led the hunting party.

  She swallowed her misgivings. From everything Grammy told her of the ruffian, she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to confront the man. If Grammy found out what she planned to do, she’d tan Reecah’s hide like there was no tomorrow.

  Lying back on her blanket, the gemstone in her pillow jabbed the back of her head. She adjusted the annoyance until she couldn’t feel it anymore and gazed at the deepening shadows. The sight of her wooden dragon sitting in an imperfection in the log wall filled her with bittersweet memories.

  Her dream of flying had been quashed with Poppa’s death. Seeing the carving sent a twinge of regret through her. Why should she give up on her dream? What else did she have? Grammy wouldn’t be around forever, and then what?

  Early the next morning, Grammy braided her hair, as she usually did after breakfast, and asked her to chop wood up on the slopes. Enduring the seclusion from their regular activities during the dragon mating season had seen their meagre stockpile dwindle. Up until a few days ago, Grammy hadn’t allowed her to so much as stray from the yard. Now that summer was just around the corner, Grammy allowed Reecah the freedom to wander the nearby hills, provided she stay away from the higher heights and the Summoning Stone—both places Reecah frequented immediately. Her fondest memories of Poppa were there.

  Throwing the old axe into the hand wagon, Reecah slipped into the woods. As soon as she was out of sight of the hut, she abandoned the wagon and made her way down the hill into Fishmonger Bay.

  She’d no sooner stepped into town and sighted Jonas’ warehouse when she regretted her decision to leave the axe behind. Two of Jonas’ boys sat out front, pitching stones at a tree, their shoulder length, blonde-haired heads perking up at her approach.

  The older boy, Jonas Junior, scanned her from head to toe. “Well look who we got here. Reeky Reecah.” He spat on the ground.

  Jonah’s third son, Jaxon, laughed and imitated his brother, but his spittle drooled down his chin.

  Junior laughed. “Ain’t you a fine sight. Perhaps you’re sweet on little Miss Reeky, huh?”

  “Stuff it, JJ.”

  Reecah stopped well out of spitting distance and rolled her eyes. Jaxon was around her age, while Junior was probably four or five years older. She fondly remembered drawing blood from both of them.

  “What do you want, whelp?” Junior said.

  Reecah glared. Oh, to split his smug lip! She didn’t dare. Junior was fast becoming a man. His broad shoulders and the beginnings of facial hair had transformed the gangly youth into a powerful young adult. His heavy brow and long nose bespoke of his beefy father.

  “I want to talk with your father, please.”

  “You’re too young for him,” Junior said and belted his brother in the shoulder. Jaxon had started laughing but shot his brother a dirty look after being hit.

  Reecah frowned until his words set in. She struggled to keep her words steady as she spoke through nervous breaths, feeling her cheeks redden. “Please guys, it’s important.”

  Jaxon leaned toward her, his brows raised. “And whatcha gonna give us for it? You ain’t looking like you got much to offer, Reeky.”

  Reecah restrained the angry retort threatening to leap from her tongue, unsure what Jaxon meant.

  Junior spoke up, “What’s so important you can’t speak with us?”

  “It’s about my Poppa.”

  “Your Poppa?” Jaxon blurted out.

  Junior scowled and spat. “He’s dead, ain’t he?”

  Reecah tried to keep the emotion from her voice. “Yes.”

  “Then who cares about Reeky Poppa—” Jaxon spouted off, his words catching in his throat.

  Reecah leapt at the boy, fists swinging. Jaxon tried to turn and run but Reecah was quicker. She battered him twice, once in the stomach and once in the mouth—his teeth cutting her knuckles.

  They went down in a heap—Jaxon howling in pain and Reecah screaming at him, delivering a flurry of round house punches, “Don’t you dare say anything about my Poppa again or I’ll kill you. You hear me?”

  Junior pulled her off his brother and slammed her into the wall but restrained himself from pummeling her. Their commotion had attracted the attention of several villagers.

  The front door of the warehouse banged open and one of the biggest men in the community stormed out.

  Jonas Waverunner took in the scene and the villagers milling about. “What’s going on?”

  Junior released Reecah and backed away from his father. Neither boy answered.

  Jonas loomed over Jaxon, the whimpering boy nursing a busted lip and missing tooth. Blood covered his hands.

  “Who did this to you, boy?” Jonas demanded and glanced around. The only people close enough were Junior and Reecah. His eyes fell on Junior, who shook his head.

  Jonas turned an angry scowl on Reecah. “You did this?” His tone unbelieving.

  Reecah glared. “He insulted my Poppa.”

  Jonas’ scowl fell on Jaxon. “Get yourself cleaned up. There’ll be more of that when I’m through with you.”

  Jaxon scrambled to his feet and disappeared into the warehouse.

  Jonas focused on Reecah clutching her bleeding hand. “You’re hurt.”

  “Poppa used to call that a ‘welcome smarting’,” Reecah mumbled, not meeting the big man’s glare.

  Jonas’ face softened. “Aye, your Poppa always had a clever tongue. He’s missed around here, let me tell you. He was a good man.”

  Reecah’s ire heightened. “Grammy says you killed him.”

  “Whoa girl, now hold on.” Jonas’s eyes took in the gathering crowd. “I don’t know what Lizzy told you, but I assure you, I never did anything of the sort.”

  “Grammy says you forced him to hunt dragons.”

  Jonas nodded. “Aye, Viliyam accompanied us on the hunt, as was his duty. I’ll not deny that.”

  “Grammy says you’re reckless and shouldn’t be trusted to lead men.” />
  Jonas’ face darkened. “Oh, she does, does she?” He jutted his prominent chin to the hill north of the village. “What does she know cooped up on yonder hill when the rest of the good people of Fishmonger Bay work themselves weary to keep the village thriving?”

  Reecah fumed. First Jaxon attacked Poppa and now his father called out Grammy. She had half a mind to kick the man between the legs. Instead, her gaze took in the dozen buildings visible to them. “You call this thriving? One good wind and half these shoddy places are kindling.”

  A few of the villagers grumbled at her assessment. She didn’t care. Every time she came to town, trouble had a way of finding her.

  Jonas puffed out his considerable chest. “I think these good people take issue with the way you speak of their fine establishments. Perhaps we should band together and leave you and your grandma to your own devices up there.”

  “Ya? Well, by killing my Poppa, you’ve already done that now, haven’t you?” Reecah couldn’t believe she actually spoke to Jonas Waverunner this way. She glanced at the onlookers, hoping to find sympathy, but to a person, they glowered back at her.

  Jonas’ purple face belied his barely controlled voice. “I suggest you take your haughty self and disappear before I lose my temper.”

  The villagers nodded.

  Reecah bit her lips. She wanted to scream at the arrogant man, but Grammy had taught her to respect her elders. She inhaled deeply through her nose, looked at the blank faces gathered around, and walked away.

  She stomped across the gravel commons, sobbing. Jumping into a run, she fled between the buildings leading to the trailhead and made her way up the slope. By the time she reached the top of the hill, she couldn’t see through her tears.

  She was tired of being bullied.

  Age of Discovery and Darkness

  Ever since her run-in with Jonas and his boys, Reecah dedicated herself to learning about the dragon hunt. The reason for it, the weapons and tactics the hunters employed, and the conditioning required to deal with the giant beasts.