Jaxon didn’t appear any better off. He looked from beneath lowered brows at his father, cowering as Jonas stormed up to him and ripped the shield from his arm. “Get out of my sight! Beaten by a woman!”
“But, Father…” Jaxon pleaded. “I was wearing her down. She never laid a blade on me.”
“You’re an embarrassment to the Waverunner name.” Jonas threw the shield against the hut. It clanged and spun to the ground. “Leave! Now!”
Visibly shaken, Jaxon threw his sword down and tromped around the hut.
Reecah’s eyes were as wide as they could get as the brute’s attention fell on her.
He pointed a sausage-sized finger, coming at her. “And you!”
She brandished her blades in fear.
Jonas’ sneer chilled her to the bone as his thick-bladed scimitar slid free of the thong on his belt.
Reecah barely registered the speed at which Jonas’ blade smote her lead sword out wide and stepped inside her reach.
His free hand grasped her other wrist and twisted, the pain so intense she had no choice but to release her sword. He twisted it until she released the second blade and sent her stumbling. Yanking on her slender arm, he pulled her from her feet and slammed her to the ground, dropping a knee across her chest and driving the wind from her.
The pain of Jonas’ weight was so severe she feared he had broken her ribs.
“I ought to smash your insolent face.” He raised a fist. “You come to me all high and mighty about your ability to join the hunt. Look at you. How do you expect to confront a dragon when you can’t even best a weakling runt?”
Reecah trembled in his grasp. Seeing his wavering fist, she closed her eyes tight and turned away, but the mighty blow never fell. Suddenly the weight lifted and Jonas stomped away.
She waited for the hut’s door to bang open and slam shut again before she opened her eyes, only to flinch as the rest of the hunt ambled by, each man spitting on her.
“You have no business here.”
“Begone, wench.”
“Leave before I give you something you’ve never had before.”
“Reeky Draakvriend.”
“Disgusting.”
“Stupid girl.”
Covering her face and trembling, she waited until she thought everyone had followed Jonas into the hut before lowering her shaking arms. She almost screamed.
The husky brute stood over her, glaring with veined eyes and yellowed teeth. “If you ain’t gone afore I come back, ye’re gonna wish Jonas had killed ya, ya hear what I’m sayin’?” He licked his lips before setting off after the others.
Reecah watched him leave. Squeezing her arms against her aching ribs, she fought to regain control of her breathing.
She got to her feet, tentatively probing her chest for broken bones. Although sore, she didn’t believe Jonas had done any lasting damage.
She collected her swords and slid them home as a raucous chorus of laughter arose from the hut. She cringed, her gaze on the door—afraid the husky man would return.
Embarrassed, she limped back the way she had come, her body aching like never before. She skipped across a narrow section of running water and clambered up to the shelf below the main ridge.
If nothing else came of her folly, she had gained a new level of respect for the men and women who practiced behind the temple. Running with weapons strapped to her body and hacking at tree stumps hadn’t prepared her for the rigours of a real fight.
She paused to survey the glade, sadness blurring her vision. She had truly believed she was about to begin her journey as a tracker and become just like Poppa. The realization that her dream had ended so abruptly, pained her more than any physical hurt she received from Jonas. She had failed herself, but more importantly, she had failed Poppa’s memory.
Fighting the urge to unbuckle her swords and pitch them into the cascading water, she spied the forlorn image of Jaxon sitting by himself on the far edge of the clearing, his legs dangling over the cliff. She hoped he wasn’t contemplating what she thought. His father’s actions had done little for the boy’s confidence. If she didn’t despise Jaxon so much, she might have had empathy for the downtrodden young man.
The door’s squealing hinge sent her scrambling up the rockfall. Hoisting a long leg over the brink, she hazarded a backward look.
Standing with his hands on his hips, the husky man watched her. His menacing image etched itself in her mind. Sick to her stomach with fear, she traversed the heights of Peril’s Peak and made her way home.
It promised to be a long way back.
Inferno
After her encounter with Jonas and his men on Peril’s Peak, Reecah was too ashamed to show her face in Fishmonger Bay. The days and weeks following her ill-fated attempt to join the hunt filled her with dread. Nightmares of the husky man catching her alone in her cabin, doing unspeakable things, plagued her restless nights.
She slept with the fine bow Grimelda had given her—the door barricaded with heavy furniture, and the windows covered with Grammy’s quilted comforters.
During the day, she set wooden targets in the trees around the outside of the hut to improve her dismal archery skills in case the man showed his face. She spent most of her time hunting for errant arrows.
Weeks passed before she contemplated the swords again, but as she hacked away at a tree stump, she attacked it with renewed determination—swinging and hopping about for hours on end. It was no substitute for the real thing, but she trusted no one. Except great-aunt Grimelda. Unfortunately, the crone wouldn’t be much of a sparring partner.
It took her most of the summer before she dared set foot in Fishmonger Bay again. When she did, it was under the cover of darkness.
Sneaking around the backside of buildings, she slipped onto the lavender porch of Grimelda’s Clutch. She paused behind the nearest dragon statue and scanned her surroundings in the poor light of a new moon. Nothing stirred.
She inhaled deeply and tiptoed to the stained-glass door. Finding it locked, she rapped on the lower section, all the while glancing around, fearing the noise her knock had made.
Grimelda didn’t answer fast enough so she rapped a second time, louder than the first. She was about to sneak off into the night and return to her hut, but a flickering light from within, cast the porch in a rainbow of colour through the stained-glass.
The glow approached the door and the magical locking mechanisms withdrew, allowing the door to swing inward.
Grimelda’s haggard face appeared scarier in the dim light of her handheld sconce. Wearing a dirty white apron splattered with dark stains, she leaned on her gnarled walking stick, squinting, and Raver perched on her shoulder.
“Gracious, my dear. What took you so long?”
Raver bobbed his head up and down as if he shared Grimelda’s worry.
Reecah blinked. What took her so long? She searched the darkness of the town centre before pushing past her great-aunt into the mystic shop. “I’m afraid, Auntie Grim.”
Grimelda closed the door and waved her hand, triggering the locks. She made a clucking noise with her tongue, placed a hand to the small of Reecah’s back and pushed her down the aisle. “Ohhh. Do come in dearie. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Come in dearie! Come in dearie!” Raver mimicked.
Grimelda’s words unsettled her, but the raven made her smile. Something she hadn’t done in a long time. It felt good to be in the company of another person. Someone who wouldn’t pass judgement on her.
“You were expecting me? How did you know I was coming?”
Grimelda cackled and shuffled behind the counter, holding the ratty blanket aside for Reecah to enter. “Auntie knows everything.” She placed the sconce on a crude, knee-high table and searched the shelf behind it. “Ah, what do you know? Here it is. I searched for this all day.”
“All day! All day!”
“Shoo, you dirty bird.” Grimelda shrugged her shoulder and Raver winged to a high shelf near the curv
ing cellar staircase.
Reecah looked over Grimelda’s shoulder. The witch held a small vial in her wrinkled hand, a greenish liquid kept inside by a blackened cork.
“What is it, Auntie?”
Grimelda clucked her tongue and held up a crooked finger. “A curious one, eh? You shall see soon enough. Take this and follow me.”
Grimelda handed her a grey stick.
“Is this a…?”
“Yes, dearie. Something to write with.” Grimelda dropped the vial into an apron pocket and plucked the sconce from the table. Hobbling to the back of the room, she descended the twisting stairwell to the damp cellar below.
Torches burned in racks around the perimeter of the small cavern—the sacrificial altar surrounded by wrought-iron candelabras.
Stepping off the bottom step, it appeared Reecah had interrupted some kind of ritual. The fount at the head of the altar contained a crimson liquid very much resembling…
She swallowed, her gaze falling on the dark stains on Grimelda’s apron. Her jubilation at sharing someone else’s company forgotten, she approached the fount. “Is…is that what I think it is?”
“Eh, dearie?” Grimelda shuffled off to one side, rummaging through an assortment of stone bowls. Finding the one she sought, she said, “Oh, don’t touch that.”
Reecah pulled her hand back.
Grimelda hobbled past her with a small ladle. She scooped three precise measures of the crimson liquid into the stone bowl, careful not to spill a drop. Setting the bowl on the altar, she pulled the green vial from her apron pocket and removed the stopper with her teeth. The cork between her lips, she tilted the small bottle and dispensed one, then two, and finally three drops into the bowl.
“Look closely, my dear child, but do not touch.”
Reecah bent over, inspecting what she suspected was blood. She shuddered. Where had it all come from? She was about to ask but something pulled on the top of her head, stopping her.
“Ow!”
Grimelda held a few strands of hair between her thumb and forefinger.
“What did you do that for?”
Ignoring her, the crone inspected the hairs and selected three, dropping them one by one into the bowl.
Without hesitation, she reached up and pulled a few of her own grey strands, depositing three of them into the dark liquid one at a time.
Reecah backed away. She had come at a bad time.
The sudden appearance of Raver flapping down the stairwell made her jump. The raven landed on the rim of the fount and stood blinking at Grimelda as if he had been summoned.
Grimelda selected a small knife from beneath the folds of the utensil table on the far side of the altar and leaned her walking stick against the marble slab. “Raver, to me.”
Raver squawked and landed on the altar.
In a flurry too fast for Reecah to comprehend, Grimelda’s hand closed on the bird and held him against the marble slab—deftly severing the two side toes on his left foot, close to his leg.
Raver screeched and pecked at her hand, drawing blood, but Grimelda didn’t let go until she severed a side toe from his right foot; all three toes lying on the altar.
Raver flew erratically into a shelf beside the stairs and dropped to the ground. He fell on one side, making an awful noise. Flapping furiously, he righted himself and disappeared up the steps.
Reecah couldn’t believe what had just transpired. The old lady was stark raving mad. She wanted to go after the injured bird but Grimelda’s grim face held her. “Auntie Grim, what are you doing?”
“Trust me, child. That hurt me more than it did my little chum.”
Reecah’s mind reeled. What a nice way to treat your little chum. There was no way her aunt’s guilt was more painful than Raver losing three toes.
“Before I go, I must ask a boon of you.”
Reecah’s brow furrowed, unable to take her eyes off the toes and offending knife still clutched in Grimelda’s hand. Where did the crazy witch think she was going?
“Are you familiar with Dragonfang Pass?”
Reecah had travelled as far as the Fang, a towering rock formation at the head of the pass, but had never ventured far into the dragon-infested valley itself. She wasn’t sure she wished to entertain Grimelda’s question—the image of the knife severing Raver’s toes wouldn’t leave her.
“North of here, deep within the pass, is an old temple. Built centuries ago by the first Windwalkers.” Grimelda put the knife on the utensil table, grabbed her stick, and hobbled to confront Reecah. “Do you hear me, child?”
The intensity in the witch’s bloodshot gaze made Reecah’s breath catch. She nodded out of fear.
“Good, because this is important. When I’m gone, you’ll be the only one left on this side of the Great Kingdom capable of saving the dragons.”
“Saving the dragons?” Reecah was incredulous. “I can’t swing a sword to save myself. How do you expect me to face a dragon? I wouldn’t survive its first breath.”
Grimelda held up a hand. “Shhh, child. Listen. You must save the dragons, not fight them.”
“Then why did you give me great-grandmother’s weapons?”
“To protect you from everyone else.”
“I don’t understand.”
Grimelda gave her a patient smile. “I wish I could train you in the ways of the Windwalker, but my time is at hand.”
Reecah gaped. Where was her aunt going?
“Ah, ah,” Grimelda wagged a crooked finger. “I’m out of time. You must go to the Dragon Temple.” She raised an eyebrow. “Aye, guarded by a beast old enough to have seen the mountains formed. Locate the earth’s schism to claim your heritage. Remove the Dragon’s Eye from the Watcher and bring it back here.”
Dragon’s Eye? Watcher? Schism? “What are you talking about? Locate a temple protected by a dragon?”
Grimelda’s expression told her that the witch knew of her fear. “What I ask is very important. Can you do that for an old lady, child?”
What could she say? Deny her great-aunt’s dying wish? The relevance of that sobering thought hammered itself home. “You’re not dying, Auntie Grim. Look at you. You are, um…” She didn’t know how to express her alarm.
Grimelda grabbed her wrists. “Shh, shh, shh. It’s time you left. You mustn’t witness the transfiguration spell.”
Reecah mouthed the word ‘transfiguration’ in horror. She had no idea what it meant but it sounded prophetic. “You’ll wait until I return, won’t you? Promise me you’ll be here when I return.”
The compassion in Grimelda’s smile confirmed her fear.
“Auntie Grim, I can’t go on without you. You’re all I have.” Her watery gaze darted around the cellar. “I know. Come with me. We’ll find this Dragon’s Eye together. We can—”
“Reecah Windwalker!”
Grimelda spoke with such conviction Reecah wasn’t convinced the feeble, old woman had said it at all. A quick scan confirmed there was no one else in the flickering cavern.
“Promise Grimelda that no matter what happens tonight, you will return with the Dragon’s Eye.”
Reecah swallowed. Conscious of the tears falling from her cheeks, she nodded. “I promise.”
“Heed these words well, for they’re the only thing standing between you and a long, lonely death.” Grimelda’s features twisted into a hideous effigy of her wrinkled self—her voice taking on a manly timbre. “There’ll come a time in the not too distant future that you’ll be required to accept your heritage if you want to survive. Pray, child, you are wise enough to open your heart. Let the truth guide you.”
Reecah swallowed, the crone’s crazed words lost on her. All she wanted to do was pull away.
Grimelda released her. “Now run. Get away from here. Whatever you do, don’t look back. Not now. Not ever. You hear Grimelda?”
Reecah didn’t think she could talk past the lump in her throat. She nodded, unsure what to do to save her great-aunt.
Grimelda�
�s face transformed into a frightening mask. Her voice dropped lower than a woman’s ought to. “Leave me!”
Reecah took the stone steps two at a time. Bolting across the shop, the magical locking mechanisms released and the door opened on its own. She stepped onto the porch, not bothering to close the door.
Guilt at leaving the old woman to face death by herself weighed heavily on her. Whatever insane ritual Grimelda had planned, she should be there to help. She turned in time to witness the door slam shut with such force it blew her loose strands of hair around and fluttered her cloak. She grabbed the handle but already the locks were clicking into place.
The large bells above the temple next door rent the silent night. A clamour arose as parishioners descended the steep, wooden staircase fronting the village’s place of worship, their attention directed her way.
Pounding the stained-glass door with the sides of her fists, she had no time to spare for them. “Auntie Grim! Auntie Grim! Open the door! Open it up! Don’t leave me!” Conscious of the commotion she was making, she didn’t care. Let them think what they wanted. No one liked her anyway.
The villagers’ curiosity brought them to gather in front of Grimelda’s Clutch, watching her.
Realizing she wasn’t getting back into the shop, panic set in. She turned her wild eyes on the crowd. “Someone, help me. Auntie Grim is dying. I need to save her. Please!”
The Father Cloth appeared on the top step of the temple as a spectrum of light splashed through the windows and front door of Grimelda’s Clutch.
Reecah, and those gathered around the mystical hut, covered their eyes to shield them from the intense glare.
“Witchcraft!” someone shouted as the crowd backed away.
“Jaxon!” the Father Cloth called out. “Fetch your father!”
Reecah’s eyes went wide. A dark figure darted away from the crowd, his blonde locks bobbing behind him as he made his way across the commons toward the large warehouse on the shoreline. She shook her head and dropped into a crouch, holding clenched hands in front of her mouth, muttering, “No, no, no. Not Jonas. Please not Jonas.”
Another series of bright flashes emanated from the interior of Grimelda’s Clutch, lighting up the night.
Reecah's Flight Page 8
