by David Rice
Despite the burden of many cycles and even more lives, Volsun led the charge up the winding stone stairs.
The Jarl slowed as his eyes focused upon the two figures staggering past Thunderwall’s massive gates. They were once two young dwarves. Now they were different. Reforged by their pains and their victories.
“Grumm Rockbottom. Nezzil Shornedge.” Volsun announced. “You are most welcome.”
Another younger dwarf burst into motion from then shadows. He limped forward, his eyes sparkling and teeth grinning from behind scars that had robbed him of half his beard and most of his strength.
“Dindur?” Nezzil ventured. Then his eyes flashed with recognition and he embraced his lost friend tightly. “You made it. You’re here.”
Blinded by sudden tears, Dindur nodded vehemently but couldn’t speak.
Volsun noted that Grumm’s shield was missing and his armour was scuffed and tattered. He stepped forward to grasp Grumm by both shoulders. “What news? Are there still drakes to fear?”
Grumm knelt before his Jarl. “I think she did it,” he said quietly. There was no joy in his voice.
“You met the girl with the sword? You defeated the drakes? Together?”
Grumm looked away through the light beyond the Highgate. “I went as far as I could. Almost to the top o’ the world. I saw the dragon on the pinnacle there.”
Volsun’s impatience pushed past Grumm’s exhaustion. “I know you did, Grumm. But we have to know. What have you seen? Is there still a threat?”
Grumm lifted his red eyes to meet the Jarl’s gaze. “There’s no movement from the pinnacle. I stayed for days to be sure. There’s just the brightest light.”
The Jarl stepped back. “No more dragon? No more drakes?”
“I have seen none,” Grumm pushed himself to reply. “And the Rajala rejoice as if the danger is over.”
The Jarl nodded and smiled. “Fetch our healers for these brave heroes,” he bellowed. He turned to his Thanes. “Send scouts to be sure.”
“Watch for thornwings,” Alain added.
“No need,” Grumm replied. “The Rajala said it was one of the signs the drakes were gone.”
“What was a sign?” Volsun asked.
“Gryphons.” Grumm’s face flirted with a brief awestruck smile. “The sky over the mountains is full of gryphons.”
“And the girl?” Alain interrupted. “We both have a friend who will want to know.”
Grumm choked back an answer, shook his head, and looked away.
Alain filled with sadness. “Tell us more of her story when your strength returns? The world owes her a debt.”
Grim grunted through a grimace thick with grief.
Alain turned to Arundy whose eyes were entranced by a shaft of sunlight. “If the drakes are gone, what will we do, Your Grace?”
“Return home,” he said and then sighed deeply. “We have homes to rebuild.”
“Very true,” Alain nodded. “And then?”
Arundy’s voice trembled with relief. “Rest,” he said.
***
Balinor nudged his horse to climb the gentle rise towards the Crossroads once more. Looking north, he could see the dust of a thin column of people heading their direction. It seemed to have no end.
Above, he could see silhoettes, shadows against a setting sun. Pell would be there along with members of all three Orders. He waved to those who awaited him.
Father Wren was the first to approach. “So glad to see you, Balinor. On your way to Graniteside? Time to stay for a meal?”
Balinor slipped lightly to the ground and began to unsaddle his horse. “A meal’s always welcome. And someone to talk to.”
“Of course,” Father Wren grinned as he waved for two Brothers to assist.
“Nice to see the Orders getting along,” Balinor commented then pinted north. “But before you feed me, are you sure you’ll have enough for them?”
“That is a concern, to be sure,” Wren replied.
“Not like you have gates to close on them this time, do you?” Balinor quipped.
Wren blushed. “I never approved of such measures.”
“Sorry,” Balinor relented. “Just tired. Lotsa long days behind me.”
The light returned to Father Wren’s eyes. “Perhaps you might consider helping us with a small conundrum?”
Balinor sighed. “You need me to scout around for food?”
Wren smiled. “Of course that would be welcome but that is not what I want to ask you.”
Balinor gave his horse a scratch on the cheek before the brothers led her away. “Just ask. No harm in that.”
“That group of people coming down the road? There’s more children than parents.” Balinor squinted. “You’re thinking of—”
Wren nodded. “We’ll provide shelter and food. Healing and instruction.”“An orphanage?”
Wren tilted his head. “Not purely. A school. A community. I think our Orders have learned a great deal from the suffering we’ve done to others.”
“I hope the right things,” Balinor responded. He saw how his words stung the Father. “I’m sorry to doubt you, Father. You’re a good man. What do you need?”
“We need a name for the school. I believe it should be someone of impeccable character. A role model for those who have suffered and who need to find strength.”
A lump filled Balinor’s throat. “Someone people couldn’t help but love?”
Father Wren’s eyes twinkled gently. “Can you think of anyone who might be worthy of such an honour?”
Balinor pushed back a storm of emotion. “Of course I can,” he whispered.
Wren smiled and raised his eyebrows.
“Oh, you know who I mean,” Balinor said briefly, and turned away.
***
Pell tapped away the final flake of stone from the new granite slab at the foot of the Crossroads. “What do you think?”
Sister Helba’s Refuge for All
Balinor wiped away a tear. “She’d hate it,” he said. “But it’s nice. Really nice work.”
“Glad to hear that!” Pell replied. “Because now it’s going to need a statue.”
“No,” Balinor replied. “She’d really hate that.”
“Too late. Been decided. Even been paid my commission,” Pell countered.
“I don’t know,” Balinor flustered.
“Just tell me a few things. It’s not going to be her, it’ll just represent the best of who she was. Who everyone else should aspire to be.”
Balinor wiped away another rogue tear and sighed.
“The school will represent that,too,” Pell added.
Balinor surrendered. “It better.”
Pell chuckled. “Just give me a bit to go on.”
Balinor cleared his throat. Best not to think to much. Just let the heart talk. “First,” he began. “Her pockets were always full of herbs—”
EPILOGUE
Deep in a bed of green fronds, beside the clear waters of a crashing waterfall, and under ponderous flowing branches that buzzed with bees, a tall figure came climbing. He was sad because he carried a friend who had forgotten how to fly. She was asleep now, and so were all of her other friends, and all he wanted to do was help.
His friends loved the light. The moonlight and the sunlight. And when the mountain glowed bright for the first time, he had a thought. A thought that was new because it had nothing to do with eating or laughing or playing or sleeping. He thought, bring his friend to the new light and maybe she would be happy enough to wake up again and remember how to fly.
And here he was. The light was far above, like the moons and the sun, but this light was touching the top of the mountain. He hoped this new light would help his friend so he stood in the water with the splashing drops tickling him, and he held his friend as high as he could reach.
He held her there for a long time, until his feet became quite cold, and that’s when he saw a glimmer like a firefly. It flickered where the water bubbled over r
ocks in the shadows of the fruit trees. But it couldn’t be a firefly because they didn’t fly through the water.
He put his friend down gently, being careful not to bend her wings, for they were like a dragonfly’s and easily torn. Then he reached for the tiny glittery light and his hand came out with a—brown fruit? But it wasn’t fruit, even though it was squishy in the middle.
He shook the water off and looked closer. It was another friend. And she was sleeping, too. The brown skin wasn’t fruit, it was a blanket. What a cold and wet place to sleep, he thought. He put her down beside his other friend and pulled away the blanket. Then he sat down and waited. They were in the light. They liked the light. And the light sparkled from a tiny speck on his new friend’s neck. It looked like a little leaf. He had never seen a tree full of glittery leaves like this one before. And then he had another new thought. Maybe that’s what
was on top of the mountain? A tree full of glittery leaves like slivers of the moons.
He waited but they didn’t wake up. Maybe new ideas weren’t so good. He poked them gently. Please wake up or I will be sadder than I’ve ever been, he thought. Then he had another new idea. He reached very carefully with his two best fingertips and lifted the sparkly leaf from his new sleeping friend and placed it upon his friend who had forgotten how to fly.
Her wings twitched, her eyes fluttered, and she began to sit up.
Oh, he was so happy, so very very happy, that he jumped around and laughed and splashed water into the sky.
He looked at his old friend who was standing now, and she was looking everywhere. She even fluttered her wings and she looked surprised like when he would sneak up on her and clap his hands. Oh, that was funny when he did that. He clapped his hands and laughed.
His friend made a sound and fell over. He thought that was very very funny and laughed some more. Then he looked at his new sleeping friend. She was still sleeping and he felt sad again. He sat down. Maybe she wanted to sleep. Maybe he shouldn’t clap his hands or poke her
or laugh so loud.
His old friend was standing again. She looked at his new friend and looked very sad. Then she touched the sparkly leaf and held it tightly. She looked surprised again but smiled, and that was just like another light in the sky. He laughed and clapped his hands and danced.
Then he held his hands out and flapped them. She always laughed when he did this, and she would always fly around and let him chase her.
He watched as his friend flapped her wings and slowly rose into the air. She let out a long laugh like a creek burbling, and then she laughed some more. He was so happy. He was glad a new thought had helped her fly.
As she flew away, down the hill, through the trees, and then high into the sky. He ran until he could follow her no more because his legs were tired and his stomach was hungry. But he wasn’t sad anymore. His friend always came back.
***
Entraced and amazed, her wings tasted the winds with the thrill of a newborn. Unaware of why or how, she had emerged from one dream into another. Laughing as she soared above the deep green forest, she realized that in this dream she had a voice, and that she could still remember every song she had ever learned from her, she laboured to remember the name, Rajdejmion, in the first of her long dreams.
Wait. Was she forgetting a friend?
She circled through the waterfall’s mist, drawn by a gleam both blue and white. Beside the rushing waters and unfolding from the verdant growth was a tightly drawn bundle of black leather. From an opening at the top, the light spilled, framing an innocent face crowned with auburn curls. She seemed so familiar, as if with every breath dreams were solidifying from the mists. Delicately, she hovered above the unmoving girl, and reached out with a finger to touch her nose.
A spark of white light arced between them, filling her wings with argent energy, and sending her heart racing. Exhilerated, she stretched her wings, burst into the deep vaulting blue above and, with a laugh so light it could warm the heart of a gohan, Raisha sang.
Below, The girl’s eyelids twitched once. Then again. And her mouth rounded to tug gingerly at the air.
END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
David Rice resides in a comfortable small town of South-Western Ontario, Canada. His poetry has been recognized by The Dorothy Shoemaker Award, and published in Queen’s Quarterly and Riveredge Magazines. Dawncaller is the third and final novel of the Half-Elven Series.
