by Marc Secchia
Then, the snow bridge shuddered at an enormous impact.
“Go!” he croaked. A full-throated roar suddenly cleared his throat. “RUN! AVALANCHE! EVERYONE, RUN!”
It took forever for them to realise what he already knew. Someone had felled a tree up top. It had toppled directly atop that strangely solid, suspended bridge of snow. Planned, for certain. Cracks jagged open overhead and segments of snow split away. A grave groan sounded as the hard-packed snow shifted. Kalar was roaring, pointing, pushing people into motion down the ravine and away from the danger. Mom hesitated. His father’s arm stretched toward her, motioning her to take the twins and run. She turned and fled, almost hauling the girls off their feet. A handful of Amarinthian soldiers and Elves scattered in the wrong direction, back up the ravine. Keir cast about for the dragonet, sensing her also searching for his presence.
As if in a dream, his father broke into a lumbering run, but his damaged knees would not have it. The left caved in. He stumbled and lost his balance, the impetus taking him two dozen feet downslope before he fell heavily in the snow.
He turned toward his father.
From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the dragonet tracking the twins and Rhyl. Keep them safe, he thought toward her, and that was the instant their eyes touched. Souls touched, fused. She knew what was coming. Too far away to make any difference.
Horror darkened her bright fires as she stared toward him.
With a thunderous roar, the snow bridge over the ravine gave way and untold tonnes of snow plummeted downward.
Keir threw himself over his father. “Nae! I’ll now’t have ye –”
“Watch out!” his father roared, catching him in his arms and rolling sideways, fast.
A bright flame screamed in his mind, Keee-irr! Keeeee …
That was when the sky fell upon them both, and with an almighty roar, crushed him into oblivion.
* * * *
“Keir? Keir, lad … oh nae, please …”
“Why’s it night?” he slurred.
“Oh. Oh, thank Santazathiar yer alright.” A rough, calloused palm caressed his cheek. “I feared ye were gone for sure.”
“Where … are we? What –”
“Beneath the snowfall. Ye cannae worry yerself none, lad. The others ken what’s happened. They’ll dig us out.”
Father’s voice was gruff with relief and anxiety.
He began to move, but a terrible pain in his left leg made him scream. Kalar tried to calm him, speaking gently, but Keir had never known pain like this. It was so awful he saw white, sweating hot, bloodlike droplets of blood despite the icy darkness of their surrounds. Not good. Somehow, through the shooting pain, he heard and understood that they were beneath the tree itself. An air pocket must somehow surround them, or they would have been unable to speak.
Keir, being the lovely nitwit that he was, had dived straight into the path of danger in an attempt to rescue his father. Now they were stuck beneath a branch, which had sheltered them from the worst of the fall and most likely saved their lives, but the fly in the Yak stew was that another thick branch had also pinned his leg to the ground.
“Dinnae rightly ken, but ye sound like it might be a wee bit broken,” his father advised. “I’m fine, just wedged in tight. We’re stuck well and proper, lad, but I think I can smell fresh air. Maybe see a glimmer of light up above. Lie ye still and try to conserve yer breath.”
Basic avalanche training. How long did they have? Fifteen minutes at best, unless his father was right about the access to air. A fresh pine scent tingled in his nostrils.
“I’m … freezing.”
“Aye, so am I. But I’m here for ye, son. I love ye.”
Jammed together between his father and the branch, Keir could not move either arm. He settled for leaning his cheek against his father’s hand. “Ye old sap, I’m now’t going nowhere, alright? Love ye too.”
All he could hear was their breathing. Otherwise, the stillness was total. Oppressive.
After a long time, his father said, “Dinnae want ye turning up with knees like mine, anyways. Ugly as a Wyvern’s breakfast.”
“Nae. It’s below the knee.” He grimaced. “Cannae feel my foot none.”
“Ye’ll be good, son. Think of something else. Think – think ye of yer Dragoness. Maybe ye can reach her mind, even from under here? Direct her to us. Go on.”
“Ye … call a girl Dragon … Dragoness?”
“Of course.”
Of course? Squeezing his eyes shut against both pain and shame, Keir tried not to consider how little he knew of the Dragonkind, how he had not even considered this simple distinction in daily conversation, preferring to call her a hatchling or dragonet. Not that she was so much a hatchling anymore. Santazathiar’s ghost! Despite the encouragement of family and friends, he could not imagine what the fates or destiny or Santaclaws’ paw – whatever that meant – had thought, throwing a Dragon egg at him that night.
Roll forward a few months, and here he lay in an icy tomb, seriously injured. The desire to react, to thrash, to scream to distract himself was so overwhelming, a tear crept out from beneath his eyelid. Brutal fate. Terrified of ending up like his father, wasn’t he? He had always enjoyed feeling capable, being physically fast, having the nickname Kestrelfoot. What if all that had just flown off over the Cyantar Ocean?
Storm. Auroral Storm Diamond, I … I need you. Was he so proud and self-sufficient that even this admission cost him a pang? Keir cast his mind further. Darling storm, I need you. Can you feel me? Remember how we bonded? Remember … this feeling?
He struggled for an interminable time before the sensation of intimate melding suddenly fell into place without reason or forewarning. Could she hear him calling by some Dragon sense? Did he sense or imagine her coming closer? After a few minutes, a distinct vibration communicated through the hard-packed snow compressing his abdomen.
A little voice piped, “Brother? Brother … Keir? Is ye somewhere near-ish?”
“Narini!” he gasped.
“NARINI!” his father bellowed, deafening him.
“Mommy, mommy, I done found them good, I did!” she giggled in glee. “Daddy? That ye?”
“Come here, ye wee scruffy monster!” Kalar roared.
Alright, Dad. Just a tad excited, eh? He coughed and spluttered as snow dust sifted down into his mouth.
His sister cried, “Over here! Mommy, Daddy’s hiding down here.”
Her sweet voice was only a little muffled, to Keir’s surprise. He soon realised that she must be standing atop the tree trunk. What manner of mountain giant must they have felled to create this calamity?
Keee-irr! Wirrit, wirr … wirree, Keee-irr! Wirree!
Don’t you worry, my sweet diamond. I’m right down here, not far beneath your paws, actually.
Keee-irr! Her talons scrabbled furiously at the snow. Wirree-wirree-wirree!
“Daddy!” Narini yelled.
“Well, let’s start digging,” ever-practical Arami ordered. “Daddy? Where ye hiding?”
I’m right here, Shanryssill trilled meantime, sounding breathlessly worried. Kalar? Keir? Speak to me, treasures-of-my-soul. Tell me –
Kalar said gruffly, Shanri-my-sun, fear not –
The characteristic ululating cry of Elven weeping began above them.
* * * *
After that, it was all hands to the digging and delving. It took well over an hour before the Elves and soldiers were able to clear a reasonable space in the azure snows to reach the pair. They decided to move Kalar first. Shifting him inevitably jostled Keir’s trapped leg, albeit slightly. Agony! He passed out.
Waking, he grumbled, “Too much … fainting …”
Totally embarrassing.
The Elves were trying to work out how best to lift the branch off of him. They feared to try to cut the piece which had buried his leg in the snow. It was five inches thick. The action of chopping or sawing might do more damage to his wound, besides being unbeara
bly agonising. Both his sisters sat by his side and held his cold hands, one each, and Auroral Storm Diamond took up residence beside him. Her warmth soon began to unthaw a few things. Rhyl brought down a steaming mug of tea that tasted of bitter, metallic herbs. Sitting up to drink, he had his first sight of the left leg. It looked about an inch thick. A flesh pancake with a bit of white bone sticking out of the skin.
Marvellous. Especially the way his foot poked up at an impossible angle on the other side of the branch. Like his shin had grown an extra elbow.
“Fair to say that looks pretty ugly,” he quipped. He sounded pretty smashed up, too.
Look somewhere else. The hole in which he lay had to be seven feet deep. He asked after the Certanshi, and listened to a swift briefing from his father. None of them had survived. Three Elves and five soldiers were still missing, but Auroral Storm Diamond had helped them to locate four people trapped beneath the snow. All had been dug out successfully. Granny Garamyssill had taken a bad fall and broken her hip and left arm, but she complained so energetically that everyone agreed she was certain to recover well. The Certanshi traitors had dealt several more Elves serious wounds, while three soldiers from Garrikar Town were unlikely to survive the day. Shanryssill administered the strongest herbs available to ease their pain, but their piteous moaning still filled the air.
Narini sobbed inconsolably.
One of the Certanshi, dying, had cursed them in Sankurabi Bloodfang’s name. So, the enemy’s machinations reached even this far? How could they have been so unawares? Some Garrikar soldiers had been fooled; others had been in on the plot. There had been much apologising, but none of that could help him out of this sticky situation.
Only you’d jump beneath a falling tree, cousin-gladly-found, Rhyl teased gently.
Glad for the distraction, he snorted, Yes, I was traipsing around the Amarinthian Bulwark this morn looking for the one tree which was falling, in order that I might leap beneath it. What did you just give me? Another revolting concoction …
The strongest painkiller we have. Treble dose.
I’m seeing treble after that. Ick!
Very good, she said. Warm enough?
I’ve a Dragoness to coddle me. Doing great, he lied, squeezing his sisters’ hands. Uh … what were those guys – the Certanshi? Were both Princes –
Fakes. Rhyl dropped her gaze, fuming. By the Jungles! I can’t believe I was taken in like a simpleton.
They were very good at playing pretend, cousin Rhyl, Narini put in shyly.
Rhyl squeezed that little hand. Thank you. Too good.
That’s right, Shanryssill said. Now, Dad needs your help, my angels. Could you ask him to bring my pack? I want to try to clean up this wound a bit.
When the twins had clambered out of the pit, his Mom turned to him as if to speak, but instead, her luminous mauve eyes welled up. His heart cramped within his chest.
Keir reached for her knee. That bad, blessed-womb-who-bore-me?
She chuckled brokenly at the unique endearment he had just uttered, and swiped ineffectually at her tears. Darn it! I was trying to be strong, but Keir – son – you must know, a great deal depends on the nature of that fracture, and what other damage there might be. I didn’t want to say it in front of your sisters, but there’s a chance – a good chance – you’ll lose the foot, even with the very best treatment. Do you understand what I’m saying?
Yes. Yes, I do.
How could he ever become a Dragon Guardian with just one foot?
There’s also the danger of frostbite and gangrene –
“We’re ready, Shanryssill.”
Keir looked up as Yaranthynal, an engineer and maintenance Elf who had worked at the castle, peered down at him. He wore a natty bandage over one eye, and offered a grim smile. Touching the bandage, he said, “Just a cut and bruising. Hope to keep the eye, lad. In the noo, we got ye a wee little lever and a large counterweight –”
“Calling me fat, friend?” Kalar laughed heartily, clapping the slight Elf upon the shoulder.
“Stalwart,” said the other, wincing.
“We’ll give ye a strip of leather to bite upon when we start lifting the branch, son. Ready to give this yer best?”
“Nae, Dad. I’d rather be chasing Elfmaidens around the jungle canopy.”
“Next week, I promise.”
Yaranthynal showed him a stout piece of branch he had smoothed for the job, carving a shallow hook at one end to fit to the branch pinning Keir down. More Elves swarmed down into the hole, digging space in the snow and freeing up the branch – it had cracked two feet further along, but not enough for the twisted, splintered wood to break completely. Kalar’s roll had saved them both from the mass of the falling trunk, eight feet thick, by half of his body length. Close one.
His Mom popped a strip of leather into his mouth. “When I say so, bite this. Dinnae ye be afraid to yell out the pain.”
One mercy. The foot was as numb as if it belonged to one of those dead Certanshi. As Yaranthynal slipped the flattish boulder close to be the fulcrum and the stick was jammed beneath the branch, he realised that he could still feel the nerves below his knee very well indeed. A good sign, Shanryssill murmured.
Then, his Dad spat upon his hands and took his grip on the farthest end of the lever. Six burly soldiers tucked in close with him, organising their handholds. Two took a grip beneath Keir’s armpits while his mother and Rhyl waited beside the injured leg. The idea was to move him without pulling his foot right off what was left of his leg. He hoped that bit went well.
One never had to think about attachment to one’s own feet, right?
Bending so close his chin touched the snow, Yaranthynal raised a hand. “Everyone ready?”
Grim nods.
Keee-irr … brrf.
He found Auroral Storm Diamond with his eyes. I’ll try my best for brave, darling. Can’t promise anything. Don’t look if you can’t take it.
Nrr-nrr, she disagreed.
Softly enfolding him with her presence.
“Heave!”
Nuurrr-aaargggh! A terrible scream burbled out of his throat as the pressure lifted and the pain surged, despite the herbs he had already quaffed in substantial quantities. The sound was so raw Keir feared he might rip out his own lungs. People chattered urgently around him, lifting and strapping him to a wood litter lined with blankets, covering his torso and upper legs with wrappings, but all he could think was that he had never wanted his sisters to hear him scream like that. On and on and on.
Oddly, music swelled in his mind. Music like nothing he had ever heard before. A melodic tempest of fury, light and beauty beat upon his awareness, so otherworldly that he barely recognised it for music such as Elves or Humans might imagine, but it was unexpectedly invigorating and held the pain somewhat at abeyance. His dragonet helped him as best he could, he realised, driving the pain away with grace and power he could scarcely have imagined.
He reached for her with his mind. Thank you, Storm’s-diamond-laughter.
Laughter like a windstorm’s trumpets joined the music.
* * * *
Of the journey down the mountain to what should have been the warmer valley below, he remembered little save the sensation of movement and a few ripe words from the soldiers at the poor footing. At the base of the huge climb they had cleared to make way for the food carts, he woke to the fresh agony of his mother changing the bandages and cleaning his wound. Blearily, he peered about at a most unexpected sight. The fruitful green valley had been encased in ice. A foot of snow lay upon the ground, but the real wonder was the fruit trees. Each spreading bough now had a beard of glistening ice. All of the fruit had been smashed to the ground and quick-frozen, but most was still edible, so quickly had the event taken place.
Darkfall. Deathly beautiful.
Green shoots imbedded in ice. Some branches had been cracked or even whole trees toppled due to the sheer weight of accumulated ice. Small animals, trapped in the open, sat entombed i
n icy casings. Easy hunting and food – aye, easy, but not the kind any Elf ever wanted. He heard several of their number muttering the Elvish sending of animal spirits to the beyond, but having to gesture to include the entire valley as they did so.
His mother glanced up from her work. “It’s clean, but ye will need surgery and some clever pinning to set the bones in place. Ye have about eleven different pieces inside, in the noo. We picked three out of the branch and put them back in place.”
“Oh,” he managed to say.
“Pain level?”
He stared at the crushed, heavily bruised flesh of his shin. “I can handle it.”
“Auroral Storm Diamond has been working her magic. I doubt ye’ll see infection, but – can ye feel the toes yet?” She prodded his bare left big toe with her fingernail.
The digit might as well have been a stone, or belonged to someone else. “Nae, sorry. Now’t …” He glared at his toes. “Is it normal for them to turn that dark purple?”
“Poor circulation,” she explained. “It’s changing, however – I do believe I see an improvement every time after yer dragonet licks it. She has a kind of healing magic I don’t understand, but ye and I ken it works a treat, right? Perhaps … I imagine she dinnae understand Human or Elf anatomy very well, but Rhyl has been training her.”
Keir arched an eyebrow. “She’s smart, but …”
“Whatever it takes, son,” Shanryssill said bleakly.
“Thank ye kindly.” He lay back and closed his eyes. Shattered. Hurting. Poor Mom. He wished he could pretend that a world of accidents and pain belonged to someone else, but it did not. Courage, Keir. Chin up. He whispered, “Love ye. Mom, how’s … Granny …”
She might have answered, but he did not hear.
Next, he remembered voices arguing close by. His father’s gruff frustration was clear. Unfamiliar male voices spoke in an undertone, with a conspiratorial air. It was night, he sensed. Making preparations to move him?
Someone tried to reassure Kalar that the garrison had been paid to turn a blind eye. “Nae ye worry, Commander. Many here remember yer service with undying admiration. Aye, Elves will always have friends among us. Always.”
