The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Box Set

by GARY DARBY

  Thinking over the recent past events, an ominous notion worms itself into my thoughts. I rise and go stand next to the dragons. I stare out into the darkness before I feel a presence and turn to find Phigby standing next to me, peering at me with a concerned look. “Something troubling you, Hooper?” he asks in a small voice. “You should try and get some rest.”

  I hesitate and then answer in a whisper, “The witch. I know you said it was a dream, but I keep having this feeling that it wasn’t. Especially after — ”

  “Especially after what?” he sharply asks.

  I can’t hold it inside; I have to tell him. “Especially,” I answer, “after I’ve seen three more.”

  Suddenly, Cara is beside us. “You saw more witches, Hooper? Where?”

  I point toward the three columns. “There. As I was bringing back the water. I saw their faces peering at me from those spires.”

  Phigby slowly turns toward the glade and he stares for the longest time before he reaches for his bag and orders, “Follow me.” Cara scoops up her bow and quiver and quickly falls in behind Phigby.

  Me, I follow empty-handed and feeling a bit sheepish. I hadn’t expected that this would turn into a witch hunt. I especially hadn’t meant to wake Cara from the sleep she desperately needs.

  We squeeze past the dragons, and Phigby strides ahead as if he’s a soldier marching to battle. We’re halfway to the spiral-like columns when Helmar looms out of the darkness. “What’s wrong?” he demands.

  “Hooper saw a witch — ”

  “Witches,” I correct Cara, sounding a bit peevish.

  She points ahead. “At the Fairy Pillars.”

  “Witches,” Helmar snorts. “You three should be getting some rest instead of wandering around out here following Hooper’s nonsense.”

  My face burns. That Wilder arrow may have punctured Helmar’s shoulder, but it certainly didn’t touch his temperament.

  Cara ignores him and paces behind Phigby. Helmar lets out a long sigh in disgust, glares at me, and follows Cara. I trail behind as I don’t want to get too close to Helmar, not in the mood, he’s in now. Phigby comes to a halt a few paces from the dirt columns. Cara joins him to one side, and Helmar goes to the other.

  I stand behind Cara, far enough away from Helmar’s reach that if all of this is for naught, and his temper boils over, I might be able to duck his first blow. We stand there for a few moments, in silence, staring at the pillars.

  I glance nervously around, my unease growing. “Phigby,” I hiss, “what if that thing appears? It could be that it’s not just Wilders, drogs, and wolves that stalk the night, you know.”

  Phigby holds up a hand to silence me. “In this place, we need not fear your phantom, Hooper, especially not that dark specter. For the moment, we are safe.”

  I hear soft, familiar paws, and surprised, turn to find Scamper scooting next to me. I reach down to scratch his head. “Humph,” I grunt, “all we need now are the dragons.” Though I say it in jest, I peer back at the dragons, and as I do, my eyes catch sight of the golden. Her head is up, and she’s staring intently in our direction, her eyes wide and her gaze expectant, almost eager.

  A sudden hush settles on the glade. Even the sounds of the nearby brook and the small stirrings of the trees as the breeze caresses their leaves becomes quiet and still. Overhead, what few clouds there are seem to whisk away letting the full light from the moons shine directly on the three circular towers.

  I blink hard several times and rub my eyes, thinking I must be seeing things. From the base to the top, the pillars seem to be gathering the moonlight in long streamers that gently churn and swirl upward.

  “What — ” Helmar exclaims and takes a step backward as do Cara and I. Only Phigby and Scamper stand firm as a vortex of light gathers as if it’s being sucked inside the twisted columns. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I certainly don’t want to get drawn into the spinning whirlpool, so I keep stepping backward.

  I start to yell at Scamper, to tell him to flee, to run for safety, but nothing comes out of my mouth. Cara and Helmar whip up their bows, but Phigby reaches out and pushes their bows down. “Hooper,” he softly calls over his shoulder, not even looking at me, “come back here, there is nothing to fear.”

  Easy enough for Phigby to say, I think. He’s a — he’s a, well whatever he is, he’s not afraid, whereas my heart is thumping wildly. I want to keep backing away, but I can’t. It’s as if unseen roots have come out of the ground to grip my feet and stop me. From out of the churning light, invisible hands push me forward, and no matter how hard I struggle to get away, they don’t release me.

  I’m pushed and pulled until I’m next to Cara. Whereas my face must be a mask of terror, hers appears to be fascinated by the aura. Her eyes are alight, just like when she held up Phigby’s sealed book.

  Suddenly, the vortex slows, stops, until only a misty glow surrounds the pillars. Then, the mist curls in on itself before turning into wavy, glowing swirls that flow outward into the glade.

  The shimmering haze floats up and over me and seems to soak into my very being. A soft, white radiance fills the glen just like the light that covered Golden Wind when we were in the forest. My fear slowly ebbs out of me, replaced with a sense of wonder and a feeling of . . . Serenity? Peace? Power?

  The glowing vapor is so thick that Cara reaches out with a cupped hand as if she could actually hold the light in her hand. I glance down at Scamper. He’s sitting on his hindquarters, pawing at the glow, causing a radiant eddy to spin and swirl in front of his face.

  Phigby reaches up, and with a finger, writes strange letters and characters in the misty haze. Where his finger pass, they leave a lustrous trail in the air that lingers before the odd-looking shapes fade away to nothingness.

  The pillar’s sharp edges soften as if the columns are melting. Like a soft wind that rustles through the trees, I hear a ghostly, Velkommen Geyma.

  I swallow and turn to Cara. “Did you hear that?” I whisper. She barely nods in answer.

  The velvety, almost ethereal voice comes again. We welcome the friends of the Golden One.

  The glowing pillars fade and three beings take their place. The light seems to flow through them and then outward in weaving, shining wisps. Long, silver robes hang from their shoulders to the ground. Their slim arms are bare from elbow to their narrow, graceful fingers. Their blond, straight hair falls over their shoulders, gently lifting at the ends as if a tiny breeze were blowing it about.

  Their eyes barely move as if they need but a glance to take it all in. At first, I thought their eyes were blue as before, but now I’m not so sure. They seem to change from moment to moment, just like Phigby’s robe appears to shift from one hue to another. However, meeting their eyes is like holding one hand in icy cold water, while the other hovers over hot coals.

  That they are female in form and with perfectly sculpted faces, I can see for myself. Moreover, there is no doubt that they are beings of power, of authority, and of regal bearing.

  Though I was fearful, no, downright afraid before, nothing in their expressions now causes me to feel threatened or frightened. Besides, what good would any of our arrows do against someone who seems able to control the elements?

  “Phigby,” I ask in a tiny voice, “Who — ”

  His hand is quick to stop me. “This is a time to listen, Hooper, not to speak.”

  At that, the three begin to speak, their voices in perfect unison and sounding both sorrowful and hopeful.

  Vay it was who broke the trust

  Brought forth the golden to slake her lust

  For greed, envy, fear, and power

  So that oe’r all she would tower

  One dragon to rule them all

  One Queen, to her we’d fall

  The dragon to rule over its own kind

  But to Vay, she would bend the mind

  Of the Drach and dragon too

  That to her only they would be true

  One
Dark Queen upon her throne

  Seeds of evil she has sown

  And of the moment, we did partake

  Now the right we must make

  From heaven above to that below

  The gods will grant that we will go

  To set the right

  In fiery fight.

  The three raise their arms, their hands barely apart. A sparkling ball of light forms in the air, and then they spread their fingers, and the light changes to a rainbow that flows through the air and arches high above us. For a moment, I feel a warmth against my chest where the dragon gem sits.

  The three speak again in unison, their voices part soft breeze, part whirlwind.

  Bring the bow that colors the rain and lights the sky from horizon to horizon. It will quell the tempest, still the storm that comes to sweep across your world.

  Their faces soften, but their eyes are still piercing, and their voices seem to fill mind and body. To the one who will wield the tears of sacrifice, remember, remember, Vald Hitta Sasi Ein, Power Comes to this One.

  In a rising, commanding tone they say, Never forget you are called to Ride the Rainbow.

  They slowly turn and point in the direction of the sun’s setting. Your journey continues there. They turn back and the shimmering haze begins to fade until only the three’s shining faces are left in the air. Remember always that you are called to Ride the Rainbow . . . Ride the Rainbow, they whisper so low that I must strain to make out their words.

  A moment later, the pale moonlight is gone, and the glade is once again in dark shadow.

  I peer at the three stonelike pillars, but Cara beats me to the question. “Phigby,” she whispers reverently, “what did we just see?”

  He turns to us. “Them whom I am both sad and glad to see.” His eyes fix on me. “And who confirm my suspicions, unfortunately.”

  “What do you mean both sad and glad?” Helmar questions.

  “Come with me,” Phigby orders, “all of you.”

  Cara and Helmar dutifully follow. Even Scamper tags along with Phigby. But I stand staring at the pillars, struggling with my thoughts. I can feel the jewel in my pocket, and I can still hear the three’s words, “To the one who will wield the tears of sacrifice . . . ”

  Tears of sacrifice? Were they referring to the gem sitting against my breast? And if I am the one who is to wield the gemstone, wouldn’t they have called me by name?

  I bite down on my lip. Maybe Golden Wind was right, after all, perhaps I am just the jewel’s caretaker. But they didn’t call anyone by name, they just said that we were the friends of the Golden One. Yet, if the golden is right, and I’m not the guardian, then who is? Helmar? Cara? Maybe Phigby?

  After all, it is Phigby who seems to know who those three are. And what about the shimmering strange letters and characters he wrote in the air? Just after he finished, the three beautiful ladies appeared as if he had called them. Maybe the odd characters are a key of some sort, a key that opens a door to another world, a magical world.

  A key that only Phigby, among us four, can turn.

  The golden was right. I was given the gem only to temporarily hold until the guardian appeared. Where I would have run from the light, Phigby bravely stayed. Where my knees buckled, Phigby stood firm. Where I whimpered in fear, Phigby’s voice was strong, steady.

  The others’ footsteps fade away, and I stand staring at the pillars. A bitterness fills me as I realize that what little hope I had is utterly gone. More than likely, Pengillstorr was searching for none other than Professor Phineas Phigby, Book Master, Alchemist and now, most certainly, the Gem Guardian.

  All I can do now is to deliver the gemstone to its proper owner and go back to being only a Hooper. Just like I’ve always been.

  My head droops, and I turn to walk away, my eyes on the ground.

  And bounce off a big, fat, protruding stomach.

  Do you want to know the difference between a drog and a Night Goblin? The goblin is twice as big.

  I’m lying on my back looking up. A bulbous face with an evil grin descends until it’s just above my head. I’m eye to eye with the hobgoblin. I never thought it possible but he stinks worse than a dragon. He draws in a deep, loud sniff. His eyes grow wide, and he raises his huge, knobby club.

  I can’t move, my eyes are held by his head-basher. In a moment, I’m going to know exactly how the fly feels when the fly-swatter lands.

  Flat and dead.

  14

  Out of nowhere, a squalling, furious ball of fur shoots up the goblin’s leg, runs along the thing’s hunched back, and chomps down on an ear. The goblin springs back, bellows, and grabs at Scamper. But my little friend is too quick. He ducks under the beast’s thrashing hand, darts around the gnome’s face as if he’s a squirrel racing around a tree trunk and bites down squarely on the monster’s slime-filled nose.

  The brute lets out another roar and tries to claw at its bulbous snout with one hand as Scamper feverishly tears at flesh with sharp claws and even sharper teeth.

  From far away I hear, “Run, Hooper!”

  The potbellied beast still holds its club high as if it wants to bring it crashing down on my puny head. It hesitates as if it can’t make up its mind to either squash me or knock Scamper off its face. Then there’s a gust of wind, and powerful talons grip the brutish gnome’s deadly cudgel. Wings beat down so furiously that the rushing squall sends small rocks and dirt flying into my eyes and face.

  The golden and the slobbering fiend are battling over the thick truncheon, he with both hands on the club’s handle, she with her rear talons set deep into its fat end. Her broad wings beat at the thing’s head and shoulders until he lets go of the mace and throws up both hands to protect his bulging head from Golden Wind’s fierce onslaught.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cara, Helmar, and Phigby racing toward the battle royal. Cara and Helmar both have arrows notched in their bows while Phigby is clutching at his bag and trying to reach inside.

  I finally get my wits about me and jump to my feet. I turn and shout at Cara and Helmar who are about to launch their arrows, “Wait! You might hit Scamper!”

  Scrambling backward, I yell, “Scamper! Let go!”

  For the first time ever, I think, Scamper obeys me and using the brute’s oversized nose soars off the ogre. He hits the ground running, away from the fight.

  I’m still backing away, but I see Phigby pull from his bag what looks like a wispy ring of coiled, shiny white smoke. He twirls the smoke around his head several times before he lets it fly right at the grunting gnome. In an instant, the smoke becomes a solid, gleaming rope.

  The line seems to take on a life of its own and slithers through the air before it wraps itself completely around the creature’s body pinning its bulging arms to its sides. The golden springs skyward with the mace dangling from her talons.

  I hear Phigby shout, Formulas slithern.

  Wide-eyed, I watch as, instead of a lasso, the rope transforms into a giant sparkling serpent.

  A scarlet head with ruby-red glowing eyes appears. It opens its mouth wide to reveal two monstrous fangs. The goblin and the snake are but a few hands width apart. Then the glowing serpent rears back and unleashes a hiss that fills the glade.

  The beast abruptly stiffens as if the serpent had squeezed the very life out of him. His eyes roll back in his head, and he starts to sway as if his legs will give out at any moment.

  Phigby runs a bit closer and with upraised arms shouts in a commanding voice, Slithern beway! and poof! The glittering, giant snake fizzles away in a loop of wispy, silver smoke that rises until the wind blows it away.

  The Night Goblin sways again as if it’s suddenly lost all its senses. Of course, it doesn’t help his cause when the golden drops the brute’s mace squarely on his head. Abruptly I realize that if I don’t move, that monstrous, bulbous form could fall on me and what its club didn’t do, its enormous plump body will.

  “Hooper, move!” Cara shouts, but at that po
int, I don’t need her encouragement. I’m already stumbling away from the staggering goblin as quick as I can, but it’s not fast enough. Like a tree totters before it falls to the ground, down come the giant gnome’s knees, then its stomach, and finally its chest and ugly head with a dull thud.

  Just when I think I’m in the clear, one flailing hand catches me square in the back sending me cartwheeling over the ground.

  I end up lying on my back staring up at the sky. The monster’s blow has knocked the wind out of me, and I gasp for breath. Scamper jumps on my chest, which doesn’t help my breathing any and puts his face close to mine. Hrrrrt? he asks.

  Cara’s head appears in my line of vision and then Phigby’s. Cara bends down and asks, “Are you hurt, Hooper?”

  I shake my head and suck in a deep breath. “Just need to breathe,” I gurgle. I push Scamper gently to the side so that I can sit up.

  After making sure that the goblin is out cold, Helmar walks over and gives me a quick, curt glance. “You know, Hooper, if you would just do as you’re told . . . ” his voice trails off, but I can tell by his exasperated expression that he’d like to say a lot more, a lot louder, and with perhaps a bit more colorful language added.

  Before he can get started in on me, I quickly ask Phigby, “Was that another little demonstration of simple alchemy?”

  Phigby purses his lips together and shrugs. “Mmm, you might say it was a form of alchemy, yes. But simple? No.”

  He reaches down and grabs me by the shoulders. “Up you go, Hooper.”

  “Thank you, Phigby,” I say with a rush of air, “thanks to all of you.”

  Phigby nods toward Scamper, who’s sitting nearby licking his paws as if what he had just done was an everyday occurrence. “Thank your furry companion,” he replies, “and Golden Wind. If those two hadn’t gotten here first, my little effort would have been too late, and that goblin’s club would’ve made your head look like a splattered pumpkin.”

  With that, he turns to study the golden who stands to one side, looking as if absolutely nothing untoward had happened. “I’ve never seen a dragon act quite that way before,” he murmurs.