Blessings and Trials (Exiles and Sojourners Book 1)
Page 23
Dargar took shallow breaths, and his eyelids fluttered every few minutes. Still, he did not wake. While he slept, they managed to get a campfire going beside him. Afraid the light would attract unwanted attention from whatever had attacked Dargar and Bergen, Litharus closed in their shelter around the fire. He pulled the stone quickly and roughly, minimizing the energy it took.
They sat vigil there in their strange, brand new little chamber with a smoke hole at the top. The shadows shifted and flowed across Dargar’s pale face in the dim space. The campfire was sputtering because Ingrid couldn’t pull all of the water out of the wood.
Worry boiled up inside Litharus as the little space got warm and sweat began to pop out on his forehead. Our parents should have been here at the Standing Rock waiting for us. With those stoneshaped casts on him, it looks like he’s seen my mom and she’s still alright. Or I guess, she was when she saw him. I wish he would tell us what was going on before he…
Litharus choked on the callousness of his own thoughts.
Ingrid was trying to make Dargar as comfortable as possible, piling some soft leaves up under his head. She had fought back tears at first after the surprise had worn off. Now she was moving with exhausted resignation. Fighting another losing battle after so many other routs was just too much for her.
Gwyndolyn sat at the ready with a waterskin. Ingrid had said that Dargar would almost certainly ask for water when he woke up.
Gwyndolyn reminded herself, Ingrid said when and not if. But still...
Gwyndolyn was a young girl, but she was not foolish. Their Wildman friend was barely alive.
Finally, Dargar began to stir.
Ingrid gasped to her younger friend, “Gwyndolyn, get his water ready,”
Litharus knelt down and slid his hand gently under the wildman’s shaggy head. He tilted it forward ever so gently. Gwyndolyn, not needing Ingrid’s encouragement, had the waterskin lifted to his lips in a moment. Dargar lapped at it thirstily, his thick tongue smacking in his mouth as he drank noisily. His voice came soon after as he croaked out a few words in his own Wildman tongue, “Good, your mother will be happy. Skyship is coming back, take everyone to Fireheart.”
“It’s all right, Dargar. Don’t talk if it hurts, just rest so you can get better,” whispered Ingrid as she wiped her eyes.
Litharus fought the urge to tell Ingrid to be quiet and let Dargar tell them all he could. He had never been beside anyone’s deathbed. He had no idea how to deal with everything he was seeing and feeling. But, he knew that they all needed to find his mother and Gwyndolyn’s father and get onto that skyship.
“All hurt will stop soon when I see the Lord.” Dargar tried to shift his body and grimaced. A low groan escaped his throat as his eyelids clenched shut.
“Do you need more water, Dargar?” asked Gwyndolyn, desperately wanting to help and feeling utterly helpless.
“No,” grunted the Wildman. He focused intently to control his voice and form the single syllable. His whole body relaxed and nothing moved on his face except his mouth. “More spiders find us. We split up. Others head across river to meet skyship. I lead the spiders away. Too hurt to fight right. Bit before I killed them all.”
Despite the pain, there was clear satisfaction in Dargar’s voice on this point.
“But, poisoned,” he admitted reluctantly.
Hope burned in Litharus’s belly. The picture of his mother handing him a bowl of wheat porridge during the previous winter popped unbidden into his mind. He could almost smell that warm, gentle aroma that always surrounded her, almost hear her soft voice meandering through his lullaby like she had not actually done in many years.
“Where are they?” the little boy inside him squeaked. He did even take the time to be embarrassed at the way it sounded.
“Skyship coming to the Oak Rock.” Dargar’s broken body gasped. His lungs sucked in ragged breaths.
“Oak Rock?” repeated Litharus in the Wildman tongue. “Do you mean the Druspagos?” he asked Dargar using the Ancient tongue name for the huge hill.
“Yes,” grimaced the Wildman.
“Sorry,” The broken body of the warrior forced the last word out through pained panting.
“Don’t say you’re sorry, Dargar,” sobbed Gwyndolyn, her little voice shaking. “You’ve done so much for us, you have nothing to be sorry for!” She was almost protesting about the unfairness of it all.
Dargar fell silent for a few minutes.
“Wildmen still sit in darkness.” Dargar’s muscles were shivering now. “Never went back. Never told about Lord.”
“I will come back from Fireheart and go to them when I am grown up,” answered Litharus quickly. The words spilled out of him before he could think about it. “I promise you, Dargar, I will go to your people, and I will tell them about our Lord, even if they eat me.”
“I will go, too, Dargar,” whispered Ingrid.
“We’ll all go, Dargar,” fluttered Gwyndolyn. “You’ve taught us most of your tongue and everything. And I don’t think anybody related to you could possibly want to eat people who just want to...”
Her stream of words slowed a little and stopped suddenly, as Gwyndolyn could not finish.
“Good.” Dargar could only whisper now. “Take sword back.” The Wildman paused and spasmed all over for a moment, terrifying the children.
Dargar managed to whisper only a little more, but he did so very clearly, “Find Ockshallish. He is mostly a man. He will help you. Will meet you little ones at foot of Lord’s throne.”
Then their friend and protector fell silent. He lingered on for only a few more minutes before his chest finally rattled down and did not rise again.
To be continued ...
Coming soon from Wisecraft Press, Faithful and Fallen, book 2 of Soujourners and Exiles
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ABOUT THOMAS DAVIDSMEIER
Thomas Davidsmeier has eight children, three cows, three cats, a dog, two guinea pigs, a white rabbit, just over a hundred chickens, and a loving wife. He also takes care of about a hundred high school science and math students everyday. "Busy" doesn't begin to describe it.