Akira learned Sky Spirit’s scales were sensitive underneath the overlapping of scales where they grew out from her body, much like her own fingernails were sensitive where they attached to flesh. The nail edges that extended past her own fingertip flesh had no feelings, and so it was with dragon scales. For this, Akira was grateful. Her dragon mount would feel no pain being fitted with the equipment Akira needed to safely ride hands-free.
Mage Morgan fashioned hundreds of small orbs for Akira. He made them no bigger than a chicken egg, a size that fit Akira’s hand comfortably. It took a few trials and errors to find the weight and size that suited Akira’s finger strength and hand size. Her antler carved slingshot was slightly reshaped for balance. Akira imbued a hundredfold of the small orbs with her energy. She felt the drain. Heeding her father’s warning to replenish herself, she walked away from the busy preparation of outfitting Sky Spirit. Blacksmiths had been brought to the valley to fit razor-sharp metal extensions on Sky Spirit’s front toes.
Akira found a small meadow. It reminded her of the meadows not far from her old home near Fernwood. She remembered walking with her mother and picking wild strawberries. Akira looked for strawberries but found none. The grass was thick, soft beneath her feet. Under the trees at the edge of the meadow she found violets. She knelt to smell their fragrance, choosing not to pick them, for she hated to see flowers wilt. It was a soft place to lay against the earth and absorb the earth’s cool energy underneath her and absorb the sun’s warm energy from above. She closed her eyes and meditated. By the time the sun overhead moved behind the trees, Akira felt replenished, the small hairs of her arms were standing up as if she was too near a lightning storm. It was like a strange appetite had been satisfied. Tired, she fell asleep. Akira dreamed.
In her dream, she saw a muscular man, tilling the earth between rows of vegetables in a well-tended garden. He grunted as he forced his hoe into the hardening clay. The clay broke into smaller pieces. He wore no shirt. His muscles rippled under his sweat-slicked skin. Behind him a black cloud of small flying creatures was silently bearing down on him. Akira wanted to shout out to the man up the, but she could not speak. The creatures swooped down and tangled in the man’s thick shoulder-length hair. Akira shuddered. The vile little creatures were trying to peck his eyes out. The man screamed, running blindly, falling, then running with his hands over his bloodied face. His great strength was of no use to him. It was then Akira wakened to the sound of a scream trying to leave her own throat. Heart pounding, Akira sat up.
The dream frightened her. She wondered what it meant. Surely it had to be symbolic. Her hands dug into the moss and connected with the dirt. The dirt felt comforting, real. The dream wasn’t real. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She would talk to her father about the dream. She returned to the large open meadow where sleeping tents were set up and the blacksmiths were putting their tools away in a wagon hitched behind two sturdy-looking draft horses. It had taken much wheeling and dealing to get the blacksmiths and a farrier to enter the feared Valley of Dragon Ghosts, and much gold to get them to swallow their fear of working on a real living dragon. The irony didn’t escape Akira. The world had almost forgotten dragons. Perhaps deliberately forgotten them, to ease their guilt for having turned against the dragons who were instrumental in saving mankind. There were rumors, according to her father, that some kingdoms had banished dragons to a distant island, imprisoned them with sorcery. That mankind turned against the dragons, dragons who had suffered heavy losses on mankind’s behalf, made Akira feel shame for her kind.
Akira turned slowly, appreciating the beauty of her surroundings. The heavily forested mountainsides on both sides of the valley seemed divinely pristine. The only blemish she could see on the forest’s long sloping face were a few tops of lightning-struck trees, and a few spikes of needle-naked trees holding up dead branches draped in pale-green old man’s beard moss, mossy branches perfectly cushioned for bird perches. Those beautiful bird perches hardly qualified as blemishes in Akira’s mind.
Akira watched a bald eagle circle overhead then land on one such branch. The lush meadow, at least two miles wide, for as far as the eye could see, was split at the whim of a winding creek that cared not for straight lines, favoring instead soft curves and random meanderings, providing an abundance of thirst quenching for the wild grasses. Game trails followed the creek, crisscrossed the creek, following willow clumps that fed moose and deer.
The valley had been home to Areetrah’s and Sky Stalker’s ancestors. Akira knew in her heart it must have hurt the dragons immensely to leave it behind. That a group of mages feeling sympathetic to the dragons, protected the valley from human settlement with visions of dragon ghosts that were in fact huge swarms of bloodsucking mosquitoes did little to appease Akira’s disappointment that the mages hadn’t done more to defend the dragons. Living dragon breath repelled the little bloodsuckers, for which Akira was grateful. She wondered how far away from her dragon friends she could wander before being at the mercy of the hordes of bloodsucking bugs. The power of such small creatures didn’t escape her notice. She tucked an image of swarms of mosquitoes inside her head.
It was truly too bad that mages couldn’t have done more for dragonkind. Then again, she reasoned, the mages, too, were feared and many went into hiding. The world had not yet healed from the wounds of the great war. Distrust and fear became the new enemies of the world. Akira felt a great weight settle on her shoulders.
The sound of men’s voices drew her attention back to the blacksmiths and farrier whom were being richly rewarded for their services. She could see the relief in their faces for having completed their tasks without being burned and torn from limb to limb by Sky Spirit.
The men were now well-supplied with mead. Akira smiled, for the sweet potent drink was laced with dew drops of hallucinogenic mushrooms. Two swigs each, and they would be dropping down drunk. No one would believe they had seen a dragon, let alone touched one. Their memories would be foggy. She wondered how they would explain their gold coins. It wasn’t yet time to reveal the return of dragons to all mankind. It wasn’t time to reveal that dragons were once again starting to inhabit their ancestral lands. Or was it?
“Where is Sky Spirit?” she asked.
“Taking a fly about, stretching her wings,” said one of the smithies, as he took his first swig of mead. “God’s eyes, I nearly crapped myself when she stared at me while fitting her with those sharp tips on her talons. And you are truly going to ride that beast?”
Akira nodded. The men had been assured the dragon was drugged while they outfitted her, assured that she could not harm them. You would have crapped your pants she thought, had you known Sky Spirit wasn’t drugged at all and could have snapped your heads off with her jaws.
“Yes. I will ride that beautiful creature.”
The man shook his head in disbelief. “You are just a slip of a thing. Small, just barely out of childhood. What father in his right mind would allow his daughter to ride such a beast?”
Akira forced herself to smile sweetly. She had no time to educate the man. She chose not to answer his question.
“Enjoy your mead, for it is the finest we have ever tasted,” said Akira. “Toast to a job well done.”
The smithy held the bottle high. “A job well done!” he said. He took a deep swig and passed the opened jug to his companions who echoed the toast and smacked their lips, agreeing it was the finest mead they had the pleasure of drinking. Within seconds Akira saw the clouding of their eyes, the struggle for the men to focus their eyes. The first one to ingest the drink started to giggle. “Did you see that?” He pointed to his feet. “My feet are growing! Oh, oh! Your nose is drooping.” He pointed at one of the men. They all started laughing, pointing at each other. Guffaws of hilarity made Akira herself laugh. As they passed the jug a second time, the big burly muscle-bound men were almost falling down drunk and seeing things that amused them to no end. Akira hurried to get them into their wagon before
they passed out into a giggling mass of weight she didn’t want to lift. Sneakily, she corked their drugged jug of mead, and replaced it with a less drug-tainted sweet jug of mead, for the men were sufficiently seeing things that didn’t exist, and any tales they told of a dragon would be explained by drinking tainted mead. Mage Morgan winked at Akira as he came out of his tent. He smiled in satisfaction at the pile of giggling men visibly drooping faster and faster. He took the driver’s seat of the wagon and snapped the reins, waving back at Akira as he left the meadow to deliver the now unconscious men, dreaming of flying cows and other hilarious imaginings to a safe distance away from the valley. The mage had cast a spell ensuring the men would enjoy their hallucinations. It would have been poor payment for them to see fearful apparitions after a job well done. The mage hummed a merry tune as he urged the team of horses to go faster. The wagon bounced over the wagon trail. Behind him a few heads knocked together before his load shook and settled so that the men were comfortably wedged together, among their tools. The hangover was the one discomfort he would let them suffer. It would make any fuzzy recollection of the dragon seem a just as unbelievable as their other entertaining hallucinations. Mage Morgan left the wagon with its sleeping cargo with a young lad he encountered just outside the nearest village he came to, knowing the men would be safely delivered, for the boy knew two of the men as kin. In his young hands, the drugged drunks were less likely to be robbed of the gold coins in their deepest pockets.
…
Mage Morgan looked into his globe as Akira watched his face take on a grim expression.
“What is it you see that makes you glower so fiercely?”
“I see the Dark One has amassed a large army of thousands. It marches straight for the city of Sarcene, destroying all in its path, leaving a dark sky in its wake.”
“What does the dark sky mean?”
“It means the Dark One is sucking the life out of those he kills, adding to his strength using their ghost bodies, while their souls hover above the army waiting for release. They must do his bidding until he releases them, or we destroy him. The dark cloud is the mass of souls trapped, forced to follow their dead bodies.”
Akira shuddered. “How much time do we have to help save Sarcene? Can we save them?”
“The Dark One’s army moves slowly for they are pulling great war machines that slow them down. With brute, bold force, they are marching confidently straight for the city, consuming everything in their path to fuel his army. I estimate they will reach Sarcene within two weeks at the earliest, three weeks at most.” Mage Morgan blew his breath against the globe. The mist in the globe swirled, erasing the vision of the army. He rubbed his hand over the globe, using a spell chant. Faces of mages appeared in the globe, looking back at him. Akira again was spellbound, witnessing the incredible power of her mage father. Mage Morgan spoke to the faces.
“Greetings great ones. I shall share in your crystal balls and magic globes what I just saw in mine. It will save a lengthy explanation.” Mage Morgan again blew his breath at his globe. Within a few silent minutes his voice and face replaced the disturbing visions in the globes and crystal balls of the other mages.
“We shall gather and prepare for war,” said a strong face in Morgan’s globe. We, as advisors to the kings we have alliances with, will alert the kingdoms to join forces, warn them of the dangers of not working together. I doubt that we can rally them fast enough to save Sarcene.”
Mage Morgan took a deep breath. “Leave Sarcene to me. Do what you can do to protect the next city that Kalifar the Dark One will set his sights on. I will leave you to it. It’s time to set all petty differences aside, or risk being living or dead slaves of the Dark One. Make that abundantly clear to your kings and queens. Go my friends. Go swiftly.”
The faces in her father’s globe faded as they bid each safe travels. Akira watched her father carefully wrap his precious globe and put it away inside his robe.
“How can we stop the destruction of Sarcene?” she asked. “We have no army yet.” Akira searched her father’s face waiting for an answer. She thought about battle strategies her brothers discussed and argued over many a time. She had eavesdropped, and took mental notes every chance she had in her younger years. Without an army, strategies were useless.
“We must save the people, even if we can’t save their city,” said Akira.
Mage Morgan nodded. “You may be right, daughter.” He stroked his beard, “Good thought; If the city is empty the Dark One can’t add ghost warriors to his living army.”
Akira’s mind worked quickly. “And if we can prevent his army from growing in Sarcene, is there a way we can weaken it also? We must use cunning, not depend on strength. What weakness does his army have?” Mage Morgan looked at his daughter with surprise. “Daughter sometimes, I forget that your thinking is beyond your years. You are brilliant!”
Akira wondered what brilliance he was talking about. “Did I miss something that came out of my mouth?” Akira appeared puzzled.
Mage Morgan stroked his beard, as was his habit when thinking deeply. “Weakening Kalifar’s living army could slow it down. We could set magic traps … but he would be looking for spells in an abandoned city. He is no fool.”
“Too bad we couldn’t inflict a plague upon his army. But ghost warriors wouldn’t be affected,” said Akira out loud.
“But the living men and creatures of his army would be affected,” said the mage. “A plague is a dangerous thing to unleash.”
“What about a slow-acting poison, put in the food left behind in the city, one that starts acting once they are on the move, so they have no place to recuperate? Imagine soldiers consumed with belly cramps, loose bowels adding to their misery, wishing for death. Left behind we could capture them and spellbind them to attack the army that will leave them behind to die.”
Mage Morgan looked at his daughter and smiled. “Remind me to never bring your fury down on my head. You are devious, daughter.”
Akira shrugged her shoulders. Her beautiful eyes sparkled. She still wasn’t used to praise. Especially praise from a father figure. “Mother taught me strength isn’t everything. One can use intelligence to compensate for lack of strength. A smart girl can best a strong man if she is quick-witted and devious. That’s one of the lessons I learned from living under the roof of my stepfather.
“Ah, bless your beautiful mother.”
Morgan’s face softened thinking about Lady Shy.
“Kalifar always hated weakness. Weak, sick men, make weak, sick ghost warriors. In the past, he preferred to use strong healthy men for his armies. We shall gamble that he hasn’t changed his preference for healthy strong men for his purposes. We shall use his aversion to weakness to our benefit. If we weaken his living men they will be weak walking dead, that is if he chooses to waste his powers turning them into ghost warriors.”
Mage Morgan stroked his beard thoughtfully before continuing thinking out loud.
“I think I know of a toxic plant that produces such a body antagonizing reaction. It’s almost tasteless, and it doesn’t take many drops to induce a slow-building nausea that builds so men feel like they are going to puke themselves inside out, and it will feel like every bit of moisture in their bodies will be wrung out and squirted out their rear ends. They will be scalded by the contents of their bowels. We won’t have to waste any magic energy to weaken Kalifar’s army. The Dark One will be reluctant to finish the sick off, for he will not know the source of their distress and risk infecting himself with something unknown. He deplores physical weakness. He might leave the ailing to die on their own. He will not inhale their contaminated life energy to build his own strength.”
Mage Morgan thumped his staff against the dirt floor of their tent.
“We have work to do. The Sarcenians have need of us. Summon the dragons, daughter, for we need to move quickly. We must convince the citizens of Sarcene to flee, to leave their valuables and much of their food behind. It won’t be an easy ta
sk.”
“What if they refuse to believe us, that a dark army is descending upon them? What if they refuse to leave?”
“Then it will be time to frighten them with our dragon mounts. We will rescue them from our dragon friends before their eyes. If we appear to capture and tame the dragons for our own use, they will listen.”
Akira smiled. “I think I know who I inherited a devious mind from.”
At this comment, Mage Morgan laughed out loud.
Soon they were flying. Akira had hoped for more time to practice dives and maneuvers with Sky Spirit before they were on a mission. Just the same, she was pleased with her saddle and tethers, pleased with the holders for her weapons. This time riding the shoulders of a dragon on her own, Akira was wearing fine chain mail in case any more storm vultures were scouring the skies. Soft leather leggings hugged her thighs. Her hair was in one thick braid hanging down her back. She decided against a helmet, for she was not expecting any hand-to-hand combat. There were perks to being a dragon rider. She made certain her fully imbued orbs were easily accessible. Her small silver wand was tucked in the girdle holding her sword, and holding the dagger her mother had given her many months ago. Akira removed the wand from its holder and tucked it securely into her hair. One upward sweep would withdraw it. At the back of her saddle an intricately decorated holder kept her bow and arrows within reach. Her slingshot was strapped to her wrist. Akira held onto the pommel of the new, made for her, saddle, and practiced standing in the stirrups. The joy of flying shone on her face.
…
When Mage Morgan turned to look at his dragon-riding daughter, his heart swelled with pride. He wondered if Sky Stalker was feeling the same pride, for he noticed that Sky Stalker turned his head several times to look at his dragon daughter. And if the mage wasn’t mistaken he felt the small vibration of a dragon purr underneath him. He smiled. His smile didn’t last long, for the task at hand was not going to be easy. Convincing people to leave their precious material belongings behind and run was going to be a thankless task. People were far too attached to things. Always were, and always would be. He hoped to impress upon them the value of living another day and rebuilding later. Sky Spirit and Sky Stalker were prepared to put on a fiery display, if needed, to frighten the city into listening. He hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. A fiery display would be a waste of firepower. He looked around scouring the sky far into the distance, searching for storm vultures.
Akira Rides Page 10
