by GARY DARBY
I swallow, and a sense of dread comes over me. I understand precisely what it means for the Wilders to hunt someone down.
Excruciating torture to extract the information they desire, followed by a slow, grisly death.
The golden comes a little closer, so close that I can feel her warm breath against my face.
“It was a noble sentiment on your part, Hooper and I thank you for caring enough for our comrades that you were willing to face the darkness alone.
“So, what is it to be, we both stay, or we both leave?”
I ponder her question for some time before I turn and gaze over to where we left Cara. My intention was to protect Cara, not to place her in more danger.
I stare down at the ground as I murmur, “I guess that I really didn’t understand, hadn’t really thought it through very clearly. I was only trying to—”
“I know Hooper,” the golden murmurs. “And I understand. You were only trying to protect those that you care about and that is nothing to be ashamed about—ever.”
I chew on my lower lip for a moment before I let my eyes meet her stare. “If we are stronger together than apart, then let’s use that strength against Vay. We stay.”
The golden nods in an approving manner. “That is the right decision, Hooper, thank you.”
The moment is broken when a low, hoarse voice rasps out, “Hooper, who are you talking to?”
I whirl around to find Master Boren standing a short distance away. I heave a sigh of relief that it isn’t Cara. There’s no way I could talk my way out of it a second time.
“I’m sorry,” I immediately answer in muted tones. “The golden seemed a bit agitated, and I was just trying to calm her down. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”
“Oh,” he grumbles. “Has she settled down now?”
“Yes, sir, I think so,” I answer.
“Good,” Master Boren replies, “then get some sleep, the dawn comes soon enough.”
I lift my hand in a fleeting wave and watch as he walks away. I place my back against the golden’s foreleg and slide to the ground.
My dark thoughts that led me out into the night have turned meditative and pensive. Now, as I lie with my hands clasped behind my head and both against the golden’s scales, I can’t help but feel that my destiny and the golden’s are somehow knotted together.
I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’ve hated dragons my whole life and now to find that my life is somehow tied to a dragon’s is discomforting and confusing.
My mind is a blizzard of thoughts, but finally, I’m able to slow them down and sleep begins to take me. Just before I drop off in slumber, two final thoughts slip through my head.
I still hate dragons.
Don’t I?
Thoughts of Golden Wind
Hooper is deeply troubled but it is a good troubling.
He is afraid not just for himself, or Cara, or Scamper, but for the others in our company. Even those who have been unkind, even spiteful to him.
His heart is growing, emptying itself of hatred and self-absorption.
He is beginning to have vision. To look beyond just oneself and consider deeply the welfare of others, to put them ahead of his own wants.
His inner world, the most important part of each of us, is starting to expand.
Hooper is finally beginning to grow up, to look toward the future and not continually looking back into the past. The future he can affect by how he lives today, in the present.
The past is gone and no matter how he yearns to change what has transpired, he cannot.
For Hooper, as it is with all of us, the past will always be what it is, a place of memories, many good, some unfortunately ugly, even painful to the point that they sear our minds, even our souls.
We should always cherish the good memories that bring a smile, a warmth to our spirits. They are the ones that should fill our minds for they are treasures of the soul.
Never dwell long on the cutting memories for they cannot be changed, ever.
Hooper thought that leaving is the answer to that which troubles him. It is not.
The company of the Gem Guardian begins to form and each member is necessary for that which they bring to the quest and the fight against Vay.
Remember their valor, honor their name for some will not be standing at the end of our journey.
Chapter 11
A hand roughly shakes my shoulder. “Hooper!” a voice demands. “Wake up, it’s first light. We’re leaving.” I barely open one eye and peer at Phigby’s wrinkled and bearded face.
“And a good morning to you too, Phigby,” I grumble with a full yawn and thinking it was a very short night in terms of sleeping.
I sit up, rub bleary eyes to get the crust off my eyelids and glance around. “Looking for breakfast?” Phigby inquires.
“Would be nice,” I reply as I scratch at my empty belly.
“Take a few deep breaths for me,” Phigby orders.
Puzzled, I do so and then gaze at him with a questioning expression. “That was breakfast,” he dryly responds.
“How did it taste? Would you like a second helping? Breathe even deeper, you’ll get a full measure of its delectable aroma.”
Chuckling, he’s off while I make a face at his receding back.
Since we have no tents or other equipment to gather and pack away, breaking camp is little more than everyone rising, dusting dirt and leaves off clothing, and unlimbering stiff and sore muscles from sleeping on the hard ground.
I stand and do another hasty look around. I can’t see or hear Scamper anywhere. No doubt, he’s out digging for those grubs or worms that he dreamed about last night.
Alonya is up, but she walks stiffly, her lips set in a tense, straight line. She winces even when she takes a slight step as if even that light touch brings severe pain.
From the crimson stains on her bandages, it’s evident that she’s lost more of her life fluid in the night.
She’s way too big to ride one of our dragons and if she can barely move, I wonder how can she guide us to wherever it is we are going? From what she said yesterday, even with her great strides, it’s still at least a day or more away.
And what if we are attacked—how will she be able to defend herself, or worse, if we are forced to flee, how will she keep up with the dragons’ galloping gait?
Master Boren waves a hand, calling us all together. “Alonya assures me that there is water ahead. Once there, we will stop to allow ourselves and the dragons to drink, and to let them graze on whatever fodder they may find.”
He holds up a hand as if to make a point. “We’ll forage for whatever we can, nuts, berries, perhaps a rabbit or two if we’re lucky.
“However, we cannot tarry long, for we must push on into the highlands. The sooner we put some mountains between the Wilders and us, the less likely it is that we’ll be seen.”
Amil clears his throat and asks, “And where is it that we are going?”
He motions in the direction of the towering heights. “Is there a particular mountain that we make for?”
Alonya eyes him and curtly replies, “Do not worry, Traveler, I will let you know when we have arrived.”
Her abrupt answer is sufficient to cut off any further questions regarding our destination. However, Phigby is bold enough to ask the obvious, “Alonya, it is clear that your wounds are severe, are you sure you can travel today?”
“It does not matter if it is today,” she answers grimly, “or tomorrow or the day after. I do not intend to die in this place. I will go as far as my strength will take me, and if the fates are kind, it will be enough.”
Master Boren and Phigby exchange knowing glances. I can see that they both have concern and respect for our giant companion.
I understand their admiration—it’s clear that she has the courage, but I have my doubts as to whether her body will answer her will.
Master Boren steps forward to face her. “As I have promised, we will not leave you. We w
ill travel at your pace, whatever that may be.”
He points toward the mountains; in what I assume is the general direction we’re headed. “I will follow Alonya, the rest of you stay close behind. Keep an eye out both to the sky and to the surrounding countryside.”
He gives me a piercing look. “No wrong turns today, Hooper, we cannot afford even the slightest delay.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumble and glance over at Cara to find her returning my look with a hard glare as she turns her back on me. She hasn’t gotten over her mad from last night, and most likely it will carry through the day.
Perhaps beyond. Cara is not in any way a mean person, but I’ve learned she’s very stubborn, especially when she thinks she’s right.
As they say, she’s one of those that believes she’s right, even when she’s wrong.
The group disperses to their waiting dragons. I pinch my lips and whistle.
From around a nearby boulder, Scamper comes bounding. He darts past me with something white and stringy in his mouth and scurries up the golden’s leg to her neck saddle.
I clamber aboard and after settling in behind the golden’s skull plate, I lean over to see what Scamper is eating. I’m too late.
He slurps the last little bit of white flesh down and then begins to groom himself, licking his paws and using them to wash his face.
Popping up like baby birds in a nest, the sprogs screep at him from their saddlebags for not sharing, but he ignores them and continues with his grooming.
“Well,” I say, “whatever it was, I hope you enjoyed it because it may well be that was first meal, most likely second meal, and very probably last meal, too.”
He eyes me as if he doesn’t believe a word of what I’m saying. To Scamper, the world is one big meal plate, and there is always something new and delectable to chew on.
With a grim, determined expression, Alonya clutches her bow, sets her vest and scabbard around her, and begins, slowly at first, to hobble past the boulders and into the forest.
After a bit, either the pain has lessened considerably, or somehow she’s ignoring it, Alonya’s strides become longer and swifter.
Single file, our caravan falls in behind her and Helmar makes sure that I’m not last in line but takes that position himself.
Apparently, Master Boren thinks that I’m neither a leader nor am I to be trusted to be the last follower, either.
The sun is well past midmorning before the forest begins to thin enough for us to see the foothills rising before us, and beyond clearly, the Denalian Mountains’ jagged peaks.
Alonya swings us so that we pace at the base of several rocky knolls and in the direction of a large stand of thick, tall trees whose leaves are a golden-brown, and the trunks a pinkish white.
We enter the small forest and find that the trees ring a full, clear pool of water. It’s a natural spring, the bubbles in the middle marking where the water seeps up from the ground to feed the pond.
The dragons amble over to drink deeply. After handing the sprogs down to Helmar and Cara so that they can slake their thirst, too, I take one of the water bags, fill it, and take it over to Alonya, who’s slumped against a tree trunk.
Phigby is muttering darkly while he tends to her injuries, but even to my untrained eye, her ashen face and the blood-soaked bandages that Phigby pulls away from her leg tell the story.
The journey into the foothills have taken their toll on the giant maiden. If she continues, she will bleed to death. I hold the flask out for her, and she gives me a little nod in thanks as she grasps it and downs the contents in one long swig.
“I’ll get more,” I murmur and hurry to the water’s edge.
Helmar and Cara are cupping water to their mouths. As I kneel next to them, Helmar whispers while peering over his shoulder at the Golian, “Her wounds are too grievous; she cannot go on like this.”
“Her bandages are blood-full,” I return. “Even in the short distance we’ve traveled, she’s lost too much.”
I glance back and see that Master Boren has joined Phigby and they’re engaged in earnest discussion with Alonya.
From her angry retort, I have no doubt that they are telling her that she can’t go any farther and still expect to live. She, in turn, is telling them that she will continue, no matter the cost.
I take the flask back and hold it out to the Golian maiden. Phigby takes it instead and from his weathered haversack pulls out a tiny, lidded container.
He holds the little jar in his hand and his eyes flick back and forth from it to Alonya several times as if he can’t make up his mind over something.
Then he shrugs and pours the entire contents, a clear liquid, into the leather bag, shakes it and then hands the flask to her.
She pushes it away, but Phigby holds the water skin closer and implores, “You must drink, Alonya, please. The elixir will help ease the pain.”
With some reluctance, she takes the container, tilts it upright, and sucks out the entire contents. She leans her head back and closes her eyes.
Phigby finishes putting salve on her wounds and then bandages them tightly. He motions to Master Boren and myself that we should leave.
Out of earshot of Alonya, Phigby gathers us together. “She’s gone as far as she can,” he states. “And I’m stunned that she made it this far. She has a will as strong as that blade she carries.
“But she cannot go on without her wounds opening wider and spilling out her life blood. If she rests and lets the healing balm work, then perhaps in another day or two, she can travel.”
“What do we do?” Cara asks. “We don’t know where we are or where she’s leading us.”
Helmar glances around at the small stand of trees. “We certainly cannot stay here—even now, if a Wilder skys close by, it will not be all that hard to see us.”
Phigby turns hopefully to Amil. “Perhaps our Traveler knows of something nearby that can hide us and provide some semblance of protection if we are attacked.”
Amil shakes his head in answer. “I’ve never been in this country, sorry.”
Master Boren lets out a rumbling breath. “It would seem to me that we have few choices.
“We can all stay here and wait for Alonya to heal before traveling, or some of us stay, and the rest make for the mountains and hope that we run across some of her fellow Golians.”
“What if we sky?” I ask. “It would make our search that much faster.”
“No,” Master Boren immediately snaps. “We’d be too easily seen in the air by any Wilders that might be lurking nearby, and I won’t take the chance that any Golians might mistake us for Wilders, either.”
“Even if it were the golden?” I point out.
“Especially if it were Golden Wind,” he rebuffs.
“Did you not hear Alonya explain that this queen is not beholden to the Queen’s Vow?” he sharply demands. “To her, the golden is just another dragon, and that could well mean that she’s instructed her warriors to bring down any dragon that encroaches on Golian.”
“But—”
“Hooper,” Phigby grinds out, “you’ve made your point and so has the Dragon Master. We do not sky the dragons unless we absolutely have no other choice.”
“Besides, Hooper, your point is moot,” Helmar adds. “Look.”
We spin in the direction he’s pointing. Several red glints pass low on the distant horizon.
“Wilders,” Amil hisses.
The Wilder dragons are mere specks of red against the light blue. “I don’t think they’ve seen us,” Phigby murmurs. “They’ve not changed course, but I dare say that ends any thought of skying for the moment.”
I glance over at our dragons. They’re lying on their bellies, resting and as hidden as we can possibly make them behind the scant tree cover. I turn and watch the Wilder reds slowly pass out of sight.
“Yes,” Master Boren agrees as he lets out a breath as if he’d been holding it this whole time. “Skying is out of the question for now. But we s
till have to decide what to do about Alonya.”
“Well, we can’t just leave her,” Cara emphatically states.
“We won’t, daughter,” Master Boren assures her. “I would not let that happen. She fought for us, and we are honor bound to fight for her in her time of need. The question is, how do we meet that need?”
Cara glances over at Alonya and then to Phigby. “She seems to be soundly sleeping.”
Phigby peers at Alonya and strokes his beard while he appears to study the sleeping giant. “The potion I gave her was meant only to lessen the pain. This is the first time I’ve ever treated a Golian, I did not realize she would react so.”
He shrugs. “The sleep will do her good, though how long she’ll slumber, I don’t know. What would cause you and me to sleep for a day, may affect her for only a few short time.”
With my idea of skying the dragons rebuffed, and the others continuing their discussion about what to do, I gaze over at some fallen trees near the water’s edge and close to where the dragons are stretched out.
In length, they are twice Alonya’s height and quite stout. I wander over and stand next to two of them, running my hand over their smooth bark.
They are but recently fallen, perhaps by a mountain windstorm, and their branches and leaves are still supple and green, but they lie in deep grass.
An idea of how to help Alonya is trying to form in my mind and for some reason, touching the wood seems to help solidify my thoughts.
I put one hand on a small, living stem with one tiny leaf that juts from the trunk and slip my other hand inside my tunic to touch the jewel.
Under my touch, it feels warm, alive, as if beckoning me to use its force.
The golden shifts herself so that she’s a little closer to me but I keep running my hand along the smooth, white bark and don’t glance at her as she whispers, “Remember, use it wisely.”
“I know,” I murmur with my head still bent down so it doesn’t appear as if we are conversing, “and I can’t think of a better way than to aid a wounded comrade, can you?”
“No,” she whispers.
