by GARY DARBY
Fotina turns and gazes at the slumbering Alonya. “She is right, for Gru Oden is not of Escher’s lineage, nor any sort of heir to Queen Escher.
“And let’s just say that it would be against her self-interest to give credence to anything having to do with Escher’s line.”
Phigby peers at her questioning eyes. “And why is that, may I ask?”
“Because,” Fotina answers in a dark tone, “she spent the first part of her reign killing the descendants of Escher wherever and whenever she could find them.”
She pauses and then spits out, “and still does.”
“What?” Cara stammers. “Why?”
Fotina shrugs just a bit and says, “Why does anyone crazed with power do anything?
“For some time, the fields of Golian have been fed a steady diet of blood as she and her Mori cohorts have hunted down and killed those of Escher’s family.
“Even those who are not of Escher, but suspected of harboring those who are, have been caught up in her web and executed.”
“Mori?” I ask. “What is a Mori?”
The flickering flames catch the creases in Fotina’s face, making them sharper, deeper. “Sixteen seasons ago, a group of young warriors under Gru banded together, calling themselves the Blood Order of the Mori Society.”
She plucks at her dirty-white pleated skirt. “Instead of the traditional white or gray that all Amazos wear, they dyed theirs blood-red.
“Gru Oden, the Oden clan matriarch, was their head and through intimidation and fear, the Mori cowed many into supporting Gru’s cause, namely, to raise a challenge for the throne.
“You see, the Golian Domain is governed by thirteen families, and from the matriarchs of those families, a queen is chosen. For longer than anyone can remember, that queen has always come from Escher’s line.”
Fotina draws in a deep breath. “Until now.”
She takes a piece of wood and tosses it into the fire, causing the flames to suddenly leap up and shoot sparks against the hearth walls. “A little more than sixteen seasons ago, Queen Leda, the last queen from Escher’s house, died in childbirth.”
Fotina’s face grows hard. “There were rumors that she was poisoned, but it was never proven. Gru garnered just enough votes to ascend to the throne.
“As soon as the Scepter of Duty was in her right hand, the Shield of Courage strapped to her left arm, and the Helm of Honor on her head, she declared that some in Escher’s line had tried to assassinate her.”
Her voice sounds like a low snarl. “In retaliation, she ordered her Mori Society to bring to justice all those implicated in the plot to kill her.
“Whether it was true that someone tried to kill her or not didn’t matter, and I don’t know if it was true or not, but she was the queen, and if we Golians have a fault, it’s that we tend to accept anything and everything that comes from the throne as true.”
She shakes her head as if to herself and grunts. “I’ve often thought that if the queen announced that we should house Vargs as household pets many a fool would go out and try to bring home a whole pack, just to please the queen.”
She pauses before saying, “Over the next full season, her claims became wilder and darker. First, it was just a few accused of conspiring to slay her.
“Then it became even more and finally, she decreed from the throne that the House of Escher was in full rebellion against her and that Munos, the Escher family matriarch at the time had sent a dozen assassins into Dronopolis to kill her and reclaim the throne.
“Using her Mori and those family clans that had aligned with her, she stoked the flames and soon it became a domainwide effort to kill all of Escher’s family.”
She turns to me. “According to our history, Mori was one of the first Golians that the gods created and set upon this land.
“It was she that set us upon our warrior path, and it was her bravery that won this land from a fierce tribe of mountain trolls.
“Among many of us, she is a revered figure who exemplifies the finest virtues of a warrior’s life; duty, honor, and courage.”
Her hands clench tight into fists, and her voice is stone-hard. “To think that Gru’s band of liars, thieves, and murderers would take such an honored name upon themselves and under it perform such wicked acts . . .”
Her voice trails off into a deep rumble before she shakes herself and says, “So, now you can see for yourselves why Alonya would say that your effort to invoke Escher’s vow would not only be in vain, but it may lead to your own deaths as well.”
She glances outward to where the gloom has deepened as night falls and says, “I can only offer you hard ground here by the fire on which to sleep, or the grass by the stream, which is softer.”
A tiny smile crosses her face for an instant. “We do not entertain many guests here, so I apologize that our accommodations are so severe.”
Phigby raises a hand. “There is no need of an apology, my lady, we and our dragons have supped well, and no doubt we shall sleep soundly, too.”
“Then I bid you good night,” Fotina replies and makes her way to her own bed, which sits in a far corner of the grotto.
I decide that the night is warm enough and make my way down to the stream. I find a likely-looking spot in the lush grass close to the golden and settle down.
By her deep, regular breaths I can tell that Golden Wind sleeps soundly. In a bit, Scamper nuzzles his way under one arm, curls himself into a ball and is soon fast asleep.
For a few moments, I like awake, staring at the tree boughs that arch over the stream. Here and there, I can make out a faint twinkle as the first stars appear.
I rub a hand over my face and then press it against Pengillstorr’s gemstone. After what both Alonya and Fotina have told us, I can’t help but think that the gem and the ode book have led us astray.
Shaking my head, I think, why are we here? We shouldn’t be in this place.
All we’ve done is escape death at the hands of the Wilders and instead placed ourselves within sword’s reach of a depraved queen bent on savaging anything having to do with Escher and her Queen’s Vow.
I close my eyes, thinking that with all my worrisome thoughts, I won’t be able to sleep, but I’m mistaken, and it’s not long after that I slip behind sleep’s ebony curtain.
For how long I sleep I’m sure as a soft murmuring wakes me. I sit up and find that Alonya is sitting nearby.
Her injured leg is stretched out while the other is pulled close to let her sit. She’s speaking softly to the golden, who’s awake and listening with her ears pitched forward.
I rise and amble over to Alonya, who appears surprised to see me.
“Hooper,” she mutters, “I thought you were with the others near the hearth. Did I wake you?”
“It’s all right,” I answer. I point to her leg. “But shouldn’t you be in bed, resting your leg?”
“I awoke,” she murmurs, “and then couldn’t go back to sleep.”
A troubled expression crosses her face. “From horrible dreams that seemed all too real.”
A small smile comes to her lips. “You won’t tell on me, will you? Fotina and Phigby will be most vexed with me if they knew.”
I bow my head slightly and smile. “You have the word of Hooper, mighty in words, weak in deeds.”
She peers at me before saying, “Weak in deeds? You are either incredibly humble, Hooper, or you don’t recognize your own good works. I wouldn’t say that what you did when we battled the Vargs was ‘weak’ by any measure.”
With that she turns back to the golden. “We Golians aren’t particularly fond of dragons, you know, but I admit, your golden dragon fascinates me. She and I were having a delightful talk.”
I gulp and say in a squeaky voice, “You were?”
“Oh, yes,” Alonya returns with a little grin. “She doesn’t say much, but she is a wonderful listener.”
“Nooo . . .” I answer with a little sideways look at Golden Wind, “she doesn’t talk a
lot, but listens well. Uh, what were you two talking about?”
Alonya lets out a little sigh. “About how I failed today.”
“Failed?” I question.
“Yes,” Alonya replies. “I failed Fotina.”
“Oh, you mean you failed your mother.”
Alonya’s face abruptly shows sadness. “No, Hooper, the Lady Fotina is not my mother. My mother is dead.”
I slowly nod in understanding at her sudden sadness. “I see.”
Hesitating, I say, “My mother’s dead too and so is my father. Well, actually, my whole family.”
Alonya turns her head to peer at me. “I am sorry, Hooper. To be without family is a hard thing. That I know well.”
I give a little shrug. “After a while, you get used to it.”
“Yes,” she answers knowingly, “but that doesn’t make it any easier.”
“No,” I murmur, “it doesn’t make it any easier.”
So,” she asks, “did Phigby or Master Boren raise you?”
“Raise me? Oh, no,” I hasten to answer. “No one raised me.”
I glance over at Golden Wind. “Unless you count living in a barn surrounded by dragons as being raised by anyone.”
She gets a puzzled expression on her face. “You lived in a barn with dragons?”
“Uh, huh,” I answer. “I was a dragon worker at Draconstead where Master Boren was the Dragon Master. Scamper and I lived in the birthing barn.”
I laugh lightly. “Home not so sweet-smelling home.”
She pauses as if mulling over my remarks before saying, “Still, you must have had a very important job to be so close to a golden dragon.”
“Oh yes,” I answer, “I was a very important person. An expert in what I did, skilled in the handling of . . . well, let’s just say the rest of the dragon workers appreciated my line of work.”
She nods in understanding. “That would explain why you ride the golden and carry the dragon tear-jewel.”
“Mmmm,” I say slowly, “I wouldn’t exactly say my job prepared me for any of this— particularly concerning Golden Wind or the gemstone.”
To change the subject, I say, “So is Fotina the one who’s watched over you, then? Instead of your mother and father?”
“Yes,” Alonya nods, “and she has been my guide as well. It was her daily lesson on pride that I failed so miserably today.”
To my questioning expression, she explains in a matter-of-fact voice that closely resembles Fotina’s.
“Pride is the great deceiver and thief. It deceives us into thinking that we are above all others and steals our humility, which enables us to be teachable in all things. It’s what holds the stiff necks up of those who are both arrogant and conceited.”
I laugh. “Your voice is Fotina’s, but you sound just like Phigby lecturing.”
“If so,” Alonya laughs back, “then Fotina is more than a match for your Phigby for I repeated that exactly as I’ve heard it every day for what seems like forever.”
“And you will continue hearing it,” a voice growls from the dark, “until not only can you repeat it, but you’ve mastered the lesson as well.”
Both Fotina and Phigby step out of the darkness into the soft moon glow that lights up the vale. Alonya laughs at their sour expressions. “I know, I know, I should be in bed resting this leg.”
She shakes her head. “But evil dreams such as I’ve never had before woke me and I did not want to go back to sleep until my mind cleared.”
I expect Fotina to be angry with Alonya, but instead she kneels beside her with a concerned expression on her face. “Evil dreams? What manner of dreams, Alonya?”
Alonya shakes her head again. “I would rather not recall them, for they were too horrible, too—real.”
Fotina studies Alonya’s face for a moment before she says with an edge to her voice, “Alonya, listen to me. I understand that you may not want to remember, but it is important that I hear what you saw.”
Alonya’s eyes meet Fotina’s, and she shakes her head again as if she would refuse to describe her dream. “Of what importance is a nightmare? It was most likely brought on by the pain in my leg and my fight with the Vargs. Nothing more.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” Fotina answers. “Now, what of this dream?”
I can see that Alonya is loathe to recall her dream, but finally, she relents and says, “It was dark, except for a few moonbeams.”
She points over to where several shafts of moonlight strike the stream, sending sparkles across the water. “Like those.”
She takes in a breath. “Then it became darker, so dark that I couldn’t see anything. Then came lightning that danced and crackled above the trees.
“The thunder was so loud it was as if the gods marched across the sky, their golden boots tromping on the cloud tops.
“Then the rain came, torrents and torrents; it was like being under a giant waterfall pouring from the sky.”
Her voice becomes anxious. “I’m in the water, it’s raging, swirling all around me. I can barely keep myself afloat. I can hear yelling, but I can’t make out the words.
“Then a body floats up against me. It turns over and a dead face, eyes closed, rests next to my face. Then the eyes snap open, only there was no life, just a death stare.”
Alonya peers intently at Fotina and takes in a sharp breath. “It was you.”
She takes in another breath and says, “It was then that I woke up.”
Before Fotina can say anything, Phigby steps close and demands, “Are you sure you saw the Lady Fotina?”
“Of course,” Alonya snaps. “Why do you think I was hesitant to describe my dream? Why do you think I don’t want to go back to sleep? No, that dream I do not ever want to have again.”
Phigby whirls to Fotina and grinds out, “My lady, you and I both know that was no dream. This is an excellent hiding place, but you can’t hide forever. Her time has come.”
Fotina glowers at Phigby and in the pale light, I see her eyes widen, and her nostrils flare. Her breathing quickens, she opens her mouth to speak, but suddenly the vale goes dark as if thick clouds had suddenly covered the moons.
It’s so dark that I can barely make out Alonya who sits almost beside me.
Then, lightning crackles and flashes high overhead, followed by deep, rolling thunder that rumbles through the gorge, as if indeed the gods did trek upon the cloud’s top.
The dragons jump to their feet and their own deep rumble matches the thunder. They lift their heads skyward and begin to paw and tear at the ground, shredding great swaths of grass and sending pieces of sod flying everywhere.
From far upstream comes the cracking of trees as if they’re being ripped from the soil by their roots. I can hear a low rumble as if the ground itself were moving.
Raindrops as big as walnuts start pelting us, becoming larger and faster with each passing moment. The roaring sound from farther up the canyon seems to grow louder, deeper.
Suddenly, Phigby whips his head up and shouts, “Flood!”
He grabs my arm and spins me around. “Get the others. We’ve got to get out of here. Now!”
I yell to Scamper, “Get on the golden!”
Without seeing if he obeyed or not, I scramble toward the overhang, but I’m met halfway up by Cara and the others.
I point toward the far end of the vale. “Flood!” I yelp. “Headed this way. We’ve got to make a run for it!”
They rush past me toward the waiting dragons. But they don’t make it, and neither do I.
Just then, with a booming louder than any dragon, a wall of water sweeps over the cliff’s edge, from both sides, just like in Alonya’s dream.
A waterfall from the sky, drowning us in its thunderous deluge.
Chapter 15
Mountains of water pour into the valley, a din without end, drowning out all other sounds. Before I can move another step, I’m swept off my feet in the swirling, gushing torrent.
My arms flail about
as I try to keep my head above the deluge, but I’m floundering in the roaring, rushing waters.
What was before a babbling brook is now a churning, crazed, choking dark river that’s rampaging down the valley, filled with broken branches and even whole trees.
A spinning whirlpool seizes me, and I’m sucked under before I can even take a breath. The swirling water pulls me this way and that, and I struggle against the raging eddy, fighting for breath and life.
Somehow, the whirling, churning maelstrom spits me out, and I’m swimming on the surface. I hear a faint, “Help!” and I flail around in the surging current, trying to find the plea’s source.
A swell in the boiling water pushes me forward and in the flash of a lightning streak, I see two heads; Cara’s and her father’s.
Cara is holding on to Master Boren while struggling madly to keep both of them above the flood. Another lightning streak sears the sky and in the garish light, a chill sweeps over me.
Master Boren’s head hangs limp, lifeless in Cara’s grasp.
I stroke with every bit of energy I have to reach them. With one last lunge, I pull myself next to Cara, who’s managed to grab onto an outcropping in the cliff and is desperately trying to keep her father’s head above the raging water.
Just then, a splintered log rams itself into my back, pushing me under the turbid water.
Spluttering and choking, I come to the surface and see that the log’s limbs have caught Cara and pulled her and Master Boren away from their precarious hold.
I throw myself over to her and grab her father’s tunic to hold him up against the flood. “Get him on the log!” I yell. “He’ll float!”
Working together, we push and pull Master Boren’s lean frame into the limbs to where he’s half on, half off the tree trunk.
“Where are the others?” I call to her above the cascading water and lightning.
“I don’t know,” she yells back. “I lost sight of them. Something hit father on the head, and I was trying to hang on to him.”
Around us, rocks and boulders of all sizes plunge into the water, making fountains of spray as they hit. From the cliffside, a small avalanche of stones clatters down the cliff side and peppers all three of us.
