On Wings of Thunder (The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Book 3)

by GARY DARBY

  “Let me see,” I demand.

  “No,” he rejoins. “I wrapped your feet tightly so that you would not bleed.”

  He reaches over me to grab a cup that he’s set next to Twinkle, who flames low but enough to keep me warm. He holds the cup to my lips. “Drink. All of it.”

  After I finish, I wipe at my eyes as he says, “Cara wanted me to let her know as soon as you were awake.”

  “No.”

  “No?” he asks with raised eyebrows.

  “No,” I repeat. “I don’t want her to see me crying. See what a big baby I am.”

  He gives my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Lad, all of us cry at times and for good reason.”

  “Helmar doesn’t,” I declare.

  Phigby tugs at his beard just a bit. “Umm, maybe not in the open but I suspect that in private there have been times when he’s shed a tear or two.”

  “Like when?”

  “Like when he was forced to leave his home, his family, or perhaps when Boren died. Boren was like a father to him and his admiration for Boren ran deep. Helmar has feelings, Hooper, just like you.”

  He squeezes my shoulder again. “Don’t let that tough, gruff exterior of his fool you. At times, he feels as deeply as any of us.”

  Grunting and thinking back to some recent dark scowls that have come my way from him, I would have to agree. Yes, he has some deep feelings but I’m not sure it’s in the same way that Phigby means.

  “Maybe,” I respond, “but I bet that if he had lost some toes, he’d probably be up by now and striding down the trail as if nothing had happened.”

  Phigby gives me a lopsided smile and pats my shoulder again. “I doubt it, even for a man of Helmar’s fortitude. For now, lie still. Let me know when you’re ready for Cara, she’s very anxious to see you.”

  I nod and then glance around. “The other sprites?”

  Phigby’s smile widens. “Well, the others saw how good your snug-as-a-bug trick worked so they built another one of these. Bigger and not quite as cozy as this but when they all squeeze in with two sprites it’s enough to keep everyone warm.”

  He points past my head. “You can’t see but Dazzle is asleep up there.”

  “Scamper?”

  “Oh, he’s come around to see you several times but you were asleep. He’s taken charge of the sprogs, keeping them corralled in the other rock hut and out of trouble.”

  His grin is so big it lifts his ears up. “I think he likes to boss them around.”

  Before I can ask, he says, “Golden Wind and the other dragons are fine. In fact, thanks to you everyone is all right.”

  He pats my hand and in a gruff voice says, “Hooper, you continue to surprise me. Tell me, how did you know what to do when that avalanche came roaring down on top of us?”

  I give a little shrug. “I’m not sure. I thought I heard the Gaelian Fae. Something about brewing up the wind so I whipped out Truorka and uttered the power words.”

  Phigby strokes his beard for a moment, lost in thought it appears. “The Fae, eh?”

  Then he smiles. “Well, on behalf of all of us, thank you, Hooper. That we still live is because of you.”

  I point down at my bandaged feet. “We need to get moving, we’ve lost enough time. Can I walk?”

  Phigby draws in a breath. “Not for a bit, and it will be more riding than walking. I want my balm to have a chance to act and more than anything, to make sure the bleeding has stopped. So, no walking until I say so.”

  Eyeing my feet, he runs his fingers through his unkempt beard. “And we’ve got to figure out something to cover your feet, for they will not fit into your boots with all those bandages.”

  He leans closer. “Still, Hooper, if we can get you up on Golden Wind, do you think you could stay aboard without falling off?”

  I nod slowly, my eyebrows furrowed. “I think so, why?”

  His face becomes apprehensive. “The avalanche covered Grim Heads pass. We can’t get through the mountains that way and must go back. And as you said, we need to be on our way and soon.”

  His face and his tone tell me that not all’s right. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ll explain later but if you’re sure you can ride, then it’s time to go.”

  He hesitates and then asks, “Would you like for one of us to ride with you, keep you steady?”

  I think about it for a moment before shaking my head. “No, I don’t want to burden Golden Wind any more than she already is. I’ll be fine.”

  He pats my shoulder and then stands upright, his chest and shoulders sticking up past the slit rock opening. “Alonya, he says he’s ready to ride. Get everyone up, we need to leave.”

  In a few moments, I hear the murmuring of voices and then Alonya leans over and eases me up. She strides toward Golden Wind only to be stopped by a call from Phigby.

  While he and Cara hurry over I scrub my face hard hoping to erase the tear streaks so that Cara doesn’t see.

  While Phigby adds another layer of bandages to my feet, Cara puts her face close to mine and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Hooper,” she questions, “are you sure about this? Would you like for me to ride with you?”

  She has no idea how much I would love to have her behind me, holding me steady—especially the holding part but I shake my head, no. “I can handle it. Besides, it’s my toes not my bum.”

  There’s a tiny chirpy sound behind us and then Cara whirls to snatch Scamper before he can take a flying leap at me. “Oh, no you don’t,” Cara half-laughs. “He’s not quite ready for you landing all four paws on his stomach.”

  She brings Scamper close so that he can eye me and ask, Arrriitte?

  “Yes, Scamp,” I answer, “I’m all right. Let’s get loaded and be on our way.”

  Phigby nods that he’s finished and Cara sets Scamper down. He bolts for Golden Wind to take up his usual place.

  Just before Alonya turns away, Cara reaches over and gives me a tiny kiss on the cheek. “Thank you again, Hooper, for saving me.”

  As Alonya brings me around to set me on Golden Wind, I touch my cheek where Cara kissed me, not to rub anything off but just to remember the wonderment of it all.

  I’ve felt a newborn lamb’s velvety fleece, the feathery down of little ducklings, the touch of silk and satin, none can compare with the softness of Cara’s lips.

  When we have a chance, I may take a bath, but I’ll never scrub that spot because I never want to wipe away the most beautiful mark on my ugly body.

  My sense of elation lasts all of a few moments as I catch sight of Helmar. He and Amil are lashing the sprogs into Golden Wind’s saddlebags.

  His face is a dark purple that would match Regal’s scales anytime. His eyes are like ice and the scowl on his face is hard and set.

  I turn my eyes from his intense stare to Alonya. “Phigby says that we need to leave and he’s acting as if something is wrong. What is it?”

  Alonya glances at Helmar and Amil who meet her eyes and then Amil rumbles, “He’s got a right to know, too.”

  “Know what?” I question.

  “Do you remember,” Alonya asks, “that Katus warned us about strange sounds, voices in the night, echoing up and down the mountains?”

  “Yes . . .” I nod. “I remember.”

  “Well,” Amil replies through clenched teeth as he lashes down the saddlebags with a hard yank. “they’re here. During the night and let me tell you they’re like nothing I’ve ever heard.”

  He shakes his head. “No figment of the imagination or embellishment on my part, either. We all heard them.”

  “Where are they coming from?”

  The three exchange glances before Alonya mutters low, “From inside the mountains.”

  Chapter Eight

  Our journey back down the trail is much swifter than our progress up to Grim Heads. I have the feeling that part of our swiftness is due to more than a tinge of fear in my companions.

  After all, when they keep looking over their sh
oulders as if watching for someone, or rather, if some thing is following, they don’t have to utter a single word.

  Even brave Alonya glances over her shoulder with uneasy eyes and it’s clear to see the concern on her face as she stares back up the pathway.

  I too, turn several times but all I see is the rocky trail, the sharp gorge walls and past them the mountain slopes tinged with a dirty green from the short grass that grows in patches here and there.

  If anyone is following, either they can melt into the mountainside or they’re invisible, for I see no one, though now it’s not just I who heard eerie sounds in the night.

  As soon as we’ve strung out a bit, I lean over and whisper, “It was you that brought the sprites to warm me up, wasn’t it?”

  “Of course,” she answers.

  “And you knew about that little fire stunt of theirs all along, didn’t you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “As I said before, Hooper, you have much to learn about dragons.”

  She pauses and then says, “I’m very sorry about your feet, are you in much pain?”

  “Of course,” I answer.

  “Is there anything I can do to help? I’m walking as softly as I can, you know.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t think there’s much you can do unless you can help me grow back three missing toes.”

  “I’m sorry, no,” she answers in a sad tone. “I would if I could.”

  After a moment of silence, she whispers, “Hooper, I owe you an abject apology.”

  Snorting in consternation, I say, “You owe me an apology?”

  “Yes,” she sighs and it’s the deepest sigh I’ve ever heard out of her. “I am so sorry that I didn’t realize how you were suffering in the cold. I offer no excuse other than that I was so absorbed in pushing through the snow that I blocked everything, including you, out of my thoughts. I was wrong and I am so sorry that because of my thoughtlessness, you now hurt so much. Please forgive me.”

  I work my mouth, unable to speak. Or rather, not knowing what to say. Golden Wind, the Great Golden Dragon has apologized to me, Hooper the Not So Great Drach.

  “Well—I—I,” I sputter, “of course I accept your apology but you don’t need to apologize. After all, it was my choice to walk, remember? It wasn’t as if you told me to get down and slog ahead on my own, you know.”

  “No,” she replies, her voice sober, sad. “But I didn’t take care of my family as I should have. I got caught up in too much worrying about myself and forgot those around me. Thank you for forgiving me. I assure you, it won’t happen again, ever.”

  Swallowing hard, I stammer, “Family?”

  “Of course,” she answers and I can feel the smile in her voice. “You, Cara, Alonya . . . We’re more than just friends, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” I reply, “after all we’ve been through, in a way, I guess that’s true.”

  I can’t help it and have to laugh. Golden Wind turns her head up to eye me. “What are you laughing about, Hooper?”

  “Well,” I answer, “first I gain a giant Golian as a sister, and now I have a golden dragon as a what? An auntie? Grandmawmaw? First cousin?”

  “Hmm,” she returns, “an interesting question as I don’t believe a dragon has ever adopted a Drach before.

  “Let’s see,” she muses, “we have several forms of adoption, straight, across lines, up family, out of clan—oh, no, we’d never do that, I could end up being your First Aunt, three times removed from your second cousin, on the female sept side of your Great-Great-Great-Grandfather’s fourth clan.”

  Blinking at her several times, I ask in a meek voice, “You are kidding, right?”

  Her wings rustle as she shrugs. “Dragon family lines are a bit complex.”

  “Complex?” I splutter. “And here I thought Cara was complex. Compared to that, she’s very simple to understand. Just agree with everything she says and you’re good.”

  Changing the subject, I ask, “Did you hear the voices last night, too?”

  She hesitates and I can feel an “of course,” coming but instead, she answers, “Yes.”

  “What are they? Please tell me it was the wind.”

  “No, Hooper, it wasn’t the wind.”

  “Then what?”

  She doesn’t answer for a bit and when she does, I wish she hadn’t. “Hooper, the gates are opening wider now and many are coming from the otherworld. I suspect those which we heard last night are some that have crossed over.”

  “Crossed over?” I frown. “Well, I’m like Amil, they’re not like anything I’ve ever heard before.”

  I shudder, not from the cold but from the dread feeling that passed over me when I listened to the fell voices. “Do those who come from over there always sound and feel so . . . so evil?”

  “Of course not!”

  Her answer is so quick and so curt that it causes me to jerk my head back in puzzlement. Then a wild thought comes to mind and I whisper, “Golden Wind, are you from the otherworld?”

  She takes her time before answering, “The Gaelian Fae are from that world, Hooper. Would you say that they look, sound, or feel evil?”

  A tiny smile plays across my face as I answer. “Of course not.”

  “Good,” she answers as if that settles the question. I do notice, however, that she never answered my question of whether she was from the otherworld.

  The golden goes on to explain, “Some of those otherworlders are plain to see, and some not so much. We should count ourselves fortunate for those who are inimical often announce their presence before they strike.”

  “Inimical?” I swallow. “Wait, you mean that they’re going to attack us? When? Where? What can we do to protect ourselves?”

  Her reply is short and to the point. “We must be very vigilant during the night, Hooper.”

  “Great,” I answer, “that means no sleep. Can’t you be a little more specific like who or what is coming after us?”

  “Only,” she replies, “that they particularly hate dragons. Sound familiar?”

  “All too familiar,” I grimace, glancing downward in discomfort before I ask, “Can’t you tell me anything more?”

  “No, Hooper, I’ve told you all that I can.”

  Alonya keeps to a swift pace but well past midday, she throws up her hand bringing us to an immediate halt. Here, the canyon walls have lowered until they’re not all that steep or sloped.

  She’s got her head turned toward a high meadow off to our right. I crane my neck trying to see what she does. Then I catch movement coming around a jagged-up thrust of rock and my eyes go wide.

  Mountain sheep!

  Two of them, high on the slope. The wind is coming down from the mountaintop so perhaps they neither smell nor see us.

  Alonya all but tiptoes back to where Wind Song sits, motioning for Cara to join Helmar and Amil at the column’s head. I prod Golden Wind forward a few steps so that I can hear.

  Everyone’s peering up at the mountain flank where the small white figures stand out against the dark rocks and short, gray-green grass.

  Every so often, a sheep dips its head to pull up a mouthful of the wild grass that seems to be the only vegetation on the mountain. It stands chewing while being careful to eye its immediate surroundings.

  But either we’re too far away for it to see us or it doesn’t consider us an immediate threat. Helmar utters low, “Do you think that we can sneak closer? It’s a long shot from here.”

  Alonya studies the ground between the sheep and us. She shakes her head. “It’s too open. If we were on higher ground above them, then yes, but we would have to go far back up the trail to do that.”

  “So,” Helmar mutters sounding resigned to the fact that they will have to loose their arrows from such a disadvantage, “we shoot from here. All of us or two of us?”

  Alonya swivels her head to look at her quiver. “I would take the shot but with so few arrows left I would
hate to break one on those hard rocks and lose the chance of putting it into the neck of a Wilder.”

  Helmar glances over at Cara and then gestures up at the two woolies. “What do you think? It’s a long, long shot and if we miss, we’ll scatter them for sure.”

  “Aye,” Amil replies, “and they’ll head even higher and blend into the snowpack.”

  “Skying on Wind Song,” Cara answers, “I could pick off both as easily—”

  Alonya holds up a quick hand to stop her. “The walls are too close here, the first time your dragon flaps its wings the sound will carry to the mountaintop and those sheep will be gone.”

  “Not only that,” Phigby intercedes, “but we have to assume that dragon wings can be seen by any Wilders that might be close by.”

  Cara nods and gazes up the mountain slope. “Uphill, at a slant,” she murmurs, “and at least two hundred paces.”

  She shakes her head at Helmar. “I don’t know . . .”

  “What we need,” Amil asserts as he gives a sideways glance at Alonya, “is a couple of Golian toddlers. They no doubt could make the shot.”

  Alonya sniffs in a disdainful manner. “Actually, we would need but one Golian child, and she’d only need one arrow.”

  “Is that so?” Cara huffs and reaches back into her quiver for an arrow.

  She takes aim and lets it fly. Before Helmar can even raise his bow to shoot, Cara has notched another bolt, and it speeds through the air toward its mark.

  The evening shadows find us with still some ways to go before we reach the turnoff that leads up to Grim Heads.

  The sun has long since dipped behind the high ridgelines when Alonya calls a halt. At this point the rocky path has widened out to where two dragons can walk abreast. On one side is a high, rounded shoulder that narrows to a sharp, craggy ridge leading up to a sharp peak. Alonya points to the nearest side where there’s a severe cleft in the rock face.

  “This will most likely be the best campsite we’ll find along the trail and it will be far into the night before we reach the other trailhead.”

  Swinging her hand in an arcing motion, she says, “If we place the dragons so, they should give us some protection and warning if we have night visitors again.”