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

by GARY DARBY

  We both grin and I half-laugh while saying, “No, I don’t think she minds, at all.”

  With a big smile, Cara clambers up and I reach down with a hand to help her the last little bit. Not that she needs it. Cara’s been climbing on dragons since she could walk.

  Still, she reaches up, takes my hand and then settles in behind me. She looks around for a moment and then says, “She’s certainly higher than Wind Song.”

  “Afraid you might fall off?” I tease over my shoulder.

  She slips a little closer and rests her hands on my waist. “Not anymore,” she whispers.

  I’ve often wondered what heaven is like.

  Now I know.

  What’s more, my unbridled mouth of a moment ago, has nothing to say.

  Of course, when you’re sitting with the prettiest girl in the whole world, atop a golden dragon who shimmers under the velvety moonlight, what can you say that would add to the moment?

  Not a thing.

  We stay that way for the longest time, quiet, with only our breathing breaking the night’s stillness. Then Cara murmurs in my ear, “Since I can’t sleep, there’s no reason you shouldn’t. I’ll take the rest of your watch.”

  I smile at her over my shoulder. “Cara, I’m more awake now than I’ve ever been in my life. Right now, I’m not sure that even one of Phigby’s potions would put me to sleep.”

  With a light laugh, she smiles back. “Good. I was hoping you would say that.”

  We go quiet again and then she asks, “Hooper, do you ever wonder what will happen when this is all over?”

  I think for a moment and then let out a long sigh. “In all honesty, I guess I haven’t thought much beyond what happens tomorrow morning. When we take the Two-Forks trail. Is it going to be a repeat of last night or . . .” I don’t finish my sentence as I was about to say or worse, but I don’t want to add to my already gloomy thoughts.

  I can feel her soft, warm breath on my neck. “I know what you mean. It seems we can’t think much beyond the moment, does it?”

  “Or live much beyond the moment,” I reply as softly.

  I turn my head to ask over my shoulder, “What about you? Do you ever think past tonight or tomorrow?”

  “Sometimes,” she answers. “Not so much now as I’m a little afraid of what my mind will call up.”

  She pushes her chin forward a little so that her breath is right against my ear. An ear, I might add, that at that moment has never felt so warm or good in its entire life.

  “At home, sometimes I would lie in my bed at night and try to picture myself in a few years’ time. You know, all grown up.”

  “And married to a prince, no doubt,” I add.

  That earns me a playful punch in the ribs. “Ow . . .” I moan and bend over as if I’m really hurt.

  When I straighten and smile at her over my shoulder to show that I’m not actually hurt, she retorts, “I’m trying hard to forget that, if you please.”

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you. My apologies.”

  She smiles back. “Forgiven. This time. Only, if you do it again, I’ll punch both sides.”

  “Trust me, my lips are sealed. You can punch me all you want, just don’t step on my toes.”

  She leans a bit to glance down at my sheepskin boots. “Speaking of, how are they doing?”

  “Throbbing,” I answer, “but this is helping an awful lot to keep the pain down.”

  I don’t have to see her smile. I can feel it—as though her smile somehow got inside me and just bubbled up until I couldn’t help but smile all big and wide myself.

  A few moments pass by and I ask, “So, back in Draconton, what did you imagine for yourself?”

  She draws in a deep breath. “Oh, lots of things. It all depended on what book I’d just read from Phigby’s store. Sometimes, yes, I pictured myself as a highborn lady in a beautiful castle.

  “Other times, I was an explorer sailing the seas, seeing exciting and new things, meeting new and fascinating people. The captain of my ship, or is it the mistress of my ship? Anyway, I’d have my scimitar in hand, fighting off pirates—”

  “To plunder their treasure, no doubt,” I laugh.

  “No doubt,” she giggles. “But I didn’t fight pirates all that often to tell you the truth—no, I was more interested in what was over the next wave, just beyond the horizon. I wanted not only to see the world but I was ready to take on the world, whatever came my way.”

  “Wow,” I grin, “that’s quite some imagination you have.”

  “What about you, Hooper?”

  “Me?” I grunt and half-laugh. “I dreamed of having a bigger shovel to move even more dragon dung when I grew up.”

  Cara becomes silent and still, her hands pressed against my back. I can tell she’s troubled, so I ask, “Cara, what’s wrong?”

  She doesn’t answer and I don’t pry, afraid I’ve said something horribly wrong and spoiled this wonderful, glorious moment.

  Then, she whispers, her voice heavy, sad. “Oh, Hooper, I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry? Sorry for what?”

  “I—I,” her voice catches. “I saw your socks, they were nothing more than holes held together with a few strands of wool. And your boots! Why, I’ve seen flower petals thicker than that leather. Why didn’t you ever say anything? Tell somebody that you needed new socks or boots?”

  I’m silent for a long time before I question, “You don’t understand, Cara. Just who was I supposed to ask or tell?”

  She’s about to respond when a hard, gruff voice calls from below, “If I were an enemy, I could’ve snuck into camp and slit everyone’s throat while I listened to you two jabber-mouths.”

  We both whirl at the sound to find Helmar standing next to Golden Wind, glaring up. He was so quiet we never heard a single footfall. “Is this how you guard the camp?” he demands.

  His next remark is cutting and I admit, it hurts, for he’s right. “Or safeguard the lives of your companions?”

  Cara lets go of me, scooting back a little. “It’s my fault, Helmar, I—”

  “No,” I interrupt, “it’s my fault. Cara couldn’t sleep and I invited her to sit with me. And, you’re right Helmar, this is not any way to guard a camp. I’m very sorry.”

  I whisper over my shoulder. “You’d better get down.”

  Cara nods but before she leaves, murmurs, “Thank you, Hooper. For listening and sharing. It was nice.”

  She eases further back, swings her legs over and slides off Golden Wind. She doesn’t say a word to Helmar but brushes past him toward Wind Song.

  Helmar glowers at me for a moment, his mouth working as if he’s going to speak, but then stalks away.

  Early morn finds me in a fitful sleep against Golden Wind’s leg until a gentle hand shakes me awake. “Hooper,” Cara calls soft, “it’s dawning and we’re getting ready to leave.”

  I blink open crusty eyes, shiver for a moment and smile up at her. “Morning,” I reply and look around whispering, “what, no chaperone?”

  She sniffs and holds her head up, her long curls swishing about her shoulders in the soft morning light. “After all this,” she retorts, motioning at our camp and the mountains, “don’t you think I’m well past chaperones?”

  My smile widens. “Yes, I would say so.”

  I turn serious as I stand up. “But Helmar was right, you know. We lost sight of what we were supposed to be doing.”

  She nods and sighs. “I know and we won’t ever do it again, promise. Still, it was pleasant to forget about the world for a moment, wasn’t it?”

  “Very, very pleasant,” I answer and she smiles at me before she thrusts a small piece of meat, not much more than strawberry size—and a small strawberry, at that, in my hand.

  “Here. Eat well, that’s that’s he last of it.”

  “Thanks,” I answer and pop the mutton into my mouth.

  I look around and as if she knows what I’m looking for points toward several rounded boulders. �
�Alonya got the sprogs down earlier. Scamper has them digging up something or other over by that boulder.”

  “The sprites?” I ask, my voice anxious.

  She shakes her head. “No sign.”

  Golden Wind rises behind me and moves back and forth as if stretching. Cara glances around and seeing no one looking in our direction, whispers, “How are you Golden Wind?”

  “I’m fine, Cara,” the golden replies. “Thank you.”

  Cara strokes the golden’s neck and whispers, “Thank you for letting me up on your back last night, it was wonderful.”

  “You’re welcome,” the golden answers and gives me a sly look, “please feel free to join Hooper anytime.”

  Cara bites down on her lip while giving me a little smile. “I’ll remember that,” she whispers and then turns to walk toward her dragon.

  Golden Wind swings her head around to me, her eyes wide and with a little gleam in them. “Wellll . . . ?”

  “Well, nothing,” I growl, “so don’t start.” I limp past her looking for Phigby. I’m worried about the sprites.

  Cara joins me and we head to where Phigby and the others are gathered at the trailhead gazing up the narrow path.

  “Phigby,” I say to catch his attention, “The sprites. We left them behind and I’m worried.”

  “Don’t be,” Phigby answers. “They’ll be along in due time, Hooper.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure,” he answers. “But, first, they must provide a sunset,” he grins, “just before sunrise.”

  “A sunset?” I stammer.

  “Yes,” Phigby chortles. “Every sunrise must have its sunset, you know.”

  “Of course!” Cara sputters. “They used their glow—”

  “To mimic the sunrise,” Phigby states. “And stayed through the night to keep the Jallhugr deep in their cold, dark realm where they belong.”

  He chuckles again. “Slowest sunrise in history. And I’m sure that once the real sun is fully up they’ll let it do its job and come winging our way.”

  Smiling, he says, “As you said, Hooper, those little dragons are indeed very handy to have around.”

  Cara asks, “Phigby, what were those things, those Jallhugr, anyway?”

  He gives her a brief smile. “When we have the chance, look under ‘J’ in my Fantastical Creatures, and other Myths, Lore, and Legends book.”

  “Phigby,” she growls, “you know we haven’t time for that.”

  Giving her a pat on the shoulder, he replies, “All right, all right, hold onto your dragons. I’ll tell you as we’ve got a little time before we move.

  “The Jallhugr are apparitions that haunt the mountains to find all the gold there is and keep it for themselves. Their one weakness is that they cannot be exposed to full light, as you saw. They can bear a tiny amount, like starlight, but more than that and the scum become as mortal as we and subject to a final death.”

  “Like as when the sprites were in full glow?” Amil utters.

  “Yes,” Phigby acknowledges. “And that is also why during the day, the Jallhugr hide deep within the mountain bowels and only come out in full darkness.”

  “And fled before that fake sunrise,” Alonya nods in understanding. “They thought they would be caught by the sunlight.”

  “Yes,” Phigby answers. “The light turns them from phantoms to solid flesh which—”

  “Makes them vulnerable to an arrow,” Amil growls, before hefting his bloodied ax, “or a sharp blade.”

  “Indeed,” Phigby nods. “And they fear death even more than we, knowing what their final fate will be. It’s only the unbearable thought that someone would take their gold that drove them forward.”

  “Their final fate?” Cara breathes. “You mean the dark underworld?”

  “Yes,” Phigby answers, “the only fit place for such as those whose lives are so full of greed and avarice that they will kill innocents over it.”

  He stops and his face furrows, causing the wrinkles in his forehead to stand out. Only . . .” he begins before his voice trails off.

  “Only what, Phigby?” Cara prods.

  “Only,” he scowls as he turns to look back up the valley that we fled, “purportedly they were taken from Erdron in the first epoch as were many other mystical creatures. Now, with the gate widening, such creatures are being drawn from the supernatural realm into our world.”

  He takes in a deep breath, frowning. “And much faster than I had supposed.”

  Pointing ahead, Phigby gestures down the trail. “Now, let us get farther down this path and through these mountains as swift as possible.”

  Before we move, Cara asks, “Does that mean we’ll see more of these things, Phigby?”

  Phigby’s face takes on a grim expression. “Of that, I can’t be sure,” he replies in a voice so small that it’s hard to hear him.

  “But pray that if we must meet such filth again, it would be they. At least we know their weaknesses. There are others, dear Cara, and they are much, much worse.”

  His sighs is long, uneasy. “And even deadlier than those foul ones.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s obvious after we go around the trail’s first bend that Alonya hasn’t embellished the path’s treacherous nature one whit. It’s just as she described. A death trap just waiting to catch the unwary or unlucky.

  A narrow, twisting pathway barely wide enough for one dragon that wends its way high into the mountains. One side is a steep rock face that towers upward while the other is a sheer cliff that drops off to sharp boulders far below.

  Phigby and I stand next to the precipice looking down into the rock-strewn gorge. “One misstep,” he breathes low, “by one of our dragons and—”

  “They may not have the time to spread their wings before they hit bottom,” I finish. “And it’s so narrow that even if they did get their wings open in time—”

  “They’d sky right into a rock wall,” Phigby breathes low.

  He glances up the trail, his eyes narrowing as he studies the rocky footpath. “Well,” he muses, “we still have the choice of skying the dragons.”

  “That’s no choice,” Cara offers as she joins us. “If there are Wilders around they’ll both see and hear us.”

  “Yes,” Phigby sighs, “you’re right, Cara. It appears that we must take on this hidden trail and all its perils.”

  “Do you ever think,” I ask, “that someday we’ll be able to take a path where we don’t have to hide or worry about the dangers around the next bend?”

  Phigby pats me on the shoulder several times, sighing. “Someday, lad, someday. But not today so let’s be at it. The sooner we go up this pathway the sooner we’ll be done with its peril.”

  Cara and Phigby lead Wind Song up the trail following Wind Glory while I fall in behind with Golden Wind. While we Drachs have room to spare, the dragons are scraping against the bluff on one side while their other is almost hanging over the cliff.

  Their talons send dirt and rocks plummeting over the sharp edge to crack and tap down the cliff side before they hit bottom.

  As we plod along, I can hear the sprogs’ carryall scrape against the mountain face. I know that Golden Wind is trying her best not to press the sprogs against the cliff but if she stumbles into the rock facing . . .

  Well, the sprogs on that side wouldn’t stand a chance and would be smashed.

  Stopping the golden and with Cara’s help, we take out all the sprogs from the saddlebags and lower them to the ground.

  I don’t try putting them on the golden’s back as I’m afraid that they’ll fall off, which means that they’re going to have to walk until we reach a place where I can put them back in the golden’s overhanging bags.

  The farther we march, the more anxious I grow that the trail might give way under one of the dragons, or that one of them might fall off and plunge to the ground.

  Worse, the early-morning clouds are lowering and it’s not long before we’re pacing inside a so
upy fog that’s so thick we can barely see where to place our next step. The clouds roil and stir in gray eddies though there’s little wind. It’s as if some Titan high above is using an enormous mixing spoon to churn the clouds into a froth.

  The golden stops, her face turned up into the clouds. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a dragon overhead,” she whispers. “In the clouds.”

  I suck in a breath. “Wilders!”

  “Yes,” she answers in a soft voice. “It senses that we’re here, but it can’t see us.”

  I scurry ahead, slip past Wind Song to mumble low to Cara and Phigby, “A Wilder dragon, just above, trying to find us in this fog.”

  Cara gives a quick nod and hurries to squeeze by Glory and whisper the warning to Alonya and the others.

  Helmar turns and has Glory lie down on her belly. Wind Song and the golden follow suit. “As long as it’s above us,” Phigby whispers, “we don’t dare move.”

  Cara tiptoes back to join Phigby and me. All three of us turn our heads and eyes up to the leaden sky, listening, watching, but no scarlet wing breaks the gray curtain.

  As quietly as I can, I tread back to the golden to point my finger up with questioning eyes.

  She gives a little nod, and I turn to look where she’s staring.

  I can hear the soft hiss of wings slicing through cloud and then, a scarlet wingtip splits the dark tapestry. I read somewhere that’s what a shark fin looks like when it slices seawater.

  If so, it’s enough to cause your heart to add a couple of hard, quick thumps.

  The wingtip is there for an instant and then disappears.

  The golden whispers, “It comes closer each time.”

  I stand, and though it’s hard to see Phigby, I pantomime that those who carry bows should stand ready with an arrow notched. He waves back and turns to pass the message to the forward three.

  Whispering, I ask, “Is there more than one?”

  The golden doesn’t reply, but I can tell that she’s searching the sky as if she can either somehow see or hear the other dragon.

  She shakes her head. “I cannot tell.”

  I bite on my lip for a moment. If there’s more than one, how many more? If there’s only one, it’s most likely a scout, and once it knows we’re here, will return and bring others—many, many others.