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

by GARY DARBY

“That’s good?” I wonder.

  “Yes,” she answers. “It shows that you retain a measure of virtuous feelings and that you recognize your mistake and desire to right the wrong.”

  She rumbles deep in her throat. “There is still hope for you, Hooper. But you must never let your guard down again for if you do—”

  I raise a hand to stop her. “You don’t have to remind me. I understand, I truly do.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, she says, “Then let us start this journey anew, Hooper, shall we?”

  Nodding very slow, I say, “Thank you Golden Wind, I would like that very much. I don’t want to give up on this—or me.”

  “Then pick up your gifts, Hooper Menvoran,” Golden Wind directs, “and vow to never, ever repeat the mistakes of the past.”

  I stand and scoop up the gems and place them inside my tunic. I raise my eyes to Golden Wind, and she nods. I don’t nod my head in return.

  Instead, I bow low before her, and then turn to make my way back to the knoll. My eyes light on Golden Wind and I see that she’s asleep, her regular, even breathing matching Wind Song’s and Glory’s.

  Some time later, Amil relieves me of the watch, and I curl up at the little knoll’s base to try and sleep. My slumber is fitful, sparse and before I know it, I can feel the early morning light on my face and I know it’s close to dawn.

  I try to snatch a few more moments of sleep but something sharp is poking me in the shoulder. I brush it away, but it comes again, insistent. In the fog of sleep, I think it must be Scamper’s sharp paws scratching at me to see if I have any food in my pockets.

  Reaching out a hand, I rasp, “Stop, Scamper, go dig for some worms.”

  The jabs come again, only, this time, they’re accompanied by several muffled giggles. I raise my hand again to push Scamper away, only to stop in midair.

  Scamper doesn’t giggle.

  My eyes fly open.

  Sitting cross-legged next to me is a smiling Cara. I jerk myself upright. “Cara!” I can’t help myself and reach for one of her hands. “You’re awake! You’re smiling, you’re sitting here, you’re—you’re—”

  “Alive and well,” she smiles back. “Thanks to you.”

  She turns her nose up in disgust, but her eyes have a little tease to them. “But I’m not really interested in digging for worms, if you please.”

  “I thought you were Scamper.”

  She smiles. “I know, I was only teasing, but I’m serious when I say, sincerely, thank you for saving my life.”

  I lower my gaze and feel a warmth creep up my neck. I shake my head. “Wasn’t only me, Golden Wind was there, and Dazzle and Shine.”

  “I know,” she whispers, “Golden Wind told me and I thanked her and the sprites. Phigby, too.”

  “Golden Wind told you?” I stutter. “What did she say?”

  “That you went into the ghoul’s den alone,” she answers in a small voice, “and made them give you the antidote.”

  I swallow hard, inhale deep and ask, “Uh, is that all she said?”

  She leans so close that I can feel her breath on my face. “Only that you were very brave, very—determined to bring back what I needed.”

  Lowering her eyes, for just an instant, she raises her head and meets my eyes. “Thank you, Hooper, for doing that for me.”

  Letting out the breath I had been holding, I stare into her crystal-clear, beautiful apple-green eyes. She’s smiling at me, and for the moment, everything is right in my world.

  I could stay this way forever.

  With a little smile, I say, “You did it for me, it was the least I could for you. Besides, the ghouls weren’t anywhere as big as the trolls and ogres you faced.”

  Just then, Helmar’s firm voice calls over from the where the dragons are drinking from the pond, “Cara, Hooper, it’s growing light enough that we can travel now.”

  Cara gives me another smile and jumps to her feet. “Well, we better get going.”

  “Guess so,” I mumble in return, eternally glad that she’s alive, yet sad at the same time that we couldn’t sit on the soft, mossy grass holding hands and peering into each other’s eyes, always.

  We both make our way down to where the dragons are drinking and pulling up a few strands of watercress to munch. Phigby comes striding up, holding a handful of fingernail-sized berries in his hand.

  He raises a hand and calls out, “Breakfast everyone.”

  We crowd around as he says, “We can thank Scamper for these. He and I made this tasty discovery early this morning.”

  Giving me a little knowing smile, he stresses, “And they’re not sugar pears, either.”

  “What are they, Phigby?” Helmar asks.

  Amil picks one out, nibbles on it and then exclaims, “Buttercake beans!”

  “Indeed,” Phigby replies, “and as such, only two to a customer.”

  Glancing up at Alonya, he holds out several small, lemon-colored fruits. “Except for you m'lady, you may have four.”

  “Buttercake beans?” I question.

  “Yes,” Amil says, “they taste like a sweet bread, but the ones I’ve had before came from way south of here. I didn’t realize that they grew this far north.”

  “Neither did I,” Phigby answers before gesturing at the trees. “It would appear that quite a few things seem to be far from their natural place these days.”

  “Both plants and creatures, Phigby?” Alonya questions with raised eyebrows.

  “Yes, to both,” Phigby replies, “and more proof of how wide the gate grows.”

  “And more proof,” Amil grumbles, “of how dangerous our world is becoming.”

  Cara holds up a yellowish bean while munching on the other one and says around a swallow, “Amil, you’re calling these dangerous? They’re delicious. But Phigby, why only two? I could eat several handfuls of these and still want more.”

  “Because, my dear,” Phigby answers, “first, this is all I could find. And second, well, here, let me show you.”

  Placing a pod in his palm, he pours water onto the bean. The water disappears, sucked into the pod and then, the kernel snaps outward like popping popcorn until it is several times its original size and fills his whole hand.

  “That is amazing—” Cara begins, but Phigby holds the enlarged bean out and explains, “Like a sponge, once you drink, the seeds absorb the water and expands.

  “Let’s just say that one or two beans with a good long swig will make you feel as if you’ve sat at a bounteous banquet. Eat more than that and you’ll wish that someone would slice out your stomach and put you out of your misery.”

  At that, I look around for Scamper. “Don’t worry, Hooper,” Phigby replies in answer to my apparent anxiety. “I made sure that he got only one. The rest are in my hand.”

  I nod my thanks, and while the others are discussing Phigby’s explanation of the beans, I wander over to stand to the golden’s front.

  Peering around, I make sure that no one is looking in our direction. “If you don’t want me riding you anymore,” I whisper, “I’ll understand. I’m not sure I’m fit company to be around, to be honest.”

  She gazes at me for a moment before answering, “Last night, you weren’t, and yes, if we had had to travel, you might have been walking. However, it is a new morn, a new day, and a new beginning. Let us treat it as such, shall we?”

  I duck my head in humble gratitude. “Thank you, Golden Wind.”

  It’s not long before we’ve crossed the stream and are making our way through the forest. The trail’s first part is wide enough that the golden and Wind Song pace alongside each other and I lean over to ask Cara, “Still feeling all right?”

  She gives me a dimpled smile in return. “I’m fine, Hooper, really I am.”

  “Good,” I let out. Then I say to Phigby, “The forest feels different today. Lighter, airier than yesterday.”

  “That’s because the ghouls have left,” Phigby declares. “and soon the birds will return as well as the
squirrels, woodchucks and the like. The woods will be alive again.”

  Then he mutters low, “At least for now.”

  I catch the tone in his voice and nod to myself. Yesterday, the ghouls had only a “sorcerer” with an emerald sword to face.

  Today or tomorrow they could well face Vay and her red spears of death, or perhaps a gargantuan dragon lusting for ghoul meat. Which will frighten them more?

  Fear is a great motivator, and I admit, Vay is much better at it than I am. But after last night, I’m entirely comfortable with that thought. The less I’m like Vay, the better.

  The trail narrows forcing Wind Song to pull ahead and after a bit, I lean over and say, “Golden Wind, I need to ask, you told me once that the emerald gem could only be used for good. If that’s so, how did I manage to use it the way I did on the ghouls? That certainly wasn’t for good.”

  She plods along for a bit before she answers. “As I’ve told you before, the jewels are crystals of power, Hooper. Each has its own attributes for what energies and abilities it can bring to bear.

  “When you wielded Voxtyrmen last night, in a manner of speaking, you were using it for good. You were trying to save Cara by obtaining the antidote. The gem understood that and aided you in your quest.”

  I have to ask, “Would it have let me do what I wanted to do, kill the ghouls?”

  “And what good would that have accomplished, Hooper Menvoran?”

  I let out a long a profound sigh. “Nothing.”

  “Then you have your answer.”

  We both grow quiet, neither speaking as the sun continues its rise. After a while, Golden Wind questions, “You are still troubled by last night, are you not?”

  I hang my head down. “I just can’t seem to get the memory out of my head, the terrible thought of what I was going to do, what I was capable of doing.

  “The ghouls are nasty, revolting creatures, but for a moment, like you said, I became every bit as vile as they. I can’t get that thought or the feeling out of my mind. It’s like a hammer that keeps pounding inside.”

  I bring my head up as if to shout at the sky. “You tried to stop me, but I was so angry, so full of hate. I was like one of those poison balls, full of venom. I didn’t listen to you, and now I have to live with the memory of what I almost did, even to beasts as despicable as those ghouls.”

  I whisper, “I hate memories.”

  “No Hooper,” the golden returns, “we should only hate and turn away from some memories, not all.”

  She turns so that she has one eye looking at me. “Would you do away with all your memories of Scamper?”

  I shake my head. “No.”

  “And what of a particular night sky ride with Cara, or of waking this morning to find her radiant smile beaming at you?”

  I give her a crooked, embarrassed smile, “Never.”

  “When you look up into a clear, dark, night sky, what do you see?”

  “Stars, of course.”

  “How many?”

  I frown in response. “I don’t know; I’ve never tried to count them. Besides, I don’t think I know how to count that high.”

  “Is each star the same?”

  “No, they’re all different.”

  “How so?”

  I hesitate before saying, “Well, there are big and bright ones, some small and dim. A lot of them are kind of clumped together, like they were friends, while others are far apart and alone.”

  “That’s right. Memories are like those stars, Hooper. Many will be big and bright, easily brought to mind, while others will be small and dim, soon forgotten. Some will bring great joy and happiness while others will cause deep sadness and remorse.

  “In some, you’ll rejoice, reliving them time and time again, while others will cause such pain that you will shrink from the hurt and anguish and try with all your might to push them from the mind.”

  “Of that, I already know,” I respond.

  Clenching my fists, I pound my thighs in frustration. “But how do you get rid of the ones that hurt so much, that torment your mind and spirit, over and over?”

  “You don’t.” Her answer is brutal, hurtful—truthful.

  “Hooper, you cannot change your past, cannot rid yourself of what has happened, it will always be a part of you who are. What you can do is remember three things, first, the person you were yesterday is not the person you are today; second, the person you are today, will not be the person you are tomorrow.”

  She stops, doesn’t go on.

  “Wait,” I stammer, “you said there were three things to remember. What’s the third?”

  She remains silent, plodding along. “You’re going to make me figure out the last one, aren’t you?”

  Golden Wind doesn’t answer, she just stares straight ahead.

  I think long and hard before replying, “The third is that you should do everything possible today, to be the person that you want to be tomorrow. Only then will you be satisfied with the person you were yesterday.”

  I can hear the smile in her answer. “That’s right, Hooper, and if you do, then you will create more bright, beautiful recollections that you will come to cherish. And which in time, will replace and diminish the hurtful memories.”

  Our journey through the woods takes us well into the afternoon before through a break in the greenery I spot a turquoise glint in the distance.

  Bending over, I say to the golden, “I think we’re almost to the river, I can see a glimmering through the trees.”

  “Yes,” she answers, “and I can hear the water lapping against the river banks.”

  I take a breath and grumble, “So we’re back in Varg land. That’s a very comforting thought. Should I take Voxtrymen out and keep an eye peeled for likely looking trees to use as Varg catapults?”

  She chuckles. “The Vargs will not trouble us, Hooper,” she answers. “Not here anyway.”

  “Not here, anyway,” I return. “Thank you. Another very comforting thought—that we’re going to meet another pack of Vargs, yes, very comforting indeed.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Pushing through a last stand of trees and brush, we step out on the rocky riverbank. The turquoise water runs swiftly, with swirling ripples and currents that roil its surface. In some ways, I reflect, the churning water mirrors my life right then, all swirls and little calm.

  We stop long enough to let the dragons and ourselves drink long and deeply of the cold water. Alonya points downstream. “The river flows west for a short distance before it turns its course to the south. If our pace is swift, two, perhaps three days’ journey will bring us to its junction with the River Lorell.”

  She gestures at the brush that lines the river. “To walk the riverbank would be an invitation to be seen. We’ll use the overgrowth farther back to conceal our passage.”

  “Aye,” Amil replies. “And it won’t be long before we start to draw close to some of the smaller outlying villages, such as Lacenstad and Gunnagh, which both sit on the Floden further down. And then there is Inverfloden where the two rivers join.”

  “Which means,” Phigby grunts, “that we not only have to worry about being seen from above but by suspicious eyes on the ground as well.”

  “You mean by Aster’s spies,” Helmar spits out.

  “Yes,” Phigby answers, “and there may be more than just two-legged spies who seek us out and that we have to worry about.”

  At that, we all glance around, nervous, wondering if there are unfriendly eyes on us at that very moment. Cara interrupts our thoughts by asking, “How soon to the nearest village?”

  “Depending on our pace,” Amil replies, “we should reach Lacenstad by this time tomorrow.”

  “And once we reach the first village,” Alonya states, “my role as guide ends for I have no knowledge of the lands beyond.”

  Phigby eyes Amil, who replies to Phigby’s unspoken question, “Aye, I can get us to the Gate of Ukur from there.”

  Scowling, he shakes his
head. “Though after my one visit I swore I’d never go back.”

  “Then,” Phigby says, “guide us to where we can find our own way from that point for we wouldn’t want you to break your oath.”

  Amil grunts. “And afterward, I could never face my fellow Travelers. Abandon my comrades? Turn deserter? Nay, professor, I would rather break my pledge to myself than have others associate my name with the word coward.”

  “Good,” Phigby approves. “Besides, I would miss your snoring at night, it drowns out the other night sounds that tend to keep me awake.”

  While we let the dragons get a last drink and discuss the next part of our trek, Scamper, of course, is happy to try his paw at fishing. He doesn’t catch any fish, but he does manage to snag several mudbugs.

  He darts past the sprogs, who give chase, but he shoots up to the golden’s head while all they can do is squat on their haunches and watch.

  Much to the sprogs’ chagrin, he finishes the bugs off in front of them, crunching through the hard shell to get at the flesh before he licks the last few fleshy crumbs off his paws. With that, I watch with a little smile as he makes himself comfortable for a little nap.

  I turn back to the discussion which has Helmar asking, “Do we chance hunting in the forest? What’s left of Phigby’s beans will carry us another day, but the dragons need more than just grass and leaves to eat.”

  “At dusk, perhaps,” Alonya answers. “In the meantime, while we march, you and Cara have an arrow notched in case I spot meat for the taking.”

  With that, we load up the sprogs and begin our march alongside the river. Alonya is forced to slow our pace for the bushes and trees are clumped tightly together and she has a harder time finding open spaces.

  We haven’t gone far when I lean over and ask, “Golden Wind, do you think that Phigby is right? About being spied upon, I mean. Are we being watched even now?”

  When she replies, her answer is comforting and disheartening at the same time. “There will be many,” she begins, “who will join with Vay because they are of like mind and spirit. She will use those who come to her in various aspects, one of which is to spy, not only on us but on rulers and realms, both those that are near and far.”