by GARY DARBY
Chapter Twenty-Three
Phigby tends to some minor wounds among the villagers, while the rest of us, along with the village men smother the huts’ smoldering flames. We manage to stop the fires before they can spread further and save most of the villagers’ homes.
Later, out of respect, we stand at a proper distance away as the village people perform the necessary burial rites and bury their brave elder who had stood up to the heartless murderers.
We perform no such tender ceremony for the drogs or Sung Dar, but bury them far away from the village in a mass grave. After we finish, we ensure that there’s no sign of either the Sung Dar or drogs.
The river has swallowed the ship’s scorched hulks and carried away the Sung Dar bodies downstream while the dead drogs and Sung Dar lie deep under forest soil to become food for worms and burrowing beetles.
We are about to leave when I notice that the villagers have gathered together in the village center.
They spoke little to us as we helped them snuff out the flames that threatened to consume their whole hamlet or when we stood to one side while they buried their chieftain.
Now, they’re muttering and casting angry glances at us. Their resentment and distrust have grown and it’s obvious that they consider us a part of the reason for the atrocities.
Amil must have noticed the same thing for he juts his jaw toward them his eyes a bit anxious. “I think it would be wise if we departed soon. Even though we helped them, I don’t believe they’re exactly euphoric with us.”
“They blame us for what happened,” Cara states.
“Yes,” Phigby answers, “and with good reason. Their village elder told the truth, said that they knew nothing of us, that we weren’t there, and yet, here we stand. Now, he’s dead and a good portion of their homes destroyed.”
I start to turn away with the others when I catch the golden gazing at the sullen and distrustful crowd. Something in her expression tells me that us leaving like this is the wrong thing to do.
Over my shoulder, I call to my companions, “Stay here.”
“Hooper,” Helmar snaps, “what are you doing? We need to leave, now.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” I reply. “I don’t want this to just end with us walking away. That doesn’t feel right.”
“And do what?” Alonya questions. “Apologize for saving them?”
My eyes still on the dour, wary crowd. “If that’s what it takes,” I respond. “All I know is that we just can’t slink away and leave them angry at us for what happened. I think I need to talk to them.”
“I’ll come with you,” Cara volunteers.
Holding out a hand, I stop her. “Thanks, but I believe it’s best if I take someone else with me.”
I turn to Golden Wind and reach up to stroke her neck, then I lead her out of the trees and brush until we’re a short distance from the grumbling crowd.
The villagers in front give way as we get close, but I call out, “Don’t be afraid, as you’ve seen, we’re not here to hurt you, but to help.”
There’s an undercurrent of harsh voices as we stop. Golden Wind lowers herself to her belly, her head up, her golden eyes glistening as she gazes upon the villagers. “This is Golden Wind, the golden dragon. It was she that the Sung Dar and drogs sought.”
“We know that!” a villager spits out. “And she is why Rongal died.”
I hold out my empty hands to him and offer, “You don’t know how sorry we are for what happened here. Please believe me that we came as fast as we could.”
The same villager steps out from the hard-faced and grumbling crowd. His face is etched like hard stone with eyes to match. I recognize him as the one that led the funeral procession for Rongal, the murdered villager.
He stands before Golden Wind and his voice is cold as he speaks. “I am Kalon, brother of Rongal. You saved us from being massacred by those wicked ones, and for that, you have our thanks.
“However, we wish you to leave now and never come back. Your coming has brought nothing but evil to our small village.”
Just then, a little girl pushes past several adults and starts to run past Kalon. Right behind, trying to catch her, is a woman, her mother, I assume. She shouts, “Kalon!”
Kalon whirls at the yell and throws out his arm to stop the little girl. He kneels and puts his face close to hers. “Lydia, where do you think you’re going? Stay back with your mother, I don’t want you anywhere near these people.”
Clutching Kalon’s arm, the little girl shakes her head at him. “But Da, they aren’t the bad people.”
She smiles at Golden Wind. “Besides, how can anything so beautiful be bad?”
“Lydia,” Kalon answers in a patient voice, “many things are beautiful in this world and are still terrible.”
“Not her!” Lydia insists and turns to me. “Your dragon is so lovely; can I touch her?”
“No, Lydia,” her mother declares. “Your father is right, we shouldn’t get too close.”
She starts to pull the little girl away, but I’m quick to say, “Please, it’s all right. Golden Wind and I would be honored to meet Lydia.”
The mother hesitates and though it hurts, I go to one knee and say to Lydia, “If your mother and father say it’s all right, yes, you can touch her—after all, Golden Wind is your dragon.”
Lydia’s eyes go as big as green apples, the same color as her eyes. “My dragon?” she gasps.
“Well,” I answer, “she’s not only your dragon, she’s everyone’s dragon.”
Lydia’s face becomes serious as is her question. “How can she be everyone’s dragon?”
“Because, you see,” I reply, just as grave, “Golden Wind came into our world to save it and everyone who lives here. So, in a way, she belongs to all of us.”
“But you ride her, isn’t she your dragon?”
I lean a little closer and whisper, “The truth is, she allows me to ride her—sometimes.”
Glancing over at Golden Wind, who returns my gaze with an imperious expression, I smile, “But only when it suits her and only when I’ve been good.”
“She’s very special, isn’t she?” Lydia asks.
“She’s more than special,” I answer.
Peering up at Lydia’s parents, I explain, “That’s why my friends over there and I are trying to save her.”
“Save her?” Lydia gasps, her eyes growing wide again. “Is someone trying to hurt Golden Wind?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Who?” Lydia demands. “Who would want to hurt such a beautiful dragon?”
Her face becomes angry. “Was it those wicked people who killed my Unca Rongal?”
“Them,” I reply, “and others like them, and a very evil faerie by the name of Vay. She not only wants to hurt Golden Wind, she wants to make slaves of all us. You, me, your mother, father,” I glance up at Kalon, “everyone in your village. The whole world, in fact.”
“Is that why those awful people were here?” Lydia asks in a small voice.
“Yes, and my friends and I are so sorry for what they did, we would have done anything to prevent what happened.”
Lydia reaches out and her fingers, soft and gentle, brush my scarred face. “Did Vay do that to you?”
Swallowing hard, I answer in a raspy voice, “Perhaps, in a way she did, a long time ago.”
I take a breath and push myself upright. “Now, with the permission of your mother and father, would you like to meet Golden Wind?”
Lydia swivels her head up to her parents. She cradles her father’s hand in both of hers and with the eyes that only a little girl can use to melt the heart, says, “Da, mum, please?”
Her mother and father exchange glances, before Kalon eyes me and nods, “All right, Lydia, but just for a moment.”
Lydia beams and takes my hand as I lead her over to Golden Wind. “Lydia, this is the golden dragon, Golden Wind. Golden Wind, please meet Lydia.”
Just then, Scamper comes bounding out
of the forest, with the four sprogs in tow and the sprites fluttering overhead. He darts up and starts chittering at me.
“No,” I reply, “we hadn’t forgotten about you, we just had to take care of a few things, first.”
He wiggles his rump at me and sits up on his hindquarters, chittering at Lydia. I gesture toward Scamper, smiling. “Lydia, this is my friend Scamper.”
Her eyes go even wider than before, she gives a little squeal, drops to her knees and holds her hands out to Scamper.
I didn’t know the tub had it in him, but he actually cuddles with Lydia for several moments before he darts up the golden’s leg and settles himself on her neck.
Lydia’s smile is wide as she turns to Golden Wind, who lowers her head and rests it on the ground. Taking Lydia’s hand, I whisper, “Rub your hand over her muzzle, she likes that.”
For several moments, Lydia brushes her hand over the golden’s muzzle and I swear, Golden Wind all but purrs under her touch.
From the corner of my eye, I catch movement among the villagers as an old man leads a young boy up to the golden.
In a gruff voice, he asks, “The lad would like to touch the golden dragon. May he?”
“Of course,” I answer.
One by one, the other children, and their parents join Lydia. Soon, Golden Wind is surrounded by all the villagers.
I hear talon claws digging into the ground behind me and turn to find Cara leading Wind Glory and Song from the glade where they join Golden Wind, the sprites and the sprogs.
Cara comes to stand next to me and whispers, “I think you’ve won them over.”
Gazing at where she’s looking, I see Kalon standing next to his wife, both smiling and watching Lydia as she and the children chatter at being able to touch a golden dragon, sapphires, the sprogs, and to my great surprise, considering how shy they are, the four sprites.
Just a short time before, the children’s faces had held terror and fear, now they’re full of smiles.
Cara’s hand brushes against mine. “What a wonderful sight, Hooper Menvoran. You’ve turned tears and anger into smiles and laughter.”
“Indeed, Hooper,” Phigby rumbles. “Another small miracle you’ve performed today.”
“Not me,” I answer in a husky voice. “All of us, from Alonya down to the sprogs had a hand in making this happen.”
My eyes catch hold of Lydia as she squeals in delight when Regal curls up in her lap. “And a brave little girl who could tell the difference between good and bad.”
Phigby pats me on the shoulder in approval. “Well put, lad, well put.”
Just then, Kalon and the old man who had brought his child to Golden Wind walk up and stand in front of us. Kalon clears his throat and says, “Well, it may be that we misjudged you, but you have to understand—”
“Kalon,” I return, “that’s just the point, we do understand.”
I glance over at Cara who’s smiling watching Lydia with the sprogs. “We too have lost loved ones, and not long ago, either. Our hearts are as tender as yours.
“But your lives and ours must go on and now, more than ever, we can never lose sight of the fact that if we don’t fight Vay and those who stand with her . . .”
I must stop and take a breath before motioning toward Lydia, “Then neither your daughter nor any of these children will have a life under Vay’s hand.”
The old man reaches a hand up to Kalon’s shoulder. “He may be young, but he’s speaks the truth, Kalon. Think of the consequences had they not come. Give thanks that your Lydia and my Beron are still alive, as are the rest of us. If your brother could speak, he would be grateful for not what we lost, but what they saved.”
He stops and his face screws up to one side as if troubled by a thought. “Though I admit that if those vermin show up again, we’ll have to stretch the truth a bit to hide the fact that you’ve been here.”
“No,” I reply and my answer surprises even me. “You don’t need to do that. Tell the truth, that we were here and we, the drogs, and the Sung Dar fought a battle in your village. And that afterward, we headed downstream.”
Phigby snaps his fingers. “That’s right, after all, you were literally in the battle’s middle.”
Kalon nods but his face is still anxious. “Will they come back to our village?”
Phigby tugs at his beard and his expression grows thoughtful. “That I cannot answer. What I can tell you is that Vay’s evilness is spreading and unless she and her murderous accomplices are defeated, I’m afraid that what happened today to this village will happen again to other villages, towns, and realms.”
His voice becomes little more than a whisper. “And none of us will ever know peace or safety again.”
Kalon pinches his lips together as he considers Phigby’s words. He nods several times as if agreeing. “You’re right, Rongal would be very grateful that we’re all safe and they did not harm or kill anyone else.”
He motions toward where the villagers have gathered. “We have scant to offer, but it would be our honor if you would share what we have.”
Phigby glances at us before he replies, “Your offer is both kind and gracious, but we cannot accept and must be on our way. Thank you, but feed your people, and that will be honor enough for us.”
Kalon turns to me his eyes no longer angry. “I was wrong. How can any of us thank you for what you did? We owe our lives to you.”
Shaking my head, I reply, “You do not owe your life to me; I used an extraordinary gift given by a very special dragon for just such a purpose. I am only sorry that we were not able to come sooner.”
Lydia comes running up to crook her finger at me and I bend down so that we’re face to face. “You said that Vay was an evil fairy. Are there good fairies, too?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Their names are Osa, Nadia, and Eskar.”
Her eyes grow wide. “Like the moons?’
“Yes, like the moons.”
“Nadia,” she repeats. “Her name sounds like mine, you know.”
“It does and you know what?”
“What?”
“You and she are both very beautiful.”
She smiles and then leans a bit closer touching my face, stroking my scars. “You are too, Hooper,” she smiles. “You should ask the fairies to make you even more beautiful.”
With that, she gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and shy, runs behind her father to poke her head out at me. I straighten and rub my fingers over the spot where Lydia kissed me.
“I think you just made a friend, Hooper,” Cara says as she nudges me with her shoulder.
“I think so,” I reply and smile at Lydia. “And I’ve been called a lot of things but beautiful was never one of them.”
I let my eyes sweep over the villagers. Not all are happy and smiling, a few still have anguish outlined on their faces and I realize that what has happened will haunt them for many days to come.
Peering over at the golden for a moment, our eyes meet. There’s an expectant expression in her eyes as if there’s more that I should do or say to these people before we leave.
Striding forward, I clamber atop Golden Wind and she rises to her full height. I raise Galondraig high so that the sun’s rays burnish it into a flaming green pillar of light.
“I am Hooper Menvoran,” I call out, “the Gem Guardian and we are the Company of the Golden Dragon. Evil is rising in our world but there are some, like ourselves who are fighting back.”
I can tell by the expression on their faces what they’re thinking. But you are so few and the evil ones seem to be so many.
Raising Galondraig higher, I watch its gleam become more intense as if it were harnessing the sunlight into an explosion of brilliant green fire.
“We may be few, yes, but we, and you, are not alone in the fight. Have faith, have courage that the right will always prevail. Take care of one another, let good deeds be your hallmark and stand firm against the wicked. Do not let the fear inside you overcome your desire to
be a righteous people.
“This is our promise to you, Vay and her cruel ones have tasted defeat before, just like today. They will continue to taste defeat.”
I stab Galondraig into the air and my voice is loud and firm. “This is our promise to you. If you will do your part, we will do ours, and Vay will be vanquished from our world forevermore!”
With that, the dragons throw their heads back and thunderous roars erupt from their throats, causing the air to quake and shudder. I sheathe Galondraig and settle back down on Golden Wind, but just then Lydia comes running up.
With a grave face and eyes to match, she calls out, “It shall be so, Hooper Menvoran.”
She turns and runs back to her mother’s embrace. I wave a hand in farewell as Helmar brings Wind Glory next to the golden.
Amil leans over to motion toward the waving villagers. “You know, when I said we needed allies, I was thinking more along the lines of someone a bit more formidable than a little girl and a small village.”
On Wind Song, Phigby smiles at our Traveler. “Amil, you’re not looking at this the right way.”
He sweeps a hand toward the village. “Whether it’s one friend or a stalwart ally with many sword hands, each is won one heart at a time.”
He turns to me with an approving nod. “Just like today.”
With a last farewell wave, we once again strike off downriver. Wind Song paces alongside Golden Wind and I can feel Cara’s eyes on me.
Swiveling in the golden’s neck saddle, I raise my hands in a questioning gesture. “What?”
She lets out a sigh. “Hooper, you do grow more surprising, very, very surprising.”
“Surprising or just really odd?” I retort.
“Surprising,” she returns, “in a very good sort of surprising.”
I shrug in answer. “Is it so surprising to not want a child to grow up hating, especially if it’s a wrongful hate?”
“No lad,” Phigby replies, “there’s nothing surprising or wrong about that.”
Cara leans toward me and our eyes meet. “He’s right, Hooper, there’s nothing wrong with that at all.”
