by GARY DARBY
Cara goes up to Bold Wind, gives him a little bow. “Welcome to our company, Bold Wind, we’re glad to have you and thanks for saving Hooper.”
“I must say,” Phigby muses, “that this is all quite surprising and unexpected though I have to agree with Amil that the addition of a crimson dragon to our company certainly adds some might to our cause.”
The red takes a few steps to stand in front of Phigby and then thrusts his leg out. Cara nudges Phigby with an elbow. “Seems I won’t have to be riding double with you anymore.”
“Indeed,” Phigby gushes in surprise while a broad smile splits his beard.
He places a hand on Bold Wind’s muzzle and gives him a little bow. “Thank you, Bold Wind, I do appreciate your offer and readily accept.”
“I suggest,” Alonya urges, “that if we’re done here, that we hurry along.”
She gestures toward the centipede creature’s body. “And hope that there are no more of those things flying around, especially if they hunt in packs.”
“Sound advice,” Phigby agrees.
Without another word, we load up and renew our journey. I note with interest, and surprise, that the dragons, who will eat most anything, avoid munching on the centipede beast, as does Scamper. I assume that they considered the thing so foul that they wouldn’t consume any of its meat.
Alonya takes the lead and soon we are on the move. We haven’t gone far when I lean over and whisper to Golden Wind. “Are Bold Wind and the Helsestein moonstone the reason we were led to the swamp? After all, he’s certainly gone through a change of heart.”
She’s slow to answer but then whispers, “Are you sure that he was the only one who had a change of heart?”
Swinging her head so that she has one eye on me, she says, “I would say that he’s not the only one who faced and conquered his demons—and what better place to do so than in a swamp full of such?”
I sit back, my eyes and understanding both widening a bit. “Oh,” I whisper, “I guess that’s right.”
After a bit, I glance down at my disfigured arm and fingers. With my good hand, I run my fingers over the rough, scarred skin on my face.
Reaching inside my tunic, my fingers clasp the moonstone. A wild and wonderful idea springs into my mind. If the jewel could heal Bold Wind, surely it can—
Quiet, but with an excited voice, I ask, “Golden Wind, could the moonstone heal me, too?”
She’s silent for so long that I begin to think that she’ll never answer. When she does, her answer is so soft that I have to lean over to hear her.
“The servant cannot serve himself, only others.”
Her voice is kind, understanding, but still, her words stab at me as if she had taken one of her tail spikes and driven it into my body.
I slump down and remove my hand from around the moonstone. For a moment, I had hoped—dreamed, that for the first time in my life perhaps I could look like everyone else, instead of—well, me.
But, it’s not to be.
I’ll always be Hooper.
We slog through the mud and muck; everywhere we look is nothing but the same, swirling, dense fog, rotted trees, slimy bushes, and more mud. Each passing moment becomes a monotonous repeat; more sludge, more ooze, more shallow, slime-covered bogs, and the same ever present moss-draped trees.
There comes a point where Alonya leads us in one direction, only to stop, and to backtrack before going the opposite way.
This happens several times before she calls a rest halt. Concerned, I whisper to Golden Wind, “I think Alonya is having trouble finding the right path.”
The golden nods and answers, “Her Queen Sight falters.”
We gather round and Alonya holds out her hands in a gesture of futility. “I don’t know what’s happening,” she laments. “I’m not as confident of our path as I once was. In my mind, the way is not as clear as before. There’s no . . . light as before.”
Uneasy, we glance at each other; the thought of aimless wandering in a never ending marshland full of deadly creatures is not a pleasant thought to consider.
“Let’s rest a bit,” Phigby suggests, “maybe all you need is some respite from the constant toil of struggling through this nasty, clinging mud and ooze.”
“Perhaps,” Alonya replies, but I can’t help but hear the doubt in her voice.
We form the dragons in a circle but without dry land, we have to sit in the mud while we rest. I lean back against the golden’s leg and watch as Phigby makes his way over to Alonya to engage in quiet conversation.
Cara comes and sits down next to me. “What do you think?” she whispers.
I lean close. “Golden Wind says that Alonya’s Queen Sight is fading for some reason.”
Cara runs her tongue over her lips and rubs the back of a dirty hand against her cheek, leaving a dark smudge behind. “That’s not good,” she whispers back.
“No,” I reply, “it’s not.”
“What are we going to do if her Queen Sight doesn’t come back? We could end up wandering around here in circles, forever.”
I gaze into her anxious eyes when a thought comes into my mind. “Wait, didn’t Phigby say that the legend allows those with repentant or changed hearts to find Perseon’s Way?”
Cara nods. “Yes . . .” she replies, “but what has that got to do with Alonya?”
“Well,” I reply, “Alonya’s heart is already good and she wasn’t unjustly thrown in here by some despot. I doubt that she has anything to repent of that would call for a changed heart, so naturally Perseon’s Way wouldn’t tug at her, pull her, and us toward the exit.”
“However . . .” my voice trails off into a whisper as I glance over at Bold Wind. “I happen to know someone who is very repentant, with a changed heart.”
“Who?” Cara demands.
Mischievously, I reply, “You, for stealing Phigby’s book, remember?”
Cara’s mouth drops open and she glares at me before jabbing me with a sharp elbow in the side. “I only borrowed it, remember? And besides, I returned it, too.”
I rub at my side where she landed her elbow and at my new bruise. Cara isn’t only the most beautiful girl in the world, she’s also the girl with the sharpest, pointiest elbows in the world.
“Hold onto your dragons,” I grumble. “I was only teasing. Stay here, I need to talk with someone.”
I get to my feet and make my way over to Bold Wind. I glance over to make sure that Phigby and Alonya are still conversing while Amil and Helmar have their eyes closed and their backs against Wind Glory.
“Bold Wind,” I whisper.
He opens his eyes and blinks at me. “Yes, Hooper?” he rumbles low.
“Alonya may not be able to get us out of here. For some reason, her Queen Sight is failing and we were depending on her leading us to Perseon’s Way. Can you find it?”
He considers it for a moment and then nods. “Perhaps. I have never sought the way out as I thought that my fate was to remain here until the time of my passing. But now, maybe I can indeed find the gate. Or, at the very least, try.”
He peers at me. “For the sake of my new comrades.”
I put my hand on his muzzle. “Thank you, we will all be most grateful if you can.”
Pacing over to where Phigby and Alonya sit, I notice that her face is downcast while Phigby’s wears a grave and worried expression.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” I begin, before Phigby gestures for me to come closer. “You’re not interrupting, lad, what’s on your mind?”
I slide down next to Alonya. “I think I know why your Queen Sight may be failing.”
She snaps her head up at my statement and meets my eyes. “It goes back to the swamp’s legend,” I explain.
They both peer at me as I go on, “Perseon’s Way doesn’t call to someone with a good heart, like yourself—”
“But to someone with a repentant or changed heart,” Phigby muses, “or wrongfully imprisoned here.”
“Exactly,” I reply as
I turn and point to Bold Wind. “Like him.”
Alonya’s face shows immediate relief. “Then it’s not something I’ve done.”
“Well,” I reply, “not unless you want to feel guilty about being a good person, no.”
I can see she’s about to playfully elbow me and I throw up my hand and plead, “No elbows, please. Cara’s already almost cracked a rib.”
After a moment, I suggest, “I think your Queen Sight led us to finding Bold Wind so that he not only could join our company but lead us out of the swamp.”
“So,” Phigby questions as he gazes toward Bold Wind, “how do we get the red to lead us to Perseon’s Way?”
“Just give him his head, Phigby,” I answer, “and we’ll follow.”
After resting for a bit, we resume our journey with Bold Wind in the lead and Alonya treading beside him. Though the scenery doesn’t change, our pace does. It quickens, and there’s no double-backs, no hesitation on Bold Wind’s part.
He plods ahead, and whether it’s his head or his heart leading, it doesn’t matter, for it appears that he knows the sure path.
We march until the big red comes to an abrupt halt. The other three dragons close on the crimson. “What’s wrong?” I call over to Phigby.
He shakes his head in answer. “I’m not sure.” Bold Wind is sweeping his head from side to side and peering into the haze.
Without warning, the other dragons swing their heads up and begin to utter low growls. “Uh, oh,” Helmar calls out, “this is exactly the way they were acting just before the ogres attacked.”
“Can anyone see anything?” Amil calls back.
“The fog’s getting thicker,” Cara states. “I can’t see a thing.”
The dragons are snorting, pawing at the ground. I lean over and whisper, “Golden Wind, what do you see?”
“It’s not what I see,” she asserts. “It’s what I hear. Dozens upon dozens of claws rubbing against each other, and whatever is making the sound is swarming toward us.”
“Are they in the air or on the ground?”
“The ground, and to our front.”
“They’re in front,” I yell, “and coming right at us.”
“What’s coming right at us?” Cara questions in a high-pitched voice.
The fog lifts, my eyes widen to the size of peaches, and I point. “They are.”
“What are those things?” Helmar demands as he whips out his sword.
Phigby takes one look and answers in a bleak voice, “Emperor Scorpios. The largest and deadliest of all the scorpios in the world.”
We stare at rank upon rank of creatures who stand almost as tall and large as good-sized ponies. Their mandibles clack together amid a drool of putrid-appearing greenish goo.
One mouth pincer curls up from the bottom and the other curls down from the top clicking together when their mandibles close. Four red-orbed hungry eyes, two on each side of their narrow black head stare at us. Their six hairy legs seem unable to stay still but tap the ground in a continuous dance, causing their black, bristly bodies to jiggle. A barbed stinger, the size of one of Alonya’s arms curves up and over their backs and points straight at us.
“Now listen, everyone,” Phigby bellows, “those stingers shoot venomous barbs. If you get hit, pull the thing out right then. They don’t kill but paralyze—pulling it out immediately will slow the toxin from spreading throughout your body.”
He hesitates and then declares, “If you don’t, once you’re paralyzed they use their pincers to cut you up into smaller pieces to eat.”
I glance over at Cara and I can tell she has the same gruesome thought as I do, lying on the ground, awake but paralyzed while several scorpios use their pincers to slice you up.
Alonya starts to notch one of her few remaining arrows, but Phigby waves her off, “There’s too many and it would be a wasted effort.”
He orders us to squeeze the dragons close together and motions toward our deadly foes. “There’s only one thing for it. The only reason the scorpios haven’t attacked is that they must know about dragon fire.
“So we’ll turn the tables on them. We use our dragon fire and charge straight through. We can’t turn back, they move just as fast as we and will have us surrounded in no time.”
“What if we sky out?” Helmar questions. “And have the sapphires carry Alonya?”
Phigby shakes his head. “As soon as we began to lift her, the scorpios would fill her full of barbs and she’d be paralyzed within moments.”
He glances over at Alonya. “Most likely, she’d fall to her death.”
Motioning to Alonya, he urges, “Keep yourself in the center, and whatever you do, don’t fall behind.”
To the rest of us he orders, “Keep low on your dragon and keep moving. The scorpios’ barbs won’t penetrate dragon scales but they most definitely will pierce you.”
As quickly as I can, I pull the sprogs out of their saddlebag and stuff them, along with Scamper, under the golden’s carapace.
“Stay there,” I warn Scamper, “until I tell you it’s safe to come out, and whatever you do, don’t let the sprogs move, either.”
He doesn’t argue but scrunches himself and the sprogs together under the golden’s skull plate.
I turn to the sprites, who’re hovering nearby. “We’re going to unleash dragon fire on those scorpios, we could use your help with your body blaze, just don’t get hit with one of their poisonous barbs.”
Everyone settles in, tightening down jerkins and tunics, scabbards and bows. Alonya places herself between Wind Song and Wind Glory, who are in the center.
Since they’re the biggest, Golden Wind and Bold Wind take the outside, giving a little added protection to those in the middle.
Phigby glances around before gazing at the Emperor Scorpios who are scuttling back and forth in front of us, like ants boiling up from a disturbed anthill.
It’s obvious that they want to get at us, but their fear of our dragon fire is keeping them at bay for the moment.
“Everyone set?” Phigby calls out.
“We’re ready,” Helmar answers for him and Amil.
“I’m set,” Cara states.
“Right now, I wish I had four legs instead of two,” Alonya returns as she eyes the mass of scorpios. “But I guess I’ll have to make do with what I have.”
I give Phigby a wave to signal that I’m ready. I lean over and murmur, “We’re going to need your dragon fire, Golden Wind.”
“I’m ready,” she answers.
Phigby raises his hand, holds it aloft for a second, and then chops it down hard. “Now!” he bellows.
Shouts of, “Dragon fire!” fill the air and four streams of lava-hot flames erupt outward in a scalding, scorching inferno.
As soon as Golden Wind spews her fire, I command, “Forward, Golden Wind!”
Golden Wind breaks into a lumbering gallop. We race through the first line of charred remains of scorpio bodies and for the moment, those not caught in the hellfire scuttle away on either side of our charging dragons.
I take a chance and peek up to make sure that Alonya is still with us. I can see her head bobbing up and down between the two dragons, but that’s all.
We’re through the first wave of scorched scorpios when Phigby thunders, “Watch out, they’re cutting loose!”
Hunkering down, a moment later, hand-sized fleshy darts are bouncing off Golden Wind’s scales. I feel a sudden tug and look down to see a venomous barb that’s sliced through one of my sheepskin boots but missed my ankle and foot.
Jerking it out, I throw it to one side and glance over to see if the spikes hit anyone else but from my vantage point, it appears luck was with us and the barbs missed their targets.
Shooting a quick look toward our ravenous adversaries, my eyes widen in amazement when I see the little sprites flashing through the scorpio ranks, their bodies hot and blazing.
They zip through the six-legged creatures, burning off stingers and legs before they tur
n and speed back toward us.
We hurtle into a dark stream sending a wall of foam and spray skyward along with a large wave that races across the creek and washes up onto the far bank. We slow down so as to not leave Alonya behind. She struggles through the thick muck before she scrambles up the muddy bank, her breathing coming hard and fast.
We form up again just as the horde of scurrying scorpios reaches the stream. We turn the dragons and Phigby roars, “Dragon fire!”
Once again, the four dragons unleash their deadly torrent of fire, setting scorpios and a few nearby moss-draped trees afire. The trees flame up like a torch being held aloft.
The blaze from the moss-covered trees lights up the grisly scene of seared scorpios, some lying on their backs with their legs upright in the air and quivering in their death throes.
We whirl the dragons around and dash away. “Golden Wind,” I call, “do you have any more fire left?”
“No,” she answers. “That last burst took everything I had. It will be a while before I have more.”
I yell over to Phigby. “Golden Wind is out of fire!”
“Same with Wind Song,” Cara shouts.
“And Wind Glory,” Helmar adds.
“Bold Wind too,” Phigby answers. “All we can do is to make a run for it. Alonya, stay with us.”
“I do not intend,” Alonya growls through gasps for breath, “to provide those things with a queen’s banquet with me as the main course.”
“Golden Wind,” I lean down to say, “ask Bold Wind if we near Perseon’s Way.”
“I don’t have to,” she responds, “we do indeed draw close.”
I raise my head and shout, “I think we’re getting close to the way out.”
We gallop forward, skirt around a thick grove of moss-draped trees and stop dead in our tracks.
In the near distance stands a high, gleaming rainbow-colored arch that splits the fog. Through the arch’s large opening, we can see the outside world of sunshine and blue skies.
“Perseon’s Way!” Phigby shouts. “The rainbow heralds that the tempest is over!”
His shout no more than dies down than the dragons snort and paw at the ground. From both sides, scorpios scurry to form a living, lethal barricade between us and our escape.
