Fion threw another stick on their small fire.
Thomas plopped down next to Fion. His outlook had significantly improved now that they were out of the storm and huddled around the campfire.
Thomas held up the cheese. “Green stuff, or mystery bits?”
Fion grabbed the green cheese and the loaf of bread and whipped out her knife. She deftly sliced off a bit of cheese and popped it in her mouth and then ripped off a hunk of bread with her teeth. She pushed the bread and cheese back to Thomas.
“Not bad, that,” she said, chewing.
Thomas followed her lead. The cheese had a smooth buttery texture with a sharp salty bite, and the bread had just the right bit of yeast to compliment the cheese.
Thomas sighed and leaned back, gazing into the fire. Maybe this was the best meal he had ever eaten. He wondered what his parents were doing at home. Had Christmas come and gone without him? He couldn’t allow himself to go there. Right now, he was safe and warm. Well, as safe as one could be in a forbidden land during a blizzard sheltering in a cave with a girl and a dragon. And warmth?
“Any more wood left for the fire?“ Thomas asked.
Fion held up a small branch. “This is it. I thought I would save it till we were going to sleep.”
“Good idea.”
Thorn whined.
Fion turned to the dragon with concern. “Sorry, Thorn, there is no more food for you. If the blizzard clears in the morning, you can hunt.”
The dragon growled.
When they had secured the cave, the priority for Fion was feeding Thorn and rubbing down his frigid wings. The love and care that the girl had for his old friend moved Thomas.
Thomas reached over and stroked the smooth hide of the dragon. Thorn’s scales felt different than what he would imagine. They weren’t really hard. They were pliable yet tough. Interlocking, flexible, organic tiles is what his Dad would call them. And then he would write a scholarly paper and present it at some convention on the existence of dragons. Wouldn’t that be something? Proving the existence of real dragons. Thomas turned back to Fion.
“I’ve always wondered, how old is Thorn?”
Thorn rumbled.
“The mighty Thorn is 44 seasons old.”
“That was quick.”
“It’s easy to remember the age of this old man,” she said, rubbing the reptile’s head. “My father is 56 years old, and he received Thorn’s egg when he was 12.”
“Wow. 12, huh?”
“That is not surprising. All riders receive their dragon eggs on their 12th birthday. That is a very special day for those who are part of the Dragon riding clan. There is singing and feasting. Families come from other clans to celebrate the young rider.”
“At the end of the feast, the fathers of the riders give them their riding jackets. It is always silent and the entire congregation stands in honor as the riders put on their jackets for the first time.”
Thomas looked down at his jacket and rubbed the smooth leather. Fion noticed as Thomas made the connection. He was wearing her brother’s riding jacket. The brother she had never known. The brother who had lost his life to Darcon’s rule of terror before Thomas had come to N’albion the first time. Thomas imagined Deacon slipping the jacket onto his son’s shoulders. He knew he should say something to Fion, but what?
“I, ugh, I’m sorry,” Thomas mumbled.
Fion turned away, lost in the fire. “It is both a solemn and a joyous celebration,” she whispered.
The occasional pop of the fire broke the silence of the cavern. The smoke curled up to the roof of the cave and disappeared in the darkness.
Thomas cleared his throat. “Do you have your own dragon?” he said changing the subject.
“Yes, his name is Ember. He is the most beautiful color of red and orange.” She gazed into the fire as it popped. “Like that, a spark sent out of a crackling blaze. That is the color of my dragon.” She smiled wistfully. “You better have your head about you before you mount him.” Her smile widened. “He is a fiery dragon and not easily reined in. What a joy to be riding him on a spring day in the high country, the sun glinting on his wings.” She stared out the cave opening to the blowing snow outside as if she could will it all away. “Before all this.”
“Why didn’t you ride him when you came for me?” Thomas asked.
“Because you had never ridden Ember or even spent any time with him.” Fion took another bite of bread and handed it back to Thomas.
“A dragon imprints with his rider. Usually, the rider who raised him from an egg. But dragons are not pets. They have a will all their own, and they can allow another beside their own master to ride them. Thorn chose you in the dark times of the earlier war. For a brief time, you were his rider, and he imprinted on you. He attached to you. There is an invisible chord between a dragon and his rider and forever the dragon can find his rider no matter where he is.”
Thomas nodded. He had heard stories of lost dogs that traveled thousands of miles to find their owners. Why not one of these magnificent beasts?
“I had to find you, Thomas. Thorn was the only way.”
Thorn rumbled.
Thomas leaned in.
“Wait a minute, Thorn is your father’s dragon. There’s no way Deacon sent you after me.”
Fion’s shoulders slumped.
Thomas registered the action. “He didn’t send you,” he breathed, shaking his head. “Did he?”
Thorn whined and nudged Fion with his head.
“No, he didn’t send me, I came on my own accord. I had too. The night before I came for you, I overheard my parents arguing.”
“About what?”
Fion leveled her green eyes on Thomas. “About you.”
“My mother had been reading my grandfather’s books, and they convinced her you were the Otherlander referred to in the ancient prophecies. My father was not convinced. Mother wanted to go after you, but father would not allow it. He could spare no riders, for the war was coming. There was no way he could go. He is, of course, the leader of the resistance.”
A night bird sounded outside the cave.
“My mother could see from the ancient writings of my grandfather that the door would open for a short time. She could not persuade father. ‘We are in the hands of the Creator, as is Thomas,’ my father said, and I knew that was the end of the discussion.”
“So, you came instead.”
“My father could not spare a warrior,” Fion responded flatly.
“I told Thorn the plan. If he hadn’t agreed to take me to you, the plan would never have worked.”
She looked with love at the dragon. “But he agreed.”
Thorn growled his affirmation, his golden eyes glinting in the firelight.
“You shouldn’t have come. I’m not worth the risk. You could have been killed.”
Fion stood up and glared at Thomas, her fists clenched at her side.
“No! I had to come. My father entrusted you into the care of the Creator. The Creator often uses the small, even the weak, to confound the wise. I realized that maybe this was my part to play in the story that the Creator was writing. Maybe he could use me to find you. Thomas, you are our hope. You are the Otherlander!”
Thirty
Thomas slept fitfully that night. Dreams of being chased by a dark shadow tormented him. It was always just out of view, hiding in the darkness. No matter where he ran, it pursued him. He awakened once in the night. And peered out of the mouth of the cave. It was still snowing. His hands were icy, so he pushed them deep into his pockets. What’s this? He withdrew his hand and examined the broken chain that once held the pendant. He watched it pendulum for a moment. Well, he didn’t need this anymore; he thought morosely. He tossed the chain toward their pathetic fire and lay back down. He could feel the warmth of Fion’s back against him. He hunkered down further in his blanket and went back to sleep.
Thomas awoke with a shiver.
“Good morning!” Fion called as she adjus
ted supplies in Thorn’s saddlebags.
Thomas yawned and stood, stretching.
“There’s still some bread and cheese left.” Fion pointed. “I already ate.”
“Thanks,” he said, picking up the leftovers.
Thomas stepped to the mouth of the cave and peered over the drift that had formed in the night, filling up half of the cave opening. The sky was grey, but the blizzard had passed. The cliffs were still foreboding. He didn’t know what he expected. He hoped that somehow the Forbidden Land would not be so foreboding after a good sleep. His eyes traversed the icy slope and then his heart stopped. He saw something. And the memory of last night’s dream came back to him and filled him with dread. Something moved on the cliff. The snow shifted, warped. Thomas rubbed his eyes and tried to focus through the blinding white.
“Fion.”
The girl stepped to his side.
“There’s something out there.”
“Where?”
He pointed to the area of the icy cliff where he had seen movement.
She squinted.
“Are you sure?”
Thomas started to doubt himself. “I was a moment ago.”
“Maybe you are seeing things. The snow can do that.”
“Come on,” Thomas beckoned.
“If we must.”
They steeled themselves then moved from under the rock shelf and up the drift a bit to get a better view. Here, exposed to the elements, the wind cut through them. Thomas surveyed the cliffs again. Still nothing.
“Come back to the cave, Thomas,” Fion said with a shiver.
She took Thomas’s hand and pulled him back toward their shelter when it happened.
A sharp crack rang out like a rifle shot, immediately followed by a sound that Thomas could only register as a locomotive thundering down the cliff upon their heads. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it all, and looked up in horror as vast blocks of ice and snow thundered down the rock wall toward them.
“Avalanche!” Thomas screamed and shoved Fion into the cave as the mountain came down upon them.
Thirty-One
“Are you all right?” Fion asked.
Thomas looked up into green eyes like pools of deep water. Why was his back freezing? Then he realized he was lying on the snow. He sat up and felt a rush of vertigo.
“Not so fast.” Fion steadied him with her hand.
Thomas then remembered the avalanche. “Ow!” He winced as Fion gently dabbed his forehead with a cloth.
“You’re bleeding.”
Thomas took the cloth and applied it to his forehead, then examined it. It indeed had a bright red spot of blood.
Fion stared silently at Thomas kneeling beside him.
“I’m okay, really. You’re kinda freaking me out, Fion. Feels kinda like my mom watching me like that.”
She sat back, a little embarrassed. “You saved my life,” she whispered.
Thomas sat up fully. “What?”
“The avalanche surely would have taken me, but you pushed me out of the way and you were struck by a block of ice.” She looked up at the ceiling of the cave with a faraway look. Thomas figured she was trying to remember something.
Fion said, “It is written that the Otherlander cares more for others than for himself.”
“Don’t start that again.” Thomas struggled to his feet. “We should finish packing and get on our way.” Thomas tried to shake off the dizziness and sound brave.
Fion made a face then pointed to the mouth of the cave. The icy debris of the avalanche completely sealed it extending into the cave, forming an impenetrable giant frozen triangle. No light even penetrated through the cave opening.
Thorn rumbled.
“I knew we should have left earlier.” Fion responded. “But we are not all morning people like you.”
Thorn moved to the icy ramp, placed his nose against a boulder of ice and shoved. He growled and continued. It was clumsy work, but he could push some larger chunks out of the way.
Thomas watched for a minute, then a thought struck him. “Hey, didn’t I see a shovel in the saddlebag?” He moved to the leather bag, a little wobbly at first, but as he walked, he felt steadier.
Inside the bag he found a small camp shovel. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”
After some discussion they decided that Thorn and Thomas would work clearing the debris from mouth of the cave, and Fion would go further into the cave to see if there was a back door.
Fion took a branch from the fire and with some cloth made a torch and set off. Thorn continued muscling the large blocks of ice out of the way so Thomas could get to digging.
The little shovel impressed Thomas. Its sharp steel edge cut into the packed snow and ice, and he soon had a little tunnel that he could crawl in. This of course left him wet and cold. He had to stop often to warm himself by their tiny fire.
“Thorn, this just may work.” Thomas said, stepping back to admire his progress.
Thorn whined.
Thomas surveyed the small crawl space. Then took in the size of his big friend. “Yeah, we’ll have to figure something else out for you. There’s no way you can get through this little hole.”
Thorn growled his agreement.
Thirty-Two
Fion moved carefully back into the darkness of the cave. Her little torch gave out a dim light, barely enough to manage her way. She could no longer hear Thorn’s rumbling or the icy pick of Thomas’s shovel cutting through the frozen debris of the avalanche. She hoped that she would find another way out and they could be on their way. The temperature dropped steadily as she put distance between herself and the tiny fire that gave some warmth to the cave. She sniffed the musty air. The walls of the cave became more and more narrow as she moved further in, and more than once she had to crawl over a large boulder blocking her path. It was like walking in a dark stone obstacle course.
The torch was burning low. She knew that she would have to head back soon when she rounded a corner and saw light. She couldn’t believe it. Fion rushed forward toward the source of the illumination, but her hope was dashed when she saw that it was only a small hole high in the back of the cave. She had come to a dead end.
Fion wedged her torch in a crevice and climbed up hand over hand to the opening. Amazing that such a small hole could illuminate that part of the cave with so much light. Her grandfather, Loren, Elder of her people, had often encouraged them in their fight against the evil that threatened to cover their land. What was it he said? Oh, yes. The darkness would never overcome the light. The thought lifted her spirit, even here in the cave, and she continued her climb up the wall to the light. Her foot found purchase on another rock and she thrust her face up to the hole. Immediately she smelled fresh air, and she inhaled, filling her lungs with it. She had been breathing the stuffy air of the cave for a few days and the crisp air was delicious even though the coldness burned her throat. She pulled her face closer to the opening and peered out upon what she reasoned must be the backside of the mountain or a canyon. They obviously couldn’t get out this way. She knew she had to get down, but she was loath to leave the fresh air and light. One last look, then she turned to make her way down when she heard something. A living sound. An animal? A voice maybe, but different, low and rough. She turned back to the tiny opening and peered through. Her breath puffed out in steam condensing on the cold rock.
Fion knew she heard something. She squinted and tried to see around the jagged edge of the hole, then suddenly something blocked the hole blurring her vision. She blinked and her heart stopped. It was an eye. It dilated, focusing. It was watching her! She pushed back in fear and fell. She missed the rocks on the way down and landed flat on her back, knocking the air out of her for a moment. She sprung to her feet, grabbed the torch and scrambled back the way she came, skinning her knees in her flight. The vision was burned in her mind. It was a gigantic eye, the deepest blue she had ever seen, and she knew two things: first it was not human and second, she ha
d to get to Thomas and warn him. Something was out there.
Thirty-Three
Thorn sat quietly, keeping a watchful eye on the boy sized hole in the frozen heap of snow and ice blocking the mouth of the cave. Thomas had widened the crawl space of the tunnel and in his moving in and out had made a slippery chute like a bobsled run. He chipped away at the frozen wall, then pushed the pile of ice back out behind him. In this way he had tunneled many feet through their icy obstacle toward freedom. He hoped he was getting close to breaking through as he pushed another scoop of ice and snow out of the tunnel. His muscles ached and he could barely feel his frozen fingers. Thorn poked his head into the icy tunnel and growled his encouragement.
“Hey, big guy,” Thomas slid out, slapping himself to stay warm. “Fion’s still not back yet?”
Thorn whined and shook his head.
Thomas peered into the darkness at the back of the cave. “I would love for her to be here when I break through.”
Thomas bent and peered through the icy tunnel and shivered, not thrilled about continuing his bone chilling work. He patted Thorn on the head. “Well, here we go!” He crawled into the tunnel and disappeared from view.
Soon Thorn could hear the steal edge of the shovel making its distinctive “Ch… Ch… Ch” sound as Thomas chipped away.
Fion dashed through the darkness of the cave. Her little torch finally snuffed out and now she used it as a blind man would a cane. In this way she pin-balled along, bumping from boulder to boulder to make it back to Thomas. She cried out to her friends a few times, but only heard her own voice echo back to her. She gave up yelling and concentrated on making her way through the dark obstacle course.
At last, Fion saw a dim light ahead and made for it, hoping it wasn’t her brain playing tricks, finding light where there was none.
“Thomas?”
Thorn growled and it was the sweetest sound she thought she had ever heard. Fion rounded a corner and there was their pathetic little fire all but out. The coals still glowed in the dark chasm.
Otherlander: Through the Storm Page 6
