“Thomas!” She called desperately.
The glow illuminated the dragon and she could see a hole in the icy wall, but no Thomas.
Thorn whined.
She was too late.
Then Thomas called from inside the tunnel.
“Fion, you’re back just in time.”
Fion squatted and peered into the hole, and beyond Thomas’s boots she could see his smiling face.
“Thomas…”
But he was too excited to listen.
“I can see the light from outside I am just getting ready to break through…” And with that he speared his shovel through the icy curtain.
“Thomas, listen to me…”
He shoved his fist through the hole and grinned back down at Fion in victory. “Tadaa! We are through!”
His face then turned from triumph to shock. His eyes wide like saucers and his mouth agape. “Fion? Something has me,” he gasped.
And it ripped him through the icy curtain to the other side.
Thomas was an arrow launched from a bow. One moment he was there, the next he was gone.
“Thomas!” Fion screamed forlornly into the blue icy tunnel.
From far away, she heard Thomas scream: “Fion!”
Fion lurched into the opening of the tunnel when a bright orange blur came whizzing through, bounced on the floor of the cave, and finally came to rest against a boulder.
It looked like a giant pine cone and it was burning with an intense heat, putting off a dark smoke that filled the cave with a pungent odor.
Fion frantically grabbed a blanket from the floor of the cave and smothered the hot fizzing pine cone.
Then another and another of the burning fiery balls flew through the icy tunnel into the cave. Each one emitted a smokey stench.
Thorn slammed one with his tail and Fion attempted to smother another one, but her vision blurred and things were moving really slowly and Fion couldn’t seem to control her limbs as smoke filled the cave.
“Thorn,” mumbled Fion. It was hard to form the word. How could the giant dragon remain standing when the cave floor was tossing like the deck of a ship in a storm?
Finally, she fell and the last thing she saw before darkness took her was the mighty dragon staggering like a drunk man and then crashing to the floor with a groan.
Thirty-Four
Fion’s fear-filled eyes burned into Thomas’s memory as they yanked him through the icy curtain, out of the cave and into the hands of the beasts. He cried out to her one last time before a huge leathery hand clamped over his mouth, silencing him. The beasts now carried him along with little difficulty. There were four of them. One for each limb. Thomas swung between them, matching their long rhythmic lope. Thomas shivered, still wet from his excavation of the snow tunnel.
The bitter cold seemed to have no effect on the beasts. Their bodies were covered with a thick white fur. Swinging upside down, it was hard to have an accurate idea of their size, but Thomas estimated they were over 7 foot tall and definitely over 300 pounds. Thomas remembered once in the states he had gone to a professional football game and gotten some linebackers’ autographs. Those were the largest humans he had ever seen, and he knew now that these huge furry beasts would make those linebackers look like children. Their size was impressive, but Thomas was struck most by their eyes. Bright blue. Like the clearest, deepest blue of a mountain lake or the brightest sky on a spring day. Thomas felt after seeing those eyes that he could never call something blue again.
The beast continued their journey, carrying Thomas along upside down, swinging like a pendulum. He had tried to wrench free once when he was first snatched by the beast and had quickly learned that there was no way of escape from their iron grip. The beast holding his right wrist glared down and growled, showing a mouth full of fangs and squeezed his wrist. Pain shot up his arm and he yelped, “Okay!” That seemed to entertain them, for they all made a ruckus of growls and rumblings and hoots that must have been laughter. They were clearly more than animals, Thomas thought. What should he call them? Polar men? Ice bears? Frost trolls? No. Snow-beasts. That’s what they were. He closed his eyes and exhaustion finally took him away, swaying in the grip of the snow-beasts.
Thirty-Five
Fion awoke with a throbbing headache. She lay still for a moment, disoriented; she felt she had had a bad dream and was not quite sure where she was. Then she remembered. She bolted upright.
“Thorn!” she called out. Her voice echoed back to her, and she saw now that she was in another larger cave. Her hand flew to her head as it throbbed from sitting up so quickly. She blinked many times, trying to clear her blurry vision as she surveyed her surroundings. The cave in which she sat was massive. Fires were burning here and there, contained in circles of rocks. Along the walls, someone attached torches. Despite the fires, the cave was not stuffy or smoky. Fion’s eyes traced the smoke as it rose from the fire closest to her. It ascended like a dark snake writhing up in the air until it escaped out of a large hole in the cave's roof almost a hundred feet above the floor, she reckoned. She could see that the hole acted both as a vent for the smoke and a skylight that illuminated much of the cave.
The floor of the cave was clean and smooth, not cluttered with rocks or dirt. Fion figured it was worn from years of feet treading upon it. Fion thought now that cave was not the right word for where she sat. No, it was a den or a grand hall. Yes, a grand hall fit for a mighty king.
She was so overcome by the setting that she forgot for a moment about her own predicament. She was not bound, but she was not free, for she saw now that she sat in a wooden cage. The bars were made of the limbs of trees fastened to each other with what appeared to be leather strips. She stood and grasped the limbs and pulled and yanked, but to no avail.
She gave up and peered through the staves to see Thorn. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully. She could just make out the rhythmic rise and fall of his sides as he breathed. All was not well though, because a giant net woven of the same strips of leather fixed the dragon to the ground and a large muzzle secured his powerful jaws. She hated to think of how he would react to his predicament if he were awake. So, she was grateful that he slept. But her heart broke to see her magnificent Thorn trussed up like a pig.
Fion’s eyes, now adjusted to the dim cave, searched beyond her dragon friend and discovered that she was not alone. At the outer edge of the darkness, completely encircling her, sitting shoulder to shoulder were giant snow-white furry animals who watched her. Their blue eyes glinted in the firelight. There must have been hundreds of them sitting like statues. Were they stuffed trophies of some sort? But then Fion perceived blue eyes here and there blinking in the darkness.
She chanced a greeting. “Hello?” Her voice echoed back. The beasts continued their silent vigil. Fion cleared her throat. “Where is Thomas?” She demanded with as much authority as she could muster. At this one of the smaller beasts let out a whine and hid his face in the fur of the bigger one sitting next to him. Fion surveyed the circle of the beasts, looking from one to the other and then realized that they were not all the same. They varied in size and shape and coloration. The small one must be a young one, or what: a cub? A pup? A child?
“Can you speak?” Fion gripped the bars of her wooden prison and shook them. “I demand you release me! I want to see my friend!”
A shudder made its way through the beasts like a wave and along the circumference the circle broke and opened to allow one beast to step through. He strode toward Fion’s cage. The closer he came, the larger he grew until he finally stopped mere feet from Fion and surveyed her with his piercing blue eyes. The beast towered over her and his brilliant white fur rippled over a massively muscled torso. It was then that Fion realized she was in the presence of a legend, the Snect-beathac, the snow-beast.
Fion opened her mouth to speak but found that no words would come. She swallowed again and started with a whisper. “I demand…” her voice trailed off.
The giant
beast raised his paw. Paw? Hand? Yes, hand, to silence her. At this, Fion gave up her appeal and stood in rapt attention.
Then he spoke.
“Little one, you hear me.” His voice was deep and resonant like a drum or thunder and below that was the rumble of a predator’s growl. Fion bowed her head and then, because she didn’t know what else to do, she curtsied like her mother had taught her when she was in the presence of greatness.
“Yes, sir. If that is what I call you. I hear you.” She responded softly with her eyes to the floor.
The beast touched his chest ever so gently. “I, Grome.”
“Grome?” Fion repeated and sneaked a peak upward.
Grome nodded, the white main on the top his head waving lazily.
“You?” Grome pointed a long gray claw at the girl.
“Me?” Fion paused. She could hardly think of her own name being in the presence of such power. She tried to find her nerve, and then the giant beast did something so unbelievable. He folded his large limbs and knelt down in front of Fion. Even kneeling he was still head and shoulders above the girl. Like a large man who knows his size is frightening, kneeling down to speak to a small child.
She appreciated the gesture. Such humility, she thought. How could one full of such terror and power also contain such gentleness? She thought of how her father cared for one of his powerful horses at home and called that stallion meek. Her father taught her that meekness was not weakness, but strength under control.
Grome spoke again. “You?” This time it was less of a rumble and more a purr.
Fion gazed into those blue eyes and saw beyond the fierce animal exterior, and she found strength there to answer.
“I am Fion.”
Grome cocked his head to the side like a puppy trying to discern his master’s command. Fion had to catch herself to keep from laughing.
“Frone?”
“No, Fion.”
“Frone,” Grome said with finality.
“Yes, Frone.” The girl agreed.
Frone it was then.
Thirty-Six
Fion stood silently before the giant, Grome, who appeared to be one of the snow-beast leaders. She knew that she was in no position to make any demands. The wooden cage in which she stood was secure. Her dragon, Thorn, as powerful as he was lay sleeping, kept in a state of unconsciousness by some potion known only to the snow-beast. Even if she escaped, she knew, seeing the power of these fearsome creatures, they could easily tear her limb from limb. All these things ran through her mind and made her feel a little dizzy. Then she remembered Thomas.
“Sir,” she said, peering up at the beast through the bars of her imprisonment. “My friend? The boy, Thomas, what have you done with him?”
Grome cocked his head to one side. “Tomar?”
Fion recognized the pattern in the snow-beast’s speech: this must be how he would pronounce Thomas. Certain sounds could not be formed by the snow-beast, and so they used their closest approximation. “Yes, sir. Tomar,” she nodded. “What have you done with him?”
Grome’s head straightened and gave a nod of finality and said, “We eat him.”
Fion could not believe what she just heard. “What, No!”
“Yes, we eat him!” Grome rumbled.
Fion’s legs gave way, and she crumpled to the floor of the cage. “No! No! No!” She wailed through her sobbing. She pounded her fist against the floor. It could not end like this. She could not have come so far only to be stopped by these stupid furry animals. She threw her head back and cried out a scream of frustration and sadness at the loss of her friend. The circle of snow-beasts could not bear the sound, and the young ones among the group threw back their heads and howled, a mournful, unearthly sound that echoed throughout the chamber.
Grome watched the strange small girl’s tirade, cocking his head from side to side, trying to discern what all the noise was about.
Fion took another breath to scream her anguish out again but stopped when she heard a familiar voice.
“Fion?”
She turned toward the voice and there was Thomas rushing to her, his eyes flooded with concern for his friend. He crashed into the bars and reaching through pulled her to himself and held her awkwardly past the wooden bars as she continued her weeping.
“Oh, Thomas, you’re alive!”
“Of course, I’m alive. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Grome said they ate you!”
“Ate me? What?” He said incredulously. Then he did something that took Fion many days to forgive. He chuckled. Then he laughed. Then roared as he fell on the floor in uncontrolled hilarity.
“Eat me,” he shouted through guffaws.
Fion’s face flushed red. She caught her breath and wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. She glared at Thomas, still giggling on the floor. “I don’t know what you think is so funny. I thought you were dead, eaten by one of those great horrible monsters.”
Thomas sat up, wiping his eyes. “They didn’t eat me. They took me to feed me.”
Fion crossed her arms across her chest, turned her back on Thomas and plopped to the floor.
“Oh, come on, Fion.”
Thomas approached the bars. He could hear her quietly crying.
“The snow-beasts really aren’t all that bad. Please stop crying. Come on out, you’ll see.”
“It’s not them I’m mad at. You’re the one who has behaved positively beastly! The last I saw of you; you were being sucked out of the cave by who knows what.”
Thomas took a breath, ready to defend himself, but then realized she was right. “It must have been a total shock to wake up all disoriented, not knowing where you were or where I was and then being surrounded by these great furry things with giant fangs and all.” Thomas shot a glance at Grome who had been standing all along quietly beside them like when you hear family members arguing and you’re embarrassed to be around them. “Sorry, Grome. No offense.”
Grome shrugged his hairy shoulders and offered his guttural acceptance of the apology as if to say, “None taken.”
Thomas reached through the cage. “Come on, Fion, let’s get you out of there.”
Fion sat frozen, her back to Thomas, ramrod straight. Thomas felt as if his words were BBs bouncing off a brick wall.
“Fion, I’m sorry, really I am. Will you forgive me?”
At that, her shoulders slumped, and her icy countenance began to melt. She slowly turned, crawled to her knees and stood up.
Thomas looked at the giant snow-beast.
“Can we?” He motioned toward the door of the cage.
Grome worked some kind of latch on the top of the cage and the wooden door swung open, creaking on its hinges.
Thomas offered Fion his hand. But she ignored it and stepped down out of the cage, free at last.
“Come on, I’ll take you where they can eat you too!” He said with a slight smirk.
Thomas never saw it coming. Fion hauled off and punched his shoulder with all her pent-up anger and fear. It almost knocked him down.
“Ow!” Thomas said, rubbing his shoulder. “That’s going to leave a mark.”
Now it was Fion’s turn to smile. Grome, walking beside them, showed his fangs, rumbled and hooted his snow-beast laugh.
Thirty-Seven
Thomas watched as Fion took a bite out of the charred meat placed before her. A little hesitant at first, but then her eyes widened and a bright smile came across her face as she ripped off another chunk with her teeth and chewed hungrily. The beast had taken them to another large cave that functioned as a kitchen and dining hall. Here and there throughout the cave snow-beast were going about their business, but they always gave Fion and Thomas a wide berth.
“Mmm,” Fion said through a mouthful of meat. “It’s fantastic. What is it?”
“I didn’t ask.”
Fion stopped chewing for a moment, considering Thomas’s enigmatic answer. Then she shrugged and took another bite.
Fion swallowed.
“We have to get supplies and move on.”
Thomas pulled a face. “Yeah, about that.” He shot a glance toward the opening of the cave where two large snow-beasts stood guard.
“What?”
“While you were sleeping Grome told me, well he communicated, and I came to understand that we are basically under arrest.”
“What?” Fion frowned. “Why?”
“Well, it seems you were right again.” Thomas smiled. “They don’t call these the Forbidden Lands for nothing.” He blew on the steaming contents of the clay mug in front of him and took a sip.
“Go on,” Fion said.
“The snow-beasts had problems with the ‘Smooth Ones.’ That’s what they call us, years ago, maybe centuries, and so they retreated to the high mountains and claimed them for themselves. Under no circumstances do they allow strangers to enter or pass through their mountains.”
Thomas took another sip from his mug. “To the best of my ability, I explained what our situation was and how we need to get through their pass to the other side of the mountain to join our people. Grome said he will tell our story to the leaders or elders. I guess Grome is the leader of one den. It looks like they have a society of families, clans and tribes. They’re having a meeting tonight as best as I could understand from Grome. Then they will decide what to do with us.”
Fion froze in the middle of taking a bite. “What to do with us?”
“Yeah.” Thomas sat his cup down. “Grome told me he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had come onto their mountain. But he remembered stories of Smooth Ones who had traversed their boundaries. A clan of snow-beasts captured them, there was a fight and the Smooth Ones killed one of the snow-beast.”
Fion looked around the large clean cave. In the corner she could see two young snow-beasts wrestling and playing. She couldn’t imagine anyone killing one of these beautiful creatures. “What happened?”
Otherlander: Through the Storm Page 7
