Fion yelled, “Put down your weapons!”
The snow-beast guards hesitated. Thorn unfurled his wings, sucked in a massive amount of air and roared. Even though Thomas knew him as a friend, the boy stumbled back at the display of ferocious power. Wooden weapons clattered to the floor all around.
“Thorn!” Fion called.
At the sound of his young rider, Thorn hesitated, still confused.
“Thorn, I’m here,” Fion implored softly. “It’s okay.”
The mighty beast shook his head, clearing the cobwebs, and turned its luminous gold eyes on Fion. Recognizing her, he dipped his head in submission, and allowed her to pet him. Forever that moment would define for Thomas the word meekness: Power under control.
Thorn was clearly happy to see Fion, and he even perked up when he recognized Thomas was safe.
“Thorn, you must be hungry,” Fion pointed to the cave opening, “Fly. Feed.”
Thorn snarled at the snow-beasts one last time, then winged away in search of food.
Forty-Three
“Thorn’s not the only one who’s hungry,” Thomas said as he and Fion trudged through the snow toward the cavernous dining hall. “I’m starving.”
They came to the clearing in front of the cliff wall that contained the hall. The usual hustle and bustle of the snow-beasts village was in motion. As Thomas and Fion stepped into the area, one by one the beasts recognized Thomas and stopped and bowed their heads until they filled the entire area—Giant white beasts all silently waiting.
Thomas stood still. He awkwardly called for them to stop and go about their business, but of course he had no snow-beast words to communicate his wishes. Grome stepped out of the dining cavern and saved him. Thomas looked at his big friend, imploring for help. Grome growled a word to the submissive crowd and then one by one they lifted their furry heads and quietly went on as normal.
“Thank you,” Thomas said. “Why were they all doing that?”
Grome cocked his head in the funny snow-beast fashion as he listened.
“Tomar, Frone. You come. Me show.” And he turned and walked away.
“I guess we follow him?” Fion said.
“I guess,” Thomas said, looking wistfully toward the dining cavern as his stomach growled. “I was really looking forward to some of that mystery meat.”
The torch light made the shadows dance on the rough rock wall of the cave as Thomas and Fion made their way through, led by their snow-beast friend, Grome.
“Where are we going?” Thomas asked.
Grome growled something unintelligible.
“Doesn’t seem like this cave is in use,” Fion commented, noting the rough walls and the floor littered with dirt and rocks. Here and there they had to thread their way around stalactites and stalagmites. Finally, Grome stopped as they came to what looked like the end of the cavern. He bent and pointed to a narrow opening. Thomas didn’t think the giant snow-beast could get his mass through, but with some huffing and growling, he squeezed in and disappeared.
Thomas and Fion considered the hole.
Thomas bowed. “Ladies, first.”
Fion rolled her eyes and scooted through. Thomas followed.
After a few bumps and scrapes, Thomas popped his head into an opening where the others were waiting.
“Well, that was a genuine thrill…” he started as he stood and then taking in his surroundings was stunned into silence.
Grome held his torch aloft, casting light into a gigantic cavern.
It took Thomas’s breath away. It was so vast. Stalactites covered the ceiling in various shapes and sizes, and at the far end there were natural columns that must have been formed over years and years. This was an ancient place, and to Thomas it even felt somehow holy. Then he remembered going to Saint Paul’s Cathedral in London. That’s what this reminded him of: a cathedral, a giant stone sanctuary.
Standing in such a vast and awesome space made Thomas feel small, and he liked it.
Grome motioned for the two to follow him. They worked their way across the floor that was slick in spots from the constant dripping of mineral rich water from the roof. Finally, they came to an enormous wall. The great snow beast shone his torch upon it. Thomas and Fion gasped. Intricate drawings and representations covered it with what was clearly snow-beasts and animals in different scenes and settings.
“It’s their history,” Fion whispered, feeling that this was a special place of reverence and to show respect to Grome.
“Fion, look,” Thomas pointed. They moved back to the right and there was a point where the whole cave painting started. Was it a sun? A burst of energy or light? It was obvious that was where their history began.
Fion pointed at the sun like burst on the wall. “Grome, what is this?”
Grome bowed his head and then purred a snow-beast word.
“I’m sorry, we don’t understand.”
Grome cocked his head. He extended his arms toward the ceiling and growled, “Mokore of Arr.”
“Mokore of Arr?” Fion repeated.
Thomas looked again at the drawing and nodded with understanding. “Maker of All.”
Fion looked up at their huge furry friend with admiration and awe. “You worship the Creator, the Maker of all.”
Grome nodded.
Thomas and Fion continued to the left as the drawings showed scenes that branched off into different scenes like a majestic tree growing sideways all stemming from the root which was the “Maker of All.”
Thomas saw scenes of war and building, flourishing and waning.
“Wow, a visual history of the snow-beasts,” he said as he studied the drawings.
“Thomas, come here,” Fion called with some urgency.
She was on her tiptoes, trying to look at a scene high on the wall. “Look there!”
Thomas squinted. “Grome, bring the torch closer, please.” The beast complied.
“That section there.” Fion pointed high at a drawing of a dark figure with claws. It was clearly not a snow beast, for someone had colored them white. The dark figure seemed to be engaged in some battle.
“I can’t make it out, Fion.”
Fion turned to the beast and asked sweetly, “Sir, could you lift me closer?”
Grome handed the torch to Thomas and gently lifted the girl. She was now eye level with the drawing. “Hand me the torch, Thomas.”
The light revealed the dark, clawed being, and now she knew what it was for certain—A Shadow Hunter. It was fighting a smaller figure with no fur — a human.
The next drawing revealed the shadow hunter on the ground defeated. Standing above it, with arms lifted in victory, was the human figure. It couldn’t be, but there was no other explanation.
“Thomas, it is you,” Fion whispered with wide eyes.
Grome set Fion down.
Thomas refused to believe it. Grome growled softly and pointed to the drawing, then to Thomas. “Tomar.” He rumbled. As if to say, “That settles it!”
On the trek out of the cave, Thomas had a lot to think about. Looking at the petroglyphs, he experienced some serious cognitive dissonance. That was what his dad would call it. Hard thinking. When things did not line up with what he believed or knew to be true. His head spun as he tried to reason through this latest revelation in the cave.
He didn’t believe he was anyone special. After they had seen the cave drawing, they had gone to the dining cavern for some food. Fion started up again and went on and on about him being the Otherlander. The drawing confirmed what she believed in her heart already. Thomas protested, but it was getting increasingly harder to make his case. He wasn’t sure what the drawing was, but it really seemed that it was a representation of the fight that he had with the shadow assassin, drawn on that cave wall before Grome was even a cub. He was having a really hard time reconciling this with his own reality. Could that have been drawn on the wall years before it had happened? Was he the Otherlander? Could he actually be the subject of some strange prophecy
? Just thinking about it made his head hurt. Maybe when presented with a series of possibilities one might have to believe the one with the clearest evidence, no matter how implausible.
Forty-Four
Forever Thomas would remember that night as one of the most bizarre, joy filled nights he had ever experienced. The great cavern was ablaze with torches. The eleven elders assembled, seated shoulder to shoulder in the front of the hall. There was barely room to move as snow-beasts filled the entire hall: adult male and female and their cubs of various shapes and sizes. There was a sense of excitement in the air, palatable to even Thomas and Fion. They had already consumed massive amounts of food as they feasted together with the beasts. Thomas was still chewing on his favorite snow-beast delicacy, spicy mystery meat. Around the perimeter, the youngest snow-beast cubs were playing some game not unlike chase or tag that human children would play. Thomas and Fion were bookended by Grome on one side and Pinkie on the other. The four of them sat in the seats of honor at the front of the assembly hall.
Suddenly, the sounds of drums filled the hall. From the wings in marched massive male snow-beasts each carrying a large drum hanging from leather straps across their shoulders. They beat the drums in rhythm until they reached the front of the hall and then gave one last pound that reverberated through the cavern. They stood silent and still as statues.
Then young snow-beasts came forward, and they treated the entire crowd to a reenactment of the Shadow hunter attack on Scar, Thomas and Fion, complete with costumes. Thomas was a little shocked by the smooth animal skins fashioned to make the Thomas and Fion actors resemble the human children. He even enjoyed the young snow-beast who dyed his white fur black to get into character as the shadow hunter. The smallest snow-beasts in the audience hid their faces when the shadow hunter character jumped out and slashed at them with his claws. The crowd cheered with growls and roars when the Thomas character defeated the dark assassin. Thomas and Fion applauded and hooted along with Grome and Pinkie.
Then the drummers gave another roll on their drums, and the audience hushed. From their left, a lone snow-beast entered. He walked with a slight limp, but he held his head high.
“Scar,” Fion smiled. “Good, old Scar.”
The Snow-beast strode purposively to Thomas. Grome pushed Thomas to his feet. The boy stood self-consciously as the bright blue eyes of every snow-beast in the hall watched him.
Scar reached and gently placed his hand on Thomas’s head and intoned again as he had in the healer’s den, “Brotar.” This time the entire company echoed him. “Brotar!”
Then Scar knelt before Thomas, folding his massive body down so that his huge furry head was below the young boy’s eye level.
Thomas placed his hand, which seemed so small, upon Scar’s head and repeated, “Brotar.”
Thomas looked around at all the beasts staring at him. He couldn't think of them as beasts any longer. No, they were no longer beasts. They were his friends.
The snow-beast elders gave their blessing for Thomas’s and Fion’s journey. They also instructed the community to give the boy and girl any help they needed. The next morning, with the help of their giant furry friends, they resupplied Thorn’s saddlebags with plenty of provisions. It thrilled Thomas to receive a large package of the snow-beast’s mystery meat. He was a little concerned that he was becoming addicted to its spicy flavor.
Thorn seemed to be no worse for wear, after feeding and having the chance to stretch his wings. Fion’s inspection of the dragon satisfied her he was good for the journey. Thorn had grown accustomed to the snow-beasts somewhat. He still held a grudge evidenced by a growl emanating from deep within his chest anytime a snow-beast got a little too close.
Thomas was truly sad to leave their new friends. Fion tried to keep up her tough exterior, but it was no use. She finally broke down and wept as she hugged every snow-beast in sight. They finally said their goodbyes and were soon on their way.
The sky was dark and foreboding again. Grome told them they should expect snow later in the day. They flew east around the great mountain, but close to its rocky crags. The elders had sent snow-beast scouts ahead of them along the mountain passes. And word came back that they had a safe passage out of the Forbidden Lands. Here and there as they winged their way along the mountain a snow beast would stand revealing his location among the icy crags and give his strange howl. Finally, as they crested the last peak, one snow-beast climbed up onto the rock ledge and raised his furry arm in salute. It was Scar. Thomas raised his hand and waved, then gave his best attempt at the snow-beast howl. They winged their way onward and Thomas watched as his big friend receded in the distance and finally disappeared. He heard Fion cry, and he felt that his own heart might break and wondered if he would ever see these wonderful creatures again.
Forty-Five
In the dark hall of the Shadow Lord, the ruler of the shadow warriors held counsel. It communicated more than conversed. For the sounds did not emanate from corporeal bodies of flesh and blood. Words were not issued from tongues, through teeth, being shaped by lips. No, they thought them. Ideas transmitted from one non-corporeal being to another as they congregated in an ethereal hall of mist and darkness on another world.
“He is but a child,” one general offered.
“Surely he is no real threat,” another added.
The Shadow Lord rose, writhing in dark vapor, “We sent a Shadow hunter after him and it was defeated. The human has now made his way through the forbidden lands. He has also outsmarted Darcon’s Bounty hunters.”
“Darcon is an idiot,” one general spat.
“Yes, but a useful one,” laughed another.
The Shadow Lord gurgled, “I’m afraid Darcon’s use is wearing out. When we found him in the netherworld, we sent him back to N’albion for a reason. He would gain power over that world and we would mine its resources. I grow tired of this war and all that we have wasted here with little to show for it.”
“Nawg convinced us it would be worth the effort,” the first General offered.
“But what of Nawg?” the Shadow Lord asked. “Defeated shamefully by a human.” He sat, if you could call it that, upon his throne.
“There are other worlds ripe for the taking.”
Captain Necron had waited as his generals had their counsel. He would now take his opportunity. With Nawg out of the way, he would rise and show his Lord his usefulness. Soon he would rule.
Necron spoke. “My Lord, patience; we are amassing an army. Many humans have been persuaded to join us, and with our Shadow warrior army we will overthrow their resistance. Then we will bring their resources back to the Shadow world. You will see ,we will prevail.”
“You better!” the Shadow Lord hissed.
Forty-Six
They flew through the day and into the night. The sunset lit the sky on fire and turned it into blazing glory. Thomas watched it fade to an incredible purple as exhaustion slowly took him.
He awoke and lifted his head off Fion’s back. “Sorry,” he mumbled. They were both too tired to care.
Fion drove Thorn on, hoping to get as close to the stronghold and safety as possible before camping for the night. If they pushed a little farther, they could make the Resistance fortress by the next night.
Thomas felt Fion nod, and she slid to the left, dropping the reins. Thomas grabbed her to stop her from falling out of the saddle entirely.
Fion looked back weakly. “Thank you, Otherlander.”
He protested the title, but Thomas didn’t have the energy to protest. “We really need to rest.”
Fion agreed and encouraged the dragon to find a safe spot for landing.
The dragon circled a while and then brought them down in wide spirals to a small dry riverbed with some small trees and canyon walls good for shelter.
“You stay here and tend the camp. Thorn and I will go hunt and will be back soon,” Fion said.
“I can go with you.”
“No, Otherlander.”
“Thomas, I meant.” Fion smiled. “Someone must watch the camp and someone must hunt. I am better with a bow.”
With that, she leapt onto Thorn’s saddle and they winged away before Thomas could lodge another protest.
Thomas walked over to one of their bags and rummaged till he found what he was looking for, dried mystery meat. He plopped onto the ground and began chewing. It wasn’t long till his thoughts turned to home. What were his mom and dad doing? His mother was probably sick with worry for his safety. He knew that the last time he was gone, it had really been difficult for her. If not for her strong faith she would have been undone. Thomas remembered how often she had encouraged him in challenging situations and when his anger would rear its ugly head, “Cast your anxiety on the Lord, Thomas, for he cares for you.”
Thomas and his dad were both blessed. His father would often tell him his mother was a rock. She was stable, and beneath that attractive exterior there was a toughness that could deal with almost any adversity. That was a good thing because his family was right in the middle of it again.
Somewhere in the distance a night bird called.
Thomas peered into the darkness and shuddered. It was getting colder. He pulled up the collar of his jacket. Might as well start a fire. He got up and started gathering wood.
He was heading back to the campsite with a bundle of sticks when he heard the snap of a twig somewhere. It was out of place. He looked back and saw out of the darkness the unmistakable metamorphous of a shadow warrior. Thomas dropped the wood and ran. Another morphed out of the night, then another. He bolted into the campsite only to see a cheery fire burning and a shadow warrior kneeling there and warming his hands.
Otherlander: Through the Storm Page 9
