Finally, he stood and gave a little bow to Theonica. “Thank you, ma’am. It was delicious.”
Theonica smiled, then pulled Thomas into a hug. “My compliments to your mother. She raised you well, Ladd.” She pushed him toward Fion. “Now get out of here before little Fion pops from impatience.”
Fion dragged Thomas out the back of the kitchen as Theonica’s voice trailed after them.
“Mind yourselves, little ones. There are dark rumblings on the horizon.”
Fifty-Eight
Fion led Thomas through a maze of halls that gradually turned into hewn-out rock tunnels. They were clean, and the floor was worn smooth from years of use. Here and there, torches lit the way. It was almost cheery, entirely unlike the dark, claustrophobic halls of Darcon’s fortress.
“Okay, Fion, where are we going?”
Fion glanced back at Thomas with one of her little smiles that he was getting used to. She was up to something. Might as well go along. What else could he do?
Finally, they halted at a large wooden door.
Fion turned to Thomas with a glint in her eye.
“This is where we are going.” She turned the latch and shoved open the door. “The Dragon Keep.”
Fion pushed him through the door. The sights, sounds, and smells, yes smells, of a massive working stable for dragons assaulted Thomas’s senses. The stable was part of a vast cavern open to Thomas’s left to the outside. Of course, that was also where the launching and landing ledge was located. On closer inspection, he saw that there were immense doors that folded into each other, that could secure the cavern from the elements or attack. There were individual sturdy wooden stables for each dragon. A stream that flowed out of the wall of the cavern fed hewn out watering troughs. Whole deer and what looked like wild pig carcasses hung at one side, waiting for feeding time.
Feeding, cleaning, and tending the stronghold’s dragons took an awful lot of people. Thomas saw men and women, young and old, all going about the business of dragon care. The cavern echoed with the sounds of human work, punctuated with the growls and rumbles of dragons. Thomas couldn’t help but smile. He had to admit he missed his mother and father, and that sense of gnawing homesickness never seemed to go away. Now that he was back in N’albion, though, he realized how much he had missed this place.
“What do you think?” Fion said.
“It is awesome.”
“Yeah,” Fion nodded, taking it all in. “It is.”
Just then an older man dressed in the leather apparel of a dragon rider approached the pair. Thomas noticed two metal shiny bars attached to the shoulders of his leather jacket, like a kind of military insignia. His face was dark and creased by wrinkles that only increased as he spoke through a giant gray mustache.
“Little Fion, back already?”
“Yes, Master,” Fion said with a respectful bow.
“I assume this is the one we have heard so much about, the Otherlander?” The old man looked Thomas up and down. “Thought you would be older.” He squinted. “And bigger.”
Thomas felt like he was back in his English school in the headmaster’s office.
“I get that a lot, sir.” Thomas extended his hand. “I’m Thomas.”
The man considered the boy and his outstretched hand, then grabbed it and shook.
“I am Shepherd, the Dragon Master. Welcome to my Dragon Keep, Thomas, Otherlander.”
Thomas blanched. “Just, Thomas.”
Shepherd winked at Fion. “Suit yourself, Just Thomas.”
Fion broke the tension. “Master Shepherd, I was going to show Thomas my dragon.”
A roar echoed through the keep as a dragon landed on the ledge, followed by several others. Young stable hands ran to secure the mounts as their riders slid from their saddles.
“I’m needed.” Shepherd turned toward the newly arrived dragons and their riders. “You know where to find him,” he called back. “Be careful if you take Ember out today. Don’t stray too far from the stronghold.”
Fifty-Nine
Thomas followed Fion through the maze of stables, marveling at the dragons. Some crouched on their haunches, many curled in corners with their tails wrapped securely around them. The array of colors was mind-blowing, from deep brown and light green to red and golden and even brass. Before, he just saw dragons, but now that he had spent time with them, he could identify their unique characteristics: the size and shape of their heads, the glint of their eyes, the length of their tails.
Like spending time with another culture and becoming their friends. Like the snow-beast, even. Once you knew them, they could never look the same again.
Thomas rounded a corner, and Fion held up her hand with a flourish. “Thomas, meet Ember.”
She stepped back to reveal the dragon. Thomas gasped. The beast before him was markedly smaller than Thorn. And where Thorn’s hide was a deep golden brown, this dragon was a beautiful red-orange. Thomas felt he was looking at a crimson sunset. The dragon crept toward Fion and dipped his head in submission. The muscles under its hide flexed, and the colors shifted and changed like a flame or a spark sent out of a fireplace. “Ember,” Thomas whispered. “He’s beautiful.”
Fion beamed with pride. “Yes, I must agree,” Fion said, stroking the dragon’s crimson head.
Suddenly she was all business. “Grab that, the day’s a wastin’.” Fion indicated a beautiful leather saddle perched on a wooden sawhorse.
Thomas took the saddle. “Where is his blanket?”
Fion looked at Thomas with admiration and a little surprise. “Good thinking, Thomas.”
Fion reached to a shelf near them and pulled a woven blanket off, unfurled it and laid it gently over Ember’s back. Thomas had learned that like horses on Earth, the saddle rested on a blanket which protected the dragon’s hide. Thomas now set the saddle on the lower neck of the dragon before the wings and with the help of Fion begun the fastening and cinching of the buckles around the dragon’s midsection. Thomas used his knee to apply firm but steady pressure on the side of Ember, causing the dragon to huff out a blast of air. Then he deftly tightened the saddle. He felt eyes staring at him and turned reflexively to find Fion considering him with a knowing look.
“What?” said Thomas.
“Nothing.”
The silence grew.
“Seriously, why are you looking at me like that?”
“I know, you insist that you are not the Otherlander,” Fion shrugged. “But it is said he has an uncanny ability with his dragon.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Thomas straightened up. “Cut it out. You’re starting to creep me out. And besides, Ember is your dragon. I don’t have my own dragon. Ha, I don’t even have my own gloves. Remember?”
Fion shot him that mischievous grin of hers. “Yes, about that.” She fit her boot into the stirrup and swung her leg over and settled into the saddle. “Mount up.”
Thomas took her outstretched hand and swung himself into the saddle behind her.
Fion stroked Ember’s neck. “Well, boy? Are you ready to stretch those wings of yours?”
The little dragon let out a mighty roar and sprung into the air, unfurled his wings soaring out over the stables through the dragon keep’s opening and burst into the sky.
“Where are we heading?” Thomas asked.
Fion smiled over her shoulder, “To see a man about a dragon.”
Sixty
They kept low in the canyons. Ember flew like he had been cooped up for a while and was thrilled to stretch his wings. Thomas couldn’t help but think the dragon was smiling. Every once in a while, the dragon would peer back at his girl rider and give a barking growl. Fion expertly reined him in and out of sun and shadow and over and under rock passes. Thomas held on for dear life, all the while enjoying watching his friend entranced by the beating of her dragon’s wings.
Thomas now understood the difference in riding a dragon and flying one. He had ridden Thorn. And even though Fion was an accomplished rider with great
skill, Thorn had only allowed her to ride him. The great dragon merely tolerated the boy and girl, but he had only one master, Deacon. Just as Deacon was the master of the mighty Thorn, so Fion was the master of Ember. And she and the little dragon flew as one.
“Hang on!” Fion shouted over her shoulder as she coaxed the dragon up the sheer granite face of a cliff only to pop over the top, and with the slightest tug on the reins, the dragon braked mid-air and folded his wings and dove.
Thomas’s face stung from the frigid air, but he was having the time of his life.
Fion leaned over Ember’s neck and pointed at a cliff wall mottled with the grays and blues of snow and ice in the shadows. At first, Thomas could see nothing, but then he perceived a dark hole in the center of the wall. A large cave opening. Ember trumpeted his call, and another dragon echoed back.
Ember spiraled down and landed lightly on the ledge. Thomas slid down onto the natural granite porch. He turned and offered his hand, and Fion considered it for a moment, then took it as she slid to stand beside him.
“Thank you, Just Thomas.”
Thomas shook his head. “Girls,” he muttered to himself.
Fion smiled, then called into the cave opening. “Master, we’re here.”
A young boy ran out of the cave and quickly began tending Ember. He was tiny, with a crazy bush of blond hair on the top of his skinny head. He smiled shyly at Thomas. Thomas figured he must be about 8 years old. Fion lovingly tousled his fuzzy hair as he scampered past them. “Thomas, this is Knat.”
The boy ceased his perpetual motion for a moment, stood, and gave a somber bow toward Thomas as he considered the larger boy standing before him; his eyes suddenly went wide.
“You’re the…”
“Oh, no…” laughed Fion. “Here it comes.”
“Otherlander,” Knat whispered in awe.
Thomas couldn’t help but smile at the boy. He returned the boy’s bow and offered his hand.
“Just, Thomas.”
The boy stared at Thomas’s hand like it was a snake. Then fondly grabbed it, shaking it fiercely with a crazy grin.
“Knat,” Fion said, breaking the boy’s trance. “Is your master here?”
“Yes, he is here,” a voice boomed from out of the cave. “And to what do I owe the honor of being visited by the daughter of Deacon Stormcloud?”
Fion led Thomas into the cave, and Knat scurried off to finish tending to Ember.
Thomas liked the cave. Tapestries hung on the walls and beautiful carpets covered the stone floor. The center of the room held a massive fire that provided warmth and light and for the cooking that Thomas could smell. A man tended a large kettle that bubbled pleasantly, giving off the most delectable aroma.
“Your timing is impeccable as always, Fion. Just in time for lunch.” The man handed Fion a bowl of stew and then ladled another for Thomas.
“Thank you, sir.” Fion curtsied and found a seat by the fire. Thomas did, likewise. After filling a crock for himself, the man joined them.
The man was bald, with a large grey beard that was trimmed neatly. His head was the shape of a bullet thrust forward on his shoulders. He was compact and solid, with powerfully muscled shoulders and a barrel chest. His name was Thran.
Fion introduced him to Thomas and spared him the whole “Just Thomas” bit. Frankly, Thomas was tired of the entire Otherlander thing. He understood that war still wore on and all, but he was ready to forget it for a while and be just a kid, a boy having an outing with a good friend. And what was wrong with that?
Thomas finished his stew and sat the crock on a side table.
“Thank you, sir. It was delicious.”
The man winked at the children. “Now how can old Thran help you? “
Fion smiled. “We came to see you about a dragon. All the hatchlings in the Stronghold have imprinted. I thought you might know of some others that were available.”
“And this would be for?” Thran let the question hang in the air.
Thomas was wondering the same thing.
Fion spoke. “Thomas the Other…” She caught herself, then smiled. “Thomas, my friend.”
“Aye, that’s what I suspected.”
Fion brightened. “So, you have one?”
“I didn’t say that, Lass.” Thran rubbed his beard and studied Thomas.
“If you had come a month ago, I might have been able to help you. But all the hatchlings I know of are all imprinted with their new riders, and the next batch of eggs are not to hatch till spring.”
Fion’s face fell.
“I’m sorry, Lass.”
It surprised Thomas that he felt disappointed, even though he only just heard about the plan.
They stood to go.
Thomas extended his hand to Thran.
“Thank you, sir, for your hospitality.”
“My pleasure, young Thomas.”
They walked out of the cave onto the exposed ledge. Knat met them, leading Ember. Ember roared at the sight of Fion, eager to get back in the air.
Fion settled in the saddle as Thomas swung in behind her. Thran examined the girl’s somber expression.
“Still downcast, I see. Where is my bright, Fion?”
Fion tried to smile. “Master Thran. They say the Otherlander possesses uncanny dragon riding skills.”
“Oh, no.” Thomas groaned. “Here we go again.”
Fion spun fiercely on Thomas. “No! You are the Otherlander! Whether or not you accept it, it is your calling. It’s who you were 14 years ago, and it is who you are now. You just have to embrace your identity.” Fion's eyes brimmed with tears, and she angrily wiped them away with the back of her gloved hand.
“Now, now, Lass. No need for these.” The man wiped another stray tear from Fion’s cheek.
Thran considered them both. He peered up at the sky.
“Come to think of it, there is a dragon.”
Fion sniffed and looked hopefully. “What?”
“Well, if you could call him that. Most would not consider him a proper dragon by any stretch of the imagination. But he has a snout and a tail and wings. All the proper parts. It’s just...”
“What?”
“Well, how the Creator has arranged him.”
Thomas’s curiosity got the best of him. “Is he some kind of freak?”
“No, Master Thomas. I would not go that far. He was the smallest of the clutch and I didn’t think his egg would hatch. But it did weeks after his brothers and sisters hatched and imprinted on their riders. He is a rogue dragon. Without a rider to guide him and train him, he has a mind of his own. I’ll show him to ya if you want to see him.”
Fion looked like she would pop. “Oh yes, Master Thran. We would love to see him.”
Fion turned to Thomas. “Wouldn’t we, Thomas?”
“Uh,” he glanced sheepishly at his friend. He couldn’t bear to let her down. “Sure.” Then with more conviction Thomas said, “Yes, we would love to see him.”
Sixty-One
Master Thran had Knat saddle up his dragon, a giant one, deep green. As they followed the master on his dragon, the color reminded Thomas of a ripened avocado. Oh, why did he have to make that analogy? Avocados made him remember his home, not in England, but where he grew up in California. And of course, that made him think of his family somewhere beyond the mist on the other side of the portal.
His heart hurt as he thought of his dear mother, especially in her pregnant state. Was she still pregnant? Had she already delivered his baby brother? She would be worried sick about him all over again. He wished there were some way to spare her the pain. His father would feel the responsibility of his being here now. His dad initially came through the portal because of his own pride and anger at having his research stolen. Thomas hoped that his father would not blame himself for what happened this time.
As Thomas held onto Fion in front of him in the saddle, he continued to think about home. Strange how home felt so dull and bland when you were there. Sch
ool, homework, house chores. Sometimes he was ready to get away but he would give anything to be there now. Thomas just prayed that God would keep his family safe and also protect his friends here. One day soon, he would make it back. Or would he? He was in the Creator’s hands, carried along by him like he was carried aloft on the wings of the dragon he was now riding. Where to? He didn’t fully know. But he had to trust. What else could he do? Where else could he turn? The Creator had brought him through the storm for a reason. Now he had to face the unknown with as much courage as he could muster.
“I can’t see him!” Fion said as she peered into the dragon’s stable. They had flown over the ridge and come to what Thomas could only think of as a pound for dragons. Here they cared for dragons that were old or recovering from injuries. They stood outside the stable where the dragon that Thran told them about was being kept, and now all they could see was a giant pile of hay in the corner, but no dragon.
“Wait. He can be a little shy,” Thran said. “Try this.” Thran pointed to the boy, Knat.
Knat gave Thomas a piece of meat on the end of a stick.
Thomas, unsure of himself, held it gingerly.
“Go ahead,” Thran encouraged, nodding at the pile of hay in the corner.
Thomas extended the stick with the meat toward the pile of hay.
Nothing.
“Listen,” Fion said.
They heard the distinct sound of sniffing. Then a little rustle in the hay.
Then silence again.
Thomas’s arm tired. “I don’t think this is working.”
“Patience, Master Thomas,” Thran said.
Fion’s green eyes were as big as saucers. “Thomas, can you get it a little closer?”
Thomas sighed and leaned further in, putting the meat closer to the pile of hay.
The hay exploded, sending straw and debris fluttering through the air, and out popped a small dragon. It snapped on the meat, and the stick cracked in half with the crunch of the dragon’s jaws. The dragon extended its wings and let out what it must have thought was a mighty roar, but came out like a piercing, prolonged squeal. Thomas dropped the stick and covered his ears.
Otherlander: Through the Storm Page 12
