He turned to run and plowed right into a towering dark figure. He gasped, looked up, and, as he realized he was caught again. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted.
Chapter 19
Total darkness. Thomas wondered if he was blind, or worse yet, dead. He waved his hand in front of his face, perceived that his eyes were slowly adjusting to the dark.
Now he saw there was a faint, moving, crack of light above him. He groped and pushed against his containment, then realized he must be inside a large bag of some sort. It smelled of leather and earth.
He squirmed in his cramped quarters, then stopped. Something was pushing against the side of the bag. Slowly in… slowly out… in… out... Thomas put his ear against the grainy leather and held his breath.
He listened and heard the unmistakable sound of deep breathing. And then —a rhythm like large wings beating the wind. And over the sounds came the voices of two normal-sounding men with British-sounding accents, except not modern.
“We should have waited,” the first voice said.
The second man responded, “John, we knew the risks.”
“I’m sick of this war,” the John fellow said with disgust. “Who is going to tell his family?”
“It’s your turn.” The second man responded with finality.
“Fine. I’ll meet you back at the stronghold.”
“Be careful, my friend.”
“For the kingdom.”
“For the kingdom!” the other responded.
There was another rush of wind, and the wing-flapping sound separated into two sets of wing-flapping sounds, in different rhythms, with one of them becoming faint, then gone.
Curiosity drove Thomas to grope about the bag, and, finally, he was able to find a tie at the top. He managed to loose it and, pushing back the flap, he peeked out.
What he saw took his breath from him.
It was still night. The tops of trees were dropping away. Fear came because Thomas was never one to love heights. But curiosity was stronger, so Thomas pushed the flap higher and raised his head out for a better look.
His hands clenched tightly to the big bag’s lip. The wind caught his hair. He could hardly believe what he was seeing.
He was hundreds of feet in the air. The leather bag that held him, he now realized, was a large saddlebag. And the saddlebag was secured to the massive back of a flying dragon!
Chapter 20
The dragon was a magnificent beast, golden-brown in color, with a smooth-scaled leathery hide. And at full extension, its mighty wings comfortably stretched out at least forty feet.
Thomas couldn’t believe it. “I’m riding in a saddlebag thrown over the back of a giant flying lizard!” he whispered to himself.
The view was incredible: starry sky, full moon, crystal lakes sparkling in the moonlight, and approaching majestic mountains capped with snow. He was flying!
His wonder and awe overcame his vertigo and fear. All the while, he heard the beating of the magnificent beast’s powerful wings. Suddenly the world glowed white. They were inside a cloud, then out. For now, Thomas forgot all his troubles. He was flying on the back of a dragon!
“So, he lives.”
Thomas, startled from his exhilaration, shrank back into the bag.
Hearty laughter, “Breathe, lad—I’m one of the good fellows!”
Encouraged by the voice’s warmth and laughter, Thomas cautiously peeked out of the bag again.
Atop the dragon, straddling a saddle cinched around its belly, sat a man—in his late thirties, Thomas reckoned.
He looked solidly rugged and strong-muscled as if he’d seen much training and many battles. To Thomas, he seemed to exude danger and adventure.
But the man’s feature that struck Thomas most were his piercing gray eyes—the color of a storm. Gazing at this man, Thomas had the strangest thought: Even though I’m just a kid, if this guy asked me, I think I’d follow him right into a battle.
Finding his voice, Thomas asked,“Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace safe,” replied the man.
“Away from those dark guys?” Thomas asked, hopefully.
The man looked at Thomas with fatherly concern.
“Yes,” he said reassuringly. “Yes, away from the dark ones.”
Thomas smiled with relief.
“Climb on up here, boy; you’ll get a better view. And I’m sure it’s more comfortable than riding in that saddlebag. Just heft yourself using the bag strap.”
Thomas hesitated a moment, then carefully climbed out of the bag and up the strap, just like the man suggested.
But Thomas’s move from the saddlebag to the back of the man’s saddle was un-anchored, and Thomas lost his balance. His eyes widened as the fall loomed, but the man quickly caught Thomas’s arm and swung him back up onto the saddle.
“Hold on.”
“Thanks!” Thomas wrapped his arms firmly around the man’s waist.
“I am known as Deacon,” the man said over his shoulder. “And this,” he said, slapping the great dragon’s shoulder, “is Thorn.”
The dragon trumpeted in response then turned his huge triangular head toward them in greeting; his luminous golden eyes twinkled.
“What do they call you?” asked Deacon.
“They call me... uh, my name is Thomas.”
“Well, Thomas, are you holding on?”
“Yes?”
“Tighter,” commanded Deacon.
And with that, the great dragon dipped his head and went into a steep dive, with Thomas holding onto the man for dear life. The boy would’ve screamed, but the rushing air sucked the wind right out of his lungs.
Deacon made a small chuk-chuk noise, and the dragon leveled off. Deacon pointed to a dark shadow above them. Thomas could barely make it out. Deacon said: “Shadow warrior.”
“What?” asked Thomas.
Deacon ignored Thomas’s question because he was quickly scanning the approaching cliffs. His eyes latched on a rocky outcropping. He leaned down and pointed over the dragon’s right side.
“There, Thorn. Get us in there.”
Diving and angling at the same time, Thorn effortlessly glided to a soft landing on the side of a cliff behind the rock outcropping; the moon’s gleam kept them in shadow. The dragon’s sharp talons gripped a craggy boulder, holding them steady.
Thorn and Deacon sat silently, and the only sound came from the giant dragon’s heavy breathing. Thomas looked around. When he could no longer stand it, he broke the silence with: “Excuse me, sir...”
Immediately Deacon twisted and clamped his hand over Thomas’s mouth; with fierce eyes, Deacon put his index finger to his lips.
Thomas got the picture, but Deacon’s hand didn’t release him.
Suddenly a huge shadow passed over them. Thomas looked up, and his eyes grew wide with fear. About eighty feet overhead, flying in front of the stars, was the shadow warrior, on a bigger black beast. This dragon’s sinewy black body was covered in light-sucking scales. Thomas remembered why he didn’t like snakes.
He looked at Deacon, seeking reassurance. Deacon shook his head, communicating it still was not okay to make noise. Even Thorn held his breath
The shadow passed, then another ten seconds; Deacon searched the sky the entire time. Finally, he sighed out his breath and released Thomas.
“Sorry about that, boy. Shadow warrior scouts make me nervous, and that one was close.”
Thorn growled petulantly.
“You don’t have to tell me that was close. You weigh a ton, and think you know everything.”
Thorn rumbled again, for emphasis, and Deacon gave Thomas a knowing smirk and rolled his eyes; the man and the dragon knew each other well. His calm returned, Deacon nudged Thorn with the heel of his boot and commanded: “Let’s give that shadow warrior and his beast a wide berth. Up, Thorn!”
And with that, the mighty beast leaped into the sky and soared on.
Chapter 21
The hee
ls of six heavy boots striking the stone floor echoed down the hallway and bounced off the large rough-hewn doors at the end. The seven-foot-tall General Nawg, commander of the shadow warriors, marched several paces in front of two shorter-but-bulkier shadow warriors. They maintained that distance carefully, because of their fear of the general.
All shadow-warrior troops knew that getting too close to their general was to risk annihilation—those that didn’t know this were already gone.
And while the hallway was lit by torches, Nawg’s dark cloak and countenance sucked in whatever dim light those torches cast. Only his battle-scarred iron breastplate reflected a faint glow.
The two warriors behind Nawg dragged a beaten and bruised man. From his leather jacket it was clear that he was a Dragon Rider. The cortege halted at the massive doors. The man’s injured head lolled back and forth in semi-consciousness.
General Nawg shoved the heavy doors open like they were made of balsa, then stepped into a cavernous hall and dropped the prisoner to the floor, where his swollen eye slits barely opened. Having deposited the prisoner they came to attention. Then, incredibly, the colossal general and his warriors kneeled.
“My lord,” General Nawg hissed, as he bent his helm toward the stone floor.
Across the dim hall, silhouetted by a roaring blaze from a large fireplace, stood an even-darker figure. He slowly turned to his loyal general, whose head was still bowed in obeisance.
Lord Darcon, ruler of the dark lands, looked upon the loyal leader of his shadow army, who raised his head and turned his helm toward his master. His eye slits glowed red. And while Darcon was not quite six feet all, the much-taller general actually shuddered, almost imperceptibly, when Darcon’s cold, gray steel gaze pierced him. The other soldiers felt it too.
“What is this?” demanded the dark lord.
“My master,” responded Nawg, “Our troops were ambushed... the new Otherlander was taken. We captured this rebel, and I brought him to you after interrogating him.”
Darcon approached and examined the prone man. Darcon bent, reached out, and almost-tenderly patted the man’s face… then roughly grabbed a tuft of hair and jerked the man’s face up to his own.
The pain broke the prisoner’s semi consciousness; he blanched and recoiled as he realized whose breath was washing over him.
“Where is the Otherlander?” Darcon demanded. “You certainly know—the traveler who recently came through the door?”
The prisoner shook his head violently, getting free of Darcon’s grip. And a fire deep within the man glinted through his swollen eyes. Scrambling and back-pedaling, the man managed to get to his feet.
Standing defiantly, he whispered through his cracked lips, “For the kingdom!” even as the two shadow warriors grabbed his arms and forced him to his knees.
Darcon’s face distorted. How could this one endure Nawg’s tortures and still stand with this confidence? Doesn’t he know who he is facing? Doesn’t he understand he is facing his immediate demise?!
Seething rage and hatred now mushroomed within Darcon. He swiftly reached within his robe, extracted a wicked dagger, and in two steps plunged it into the man’s chest. Then he twisted it.
The prisoner groaned, then crumpled to the floor. His life left him in one final defiant breath: “For the kingdom...”
Darcon was shaken for a moment, and then quickly regained his composure. He bellowed: “Find the new Otherlander and bring him to me, or you will die more painfully than this one!”
Chapter 22
“Do you live here?” Thomas asked as Thorn, and his riders landed on the outskirts of a small stone-and-thatch peasant village. Deacon dismounted, then helped Thomas slide down from the saddle as he said: “No. I have some business to attend to here, and then we’re off again.”
After leaving Thorn in a stable hewn out of a nearby cliff’s face, Deacon and Thomas walked into the village. As they made their way, it became apparent that Thomas, still dressed in his 21st-century graphic t-shirt, sweatpants, and walking barefoot, was drawing attention.
“We’ve got to get you some real clothes,” Deacon said, frowning down at the disheveled boy. “What were you doing in Darcon’s territory? Especially half-dressed?”
“I was looking for my dad,” Thomas answered as he averted his gaze from another gawking villager.
“What?”
“We got separated.”
Deacon guided Thomas into a merchant’s shop. It reminded Thomas of an old General store Thomas liked to visit with his Grandfather in his small hometown in Northern California. Wooden shelves to the ceiling stacked neatly with supplies of all sorts, kegs filling the floor full of who knows what and the sweet smell of tobacco and leather filled the air.
“How?” Deacon asked as he rummaged through a small stack of tunics on one wall.
The merchant-tradesman approached, surveying Thomas quizzically.
“Your boy needs some garments?”
“How could you tell?
“Tunic and some trousers?” the tradesman responded eagerly.
Deacon looked Thomas up and down; he was not impressed by what he saw. He focused on the bare feet. Shaking his head, he sighed: “Better add some boots as well.”
The man smiled at the prospect and immediately selected likely items to check against Thomas for size. All the while, he muttered a little song to himself.
Deacon turned back to Thomas. “How did you lose him?”
“Huh?”
“You said you lost your father. How did you lose him?”
Thomas stopped as a flood of memories broke over his mind. His father, his mother, the great times, moving to England, all the excitement of his father’s research.
He could hardly force himself to think it, much less say it. “Oh... well, my dad... he’s a professor, and we came to England so he could do some research... and then he went on a trip, and he...”
Thomas couldn’t get the words out. He hated it when he got this lump in his throat. His eyes began to burn, but he determined he would not cry.
Deacon understood only enough of Thomas’s words to mercifully finish the boy’s thought, “He never came back?”
To hear someone else say out loud what he was thinking inside made him angry. They didn’t have the right!
“No,” Thomas said forcefully. “He is coming back! And I’m here to find him!”
“I see.”
Thomas tried to think of more to say about that, but the tradesman returned with a stack of goods.
“Will there be anything else?”
“Aye,” responded Deacon. “Throw in some tickle juice for the lad.”
“Tickle juice?” Thomas asked.
“Yeah, it’s a drink children here enjoy,” Deacon said as he paid the man for the goods.
The clerk plopped the tunic, trousers, and boots—as well as a small bottle of juice with a cork capping it—into Thomas’s unsuspecting arms. Deacon turned to head for the door.
“You stay here and change,” Deacon said, as he headed out the door. “I’ve got to take care of that business.”
Chapter 23
Thomas stood in the general store. He surveyed the shop, looking for a place to change out of his pajamas. Great! I’m alone again. Then he felt someone staring at him.
He turned and saw a sharp-nosed, beady-eyed little man watching him. As their eyes met, the man quickly set off in a strange twitchy motion that reminded Thomas of a weasel. Thomas got a hold of his pile of clothes and stumbled for the door after Deacon.
“Hey, wait! I think I’ll go with you!”
Thomas scurried up the dirt road and caught up with Deacon.
“Sir,” said Thomas, still trying to manage the clothes and the bottle of juice while also keeping pace with Deacon’s long strides.
“I’m sure my dad is here. Can you help me find him?”
“Darcon has filled this land with orphans.”
“Sir, I’m not an orphan!”
“Loo
k, he’s not with me… and this isn’t the best time to be nosing around. When we get out of this territory we can talk about your missing father.”
They reached the entrance to a tavern. Deacon placed his heavy hand on Thomas’s shoulder.
“I’ll only be a moment. No children allowed, so drink your juice and do your best not to draw attention to yourself.”
Deacon pushed open the rough tavern door and went in. Thomas peered up and down the street, then noticed an alley to one side of the tavern.
Thomas hurried to carry all his new stuff about halfway down the alley, set the juice bottle on a wooden keg there, then quickly hid behind the cask and changed into his new trousers. He put the juice bottle in one of the pockets. He brushed the dust off his feet and pulled on the new leather boots admiring their patina. Then, just as he was putting on his new tunic, he noticed a window in the wall above the keg.
Thomas scrambled atop the keg and, peering through the window into the tavern, saw Deacon talking to the man behind the bar.
The man pointed to a door further back in the room. A young girl passed a mug to Deacon. Deacon took his ale and headed to the back, then knocked quietly on that door. The door cracked open a fraction. He exchanged hurried words, then entered and closed the door behind him.
Thomas turned away. What was that all about? He slid down the wall, plopping to a seat atop the keg. His legs dangled far above the ground. Then he remembered the juice. He pulled the little bottle from his pocket, looked at it quizzically, then pulled the cork from the bottle’s mouth.
“Here goes nothin’.”
Thomas took a sip. His eyes squinted, and his face distorted, then his eyes opened, and a huge smile spread across his face. “Wow! Not bad!” he exclaimed, and took another swig as the alley door opened and a hooded person stepped out. They looked down the alley, then quickly turned and bumped into Thomas. Thomas got a peek under the hood and saw that it was the girl from inside the tavern. She adjusted her hood down, hiding her face, and scurried out of the alley.
OTHERLANDER: A Long Way From Home Page 4