Báirseach- the Midding Gate

by V B Gilbert

  “Sage! Where will we sleep? How will we keep warm when it’s so drafty in here?” Ciaran’s demands grate my nerves.

  I count down from ten to one, hands braced on the side of the wagon, and when I feel like I won’t yell at the man, I reach under the seat and gather my sword and bow. Slipping my quiver over my shoulder, I calmly state, “Come get your bedroll, Ciaran. Then you and I will go gather firewood, we need to get a fire going for the eggs. Egan, Murphy, please gather your supplies as well.”

  Leaning my weapons against the outside of the tent, I take the time to set up my bedroll to the right of the entrance. I point out where we’ll build a fire tonight, right under the vent hole in the middle of the tent.

  Ciaran continues to grumble as we gather firewood and as he struggles to light the fire with my flint and chert. We only get a reprieve when he finally settles on his bedroll against the back of the tent and falls asleep in exhaustion.

  It snowed during the night, and the guttering fire hisses as melting snow drips into the flames. There’s always a muffled silence here in the glen after snowfall, partially due to the creatures being careful of icy conditions and partially due to the falls freezing.

  The large thump and crunch outside the entrance flap has me scrambling for my sword. Ciaran remains rolled in his blankets. My bondmates, clad only in trousers and socks, are crouched on the other side of the fire beside their bedrolls.

  A bright-orange flame is floating over Egan's left hand, his right swirling and gathering sparks from our campfire. Murphy is in a similar position but trickles of water are flowing up from the ground and a spiral of water levitates over his left hand.

  There are many wild animals out here, bears, wolves, griffins . . . trolls. Oh, Goddess, please don’t let it be a troll.

  Stealthily, Egan motions me forward and mouths, “Untie the flaps.” He positions himself in front of the entrance as I reach for the leather strips and pull . . . one, two, three, four. Bending, I take a firm hold of the flap, sword at the ready, and nod to my bondmates.

  Throwing the canvas back, we are met with a swishing, scaled tail. A familiar tail, tipped with silver spikes. Onyx is sitting outside our tent.

  Lowering my sword, I shove my feet in my boots and swirl my cloak over my shoulders. When I step out, my bondmates are beside me, hands still glowing with power, but their offensive spells have disappeared.

  Groaning, I search for Cathmor, unsure why the champion and his dragon would have followed us into the pass.

  “Egan, do you see Cathmor?” I keep my voice pitched low, not wanting to surprise Onyx as we slowly work our way around the massive creature.

  Onyx is staring north down the pass, snout tipped up and sniffing the air. It reminds me of how the two females were sniffing the ward at the Midding Gate. Whatever he smells is not visible, and I have no true way of communicating with the dragon.

  Once he’s reassured that there’s no immediate danger, Murphy retreats back into the tent. Egan sidles up beside me and gazes up at Onyx.

  “Cathmor is not here. What is the dragon doing? Why is he here?” Egan tilts his head towards me and his breath tingles across my ear as he quizzes me.

  Placing a hand on the warm scales of Onyx’s leg, I turn a puzzled look at Egan. “I’m as confused as you are. It doesn’t bode well that he’s here without his champion. He might fly back to the stables when we continue on, let’s break our fast and pack up. We have to get the eggs to Firehaven. Onyx will do what he will.”

  12

  What Onyx does is continue on our journey with us. Sometimes flying ahead, sometimes hopping from ledge to ledge as we traverse, like a playful, oversized bird.

  The snow has slowed our journey, the wheels of the wagon needing to constantly be cleared of ice build-up. Egan easily takes on this chore, his hands glowing with an orange light as he periodically runs them over the wheels to melt the ice with his fire magic.

  We awkwardly eat lunch on the road, not daring to pull off our gloves or expose our faces for too long to the elements. I don’t want to delay our journey. Once out of the pass, the snow will peter off the closer we get to Firehaven and the volcano that feeds the lava pools.

  Ciaran has taken the lead, bundled head to knee in furs. I envy him. It is so cold, my fingers are stiff in my kid gloves, and my cheeks feel raw from the constant blowing of the cold wind. Only a few more miles to the lake, and then we can shelter in warmth.

  When the Lake of Sorrows finally comes into view, the mid-afternoon sun reflecting off the minute ripples of the surface blinds me. We’ve come through the pass unscathed, and I take in the frost-covered grass, the long, low wooden hut where we will rest tonight and the stone-rimmed fire pit where we shelter the eggs.

  I slide more than climb off of the high seat of the wagon, leaning heavily against the side as I stretch out my legs and bend back to loosen my spine. In my peripheral vision, I see the men dismounting with a little more pep.

  Onyx circles overhead before landing on a boulder beside the lake. As I go about caring for the horses, I glance over every now and then. The dragon has his head tilted down and is inspecting the water. Curious. I’ve secured the horses into the open-air stalls to the left of our shelter when I hear a splash and a plop.

  “He’s fishing.” Murphy sidles up beside me and tilts his head to Onyx.

  “He is swift. Dips his claws in and pulls out a fish.” Egan has a grin on his face as he passes us with his mount. “I thought we’d be freezing by the shore fishing later.”

  “We still might. A dragon eats a lot, Egan. We’ll see if he’ll share.” I return to the wagon to find Ciaran weaving his hands for a spell, then giving a huff when he remembers his magic is bound, before reaching for the feed bags. I startle my ex-boyfriend when I speak up behind him. “How are you doing, Ciaran?”

  “Things are so much easier to do with magic.” He huffs. “I understand why you were always so tired.” He gives me a forced smile.

  Helping him fill the bags, I pause and ask, “Ciaran, seriously, why are you set on getting a dragon? You’ve disrupted a lot of lives. Is this worth it?”

  “You wouldn’t understand, Sage.” Gathering the loops in hand, he starts to step back, but I grab his arm.

  “Ciaran, you’ve always put me off when I asked in the past. What are you hiding?”

  That was the wrong thing to say. Ciaran rips his arm from my grasp and strides angrily away.

  Brow furrowed in confusion, I determine to get an answer from him soon. But first, I need to do my job. Twisting, I release the latches on the first carrier to carry it to the fire pit.

  Egan has started a fire, and I gently place the metal cylinder on a stone of the fire ring. Pulling my long gloves from the inner pocket of my cloak, I prepare to remove the egg.

  “Ciaran! Grab your gloves and a carrier. We need to transfer the eggs!”

  But, as has happened all too frequently, nothing goes to plan. Even with his magic bound, Ciaran can’t touch the eggs. Unlike Egan and Murphy who got a grasp on them, the eggs seem to create a barrier six inches from the surface.

  “Why can’t I hold them? I thought for sure with my powers bound I’d be able to grasp one. Nothing is going as planned. If I can’t hold these, how will I ever hold . . .?” Ciaran slams his mouth shut and looks wildly at each of us.

  Murphy growls in the back of his throat and steps to Ciaran’s side. Egan’s eyes are slitted, and his head is tilted as he inspects the other man, as if he could read my ex-boyfriend’s thoughts if he glares hard enough. I’m just confused.

  “How will you ever hold what, Ciaran?” My demand is met with silence, and Ciaran attempts to walk away.

  “No.” Murphy places a heavy hand on Ciaran’s shoulder. “She asked you a question.”

  “I’m here to learn and earn a dragon. I have no obligation to answer her questions. She is difficult and never appreciated that I was with her, a Mundane. I owe her nothing.” Shrugging Murphy’s hand off, he heads b
ack to the wagon.

  “He’s up to something.” Egan spells the fire higher before continuing, “Are there only these eggs? Or could he get some when we’re in Firehaven on his own?”

  Ciaran doesn’t spare us a glance as he passes on the way to the shelter with his bedroll.

  “He could find an egg in the wild. But I wouldn’t want to take an egg from a dragon. The accord we have with the dragons is long-standing. Even once they hatch and are presented to the champion, they don’t have to bond,” I say, as I try to explain the ins and outs of the dragon bond. “The dragon has to agree. Sometimes, they don’t deem the champion worthy and return to the dragon lands. They allow us to care for and hatch the eggs. It would be very dangerous to attempt to steal an egg in the wild.”

  The men nod quietly, musing over my words and what Ciaran could be possibly wanting.

  “If you two have things handled out here, I’m going to get the rest of our bedrolls for tonight and some food.” Murphy looks over my shoulder, “I think Onyx will be sharing some of his catch with us.”

  Egan and I turn in the direction of the lake to find Onyx gathering two large trout in one claw before he ambles in our direction. The rainbow trout lands with a plop in front of Egan before the big, black dragon does his catlike stretches and curls beside the fire.

  Murphy drops off a food basket before continuing on to the low shelter. Pulling out serrated knives, Egan and I each set to cleaning and filleting our dinner.

  Pointing his knife at Onyx, Egan asks, “What do you think is going on there? You know Cathmor can’t be far behind.”

  Groaning, I wipe my bangs from my forehead with the back of my wrist. “I know. I am not looking forward to that confrontation. I wish I could talk to him.”

  “Cathmor?”

  I tilt my head towards the dragon. “Onyx. I don’t know how long he and Cathmor can be separated. And I hope. . . . I hope Onyx isn’t trying to return to the wild.”

  Placing some butter in a pan, I let it melt while combining herbs and spices to add to our dinner. Egan tosses the fish heads to Onyx then starts chopping up some vegetables.

  Hesitantly, I share my worries, “I’m out of my depth here. I’m so, so . . .furious . . . with Ciaran. I’m afraid my cheek is going to be a bloody mess by the end of his training. He’ll do what I ask, but he’s making no effort to learn or even help without prompting.” Poking the fish with a cooking fork, I avoid eye contact with Egan, “I’m worried about our bonding. What if I hinder your magic in some way? I’m sorry. Goddess, I’m so sorry I did this to you, Egan. You’re stuck with me. A Mundane. What happens when you want to marry? What if the border spell is never reversed? Are you stuck with me, this side of the Midding Gate? I just. . . . I’m-I’m so-sorry.”

  Calloused hands frame my face, and I lift a tear-blurred gaze to the raven-haired man before me. Gently, he wipes my tears with his thumbs, then places a kiss on my forehead.

  “Shh, shh . . . everything will be fine. The Goddess knows what she’s doing. We’ll figure out what Ciaran has planned, deal with Cathmor if and when he shows up, and the bonds. . . . Sage, you have to know, the bond would not have taken if both of us didn’t want it.” Twirling a strand of my hair around his finger, Egan gives a guilty smile. “I may have just met you a couple of days ago, but Aidan and Rosemary have been sharing stories about you for weeks. I took full advantage of the festivities on Samhain that allowed me your company. We may not know what the bonds will do for us yet, but if the only thing that occurs is that I am bound to you, Sage, for life. . . . It is well worth it. You are well worth it.”

  13

  “Girl! Where are you and where in the heavens is my dragon?” The bellowing voice wakes me from a wonderful dream of tiny dragonlings fluttering at my fingertips.

  Sitting up drowsily, I grab a tunic and layer it over my sheer undershirt. As I pull my hair out from under the tunic, I tilt my head toward the closed door of my room.

  “Girl! Where is Onyx?” Heavy footsteps resound from the main room, but also from the rooms on either side of mine — Egan and Murphy are up.

  “Cathmor, it’s the middle of the night. . . . No. Put the plants back outside.” Murphy’s voice is raspy as he reasons with Cathmor. I’m not sure what plants have to do with anything, but scuffling noises are now coming through the door.

  Oh, for Goddess’s sake!

  Flinging my door open, I step into. . . . What have I stepped into? Egan and Murphy stand closest to me, hands outstretched, glowing balls of magic poised over their palms. Cathmor is several steps in from the open entrance door, vines creeping along the ground around him and winding up his arms. Oh, plants, Cathmor's magic must deal with plants.

  Pushing past my bondmates, I head for Cathmor, only to trip over a vine and land on my hands and knees in front of the man.

  “Pull them back, you pile of dragon dung,” I hiss at Cathmor, as I sit back and inspect my foot. His damn vine had thorns and there are drops of blood on the tip of my toe and a long scratch along the top of my right foot.

  The vines retreat as Egan rushes to my side. Murphy trots back to his room, gathering a bandage and a jar of salve before returning to my side. Cathmor continues to stand imposingly over us all.

  “I want my dragon, girl,” Cathmor growls out.

  “Then go get him.” I wave him off and point to the door. “He’s obviously not here unless you think I've managed to hide him under my bed. There was no reason to come storming in here waking us all up at Goddess knows what time of night.” I let Egan and Murphy help me off the floor before addressing the stubborn Warlock again. “He’s fairly large, Cathmor. Last I saw of him, he was curled around the fire. You can’t miss him.”

  This Warlock. I don’t have time to deal with him. If he can take Onyx and leave, my life will have one less problem in it. But the way he’s glaring at me — I don’t think that’s going to happen.

  Wearily, Cathmor falls into a chair across from me. “He’s not out there, and your fire is out.”

  The fire is out?

  The eggs!

  Running out the door, I cross the yard to the empty and cold fire ring.

  The eggs and their carriers are gone.

  No! Heart pounding, I gingerly hop-walk across the frozen ground, looking for any sign of the eggs.

  “Come inside, Love. Get dressed, and we’ll work out what’s happened.” Murphy lifts me up into his arms, getting my bare feet off the frosty ground and walking back to the shelter.

  As we cross the threshold, Egan comes out of the fourth room. “Ciaran is gone. I’m sure if we inspect the wagon, we’ll find things missing from there as well.”

  I only have one job. Take the eggs to Firehaven, help them hatch and grow. But I’ve failed. Like I always do. A Witch with no magic. A dragon tender with no dragon or eggs. Numb, I wait for Murphy to set me down before stumbling back to my room.

  I’m so heartbroken.

  “Sage!”

  “Love!”

  “Girl!”

  Ignoring their calls, I drop to the bed, pull the covers over my head, and close my eyes. I just need a moment. Just one to wallow, before I carry on. Morning is soon enough to go after Ciaran and the eggs. I cover my sobs in my pillow, hoping the men can’t hear me. I just need a moment.

  Thump, thump, thump

  “Sun’s rising, girl! Get up!” Cathmor bangs on my door again. Thump

  “Sage! The name’s Sage, Warlock!” Sitting up makes my head hurt, and my eyes are puffy and sore from crying myself to sleep.

  “I don’t care! Get out here.” There’s scuffling from the main room and murmurs then Cathmor’s loud, “No!”

  Dressing quickly, I toss my bag over my shoulder and roll up my bedding. When I exit into the main room, Egan has Cathmor in a headlock and bent at the waist. Murphy is crouched in front of him, whispering harshly.

  When my boots ring on the stone floor, the men spring apart. It would be funny if we weren’t dealing with a mis
sing Warlock, missing eggs, and a missing dragon.

  “Morning, Love,” Murphy whispers in my ear as he takes my bag and bedroll.

  “Morning, Sage.” Egan runs his fingers through my hair and deftly gathers it into a ponytail.

  Cathmor growls at me, but reaches and takes my cloak off the hook by the door. Swinging it over my shoulders, he takes the time to secure it. This close, I can see the bruising under his eyes and the paleness of his complexion. He’s feeling the effects of being apart from his dragon.

  Hesitantly, I raise a hand to his face, “Cathmor, can you feel Onyx? At all? We’ll get you two together soon.”

  Flinching away, he strides out the door. “Let’s go, gi . . . Sage. Let’s see what clues we can find now that the sun is rising.”

  Snow covers the ground, and without the heat of the day, stepping out into the cold is a shock to my system. Fisting the edges of my cloak from the inside, I tuck my chin in, attempting to keep warm.

  Egan is poking at the ashes of the fire, while Murphy inventories the wagon. Cathmor takes a right out of the shelter towards the horses. As I approach, Egan sets a log into the fire ring, and with a flick of his wrist restarts the fire.

  “Working on the assumption that Ciaran has stolen the eggs . . . I don’t understand how he could have gathered them. I think we’ve effectively proven that only I can pick them up.” I hold my hands over the flames, rubbing them together periodically, mulling over the mystery.

  Handing me a mug of tea, Murphy wraps his arms around me, “Could he have nudged them in? Remember I was able to roll the egg even though I couldn’t pick it up?”

  Both hands cradling the mug, I let the steam warm my face and hide the blush that creeps into my cheeks at Murphy’s closeness. “Maybe? Should we continue on to Firehaven? If he wants to hatch them, he’ll have to head for the lava pools.”