by GARY DARBY
No,” she instantly replies. “He shooed me away. Told me in no uncertain words to stay in the woods until — well, his exact words were, until the day had come and gone or he was come and gone.
“And then he said, no matter what I heard, even if was the most forlorn pleading or begging that I’ve ever heard, not to come back into the glade until he called for me.”
She took in a deep breath. “He whispered that my very life depended on my heeding his words.”
“What do you mean?” I stammer.
She bites on her lip. “I think,” she begins softly, “that whatever he was dealing with was so deadly that he either succeeded or the two of you died.”
My head spins and I feel a little woozy. Cara reaches out to me. “Hooper, you’re not going to faint on me are you?”
In a moment, the world stops spinning and just after, Phigby joins us. He holds the tongs up and peers at them with lowered eyebrows. Whatever Phigby did, the pincer ends are now fused and blackened together.
“I admit,” he says with a sigh, “it’s been a long while since I had to do anything like that. I don’t remember it being quite so hard before.”
He tosses the charred nippers aside and goes to one knee next to Cara. Great drops of sweat run down his forehead and onto his cheeks to disappear into his beard. He’s breathing heavily, his face drawn and his expression is one of exhaustion, but his eyes tell me that the victory was his.
I hear anxious chittering coming from nearby, and Scamper breaks through some tangling under limbs of a nearby bush and spurts to my side.
Cara quickly reaches out to stop him before he can jump on me. She holds him firmly with one hand and arm wrapped around his chest while her expression turns from deep anxiety to relief as she studies my face.
I reach out and knuckle Scamper as Cara eases him onto my lap. He raises his head to peer intently at my face. Arrriiiite? he asks.
I swallow, take another deep breath, and murmur, “I think so, Scamp.”
He bumps his nose against mine, and then satisfied that I’m indeed all right, darts away, only to return a moment later with what looks like an acorn between his teeth. He stops to put an end of the husk on one side of his mouth, trying to use his heavier back teeth to break open the shell.
“Hey,” I say and reach out with my good arm. “Wouldn’t want to share with us would you? We haven’t eaten in a while, and even a piece of acorn sounds good.”
He peers at me, breaks the shell, and spits it out. His little paws push the kernel into his mouth and before I can take another breath, he’s eaten all of the nut’s meat. He tosses the remainder of the shell off to one side, grooms his face with a paw, and then waddles off.
“That would be a definite no,” Cara states. “And it appears that he’s off to find more acorns not to share with us.”
I stare at the shell remnants and then to where Scamper disappeared into the thick underbrush. “You know, if he can find acorns to eat, so can we. Maybe a whole hoard of nuts for the finding?”
Cara looks at me with a skeptical expression. “Really? You don’t think Scamper wouldn’t have found such a treasure trove by now?”
“Never mind about acorns and such,” Phigby grumps. “Hooper, your wound, the shoulder, how does it feel?” He leans close to whisper, “And inside your head?”
I take stock of my shoulder, the rest of my body, and most importantly, my mind before I whisper, “The blackness — it’s gone. She’s gone.”
“She?” Cara asks. She gives Phigby a concerned look. “Who’s she?”
I glance over at the golden who’s watching with both gentle and relieved eyes. I bring my gaze back to Phigby. His eyes are impassive, but he doesn’t answer, just returns my stare and gives me the tiniest of shakes with his head.
I lick dry lips and mutter, “No one, Cara. I was just having dark dreams, that’s all. Talking out of my head with the fever, you know. It can do that to you.”
She gives me a small smile of understanding and then holds the water flask up for me to drink again. This time, I do empty the water skin in one swallow.
“Phigby,” Cara asks, “what was that you had in those tongs of yours? Was that thing in Hooper?”
Phigby scratches at his cheek for a moment before saying somberly, “That was a Wraith Worm, my dear.” He lays a gentle hand on my hurt shoulder. “And yes, I removed it from Hooper, but he should be fine, now.”
Cara gazes at me with an uneasy expression before she asks Phigby, “A Wraith Worm? What’s that?’
“A form of the deepest, foulest magic that I know,” he answers. He stares off at the nearby trees as if his mind is far away. “And something I’ve not seen in a long, long time.”
He shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts, takes a piece of rough cloth, wets it from a water flask, hands it to Cara and motions toward me. “The coolness will do him good,” he instructs her.
After several dabs with the cloth, I hold up a hand to stop her. “You didn’t answer Cara’s question,” I say to Phigby, “and as the one who had that horrible thing inside me, I want to know, just what is a Wraith Worm?”
“Yes, Phigby,” Cara says, “I’d like to know, too.”
I can see that Phigby is hesitant to answer, but he reaches over and picks an arrow out of Cara’s quiver. He holds the plumed bolt up to the light. “When I took the Wilder’s arrow out of you, Hooper, I thought it was a simple shaft of wood, feathers, and iron point.”
He shakes his head in a forceful manner. “Fool that I was, I did not carefully inspect the tip.” He holds the point up. “A necromancer cast a spell on the arrow, and inside the tip placed the Wraith Worm.”
He again shook his head. “The arrow was not meant to kill. Instead, once it struck, the spell released the worm, in this case, into Hooper. The foul thing’s sole purpose was to take over his mind, his body, eventually turning him into a wraith under the necromancer’s influence who created the spell.”
Cara’s gasp is sharp. “That arrow was meant for Helmar, not Hooper.”
Phigby gives me a quick sideways glance and says, “So it was.”
I stare at Phigby with wide eyes and a thudding heart. I’m sorry now that I goaded Phigby into answering Cara’s question. Some things are best left unsaid. Nevertheless, I ask, “Phigby, I thought a wraith was like a ghost, a specter. How could that happen to me?”
Phigby shakes his head and explains. “There are many types of wraiths, lad. In this case, the intent wasn’t to turn you into an apparition but to keep you alive and under the evil one’s spell.
“To us, you would seem to be Hooper, but in actuality, that which makes you — your personality, your traits, and most importantly, your ability to make your own choices and decisions would be gone.
“In all appearances you would be Hooper, but your every act would be only to serve your master or mistress who controlled the spell. And there you would have stayed until the evil one had no more use for you and then you would have faded away into oblivion.”
Cara shudders at Phigby’s grim words. “For what purpose? What would this necromancer want with Hooper?”
He holds up the arrow to peer at it before he gives me another sideways glance. “That I can’t answer, but I can tell you that it takes a powerful wizard or sorceress, one who is steeped in the dark arts to do such a thing.”
He draws in a deep breath and grimly says, “Indeed, a formidable dark lord or lady of the shadows.”
For a moment, my head swirls and the thought comes unbidden in my mind, One Dark Queen upon her throne, seeds of evil she has sown.
I must have muttered something for Phigby leans close and asks, “Hooper, what is it? You suddenly look ill. Has the fever or pain returned?”
“What?” I mumble. “No, I was just, uh, thinking about what might have happened if you hadn’t gotten that thing out of me.”
Phigby gives me several gentle pats on my forearm. “Yes, we were fortunate. But, you fought a goo
d fight, Hooper. Many have lost the battle against the likes of that. And the fool that I am, I might not have recognized it in time if you hadn’t warned me.”
“Yes,” Cara pipes up and leans down to stare at me. “I’d like to know where that came from? You keep making some very surprising statements.”
Cara cocks her head to one side, her eyebrows raised and waiting for me to answer. I rapidly think to myself that I’m caught between two awful choices. If I try to lie, they’ll catch me in it and demand to know what I’m hiding.
If I tell the truth — I’m not sure what they’ll think, maybe that I’ve gone insane?
Phigby clears his throat and says, “Let’s talk about that at another time, Hooper needs his rest, and so do I for that matter.”
Cara hesitates before saying, “You’re right. You two both look like you’ve been through a war. We’ll talk after you’ve had some sleep.”
I think to myself that Cara doesn’t realize how true her words are at the moment. It was a war, maybe not with swords or bows but a battle nevertheless in every sense of the word.
I meet her gaze, and I can see in her eyes that she’s willing to forgo my answer for now, but this conversation is not completely over.
She gives me a soft pat on my shoulder. “You lie still, I’ll get some more wood and water. Do you need anything else?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have a well-cooked, well-seasoned venison haunch or roast lying around would you?” I ask.
She dimples and her eyes gleam. “How I wish I did! I’d start eating at one end, and you could start at the other!”
We share a little laugh before Cara turns to Phigby. “When I get back, you can have your nap, sir, and I’ll stand guard.” With that, she bounces to her feet and heads toward the trees.
I watch her go, my eyes watching her every move. Phigby rumbles, “Quite a girl, that Cara Dracon.”
“Yes,” I sigh. “If ever there was a blessed man, it’s Helmar. I wonder if he knows just how fortunate he is.” I think to myself that if I were Helmar, I would never, ever, take her for granted.
As she disappears behind some thick bushes, Phigby turns from his small, smoldering fire and hands me a steaming cup. “Drink. All of it.”
I take a sip and immediately screw my face up. “Yuck! That’s definitely not poison, it tastes awful.”
“Drink,” he commands.
Somehow, I manage to quaff the dark liquid down and from what I can taste it seems to be made of one tart lemon, a pint of brine, and green Bitter Berries. “Couldn’t you have at least used ripe berries instead of green?”
“Couldn’t find any,” he shrugs, “had to use what was on hand. Doesn’t matter, they work just as well, just leaves a little aftertaste in the mouth.”
“A little aftertaste,” I grump. “Is that what you call your tongue tasting like it’s rotting in your mouth?”
But I have to admit, within a few moments, my wounded shoulder feels amazingly good. I hardly notice what little pain there is, and I can actually flex my arm.
I start to hold it upright to show Phigby but at a sudden thought, I quickly put it back down and snuggle deeper into my leafy bed.
Can’t let Cara know just how well I actually am. After all, how often do I get pampered? Until today, the answer was never and the fact is, I really like it.
“Phigby?”
“Eh?” he mutters. “What is it, Hooper?”
“Who are you?”
He glances sharply at me. “What do you mean? I’m Professor Phigby — ”
“No, Phigby,” I answer, “I know your name, but you’re not just a mere shopkeeper who sells books and makes potions and medicines, by appointment only. You’re more than that, much more.”
I again turn my eyes to the golden. She has her head on her forelegs, apparently asleep. “In my dreams, I thought I saw — ”
“What you saw, Hooper,” he says tersely, “doesn’t matter.”
He pauses and then murmurs, “What is important is for you to rest and to heal. And as for me?” He gently squeezes my arm. “I am who I am, and nothing more.”
He turns away to place his pots and medicines back into his bag. On a hunch, I ease the gem out and take a quick look. It’s exactly what I expected to find. The little frond has opened even more. I hurriedly put it away, but my suspicions have been confirmed.
Cara was right. That arrow was meant for Helmar. Why? Because he must be the Gem Guardian. That could be the only answer. Vay was trying to put her Wraith Worm into Helmar to control the Gem Guardian, but something went wrong and instead it ended up in my body.
But thanks to Phigby, I’m rid of the dirty thing and Vay’s plan was thwarted. This time.
I lay my head back and for the first time, a peaceful, calm feeling flows over me. I’ve done it, I’ve found the Gem Guardian. I don’t even have to ask the golden, there’s no doubt in my mind.
My work is finally finished, and I can rid myself of this burden. I let out a satisfied sigh and snuggle even deeper into my leaf bed.
“Hmm,” Phigby says, turning to eye me. “For someone who almost met a most unpleasant end, you sound quite content.”
I can’t help myself and laugh. To his bemused expression, I say, “You have no idea, Phigby. No sir, you have no idea at all of just how content I am.”
22
I sleep so long after that, and without any dark nightmares that when I finally rouse, it’s night again and from the shafts of pale moonlight that break through the boughs overhead, the moons must be rising. No sooner do I open my eyes than Cara, who’s sitting cross-legged next to me, smiles and calls over her shoulder, “He’s awake.”
Two sets of heavy footsteps approach and I glance up to find Helmar and Amil standing next to Cara. Helmar has an odd expression on his face, but Amil’s grin matches his size.
“You had the Hooper warrior clan pretty worried there for a while,” Amil smiles. “But it’s good to see you with your eyes open, even if they are a little droopy.”
“Yes, Hooper,” Helmar murmurs, “it’s good to see you awake.” He shakes his head as if in disbelief. “How you held onto the golden all that while with that arrow stuck in you is beyond me.”
I shrug and immediately wince. Shrugging is not a good thing when you’ve just had an arrow dug out of your shoulder. “Too afraid of falling off,” I answer. I bite down hard on my lip. “Helmar, I’m sorry about skying the golden, but — ”
To my surprise, he quickly kneels next to my side and puts out a hand to stop me. Even more astonishing, he says, “Hooper, we’ll speak no more about you riding or skying the golden. You did what you had to do.”
His hand rests on my good shoulder, and he leans a little closer with a sober expression on his face. “If you hadn’t, then more than likely, not only would I be dead but perhaps all of us.”
“That’s right, Hooper,” Cara says softly, “you and the golden saved us. If you hadn’t shown up when you did, the Wilders would have caught us completely by surprise.”
In a gruff, raspy tone, Helmar says, “You took an arrow for me, Hooper, saved my life, and I’ll never forget that.”
Helmar’s hand, his words ease the pain more than Phigby’s potion. I don’t know what to say, and I’m a little embarrassed to have so much fuss made over me so I duck my head, just a little, careful not to move my shoulder.
I mutter, “How did you get away from the Wilders? There were a lot more of them than us.”
Just then, Phigby walks up and Helmar gestures past Phigby to his nearby bag. “That old, scruffy-looking haversack holds more than just potions, medicines, and books. I still think we’re in the company of a powerful wizard or sorcerer.”
“Wizards and sorcerers,” Phigby splutters, “it was nothing.”
“Nothing?” I ask. “What was nothing?”
Helmar turns to me. “As you know, the Wilders ambushed us with a host of reds but the golden’s appearance seemed to throw their whole plan off.
After you were hit, though, the golden tore out of there faster than any dragon I’ve ever seen.
“There was no chance that any Wilder crimson was going to catch her. As I said, how you hung on to her is beyond me. Anyway, seeing that they weren’t going to catch you or Golden Wind, the Wilders closed on us, trying to ring us in.
“Their leader, a big man, is shouting orders, and it’s clear we’re in trouble. Their arrows are like a scarlet hailstorm filling the sky but somehow our sapphires weave through their barrage of arrows, and none of us get hit.
“But we’re still in trouble, so Phigby reaches into his bag, mutters something loudly into the air, and then throws what looks like a coal-hot spear, directly at the Wilders. It splits the air like a bolt of lightning. There’s a clap of thunder, and the whole sky lights up as if the noonday sun had suddenly appeared in our midst.
“Though my eyes are dazzled with colors I’ve never seen before, I can see plain enough that the Wilders’ reds are tumbling about as if some giant had belted them from the sky. I don’t know how many toppled out of their seats and fell to their death, but what I do know is that the rest of them turned tail and fled.”
I look at Phigby with wide eyes. “You brought sky lightning?”
Phigby waves a hand in dismissal. “Just the right combination of a few simple chemicals Hooper, that’s all there was, nothing more.”
“Alchemy, again. Just like the other night with the goblin?” I ask.
“More or less,” he mutters.
I glance over at Helmar, who shakes his head at me. “Uh huh,” he mumbles, implying that he doesn’t quite believe Phigby before he says, “I had Wind Glory swoop down, Amil climbed aboard, and we sped off.”
He glances at Amil and mutters, “Leaving behind a host of dead Wilders on the ground, thanks to his prowess with that ax of his.”
“Wilders,” Amil rumbles while looking at me with lively eyes and a smile, “only take one swing to bring down, not three or four as with trolls or goblins.”
“The golden led us here, Hooper,” Cara murmurs softly. “For some reason, she wanted us to hide ourselves in this stand of dragon heart trees.”