by GARY DARBY
Worse, she just stood there, silent and let her father strip me of what little self-esteem I had managed to garner.
Master Boren turns to Cara, Helmar, and Amil. “The dragons hunger for meat and need rest. Today, we hunt. Hopefully, we find enough for them as well as ourselves. We break camp at sunset.”
My face burning with embarrassment, I shuffle away. I want nothing more than to be alone. I wander into a small grove of what appears to be aspen trees. Even at this distance, though, I can hear loud arguing in the camp. Phigby’s voice is raised in anger while Master Boren’s tone and ire match.
I can’t make out their words, but I really don’t care. I keep going until I can no longer hear their quarreling, set my back against a tree trunk and slide to the ground. Bringing my knees up to my chin, I bury my face in my crossed arms. I stay that way for the longest time, not really thinking, just feeling the hurt and shame.
After a bit, a large shadow falls on me, causing me to jerk upright. With a start, I realize that in my haste to get away I’m alone and unarmed in the woods where hungry beasts may be on the prowl. I instantly sag in relief as I realize it’s just the golden.
Abruptly, four smelly little dragon bodies rush out from under her feet and swarm over me. They push their muzzles into my face, screeping and trying to nuzzle me, but I’m in no mood for any of that right now.
I roughly push them away. With disappointed looks on their silly pollywog faces, they promptly plop down on their backsides and sit staring at me as if they don’t understand my ill-treatment of them.
Scamper pushes his way through some low-hanging purple-laced bushes and head-bumps me. He gives out a plaintiff, Aarrhh?
“Sure, I’m just great, Scamper, just great.” I give his little head a knuckle rub to show that I’m not angry at him.
I turn to make sure that no one is in earshot before uttering to the golden, “I’m not really in the mood for company right now, so if you don’t mind I’d rather be alone.”
“That’s what I tried to explain to the sprogs,” Golden Wind answers, “but they were worried about you.”
“Worried about me,” I snort. “I’m just fine so you can take them back to camp, now.”
Instead of leaving, the golden settles on all fours and moves her head this way and that as if she’s nonchalantly studying the trees, the flitting, chirping birds in the overhanging branches, and the sky.
I get it. She’s not leaving until I tell her what’s bothering me. And I’m sure she brought the sprogs as an added incentive, or rather, added annoyance until I do.
Regal Wind shuffles close as if he wants to climb into my lap and snuggle. Scamper, yes, he’s more than welcome to cuddle, but not a stinking sprog.
But I can tell when I’m licked. If I don’t open up to the golden, the sprogs are going to make nuisances of themselves.
“All right,” I let out in a long sigh. “What do you want to know?”
“Your feelings are hurt, deeply,” the golden states.
I screw my face to one side. “So what? That doesn’t really matter, does it? After all, I’m just Hooper, still the dung heap master and certainly not worthy to have any dealings with the high-born Golden Wind.
“So, if you know what’s good for you, you’d better get back to the others. After all, it’s all right with Master Boren if you’re around them, but obviously not me.”
I pause before saying, “Besides, if he sees me with you, who knows what he’ll do.” In spite, I say, “Maybe Daron learned that streak of meanness he has from his father.”
Golden Wind is quiet for some time before murmuring, “No, that particular fault lies with the son and not the father. Yes, Master Boren was wrong in chastising you, whether it was in front of the others or not. He lashed out in his grief and anger. His humiliation is like a hot fire that sears his soul and rends his heart in two.”
“Humiliation and grief?” I snap. “What are you talking about? It seems to me that I’m the one who got humiliated.”
“He lost his son, Hooper—he sorrows deeply.”
“Lost?” I stammer. “Last I saw, Daron Dracon was very much alive and trying to kill Helmar in the upper chamber at Dunadain not to mention his own father on that battlement, or had you forgotten?”
“No Hooper, I’ve not forgotten and yes, Daron Dracon may walk and breathe, but to Master Boren, he is dead. His life is now one of dishonor and evil, and that has ripped Boren’s heart open. He hurts as much as if an arrow had pierced his heart.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about, and I guess my expression says it all because she goes on, “Daron betrayed not just the House of Lorell, but his father as well, Hooper. His dishonor, brought such shame that to Boren, his son became dead in all but fact. Now Boren mourns as if Daron’s body is dead and cold under a gravestone.”
She pauses and then says, “He still loves his son, but his shame overshadows the love, and that’s all that he feels for the moment.”
“And just what has that got to do with his chastising me in front of everyone?”
The golden is quiet for a moment before answering. “Grief takes many forms, Hooper, one of which is anger. His ire at you is because of how deeply he mourns and especially his unbearable humiliation that his only son would conduct himself in such a loathsome manner.
“Boren Dracon is a proud man, perhaps overly proud and to have his only son ally with such as Vay and the Wilders—it has struck at the very essence of who he is and caused him to lash out.”
“But I’m not Daron!” I spit out.
“No, Hooper, you’re not, and thank goodness for all our sakes, you’re not.”
She turns to face me squarely. “And for all of us, I pray that you never will be.”
I reach inside my tunic and take out the Voxtyrmen. It softly glows in my hand, and the sprogs jostle each other trying to get closer to the gem. Even Scamper puts his nose up against the teardrop-shaped jewel and sniffs.
Sighing, I gaze at the gem. “It’s just that—” I choke and can’t go on, the disappointment cutting off my words.
“You thought,” the golden murmurs, “your world would change after you discovered you were the gem’s guardian and especially after saving the others, including Master Boren at Dunadain.”
The golden lowers her head toward me. “You knew the gem couldn’t make you a king as you longed for before, but you hoped that at least it would bring you respect, honor, and most importantly, Cara would look at you differently, perhaps, affectionately.”
“Well . . . Yes,” I whisper even though I feel like shouting it right into her face.
“And it hasn’t turned out that way.”
I jerk my head back in the direction of our camp and laugh bitterly. “Did that back there look like respect? Honor? From where I stood, I didn’t I see—feel that there was much difference between Hooper the Dung Guardian and Hooper the Gem Guardian.”
She gazes at me for several moments before saying, “Misplaced anger, jealousy, and pride, Hooper, can be as dangerous as the Wraith Worm that invaded your body.
“When they take over our thoughts, our feelings, then we do not see others in a clear and honest light. Rather, we only see what we want to see, hear what we want to hear, and then usually in the most unfavorable light.”
“Wait, are you saying that Master Boren is jealous of me?”
I hold up my scarred arm. “Or that Helmar is envious of this?”
The golden reaches out with a talon to lightly touch the gem. “Like you, Helmar had dreams of glory when he held this and then it was all taken away in an instant. From him and Cara. And did you not think that in his dreams, Dragon Master Boren Dracon longed to be perhaps the first ever to ride a golden dragon? And instead of him, it was—”
“Me, the boy who lived in a barn and shoveled slurry.”
“Yes.”
“But,” I protest, “I didn’t choose me to be the guardian. I didn’t even want the job and if I could I’
d give the gem back to Helmar with my thanks.”
The golden is quiet for several moments before saying, “We both know you can’t, Hooper. You can no more stop being the Gem Guardian than I can cease to be who I am. It is our curse and our blessing.”
“Blessing?” I laugh and hold the gemstone higher. “I would say that this has not turned out to be a blessing for either Helmar or me.”
“No Hooper,” the golden says forcefully, “in that you are wrong. In time, you will see that not only we in this company have been blessed, but the world as well.”
She leans in closer, her eyes catching Voxtyrmen’s soft radiance. “Remember, that in the midst of blessings there are trials, and in the midst of trials, there will be blessings.”
With that, she gets to her feet, takes the four sprogs with her, and plods away toward the other dragons. I put away the gemstone, knuckle Scamper’s head again and he bounds away to begin anew his search for food.
For the day’s remainder, I stay away and no one comes looking for me. It’s only when the shadows lengthen, and the forest becomes dusky that I trod back to camp. I sit far apart with my head down, eyes staring at the ground, as I do not want either my presence or my words to arouse Master Boren’s anger again.
Scamper comes rolling out of the woods and plops down next to me. His belly is rounded, meaning he’s eaten well. I reach down and give him a scratch behind the ears to which he gives a little rumble of satisfaction.
When Master Boren begins to speak, I don’t lift my eyes, I’m afraid that if I do he’ll lash out at me again. “When we sky from here, Phigby will be with me on Rover, Helmar and Amil will ride Glory, and Cara and Hooper will be on Song. I’m confident that the golden will follow us.”
He pauses before saying, “Since we are doubled up on the sapphires, we will go slowly so as to not tire them out. Amil estimates that it will be close to a half night's ride to where the Wolven Floden bends close to the mountains and the vale that the Golians sometimes use to send their scouts down into the lowlands.
“Since we’ve had no luck in finding meat for either our bellies or the dragons here, hopefully, we will be more fortunate at our next campsite. We’ll sky low, and the forest darkness should hide us until the moons rise. Still, keep a sharp lookout. I have no doubt that the Wilders are out searching for us.”
Without another word, he turns and makes for his dragon while the rest of us head to our sapphires. I whistle for Scamper, who dashes up Wind Song’s leg and perches behind her skull plate.
I wait for Cara to settle into her saddle before I clamber up behind her. She hasn’t spoken to me, nor have I to her. After all, she’s her father’s daughter—what am I supposed to say?
Before, when we rode Wind Song from Draconstead to Draconton, to be this close to Cara was a dream come true. She was warm, friendly. Now, I might as well have been sitting behind a giant icicle.
The sprogs are already in Song’s saddlebags, their heads poking out, their noses up, smelling the wind, and their eyes are wide in that silly, curious expression of theirs.
Glory and Rover spread their wings and moments later, they’re winging aloft. “Ready?” Cara asks stiffly.
“Ready,” I mutter.
“Sky, girl,” Cara commands. Song unfurls her wings, shakes them a bit, hunkers down, and then springs into the air.
Cara has Wind Song circle above the meadow where the golden is sitting on her haunches and not making any effort to follow the other dragons. We loop around several times, but the golden just sits there, not once looking up at the circling sapphires.
“This is not good,” Cara mutters, “she’s not following.”
After one brief glance downward, I stop looking. I recognize that expression. Golden Wind’s digging in her talons, being stubborn, and she’s not going anywhere. I shrug and turn away. What am I supposed to do?
After all, Master Boren made it perfectly clear that Hooper the stable boy is unworthy to have anything to do with his magical, mystical, fantastical, golden dragon.
So, I’ll just let him deal with her magical, mystical, fantastical stubbornness.
The three sapphires circle again before Master Boren motions for us to land. “You stay here,” Cara orders while the others clamber down and huddle together to discuss their dilemma.
Actually, Cara doesn’t have to order me to stay put as I have already decided that the better part of valor is to keep as far away from Master Boren as I possibly can.
Master Boren strides over to Golden Wind and in a voice that carries, calls out, “Golden Wind, leg.”
My eyebrows rise. He’s decided to sky the golden himself since a Hooper is not good enough to sky a golden, but a Dragon Master certainly is.
In answer, the golden lowers herself down on all fours. She doesn’t even acknowledge Boren’s presence, neither turning to gaze at him or flick an ear his way.
“Golden Wind, up!” Master Boren commands.
She stretches out and lays her head on her forelegs, much as a dog does when it rests.
“Golden Wind, up!” Master Boren thunders.
She rolls over on her side.
Facing away from Master Boren.
I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. I turn and duck my head to hide my grin. I don’t dare laugh aloud, but yes, I admit, it is a bit of a self-satisfied smile.
Of course, though, when I turn back, my face holds an entirely impassive expression.
Master Boren whirls away from the golden and marches over to the others. Moments later, the meadow is filled with a heated argument between Phigby and Master Boren, with Boren’s voice being the loudest, “—only a muckraker, a stable hand, nothing more!”
I close my ears to the rest of the comments, as I have no desire to hear any more. When I do look up, Phigby has lowered his voice and is earnestly speaking to Boren, who stands glowering at Golden Wind.
Then Master Boren turns to Phigby, his voice low and angry. The two remain that way, almost nose to nose and engaged in quiet, but animated conversation.
Then I hear Master Boren’s raised voice again, “This is absurd, I’m Boren Dracon, Dragon Master, he’s but a—”
Boren doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t have to. I complete it for him: he’s just Hooper, Master of Manure, Absolute Ruler over Dragon Sludge and Slurry.
Nothing more and certainly not worthy to ride a Golden Dragon.
Phigby’s voice rings through the small glade. “Apparently Boren, Golden Wind disagrees with you. A Dragon Master you may be but evidently not of her. What would you do, take a Proga lance to her just to satisfy your own pride?”
The two glare at each other before Cara steps beside her father, gently grasping his arm and murmuring to him. Her voice is soft, but it carries on the breeze. “We can’t stay here and we can’t leave her behind. Whether you like it or not, she and Hooper have bonded.”
Master Boren remains motionless for a moment before he spins on his heel and stomps straight toward Wind Song. He stops and glares up at me.
Phigby comes up behind him and speaks soothingly, “Whatever he is doesn’t matter, Boren, and for whatever reason, the golden has chosen him.
“Think about it, a Dragon Trainer has never touched the golden. She’s never been prodded by a Proga lance, never had a saddle fitted to her, nor had rein rivets driven into her scales.
“Yet, at the Keep, Hooper rode her with as much skill and ability as the best dragon rider in the realm. And last night, you saw how hard put we all were just to keep up with the golden and Hooper stayed on her as if he were melded to her scales.”
He peers up at me. “Neither he nor she have ever had the necessary training to bond, yet they have a natural connection that you can’t ignore Boren, no matter how much you wish it weren’t so.”
Master Boren’s lips compress together into a hard line, and he waves me down off Wind Song. As I step to the ground, I lower my eyes, afraid of what might happen next.
A to
ngue lashing for sure, maybe even a backhand to set me in my place. “Yes, Master Boren?”
“Look at me,” he commands. I snap my head up. His eyes are hard and his lips a tight, thin line. “Explain to me how you are able to sky the golden, yet she’s never learned the proper rider commands.”
I glance over at the golden, who’s laid her head back on her forelegs but with her eyes closed as if she’s completely unaware that this whole conversation is about her. Except that I’m positive that she knows exactly what’s going on, but is refusing to help me out of this dilemma.
For an instant, I have this overwhelming desire to blurt out, no—to shout out that the golden talks to me and I can talk to her. Instead, I meekly say, “Um, she’s a little smarter than the other dragons?”
Master Boren stares at me with disbelieving eyes as his face reddens while Phigby starts coughing and choking as if he’s swallowed an oversized mush melon.
Cara’s mouth opens as if she’s about to speak, but before she can, Master Boren all but snarls at me, “That’s your answer? That she’s smarter than the other dragons?”
There’s just enough light that I can see a flush creep up Master Boren’s neck. His lips press so hard together that they form a white line across his face.
Nevertheless, I can’t bring myself to say more. Not here, not now.
Phigby mutters, “Boren, it’s growing late, and we need to be away. So, we either stay here another night, and you can work with Golden Wind to see if she will accept you, or you acknowledge the self-evident fact that Hooper is her chosen rider.”
Master Boren stands glaring at me. I can see in his eyes that he hates the fact that I can ride the golden and he cannot. Finally, in disgust, he says, “Very well. Hooper, you’ll sky the golden tonight.”
He jabs a knobby finger right at my nose. “Once we’ve found a safe haven, however, I’ll have the truth out of you as to how and why you can ride her and I cannot.”
He starts to turn, but before he’s taken a step, I call out, “Master Boren.”