by GARY DARBY
“Yes?” he snaps. “What is it?”
I’m as stunned as everyone else at what comes out of my mouth. I have no idea where the words come from but once they start, they don’t stop.
“Master Boren, Cara, I am very, very sorry about Daron. I truly am. I know how much it must hurt the two of you.”
Boren’s face clouds up and if possible, it becomes even darker than before. He takes a step toward me, and I can see his hands curled in tight fists at his sides.
Before he can speak or hit me, I say forcefully, “However, Master Boren, I am not Daron, nor have I done the awful things he has, and yes, I’m only a stable hand, good only for shoveling dragon dung.”
Then, of all things, I take a step toward him and stand my ground. “Nevertheless, even a stable worker is entitled to some dignity and respect.”
I spin on my heel and stride away. The golden is already on all fours, waiting for me. Whistling for Scamper, I clamber aboard, set myself in the golden’s natural neck saddle, and once Scamper is ready, sky away, not even glancing back to see if any of the others are following.
Nor do I care. It’s obvious to me that I will never be an accepted member of this company.
Once a serf, always a serf, at least in the eyes of some.
Thoughts of Golden Wind
Hooper believes that his journey to find the answers to his life’s questions has just begun. He’s wrong. With all of us, Hooper began to walk this path when he was born. What he doesn’t realize, yet, is that with each day, there are not only new answers, there are also new questions.
Will he sit back, assuming that life will hand him the answers, without effort, without thought on his part? Unfortunately, the young are prone to think, or worse, taught that this is the way it happens.
It is not. Most often, one must earn the answers.
On this journey, there will be no time to find the solution by studying books. Neither, will he always have a teacher, a mentor, like Professor Phineas Phigby, at hand to guide him.
No, I’m afraid that he will learn and find his answers through everyday occurrences, by experiences, some good and delightful, some awful and painful. But is that not the way of life?
He will face trials and tribulations, some expected, some totally unexpected. Harsh and jarring filled with unquenchable sorrow and pain. Hard but necessary teachers. What will they teach him? To be afraid, to cower before misfortune, to run or turn aside when faced with troubles that seem insurmountable?
To race away from unrighteous or immoral temptation, yes, always. But facing and overcoming one’s difficulties undoubtedly provides some of the greatest insights into the soul.
Life does not give out her answers all at once and all too often they are not what we expected or wanted. No, she dribbles them out in bits and spurts, and she does not give them up easily. I pray that Hooper will surely win his answers. Nonetheless, I’m afraid that the learning will not be easy but hard and at times, even cruel.
For that, my heart sorrows for him.
3
I don’t ask Golden Wind where we’re going as she always seems to know. Instead, I hunker down behind her skull plate, my thoughts dark and gloomy.
After a bit, the golden calls back, “Hooper, you seem a bit—perplexed and distracted.”
“Perplexed,” I snort. “Let me see, I’ve got an evil fairy that wants to turn me into a toad or a squirrel, or a wraith for all I know.
“The Wilder Horde would like nothing better than to feed me bit by bit to one of their crimson dragons.
“King Leo has his executioner sharpening his blade in anticipation of hacking off my head.
“I’m carrying on conversations with a dragon that only I can hear. I’ve got a dragon tear jewel that only seems to work when I’m about to be killed.
“I have no idea why I’m the Gem Guardian, but I do know that Cara hates me because I am and not her beloved Helmar.
“Not to mention that after all done, I’ve Master Boren and the others still think of me as Hooper, the bumbling peasant who’s only good for shoveling what comes out of the south end of a northbound dragon.”
My laugh is mirthless and sharp. “So yes, you could say that I’m a little perplexed.”
We sky a little further, Golden Wind’s wings barely flapping above the trees. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Do about it?” I laugh. “Just what am I supposed to do? Leave? Walk away? Where would I go, what would I do? I’m no woodsman to live off the land. I have no trade or craft to practice, after all, how much skill does it take to shovel up poo and throw it into a wheel barrel?”
I sigh. “And practically no education.”
For a moment, I glance over my shoulder at Wind Song who trails a little distance behind the golden. “At least in this company,” I let out in a longing voice, “I’m near Cara. And if nothing else, to be near her, I’ll fetch wood, water, even shovel manure if need be.”
I hang my head and whisper, “When she just stood there and let her father berate me, it made me feel as if I weren’t worth anything, as if what her father said was true and I was . . . nothing.”
We sky on before the golden replies gently, “Hooper, you are more, much more than you give yourself credit for. Be patient. Neither the finest swords nor the greatest souls are forged without first going through the crucible.”
“Crucible?” I sputter. “What’s a—”
Just then, a cascade of graylings explodes out of the trees. I barely have time to duck my head before we’re splattered with bird bodies. Wings, beaks, tiny claws strike my head and shoulders as if someone had thrown a handful of fist-sized rocks in my face.
Scamper, of course, springs up and down, doing his best to catch a bird, and if it weren’t for my hasty grab of neck fur, he’d be sailing through the air, without a dragon under him.
I cower as best as I can behind Golden Wind’s skull plate and fortunately, we’re through the flock in just a few beats of her wings.
I hear a smacking sound and cautiously raise my head to peek over her skull sheath just in time to see Golden Wind snatch one stray bird out of the air with her mouth.
“You did that on purpose,” I say accusingly as I pull bits of feathers from my mouth and nose. “You went through that flock just to eat those birds.”
“No, Hooper, I didn’t,” she replies. “They caught me quite by surprise. However, I admit, they were tasty. Grass isn’t all that filling, you know. Too bad there weren’t more.”
“Uh huh,” I answer. “From where I sit, I’d say there was a question of who caught who.”
I hear a chuckle in her voice. “I guess that’s true.”
Peering ahead, I ask, “Are we getting close to wherever it is we’re going?”
“Yes,” she answers, “it won’t be long now.”
A sudden thought strikes me. “Golden Wind, just how fast can you go?”
Her answer is slow in coming as if she doesn’t want to admit to what she says next. “So swift that even the sapphires wouldn’t be able to keep up.”
“Really?” I stammer, astounded that she could outfly the speediest of dragons, but I just have to ask, “And just how fast is that?”
She’s silent for a few beats of her wings before she murmurs, “If need be, swifter than any dragon or wind, Hooper.”
My eyes grow wide at her response. My eyes grow even wider the more I think about it. “Oh, is that all?” I stammer. “And here I thought you were really fast.”
She doesn’t answer but somehow I feel that I made her smile. I start to ease back in the saddle when a sudden thought strikes me. “Uh, Golden Wind, if you can go that fast, why don’t you just sky away and find a place to hide? Seems to me that that would be a lot easier than what we’re doing now.”
She doesn’t answer. We wing on and then she says, “Hooper, if you could run as swift as the swiftest wind, would you run away and hide?”
I glance down at Scamper, then over
my shoulder at Cara, and yes, even Master Boren and the others. Leave them behind? Let them face whatever is to come by themselves? Alone, while I hid just so that I was safe?
Was I scared of Vay? Absolutely. Did I fear being hurt or dying? Of course.
But to leave Scamp and Cara and the others behind? I admit, there are times when I feel like a coward, but am I a run-away-and-hide coward? Even after Master Boren humiliated me in front of Cara, I came back didn’t I?
“No,” I whisper. “I guess I wouldn’t do that even if I could.”
She doesn’t reply, she doesn’t have to, my answer is her answer.
I settle deeper into her neck saddle and soon, my body is moving to the same rhythm as hers. I feel comfortable, at ease, as if I were meant to be her rider.
The four moons are rising over the dark horizon, and their light seems to bathe her in a glowing radiance. Her scales glimmer in a golden aura that surrounds her from her muzzle to the tip of her tail.
I can’t help but think as I sit in the middle of this golden glow that it’s as if she doesn’t belong in this world, but to some other, mystical kingdom and that she’s only here for a moment in time.
From close behind, I can hear angry voices that carry on the night air. Strident voices, so sharp that they seem to splinter the calm night air.
“Now what are they arguing about?” I mutter.
“Where to hide me,” the golden answers. “Prince Aster and Daron have them . . .” she stops and gives a little chortle while answering, “perplexed.”
“Good,” I declare, “let them be that way for a change.” I sit up straighter at a sudden thought. “Wait, I thought we were headed into Golian. Why are they arguing then?”
“We are indeed,” she affirms, “but they question how deep we should go into the domain and for how long.”
“How long?” I stammer. “I thought we were going to a place where we could stay for quite a while. You know, rest, eat—be safe.”
The golden is slow to answer. “No Hooper, unfortunately, the domain will only provide us a short respite for now.”
“Short?” I grumble. “We need something a little more than short, don’t you think?”
“From here on, Hooper, I’m afraid that will be the most that we can hope for. Evil does not rest nor does it ever turn aside from its foul designs.”
I definitely do not like the sound of that. The golden’s words are ominous and foreboding and for the moment, I feel a knot of fear in my stomach.
Gazing at Scamper though, I can’t help but smile a little. He’s curled up in a snug little ball behind the golden’s skull plate, which serves as an excellent windbreak, and has his eyes closed in sleep. Seems like he can sleep anywhere.
Gently, I run a finger over the smooth fur on the top of his head. “Wish I could rest as easy as you. As if I had no worries whatsoever in the world except to find my next meal of worms or grubs.”
He stirs at my light touch before going back to sleep, as if my gentle stroke on his fur assures him that all is well in his world.
“Golden Wind,” I ask, “you seem to be like Phigby and know a lot about everything. Do you know why I have an evil fairy after me, well, after all of us, I mean?”
Golden Wind’s answer is unexpected. “Hooper, look down, what do you see?”
I glance over her side and even though it’s dark, I can make out what’s familiar and ordinary. “Uh, lots of trees, brush, grass, maybe some flowers.”
“That’s right,” she agrees, “and each sliver of grass, each tree sapling, all of them sprouted from a tiny seed. What would happen if that seed didn’t grow?”
“You wouldn’t have any trees and grass, I guess.”
“Exactly,” she responds as if that explains everything.
We wing on through the night with the sapphires trailing and the golden leading. Out of curiosity, I once touched a velvet cape that Phigby had hanging in his shop. The night air is every bit as soft and smooth as that velvet cape. I put out my hands to let my fingers sort of dance and feel the air’s silkiness as we glide along.
The moons continue their four-orb march upward, casting a pale glow across the forested rolling hills with the occasional break of a meadow. It’s not until they reach their high point in the sky that Golden Wind starts to slow.
The jagged, snow-capped peaks to our left still seem to stretch from horizon to horizon and not long after, we sweep over a wide, fast-flowing river that in the moonlight is streaked with a turquoise shade of blue.
“What river is that?” I ask.
“The Wolven Floden,” the golden answers. “We are in its upper reaches.”
“The river that Amil mentioned?”
“Yes, the River of Wolves.”
I swallow at her response. “Please tell me that its name isn’t of any significance.”
“Actually, Hooper, it’s aptly named,” the golden returns.
I don’t ask more questions, for just past the tree-lined watercourse the golden dips her wings. We do a slow arc toward a small, open meadow, which seems to be the only open space in the dense forest as far as the eye can see.
She reaches for the ground with her rear talons and then comes to rest in the grass-covered glen. Moments later, all four dragons settle themselves in the little dale.
I climb down off the golden and join the others though I make sure I stand apart as I don’t want to bring any more of Master Boren’s wrath on me. Scamper makes a beeline for the trees, his little nose held high as he sniffs the air.
“Well, Amil?” Phigby asks. “I take it the river we crossed is the Wolven, is it not?”
“Aye,” Amil answers as he eyes me, “that’s the Wolven, though I’m not so sure that you need me to tell you where we are as Hooper seems to know the way.”
I want to reply that it’s not me but Golden Wind but of course, I can’t. Instead, I drop my gaze and avoid Amil’s stare. After a moment, I lift my head. Amil has turned to survey the moonlit mountains that are steeped in shadow and have a hazy, silvery tint about their edges.
“A few leagues farther up is the vale I spoke of but this is a good a spot for the night. From now on, I strongly suggest that it would be most prudent if we are extra vigilant.”
“Because of the giants?” Cara asks.
Amil mutters, “There are more than just giants with two arms and two legs that prowl this land and that we should guard against.”
“Such as?” Cara asks.
Phigby turns to her and explains, “The Wolven Floden means the River of Wolves because of the beasts that prowl this side of the mountains.”
“You mean there are Dread Wolves here?” she asks.
“If only they were,” Phigby answers. “No, lass, compared to these wolves, our Dread Wolves are like Lady Lorell’s poodleloos, soft and cuddly. These are Vargs, wolves of the giant variety.”
I glance at Cara who returns my look. I wonder if my eyes are as wide as hers.
Phigby clears his throat. “Since we are in sight of the Denalians that means that we are still on the Golian Domain’s border. Amil, what do you suggest?”
The big man gestures to the meadow’s far side. “I saw a small hollow just inside the forest edge. It will provide some cover, and shield a fire. We can make camp there.”
Master Boren gestures toward the woodlands. “The dragons have gone too long without a meal of meat. Can we chance hunting in these woods to satisfy their hunger?”
“I cannot answer for a surety,” Amil replies in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve only traveled this way once, and that was by dugout on the river. I didn’t pursue game as I brought enough supplies not to warrant a hunt in these woods.”
He gestures toward the waterway. “There is a village further downstream. Lacenstad it’s called, and it’s rumored that they have had some trade dealings with the Golians. It may be that if we don’t meet up with a Golian, perhaps they may be able to get a message to the queen.”
“How far t
o the village?” Phigby asks.
“On foot, at least two days,” Amil states, “perhaps a bit more. And I wouldn’t suggest skying your dragons there either.”
“Because of the king’s warrant?” Cara asks.
Amil gives a little shrug. “That,” he points toward Golden Wind, “and her. The villagers have river boats and if we show up with a golden dragon—”
“They could slip away,” Phigby mutters, “and head downstream to report our whereabouts to the nearest authorities.”
“Aye,” Amil nods. “However, if one or two of us claim to be gold seekers, they’ll buy that story as such reckless fools do occasionally come through. We could spin a story that we seek approval from the queen to search for gold and we’ll share what we find.”
“Speaking from experience?” Cara asks.
Amil gives her a broad smile. “Only the part about the foolhardy treasure hunter.”
“A round trip of three or four days,” Helmar muses. “A fair trek to obtain both provisions and to see if they can get a message into Golian.”
He turns to Amil. “Can we trust them if we were to attempt to contact the Golian queen through them?”
Amil shakes his head. “That I cannot answer. As I said, my stop there was brief. They weren’t a talkative lot, though I was able to buy a few provisions.”
“And you’re sure they wouldn’t know of the warrant?” Cara pointedly asks.
Amil shakes his head. “For certain, no. But the village has fewer than a hundred inhabitants so it’s doubtful that a King’s Herald has come this far upriver yet.”
“Still,” I point out, feeling pangs of hunger in my stomach, “you were able to obtain food.”
Amil’s smile is brief. “Remember, they saw me as Amil, the gold seeker.”
He gestures toward the mountains. “It’s believed that if one is willing to chance an encounter with a Golian giant that the mountains hold a hoard of gold. As I said, a few treasure hunters make their way upriver.”
His mouth turns down in a frown. “Not so many return downriver. In fact, usually none.”