by GARY DARBY
Phigby dips into his bag and hands Helmar a ball that seems to have a dozen shiny sides to it all the while muttering far too low for me to hear.
Helmar grabs the sphere, jams it in his tunic, hurriedly gets his sapphire to her feet and climbs aboard. He pulls the dragon from the line and she strides toward the knoll’s rounded end where Cara kneels.
She jumps to her feet as he stops next to her. He leans down and speaks, to which she gives an anguished cry of, “No!” before he turns his dragon to lumber in the direction from which we just came.
I hurry over to stand next to Phigby, who is watching Helmar disappear down the trail. “Phigby,” I ask in a puzzled, anxious voice, “what is Helmar doing?”
“A very brave act,” Phigby answers, his face somber and grave.
Just then, Cara comes rushing up. “What is he doing?” she demands. “He’s riding straight out in the open. The Wilders will see him!”
“Yes, Cara, they will,” Phigby responds in a sigh. “That is precisely what will happen and precisely what we want to happen.”
She turns to Boren with a cry in her voice, “Father, stop him, this is insane.”
“No, daughter,” he answers in a sad, tired, tone. “He’s giving us a chance, perhaps the only chance that we have under the circumstances.”
“Then he’s not doing it alone,” she snaps and dashes toward Wind Song.
“Cara, wait,” I call out and do my best to stay up with her. I manage to snag her bow just before she climbs up her dragon.
“Let go of me, Hooper!” she exclaims and slaps my hand away.
“Leg!” she commands of her dragon.
“Cara, wait,” I plead. “Helmar knows what he’s doing. You need to stay here.”
She pulls herself up and turns to me with a hard look. “Do you know what he’s doing, Hooper?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” I sputter, “but you heard your father. He’s giving us a chance to get away from the Wilders.”
“Yes, Hooper,” she demands, “and then what? What happens after the Wilders go after him?”
“I—I’m not sure,” I stutter.
“Then I’ll tell you,” she declares, her eyes hard like green emeralds. “The Wilders will surround him, cut him off.”
She takes a deep breath and in a voice that’s like a Proga lance across my back, snaps, “Hooper, for once, use your head. Helmar doesn’t have a magic gem to help him. All he has are his heart and his bow against dozens and dozens of Wilders. He’s not going out there just to lead the Wilders away from us, Hooper. Oh, he’ll try, and he’ll try with every bit of that big heart of his.”
Her lips quiver and tears glisten in her eyes. The words she utters are so soft, it’s as if the wind whisks them away from her lips before they reach my ears.
“But in the end, Hooper, he’s going to sacrifice himself for us. To die alone with a Wilder arrow through his heart.”
18
“Daughter!” Master Boren’s booming voice is commanding and firm, but not harsh or unkind. Still, it’s evident from his face that he has no intention of letting Cara join Helmar in his brave, but perhaps fatal skyride against the Wilders.
With long strides, it takes him but a moment before he’s standing next to Wind Song. “Cara, I can’t allow you to do this. Please, stop what you’re doing before you do something silly and endanger yourself, which you will if you sky from here.”
With her face red with anger and lips white from pressing them hard together, Cara all but snarls, “No, I’m not getting down. I’m going with Helmar, and don’t try to stop me, Father.”
She angrily shoves her bow behind her back before she whips her head around to face Master Boren. “How could you send him out there alone against the Wilders as if he were some sacrificial lamb? I can’t believe you did that!”
“Cara,” Master Boren answers in a lowered voice, “calm yourself. It’s nothing of the sort, and he’s not being sacrificed.”
“Cara, Cara,” Phigby rapidly rumbles as he draws close. “Trust an old man when I tell you that we wouldn’t do that, and I sent him with a good deal of help. He will not be alone, I assure you. If all works as I hope, we have nothing to fear for his safety, and he’ll meet up with us deeper in the mountains safe and sound.”
“What help?” Cara stutters. “What are you talking about? No others are going with him. He’s out there alone.”
“No, he’s not,” Phigby answers. I can hear the confidence in his voice, but I’m like Cara. What help, or rather, who’s going to help him? The rest of the company is here, hiding behind the shoulder of this hill.
Master Boren reaches up to his daughter, his hand outstretched, his voice and face imploring. “Please Cara, as Phigby says, if all goes as planned, he’ll be just fine.”
Phigby chuckles to himself. “In fact, if it works as I think it will, not only will it give Helmar an excellent story to tell around the camp fire, but it may cause the Wilders to think twice about skying deeper into the domain.”
I can see Cara clenching and unclenching her fist, her eyes flicking from her father to Phigby and back again. It’s obvious to me that she wants to trust her father and Phigby, but what Helmar’s doing goes against reason and her heart is doing her reasoning for her right now. “Are you sure? Are you absolutely certain?”
Master Boren’s sigh is long, and I can see on his face that he is wrestling with how to answer his daughter. I have the feeling that he wants to say he’s certain to reassure Cara so that she doesn’t do something foolish, but his expression tells me that if he says that, it would be a lie.
“Daughter, I know of few things that are certain,” he murmurs to her, “and this isn’t one of them. But what I do know is that Helmar is going to give us the opportunity to not only save ourselves but Golden Wind as well. And that I must do; you know as well as I that she can’t fall into the Wilders’ hands.”
He pauses and then points down the valley. “If you sky out there, then you may well foul up Helmar’s plan and leave all of us vulnerable to not only being seen by the Wilders but being killed by them as well.”
Boren moves so that he’s right up against Wind Song’s azure scales and looks up at his daughter. “Is that what you want?”
I can see Cara’s eyes glisten as she chokes out, “Of course not, it’s just that Helmar is—”
“I know, and I understand,” Master Boren answers in a soothing tone. “But you must trust me, and you must trust Helmar on this, please.”
Phigby steps up and says firmly, “If you promise not to sky Wind Song from here, I’ll explain everything to you. Right now, however, we must be vigilant and alert. We may only have this one chance to steal away.”
Cara flicks her eyes from Phigby to her father and back again, uncertainty still on her face. Then she slowly nods in acceptance.
I give her a parting glance and walk away. I can’t help but wonder, if Master Boren had sent me away, as he did Helmar, would Cara have acted in the same manner?
Hardly.
It would be more like good riddance, and don’t come back anytime soon, if ever.
Amil remains perched on the knoll, his large body hidden behind a granite slab. He has his head raised ever so slightly so that he can peer back down the trail and watch the sky for the Wilders.
Over his shoulder, he calls out, “I’ve lost sight of Helmar, he’s gone round the bend. Make ready, it should be any moment now.”
“Ready for what?” I ask Phigby.
He grumbles, “Never you mind, get up on the golden and wait for Master Boren’s command.”
I glance around as I’m not exactly sure what is happening, but the tension and anxiety on everyone’s face is evident. Whatever it is that Helmar is about to do is dangerous to him and potentially to us as well.
Quickly, I clamber up on Golden Wind and whistle for Scamper. The tub shoots out from behind some rocks and darts up the golden’s leg to her carapace where he assumes his usual stance.
Amil holds up his hand and then snaps it down with a hard jerk. “He’s away!” he calls out. His rush down the knoll’s slanting side brings up a little dust cloud until with a long leap he lands next to Wind Rover and clambers up behind Master Boren.
“Now!” Master Boren cries out. “Ride hard, and do not stop!”
With Fotina in the lead, the dragons pound up the trail. Though I’m holding onto Golden Wind’s horns, I glance over my shoulder. In the far distance, I can see the blue tint of Wind Glory against the deeper and harder hue of the sky.
Like a pheasant flushed from the brush by a hunter, Wind Glory is rising from the foothills and racing down the valley. In hot pursuit are the Wilders’ big reds, moving faster than Scamper when he goes for a piece of roasted meat.
Now I understand. Helmar is using himself as bait, to lure the Wilders away so that we can make a frenzied dash for safety.
Wind Glory is like a blue streak against the cloud-draped sky. The Wilders are giving frantic chase, driving their big reds hard and fast. In moments, they’re red blurs trailing Helmar’s streaking sapphire dragon.
Cara too turns to watch the unfolding drama. In an anguished voice, she cries, “Why doesn’t he climb into the clouds where they can’t see him?”
From just ahead, Phigby responds over his shoulder, “He will, Cara, but at the right time.”
“Everyone,” Master Boren commands, “Helmar has given us precious time. Let us make the most of it.”
We’re lumbering through a tight, curvy canyon. I’m sure that Master Boren would like for us to go faster, but the incline is steep, and the dragons barely fit through the chasm walls, slowing us down.
Amil continuously scans the sky over his shoulder, watching for any sign that the Wilders have seen us. He’s not the only one.
One moment Cara has her eyes on the trail ahead and the next she too is scouring the skies with anxious eyes.
My suspicion is that she’s not intent so much on sighting oncoming Wilders, but rather in hopes of seeing one blue speck gliding toward us, and with it, the return of Helmar, whole and unharmed.
I admit, I can’t help but look over my shoulder at the high clouds behind us, too. Hoping to see Helmar but also fearful that what I see instead is a troop of crimson dots astride ruby-red dragons against the broken white clouds, charging at us in a crazed rush of bloodlust.
Our pace slows, as Alonya begins to lag and limp. Her spirit is willing, but her wounded leg is too weak. There comes a point where we have to stop.
The trail ahead winds upward in a series of narrow switchbacks that lead up the mountainside. We climb down off our dragons and gather to gaze up at the steep incline.
Master Boren points to the sheer mountain way. “Is there no other path?” he asks Fotina.
“No,” Fotina replies, her eyes never leaving the sharp, winding trail. “Not to reach where we are bound.”
Master Boren, like me, cranes his neck back to take in the high mountain pathway and declares, “It’s barely wide enough for the dragons. One slip and—”
“Perhaps,” Amil mutters, “it’s time to reconsider whether we should let the Lady Fotina and Alonya take this high road and we take the sky road.”
Taking in the steepness of the pathway, I rather like Amil’s suggestion. But only silence greets Amil’s suggestion which lingers long until Phigby mutters, “I admit, the temptation is strong to use the dragons instead of our feet, but—”
“We simply do not know,” Master Boren returns, “if Helmar was able to draw all the Wilders away, it may be that they left a few behind.”
Cara points back the way we came. “Won’t we be seen from the valley below?”
“In places, yes,” Fotina willingly admits. “But that is the chance you’ll have to take.”
I nervously study the narrow, steep path. There were places in the trail before that were sharp and abrupt, but this climb seems more suited for manure flies that are able to hang onto a sheer wall and not fall off.
I follow what I can of the trail as it snakes its way up the mountainside like a serpent’s coils. In some spots, it disappears as if it curves behind a flank of the mountain before it reappears. I squint as hard as I can and peer upward, but I cannot see where it finally reaches the top.
Fotina must have seen me studying the trail with anxious eyes for she says, “Do not worry, Hooper. This is the easy part, remember?”
I grimace as Amil snorts. “What did I tell you?”
Master Boren turns and orders, “We cannot ride up that. If one of the dragons falters and slips, it may not have time to spread its wings and both rider and dragon would die in the fall. Better that we all walk from here.”
I glance over at Alonya. She is bent over, her face etched in pain. I have grave misgivings that she will make it up the mountainside. She reaches for her bow, but Fotina takes it instead. “I will carry this and your quiver, it will take some of the burden off your leg.”
My unbridled tongue speaks before I realize what I’m saying. “I will carry your sword,” I propose and hurriedly add before I offend, “with your permission, of course.”
“And I your shield,” Amil offers, “if you will let me.”
Alonya turns to us and seems to study our faces for a moment before she glances at Fotina, who nods approval.
“Most likely,” Fotina says with a hand on Alonya’s forearm, “neither will be needed until we reach the top, if then. And it is more important that you reach the pass.”
With a little hesitation, as if she’s loathe to part with her sword and shield, Alonya hands us her armaments.
As I grasp the hilt of her heavy sword with two hands, I instantly regret my offer. Her sword seems to weigh twice as much as I, maybe more.
But I can’t just hand it back and say, “Sorry, it’s way too heavy.” That would be embarrassing and make me appear to be even weaker than I already am. Especially in the beautiful green eyes of someone who is watching me with more than a bit of disbelief showing on her face.
As Amil and I heft Alonya’s weapons, Fotina watches with an odd expression on her face that seems to be both gratitude and wonder. “We Golians,” she says slowly, “have been taught all our lives of the treachery of Drachs that led to the desolation of our land and people so many generations ago.
“However, I readily admit that we have been wrong all these years. It is a mistake to teach that any one people is evil because of the actions of a few, unless those same people accept the evil or look the other way.”
Both Master Boren and Phigby bow and murmur, “Thank you.”
Fotina turns to me with a concerned expression. “Hooper, are you sure that you want to carry Alonya’s sword? It is a bit heavy even for us.”
“Let him carry it,” Cara snaps, “since Helmar is not here to do it for him.”
Fotina’s eyebrows rise at Cara’s sharp retort, but since I remain mute, she shrugs and gestures up the trail. “Watch your footing for there are loose rocks and gravel along the way.”
We begin our trek up the mount. Trudging up the mountainside would be hard enough, but I find that carrying Alonya’s enormous sword is exhausting.
It’s not long before I find that each step I take sends excruciating pain through my leg as if I’m stepping on a bed of knives. My breathing is so loud and sharp, that I think someone could mistake me for the bellowing of a dragon.
Worse, the first part of the trailhead leaves us completely exposed, out in the open. Anyone could see the dragons from several leagues away.
For that reason, Fotina and Master Boren won’t let us stop, but push us on, even though the climb is draining, especially on the very hurt, Alonya, and the very weak, me.
I consider finding some way to lash the sword onto the golden, but then I remember how she and the sapphires had to battle the ferocious storm and how tired she must be after that arduous task.
After all, she is carrying a double load as it is.
I
study the barren mountainsides, looking for a way to use Voxtyrmen to help us, especially me, get to the top.
But there’s not a single blade of grass or green twig to be seen anywhere along this stretch of the trail, just gravel-like rocks that line the path, big rocks to one side, bigger rocks above those, and then the really big rocks higher up.
After a while, it’s all I can do to concentrate on taking the next step, and then the next. I begin to fall farther and farther behind the others, having to stop every so often before I can go on.
I start to think that at the next curve or large boulder that shields us from the valley below, I’m going to quit, right there on the path. I can’t go on, the pain and weariness are too much.
The golden slows so that she plods just ahead of me. I wheeze to her, “What were you saying about the journey itself being worthwhile?” I stumble a few more steps before I have to stop and catch my breath.
Bent over, leaning on Alonya’s sword, I suck in breath after deep breath. “You and I have a very different opinion on what makes for a meaningful journey.”
She settles on her hind legs, with her body almost stretching completely across the rocky trace. On one side is a steep mountainside leading up to snow-capped peaks, the other is a sheer drop to the boulder-strewn gorge below.
She cranes her head around and murmurs, “I never said the journey would be easy, Hooper, I only said that someday it would come to an end, and you would look back and think that it was all worthwhile.”
With that, she swings her head back to gaze up at the sharply inclined path that seems to wind on forever and ever. “And Hooper, when you finish with this climb, you will find another mountain waiting.”
My countenance falls as I lift my head to peer past her at the towering mountain peaks. “Please don’t tell me we have to climb another mountain.”
I slump just a bit, and my voice is barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I can even make it up this one.”