by Ted Neill
“You said that these blue people, they protect the ships?”
“Yes,” Adamantus said.
“So they are your friends?”
Gabriella and Adamantus exchanged glances. The elk answered, “Indeed, they are deeply trusted friends of my kind.”
“Then why would one of them trick Dameon into jumping into a ship?”
Gabriella had no good answer. Perhaps this woman, the companion of Ghede, had simply sensed Dameon’s desire and answered it, without consideration of the consequences. Or perhaps there was a different reason like Omanuju had said.
“Maybe your brother is meant to be here,” said Mortimer. “Maybe I am meant to be here.”
“It is worth considering,” said the elk. “The immediate issue, however, is navigating the narrows.”
“But don’t you see? They are the same issue,” Mortimer argued. “If this blue man, Ghede, was helping you, and this blue woman—his friend—helped us, then they meant for us to be together. We are meant to be on this journey and to complete it.”
Gabriella nodded, reluctantly agreeing with Mortimer. “Had the dead intended this all along?” she said, but Mortimer scoffed.
“You might get me to believe in these blue people, but the dead and their prophecies . . . I am still a sceptic.”
Indignation at Mortimer’s irreverence flared in her heart. The trapper could pick and choose whatever he wanted to believe in as far as she was concerned. She began to hope that perhaps they would navigate the narrows safely, that there was a grander plan still moving them along. Maybe her brother’s presence was part of the dead’s intention to cure him.
As she stared into the distance, Gabriella spotted a glint of silver in the sky: certainly a wyvern. It hung high on the wind much like a hawk, hovering on an updraft while scanning the surface of the ocean for prey. It would not take it long to notice the Elawn.
“How do we proceed?” Gabriella asked the elk.
“There is one way to navigate the narrows in relative safety,” Adamantus said.
“How is that?” Mortimer asked.
“We steal an egg.”
Chapter 5
Mother Wyvern
The plan was audacious, but Gabriella knew it was their only hope. Strangely, it made sense: when faced with creatures of myth, turn to myths for your answers. The myth of Zomar the sailor was a story the people of Harkness were familiar with from a young age. The exploits of Zomar were regularly told around the hearth fire. Besides being one of the first sailors to navigate the globe, Zomar navigated his way safely through the Isles of Fire—a nesting place for high dragons. According to the myths, high dragons were even more intelligent and powerful than wyverns. Zomar was able to sail safely through their breeding grounds by stealing an egg from one of the beasts. As long as Zomar kept the egg in his hands, the mother flew above his ship, protecting him as she watched over her egg. This way Zomar and his crew passed through the Isles of Fire unscathed.
Gabriella had always considered it just a story, but now that she’d found dragons were real, she looked at the myth in a whole new light. Unfortunately, the story she heard from her elders did not explain how the legendary Zomar returned the egg without the dragon turning him into a bloody stain on the bottom of his boat. How one reached a détente with a fire-breathing monster would have been a useful lesson, Gabriella thought, but that did not seem to bother Adamantus or Mortimer.
One challenge at a time, she told herself.
She put Dameon in the sleeping quarters and told him not to come out under any circumstance. For good measure, she locked the door behind her. There was no point in waiting. If they drifted any farther they ran the risk of attack. Pulling the Elawn’s levers to lower the ship, Gabriella maneuvered towards the nearest island, a good distance from its neighbors that were clustered close to one another.
“Better face one dragon than many,” Adamantus said.
Clouds had overtaken them as they sailed, and now the sky was low and the color of tombstones. From what she could see, most of the islands were barren and without features such as sandbars or beaches. Gabriella could picture them for what they were, the peaks of vast underwater mountains, towering over a dark seascape. Waves crashed like thunder against the sheer rock sides.
They crept closer to their destination, where plumes of oily black smoke reared up over them, like an enormous serpent ready to swallow the Elawn. The smoke came from a cave on the leeward side of the island. Silence fell over the three on deck as they brought the Elawn up against the windward cliff. The black basalt had cleaved into perfect hexagonal columns that looked almost human-made and gave the island the feel of a fortress.
Gabriella let Mortimer pilot the ship alongside the cliffs. They kept the sails low so the ship was hidden. Their plan was simple: Adamantus would go ashore and lure the wyvern out of the cave, relying on his speed to dodge the creature and lead her to the far side of the island. Gabriella and Mortimer would bring the Elawn up to the cave mouth. Mortimer would go ashore, take the egg, and return to the Elawn. Then the dragon would have to obey them once they had its egg and, they hoped, break off its pursuit of Adamantus.
The levers to the sails moved stiffly in the strong wind, but Gabriella noted that Mortimer was handling the ship well. She was glad, because his being able to control the ship was essential for her part of the plan, a secret she had yet to share with Adamantus and Mortimer.
As they drew closer, Mortimer pushed the lever to angle the paneled sails and lift the Elawn. As their sails moved up and over the edge of the cliff, Gabriella understood how a solider must have felt poking his head over a rampart—vulnerable, defenseless, and exposed. When the ship was level with the shore, Adamantus leapt off, his hooves clicking on the rocky surface.
“Pull the ship slightly away and back under the cliff, please,” Gabriella told Mortimer, who shifted the levers to maneuver the Elawn closer to the cliff face. Just before the ship moved too far or too low, Gabriella rushed across the deck and leapt ashore.
“Gabriella, what are you doing?” Mortimer shouted. Over the wind whipping across the island, she could hear Adamantus’ voice bellowing, too.
Gabriella pushed the hair out of her face and yelled back: “I’m sorry Mr. Creedly, but I couldn’t leave him alone.”
Mortimer stared across the deck at her. She was not sure if it was hurt she saw in his eyes or respect. She wondered if he would try to order her back, but then he nodded at her, cranked the wheel, and turned the Elawn towards the cave mouth. The ship slipped out of sight around the edge of the island. She felt uneasy watching someone else float away with their ship and her brother. She stared briefly down at the sea, waiting for a rebuke from Adamantus, but the elk was silent.
“I was just thinking that this is what Omanuju would do.”
“You are not Omanuju,” the elk said.
“Well, two is better than one, right?” She faced the elk, where she could read the anger in his eyes.
He snorted. “We’ll see. Pick up some stones and come with me.”
The island was not wide, although she wished it were, if only to prolong the moment until they would reach the cave. The ground was flat as a tabletop except for a mesa of stone in the center, bleached whale bones scattered at its base. It was clearly the wyvern’s perch where she eviscerated her kill.
Few of the bones were intact. Most had been crushed into splinters. Gabriella was surprised to see narwhal tusks amid the debris, the twisted golden horns of the whales that many believed to be unicorns. One on its own was worth a king’s ransom, and here were at least seven, a treasure horde.
The island’s surface was cracked by centuries of sun, rain, snow, and ice. Its layers came away in Gabriella’s hands in chunks the size of tea saucers.
“Stuff some stones into your pockets,” Adamantus said. “We’ll need them.”
The elk looked left and right, studying the terrain. Gabriella wondered if any other humans had ever set foot on t
his island. Her guess was no, although in the distance she noticed a desiccated backbone that looked as if it could have been the right size for a human. She pushed the notion from her mind.
As they walked across the uneven ground, Adamantus sniffed the air. Gabriella did as well. At first she could only detect a metallic sensation from the cold, but then a putrid scent assaulted her: rotting flesh. The smell brought back the memory of the time she had stumbled over the corpse of an ox in the forest. She shuddered and bent to pick up another stone. In another place, another time, these would be perfect stones for skipping into the Harkness harbor.
How far away she felt now from that familiar shore.
A cry in the air made her jump. Sea vultures hung in the wind above them.
“Will their cries alert the wyvern?” Gabriella asked, a quaver in her voice.
“I am sure she hears them, but it will take more than that to bring her out of her lair.” The elk stopped his march across the hostile landscape. “Get on my back.”
Gabriella felt a tremor of fear as she mounted Adamantus. When they reached the cliff’s edge, the column of smoke billowed up right before them, the stench of burning whale blubber overwhelming. Along the ground, a few blades of grass bent low in the wind. Gabriella wished she was one of those blades now, small, insignificant, and able to escape the wyverns’ notice.
The Elawn was nowhere to be seen.
“Throw a rock over the side,” Adamantus commanded.
Gabriella flipped a stone from her left hand to her right, then flung it. Its flat sides caught the wind so it spun erratically. Then she waited, heart fluttering. She never heard it land.
Nothing.
“Throw another.”
She did. This time she put less effort into it. It disappeared over the side, and she heard it clatter against the cliff face as it fell.
“Good. Again,” Adamantus said, his body tensing beneath her.
She threw another, then another. Her arm shaking badly, her last throw barely cleared the edge. Again they waited, their view of the sea obstructed by the smoke. It had been too long. Surely if the wyvern was inside the cave, she would have emerged by now.
Gabriella was afraid Adamantus would ask her to gather more stones, which meant leaving the safety of his back. “Wouldn’t all that noise near the cave mouth draw her out?”
Adamantus leaned slightly towards the ledge. The sea became visible. Gabriella could see the waves and surf pounding at the base of the island below.
“It would, but if she were a smart wyvern, she might not come straight up.” Adamantus turned abruptly. “She would circle around and come at up from behi—”
Gabriella turned as well. As if conjured by Adamantus’ words, a huge form swept up over the cliff to their left. The sea and wind were drowned out by a loud roar that fell like hammers on Gabriella’s head. She lifted her hands to her ears.
The wyvern was huge, easily three times the size of the beast that had pursued the Elawn days before. She filled Gabriella’s vision as she hovered before landing, her claws clattering on the stones that shifted and cracked beneath her.
This wyvern was old—it was apparent in all her imperfections—a cracked fang, a talon that been shorn off, a scar across her bat-like wing that testified to a wound healed. Gabriella would have liked to have taken these details as evidence of the wyvern’s weakness. She knew better—this beast was a survivor. Her scales were brown and worn. Her legs had grown to the size of large trees and her eyes glowed with an evil wisdom. She had just demonstrated enough wits to catch them both by surprise.
The roar ended, but Gabriella’s ears still rang. She realized Adamantus was speaking to her. She tried to focus on what he was saying.
“She will try to simply frighten us away first. This foray should be a bluff. We will have to hold our ground so that she is wary of us.”
With that, the wyvern began crossing the rocks towards them. She moved in slow measured steps, roaring and hissing, swinging her tail and flapping her huge wings. Gabriella had not expected her to move so smoothly over land. She knew that many animals made great displays when trying to frighten away adversaries—cats made themselves look larger by raising their backs, dogs showed their teeth. Her father had always told her that the animal was more afraid of her than she was of it.
Gabriella did not think his advice applied just now.
The wyvern moved closer, only to stop short and sidle sideways. She bared her fangs like a giant dog—any number of dogs could have fit into her mouth. Gabriella dug her fingers in Adamantus’ fur. The elk stood his ground, lowering his antlers, ready to charge. The wyvern twisted her body. A wing folded back, and suddenly her tail was flying at them. Adamantus anticipated her attack: he ducked but only enough to put them out of harm’s way. The tail snapped at them again, closer this time. Adamantus lurched sideways, and Gabriella heard the barbs of the tail whistle through the air just above her head.
Now it was Adamantus’ turn to posture. He shook his head and bellowed as he stamped his hooves. Gabriella heard rocks snap beneath them. His display angered the wyvern. She roared, her horrible maw open so close to them. She flashed fire and smoke and lifted herself into the air. When she fell, it was with a colossal force that shook the loose stones around them.
Then came the real attack. The wyvern rushed at them with a blast of fire. Adamantus side stepped it. She leapt, sailing downward, leading with her talons. Adamantus darted forward, twisted, and impaled the underside of the dragon’s foot with his antlers. The dragon screeched. The gusts from her wings were like a gale wind as she retreated.
The wyvern landed farther away. Dark rust-colored blood stained Adamantus’ left antler. The elk turned to Gabriella. “Flying is everything to a wyvern. She knows we carry a bite now, sharp enough to cut the membrane of her wings. She will stay back.”
Gabriella felt some of her fear ebbing. At some point, she had to concentrate on surviving, to assess their assets and seize control of what she could, just as she had on Kejel. But there was little she could add to this confrontation. The best she could do was hold on. The elk’s fur was wet from the sweat on her palms. She wound her fingers even more deeply into it.
The wyvern lifted into the air. She was out of their reach now, and her chest grew in size.
“Now comes the true attack,” Adamantus said, flexing his legs.
“The last one seemed real enough!” Gabriella squeaked.
Fire cascaded down over them and Gabriella could feel the searing heat. The air shimmered like a forge. There was no recourse but to run. Adamantus was an arrow loosed. He shot across the island, and the wind whistled through his antlers. Gabriella felt flares of heat behind her as the wyvern followed, Adamantus’ antlers reflecting the orange bursts at their backs.
The wyvern changed tack and approached obliquely. Adamantus compensated, turning to the side. A stream of fire gushed to their right. The last blast was followed by another roar. There was a note of frustration in this one. Gabriella almost smiled for Adamantus’ cleverness. This was an exhilarating yet deadly game.
The wyvern adjusted her course again, blasting them from behind. Adamantus foiled her once more, but she followed with a quick second blast. Gabriella realized the first had not been intended to hit, only to make them move. Their adversary adjusted to his moves quickly—she had already learned to anticipate Adamantus’ dodges.
The next fiery blast was so close that Gabriella smelled her hair smoking, but Adamantus had steered them towards the mesa in the center of the island. It provided cover momentarily, but they could not remain close to it, for risk of being pinned down. As the wyvern landed on the mesa, Adamantus galloped away. Like a giant bird breaking open a clam shell, the dragon smashed her horns into the fissured stone, which cracked open, and boulders tumbled about. The wyvern picked one up in her mouth and flung it at them with terrible velocity.
“Adamantus!”
The elk turned just as one of the stones, long an
d flat, like a tomb lid, came skidding towards them. Adamantus made an evasive turn, but before he could regain his footing a second bolder came sliding along the ground and swept his legs out from under him. The elk tumbled, and Gabriella was flung into the air.
Stone, sea, sky blurred together before she landed in a bone-jarring collision with the ground. The massive wyvern passed right over her, casting a dark shadow. Had the beast landed beside her, Gabriella would have been unable to run, but the wyvern alighted beside Adamantus as he tumbled and swung its tail. There was a loud, hollow thud followed by the clatter of Adamantus’s antlers striking stone as he flipped end-over-end.
Gabriella tried to get up, but her vision went black. She screamed with pain. Her forehead was wet, and blood trickled down her face. She wanted to stand but could not. Time was running out for them. Adamantus would be ripped to shreds. Pushing herself off the rock onto her hands and knees, Gabriella willed her eyes to focus. Everything was blurry and dark, but she could make out a faint light swinging just in front of her face. She could hear her knees scraping against the ground, even if she could not feel her legs.
She looked toward the light waving before her eyes again, glowing white, then silver. It was familiar, and she seemed to understand somehow, even if she could not recall how just now, that it was not metal. She tried to reach it and touch it. Her arm would not quite behave the way she wanted, but her vision was coming back. She reached again for the light.
Her hand knew the feel of its shape immediately. The whistle! Her heart fell, for it might have been something to help the elk. Where was he? She struggled up. Her vision was still cloudy, but she could see the coppery mass of the wyvern approaching another figure on the ground, this one brown against the grey stones.
“Adamantus!” Gabriella pushed herself to stand. She willed the pain away and tried to run. She screamed the elk’s name again, but he remained crumpled where he had landed, his legs tangled beneath him, his head flung out awkwardly to the side. Although his eyes were open, they were rolled backwards and fluttering, as if he were lost in an evil dream. She called his name once more, but the wind swallowed it or Adamantus’ spirit was already too distant. The wyvern moved closer to Adamantus, a raven perched over a field mouse.