Shell's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  Shell and Camilla exchanged worried looks. For fourteen, the boy had insight, if not education.

  Henry drew a breath and continued, “Unless other places are different than the valley where I lived, whatever you give to them will end up in the rich pockets of those in charge.”

  They relaxed somewhat. He had misunderstood their concern about the Dragon Clan council and silently, and mutually, agreed to let it continue. Shell said quickly, “I think he’s right.”

  “Then, what do we do with all of it?” Camilla asked. “You need to imagine carrying the weight of it, as well as the money in that bowl on your back for a few days.”

  Lifting the bowl explained her concern. It was heavy. Shell placed it back down and said, “I think we take it with us, at least. And, the jewelry. We can carry it is we split it between. Henry is right. If we leave it and the locals find it, they will put it in their pockets.”

  “It is not rightfully ours,” Camilla said firmly, her arms crossed over her chest.

  Shell said, “I can’t argue that. If there is a way to give it to the rightful owners or to even find out who they are, that’s the right thing to do. What do we do otherwise?”

  Camilla nodded her head a few times as if considering his words and the alternatives, which were few. “It’s not like we stole it. Well, I guess if you look at it from a different angle, we are stealing the money and jewelry, so that’s the wrong way to say it. But, we don’t have a choice, and we certainly didn’t set out to steal anything.”

  Shell nodded. “We split it up and carry it until we find an elder we can trust to tell us what to do.”

  They sat in silence, and Shell waited for the subject the shift to more uncomfortable areas. He expected Camilla to begin. Henry busied himself with adding wood to the fire and poking it with a stick while watching the sparks rise into the air.

  Camilla turned to him. “Myron really didn’t send you after me?”

  Shell shook his head and decided to tell part of his story. “He told me which way you went. Not to chase after you. He said we have the same destination and goals, so we might work together, but that’s all.”

  “That sounds like him.”

  Trying to get ahead of the questions sure to come, he said, “There’s more. There is a friend I met while leaving the grasslands, a family member I didn’t know before leaving, and I traveled to your village with him. We got there with the help of a man named Trace, Dancer’s brother.” He had stressed the word family, wanting her to understand it meant Dragon Clan. At her nod, he continued, “Quester, my friend, remained in your village to share information Myron wanted to send to other villages. Myron was going to send messengers right away.”

  “It must be important news,” Camilla said. “But you came on. And you say Myron didn’t send you after me to babysit or look after me. That’s hard to believe, only because I know him as a father.”

  Shell shrugged. It was time to tell the whole truth for that part or face her consequences later if she ever learned the truth. “Look, I only met Myron a day before, so I don’t know what he was thinking, and maybe that was part of it after all. I’ve heard your childhood story repeated for years and wanted to meet you, I admit. But my reason for leaving home was to join in the fight with Breslau, and I wanted to see dragons.”

  “Finally, that has the ring of truth. But not all your story. I think you went to my village because you wanted to meet me. Why?”

  He hung his head and looked at a spot between his feet and the fire, before raising his head and eyes to meet hers. Tell her the truth or she will know it. “I’m not married.”

  “Why not? You’re probably eight or ten years older than me.”

  “I never found the right one. Not that there a lot of women to choose from near my home. I wouldn’t settle for just anyone.”

  “So you thought chasing after a wildling orphan who lived alone for most of her life is the right person for you. Why?”

  “No, I thought meeting a girl who is a hero to her family is attractive. I’ve done nothing in my life that would be considered worthy. My mother said men are probably clearing new paths to reach your door and court you, and Myron said something similar, but I just wanted to meet you, that’s all.”

  Shell relaxed. It was going better than expected.

  Camilla flashed a smile, then without dropping it, asked quickly before he had time to think, “Tell me about your wolf.”

  Her subterfuge worked. Shell was caught off guard again. “We met as I left the grasslands. She’s not mine. She just stayed with me for a few days. Followed along.”

  Henry perked up and said, “Hey, I thought you said it was a cross-breed for herding your sheep.”

  “I stretched the truth.”

  Camilla said, “She’s out there guarding us right now, isn’t she? That’s why you allow such a big fire tonight, and you don’t seem to care that others might spot her.”

  “Yes.” The single word seemed enough.

  She eyed him, shifted to look at Henry, and then back to Shell. “You know of Raymer and what happened near my village with the animal?”

  “I do.”

  “Is the story of your wolf similar?”

  She was speaking about the story in vague terms because of Henry. But Shell understood exactly what she was saying. Raymer and his dragon had bonded near Bear Mountain. Shell said, “Similar. I’m not sure how much. It is different, but sort of the same, I think.”

  “Your wolf saved my life.”

  With sudden inspiration, Shell said, “Would the two of you like to meet her?”

  Henry perked up, looking from the fire and nodding vigorously as he said, “I would.”

  “Me too,” Camilla added, more cautiously. “What’s her name?”

  She does not have a name. Someday I must correct that. He called, “Wolf. Come here.”

  At the same time, he reached out and touched the mind of the wolf. Already sensing the instruction, she had moved closer, as if anticipating his call. After a short time, the wolf trotted from the darkness and moved nearer the fire, her amber eyes reflecting the flames as it moved. The molted browns and blacks of her coat made her almost invisible until she stood just out of reach.

  Shell noted the few white hairs that blended into the others, the height of the animal, the intelligence she projected, and the massive feet she stood upon. He also noted that no trace of the blood of the two men she had ripped apart only a few steps from where they sat remained.

  Henry scooted closer to her and placed a hand on the wolf’s flank, stroking her softly. “What’s her name?”

  “Wolf.”

  “She needs a name,” Henry said.

  “I know, I just thought that,” Shell said. “But we’ve only been together a few days, and I haven’t had time to name her, let alone to know if she’s going to stay with me.”

  “I’ll name her,” Henry said. “Please let me do it.”

  The entire conversation at the campfire was going so much better than expected; Shell didn’t want to ruin the mood. “Okay.”

  “Pudding!” Henry laughed.

  “Pudding?” Camilla asked, the laughter clear in her tone.

  Henry said, “That’s what my mother called me, and my name until a few days ago. I’m giving the wolf my old name since I have a new one.”

  “Hold on,” Shell began.

  But Camilla clapped her hands together with an evil glint in her eye and interrupted. “Pudding. I think it fits her perfectly. What a wonderful gift to give her your old name. Thank you, Henry.”

  The obvious thing for Shell to do was shut up, and he did. He now had a companion called Pudding, and there was no changing that. He touched the mind of the wolf to apologize and found her happy and content. If she was a cat, she would be purring as Henry stroked her flank. Then the wolf edged closer to the boy and laid down so Henry could place an arm over her shoulder and scratch her head with his fingers.

  A man can ask the sun to refu
se to rise the next day, but chances are the request will be denied. Shell felt much the same about the new name. He could request a change, but it wouldn’t happen, and even the wolf seemed to like it.

  Camilla said, “Pudding tracked me? That’s how you knew where I was?”

  Shell didn’t miss the emphasis she placed on the wolf’s name or the sly grin she tried to hide. “Yes. Myron gave me one of your old shirts for her to catch your scent.”

  “You could have just tracked me.”

  “I grew up in the grasslands and seldom saw a tree. Besides, I stayed home and herded my animals, so I am not a tracker or much of a woodsman.”

  Camilla said, “Can you fight?”

  “With my staff, which I left at Henry’s farm when we left in a hurry.”

  “You and I will find a pair of staffs and practice. Now, tell me about why you had to leave in such a hurry. I suppose it has to do with his bruises?” Camilla sat back and waited.

  Shell told the story quickly and without any mention of the small red dragon. In her eyes, he saw she had more questions, but she smartly refrained from asking, especially after he told them about the wolf’s part in the fight, and that the house had caught fire, but he never mentioned going near the house. He stressed the part about the boy lying in the mud, beaten and bleeding, and how they intended to beat him, as well.

  Henry said, “Pudding saved us. There were five of them waiting to beat you, and I wondered how you did it.”

  Shell let his eyes flick to the heavens while Camilla hopefully caught his signal of a dragon flying in the air. “Yes. Something like that.”

  Camilla seemed to understand what was not said. “Pudding found the road that leads from here to a village or town?”

  “And a ravine where the dead bodies were tossed. There are at least ten, but she wouldn’t go there because of the smell.”

  “We should bury them,” Henry said.

  Neither of them asked the obvious question about how the wolf communicated the information. Camilla probably guessed because she knew of dragon-bonding. Henry didn’t think to question ‘how' they did it. Shell closed his eyes, thinking fast to prevent the questions from being asked, as he remembered the stench of rotting flesh in other circumstances. He said, “That would be the proper thing, but I think we should leave them as they are in case the proper authorities can identify any of them. There may be other reasons, too, things. The sheriff or constable will want to discover. I think it’s best we leave them alone, for now.”

  Camilla nodded in agreement. Henry was soon lost in petting and grooming the wolf. He picked sticker from the fur, and a tick, throwing whatever he found in the heavy fur coat onto the fire. The wolf’s emotions were calm and contented for the first time since Shell had encountered it.

  Camilla abruptly stood and went to the small table where the valuable belongings were. After pausing there, she entered the cabin briefly, blew out the two candles and returned with a pair of sturdy boots. “These should fit you, Henry. Try them on.”

  He accepted the pair of well-made boots and looked at her in confusion.

  She pursed her lips and said, “Listen to me. They’ll probably burn everything here, including the cabin. They will want to erase this as if it never happened. Make good use of the boots.”

  “They are not mine, they belong to one of the dead,” Henry protested, looking at them as if tainted, or if he was committing a social blunder.

  “They did belong to one of them, a dead person who you are trying to help identify so that person’s friends and relatives will know what happened. I’m certain the dead appreciates your efforts and would freely give you the boots if he was able.” Camilla gave one brief nod at the end of her statement, telling Henry to put them on and stop being silly.

  Shell had not noticed the too-tight, worn out boots the boy wore. His little toe stuck out a hole on each foot, and the soles were almost nonexistent. Shell nodded his agreement when Henry looked at him.

  Then Camilla turned and allowed five knives to fall at Shell’s side. “Choose one.”

  “They’re not mine.” Shell made no effort to look at them or touch one.

  She curled her lip, and her eyes flashed in anger. Her voice cracked, “Henry put your old boots back on or go barefoot. Shell is not intelligent enough to apply the same argument about the dead to himself, so I guess you cannot wear the boots.”

  “Wait,” Shell said. “It’s not the same.”

  Camilla looked at Henry and winked, so both could see it. “It’s the same thing, Shell. You have a rusted piece of old iron for a knife that won’t cut through thick fog. Stop being pigheaded and select a knife that the owner would offer if he were alive.”

  His eyes fell on them. All of them were far better than the one he wore, in fact, all were better quality than he’d ever seen. The one, with the gold handle and the rubies, was not included in the five. But the others, the well made one without a spot of rust was. He selected it and turned it over, examining the odd metal, the sharpness of the blade, the feel of the balance.

  She motioned for Henry also to select, and he took the fanciest of the four, one with a good blade and a handle made of horn. Camilla selected a shorter blade, thinner well made. She said, “Before we leave, we’ll go inside the cabin and find belts, scabbards, and maybe a few other things for ourselves. What we leave behind will probably be taken and sold by the locals when the word of this place gets out or burned. It is not right to waste or allow others to benefit and grow rich for our actions.”

  “I agree. Most people will just try to profit by what they find here,” Shell said.

  “I’m tempted just to burn it all and walk away,” Camilla said. “And I would, except for the friends and relatives of those in that gully. We owe them a chance to find out what happened to the travelers, and the authorities are who are best suited to do that.”

  Henry had set his new knife to his side and was again grooming the wolf with probing fingers. He said, “Will Pudding keep watch on us tonight?”

  “Pudding,” Shell reluctantly used the name for the first time, “makes circles around our camp, some larger and other small. She does that all night long between naps.”

  “You can see her out there in the dark?” Henry asked.

  “I know she’s out there, and sometimes I catch a glimpse of her. I also see her tracks in the morning that tell where she’s been,” Shell hastily explained.

  “Good,” Henry said. “It sounded for a moment like you know where she is all the time like you have God’s eyes.”

  “That would be silly,” Shell said, with an awkward glance at Camilla because of telling another lie.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  They awoke well after the sun had tinged the lower sky pink and above it turned to brilliant blue as the sun reached over the mountain peaks, but the three had remained awake and talking well into the night. Shell felt Pudding trotting well to the west before he opened his eyes, satisfied at having already eaten a ground squirrel. The wolf was returning from following the overgrown path until she reached a road. The scent of men was strong on the road, and the wolf had turned back at that point. She didn’t care for men.

  Shell didn’t know how far away the road lay, but he knew Pudding might have departed before dawn, and her gait was faster than a man jogged, while never tiring, so it might be a full day’s travel away.

  He’d keep that information to himself, of course. Sooner or later he and Camilla would find time to speak alone, and he’d confide those things she probably already suspected. Camilla had brought hard biscuits, nuts, and jerky with her. He shared the venison and decided to use at least a small coin from the bowl to buy food that was not made from a deer. A farmer might sell him a chicken or ham.

  In the grasslands, there are no inns or stores to purchase things, and few farmers with excess food, but he’d heard of both and knew the basics. Now that they were leaving the mountains and heading for the coast, he also needed to ask directio
ns to Fleming so he could locate Henry’s family and find him a home. The boy was a fine traveling companion, but too young for the real purpose of the trip. The primary reason to leave him behind, though, was that he was not Dragon Clan.

  Later, but before leaving, Camilla handed each of them a belt and scabbard, as well as small purses, which were empty leather sacks with strings attached to tie them closed. “We will each carry a few copper coins and a small silver. We need supplies, and my bread is about gone, so no protests spending this money. We’re trying to help those dead people, and they have no more use for silver or gold.”

  The belt she had selected for Henry fit after they sliced off the end, and it looked natural as if he’d worn it his whole life. The boots were also a good fit and obviously, the boy walked better with all his toes inside them instead of sticking out.

  Camilla found another backpack in the cabin and used material torn from shirts to wrap the jewelry into small bundles. There were a few rings, pendants, and several chains, most of them silver, but one gold. She placed all of it into the side-pocket of the backpack she’d found.

  She said, holding it up, “Henry, this one will be yours. Put your things inside. We’ll discuss the story we’re going to tell while we walk away from this evil place, but we’ll give all of this jewelry to the proper official in the next town and give him directions to find this cabin.”

  She wrapped coins in smaller bundles so they wouldn’t jingle and rattle while being carried, and placed them in the bottom of her backpack, and more in Shell’s. “We’ll keep the coins and until we decide what to do about them. Since we probably can’t find the proper owners, I think we’re stuck with them, but if nothing else, a family council can hold them and put them to good use.”

  Then she held up the gold-handled knife and turned it, so the rubies twinkled in the sunlight. “This is different, I decided. We keep it and when we reach a large city or town post a reward for information about the owner. It was owned by someone wealthy, probably royalty, and there will be people who will recognize it. Perhaps we can find the family of at least one of the murdered.”