by GARY DARBY
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 don’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.
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’ll 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 circle 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 or I like it or not, she and Hooper have bonded.”
Master Boren remains motionless for a moment more 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 tongue lashing for sure, maybe even a backhand to set me in my place. “Yes, Master Boren?”
“Look at me,” he commands. My eyes flick 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, “Uh, 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.”
“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 the answers will be handed to him, without effort, without thought on his part? Often, the young are prone to think, or unfortunately taught this way.
Or, will he come to understand that 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, 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.
Chapter 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 L
eo 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 I’ve done, 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 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.