Geirr looked at her puzzled. “I don’t think fast is an option here. Now if you pick up your stack and stick near me maybe we can Marco Polo our way back to the others.”
“Geirr,” Zaria hissed, her voice ratcheting higher. “The fog is moving.” He didn’t look impressed. The breathing sounds from within the fog grew louder, distressing Zaria. “No seriously, it’s moving like it’s alive.”
Geirr looked back again and stared hard, trying to penetrate the fog with his gaze alone. Zaria started to ease away, firewood forgotten.
“Come on, Geirr, we have to move. Can’t you hear the breathing?”
“That isn’t you?” he asked, alarmed.
“No!” Zaria shouted. “Run!”
Geirr dropped his stack of firewood and ran, grabbing her arm as he whizzed past her. There was a deafening roar behind them. The duo panicked and put on more speed. Zaria ran, repeating the mantra in her head to not look back, to keep running, to not ever look back. She knew from books that the person who looked back was doomed. They would inevitably slow down and stumble in the process. It wasn’t worth it. Whatever was crashing through the forest behind them wasn’t worth it.
When another roar sounded behind them, Zaria jerked Geirr’s arm. “Don’t look back!” she warned.
But that didn’t stop them from straining to hear what was chasing them, to try to locate it with their other senses. Their footfalls slapped loudly on the ground. Zaria was fiercely glad that it hadn’t snowed. She did not relish trying to run through ankle-or knee-high thick snow. They would have been precariously slowed by its presence.
As it was, visibility was diminishing rapidly. Whispers of fog snaked around their ankles. Zaria got a stitch in her side and started wheezing. Geirr tried to drag her and then push her, but she was winded. He wasn’t much better off than her, but desperation was clearly giving him the drive to keep forging ahead. Zaria was done. She had nothing left.
“I ca-can’t keep going,” Zaria gasped, falling into a limping run.
She held her side and struggled vainly to keep up with Geirr, but he quickly pulled ahead. Soon her fingers were slipping through his grasp, and they broke apart. The fog swirled like soup around her ankles. The breathing in its midst grew worse, if that were possible, all ragged and heavy. Shivers raced along Zaria’s spine.
“Climb a tree!” Geirr yelled, racing to a thick trunk and quickly scrambling up it.
“Are you kidding me?” Zaria called back, limping the last few dozen feet to the same tree.
She looked up the length of it to discover Geirr halfway up. He was climbing it like a freaking monkey. Gamely, Zaria reached around the tree in a pantomime of a hug and searched for toeholds. She didn’t get very far off the ground when she lost her footing and fell to the forest floor. And then it was too late. Their tormentor was upon them, and there wasn’t anything Zaria could do.
A shadow appeared in the fog – large, menacing, and feral. It was as tall as a bear standing on two-feet and as wide as an elephant. It lumbered laboriously toward them, its deafening breathing straining the children’s nerves with the rough rumbling sounds. Zaria pressed herself into the tree trunk, and squeezed her eyes shut.
* * *
Chapter Five: Fireside with the Stag Lord
The creature had intelligent pale gray eyes, the color of ice in shadow. Its face was shaped like a lion with two large fangs jutting out from its upper-lip. The body was heavily furred, the color reminiscent of a polar bear, but with black markings dotting its sides reminiscent of a snow leopard. The creature’s arms and legs were covered in white opalescent scales, ending in giant bear feet (also scaly) with gleaming black talons. Thick, leathery, black-and-white wings sporting wicked talons attached at the middle of the back and folded in like an accordion by the front paws.
It was unlike anything Zaria had ever seen. She gazed at it in awe, her mouth hanging wide open. Her terror momentarily held at bay as she took in the glorious sight. Every breath it released sent billows of fog out around her. It reared again onto its back legs and pawed at the air, bellowing. Zaria flinched and ducked down, covering her head with her arms. She did not want to be its next meal. It would surely swallow her whole.
“It’s wounded,” Geirr said above her, his voice tense. “Something is sticking out of its back. There’s blood.”
Zaria peeked up around her arms, her braids dangling in her face. The creature had fallen back to four feet. Hesitantly, Zaria rose to a crouching position and made the daring decision to move toward the beast. It was the bravest thing she’d done her whole life.
“Zaria, what are you doing?” Geirr hissed. “Don’t go near that thing!”
“Shut up, Geirr,” Zaria said, creeping toward it.
With a shaky hand she reached for it. The beast stretched its neck, sniffing at her fingers. Zaria watched its face looking for signs of attack. The beast slumped to the forest floor with a gusty sigh. Fog billowed around Zaria’s waist. She shivered.
“This is not a good idea,” Geirr warned, watching as Zaria encircled the beast and finally saw the wound.
“Oh my,” she whispered. “You poor creature. Who did this?”
With more gumption than she knew she had, Zaria grabbed the thick black spikes of its wings and hauled herself onto its back. The beast shifted in agitation and snarled. Zaria patted it on the shoulder.
“There, there,” she soothed. “I’m going to take this –” Zaria looked at the object. “– spear, yes, spear, out of your back and you should be good as new.”
The creature huffed and shrugged its shoulders. Zaria hoped that meant it understood her and steeling her nerve, she gripped the shaft and tugged hard. Zaria toppled end-over-end and fell to the forest floor as the beast roared in pain and jumped to its hind feet, clawing at the air. The spear fell beside her with a hollow clatter.
“ZARIA!” Geirr shouted, dropping from the tree. “ZARIA, ARE YOU OKAY?”
Zaria wanted to tell him she was fine, but the wind was knocked out of her. She was struggling to breathe and stay calm with the raging animal above her. It was flapping its wings and the wind from the movement cleared out the fog it breathed in a few short moments.
Geirr grabbed her by her armpits and hauled her back. They made it a few feet, when the beast quit yowling and landed heavily back to the ground. It turned to stare at them. Geirr swallowed thickly and looked a little faint. His dark skin paled under the steely stare of the beast. Zaria clutched at him, as she inhaled her first deep breath in the past few minutes. She wheezed heavily, her chest rising and falling with each gulp of air.
“Oh man,” Geirr moaned. “We’re toast.”
The beast snorted and used its wings to trap the children. And they were trapped. No way out. Geirr moaned again and Zaria used her returning strength to break his hold and stand beside him. She clapped him on the back.
“Breathe, Geirr,” Zaria said. “If the creature wanted to hurt us, we’d be dead already. Am I right?” This last was directed toward their captor.
Gray eyes watched closely and blinked. Zaria took that as an affirmative. She did a slow turn within the creature’s wings and marveled. “Geirr, isn’t he a beauty? Look at these gorgeous markings. There can be no more beautiful a sight in the whole world.”
The creature rumbled. It reminded Zaria of a cat’s purr, only louder and more gravelly, like boulders rubbing together. Geirr grabbed her hand and held it tightly, which was comforting for them both. Zaria reached out to touch one of the wings.
“It feels like a bat’s wing,” she said. “Or what I imagine one would feel like anyway. Soft and leathery, but thick, there’s strength in these wings. You can see some of the veins where the sunlight hits him directly, although the fog obscures most of him. It must be a defense mechanism.”
“Or offensive. It can hide in the weather of its own making and pounce on unsuspecting prey.”
Zaria wandered closer, dragging a reluctant Geirr behind her. She reache
d its scaly legs and peered closer at them. They were really something. Opalescent, shimmery, white scales covered him from paw to shoulder. She touched him and felt the coolness of them. She ran her hand up and down marveling at the difference in texture depending on which way her hand went.
“This is so cool,” Zaria told Geirr. “I wish I knew what it was. I’ve never heard of anything like him. You are unique, my friend.”
“Is it purring?” Geirr asked nervously, looking over his shoulder at the lion-bear-beast. “Its head looks like a saber-tooth lion. Those fangs could tear us to ribbons. Claws too – look!”
“Don’t fret,” Zaria chided, moving to play with the thick fur of its collar and chest. “His fur is so warm compared to his scales. The fur and scales must both work together to regulate his temperature. He’s like a big kitty.”
“He’s not a kitty. He’s a mythical creature. He’s neither cat, nor bear, nor snake, nor bird. He is dangerous. We need to go.”
“I wonder if he’s like a dragon,” Zaria mused, ignoring Geirr. She was in nirvana, nerd-vana that is. “I wish I had a camera.”
Zaria finished exploring the coarseness of the fur and turned her head up to meet its gaze. “Well Mister Kitty-Bear what do you plan to do with us now?”
It breathed fog for a moment, then scooped up both children in his claws and launched itself into the air. Zaria couldn’t help it, she squealed. Geirr was too manly to squeal, but it certainly sounded like one to Zaria. The downdrafts from the wings were cold and mighty. The forest floor fell away, and they rose up and up into the air.
“Oh great,” Geirr grumbled. “Just great. So we’re not dinner now, but we can look forward to being the main course once we get to its lair.”
“That would be worrisome,” she concurred, but part of her thrilled to be in the air flying.
“I think I prefer flying lessons in a plane,” Geirr said, looking a tad queasy. “The cockpit is really comforting you know. You don’t feel like you’re going to plummet to your doom in a plane.”
“Just enjoy it!” Zaria encouraged. She was determined to take it all in – because this, she knew, was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Their winged companion covered a great distance in a short span of time. They were now high up in the mountains, and far below them ran the fjord looking more like a creek than a river. Zaria’s teeth chattered wildly. Geirr’s lips were blue.
“If-if he would just hold us by his chest, we’d be warm,” Geirr said.
“H-he does-doesn’t kn-know b-better,” Zaria stammered.
Seconds later they were held in the warmth of the white fur on the creature’s chest. Zaria buried her face into the fur and breathed in the musky scent. Her skin tingled where it warmed and her frozen nose thawed. The creature must have understood them.
Wind still whipped at them, tugging on their clothes, slapping against their cheeks, and seeking every possible inch of exposure between their clothes and their bodies. But it wasn’t unpleasant. Their flying friend was toasty warm, and actually the longer Zaria was pressed there, the toastier she got. She was almost uncomfortable now and took pleasure in each nip of cold air.
“I shouldn’t have spoken too soon,” Geirr complained. “I’m starting to sweat. This guy’s a furnace!”
Zaria laughed. “We are fickle are we not?” She pressed her ear against the creature’s chest, enjoying the thumping sound of his heart and wings, as they worked in tandem.
Zaria’s stomach dropped suddenly, and she looked about for the cause. They were descending rapidly, aiming toward a dark cavern in the cliff side. She hugged their friend closer and felt torn between exhilaration and terror, as they dove at a steep angle. Nervous laughter escaped her when their friend angled its wings like parachutes, jerking them up and back in a controlled stop. They landed lightly, much to Zaria’s surprise.
The cavern was dimly lit, most of the light outside blocked by the snow-beast. A small fire smoldered in the back, casting stark shadows along the walls. Fog crept out from their position at the front of the cave, courtesy of their friend. An echoing rumble sawed through the air, setting Zaria’s teeth on edge.
“Bones,” Geirr whispered. “The shadows are reflections from bones.”
Zaria looked again and gasped. Geirr was right. The shadows being thrown were bone-like. She glanced toward the fire looking for the source. They were not alone. A dark shape hunched in front of the fire had antlers. The antlers were huge – tall and wide with more points than Zaria could count.
“Did you bring them, Norwick?” the horned figured asked.
Norwick, as the beast was named, blew a deep sigh, sending out a wave of fog that reached their knees. He dropped the children to the ground, where they stumbled into each other, caught off-balance. When they righted themselves, Geirr moved forward briskly. Zaria followed.
“What is the meaning of this?” Geirr demanded, stopping at the man’s side.
The man angled his head up, and Zaria realized he wasn’t an antlered-creature, but wearing a white cloak made from animal hide with golden antlers attached to the hood. She looked the strange man over and noted his thick blond beard, grimy clothes, and skin which contrasted sharply next to the clean white pelt, and deep blue eyes.
“Sit, eat,” the man ordered, gesturing to the fire, over which lay a trio of spitted rabbits. “I am Hector Woodworth, and you and your friends are in grave danger.”
“Where are our friends?” Zaria asked, stepping around the man and the fire to sit opposite.
Geirr watched Hector with a frown, but after a moment, crossed over and sat beside her. “If you’ve hurt them, you’ll regret it.”
Hector chuckled. “They are not harmed, merely sleeping.” He nodded over to the dark corner. “They are over there. Norwick frightened and exhausted them when he rounded them up.”
“What are we in danger from? How did Norwick get hurt?” Zaria asked Hector as Geirr went over to the corner to see their friends.
The rumbling echoes which had become white noise ceased, and Zaria heard Filip curse. Zaria looked over, happy to see Filip, Aleks, and Geirr step back into the light of the fire. They looked like they had tumbled through mud and foliage. Aleks rubbed his eyes, plucking twigs from his hair and dropping them to the floor. Filip yawned loudly, scratched at some dried mud on his nose and took the seat beside Zaria.
“Good to see you, Zar-Zar,” Filip said quietly, nudging her shoulder with his. “You look better than us, how come?”
“I don’t know,” Zaria said, gesturing to the mud. “Maybe I didn’t fall into the river?”
Aleks took the other seat next to Zaria. “Didn’t Norwick chase you too?”
“Yes,” Geirr said, sitting between Aleks and Hector. “He did. I climbed a tree to get away from the ugly beast.”
“He’s not ugly,” Zaria said. “He’s gorgeous.”
A cat-like yowl answered back.
“Norwick is a prideful beastie,” Hector said affectionately. “He’s saved my hide more than a time or two over the years.”
“What type of creature is he?” Filip asked as he took one of the rabbits off the spit. He broke off some meat and handed it to Zaria before feeding himself.
“A winter-wyvern,” Hector answered. “He’s part reptile and part mammal. The species are skilled hunters, and prefer large game. They’re also very playful. While they like to have fun, wyverns don’t always know their own strength. So be careful. And, they’re loyal to a fault, if you can earn their loyalty.”
“Is a wyvern like a dragon?” Aleks asked, digging into another rabbit with Geirr.
Hector took a moment to reply. He ate a leg from the third rabbit and wiped his face with the back of his hand.
“Yes and no. Dragons are not beasts; they are shapeshifters. They use fire as a weapon and hate the cold. Norwick’s fire is internal and meant to keep him warm, but since Norwick can breathe fire under duress, yes, he can be similar to a dragon. The smog from his br
eath is a smoke and fog mixture from the fire in his belly and temperature differences between his breath and the air.”
“Wicked,” Zaria said. She was all appreciation. “But why was he injured? Did something happen? Why are we in danger?”
“We were chased,” Hector replied somberly, ripping another bite off the rabbit leg, “by a horde of trolls. This is troll country you’re in now, and it’s dangerous. They love to eat meat, and they don’t care if the meat is elf, human, or deer. I’m surprised you were able to travel so far by river. There’s a particularly nasty river-troll that guards it, and he doesn’t like trespassers.”
The boys all looked at Zaria. The rabbit meat was sawdust in her mouth. She swallowed thickly and started to cough. Hector handed her a metal flask, which she took gratefully and drank. Cool, refreshing water slid down her throat. She stopped coughing and ducked her head.
“I’m afraid it’s all because of me,” Zaria whispered.
Hector leaned forward, bracing his hands on his knees. “You gained passage on his river? How?”
Miserably, Zaria spilled the whole ordeal of how she met Olaf and the kidnapping of Christoffer. She didn’t gloss over her idiocy in her dealings with the troll. But when she was about to reveal the object of their quest, the boys hushed her with a stern reprimand.
Hector eyed the group, and scratched his beard with the bone of the rabbit leg before tossing it over his shoulder. “All right, so you have secrets. I can live with that, everyone has a few. What’s your final destination?”
Filip shook his head. “We can’t tell you that either; it might give too much away.”
Hector nodded. “My guess though is that you’re heading north, which is also where I am headed. So I will give you this advice, stick near me for as long as you can. Norwick and I can protect you on this part of your journey. I’m a good hunter, so you will have food and not need to use your supplies until we part.”
Geirr looked ready to argue, so Zaria cut him off. “Thank you,” she said. “We accept. Can you tell us where you’re headed?”
Secret of Gloomwood Forest Page 4