by GARY DARBY
“More and more became dependent on the few and those that didn’t work only worried about where and when they experienced their next pleasure. We became so depraved that the light became our enemy because it showed just how wretched we were, in form and substance.
“Many, consumed by their evil and depraved thoughts, began to leave their homes to live in dark places, such as caves. Over time, those that lived so saw their bodies waste away, leaving but a shadow of their former selves. Shades filled with bitterness and a savage hatred of the light and all those who dwelt therein.
“Their hatred drove them to find any who still lived in the light. The shadows would come upon us in the night, strip us of our will, force us into their loathsome lairs, there to be held captive until we became as they, miserable creatures without hope for the eternities.”
The pages flipped swiftly again only to stop at what appeared close to the book’s end. Cara reads, “Oh my people! What have we wrought? Why did we not have the courage to stand forth and cast out the evil that slunk among us?
“Why did we not believe that evil begets evil? Why did we cast aside that which was good, that which lifted us up into the light? How is that we called that which was good, evil, and that which was evil, good?
“Where are ye now, oh Amorans? In the dark depths of despair and misery, your souls mere shadows that now live forever in darkness.”
Cara jerks her head back a little as the pages again flip forward to stop on the very last page. Her voice is a soft murmur as she reads, “I, Hodas, and a few Amorans who did not give themselves over to the darkness have fled to a neighboring domain to live out the rest of our lives.
“Our land, like the souls of so many Amorans, is now barren, lifeless, and we have no place there. Heed this warning, those of you who read this account; evil walks softly but never mute your answer to its presence nor accept its ways.
“Lift your voices, your swords if need be! Call evil for what it is and never be ashamed to stand and face it fully. I bid thee farewell and pray that you will always remember the Amorans for their one-time greatness, but even more for their eternal folly.”
With that, the book snaps shut.
“I had assumed,” Snag murmurs, “that these Shadow Flames, or shadow people came from Vay, but it appears that they did this to themselves.”
“And willingly, too,” Alonya adds.
“A story as old as time itself,” Phigby sighs, “and one told too many times, I’m afraid.”
“Phigby!” Cara exclaims, jumping up. “Have you deciphered the runes?”
“Yes,” Phigby returns, “I finished with the last sentence just as you completed your reading.”
“So, what do they say?” Amil asks.
Phigby turns to the portal, thrusts his hand out so that the fiery letters appear. His voice is solemn, low, each word coming as if he beat upon a drum at a funeral dirge.
One warning to those who would dare
To venture forth into death’s dark snare
Enter not ye who live
In doing so, your life to give
To those who dwell in misery bleak
With a foul soul they surely reek
Turn back and find the light
Or bask in evil’s everlasting night
But if your mind’s will and desire is to enter
Step through the fire and welcome death’s winter.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Now isn’t that just dandy,” Amil growls. “A walk into winter’s death.”
“Yes,” Phigby replies, “but no need for you to worry, my sturdy and faithful friend, for you shall not be one who will walk through the portal and tempt winter’s death.”
“What? What do you mean?” Amil demands.
“I mean,” Phigby answers, “that there are only two of us who can tread this particular path. Hooper and myself. You and the others are to stand guard here and not worry about tempting fate. At least, not this time.”
“Excuse me?!” Amil bawls and steps close to Phigby, his face set in a hard expression. “Perhaps you’ve not noticed, professor, but tempting fate seems to be our constant lot in life since the day I joined this outfit and if I want to tempt Mistress Fate, seems to me that the choice should be left up to me.”
“Yes, Phigby,” Cara joins in, handing him the Amoran book. “While I don’t buy into this tempting-fate business, it does seem to me that this isn’t a task for just the two of you, but rather for all of us.”
“I would add my voice to Cara’s,” Alonya states, spreading her feet and looming a bit over Phigby as if to intimidate him just a little.
“Mine as well,” Snag adds.
“And me,” Helmar growls.
“Do not leave me out, either,” Marce scowls.
“Or me,” Talia chimes in.
The pixies jump and down, waving their hats as if to catch our attention. “We go!” Pip yells up. “Tempt fate, too.”
“Not scared of ol’ Mistress Fate!” Kyr squeaks.
“Yes, we go too, kick Mistress Fate in shins!” Sim adds loudly and then whispers to Kyr. “Who Mistress Fate anyhow?”
“She—” Kyr begins but before he can go on, Phigby reaches down to stop him. “You three will not be tempting anyone.”
He straightens and holds his finger up to make his point. “Nor will the rest of you. In other circumstances,” Phigby acknowledges with a small scowl, his voice and posture quite firm and steady, “it would do my heart good to hear and see your loyalty to our companions, but I’m afraid not this time. You must trust me on this, and we really don’t have the time to argue, so please don’t.”
Though I see uneasiness mixed in with a touch of discomfort on the faces of the company, none speaks up in protest. After Phigby stuffs the book back into his bag, he turns to me. “Ready?”
“No,” I reply, “but let’s get it over with.”
Phigby motions toward where Scamper and Silky sit on their haunches, their eyes still on the dark portal. “Cara, Helmar, keep those two close to you and whatever you do, don’t let them follow.”
I reach down and pick up Scamper. Looking into his little black button-eyes, I say, “You’ve got to stay with Cara this time, Scamp.”
He starts to chitter in protest so I push him into Cara’s arms. “No arguing on this one, stay here and protect Golden Wind.”
My eyes flick over to where the golden sits. Her eyes meet mine and though I see concern, nevertheless, she gives me the barest of nods as if wishing me well.
As I start to turn away, Cara reaches out a hand to stop me. “You be careful in there, Hooper. I’ll be really mad at you if you come out as a shadow.”
I give her a grim smile. “If that happens, I’ll be mad at me too.”
Phigby is waiting so I hurry over. “Uh, Phigby, how do we get through this without getting burned?”
“Oh, easy enough. Slice it open with your wonderful blade.”
“Slice it open?”
“Yes, that’s right. Remember what I said about having the right light? Well, Galondraig does.”
As I draw my blade from its scabbard, Phigby turns back to the company. “Remember,” he directs in a gruff voice, “no matter what, as long as there is no sun in the sky, stay in the light. We don’t want to have to do this over again rescuing one of you.”
“Don’t worry, professor,” Amil waves, “at night stay in the light, during the day, go out and play.”
Phigby cocks his head to one side, frowns a little and nods. “Hmm, not bad, Amil. The rest of you take his little jingle to heart.”
With that, he nods to me. “Swing away, m’boy.”
I rear back with two hands and bring Galondraig slicing forward. Just for an instant, I feel Galondraig hit something solid but then it cleaves downward as if it ripped through a piece of thick, black cloth.
No sooner than I draw Galondraig back Phigby steps through the portal and motions for me to follow. After a little hesitation, and a big swa
llow, I follow behind with Phigby’s ball of light darting through, too. Once inside, I turn back and what I see makes me freeze in place.
“Phigby . . .” I gurgle.
The company is gone, vanished, replaced by a shimmering blackness. Phigby lays a hand on my shoulder. “Easy, lad, our friends are still out there, it’s just that as soon as we stepped through the portal, it closed behind us. Just as you can’t see in, you can’t see out, either.
“Unless,” he grunts, “you were one of the shades. Then, as day is to our eyesight, night is to the Shadow Flames, or as the Amorans called them, the Shadow People.”
Phigby takes a step forward, seems to study the way before us, but then turns back to me. “Hooper, there was something that I did not tell our friends but which you need to know and I have little time, so listen carefully.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that but go ahead, what is it?”
He takes in a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “If the Amorans are only shadows, have you considered how it is that they captured, dragged away two of us? Or, for that matter, more of us if they could?”
I open my mouth to answer only to close it before saying, “It never occurred to me, but please tell me you have the answer.”
“Yes, and it is imperative that you understand, for the Amorans will come for us soon just as they did with Pim and Tavin.”
“Go on, Phigby, I’m listening.”
“The shadows didn’t physically abduct our companions, Hooper, they captured their minds.”
I stare at Phigby for a long moment before I swallow and ask, “Captured their minds?”
“Yes.”
“You mean they have powers like Pim?”
“Somewhat, but their power is much more malevolent. Where Pim can hear and share thoughts, perhaps influence them a bit, the Amorans can make the person do their bidding. As I said, they capture the mind.”
I stare at Phigby, gripping Galondraig so tight that my hand begins to ache. “Wonderful,” I growl, “this just keeps getting better and better.”
“Indeed, but whatever they attempt, you must fight it with all your heart, might, mind, and strength. Focus on good thoughts and memories, those that have brought happiness, even joy into your life.
“That is the best way to resist them, keep their thoughts at bay, never give them a chance to force themselves upon you. And whatever you do, don’t chase after dark thoughts, for those are the ones that the shades will use upon you to turn your will to theirs. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I swallow, “but something tells me this is going to be as hard as fighting a Nahl, or Bazyl—”
Before I can finish, Phigby leans close, “This may well be harder, Hooper, for in this fight, you will be alone. When they come, and trust me, they will, you will have to oppose them by yourself. I cannot help you for I will have my own battle to win. Do you understand?”
With a little swallow, I nod and whisper, “I guess so.”
“Good. Now let us be off and remember, for our friend’s sake and your own, do not give in to dark thoughts.”
With that, he turns and strides forward. I can’t help but notice that he doesn’t carry his sword, only his bag as if it alone were sufficient protection.
Me, I keep a firm grip on Galondraig. My wondrous sword may not provide a defense but it’s comforting to hold, anyway.
In the orb’s sharp light, I notice that the tunnel we’re in is curiously smooth as if polished like the fine tile you find in the houses of nobility. I reach out a hand to touch it but at a sharp, “Don’t!” from Phigby jerk my hand away as if I had thrust it into a fire.
“The less contact,” he growls, “you have with these things and this place, the better, Hooper. Remember that too!”
The tunnel turns out to be fairly short and empties into what feels like a large, dark, and still cavern. Phigby comes to a halt, with me brushing up against him as the bright sphere floats above us.
Phigby lifts his head, almost as if he’s sniffing the air before he murmurs low to me, “They’re here, Hooper.”
“They?”
“Our comrades and the shades. More than ever, be on guard, watch your step and your thoughts.”
“Great,” I reply, “I have to do several things at once. Not an easy task for me, Phigby.”
“Well,” he grunts, “if it will be of any comfort, the same for me. Now,” he says, turning to one side and then the other, “in what direction shall we go?”
“Too bad we had to leave Silky behind, he’d lead us to Pim.”
“Perhaps, but the question is whether Silky would be Silky by the time we got out of here, or something else entirely.”
“You’re just full of comforting thoughts today. You said to only think good thoughts, remember?”
“I don’t recall mentioning anything about not thinking and speaking candidly, did I?”
“Guess not,” I sigh.
“Good, then follow me and stay close.”
“Don’t worry, I’m going to stay so close you’ll think I’m riding in your pocket.”
He doesn’t answer but strides forward. How he picked that particular direction, I don’t know, but seeing as I have absolutely no idea which way to go, I put my trust in Phigby that he does.
We haven’t gone five steps when it begins.
A dark wave washes over me. I’m back in my childhood home, our little cottage in the meadow. Flames lick at me and I hear my family screaming for help. I try to reach them, but each time a wall of crackling, spitting fire drives me back. No matter which way I run toward their voices a blazing curtain cuts me off.
Their screams grow louder, more piteous, Hooper! Help! Only you can save us, hurry!
I try to stagger forward but the heat blisters my skin, pushing me back, driving me away from my family. Their screams turn to shrieks, screams of sheer agony, and then die away.
Suddenly, without knowing how, I’m outside, backing away from our cottage that’s engulfed in flames from the bottom logs clear to the peaked thatch. I’m burned, my clothes still smoldering but that’s not the pain I feel.
A hot, dark fury spreads through me. I can feel the fire of hatred pulsing through my body at the dragon that set my home on fire. I loathe all dragons. Hate them for their cruel dragon breath that destroys innocents. My disgust fills me, swelling my bosom with a fiery rage.
Then, my burning, seething wrath is quenched with the icy cold taste of revenge. I thirst for vengeance, crave to kill the one who did this to my family. My desire for revenge spreads. I want to slay all dragons. Repugnant, cruel beasts that have no place on Erdron.
My hand grips Galondraig as if I would crush the handle in my bare hand. The hatred, the anger, the unquenchable yearning for revenge floods my mind and I can think of nothing else.
From far away comes a voice, soft, yet firm. Hooper . . . Hooper! Fight it, don’t let them take you!
A tiny, golden light appears in my mind’s darkness. I force myself to reach for the light and when I do, a memory opens. I’m on Golden Wind and we’re soaring in a crystal-clear azure sky and below is a turquoise-tinted ocean.
The air is fresh and clean, with a slight wind that cools me off. I can feel Golden Wind’s strength in her mighty wings, but more so, I can feel her friendship, her concern for me, how she watches over and protects me whenever she can.
She turns her head so that one eye blinks at me. And I always will, Hooper, for as long as I’m able, I’ll be here for you, my friend.
Golden Wind smiles at me and I smile back. Hate dragons? How could I ever hate such a wonderful friend, how could I ever think that way?
Abruptly, the lovely memory of Golden Wind is pushed away. I’m back at the burning cottage, standing statue-still unable to move. No, it’s not that I can’t run, I don’t want to move. I’m scared, frozen in place by fear.
Behind me a cold voice hisses, Foolish little boy, you let them die. Didn’t lift a finger to help them, just stood
there and watched them burn to death. Coward of a Hooper. Coward! Coward!
“No . . .” I sob, “I didn’t mean to let them die. I was too little to know what to do.”
Too little? Or too scared? Coward!
Abruptly, the face of my father appears out of the darkness. Tall, with a rugged, handsome face, his deep-brown eyes are sad, with that deep hurt that only a parent knows when his child profoundly disappoints them.
Hooper, he asks in that quiet, bass voice of his, why didn’t you save us, my son? You could have, you know. If you had been a worthy son, you would have fought for our lives.
I stumble away and turn only to come face to face with the lovely image of my mother. Petite as opposed to my father’s tall frame, long, yellow tresses hang about her slim shoulders but her striking blue eyes are so sad, yet incriminating as well.
Oh, Hooper, I pushed you out that window so that you could help save us. But you ran, instead. Ran away and left us behind to die. If you’d only had courage, if only you’d been brave, we would be alive today.
“No . . .” I sob, the pain wrenching and twisting my insides. I cringe and whimper as the thought that I deserted my family, left them to die, washes over and through me, the bitterness pushing away all other thoughts.
And because of you, I died. I whirl at the voice to find myself gazing at the visage of my brother. His tanned face, framed by a crop of curly, black hair stares at me. His brown eyes an anvil of hardness. If only you’d been the brother I thought you were.
And I, comes the voice of my sister right at my shoulder, never got the chance to grow up. All because of you, Hooper. If only . . . She cries, the tears streaming down her soft, rounded face, if only . . .
I can feel her icy tears on my face. They’re so cold that they hurt as if a knife stabbed at my cheeks. I stumble away only to turn and find all of my family staring at me, their eyes, hard, cold, accusing.
Accept it, they demand in unison, you killed us. Accept the fact that you killed your own family. You could have saved us, but you didn’t. Accept it, Hooper, if only you hadn’t cared just about yourself!