Wings of Fire (The Legend of Hooper's Dragons Book 7)

by GARY DARBY

  “Err, yes,” Phigby replies. “Borm did say that there was some urgency to the matter, but he wouldn’t or couldn’t specify what.”

  “No,” Liam returns, his face set in a grim expression, “because I didn’t tell him or any others of his company. But rest assured that I didn’t ask you here under false pretenses Professor Phineas Phigby.”

  Phigby straightens just a bit. “Sir, you have me at a disadvantage, as you know my name, yet I don’t recall ever making your acquaintance.”

  “Before tonight,” Liam returns, “we have never met, though I know all your names.”

  He turns to Marce. “You are Marce of the Nervan Uhlan and I’m sure you have many, many questions.”

  “Oh, my yes,” Marce answers, “first, I’d like to—”

  Liam holds up a hand, stopping Marce. “I’m sorry, but your questions will have to wait for now.” He turns to me. “And you are none other than Hooper Menvoran, friend of Golden Wind and leader of this company.”

  I let out a big sigh. “Friend, yes, leader, no.”

  Liam gives me an odd look for a moment but motions toward the dragons with one hand. “Would you be so kind as to introduce me to Golden Wind?”

  At a slight nod from Phigby, I reply, “Certainly.”

  Together, we walk back to the dragons and stop before the golden who’s resting on all fours but with her head up. “Liam, may I present Golden Wind, the great golden dragon.”

  The Uhlan bows low from the waist and murmurs, “It is an honor to meet you, Golden Wind, and for your continued safety I am most grateful.”

  For her part, Golden Wind returns Liam’s head bow with her own. Then, before I can stop him, Liam takes several quick steps forward to stand close to the golden. She lowers her head until the two are all but eye to eye.

  Liam’s sudden movement is a bit unsettling to me and I start to reach out to pull him away from Golden Wind, but Phigby thrusts his arm across my chest and with several firm shakes of his head stops me.

  The Uhlan leader is murmuring so low to the golden that I can’t understand his words but by the way she flicks her ears forward and her eyes center on Liam, I know she’s listening intently to whatever it is he’s saying.

  After a few moments, Liam stops speaking, steps back and again bows low to Golden Wind before turning to us. “Thank you, Hooper, for allowing me to speak with Golden Wind. Now, I suppose you’re wondering what this is all about.”

  “Wondering is putting it mildly,” Amil mutters from just behind me.

  “Yes,” Liam gives Amil a wan smile and then looks skyward. “But first, the dawn is near, so let’s get you inside where it’s safe, and no doubt some food for weary travelers would be good.”

  “No wondering about that,” Amil mutters.

  “This way, then,” Liam instructs.

  As Liam and the other Uhlan lead us through the clearing toward the cliff, Cara brings Wind Song alongside me and the golden. “This is all a bit mysterious, don’t you think?” she whispers.

  “I’ll say,” I answer.

  “What did he say to Golden Wind?”

  “I don’t know, he was speaking too low for me to hear but she was listening to him very intently.”

  Cara’s shoulder brushes up against mine as she whispers, “First chance you get you need to ask her.”

  “I will,” I answer and then smile, “and no doubt the second chance I get is to tell you what he said.”

  “Of course,” she sniffs.

  As the first faint pink streaks of daylight strike the looming cliff at its very top, Cara nudges me and points. “Would you look at that.”

  The towering cliff, with its gray facing looms directly in front of us. Sculpted by the weathering of wind and rain, the cliff has a series of folds and ripples that stretch up its flanks. At its base is a jagged pile of dark gray chips and stones that have fallen from the cliff.

  To each side of the monolith march away sharp mountain peaks that light up in the eye-catching ruddy pink of Dragon Glow.

  To one side of the towering massif, rushing water tumbles over the cliff’s lip, cascades down the face in a series of jolting sprays as if to wash the granite, leaving it a wet, dark sheen.

  In a ragged line, we follow the Uhlan toward what appears to be a rather large, craggy crack at the base of the cliff. “If they mean for us to go in there,” Cara comments, “that’s going to be a tight fit for Regal.”

  Eyeing the crack, which runs up the wall a short distance, I reply, “He may have to scrunch down a bit, but I think he’ll make it.”

  “As long as it doesn’t narrow even more,” Cara replies.

  “If it does,” Amil quips from behind, “we’ll all just have to get behind him and push.”

  Cara turns and wrinkles her nose at him. “After certain recent events, being behind Regal is not something I’m keen on doing.”

  As we pass through the jagged entryway, my steps falter, and my eyes dart from one side of the craggy portal to the other. “Do you hear it?” I whisper to Cara who walks alongside. “That strange moaning sound?”

  Cara slowly nods her head. “Something’s alive in here and from the way it sounds, it’s hurt.”

  “Whatever it is,” I add, “it’s big, maybe as large as a dragon.”

  “Let’s hope it’s not Regal-sized,” Cara returns.

  We go a bit deeper into the dark, rock-faced tunnel. A breeze brushes against my face and the keening becomes even louder. The eerie sound doesn’t seem to slow our guides for their long strides never slack.

  We haven’t gone far when one of the Uhlan steps to one side, into a narrow, unlit crevice. He’s gone for several moments before he reappears with several moss-wrapped torches that drip some sort of evil-smelling liquid. He passes all but one to his companions and then, by striking a flint against the rocks lights his torch.

  Those holding torches reach out to ignite their own and moments later, we have light of sorts to show us the way. Cara, peering at me, nods approvingly. “Yes, Hooper, I know what you’re thinking and yes, you should. Much better light than these soggy torches.”

  She wrinkles up her nose. “And certainly better smelling.”

  “I have to agree,” I cough, making a face as black smoke from one of the torches wafts over me. “Nothing like the smell of rotten eggs and old, soggy leaves.”

  Over my shoulder, I call, “Twinkle, Ember, Dazzle, give us some light.”

  Moments later, the three sprites are aglow and light up the tunnel from one end of our little caravan to the other. The Uhlan stand wide-eyed at our blazing sprites and I call out, “You can save your torches—as you can see, we have our own light.”

  “Amazing,” Liam murmurs, “and wonderful, too.”

  The guards take their torches and snuff them out as Liam takes up the march again and we follow close behind. The farther we follow the passageway, the stiffer the breeze becomes and the louder the moaning grows.

  The crevice-tunnel takes a few small twists and turns, narrowing a bit but not enough to slow Regal or the other dragons down. After a short while, we round a sharp bend and catch the dull glow of light ahead. “I would say,” Cara whispers, “that’s the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “Looks that way,” I answer slowly and glance around. “But if that was some sort of animal making the noise, where is it?”

  Phigby must have overheard, for over his shoulder he explains, “It’s no animal, lad, it’s the wind rushing through the rock that’s making that keening sound you hear.”

  “The wind,” I murmur as I give Cara a sheepish look. “Strange, it sounded just like a moaning animal.”

  “The wind is quite gifted, you know,” Phigby replies. “I’ve heard her sing under a starry sky as she rushed through early spring leaves, beat the drums from a full-blown storm, and whistle as she rushed down a mountainside. So, I’m not surprised that she could imitate the moaning of a giant beast.”

  Cara and I share a
glance. “And here I thought the wind was just the wind,” Cara smiles, “I never knew she was so talented.”

  “Oh, she has many abilities,” Phigby replies. “She plays the harps by using new spring boughs as her strings and every melody is different. Her whistling soughs through the canyons are as lilting as any songbird if you listen in a certain way.

  “With her fingers she can paint the hills and valleys by mixing all the colors of fall leaves until they stun the eye, or sculpt sand dunes into magnificent edifices that rival anything our hand can produce. And no one can clean a sky or a forest like she can.”

  “How poetic, Phigby,” Cara smiles. “I never heard the wind described quite like that before.”

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Aye,” Amil mutters, “but don’t forget that that same ‘poetic’ wind will freeze your backside off on a winter’s night, or blow you halfway across an ocean against your will, or had you forgotten, professor?”

  “No, my friend,” Phigby snorts, “I’ve not forgotten.”

  We pass through the dark portal and into the light and come to a dead stop by what we see in the center of an enclosed valley.

  “Phigby,” Amil gurgles, “am I seeing what I think I’m seeing or are my eyes deceiving me into thinking I’m seeing what I’m really not seeing?”

  “Either we are both being tricked,” Phigby answers slowly, “or we may well be glimpsing the largest living tree on Erdron.”

  “I thought dragon heart trees were huge,” Cara gasps, “but it would take a dozen of them put together to match that girth.”

  “A dozen?” Tavin replies, “try a dozen dozen or more.”

  “Its top is so high, a cloud-scraper for sure,” Pim gawks, “and those leaves, I’ve never seen golden leaves tipped in silver.”

  “See how they’re cupped,” Snag adds, “as if to capture the breeze?”

  My eyes follow the tree from its top down its golden-brown trunk where I find that there is a forest of the same colored trees only much, much smaller that spread out across the oblong vale.

  Set among the smaller trees are villagers’ huts and here and there, curls of smoke from chimney tops rise in the early morning air. Off to the right, a gushing waterfall tumbles down the cliffside and through the trees I can see that the water lands in a shimmering blue pool. From the basin a stream gurgles through the forest, down the valley and toward the enormous tree.

  Seeing that we’ve stopped to gape at the towering tree, Liam takes a few steps back and swings his arm up in a sweeping motion. “Our Wind Catcher is magnificent, yes?”

  “Oh yes,” Cara answers. “It’s incredible beyond words.”

  Liam motions toward the sparkling pool and creek. “Why don’t you rest beside the stream? I always find the sound of the waterfall to be soothing and you’ll find the water to be fresh and zesty. Jelani Ros will show you the way. After you’ve rested, we’ll talk.”

  “Thank you,” Phigby returns, “we shall.”

  “Err, Liam,” Amil calls out, “you mentioned something about breakfast?’

  “I did,” Liam answers, “and it will be brought to you shortly.”

  “Would it be possible,” I ask, “that our dragons receive food as well?’

  “Of course,” Liam replies, “now rest, but unfortunately it can’t be for long as we have grave matters to discuss. I will send for you in a short while, but first I must tend to Jelani Ralos.” With that, he turns away, followed by his accompanying Uhlan, leaving Ros with us.

  The Jelani motions toward the pool and we follow him. As we walk toward the stream, Cara chides Amil by saying, “You just had to ask about breakfast, didn’t you?’

  “Of course,” Amil returns, “as a Traveler, when I met someone, the matter of a meal was one of the first things brought up. Talk always goes better with food. Best way to find out information is to sit around a table with good grub as it tends to loosen tongues, you know.”

  “Hmm, interesting,” Tavin muses, “I never knew that about Travelers.”

  “Oh yes,” Amil replies, “it was always one of the first things I’d ask about.”

  “You would,” Alonya snorts.

  “Nothing gets two sides to talking,” Amil replies, “like breaking bread together. First rule of all Travelers. You want to find out something, do it over a meal.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I answer, “next time when we’re discussing whether to get into a fight with someone, we’ll ask them to sup with us first.”

  “So,” Cara asks Amil, “now that we know the first rule of you Travelers, what’s the second rule?”

  “Follows the first,” Amil returns. “After finding out what you want to know, leave and let the other fellow pay for the meal.”

  The trees leading to the stream are set far enough apart that the dragons have no issue passing through, though Alonya has Regal take special care not to knock any down. As we move alongside a small grove, Amil pulls at Phigby and motions toward the trees. “Look at those carvings, professor.”

  “Interesting,” Phigby returns and asks Ros, “Do your tree carvings have any particular significance?”

  Ros gestures at one tree that’s closer to our path than the others. “Family writes.”

  “Eh?” Phigby replies, “I’m not sure I know what that means.”

  Ros points to the trees. “Each family write . . .” his forehead wrinkles and he turns to Marce. “I do not speak the common well, how say ‘Geburt’ in your talk?”

  “Geburt, geburt . . .” Marce murmurs to herself several times before she gasps, “Geburt—birth! Are you saying that the carvings record the births and deaths of the Uhlan here?”

  “And more,” Ros nods.

  We turn and stare at the trees. For as far as we can see, each tree is seared with Uhlan writings. Phigby turns to Marce. “This must go all the way back to when your people lost contact with the Vanished Ones as you called them.”

  “Evidently,” Amil quips, “they weren’t quite as vanished as you thought.”

  “What’s more,” Phigby observes, “this may be their version of your Historica.”

  “I think you’re right,” Marce agrees and turns to Ros. “How did your people get here? What happened to them? Why—”

  Ros holds up a hand, stopping Marce. “The Vinderfangen will tell. He knows all trees. You rest for now.”

  He gestures down the path. “Water just ahead, I return.” With that, he spins away and makes for the threads of smoke that mark the Uhlan village.

  As we walk along, Cara nudges Phigby. “What do you think that means, ‘he knows all trees’?”

  Phigby shakes his head in answer and gazes back at the trees. “My guess is that Liam, their Vinderfangen, is a historian of some sort, that he knows the history of each family that’s written on these trees.”

  “Well,” Amil rumbles, “it’s a good thing that these people have him because one good forest fire would wipe out their whole history.”

  “Indeed,” Phigby replies as we stop at the edge of the deep blue pool and stare upward at the waterfall as it plunges off the top of the cliff and tumbles, splashes, and sprays its way down the cliff. Off to each side, much smaller cascades fall in tiny, wispy streams as if they were windblown hair.

  The company gathers around the pool and we drink deeply. “Liam was right,” Cara declares as she brings up a palmful of water to her lips. “This is wonderful.”

  I cup several more mouthfuls before I turn to see Phigby standing, still staring at the enormous tree that towers over the vale. “He’s muttering again,” Cara whispers in my ear.

  “Uh huh,” I reply, “and he can’t take his eyes off that gigantic tree.”

  “Let’s go see what he’s muttering about,” Cara suggests. “I’m curious.”

  “You?” I chuckle. “Curious?”

  “That’s right, and there’s only one way to satisfy my curiosity.”

  Together, we walk over and with Cara on one side o
f Phigby and me on the other, I tap his shoulder. “Phigby, you’re muttering again about something or other and you’ve got that perplexed look on your face again. Mind if we ask what’s on your mind?”

  “Eh?” he replies. “What’s that?”

  “You’re over here alone,” Cara explains, “and talking to yourself, again.”

  “Oh, was I now?” Phigby answers, scratching at his unkempt hair. “I don’t recall talking to myself. What was I saying?”

  Cara dimples and replies, “Phigby, we don’t know, that’s why we’re here, to see what you were muttering over. You were just staring at that tree.”

  Phigby scrunches his eyebrows together, glances up and nods. “Oh, yes, now I remember. Have I ever told you that to every lore and legend there is often an element of fact?”

  I shake my head at Cara and grin. “Why no, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that before, have you, Cara?”

  Cara gives me her wide-eyed innocent look. “I don’t think so. What do you suppose it means?”

  “I’ll tell you what it means,” Amil calls out as he paces up. “We’re about to receive another impromptu lesson from Professor Phineas Phigby on something or other.”

  He raises his voice and beckons to the others, “Hey everyone! Gather ‘round, the professor is about to give us a lecture.”

  “Thank you, Amil,” Phigby says dryly, “for that introduction.”

  Amil answers with a broad smile. “Didn’t want anyone to miss out, you know.”

  As the others walk up, Phigby clears his throat and gestures at the enormous, golden brown tree in the near distance. “It occurred to me that we might have stumbled across one of the most ancient of legends, the Tree of Aros.”

  “The Tree of Aros,” Amil mumbles, shaking his head. “Never heard of it.”

  “But you’re going to tell us about it, right, Phigby?” Cara asks.

  Phigby takes in a breath, adjusts his robe, which today is a deep golden-brown and begins. “At the beginning of the Age of Creation, Aros, one of the three Gods of War was smitten with Hesperid, the Goddess of the Forest and the most beautiful goddess in the Pantheon.