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

by GARY DARBY

  “He set out to win her hand by showing his prowess in all things dealing with battle. To show how strong he was he held a wrestling match with Tauron the mighty Sky Bull and invited the whole Pantheon to watch. He personally asked Hesperid to attend and though she disliked war and all things associated with it, she reluctantly accepted his invitation.

  “However, the match did not go according to Aros’s plan. Tauron refused to let Aros pin him down though Aros tried over and over, fiercely grabbing onto the colossal bull’s horns and straining with all his might to throw him to the ground.

  “Each time Aros failed, he could hear laughter among the Pantheon, which grew louder with each botched attempt. And though she tried not to, Hesperid couldn’t contain her laughter, soft though it was, and that was what Aros heard above all else.

  “It’s said that the fight between Aros and Tauron went on for a full day and night, with Aros’s anger building with each futile attempt.

  “Finally, in a complete rage, he grabbed Tauron around its thick neck and with all the might that a god can muster yanked Tauron’s head clean off his body.”

  “Now that’s definitely a way to soften a girl’s heart,” Cara mutters in a dry tone.

  “Yes, well,” Phigby rumbles as he clears his throat, “it didn’t impress Hesperid and in a huff she left the arena. Aros was so dejected and angry that he took Tauron’s head and threw it up into the sky. Then he took the bull’s body and threw it too, only in a different part of the heavens.”

  “Wait!” Amil stammers. “Are you saying that’s why the bull’s head is in one part of the night sky and the body is in the other?” He scratches at his bald head, his face scrunched together. “And here all this time I thought he just had a long neck between the two.”

  To loud chuckles, Phigby stares at Amil for a long moment before with the rest of us he starts chortling too. “All right, all right,” Amil growls, “so I didn’t know.” He turns to Phigby and asks, “Is that the end of the story or is there more?”

  “There’s more,” Phigby smiles and starts again. “After that, Aros tried everything he knew to impress Hesperid. You see, before the Age of Creation there were three times as many stars in the sky as there are now. To prove his prowess with the bow, Aros shot hundreds of arrows at the night sky and knocked down so many stars that we now have the great swaths of darkness that you see in the night sky where there aren’t any stars.”

  “That did it, right?” Amil asks. “Aros impressed Hesperid?”

  “No,” Phigby states, “it didn’t. In fact, it caused her to rebuff him even more as she loved the beautiful warm radiance of the stars and now, that glow was diminished and so was Aros in her eyes. Finally, Aros sought out Bod, the Goddess of Love and asked her to cast a spell on Hesperid that would cause her to love Aros.”

  “Just the thing,” Amil grunts, “a love potion. That’ll do the trick every time.”

  “Yes,” Phigby replies, “only Bod tricked Aros. She gave him a potion all right, but told him that instead of Hesperid drinking it, he would have to, in the presence of his love and after that Hesperid would be his.

  “Aros grabbed the potion bottle, jumped into his war chariot, and with his six winged horses pulling as hard as they could, raced across the sky to find Hesperid. When he did, she was in a forest of ailing trees, trying to heal them. The war god came roaring up, leaped from his chariot and raced to her side. He took the bottle and drained it of the potion.

  “He stood there, hands on hips, looking for all the world like the handsome, glorious god that he was, waiting for Hesperid to fall into his arms, but she barely paid any attention to him. Instead, she went on tending to her sickly trees.

  “‘Hesperid!’ he called, “it is I, Aros, your love!’”

  “She laughed at him and said, ‘My love? No, these are my love,’ bending over and gently stroking the leaves of a tiny sapling.

  “‘But—but,’” he stammered, wondering what had gone wrong when suddenly, he felt strange, light-headed. He swayed on his feet and then this powerful feeling rushed through him and overcame his senses. He rushed over to Hesperid.

  “On bended knee he cried, ‘Oh Hesperid, tell me what I must do to earn your love! I shall do anything—anything!’

  “Hesperid ignored him and kept tending to her trees but Aros wouldn’t stop asking her what he needed to do to gain her love. You see, crafty Bod had given Aros The Potion of Insufferable Yearning and for Aros that meant his desire for Hesperid, once great, now completely consumed him. He could no more turn aside from his longing than a river can turn aside from its rush to the sea.”

  Phigby becomes silent, pulling on his beard, his gaze on the ground at his feet. He stays that way for what seems forever, all of us leaning forward to hear the next portion of the story. When he doesn’t speak, Cara asks sharply, “Phigby! For goodness’s sake, what happened to Aros and Hesperid?”

  “Eh? What?” Phigby mumbles.

  “You stopped,” Cara says accusingly. “You didn’t finish the story.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “No. What happened after Aros’s Insufferable Yearning took over?”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Phigby nods. “Well, after that, Aros followed Hesperid everywhere, begging her to love him, pleading for her to return his love, proclaiming to all that he would do anything to have her love.

  “Finally, in a fit, she told him that the only way she could ever love him was if he were the most magnificent tree in the forest.”

  Phigby turns and raises a hand toward the colossal tree.

  No one speaks until Pip questions, “Wait, him turn himself into a tree just over a girl?”

  “Him silly god,” Kyr returns, “serves him right.”

  “No,” Sim retorts, “serves him wrong. Him wrong to turn himself into tree. No girl worth that.”

  “It serve him right!” Kyr states.

  “Him wrong,” Sim blusters, “so how can it be serve him right?!”

  “Is right!”

  “Is wrong!”

  Just as Kyr whacks Sim, Alonya reaches down and separates the two. “It doesn’t matter if he was right or wrong, it’s just a story, a fable. Right, Phigby?”

  “Perhaps . . .” Phigby replies. “Then again, have you ever seen a more glorious tree?”

  “Well . . . uh, no,” Alonya answers. “I guess not.”

  I catch Cara staring at me and I turn to meet her gaze. “Oh no,” I declare, “don’t even think it.”

  “Aw, Hooper,” she grins. “You’d make the cutest little tree. I’d even let you choose which kind. Maybe a spruce so that I could ‘spruce’ you up with bits of tinsel, maybe a few bows and ribbons?”

  How do you reply to the notion that you’d make the “cutest little tree?”

  You don’t.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Amil raises an arm, points. “Uh, everyone, it looks like we have visitors and the way they’re clutching their bows and swords, I’m not sure they’re all that friendly.”

  Cara and I both turn at the same time to see a steady stream of Uhlan moving our way between the straight, tall trees. While no bow is notched with an arrow, nor are their swords drawn, still, the hard and suspicious stares we receive cause us to step closer together to join ranks.

  “Easy,” Phigby rumbles, “remember, we’re guests here. Keep your bows slung and your hand away from your sword hilt, lest they think we’re unfriendly guests.”

  “Easy for you to say we’re guests,” Amil sputters, motioning toward the growing crowd with his ax, “but do they know that?”

  “We’ll just have to assume that they’ve been told,” Phigby replies but I notice that his tone is not all that confident, which matches my own feelings perfectly.

  The throng gathers a short distance away and I feel as if I have hundreds of eyes staring at me, none seemingly blinking, and all gawking at us with a mixture of suspicion and questioning on their faces. At first, not a word is spoken and then the
y begin to mutter among themselves while the younger children shyly peek out from behind their elders.

  “From their reaction,” Tavin notes softly from behind Phigby, “I don’t think they get many visitors.”

  “I would say they never get visitors,” Amil snorts.

  More Uhlan run through the trees to join the growing crowd. Those in the front ranks point and whisper among themselves, while those behind crane their heads over the front row spectators to see better. There’s not a smile to be seen anywhere, their hard eyes flicking from us to our dragons and back again.

  “I’m not sure,” Cara replies, “which holds more fascination for them, seeing Marce, Golden Wind, or us.”

  “I would think it’s all that,” Phigby grunts. “You have to admit, we are a motley crew of all shapes, sizes, and colors whereas the Uhlan are fairly uniform in appearance. We stand out like a pig in a flock of sheep. Plus, I suspect, they’ve never seen dragons of our type or size, for that matter.”

  “Couldn’t you have described us in a bit more flattering terms, Phigby?” Cara asks. “Back home every pig I knew was covered in mud and stank like . . . well, like pigs.”

  “Sorry, my dear,” Phigby replies, “it just sort of popped into my head. What about a beautiful, long-limbed, chestnut mare with a flowing blonde mane in the middle of an ordinary flock of sheep?”

  “Much better,” Cara smiles.

  “Well, whether we be pigs or horses,” Amil mutters, “we’re not to be tangled with. Alonya, why don’t you have Regal give them a nice, long, roar—friendly like.”

  Alonya chuckles, shaking her head. “I don’t think he knows how to do a friendly roar. We’ve not had a lot of chances to practice.”

  “Then, let’s not,” Phigby growls, “the last thing we want to do is to spook them after they’ve given us sanctuary.”

  Just then, there is a rustling at the back of the crowd and the throng starts to part, letting through a line of Uhlan who bear both large and smaller woven baskets, along with a few metal pots. Behind them is a long line of male Uhlan who tote slaughtered goats slung feet first from carrying poles.

  At the front of the food bearers is Jelani Ros who motions for the goat carriers to place the carcasses to one side while the others are to set the baskets and pots to our front. Once done, the food-bearers scurry back into the crowd as Jelani Ros makes a sweeping motion toward the food. “We bid you eat well. Our food is plain but filling. The Vinderfangen will send for you soon.”

  “Thank you, Jelani Ros,” Marce replies and with a nod of his head, Ros turns and makes his way through the crowd.

  “Let’s tackle the goats first,” Phigby directs, “and get the dragons fed. Then we’ll see about some food for ourselves.”

  Phigby no sooner finishes speaking than a brown and gray ball of fur, accompanied by another brown streak, followed by three pixies, zoom past, headed straight for the baskets of food.

  Fortunately, I’m able to snag Scamper at the last moment. “Oh, no you don’t!” While Pim scoops up Silky just as he is about to jump into one basket of what appears to be apple-like fruits.

  Alonya stops the pixies by planting herself in front of the charging little ones who can’t halt in time and barrel into her legs. The three bounce off her leg guards and end up sprawled on the ground. Alonya bends down and shakes a finger at them. “It’s not polite to jump ahead of everyone else.”

  As the pixies pick themselves up and brush off the dirt, Pip calls up to Alonya, “We be polite. We let Scamper and Silky go first.”

  Alonya starts to speak, seems to think better of it, straightens and scratches at her head. “In a way, I guess that makes sense even though it doesn’t quite feel right.”

  “What doesn’t feel right,” Amil rumbles, “is that between those five walking stomachs, by the time we got to the food after feeding the dragons, more than half would already be eaten.”

  “Half?” Snag snorts. “Are you sure that even that much would be left?”

  Amil claps Snag on the shoulder. “You’re right. All we’d find would be empty baskets and leavings on the ground.”

  “Hooper,” Phigby orders, “you, Pim, and Alonya give your charges one of those apple things for now to satisfy their appetite.”

  He looms close to the pixies, his face dark and forbidding. “And if more than one whit more is eaten from those baskets, other than your apple, I’ll turn you all into toadstools with an ugly, warty frog sitting on top.”

  Scamper pulls himself deeper into my arms, cowering a bit. “You heard him, one apple and that’s all. Understand?”

  The little tub’s head goes up and down so fast and hard that I can’t help myself and laugh as I hand him the fruit. He grabs it out of my hand, jumps to the ground and scoots away.

  As we wrestle with the carcasses to feed the dragons, Cara grumps to Phigby, “You didn’t have to be so menacing to them, now they’re scared of you.”

  “Nay, lass,” Amil counters, “they’ll only be afraid if food is around, which to my mind, and most of all to my stomach, is an excellent situation.”

  Once we’ve fed the dragons, we make our way to the food baskets, which hold bread loaves, small cheese wheels, carrots and radishes, and an assortment of fruits ranging from several different types of apples, to red and green grapes, to an odd-looking oblong, yellow fruit that tastes like a mixture of pears and apricots.

  We’ve barely finished eating when Jelani Ros appears out of the crowd. “The Vinderfangen bids you to come.” He motions toward the dragons. “They stay here. Too big to go through village.”

  I turn and call to Scamper and Silky, “Scamp, you and Silky stay here. Watch over the dragons until we get back.”

  Scamp chitters at me to which I answer, “No, I’m not going to ask them for more food. We’ve had more than enough even for your appetite. Remember, stay here and no wandering off.”

  Scamper chitters some more, and I wag a finger at him. “No, you weren’t. You know you were going to go off on your own so don’t tell me differently! We’ll be back soon.”

  Awwwrrite, he grumbles at me and then he and Silky trundle off to explore the pond’s shoreline. Motioning to Ros that we’re ready, we follow him as he leads us through the crowd, whose faces are still dark with suspicion. We march through the trees until we reach the edge of the village and then down a narrow street that appears to end at the giant tree.

  To my eyes, the Uhlan village is an orderly affair of log cabins that line each side of straight dirt streets, all leading toward the enormous tree. With few exceptions, each hut has a well-tended, lush garden. The smell of baking bread wafts on the breeze and at the end of the street we find a number of deer carcasses hanging, apparently for butchering.

  Of course, my eyes keep coming back to the tree, which dwarfs everything in sight.

  Cara joggles my elbow and juts her chin at the tree. “Tavin was right, it would take more than a hundred dragon heart trees to equal that one.”

  “It’s as big as any keep I’ve seen,” Tavin adds. “Maybe bigger.”

  “For a tree to grow to that size,” Phigby muses, “I would think that it must be hundreds, perhaps thousands, of seasons old.”

  “But,” Snag questions slowly, “why do its leaves and limbs move? There is no wind to speak of, yet they twirl and dance on their own.”

  Phigby straightens and holds his nose up, as if he would sniff the air. “You’re right, there is scant breeze here.”

  “I think Regal could easily roost on some of those branches,” Cara declares.

  “We could put every dragon we have,” Amil observes, “in that tree and still have room left over for a dozen more.”

  We reach the town’s center and I can’t help but look up at the tree’s crown that’s so wide and thick that it blots out the sky. The silver-tipped leaves rustle and swirl as if they were trying to part ways with the branches and come fluttering down, but none do. The tree’s golden-brown outer bark is carved by lon
g ruts that run down its trunk, ending at the tangle of roots that make up its base, which is so big around that I can only see a small portion of it at a time.

  Ros lead us up to the tree’s root-filled base where he calls a halt. Cara nudges me and motions toward the tree’s trunk. “Look, steps that lead to an opening into the tree. Do you think someone lives in there?”

  “Either that,” Amil murmurs, “or this tree has a giant woodpecker problem.”

  Ros turns, holds up a hand. “Wait here.” He then walks up the stairs and disappears into the tree. Several moments pass before Liam appears with Ros behind him. The two hurry down the stairs. Smiling a little, Liam opens his arms wide. “Thank you for coming.”

  “We appreciate you having us,” Phigby replies with a little head bow.

  Liam motions toward the opening. “Please join me.” He turns to Alonya with a bit an an apologetic air. “We’ve never had a Golian Amazos visit us before, so it will be a tight fit for you, Your Majesty, but I believe you can squeeze through.”

  Alonya holds up a hand. “Please, it’s just Alonya, and don’t worry, I’ve been in tighter places before.”

  With that, Liam leads us up the stairs and though Alonya must duck low to get through the portal, once inside we find ourselves in a very spacious, rounded room though it doesn’t encompass the whole of the tree trunk. To our surprise, we find Borm sitting next to a bed in which Ralos lies.

  Ralos’s eyes are open and he seems alert and aware of our presence for he turns to Borm and asks, “Are these the ones who helped us?”

  “Yes, father. They are the Company of the Golden Dragon. They fought off the evil ones and tended to our wounds. If not for them, I fear we would be dead.”

  The older Uhlan turns to us. “I and my son express our deepest gratitude. The Kall family is in your debt.” He gives us a small head bow.

  Phigby returns the head bow. “Where friends join in the fight against a common foe, the debt has already been paid.”

  Ralos nods and answers in a raspy voice. “Yes. Friends . . . no debt—ever.”