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

by GARY DARBY

  I hunker down and grab a horn. At the last moment, it seems, Golden Wind thrusts her wings out to slow us. Her strong limbs flap and shake as she cups her wings to catch the wind.

  Then, we hit.

  I’m forced down so hard that my face ends up in Scamper’s back fur, then I spring backward so much that I almost fall off.

  After rocking back and forth for a moment, I manage to push myself upright. As I slide off Golden Wind, I grunt, “Jolt?! I’ve had softer landings falling out of trees.”

  “We’re all in one piece, aren’t we?” she growls.

  As my feet hit the black obsidian, I ask, “Your sprog?”

  “She’s fine. She wants to do it again.”

  “Not if I can help it,” I mutter and hurry toward the center of the ebony disc. Scamper chitters at me and I call over my shoulder. “Stay there, Scamp! And no arguments!”

  Golden Wind lumbers beside me, her talons scraping and clawing over the smooth surface as she trudges along.

  As I rush up to Phigby, my eyes take in the towering stone snake. I hadn’t noticed from overhead, but the ebony marble is outlined in thin emerald and crimson veins that wind themselves up to the very top. The snake’s eyes are a dark scarlet and its open mouths hold fangs that appear as sharp as any dragon talons.

  “From above,” I mutter, “it didn’t seem so big.”

  “Hooper,” the golden growls at my shoulder, “be careful. This is more than it seems.”

  “Don’t worry,” I answer with a grim smile, “careful is my middle name.”

  “You don’t have a middle name.”

  “I do now.” I all but tiptoe up to Phigby, brush back his hair and look into his haggard and drawn face. “Phigby?” I whisper.

  He doesn’t move, just hangs limply. “Phigby?” I call again, a little louder.

  This time, there’s a slight twitching of his eyelids. “C’mon, Phigby,” I implore, “it’s me, Hooper. Wake up. It’s time to get out of this hellhole.” I glance at the swirling, churning, dragon-fire-hot whirlpool. “Literally.”

  His head starts to loll a little side to side and then his eyelids flutter before both eyes open slowly, like someone waking from a deep, long sleep. He blinks several times before I see the light of recognition and then his eyes grow wide.

  “Hooper?” he coughs.

  I grin at him. “It’s me, Phigby, and Golden Wind, and Scamp. We’ve come for you, but you need to tell me how to get you out of this rock suit you’re wearing. It’s not like armor that I can just unfasten the pieces, you know.”

  “Marce? Wind Walker? Bold Wind?” he croaks.

  “Safe and and with the company,” I reply. “Now, how do we get you out of this?”

  Phigby’s head jerks back and for a moment he struggles against his bonds, but he’s pinned tight. His face turns hard but his voice is scratchy, as if he hasn’t had water to wet his parched throat in days. “You don’t, you young fool! Go! Leave me, there’s nothing you or anyone can do.”

  “I don’t believe that,” I retort. “C’mon, Phigby help me out here.” I look around. “Where’s your bag? Is there something in it that can help me free you?”

  He shakes his head and the life seems to drain out of him. “It’s gone, Hooper, she took it.”

  “Vay?”

  “Yes. But it doesn’t matter.” His dry laugh is raspy and sets him to coughing before he can add, “You know what she’ll find when she opens the bag?”

  “I know. Your unwashed, dirty underwear.”

  He wheezes as he laughs, “Ten sets, no less.”

  “Great,” I answer. “So she gets smelly underwear and you get wrapped up in this stone serpent thing. Now, how do I get you out?”

  “Do you know what this ‘thing’ is that holds me?”

  “Uh, a big marble snake?”

  “No. It’s Asklepian, the Mother of all Serpents and I am its staff.” His laugh is a grunting chuckle. “Vay’s attempt at humor.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Many seasons ago,” he explains, “healers and such believed that snakes held medicinal powers. As a sign of who they were, healers would carry a long wooden rod with a serpent coiled around it. It was called the Asklepian staff and announced to whomever they met their profession.”

  I glance upward at the two-headed monster. “Snakes with healing powers?” I shudder just a bit. “Not any snake I ever met. But enough about that, how do I get you out?”

  “You don’t, lad,” he answers dully. “Asklepian is favored of the gods. No mortal can harm her, nor can you undo her coils to set me free.”

  “The gods playing favorites again,” I snarl. “But Phigby, it’s only stone!”

  “To your eyes, but not to mine. I know who and what she is, and it is beyond your capabilities to release me.”

  Behind me, I hear the tap of talons and then, “And what of me, Master Phigby? Is this beyond my capabilities as well?”

  I suck in a breath. “Golden Wind,” I sputter, “you spoke to him.”

  “Of course she did, you young pup,” Phigby growls. “Do you think you’re the only one who talks with dragons? Golden Wind and I have had many a fine discussion along the way.”

  He peers up at the golden and shakes his head. “I’ll not have you risk your sprog to save the likes of me. One does not outweigh the other. You know that as well as I.”

  “What I know, Master Phigby,” the golden growls, “is that sometimes in our ‘fine discussions,’ like now, you talked too much. Ready, Hooper?”

  I step back and raise Galondraig high. “Ready.”

  “No!” Phigby roars but we’re not listening to him. The golden rears and slashes down with her front talons while I swing my emerald blade with all its might. Golden Wind’s claws rip through the stone as if it were the thinnest of paper while Galondraig produces a wide crack that fractures the serpent’s coil and spreads upward.

  “Again, Hooper!” Golden Wind orders and this time when she comes down with talons ripping and tearing at the marble, she sends chunks flying and bouncing across the obsidian.

  I pound at the stone and with each blow, the statue seems to vibrate as more chunks of marble fly off. The golden takes a few steps back and orders, “Move, Hooper!”

  She doesn’t have to tell me twice and I jump back and to one side as the golden lumbers forward and crashes, headfirst into the coil that holds Phigby. From atop Golden Wind’s skull sheath I hear Scamper yowl and complain but he holds on and doesn’t come tumbling from his perch.

  The thundering blow causes the marble to ring and it begins to sway, with even bigger cracks running up to the very top.

  I dart forward and with an overhand slash, pound at the stone, widening the gap still more. Now Phigby is fighting with us, moving his shoulders, pushing at the rock. The golden yells, “Duck!”

  I drop to the floor as the golden’s tail whizzes by just over my head and slams into the stone structure. As I scramble to my feet, I hear a groaning and creaking. “It’s coming apart!” I yell and dart forward.

  With my bare hands and with the help of Golden Wind’s talons, we rip out the last of the stone that holds Phigby just as he yells, “Run!”

  Above us, giant hunks of stone begin to peel off the towering statue. Running side by side, Phigby and I scurry across the obsidian while the golden keeps pace alongside.

  Enormous chunks of marble crash down on the ebony surface and as each hits, a dull boom echoes that seems to vibrate through the black granite. Jagged pieces of stone, some close in size to Golden Wind, roll across the floor. With one hand on a gasping Phigby, I pull him along, sometimes having to jerk him to one side when a block of marble bounces our way.

  After one particularly close encounter with a chunk the size of Golden Wind’s head, Phigby seems to gather himself and his legs start churning faster. With one last colossal boom vibrating through the obsidian, the avalanche of marble comes to a halt.

  Both Phigby and I bend o
ver at the waist, hands on knees, gulping in great draughts of air. My own chest is heaving as Phigby laments through gasps, “I’m really getting too old for this.”

  “Me too,” I grin.

  “Indeed,” Phigby grins back and lays a hand on my back. “Thank you, lad, for not giving up on an old man.”

  “Phh,” I snort. “You’re the one who taught me never to give up, remember?”

  “Then I’m enormously pleased that at least this one lesson stuck with you.”

  I take in another deep breath and ask, “Phigby, just how did you—” but I never finish my sentence as a growing hiss, as if a hundred serpents slithered behind causes the two of us to turn.

  One look at the monstrosity that’s uncurling itself and I groan, “Phigby, what was that about a snake’s healing power? That looks more like killing power!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “Phigby,” I growl, “you didn’t say anything about that thing being alive! I thought it was just an oversized stone statue!”

  “I did tell you to leave,” he sniffs. “Do I have to explain everything?”

  “Sometimes, yes,” I retort. “An explanation goes a long way towards good communication, you know.”

  He plucks at my Meile mesh. “You didn’t tell me that you obviously found the dwarves, set them free. Would you say that’s good communication?”

  “I didn’t have the opportunity yet,” I protest. “I’ve been a little busy here, you know.”

  With one hand, I pull him toward Golden Wind. “C’mon, up you go, we’re skying out of here. Oh, and before I forget, we almost killed Bazyl, too. Wounded him pretty bad, but he escaped before we could finish the job.”

  Phigby stares at me, his eyes growing round and full. “You’ve been busy indeed.”

  “Not me. Pim. Her lance came back to life. She used it to take off one of his arms. He got away on a giant Fire Bird before she could make a nice round hole in his chest, though.”

  “Very gratifying news,” Phigby breathes in, “almost worth being practically suffocated under those coils.”

  “Good. Glad you enjoyed your stay, now, up you go. It’s time to leave.”

  “We can’t Hooper, we haven’t finished.”

  “Finished? Sure we have. The dwarves are out of Vay’s hands, you’re not encased in stone anymore, Bazyl is off somewhere nursing his wounds—what else is there to finish?”

  “Look down, lad,” Phigby directs, “look deep and hard.”

  I scrunch my eyebrows together, giving him a questioning stare. “Just look,” he presses, “and you’ll understand.”

  Bending over, I stare at the obsidian. “What am I supposed to see?”

  “Keep looking.”

  I bend a little lower, my eyes centered on one place in the glossy surface. Then I jerk and stumble backward for a step. “Wha—what did I just see?!”

  “You tell me.”

  “Uh—uh, Gorgs, and Kraguns, and Nahls, and Fire Ghosts—and creatures—evil things I can’t describe crowding up against the underside, clawing as if to rip it open and push themselves through.”

  “Indeed, lad and does that give you any idea of where we are?”

  I stare into his gray-blue eyes for a moment and then it hits me as hard as if one of the marble blocks had landed on me. “Vay’s portal! This is her gateway to the netherworld!”

  “Indeed,” he answers and turns as another giant hiss rips through the air. He flicks his eyes toward the monster. “And we cannot leave without destroying it first.”

  His eyes turn hard. “We have no choice in this, m’boy. Before, Vay’s powers were such that she could only call forth a few of these vile creatures, but now—”

  “We caught her just at the time,” I finish, “that she’s gathered enough power to bring forth a whole army. A horde that neither we, nor all of Erdron could stand against.”

  “Yes,” Phigby replies, “and the fact that you could peer into the dark netherworld means that the gate between us and it grows very, very thin. We do this now or everything comes to an end here and now.”

  “How?” I press. “How do we destroy it?”

  Golden Wind swings her head down to me. “It will be your power against hers. Hers to hold the gateway together, yours to destroy it altogether.”

  I nod toward the enormous serpent who’s risen to its full, towering height and centers its catlike eyes on us. “And that thing?”

  “Destroy the gate,” Phigby explains, “and you send Asklepian back whence she came.”

  “I take it,” I sigh deeply, “that you can’t help with this?”

  “My help will come in other ways, lad.”

  From atop Golden Wind, Scamper chitters at me, to which I wrinkle my nose and say, “Thanks, Scamp. I appreciate that you have so much confidence in me but why don’t you come down here and take the sword and I’ll take your place up there?”

  His response is to chitter at me and tap his teeth together for a moment before he disappears behind the golden’s skull sheath. “Just as I thought,” I growl, “you can be as brave as you want when you’re just a spectator.”

  “Hooper,” Phigby says, “Golden Wind and I will do our best to distract Asklepian but to destroy the gate—that lies entirely within your power, not ours.”

  “Terrific, just terrific,” I grunt, turn to face the serpent and stop cold. Galondraig droops a bit in my hand as I let out a long sigh. “But, of course. We’re at the bottom of a fiery whirlpool, so why wouldn’t you turn into a molten snake?”

  The fiendish beast drips brimstone and fire upon the black disc and where it lands there’s a loud hissing to match the serpent’s. The air around the creature seems to vibrate in a dull shimmering that flows over its body. The slithering snake is the color of a ripe cherry and even at this distance, the heat given off by its rippling flames beats at me.

  The thing’s two heads hiss at each other before they turn their attention on us. Thin, double-forked tongues flick in and out and where they touch the air, there‘s a sizzling as if the air itself burns from their touch.

  As I lift my head to stare at the creature’s two darting arrowhead-shaped heads, I mutter, “This just keeps getting better and better.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, I hold Galondraig out, its luster a brilliant emerald against the ebony obsidian and ready myself to make a full run at the glowing serpent.

  Suddenly, there’s a radiance in the air between ourselves and Asklepian. It blossoms outward until a moment later, the three sisters step out of the luminosity.

  The three stand on air and in one voice chant,

  Let not the evil below hold your sight

  Instead, look closer at the ebony blight

  Find its weakness, its fatal flaw

  And there with haste your sword to draw

  Plunge it deep, drive it through

  And end Vay’s malevolent brew.

  With that, the sisters smile while Osa extends a lovely, slim hand toward me. “Remember, Hooper, it is you that must ride the rainbow.”

  With that, they turn and step through the glowing orb and disappear. “Wait!” I shout. “Blight?! Flaw?! What—”

  Phigby’s hand lands on my shoulders. “The blight is the gate under our feet, Hooper. The sisters are telling us it has some sort of flaw and whatever it is, you must drive your sword into it.”

  “Why couldn’t they stick around long enough,” I growl, “and just point it out?!”

  “They can only share with us and do what the gods allow,” Phigby replies.

  “Great,” I spit out, “any idea what we’re looking for? And just how are we going to look for this ‘flaw’ with that thing slithering around?”

  “Hmm . . .” Phigby muses as he strokes his beard. “Odd how it hasn’t attacked yet. I would have thought as soon as it coalesced that it would come after us. It’s quite aggressive, you know, and very dangerous. It not only can spew molten liquid out one mouth, but the other can shoot a fluid that f
reezes you on the spot.”

  “No, I didn’t know, but thanks so much for telling me. Very comforting.”

  “You’re the one that insisted on good communication.”

  I start to retort that sometimes it’s best not to share everything but hold my tongue as I watch the thing slither first a little one way and then back the other, its two heads thrusting out before jerking back. “Must be waiting for me to make the first move,” I say.

  “Perhaps,” Phigby muses, his eyes on the serpent as he pulls at his cheek hairs, “but then again, perhaps not.”

  “I know that look, Phigby, out with it. What are you thinking?”

  He pulls in a breath, lets it out in a slow rumble. “I think a little test is in order.”

  “Test? What do you mean, test?”

  “Stay here,” Phigby orders, “you and Golden Wind keep a close watch on our fiery friend.”

  From atop the golden, Scamper chitters loudly. “Yes, you too, Scamper,” Phigby snorts. “Keep your keen eyes peeled.”

  With that, he takes several steps forward, right at the simmering snake. “Phigby!” I yelp. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Golden Wind hooks a talon in my jerkin, holds me back. “Patience, Hooper, I believe that Phigby has noticed the same about Asklepian that I have.”

  “Which is?”

  “Watch,” she answers.

  Phigby scoots a little to the left with his body turned to the serpent. The enormous fire snake darts toward him but stops and returns to the same spot. Phigby then hurries to the far right. The snake’s glowing heads follow him, their tongues flicking in and out. Phigby takes a few steps forward to which the snake counters by swiftly slithering toward him.

  Phigby hurriedly backs up and the serpent stops and then retreats to curl in on itself. Phigby repeats his actions, scoots right and forward, and the snake comes after him before halting and returning to the same place.

  I nod as the pattern becomes clear. “No matter what Phigby does, the snake comes after him but then returns to that exact spot.”

  “Yes,” Golden Wind returns. “Does that suggest anything to you?”

  “That whatever the flaw is, it’s under that thing and Asklepian is protecting it.”