by GARY DARBY
I don’t know how to answer so I just give her a little smile but my insides start to feel warm and pleasant. A feeling I haven’t had very often in my life and after last night, one I wasn’t sure I would ever feel again.
After a bit, Wind Song pulls ahead, leaving Golden Wind and me, as usual, at the tail end of our small procession. I lean over and ask, “Tell me, just where did those words come from, huh? That didn’t sound like me, at all.”
When dragons shrug, their wings rustle and their shoulders arch. “From you, of course,” she answers, “where else?”
I shake my head, not quite believing her. Still, the words had felt right, and what’s more, had felt like they came from my heart.
“Yes, Hooper, they did,” Golden Wind affirms, “and you should heed your own words and have faith and conviction, as well. In our company, and more importantly, in yourself.”
We plod along as I consider the import of her words. Faith in myself? Easier said, than done, especially after some recent events that shattered what little confidence I had in myself.
After a while, I wonder, “Golden Wind, the ode just hints at the gemstone’s powers. Why didn’t you tell me about the sapphire’s power, its abilities, beforehand?”
She walks a little further on before she turns her head toward me. “Perhaps a better question, Hooper Menvoran, is—why didn’t you ask?”
I open my mouth to retort but then shut it tight. Golden Wind’s right, of course. In my arrogance and pride, I forgot that not only do I have a lot to learn about dragons, I have even more to learn about their tear-jewels.
Nightfall finds us a good distance downriver and we call a halt. The wind coming down from the mountains is as cold as if we were still in Grim Heads pass.
After a bit of shivering and chattering teeth, we decide we’re in danger of freezing. We buttress our thick lean-to of fallen logs to try and cut down on the escaping light, and let a sprite flame up long enough to gain some warmth before we go dark again.
Repeating this through the night, we manage to stave off freezing to death and when morning breaks, it’s not only a cold camp but a somber camp. We speak little. Each of us seems lost in our thoughts, the horror in the village on our minds, which brings back other painful memories.
As we climb out of our makeshift shelter Cara speaks to Phigby. “You once said that you thought that things would get even worse than what we saw back in Draconton or Dronopolis.
“Were you speaking of what we saw yesterday, Phigby? I mean, if we hadn’t been there to save those people, are other villages like Lacenstad going to experience such cruelty too?”
Phigby raises sad eyes to Cara. “I’m afraid so, child. Terror, fear, senseless brutality, heinous acts, they are the trademarks of evil and Vay is more than willing to use them against those who oppose her—”
“Or who she seeks to intimidate,” Alonya adds.
She turns to me, her breath a plume of white frost in the air. Her features show a questioning expression, her head cocked to one side. “You sounded so different back there, Hooper, so firm, so—confident. And what you did with that little girl, and with the villagers was amazing.”
I meet her eyes. “Let’s just say I know how easy it is to build up a wrongful hate and I just couldn’t let those villagers do the same.”
Shivering, I add, “There is enough of that in the world already and I admit I’ve added my share. But I hope not anymore.”
Amil blows his breath into his hands to warm them and peers at me. “Hooper, I must admit, your actions, your words that you spoke back at the village. They were . . . surprising, coming from you.”
Cara dimples at me. “See? I’m not the only one.”
“I know, Amil,” I answer. “I’m as surprised as you. The words just started pouring out. I’m sorry if you felt that what I said or did was a mistake and I spoke out of turn.”
Amil peers at me with wide eyes. “A mistake? Are you suggesting that Hooper Menvoran, Gem Guardian extraordinaire blundered back in the village?”
His grin widens and he lets out a sigh. “Well, I’m glad that we finally got that out of the way.”
“Got what out of the way?” Cara asks.
“The matter of whether or not Hooper is one of us.”
He rests his hands on the straight end of his ax and rumbles, “For a while there, I was beginning to think that he was some sort of Drach Anarsi, you know, a god in training. Practically perfect with just a few rough edges to buff smooth.”
His smile broadens. “Now we know that Hooper is truly just one of us; someone who can actually make a mistake.”
The others, except Helmar, laugh at his good-natured teasing but I blanch, thinking how I wish that my words had been the only lapses that I’d made in recent times.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said what I did. I’m sorry. Like I said, I don’t know how it happened. It just did.”
Phigby drapes an arm around my shoulder. “Nonsense, my boy, you may not know where the words came from, but I could see from the looks on those villager’s faces that you gave them hope. You eased some of their fears, helped them face the day’s horror, something those poor souls needed.”
“Yes, Hooper,” Amil says seriously, “what I said was in jest. No finer or more needed words have I heard in a long time.”
“Indeed,” Phigby states. “You could see the haunted look in their eyes. Before this, their world was peaceful. Poor, but peaceful. They could never imagine that Vay’s tentacles would reach into this tiny place and wreak such havoc. You gave them hope and faith, Hooper.”
He looks around at the others. “I don’t know how the rest of you feel, but it gave me hope, too. Something I fear will be in short supply in the coming days.”
Gentle, he squeezes my shoulder. “And for that, lad, giving someone hope and faith that there will be a better day, there is never, ever a need for an apology.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wasting little time, we march swiftly down the Wolven Floden’svalley before the sun peeks over the hilly horizon. We pick our way through thick tree stands, whose silver-tipped leaves rustle in an early breeze, unwilling to show ourselves in the open meadows for fear of discovery, which is an ever-present dire thought on our minds.
As for me, I’m lost in thought for some time as I ponder what happened at the village. “I’m not sure I understand,” I ponder, shaking my head. “I was so lost and without hope last night—how was I able to provide hope to those villagers?”
I shake my head. “It was like a different person speaking, and not me.”
“Oh, it was you, Hooper,” the golden reassures me. “As for how? Perhaps,” she muses, “it was because you recognized in them what you felt, and you didn’t want them to feel the same way. Good teachers can explain how a thing works. Great teachers can both tell how a thing works and show how it works. You were a great teacher today, Hooper.”
“Me?” I snort. “A great teacher?”
“Yes,” she answers. “It would seem that you learned a valuable lesson so well, that the villagers both heard and saw your conviction. They saw it with their eyes, and felt it in their hearts.”
“I think,” I reply, “that I’m going to have to think about that one for a while. After . . . well, you know, I don’t feel any greatness in me whatsoever.”
She’s silent for a long time. “Hooper, when you offended Cara, did she forgive you?”
“I think so, or at least, she’s acting like she did.”
“She has, Hooper. Do you feel good about her forgiving you?”
“Incredibly good.”
“Then,” she encourages, “why don’t you forgive yourself and feel even better?”
I’m silent for a long moment. “I—I’m not sure I know how.”
Her sigh is a deep rumble in her throat. “I admit, it’s not easy but it is a most important lesson that you must learn from your error. Once you’ve done all you can to make things right, the last step i
s to forgive yourself. Otherwise, you cannot move forward, nor can you overcome that which caused you to commit the mistake in the first place.”
Drawing in a deep breath and letting it out, I murmur, “Golden Wind, that’s one that I think I’m going to have work on for a bit. But I promise you, I will try.”
“Try is a nice three-letter word, Hooper,” she replies in a dry tone, “but in this case, I much prefer the two-letter word do. It gets more things done than try.”
At sun-high, Amil cuts us away from the Floden and leads us to a small crystal spring at the base of a range of wooded, tall hills. The bubbling water is clear and refreshing and we drink deeply, both to slake our thirst and to ease our hunger.
Rising from one knee to wipe the water from his face, Amil gestures at the pure, clean water. “Enjoy it while you can, for once we reach the marshes leading to the Wailing Swamp there will be nothing but dirty muck to drink.”
Thus encouraged, we drink our fill and fall into a discussion of where our next steps will take us. “I suggest,” Amil offers, “that we call a halt and rest. We’re still at least a day, perhaps a little more from the outskirts of InverFloden.”
He motions toward the river. “I think from here, we need to travel only at night.”
“Why so?” Alonya questions.
“Boats,” Amil responds, “and not just Sung Dar. InverFloden is a fishing town. I’ve seen their fishing cogs come at least this far up the Wolven.”
He rubs his chin and wrinkles his forehead. “I know traveling by night again will slow us down but we’ll be harder to spot.”
“I agree,” Phigby nods. “I hate as much as the next fellow to stumble around in the dark in unknown territory but a cloak of darkness will be handy to wear.”
Helmar nudges Amil. “You wanted allies. Count the night as one.”
“Sleep today,” Alonya agrees, “hunt at dusk, travel with the first stars.”
Cara volunteers for the first watch and while the others settle in, she and I unload the sprogs and lead the dragons into a thick stand of crusty hard-barked trees. I look around and ask, “Should we scour the ground for dragon bane?”
She shakes her head. “We’re still too close to the mountains. This isn’t dragon country. If we were on the river’s opposite side, I’d say yes.”
I nod in understanding. Dragon bane or dragon’s curse, as some call it, only grows in “dragon country” and this side of the Wolven Floden, so close to the mountains is an unlikely spot for wild dragons such as the emerald or green drake.
Heading back to camp, Cara motions toward a curled-up Alonya. “One thing nobody has talked about is how we are going to get her across the Lorell River. We can sky across on our dragons, but Alonya certainly can’t.”
I stop short in sudden realization of what Cara is saying. “You’re right,” I stammer. “No one’s said a word.”
“And,” Cara goes on, “that river is wide, swift, and cold. I think she’s going to need a ship—”
“A large one,” I add.
“A large one,” she agrees, “to take her across. She may be a Golian giant, but I’m not sure that even she can swim across the Lorell.”
Pausing, Cara says, “I think that before we set out on the trail tonight you should bring it up and mention she needs a ship.”
“Me? You’re the one that’s thought about it. I certainly haven’t. You bring it up.”
“No,” she sniffs, “I bring up the questions. It’s up to you to provide the answers.”
With that, she spins away, leaving me scratching my head. “What does that mean, she brings up the questions and I provide the answers?”
Sighing to myself, I say, “Hooper, you don’t know dragons at all, you’re clueless when it comes to the gemstones, but they’re nothing compared to understanding that girl.”
My lips stretch in a smile. “But it’s kind of fun trying to figure her out.”
I hurry to catch up with her and pass by Helmar, Amil, and Alonya who are stretched out and asleep. Phigby is fooling with something or other in his bag as we walk up.
“Not asleep yet, Phigby?” Cara asks.
“Eh?” he mumbles, every bit of his head almost inside his haversack. Waving a hand up at us, he replies, “I’ll be along in a minute. You two go ahead.”
Puzzled, we glance at each before Cara laughs lightly. “I didn’t know we were going anywhere.”
I put my mouth close to Cara’s ear to whisper, “I think he’s too engrossed in whatever he’s doing to remember where we are and what we’re doing.”
Phigby finishes whatever his task was, closes his satchel and plumps it up, readying it to be his pillow.
“Phigby,” Cara begins, “I was thinking about how the moons are changing. Vay’s is growing brighter while the others dim. But there’s something that I don’t understand.”
He straightens and snorts. “Only one thing, my dear? How fortunate. Now, if I could only be like you—unfortunately, my head is abuzz with questions.”
“Oh bosh,” Cara retorts, “you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do, now what troubles you?”
She sets hands on hips. “One evil fairy, three good fairies. Why don’t Osa and Nadia and Eskar—”
“Use their strength in numbers to vanquish Vay?” Phigby asks.
“Exactly,” Cara replies with a vigorous nod. “It’s as if they show up now and then, spin a little magic to help us out, and then poof! They’re gone again and we’re left to carry on alone, or so it seems.”
Phigby settles himself on his log to a more comfortable position and strokes his beard while he gazes at Cara. I find Cara’s question a good one and one I hadn’t thought of before.
“She’s got a point, Phigby,” I reply. “Shouldn’t Osa, Nadia, and Eskar take care of their own sister? It seems that would solve a lot of problems—”
“And lessen the amount of bloodshed,” Amil chimes in. “Meaning ours, of course. But I agree, it’s a topic that’s crossed my mind a few times, too.”
“I’m sorry, Amil,” I respond, “did we wake you?”
“Only when you mentioned Vay’s name,” he grouses. “But it’s a fair enough question, and one that I’ve thought upon a bit myself.”
Sitting up, he gestures to Phigby. “Well, professor, are we to get a lecture or not?”
Phigby pinches his lips together with his fingertips and rocks back, his eyes gazing skyward as if he’s trying to peer into the heavens themselves seeking an answer.
A moment later, he faces us. “First, rest assured that the three sisters know what they must do about Vay, but also know it is a hard thing to fight against family, is it not?”
He looks at Cara, who drops her gaze and replies in a voice so low, that I strain to hear, “The hardest thing in the world, I think, with the heaviest burden to bear.”
“Indeed,” Phigby replies in a soft voice.
“So you’re suggesting,” Amil snorts, “that they look at this as a family squabble and don’t want to hurt Vay’s feelings?”
“Nothing of the sort,” Phigby grumps. “They understand the consequences, more so because they feel a responsibility for what is happening here and now because of their actions in the past.”
“When they sided with Vay on the golden dragon’s creation,” Cara states.
“Yes,” Phigby acknowledges, “and everything—everything that has happened since is because of their one moment of weakness. So they know, oh how they know the part that they’ve played in all this and that they should have stopped Vay in the very beginning.”
He lets out a sigh. “Evil is so much easier to stamp out when it is small than after it grows and spreads. But it seems that sometimes we are slow to recognize the evil for what it is, or unwilling to dirty our hands and hope that someone else will handle the problem.”
“Or,” Cara reflects, “we give in too easily and pretend that it’s not as bad as we think.”
“That, too,” Phigby
affirms.
“All right,” Amil answers, “so they feel responsible; still doesn’t answer why they don’t step in and put an end to all this.”
“Because they can’t,” Phigby asserts. “The gods won’t let them. At least, not yet.”
“I’m sure I don’t understand,” I reply. “What do you mean, Phigby?”
Phigby turns to me. “It’s very simple, Hooper. The Parthenon wish to see what we will do first. ‘We’ meaning our world and its inhabitants. If we do nothing, if we don’t fight back, then they will for a certainty allow Vay to unleash her full power and continue to hold the three sisters in check.”
“And if we continue to oppose Vay?” Amil questions. “Even if there’s only a few of us?”
“Then there will come a time,” Phigby whispers, “when they will grant the sisters’ wish to fully confront Vay but only after all we can do to stand against her. After all, it is our world, our lives.”
Phigby’s voice is husky and melancholy as if that future day will not turn out well for any of us.
He pauses, straightens, and lifts his head. “Until then, the three will gather their power and when able, intervene on our behalf. Otherwise, they have to be content allowing us to take the fight to Vay.”
“And in the meantime,” Amil grouses, “while the three sisters are biding their time, Dronopolis gets destroyed, villages burn, the Wilders, drogs, and Sung Dar are rampaging and chasing us from one end of Erdron to another.”
He skews his mouth to one side. “Though we haven’t actually made it to the other end of Erdron, yet, it just feels that way, sometimes.”
Phigby scratches his shaggy hair and half-laughs. “Yes, I suppose some days it does seem that way.”
“But, Phigby,” I protest, “I don’t understand why the gods want to see what we do, first. To me, it doesn’t make sense.”
“But it does, Hooper,” Phigby declares, “but it does. You see, they’re not waiting for you or me, or Cara, or any of this company to act. We’ve made our decision. They’re waiting for the rest of Erdron. As I said, this is our world—if we don’t take care of it and all who live upon it, who will?”