by GARY DARBY
“So we’re safe as long as we have light,” Amil rumbles.
“Yes,” Phigby answers, “and with the coming of the marsh’s pale dawn glow, the phantoms will disappear and we can resume our march.”
“But,” Alonya questions, “can the sprites last that long?”
“Perhaps,” I offer, “we should only use one or two at a time and let the others rest.”
“Take turns,” Helmar agrees, “so as to not use up all of their glow at once.”
“Good idea,” Amil affirms, “only we’ll have to squish together tighter than rats on a cheese barge so that the light covers us all.”
“I’m not sure comparing us with rats,” Phigby replies to Amil, “is an apt comparison, but I agree with your assessment. Get closer everyone, and Hooper, let’s try one yellow and one orange aglow at a time.”
He pauses, peers at the spirits whose wailing seems to be getting louder. “Only be ready to have the other two sprites light up if that’s not enough.”
I turn and call to the hovering little dragons, “Dazzle, Twinkle, turn off your glow.”
The two sprites snuff out their lights, and land on the golden’s back, leaving us in a soft ring of radiance that’s just enough to cover all of us.
At the same time, the apparitions move even closer to stand just outside the lighted circle. Their red eyes are like a scarlet stripe that splits the gloom and I can feel their hatred beating at us as if it’s a raging, murderous fire that burns within their souls.
“What if,” Cara suggests, “Shine and Ember rise higher? Would that spread their light out a bit more?”
“It might,” I reply. “Shine, Ember,” I order, “go higher.”
The two start to sky upward when Alonya shouts, “Stop! Tell them to stop!”
“Ember! Shine! Stop!” I yell.
The two halt and hover high above us. “Whew,” Amil breathes. “That was close. The higher they went, for some reason, the deeper and closer the shadows became.”
“Yes,” I reply and wet my lips. “And the nearer those things moved toward us.”
“The mist,” Phigby reasons, “it seemed to suck the light up, not letting it hit the ground.”
I glance upward and command, “Ember, Shine, drop a little lower.”
The two float down a bit and stop. I glance around and then say to Cara, “Sorry, but that didn’t seem to help any.”
“I know,” she answers and shudders. “I’m just glad you stopped them before they went higher.”
“Thank Alonya,” I reply. “She saw it before I did.”
Cara gives a grateful nod to Alonya as I ask of no one in particular, “Any idea how long to sunrise?”
“Long enough,” Helmar rumbles.
“When I was younger and in the king’s service as a man-at-arms,” Amil offers, his eyes wary in watching the ghost ring, “I had to stand long night watches on the castle walls.
“I learned how to sleep standing straight up. Methinks that I’m going to have to use that excellent skill tonight seeing as how there’s not enough room for any of us to stretch out.”
“How can you think about sleeping at a time like this?” Cara questions. “With those things making that awful moaning sound and almost within reach?”
“I also learned as a man-at-arms,” Amil returns, “to sleep whenever the opportunity presented itself for you never knew when the next chance might come along.”
“Strange though it may appear, given the circumstances, Amil has a point,” Phigby affirms. “I suggest that half of us try to get some sleep and the other half stand watch. After a bit, we’ll trade off.”
“I’ll stay awake,” I volunteer. “After all, I didn’t finish my earlier watch.”
“Me, too,” Cara offers.
“I’ll stay up with these two,” Helmar states. “Besides, I don’t sleep well with people, or rather, spirits staring at me.”
Alonya, Amil, and Phigby settle down as best as they can in the tight, cramped space within our dragon ring while the sprogs start screeping and chupping.
“They’ve gone a long time without water, I suspect that they’re really thirsty,” Cara says while biting down on her lower lip. “They’re just babies, they can’t go as long without water as the adult dragons. Dare we let them out to drink?”
Hesitating, I shake my head. “I don’t know, Cara, I think it would be risky. They don’t mind real well, you know.”
Pointing at the wafting spirits who seem to ebb and flow along with the breeze, I argue, “I think it’s asking too much to try and keep watch over four spry sprogs while at the same time keeping an eye on that horde of murderous ghosts.”
Cara, undaunted, peers past Wind Song. “The marsh comes in real close on this side, maybe if we took them down one at a time?”
Helmar gazes at the same spot and scowls. “I think Hooper has a point, Cara. We should wait till dawn to let them drink.”
“But Helmar,” Cara protests, “they can’t go without water and we need to save what’s left in our water flasks for ourselves. Dragons can drink most any water, we can’t.
“We drink this slime and we’re all going to be very sick, very soon. Besides, if we don’t let them drink, they’ll add their own racket to that infernal keening.”
She peers over Wind Song’s neck. “The light goes far enough. I’m going to let them drink. If you want to help, fine,” she snaps to Helmar, “if not, keep a sharp watch.”
I watch as Cara trudges up to the golden with Helmar speaking in her ear, still trying to convince her that letting the sprogs out is a bad idea.
Just as they reach Golden Wind, Regal takes matters into his own claws and somehow wiggles out of the saddlebag, slides down the golden’s leg, and tumbles to the ground.
Hitting the ground with a soft splat, he darts between Helmar and Cara, slipping and sliding across the mud, his little talons churning the goop as he beelines toward the slime-coated water.
Golden Wind swings her head around to stop him but the little bugger skids away from her, too.
Catching sight of a brown blur as Scamper sails off the golden’s back in pursuit of Regal, I shout, “Scamper! Stop!” But he ignores me and shoots across the open space.
Perhaps from the agitated shouting or yells, I’m not sure, but just at that moment, Wind Song turns and rises to all fours.
I freeze in place as in an instant, I realize what that means. Wind Song is blocking off the sprite’s light.
Regal Wind and Scamper are in shadow.
“Twinkle! Dazzle!” I shout, “Glow!” I don’t wait to see if they light up and duck under Wind Song’s neck to dart toward Scamper and Regal as I’m closest.
Scamper has Regal by the tail, trying to pull him back, but the little dragon in his typical, stubborn fashion, is fighting Scamp.
Slipping and sliding, I scramble to where the two are tussling and almost stop in my wild dash.
Ghostlike apparitions rush across the bog, headed straight for us.
Without thinking, I grab Scamper and Regal, spin around, and throw them back toward the light.
I hear Cara shriek, “Hooper!”
Just then, as if I’ve been stabbed by a frozen knife, my whole body goes rigid and cold. I manage to turn and find myself staring into the crimson eyes of a swamp spirit.
It floats over me for an instant before it jerks its icy hand out of my body.
I slump over as darkness and death take me.
Chapter Thirty-Three
It’s dark, cold, there’s no light. I’m lost and for just a moment, I’m all alone. Then, I feel clammy, icy fingers at my arms, my face—my throat.
I try to push away the claws, but there’s too many, I’m surrounded. They pull, tug, push at me. I can feel their slobbering slime, their drool on my face, but every time I try to get away, they pull me back.
Crying out for help, I plead for mercy, but there is none.
I’m in a cold, dark prison surrounded by evil so
uls and I know there’s—no—escape.
None. Ever.
I can’t help myself. I cry out in anguish at the thought that I’ll be forever caught in the darkness without life . . . without light . . . without hope.
Then, there’s a tiny glow, far in the distance. As if someone started a fire, only it’s so far away it’s little more than an ember, a pinpoint of light.
It starts to come closer, and closer. I struggle to reach it and throw out my arms trying to grasp the brightness but the things pull me back.
I don’t know for how long I struggle, how long I push and shove against my unseen tormentors, trying with all my might to somehow grab hold of the radiance, but it’s no use.
I’m pulled farther and farther away from the light, into the darkness, away from my salvation.
Then, from the light, there’s a gentle emerald glow that grows and spreads. Where it touches, the wicked ones flee before its radiance as if they scurry away from a green, consuming fire.
From out of the brilliant light steps a green drake. His scales shine as if each is cut from an emerald gemstone. His head is held high not in pride but with purpose and courage.
His eyes sparkle with life, with conviction of heart and spirit. The light expands until we stand in a great radiant ball. The darkness beats and boils against the light but it holds firm, solid.
The great green dragon unfolds his magnificent wings until they surround and hold me, cutting off all sight of the darkness, leaving me basking in an emerald luminance.
“Pengillstorr?” I ask in a wavering voice.
The green lowers his face until we’re eye to eye. He smiles at me and then thrusts out his leg, his meaning clear.
Clambering onto his neck saddle, I settle in, and as soon as I do, he spreads his wings wide and we spring aloft, away from the blackness, the cold, and the foul legions that have chosen to occupy eternal darkness.
We wing toward a soft light, which gains in brilliance the closer we fly until, as if I’m cradled in softness and love, we slip into the light.
“Hooper?” A soft voice calls from far away, then closer, and louder, it comes again. “Hooper?”
I open my eyes to dim daylight and standing over me are my companions. Into my vision comes a furry head. Hrrrhhh? Scamper asks.
“No,” I mumble, before swallowing to clear my throat. “I’m not hurt. At least I don’t think so.”
Phigby pushes Scamper to one side and shoves his face close to mine. “You had us worried there, lad.”
For some reason, I’m shivering with cold as if I were back under the ice fall. “Believe me, I had me worried. Why am I so cold? I shouldn’t be so cold, we’re in the midst of a hot, stinking swamp.”
“It’s not where you are now, lad,” Phigby answers, “it’s where you’ve been that’s making you shiver.”
The memory comes flooding back and I jerk to a sitting position. “Easy, Hooper, easy,” Cara whispers as she kneels next to me and puts a gentle hand on my chest. “You’re all right now.”
I glance beyond her to see the golden looking on. She gives me a gentle though sad smile, but her eyes tell me that she’s grateful to see me. “What happened?” I stammer.
“As they say,” Amil responds, “you were touched, and not by an angel.”
I nod at his comment. “I remember,” I whisper and shiver at the recollection.
Glancing around, I ask, “It’s morning? Is everyone else all right?”
“Yes, to both,” Phigby answers, “and with the coming of light, the phantoms have left.”
“The coming of light,” I murmur. I peer up at Phigby. “Whether in this life or the next, light always drives away the darkness.”
He squeezes my shoulder, nodding. “Always,” he affirms.
Just then, Helmar pokes his head over Cara’s. “Hooper, glad to see that you’re all right. Alonya thinks that we should leave, we’ve been in one spot too long and she thinks that we might be attracting other unwanted visitors.”
“And she would be right,” Phigby declares and helps me to stand on shaky legs.
Jerking his head to one side, he says, “But, first, Hooper needs to see what you found earlier.”
“Found?” I question. “Found what?”
“You’ll see,” Phigby replies and leads me around the three dragons until I stop in midstride. Lying crumpled in the mud is the body of an emerald dragon. With slow, deliberate steps I trudge forward until I’m next to the green.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” I ask with a hard swallow as I kneel next to his head, my hand gentle on his muzzle.
“I’m afraid so,” Phigby replies. “Helmar found him just before dawn. Odd, we never heard or saw him, his body just showed up.”
“He saved me,” I utter, my voice catching as I feel my eyes glisten. “Saved me from that spirit prison. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get out on my own, they wouldn’t let me. Then, all at once, there was this light and he walked through the brightness and took me away from there.”
Shuddering, I stroke his scales. “If he hadn’t, I would still be in that cold, lightless place without any hope of ever getting out.”
“He gave his life for you,” Cara whispers from beside me.
I stare at the body, blinking back the sting in my eyes. “Yes,” I choke, “and I don’t know why or who he is.”
“You might not know his name,” she whispers, “but you know he was a friend.”
“More than a friend,” I whisper back, “and I can’t even thank him for saving my life.”
We turn at heavy footsteps behind us. “Sorry, but we need to leave,” Alonya states. “We’re starting to get unwanted attention. Shadows in the mist.”
Nodding to Alonya, I turn back, lean close to the emerald’s head, and whisper, “If somehow you can hear me, thank you. Thank you with all my heart.”
With that, I rise and make my way over to the golden. With a little more effort than normal, I clamber into her neck saddle. Scamper and the sprites take their usual spots, and the sprogs greet me with a chorus of screeps.
Hearing their squawking, Cara calls over, “Helmar and Amil let them drink this morning. They’re just glad to see you.”
“Believe it or not,” I answer, “I’m actually happy to see them, too.”
While the others are getting their dragons ready, I lean over and whisper to Golden Wind, “The emerald dragon that rescued me. That wasn’t Pengillstorr I saw in that awful, awful place, was it?”
She waits a moment before replying, “No, Hooper, it was not Pengillstorr whom you saw. He has given what he could to you already, and he cannot give more than that.”
Swinging her head, she gazes over at the green dragon’s body. “And neither can Vaskarhart.”
“Vaskarhart?” I start. “Who—” Just then, our little caravan starts moving and we cannot continue our conversation. With Alonya in the lead, we once again set out on our journey.
The landscape remains the same, bleak, uninviting, and if Alonya didn’t seem to be moving in an unerring direction, I would swear that we were going around in circles as each grove of swamp trees, each muddy stream, and each slimy bog looks the same to me as any other.
This day’s journey, except for the dismal, ceaseless, mournful, and unending wails that seem to rise and fall with the fog’s wafting, is uneventful and we stop for the night on a muddy island that’s surrounded by murky water.
After we set the dragons in a rough circle, and I have Dazzle give us light in the center, we gather for one small swig of our diminishing water. Phigby asks Alonya, “Are you still pulled in this direction as before?”
“Yes, Phigby, I am,” she replies, the weariness and strain of slogging through the ooze beginning to show on her face.
“Stronger than before?” Helmar questions.
She nods again. “Whatever it is, I believe we grow closer, but there’s only a vague sense of what it is that pulls at me.”
“You’re say
ing it might not be Perseon’s Way?” Amil asks with a deep frown.
Alonya runs a hand over her mud-streaked face. “I cannot say, Traveler. It may be, it may not.”
We exchange worried glances at her answer. “Well,” Phigby adds, “the good news is that we are getting closer to our goal.”
“Yes,” Amil grouses, “whatever that is.”
Helmar speaks up. “It seems that trouble seems to seek us out in the night, so I suggest we keep to our two-guard shift.”
“Yes,” Phigby agrees, “and it doesn’t appear to matter if we have dragon glow or not, so let’s always have the light of at least one sprite.”
“Amil and I will take the first watch,” Helmar affirms. “Phigby, why don’t you and Alonya take the second, and Hooper and Cara can take the last since they both have had very little sleep the last two nights.”
I nod weary thanks and stumble over to Golden Wind, where I slide to a sitting position against her leg. “Golden Wind,” I question while trying to keep my eyes open, “what was Vaskarhart’s full name?”
“Vaskarhart Broojr Pengillstorr,” she answers.
I sit up and stare. “Pengillstorr?”
“Yes,” she returns. “Pengillstorr’s brother. In our tongue his name means Brave Prince of the Forest. I suppose in your language you would call him Fearless Wind.”
“Fearless Wind,” I murmur. More to myself than to her, I say, “A very well given name.”
I let out a long sigh. “Golden Wind, why did he come to save me?”
“There was no other way,” she answers, “to keep the promise.”
“Promise?” I ask as I sag down, my overwhelming weariness returning. I want to hear what she has to say but I yawn wide, my eyes fluttering, trying to stay open.
Slumping over to where my head is lying on her talon, I ask “What . . . promise . . .?”
I don’t remember her answering. All I know is that it seems as if I’ve just closed my eyes when Cara is shaking me awake. “We’ve got the watch, Hooper, up you come.”
She holds out her hand and pulls me upright. I shake my head to try and dispel some of my grogginess before asking, “Everything quiet?”