Otherlander: Through the Storm

by T. Kevin Bryan

  Thomas froze. A sudden terrible silence came. The shadow warrior ignored him as he continued to hold his gloved hands to the fire. “Fire is such an enigma to me,” the dark warrior hissed. “You humans are always huddling about it, attempting to stay warm. I assume that is because there is something that needs warmth - your flesh. You are matter.” He reached and scraped up some soil in his gloved hand, “Dirt, that is what you are.” He let the dry soil run through his fingers. “That is your weakness.”

  He stood, dusting off his gloves, and now turned his helm toward Thomas. Its red eyes burned like hot coals.

  Thomas could never get used to the sight of the hulking shadow warriors, over six and a half feet tall, draped all in black with a chest plate of iron and helm with only slits from which to see. They struck fear into the heart of every kind soul on N’albion. They came from the Shadow Realm, brought through by the Dark Lord, Darcon. Revealed by Thomas’s father to be a man from Earth, he was Michael Avery of Scotland, a professor like Thomas’s father. The resistance defeated Darcon, and they thought he was dead. But that was obviously not the case, and so now fourteen years later the Dark one had returned along with his legion of shadow warriors.

  Thomas shifted on his feet and glanced from the shadow warrior addressing him. Four other warriors now surrounded him. He could try to make a break for it, but he knew that was hopeless. He just hoped to God that Fion and Thorn were far away.

  “You are a hard one to track, Otherlander.”

  Thomas flinched at that. “I don’t know who you think I am. I’m just a kid on a camp out.”

  The shadow warrior laughed, if you could call it that. It was a bloodless hacking hiss that turned Thomas’s stomach.

  “You are Thomas, the Otherlander. Stalked across the universe by the Shadow hunter. Bounty placed upon your head in this world. Able to travel past our front lines and now rumor has it that you survived the Forbidden lands. It seems, little one, that looks can deceive.”

  He motioned to the others, “Take him.”

  The shadow warriors all reached as one. Thomas resigned that they captured him. But then there were multiple sounds of arrows slicing the air, and the four nearest shadow warriors’ chests sprouted arrows like pincushions. The lead shadow warrior spun and morphed back into shadow.

  Thomas checked his body for arrows. He was still in one piece. But who? He heard his name called and looked from the dead warriors at his feet to the edge of the darkness as Fion stepped into the firelight. One by one six dark hooded figures joined her, all clutching bows with arrows nocked at the ready.

  “Fion! Thank God you’re okay!” Thomas shouted

  The tallest of the hooded figures stepped forward and pulled down the scarf covering his face.

  “John!” Thomas shouted and ran into the arms of his old friend.

  John held the boy by the shoulders and smiled, revealing the old scar across his left cheek. “Let me look at you,” John’s brow arched. “Thomas, you’ve barely changed in fourteen years,” he marveled, “A little taller I’d wager.”

  “John, it’s good to see you. You look great!”

  “Liar,” John chuckled, standing. “We better get you two out of here.”

  He motioned toward Fion. “And this one has some explaining to do.”

  John turned to his men, “Raiders, mount up. We best be moving on before they return with reinforcements.”

  “What about the other shadow warrior?”

  “Captain Necron?” John spat.

  “You know him?”

  “I know him too well.” John pointed to the scar on his face. “He gave me this.”

  Forty-Seven

  The flight back to the resistance’s stronghold was a long one and filled with its own dangers. John and his band of raiders confirmed what the snow-beast had communicated, Darcon’s army was growing stronger by the day. It was amassing on the southern border of the Resistance’s land, waiting for an all-out push. This close to their enemy’s location, they had to be more vigilante as human and shadow warrior scouts were all about still looking for any resistance fighters. The dark ones were especially keen on capturing the Otherlander. When John told of the tales he had heard and Darcon’s hunt for Thomas, Thomas was overcome with dread.

  Fion wasn’t her normal self either. John told them he had taken one group of riders and Deacon had taken another to look for Fion. Her father had rarely slept and only came home briefly to resupply and head back out looking for his missing daughter. Fion’s decision to leave home in search of Thomas weighed heavily on her. The closer they got to the stronghold home, the more sullen Fion became.

  Thomas tried to cheer her up, but to no avail. He knew the feeling. How often had he done something stupid and then had to “face the music”? Those were long hours. Waiting till his father got home from work. Then hearing his footsteps treading up the stairs waiting for his sentence. He had to admit even though he didn’t like whatever punishment his father would give him, it was something he always deserved. But now he was torn. Fion had gone against her father’s wishes, but she had saved Thomas’s life. There were consequences even to good choices. He only hoped that his old friend Deacon would not be too hard on his new friend, Fion.

  The dragon riders flew in V formation like a flock of giant leather geese. Thomas and Fion, escorted by John’s raiders, crested the last peak and then swooped down into a narrow canyon that ended in a natural rock land bridge.

  “It’s called the Needle’s Eye,” Fion said over her shoulder to Thomas.

  That was the perfect name because the dragon riders had to fly single file to navigate the narrow passage. It opened to a barren rocky valley surrounded by craggy peaks. Thomas remembered with fondness the last stronghold known simply by Fion’s people as “Home.” Fourteen years ago, in N’albion time he had flown there with Deacon Stormcloud. It had been fertile, pastoral, and welcoming. This stronghold couldn’t have been more different. It was stark and gray. Thomas could see it wasn’t chosen for its lovely atmosphere, but for its ability to be defended. Sentries perched on their dragons along the roof of the rock land bridge, scanned the skies for danger. A horn sounded and echoed farther off, announcing their approach.

  It would be difficult for a hostile army to breach these defenses, but they weren’t facing a natural army. They were facing Darcon’s shadow army of relentless evil, bent on the destruction of all that was good and free. How do you fight shadows? Thomas’s thoughts were dark and disturbing as he watched the gray icy walls of the mountain’s cliffs fly by and all he could do was hold on.

  The fortress grew out of the mountain. Sharp rock and rugged cliffs turned to chiseled stone shaped by years of hard labor.

  “Wow,” Thomas marveled at the stone fortress below them.

  “Quite impressive, isn’t it?” Fion responded. “It’s built right into the heart of the mountain. I’d like to see Darcon try getting in here.”

  Thorn sounded off with a trumpet. A chorus of dragons trumpeted back their welcome.

  “Yes, Thorn,” Fion said halfheartedly. “I’m glad to be home as well,”

  Thomas knew she dreaded facing her father.

  The dragons circled in tight formation and landed effortlessly on a giant stone porch that extended out from the fortress but still within its outer wall. Immediately, Thomas could see the difference in the last stronghold and this one. There was not a farmer in sight. All were wearing battle gear. Grim men moved about busily making preparations. The whole stronghold was on war footing.

  Young dragon tenders ran to take the reins of their dragons as they all dismounted.

  Thomas felt a little unsteady with his feet on solid ground again. He had the strange sensation of still flying, even though he was standing still. Like the feeling he had after being on a sailboat off the coast of California, then stepping onto the dock.

  Massive wooden doors reinforced with iron straps groaned open on their hinges in the fortress's wall. Men parted, making a
path for a woman that ran toward them, her red hair flying behind her. Fion turned toward the commotion and brightened immediately. “Mother!”

  She dropped Thorn’s reins and bolted to her mother, embracing her tightly.

  Thomas watched the reunion, then shuffled forward awkwardly. He had to admit he was a little jealous, and he longed to be home with his own mother.

  Thomas recognized Fion’s mother. She was Ellie, the headstrong redheaded dragon rider that had saved his life from the talons of a shadow warrior’s beast. But he wasn’t prepared to see her fourteen years older. Her long curly red hair now had a grey streak down one side and her face was wrinkled by the bright N’albion sun and her smile. As Thomas watched Ellie with her daughter, he couldn’t help but still be struck by her beauty.

  Thomas reached them and stood at a respectful distance.

  Ellie turned and stared at Thomas in total amazement.

  “Thomas?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You haven’t aged a bit,” she whispered.

  Thomas smiled self-consciously. “Actually, I’m a year older. Thirteen”

  She shocked him by wrapping him in a huge hug. It felt fantastic.

  “Thank the Creator that you are both safe,” Ellie said.

  Then she turned to Fion. “You have worried your father, sick young lady.”

  Fion looked away. “He treats me like I am a child.”

  “You are a child. You are his child. And he is your father.”

  “I know, mother.”

  “Do you know what it would have done to him if anything happened to you?”

  Now Thomas looked away. He hated to be around family members arguing.

  Ellie noticed his discomfort and changed the subject. “By the looks of you, you must both be starving.” She wrinkled her nose. “And by the smell, you both could stand a good bath.”

  Thomas and Fion shared a look as Ellie took them both by the hand and led them toward the opening in the fortress wall.

  Ellie glanced at Fion. “Then you will go see your father.”

  Fion cringed.

  Forty-Eight

  Leather boots kicked at what was left of a campfire—a ring of blackened stones, a pile of ashes. The hooded stranger stooped and pulling off his glove reached down. He could feel no heat at all. No way to tell how long ago the fire had been used or if it was even them. He surveyed the large cavern. It was a smart location though, out of the elements. They could have got in here before the last bad storm. He hadn’t been so lucky. He had taken the brunt of it just as he had ascended from the base of the mountain. He had to find shelter fast for himself and his horse or they both would have perished in the freezing weather. The stranger stood and kicked one of the stones that ringed the now dead campfire. Then something caught his eye. It glinted against the gray, cold floor. He picked it up. It was a chain of small gold links. The last links were twisted where it had broken.

  The boy and girl had been here. He peered back out into the black night. He wanted to move on, but the horse shivered miserably. Starting to snow again. He knew they both had to rest.

  He stepped to the horse and started unbuckling the saddle. He stopped and pulled the wanted poster from the saddlebag. He was on their trail, that was certain.

  It was snowing again. The stranger rolled over and saw that his fire was now only a dismal smolder.

  He reached and grabbed another stick and tossed it into the fire. Then he thought he heard something. He peered out the opening of the cave and couldn’t see a thing but blowing snow. This was a cursed land. A stiff wind gusted into the cave and extinguished what was left of his tiny flame. He sighed and crawled out from under his cover leaving what was left of the little warmth of his threadbare blanket. Grabbing a stick, he stoked the embers blowing on them. He heard a strange sound. And he caught a whiff that was unfamiliar. He sat back on his haunches feeling a little dizzy. Then he saw it. Next to him a bright whizzing burning blur giving off a pungent odor. Another burning orb bounced in and skidded to a stop on his other side, popping and smoking. He moved to throw his blanket over it but it seemed the floor tipped and he fell. Before he even hit the ground, he drifted off into a deep sleep where it was a glorious summer day and he was very warm.

  Forty-Nine

  General Deacon Stormcloud stood on the balcony. His commanders inside the war room waited. They could wait. Something more important was happening, and he wanted to be a part of it, if even from a distance. He peered down on the portico below where his wife, Ellie, and daughter, Fion, embraced each other.

  It warmed his heart to see his daughter held by her mother and began to melt the icy coldness of his anger toward Fion. He would have to face her soon, but this was a good way to prepare himself before confronting his daughter for leaving and taking Thorn. Foolish, immaturity. He sighed, remembering another young and impetuous dragon rider whose rash hard-headedness got him into plenty of trouble. Ellie was not lax in reminding him. But he wanted Fion to be his better—wiser, stronger. Isn’t that what all fathers desired for their children? A straighter path? A brighter future?

  But where was the brightness of the coming days to be found? With Darcon’s army growing on the border, the future looked dark as a moonless night. There was a season of brightness over a decade ago after Darcon’s first defeat. Daniel Colson and his son Thomas had travelled through the portal. They arrived just when they were needed and helped make the defeat of Darcon possible. For a moment it was as if the dark clouds parted and the sun shone through.

  Fion had not even been born then. Deacon chuckled to himself. He hadn’t taken Ellie as his wife until after Thomas had crossed the mist and gone back through the doorway to his own homeland.

  “After darkness, light,” he whispered to himself. And now once again, he thought, I must face the darkness. Ever diligent to protect my people and their freedom.

  “Sir,” a bearded commander stood at his side. “You’re needed.”

  With the safe return of Fion, maybe now he could give his complete focus to the war looming just over the horizon. “Yes, yes,” General Deacon Stormcloud turned from his dark thoughts and joined his men as they prepared for war.

  Fifty

  Thomas bathed and put on a clean set of clothes: a white woven shirt that laced at the neck, dark brown britches cut for dragon riding tucked into his leather boots, and a smart waist coat. He opened the door to his room and peeked into the hall. A girl in a dark green dress just passed his door and walked down the hall. Walk was too strong a word. She floated. Her dress made a quiet swishing sound along the cobblestone floor. She had long curly red hair that cascaded down over her shoulders. Thomas stepped in the hall and called out, “Ellie.” She turned and seeing him, smiled. Thomas had one of those “Where am I experiences.” It was not Ellie, but Fion her daughter. Her feminine dress and hair stunned him. She was beautiful. His voice stuck in his throat. Fion caught the moment and stared at the floor, a little embarrassed. Thomas blinked then clearing his throat with a nervous cough said, “I mean Fion.”

  Fion looked up. Her eyes reflected the deep green of her dress like twin pools of water in a forest.

  Thomas stammered, “I almost didn’t recognize you all cleaned up.” He searched for words, “ugh…”

  Fion punched him in the shoulder.

  “Ow!”

  “Snap out of it!” She ordered.

  Thomas rubbed his shoulder. “Now there’s the Fion I’ve grown to know and love.”

  Fion’s eyes flashed at the word love and she drew back her fist again.

  Thomas cringed. “Like a sister! Love like a sister.”

  Fion slowly dropped her fist, then sniffed the air. “You smell better.” She said matter-of-factly.

  Thomas smiled, knowing that was the best he would get out of the tough young girl.

  “Where were you heading?” He asked, changing the subject.

  Suddenly, the stone floor seemed interesting as Fion’s eyes searc
hed it.

  “To see my father.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sure everything will be okay,” Thomas offered.

  Fion looked up. “You don’t know my father then.”

  “Of course, I know him.”

  “No, you know Deacon Stormcloud, Dragon rider, leader of the resistance, companion in arms. To him, I am not a resistance fighter, or Dragon rider. I am his daughter. And I see what the war has done to him. I see what it has done to us all. These are hard times, Thomas Otherlander.”

  Thomas opened his mouth to protest the title, but seeing the flash of Fion’s eyes, thought better of it.

  “I must go to him now.” She said and floated on down the hall, disappearing around the corner.

  Fifty-One

  Fion pushed the door open to her father’s war room. She had opened this door many times, but today it seemed heavier. She slipped quietly inside. Her father, General Deacon Stormcloud, stood hunched over a massive table studying a map of the known world of N’albion. The men standing around him spoke in urgent, respectful tones. The future of their community and way of life weighed heavily on all their shoulders, but none no heavier than her father’s. John, the leader of the raiders and her father’s best friend and her uncle by marriage, looked up and gave her a sympathetic smile.

  One by one the men noticed Fion and straightened. The room fell silent. Deacon followed the gaze of his men, then turned. Fion couldn’t read his expression, though she tried.

  “Brothers, will you excuse me? I have a bit of family business to attend too. We’ve more to do, but I am tired and hungry. I will see you all in the grand hall tonight.”

  “Yes, General,” they responded.

  Fion watched as one by one the men made their way through the door, but not without an encouraging word, a handshake or slap on the back from their commander.