Miraclist

by P B Hughes

  But then Martha started him brooding.

  “Isn’t Daniel marvelous?” she had said, gazing up at Daniel from their seat on the lip of the wagon. “Even if he doesn’t make it as a Guardian, he’s likely to enlist in his Majesty’s Air Fleet. To think, a Miraclist on wings! How formidable.”

  Formidable indeed, he thought. But what of him? If he didn’t become a Guardian, he had nothing to fall back on like Jude and Daniel did. Should he fail he would be nothing but frontline fodder for the infantry.

  But then Gregory had an idea. What if he learned to fly too? After all, he was there when they rescued Shade. And he was the one that made Jude go back for them—practically begged him. If it weren’t for him, Shade would have been skinned and stuffed, and Daniel would have been a meal digested long ago.

  Perfectly pleased with his brilliance, Gregory presented his request to Daniel early one morning. The look on Daniel’s face, that smug sideways stare and the raised eyebrow, told Gregory the answer before he even spoke.

  “You want to be a rider?”

  “As a matter of fact I do.”

  “Gregory, we both know you’re all talk and no follow-through. Training is hard work. You have to be disciplined and—”

  “I don’t need a lecture, Daniel,” Gregory replied. “Will you let me try it or not?”

  “No.”

  Gregory squeezed the reins in his hands at the memory, a flood of rebuttals swirling through his mind.

  Where does he get off? The inflated parrot—thinking he can order me around. Should have told him what I really think of him. He owes me; he’d be dead if I hadn’t come to his rescue. His overconfidence makes me sick.

  Gregory cast a dark look to the sky, snorting with disgust. That should be me up there; if only Daniel weren’t holding me back. He conjured with relish a fantasy where Daniel lost his grip and fell. Would serve him right.

  The idea was soured with a tinge of guilt. Daniel was his friend—he shouldn’t wish such things on him. No, it wasn’t a wish, he reasoned, it was only a harmless thought.

  He allowed his fantasy to continue. Suddenly he was in Daniel’s place up amongst the clouds, the wind dancing in his hair. He imagined Martha’s adoring gaze, the nodding respect of his peers, Mordecai’s approving smile. Oh, how sweet it was to be the King of the Sky—no one to dethrone him! A tug of the reins and he and Shade performed a perfect spin, the world spiraling around them.

  The taste of that morning’s breakfast rose into the back of his throat, snapping him back to reality; the very idea of being airborne, turning in loops, made his stomach churn.

  Even in my fantasies I can’t be brave, he thought.

  “He’s your ally, you know,” said Mrs. Doppledodger, sitting in the seat next to him.

  “Who?” asked Gregory, fixing his eyes on the road ahead.

  “Who,” Mrs. Doppledodger said with a chuckle. “Who, who, who. You’d make a good owl.”

  “Are you going to tell me or not?”

  Mrs. Doppledodger gave him a wry smirk. “You know who. I don’t like prittle-prattle, Gregory. Never have.”

  Gregory bit his lip. “He’s no ally of mine. An enemy would treat me better.”

  “You’ve not had many enemies, I’d wager.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you know a lot of things.”

  Gregory’s brow furrowed.

  “Have I ever told you the parable of the lion cubs, Gregory?” asked Mrs. Doppledodger. She had a curious half smile on her face that made Gregory nervous.

  He shook his head.

  “It’s an old story—not mine—but it’s true nonetheless. Would you like to hear it?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Mrs. Doppledodger folded her hands into her lap and closed her eyes. “There once was a boy with two lion cubs chained to each ankle, neither of which he could be rid of. One cub was evil incarnate: full of hate, envy, strife, greed—you name it. The other cub was good: full of love, truth, benevolence, peace, and so on. Each lion hated the other, waiting to grow up so that it might overpower and consume its rival. Years went by and then,” she slapped her hands together and her eyes popped open, “the stronger one pounced and devoured the weaker. Then, all the boy had left was a solitary lion: an enormous creature that could easily overpower him with a mere swipe of its paw. If it so chose, that is.”

  Gregory gave Mrs. Doppledodger a sideways look. “Which lion won?”

  Mrs. Doppledodger took a deep breath of air and released it. “The one he fed.”

  Gregory stared ahead at the white pavement, rising and falling like a ship over a sea of verdant hills, pondering Mrs. Doppledodger’s words. She had lived so long that he figured she must know a little bit about everything. But she had never experienced what he was facing now. She had never been abandoned—her only hope hinged upon the kindness of her peers. He stole a look at her from the corner of his eye, irritated. She had lived the good life—a Guardian, a teacher. She had even been married long ago. As far as the details of her life were concerned, Gregory knew almost nothing. But now he had her, a captive audience, and only a day or two outside the Imperial City. He decided that if he didn’t ask her now he might never know.

  “How’d you get to be so old, Mrs. Doppledodger?”

  “Gregory!” Martha said from the back of the wagon. She was playing a game with the children, but had been listening to the entire conversation. “It’s rude to ask people about their age.”

  Gregory shot Martha a sour look over his shoulder. She was always so polite, but he knew she was just as curious as he was, her round cheeks flushed red.

  “Pish-posh,” Mrs. Doppledodger said. “When you reach my age you stop believing in rude. I believe in honesty, children.” She suddenly grew very serious. “Now, if you’ll listen closely, I’ll tell you my secret. It’s closely guarded, and if the wrong person ever found out the results could mean,” she dropped her voice and shifted her eyes from Gregory to Martha, “immortality.”

  Even the children at the back of the wagon grew silent, and Gregory and Martha leaned in, eyes wide.

  “The secret to long life is…” she stuck her head outside the wagon and glanced from side to side to make sure no one was listening, then ducked back inside and cupped her hand around her mouth, “don’t die.”

  Gregory flopped back in his seat, thoroughly annoyed at how pleased Mrs. Doppledodger looked with herself. “I should have known.”

  “Well, the key for you might be to add some red meat to your diet, Gregory.” She poked him in the ribs with a pudgy finger. “Skinny as a walking-stick, you are. A gust of wind might carry you off a cliff if you’re not careful.”

  The wagon suddenly shook violently as a shadow and a blast of air railed against them, forcing screams out of the children and blowing Mrs. Doppledodger’s yellow hat into the grass. The horses bucked and whinnied; Gregory pulled back on the reins, but it was no use. The wagon lurched off the road, wheels catching in a ditch. Gregory launched from his seat, face first into a mud-puddle.

  Daniel and Shade whirred in front of the wagon, tumbling through the air. They pulled up and landed in the grass several yards away. Daniel raised his hands and whooped at the sky.

  “Did you see that?” Daniel called out, jumping off of Shade’s back. “We did it—a double barrel roll!” He flopped down onto the grass, chest rising and falling as if he had just run a dead sprint. “I never thought we’d nail it so soon. Can you believe it?”

  Martha was out of the wagon in an instant. “Gregory, are you okay?” she said taking him by the arm.

  Gregory pulled away from her and crawled out of the muck. “Think you’re funny, do you?”

  Daniel propped himself up on his elbows, a look of indignation on his face. “I wasn’t trying to be funny, I just—”

  “Scared us witless,” Gregory interrupted. “Not caring a lick how the rest of us might feel about your tricks.”
>
  “Now, Gregory,” said Mordecai, “Daniel still has to—”

  “Of course you’re defending him,” Gregory said, casting an accusing finger at Mordecai. “You always defend him. If I had spooked the horses like that, I’d be left without supper for a week!”

  “A bit melodramatic, aren’t we?” Mrs. Doppledodger said to Gregory, pursing her lips. She turned her attention to Daniel. “A fine landing, my boy. Next time do it further from the horses.”

  “A fine landing?” Gregory said, gritting his teeth. “You call sending our wagon off the road into a ditch a fine landing?”

  Martha placed a hand on Gregory’s filthy shoulder. “Gregory, Daniel was only trying to—”

  “Not you, too! Daniel the Perfect, the boy who could do no wrong. Even when he does do something wrong, people make excuses for him. What were you thinking, Daniel? That you’d have a bit of fun at our expense?”

  Daniel rose to his feet, a look of dejection on his face. “No, Gregory. Really, I wasn’t trying to frighten anyone.”

  “Oh—so you admit it, then. You were showing off! You’ve always been a pompous—”

  “Gregory, that’s enough,” said Mordecai.

  “Arrogant—”

  “Gregory!”

  “Snot-nosed little braggart! Why don’t you and your buzzard-brained pet fly off and get lost? We don’t want you or your stupid exhibitions.”

  The pained look on Daniel’s face gave Gregory an immense feeling of satisfaction. He knew he had hit him where it hurt.

  “That’s right,” Gregory continued. “I’m the only one who’s willing to say what everyone thinks, you puffy little peacock. Nobody likes you. You hear that?”

  Daniel’s head dropped as he studied the grass. Gregory tossed a look over his shoulder at the others—Mordecai was red faced, lip curled; Mrs. Doppledodger shook her head with dismay. The children and Martha gaped at him like guppies. But Jude, Jude had a curious half smile, as if he were relishing the whole thing.

  “Gregory,” Martha said the way she always did when Gregory crossed the line. But he didn’t care.

  “And another thing—”

  “No,” said Daniel, his head rising, eyes red. “No more. You’ve made your point.”

  Gregory let out a scoffing laugh. “Are you crying, Daniel? Oh, come on!”

  Daniel swung his leg over Shade’s back, refusing to look back. He dug his heels into her side and she broke into a run toward the distant hills, his cloak billowing out behind him as they shot up into the sky.

  “So, Gregory,” said Jude, eyebrow raised. “Why don’t you tell us how you really feel?”

  * * *

  Daniel pulled his cloak tightly about him as he surveyed the sea of green hills that seemed to roll endlessly before them. A curtain of icy air had fallen across the land, howling down from the north. On the horizon, thunderheads of thick-bellied clouds rumbled and flickered, threatening to burst.

  “Steady girl, steady,” Daniel said, stroking Shade’s neck as she wobbled in the gusts. They had flown as far from the caravan as they could get, all the while Daniel’s mind lost in the swirl of Gregory’s insults. It was the bite of wind and the sudden detection of the mass of water heading toward them that pulled Daniel from his thoughts. He clutched his staff tightly in his right hand, ready, while his left controlled Shade’s reins. “There’s hail in those clouds—I can feel it. Could damage your wings.” He looked over his shoulder, back the way they had come; the caravan was nowhere in sight. “All the better,” he muttered, deciding the storm would be preferable to another of Gregory’s tirades. “We need to find cover.”

  He spotted a creek bed, lined by a swath of trees slithering across the ground to the east.

  “Let’s hope this rain cools Gregory’s temper,” said Daniel as he redirected Shade toward the trees, decreasing in altitude as they grew near.

  A whir rushed passed Daniel’s ear. Startled, he spotted the tail end of an arrow as it disappeared to the ground below.

  “What on earth—”

  Daniel yelped as another arrow grazed his shoulder, tearing his cloak and skin. Below, just in front of the wooded area, a mob of dark figures huddled, calling out in inaudible voices. Daniel yanked Shade left as another flurry of arrows shot passed them.

  “To the caravan, Shade!” called Daniel, digging his heals into her side.

  She took a dip, tucked her wings, and then flipped, reversing direction so abruptly that Daniel lost his breath. He looked back over his shoulder to see the dark figures reloading. Suddenly, a roar ruptured the sky. Daniel raised his eyes in horror, flecks of sleet stinging his cheeks. A wyvern’s head, red eyes aglow, emerged from the black wall of clouds. Upon its back was crouched a hooded figure, holding a pair of spinning bolas raised above his head.

  “To the ground, Shade! To the—”

  The bolas shot through the air, wrapping around Shade’s right wing with a snap. She let out a pained screech, beating her free wing as they careened toward the ground. Huge drops of rain began battering them from above, and the world was nothing more than a rolling blur.

  We’re dead, we’re dead, we’re dead, was Daniel’s only thought.

  Shade let out another pitiful cry, gurgling and terrified.

  Daniel locked his eyes on a spot of the ever-turning ground and pointed his staff. Below, a cluster of raindrops rushed together, filling into a ball. He feared it wouldn’t be large enough to break their fall; they splashed into the sphere in an explosion of water.

  Daniel rolled off Shade’s back and into a tree. The world was still spinning as he tried to stand; he collapsed onto his stomach.

  “Shade,” he groaned waiting for his vision to settle. He rose to his knees and crawled to her side.

  “Are you hurt?” Daniel asked as he frantically disentangled the bolas from her wing.

  Shade blinked up at him, dazed, as if she could not hear him. Her ears suddenly perked and her eyes came into focus.

  Angry cries were headed toward them.

  Daniel seized Shade by the collar and tugged her into the trees. They wove in and out of the slick-trunked cedars and oaks, down to a sloping creek bed littered with boulders. He pulled Shade behind a slab of jutting grey stone right at the base of the creek, trying in vain to silence her nervous squawks.

  Fear like he had never known gripped his entire being. They were being hunted, and there was murder in the cries that pursued them. There was no time—no time to formulate a plan. If they fought they would be overwhelmed. Flight was their only hope.

  “They went into them trees,” croaked a gravelly voice. “I’ll strangle that Miraclist myself, I will. Just let me get my claws round his skinny little neck!”

  “As long as I get a bite of that bird, I’ll be satisfied,” snapped another voice.

  Goblins! thought Daniel as he clamped his hand down over Shade’s beak.

  “The gryphon is mine—do her no harm,” said the steely-calm voice of Rasta Murk.

  “We don’t work for you, human,” snarled the deep goblin voice. “Boss says he wants that scroll—didn’t mention no gryphon. Besides, my men’s had nuffin’ to eat but stinkin’ mudfish for weeks.”

  “I don’t care if you’ve had nothing to eat but the fleas off your backs and the maggots between your toes,” Rasta replied. “If you touch the gryphon, I will cut you down.”

  Suddenly, the group fell silent. Daniel gripped his staff with misty palms, his heart pounding inside of his chest like a jungle drum. He was afraid—afraid to die; afraid of losing Shade, and even more afraid to kill. Perhaps they could negotiate; he would give them what they wanted and maybe they would let them go.

  His thoughts went to Mordecai. What would he have him do? This time, there would be no Jude and Gregory to save him. Gregory—the short-sighted fool. If he only knew the burden— the danger—Daniel had taken on by becoming a rider, he would never have asked to be trained.

  Shade nudged his elbow, gazing up at him with s
inking, golden eyes. Daniel’s breathing slowed. They were after Shade, he realized. He knew their terms: hand her over or die. He stared down at her a moment, the weight of his decision pressing down on him.

  “I’ll not let them have you,” he whispered, anger rising inside him. “I promise.”

  He was a Miraclist, one of the greatest warriors of the realm, he thought. If any blood was to be spilled it would not be his. It would not be hers. But they still had a chance, a chance to escape. No one had to die…

  “Run for it, Shade! Run!”

  Daniel gave Shade a tug and rushed out from behind the rock, colliding into the chests of four, hideous creatures—goblins, with jaundice-green skin, backs hunched like sewer-rats, and greasy dark hair tied behind their heads. They bore yellowed fangs as they barred Daniel’s way with crudely-fashioned spears and round shields, their rusted armor clinking as the rain fell from the trees. Daniel turned on his heel only to be met by five more goblins, bows pulled back, corded arms twitching as they prepared to let their black arrows fly.

  “Move another mite and I send this arrow straight through your eye,” muttered their leader, a thick goblin with a pronounced under-bite and aquiline nose. He gave a nod to the spearmen. They set their weapons down and pulled ropes from off their backs.

  Daniel eyed the points of their arrows—half of them pointed directly at Shade. If he fought now, she would die.

  “Down, girl,” he said, silencing the low growl in her throat.

  A goblin pitched forward, wrapping Shade’s neck in a noose and yanked her to the ground.

  “I’ll take that,” grunted another, snatching Daniel’s staff.

  The shadow of Rasta Murk passed behind the goblins.

  “Bozark, did you see any others?” asked Rasta to the goblin’s leader.

  “None. The rest of ‘em are about half a league down the main road.”

  “You’re sure of it?”

  The goblin’s lip curled in annoyance. “We’ve been tracking that caravan for days—I’ve got scouts on the ridge, eyeing ‘em as we speak. This runt’s the only one to venture out; the rest is accounted for.”