by Ron Root
While the Jacaí scouted for an alternate route, the others rested. He could not. Every moment of delay decreased chances of saving Lavan. Despite his despair, he refused to give up.
Darkness finally forced the Jacaí’s return. Dzojek looked grim. “I am sorry Máistir, but we find no other pathway.”
After eating, they bedded down. Jarek’s troubled mind had him tossing and turning all night, unable to blank out his worries. Ultimately, however, his weary body succumbed, and sleep claimed him.
“Máistir Jarek, awaken!” Dzojek was shaking him. It was morning.
“What is it?”
“Look! Bultúr!”
Circling above were two raptors, each bearing a rider. These new arrivals landed their birds in an adjacent field. Rajko and Dzojek rushed to greet their fellow Jacaí, hugging and chattering with the new arrivals. The others held back, granting them privacy, even Caitlyn, who shared their language.
Jarek was waiting for Rajko and Dzojek to introduce them when all four Jacaí suddenly mounted their bultúrs and flew away.
Hagley chased after them. “Wait!”
Stunned, Jarek grabbed Caitlyn’s elbow. “Have they truly forsaken us? Do the Jacaí despise your people that much?”
She watched them depart. “I would not have thought it, yet it seems so.”
Everyone watched, speechless. It was no longer a question of whether they’d make the Nexus on time, but rather if they’d make it anywhere. They sat, despondent, discussing their options. With cliffs in front of them and The Haunt behind them, they came up with none. Lacking a meaningful plan, all they could do was wait and hope the Jacaí returned.
Around midday, six bultúr appeared on the horizon, wings pounding. One had two riders, each of the others one. This time, everyone rushed to the field when they landed.
Although Jarek had seen Dzojek’s bird when Goodricke killed it, it was dead, lying on its side. This was his first close-up view of a living, breathing raptor. Chests heaving, loud puffs escaped their gasping mouths as they struggled to regain their breath. Long of neck, it was their huge wingspan that was most impressive. If two men were to lay head-to-head, they wouldn’t span its wing. Their pointed beaks were nearly the length of a man.
“Greetings, my friends,” Dzojek said. He sat behind another Jacaí on the lead bird. “I beg pardon at leaving you to wonder for so long, but my people had many decisions to make where you are concerned. As Máistreás Caitlyn knows, we Jacaí have little love of her people, but Rajko and I explained how you saved us. For that they grant you audience to plead your case to be flown to the volcano. But you are large, much more so than we Jacaí. We are unsure if the bultúr can carry such weight. We are here to see.”
Goodricke, Gresham and Hagley mounted the largest three bultúr, with Caitlyn and him assigned to smaller birds. Caitlyn’s rider did a test flight. Although the bird struggled to get airborne, once in the air, it seemed to bear the added weight well. One by one, the remaining birds joined it. They were finally heading for Jacaíoi.
Jarek had never considered himself cowardly, but sitting on the neck of a bird, staring down at sure death exceeded his bravery. With eyes pinched shut, he clung to a man half his size.
Angry at himself over his fear, he opened one eye. From this height, not only could he see The Haunt, its green canopy filling the valley beyond, but he could make out what had to be A’ryth off in the distance. But as astounding as the view was, he closed his eye again. He’d remember what he’d seen and peek no more. He gripped the Jacaí flyer even tighter.
Things worsened when they reached Jacaíoi. His bird swerved and dove, plummeting toward its perch. Jarek tasted bile as he clung like a frightened child to his diminutive guide’s waist. Fanning its wings, the bultúr landed abruptly on a perch, nearly tossing Jarek. It folded in its wings and its rider leaped off. Jarek slid off too, wobbling on shaking legs.
Having landed, his friends babbled on about their miraculous rides, clearly having found it exciting. Not him. Even with his feet safely on the ground, he was convinced his stomach was still somewhere aloft.
Bultúr perches lined their rocky ridge. A stone’s throw below was Jacaíoi. It was little more than a village. As with A’ryth, its homes had been carved from rock, but these had been forged with sweat and hammer, not A’rythian magic. Doorways had been fashioned by stuffing wooden planks into craggy openings. Stacked stones formed chimneys, and clothing hung from vines strung across crude balconies. Jarek counted no more than three score of huts. The Jacaí were few in number. Villagers stood outside their homes, staring at the new arrivals as Jarek and the others followed Dzojek down the trail to meet them.
The afternoon was spent relating their experiences to the Jacaí council, a group tantamount to the A’rythian Elders. The council’s foremost concern was whether or not they’d killed the Crone. Most other questions concerned the tribulations of Rajko, Dzojek and their birds. Only after a full recounting of those adventures did they question Jarek on his encounter with Zakarah, albeit with limited interest. It was obvious that reaching the Nexus was his concern, not theirs. He was promised a morning decision as to whether or not the bultúrs would attempt the long flight to the volcano. That meant he’d not make it to the Nexus on time.
Their hosts treated them well. Evening found them well fed and rested but did little to assuage Jarek’s horror at having failed in his quest. He sat cleaning tobacco from his pipe, watching the moons converge. Suddenly a brilliant rainbow of aethers burst from the moons to some distant place. Colors sparkled, then faded. He’d just witnessed the final Nexus and he wasn’t there. He’d failed the person who relied on him most.
He tried to reach him. Lavan!
There was no response.
Lavan, we didn’t make it on time, but we’re still coming.
Lavan!
Still no answer. Jarek buried his face in his hands, wondering if this was how Ewan felt. Forgive me, old friend.
Bolcán
A very excited messenger interrupted Jarek’s sleep. “Máistir Jarek, I bear great tidings. The council has consented to fly you to the Bolcán.”
To finally hear good news lifted Jarek’s spirits.
A short time later, Dzojek escorted the travelers to the bultúr corral, informing them that neither he nor Rajko would accompany them, explaining that each rider trains his own steed, to be flown by no other. “Rajko and I will visit the nests today to select our chicks. We will not fly them until they are fully grown and seasoned.”
A bultúr and flyer were assigned to each of them. The Jacaíoi had rigged the bultúrs with saddle and harness. Once all passengers were aboard, the giant birds took flight. They were on their way to the volcano.
Cool winds buffeted Jarek’s face. Thankfully, he felt far more secure sitting in a harness, enough so to brave a peek below. It seemed as if he could see the entire world from up here. Despite his apprehensions, he found it exhilarating.
By mid-day they’d quit the mountains and were soaring over the sea. Reefs dotted the seascape everywhere below. No wonder the Portsmouth seamen refused to enter these waters. Seals basked atop the rocks. The sight of normal-looking creatures was comforting after the abominations of The Haunt, but it did nothing to lessen his anguish at having missed the final Nexus—Zakarah had threatened to kill Lavan if Jarek wasn’t there with the desired relics.
The flight took half the day. “Bolcán,” his flyer yelled over the wind, pointing. A large island loomed in the distance, a smoking mountain at its center.
The riders soared inland to a small lake. Landing, the thirsty bultúr drank their fill. While Goodricke checked his previous night’s bearings, Jarek joined Caitlyn in refilling their water skins. “Do you think the Jacaí might fly us to the Nexus site?”
Caitlyn looked over at the riders. “I fear not. The day wears long, and bultúrs don’t fly at night. The Jacaí will want to return home, but I will see.”
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nbsp; As she headed over to discuss it, the bultúrs started flapping their wings and hopping about, cawing, clearly agitated. The riders grabbed the birds’ reins, trying to calm them, but the frantic birds grew even more agitated, leaping and pulling so hard that the Jacaí were forced to jump into their saddles. When one of the distressed animals suddenly took flight, the others followed.
Prey! Entered Jarek’s mind. It was mind speak! Was Zakarah near?
A huge serpent came flying low across the lake, eyeing the fleeing bultúr. It gave chase, and flying much faster, caught the trailing bird. The terrified bird let loose a pitiful wail. It was silenced with a chomp from its attacker’s jaw. Its body went limp as its rider fell out of his saddle, plummeting into the sea below. The Jacaíoi now numbered one fewer. Jarek wondered which of the fliers had been lost. Was it his? By now the remaining bultúr were little more than fading specks on the horizon.
With the dead bultúr clutched in its maw, the beast descended, splashing into the lake near to shore.
“To me!” Jarek yelled, ducking behind a log. The others came running, but before they could reach him, a mind-blast overwhelmed him. His muscles froze. The others tumbled to their knees. It was a binding spell! The creature was gifted.
Hagley and Caitlyn had fallen only feet from him. Gresham lay next to them. “Join hands!” Jarek urged, resisting the binding enough to crawl to them. They linked. “Initiate ceangailte, Hagley!”
Feeling the now familiar surge, Hagley countered the binding. Jarek’s lethargy vanished. The others were moving too—save for Goodricke who knelt in the dirt, watching the avian walk out of the lake, its long-barbed tail whipping the air behind it.
It eyed them. Supporting its weight on two powerful-looking hind legs, it spread its giant wings to either side and lowered them to the ground, balancing itself on elbowed claws attached to its wings.
It snorted, then shook its body. Muscles rippled front to back, spewing water everywhere. Intelligent eyes with vivid golden irises encased its dark oval pupils scoured the area. They made looking anywhere else impossible. The creature was as magnificent as it was terrifying.
“What sort of beast is that?” Gresham whispered.
“I believe it’s a dragon, something I’d not believe existed were I not seeing it with my own eyes.”
The beast rose, his gaze shifted to Goodricke. Snapping its head back and forth, it shook the bultúr’s carcass. Prey! Then, tossing the bultúr aside, it waddled toward a trembling Goodricke.
Goodricke’s dread was palpable. His eyes fluttered shut when the beast brought its enormous head close, sniffing, smelling him. It reared back, shook its head, and sneezed, spewing spittle all over Goodricke, then turned toward Jarek and the others. It blinked. The binding vanished. Even Goodricke was able to move now. Screaming, he leaped away.
“Goodricke! No!” Jarek shouted. “Remain still!”
The dragon reared, bellowed a frightful roar, then waddled back to the dead bultúr. Gripping it in its jaws, it flapped its massive wings and lifted off the ground. They ducked as it passed overhead and veered out over the lake. Driving its great wings, it sped off with its catch, back in the direction from which it had come.
“Praise the gods that it already captured a meal,” Jarek said, letting out a puff of air. He turned back around, “Did the rest of you hear its mind-speak?”
Caitlyn nodded. “It called us prey.”
“It felt like the thing was inside my head,” Gresham added, watching the dragon fade from sight.
Hagley was on his knees, cradling his head. “It’s still in mine.”
“You’re still hearing it?”
“No,” he said, rocking back and forth, “It’s just that… well, I know it’s still within me!”
Jarek was learning to trust the young magus’s instincts. “Tell me if you sense anything unusual.”
He walked over and placed his hand on a rather pale-faced Goodricke’s shoulder. “How about you… are you all right?”
Goodricke swallowed. “I believe so, milord. Although moments ago, I’d not have said the same. From the moment that thing arrived I found myself unable to move.”
“It was the same of the rest of us until we countered its spell.” He scratched his chin. “Interestingly it continued to think of you as prey, but not us. Perhaps it’s because you’re not gifted.” He looked up. “At least it’s gone.” He tapped Goodricke’s tritant. “Can this thing locate the Nexus in daylight?”
“No, but it still has last night’s readings. Although not exact, they should get us fairly close.” Kneeling, he checked the settings. “It’s lies in the same direction that creature went. Dare we follow?”
Jarek sighed. “What choice have we? Let’s hope it and the Nexus aren’t too close.”
Donning their gear, they worked their way around the lake. Flat sands and waist-high ocean grass blanketed their route, making for an easy skirt of the water. Once past the lake, those scattered shrubs and small trees gave way to thicker, taller foliage. By the time they reached the foothills, the dense underbrush all but stopped their progress. Lacking a means to cut through it, they backtracked, seeking an easier route. While doing so they stumbled upon a creek flowing in the right direction. The walked it. Although soaking their feet, it proved a far easier walk—until they reached the waterfall.
Their stream cascaded over and down a cliff-side, its roar echoing off the surrounding cliffs. Jarek crawled to its precipice and looked. The others joined him. The creek laced its way over a pair of rocky ledges, emptying into a huge pond perhaps forty paces below. A small creek flowed out its other side, creating a fen on the pool’s far side. Although considerably larger than the pools at the first two Nexuses, its resemblance to them was uncanny, leaving little doubt that they’d found the final Nexus site.
However, laying near the water’s edge beside its half-eaten bultúr, was the dragon, looking their way. A half dozen other carcasses lay nearby, most little more than picked over skeletons.
“It sees us, Uncle,” Gresham whispered.
“Yet it doesn’t threaten. It could have harmed us at the lake, but did not. The gods willing, it won’t here either.”
“Magus,” Hagley interrupted, pointing. “Look! A body!”
Laying among other much larger corpses, right at the cliff’s base, was what appeared to be human remains. “Gods no, please don’t let it be,” Jarek whispered. “I’m going down for a closer look. The rest of you stay here. If that thing comes after me, run like hell!”
He’d need to traverse both ledges to reach the bottom. He climbed over the boulder that had been shielding him, and after a few slips and scrapes, managed to reach the middle layer. Another twenty paces below was the second ledge. It was far easier to manage, and he made it the bottom without incident.
Wary, he crept toward the corpse, eyeing the dragon. Would it continue to simply watch, or was he walking to his doom? The corpse lay face down. Kneeling, he touched it. It felt cold. Whoever it was had been dead for some time. He rolled the body over, “No!” he gasped. The dead eyes staring up at him belonged to Lavan. Cradling his friend, he rocked back and forth, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Gods! I failed you my friend. All that risk I put my companions through was for naught. I didn’t get here in time. Oh, to speak with you one more time and tell you how sorry I am.”
Suddenly the impact of that thought struck him. How long had Lavan been dead? Did his soul yet linger? Could he still commune with his friend like he’d done with Rajko’s bultúr?
Lavan! It’s, Jarek. Can you hear me?
Nothing!
A shadow suddenly blocked the sun. Heart pounding, he whipped his head around, fearing he’d be face-to-face with the dragon. He wasn’t. His friends had joined him. “Gods! I feared you were the beast.”
Goodricke knelt beside him. “It’s the headmaster!”
“Yes, we were too late.”
Hagley’s
head snapped around, looking toward the dragon, his face pale. “What’s wrong?” Jarek asked.
Hagley gave him odd look. “Aren’t you seeing it?”
“Seeing what? Out with it boy, what’s happening?”
Hagley looked back at the dragon. “It’s sending images—of you removing a chain from the headmaster’s neck and talking into it.”
Of course! Lavan’s orb. How had the creature known? He reached inside Lavan’s shirt and pulled out his pendant. He touched his ring to it. Lavan! It’s Jarek. Can you hear me?
Jarek? Is it really you? came a distant whisper.
Hagley’s eyes widened.
Jarek saw it. “Can you hear us?”
Hagley nodded, his stunned gaze returning to the dragon.
How had the Hagley heard without an orb? Did the beast have something to do with it, or was this part of the lad’s strange gift? “You’re a most interesting young man, Hagley.”
Jarek! Are you still there?
Lavan’s plea drew him back to the task at hand. Yes, old friend, it’s me.
Where am I? I feel empty, as if I’m floating.
Did he not realize? Jarek closed his hands around Lavan’s pendant. You’re with me, my friend.
But where?
You’re dead. You’re are merely an essence now; locked within your ruby. I’m holding it now.
A long pause. Yes, I remember now—Zakarah slew me. Another pause. That necklace was supposed to bring good fortune. Where was its luck when I needed it most? I clearly wasted my coin.
Despite the situation’s gravity, Jarek couldn’t help but chuckle. Not so—it still holds your orb. Because of that, we’re still able to speak—to say our goodbyes. For how much longer, I cannot say.
Even though I’m dead? You really can talk with ghosts then. A long pause. Does that mean I can only speak with you? If so, I truly am in hell—a high price for my life’s misdeeds. So, I now reside in a jewel, eh? How did that come about?
I wish I knew. There’s a creature only just paces away that likely played a role in all this.