by F M Andrews
“She is well. I can take you to her but I have to be touching you. I can’t explain now. Please, we are running out of time,” he pleaded desperately, hoping that he had enough strength to fulfil his promise.
The battle fury was raving through Syran’s blood and it took a moment before reason reasserted itself. A moment that they could not spare as the dark dragons were gaining height rapidly.
“Yonla needs you,” Turrin cried in anguish. “You will be no use to anyone dead.” This last plea must have pierced the fog, as Syran pivoted in mid-air and dived straight towards Turrin.
His heart leapt. His reservoir of talent was nearly empty and he found it incredibly hard to reach for the earth's power. It was elusive and kept slipping from his grasp. This was not the time to give up. As soon as Syran landed he ran to him, touched his leg and imagined Yonla and the rocks. Incredibly, a world of power surged across their connection. Was it the shard or was it Syran’s own power? It did not matter. It was there and it made the leap possible.
Yonla’s surprised face was a welcome sight but her expression soon turned to concern when she saw Syran’s battered and torn body. Their reunion was touching and so poignant that Turrin felt as if he were intruding on something quite personal. The large silver wobbled and then sank down to the ground, no longer able to stand. Yonla sighed and stepped back, shaking her head. “I am not sure if I have the power to heal so many wounds. I don’t know how you are even alive,” she murmured. Closing her eyes, she rested the tip of her nose on his shoulder and began a deep, rhythmic hum.
As a healer himself, Turrin was fascinated and crept closer until he was leaning against Syran’s side. He could feel Yonla’s power coursing through the big dragon’s veins and arteries, searching out damage and speeding the healing process needed. It was a beautiful thing to watch and Turrin was enthralled. It was so fascinating that it took him a moment to notice that her power was being drained at an alarming rate. Wondering if he could boost it, he surreptitiously formed a triangle between the three of them, feeding power he received from Syran and the shard back to Yonla. It was a risky thing to do. There were so many unknowns and only time would tell if he had made the right decision. The world shrunk, encompassing Syran’s injuries and Yonla’s power and by the time the last wound had been healed the sun was just about to dip below the mountains. Everyone was exhausted and fell asleep where they were, in one big jumble of limbs and wings.
The next morning brought with it such heartache. What had happened? Who were those dark dragons and where had they come from? Turrin had so many questions and Syran valiantly tried his best to answer them. “They are most likely a group of young males who have left an overcrowded Den somewhere to try and found a Den of their own,” Syran said. “Some communities do not restrict their births and end up with too many mouths to feed. It is a hard lesson to learn. Our Den learned it quickly because we did not have a lot of food. Other colonies with more resources take longer. I don’t know why they attacked; maybe they thought it was the only way to gain a home of their own and maybe,” he sighed, “they were right?” Syran stared off towards the basin, his eyes unfocused, seeing it how it used to be and not how it was now. Turrin sat deep in thought, digesting Syran’s words, mulling over his options.
Ultimately he knew that he would have to talk Syran into coming with him to Feld. In some ways the raid had made his job easier, as now, he did not feel as if he were wrenching the silver away from his happy existence but in other ways it had become harder, because Syran was going through a terrible ordeal and Turrin would be asking him to take on more risk and go into the unknown. Another thought crossed his mind. What about Yonla? She was on her own now. Syran would never leave her. Turrin wondered if he could bring her with them to Feld. Errin had said nothing about bringing others, but he did not know for sure.
He stood, no longer able to sit still, and began pacing, trying to find a way out of the maze of thoughts that surrounded him. What were the facts he was certain of? He knew that Syran was the shard’s host and that somehow he boosted Turrin’s power. He knew that time was running out and that he needed to get his parchment back to find out exactly when he had to be at the pickup point. That was all he knew. Great, not a lot to go on then, he thought ruefully, but deep down he knew one more thing for certain and that was that he had to talk to Syran now. He could put it off no longer.
Kicking up dust, he made his way back to the silver, who was sunning himself beside one of the large boulders, eyes closed, recovering, his wing still not air worthy. Turrin plopped down next to him, steeling himself. Idly he started playing with his belt buckle as he tried to think of the perfect opening line but after a moment he realized that there just wasn’t one. “Syran,” he began hesitantly, “I need to tell you something.” The big dragon opened his eyes, lowered his head and looked at Turrin expectantly. “I think it is time I told you the reason I am here.” Turrin swallowed nervously, still focusing on his belt. “The place I come from is far away,” he said, trying start at the beginning. “In fact it is on another world.”
Syran blinked but remained silent.
“On my world there is a great and powerful lady that has been fighting a force of evil for a long, long time and she needs your help.” Encouraged by Syran’s silence Turrin launched into a full explanation about Zail, Feld, the shard and the fact that time was running out.
Syran blinked once more, lifted his tail and peered at the beautiful gem in its tip with renewed interest. “I always felt that this was special somehow but now I wonder if it is a curse or a blessing. It is a lot to digest, little one, especially at this time. There are so many possible paths stretching out away from this moment and it will take very careful consideration to be able to choose the best one. I am not sure if I can leave my friends and family to those butchers. I could not live with myself if I didn’t at least try to save them; however, I can see that there is more at stake than my pride and my family.”
Turrin nodded understanding, his mind racing. There had to be a way he could help, he just hadn’t thought of it yet.
If Errin was to have any hope of beating Zail she had to have Syran and the shard. The problem was that he was not sure how to ask a grown dragon to abandon his family and his community in their worst time of need. It was so unfair that this task had fallen on his shoulders; after all, he was only twelve turns old and totally unprepared for anything like this. They sat together in silence for some time, each buried deep in their own thoughts. The huge responsibility weighing heavily on both them.
Turrin began to create crazy rescue scenarios in his head yet they all fell apart, because he could not predict what was happening down in the basin. So, he reasoned, the first thing they had to do was go and take a look. Syran did not take much convincing and as soon as he could trust his wing again, late that evening, they leapt to Syran’s cave hoping to stay hidden. This time though, Turrin was prepared for a quick getaway if it turned out to be occupied. Luck was with them and they arrived to an empty cave. Turrin was amazed by the power that was suddenly available through his connection with Syran. It was exhilarating and exciting.
Making their way carefully to the entrance, they waited a moment to let their eyes adjust before creeping forward. Despite the situation, Turrin couldn’t help but smile at Syran’s attempt at creeping. It was obviously something dragons did not do well. Nevertheless, they were not noticed and a quick scan of the basin showed that no dragons were airborne. When they finally reached the ledge and peered down into the basin floor, the reason for this became all too clear. A scene, almost too abhorrent to take in, was playing out on the ground below them. A terrified huddle of tattered survivors were corralled by a ring of menacing invaders. A ragged pile of discarded bodies was heaped unceremoniously off to one side, explaining why there were no adult males among the captives. A large mottled brown was marching back and forth, trumpeting loudly. Turrin tuned in.
“From this day forth only the righteous will be a
llowed to occupy this Den. We, the chosen, claim it and only true believers will be permitted to live within it. A divine being appeared to us in the wilderness and told of the sinners you had become. He told us that you denied and controlled the natural process of birth to suit your own needs rather than to have God’s children as he has ordained, and for this you must all be punished. This divine being bestowed on us the righteous task of purging this sinful Den and the duty to bring it back to his teachings.”
Turrin shuddered. This had to be Zail’s doing. The terrifying thought was, ‘How did he know to target this community at this time?’ Had Turrin inadvertently alerted him to the shard? He was paralyzed with fear until reason slowly reasserted itself. If Zail knew the shard was here he would have come himself. He had no need for bully boys. This was just Zail being Zail, creating havoc, misery and destruction wherever he could. Almost with a sigh of relief, Turrin once again tuned into the action being played out below.
“Because of your sins, all your lives are forfeit but as we can also show mercy, we will spare some of the more worthy,” the leader continued in his cringingly self-righteous voice.
“I bet they will only show mercy to anyone who happens to be young and female,” Syran snorted with derision and as if to prove him right, the captors moved forward, singling out young, adult females.
“All who have been chosen are to stay here. The rest are to follow me,” the large mottled brown bellowed, turning and making his way toward the heaped mound of tattered bodies. Turrin watched in horror as young ones were ripped from wailing mothers and the elderly were harried and baited just for fun. It was obvious what was about to happen and Turrin knew there was no way either Syran or himself could stand by and do nothing. One youngster made a dash for it, taking flight, spiralling upwards but before Turrin or Syran could come to his aid, he was snatched from the air and soon his lifeless body was being added to the heap of other discarded lives.
Turrin’s heart broke at the sight of one old dragon being helped by a child as the sad line of survivors trailed behind the large, mottled brown. His jaw clenched and his throat ached with tears denied. How could they kill these innocents in cold blood? How could they justify it? The pitiful trek did not take long and all too soon the weeping group were assembled in front their dead.
“They haven't even got the decency to give the dead to the Wonderfalls,” Syran cried in disbelief. He sounded hollow as if he were emptied out of any will or hope.
“I would like to throw them down the waterfall,” Turrin murmured, picturing it in his mind. Syran turned and stared at Turrin, wide eyed, as the same thought struck them both. Of course! Why hadn't they thought of this before? It would require precise timing and courage but it was possible. They had to act now before anyone else died. Turrin clambered up to his usual seat on Syran’s back and focused on a spot right above the leader. This was the first time that he had had to be so precise. Too far from the brown and they would lose the element of surprise and, of course, they did not want to land on top of him. It was also the first time he had ever attempted two or maybe three leaps in quick succession. Turrin was hoping that their combined power would be enough to transport three but this was all new to him and never been tried before. It was not the time for doubts, the more they delayed the more lives would be lost.
“Ready?” Turrin called
“Let’s do this. It is time for revenge!” Syran bellowed at the top of his voice, causing all below to look up.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Taking advantage of the distraction, Turrin leapt.
His judgement was good and, materializing again just behind and above the mottled brown, Syran reached out with his foreleg and made contact. Another blink, and all three of them were transported to the darkness, a hand’s breadth above the thunderous falls. Syran had extended his wings in anticipation but the vicious brute had no such luxury, and for a split moment of disorientation it fell straight down into the powerful, enveloping torrent of water. There was no escape. Between the force of the water and the narrowness of the chasm it was impossible for it to open its wings. Thoughts of pure terror screamed in Turrin’s mind making him wince, then abruptly, as if a door had been slammed shut, all thoughts ceased. It was the end.
Both shivered; any excitement they may have felt about getting rid of a tormentor was somehow soured. Ending a life, no matter how evil the person was, did not feel like a victory. Turrin was amazed that he still had enough strength to return them to Syran’s cave once more; their combined ability to source power seemed to be limitless.
Once more, they looked down at the situation being played out in the basin below and noticed that, sadly, nothing much had changed. A new leader, a large black, had replaced the mottled brown and, if anything, it seemed even more fanatic than its predecessor. His followers were looking nervously about but it appeared that none were too upset to have lost a leader. ‘Everyone out for themselves, I suppose,’ Turrin thought.
“We have to do this again, don’t we?” Syran asked reluctantly.
Turrin sighed. He was so tired but there was no alternative, it had to be done. Deep down, he knew that sometimes the hardest things to do would also be the hardest things to live with if you didn’t do them. Sitting up straighter he gathered himself. “Okay let's go,” he said before his courage left him. This time it all happened so fast. In an instant another life ended. This was not fighting, this was murder. They had no choice. This was the only weapon they had at their disposal.
Transporting back to their vantage point, they were met with an encouraging sight. The invaders were definitely looking very concerned now and the basin survivors were beginning to fight back. “Time to try bluffing, I think,” Syran suggested with a cheeky grin. Turrin was beginning to be able to read the silver dragon’s facial expressions more easily, and he decided that this was definitely a grin full of mischief.
Syran flew to a promontory where he would be easily visible. Turrin hopped off and scuttled to one side. Rising up to his full magnificence, Syran opened his wings and loudly trumpeted a challenge to the remaining invaders.
“I am Syran,” he bellowed, “and I give you this one last chance to leave unharmed.” He paused to let the idea sink in and to let the sun glint off his beautiful silver scales.
Turrin smirked. He was such a show off when he wanted to be.
“If you do not take this offer, we will take you, one by one, to your deaths. You will never know when or where we will appear but you can be certain that we will come for you.”
“You cannot threaten us, little bug the largest of the males bellowed back. “We are not afraid of a tickling flea. Once we have dealt with this trash,” he swung his head low to indicate the cowering victims in front of him, “we will come and snap you up for fun.” The laughter that followed sounded a little crazy to Turrin but the big brown’s speech had rallied his cohorts. Turrin felt his hopes sink. They had tried but failed and now they had to follow through with their threat.
“I think that we should take out one of the lesser dragons. Maybe one of the followers this time,” Turrin mused. “At the moment they assume that only the leaders are being targeted, but if they think that anyone can become a victim they might not be so keen to stay anymore.”
“Yes, I think you are right,” Syran answered, carefully considering each enemy in turn. Finally he picked a smallish grey who was guarding the group of young females. Although they were getting very proficient at this manoeuvre, they wanted to make more of a show of this one. Turrin sized up the distance and they leapt, Syran letting out a terrifying bellow as they arrived above their target. It jumped and let out a most un dragon like squeal, its face a mask of terror. All heads turned. Syran snarled and lunged and another life ended. The deaths were mounting up on Turrin, and he was feeling sick to the stomach. It was a horrifying way to die and each death was etched in great detail on his mind. He was not sure if he had the will, let alone the energy, for another.
&nbs
p; Leaping back to another promontory they were greeted by chaos. It took them a moment to make sense of it all. A battle was raging in the air high above the basin. It appeared as if some of the invaders had panicked and had taken flight only to become targets for their own kind. Meanwhile some of the captives had managed to escape and were mounting an attack of their own. Syran quickly assessed the situation and flew into action. Turrin watched in awe as the big silver dragon created mayhem and destruction amongst the brutal enemy. Each one of them was absolutely terrified of the marauding streak of silver. None wanted to be singled out, to be snatched away to their deaths, and all desperately tried to evade him at every turn. Syran used this fear to force them into the waiting jaws and claws of the newly rallied basin survivors. More and more tried to flee and eventually it turned into a rout. Turrin could not blame the survivors for their anger; however, that didn’t make it any easier to stomach some of the retributions handed out. In the end, only a handful of the enemy escaped back into the wilderness. They let them go, knowing that they would not last long out in the vastness alone. The basin was safe once more, although it would never be the same again. Too many lives had been lost.
The next few days were spent giving the dead a proper farewell, healing the wounded and getting rid of any evidence of the vicious brutes that had caused so much pain. The only physical reminder left was a pile of colour stones that stood as a sad testimony to the numbers lost. Through all this Turrin curbed his impatience. He had found his backpack with the parchment undamaged and discovered, to his dismay, that there were only five days left! He figured that it would only take two days to fly to the pickup point but that would be cutting it very close. There was no room for error. What if they could not find his pink island straight away? What if there was another sand storm? He knew that he had no alternative, he was going to have to force the issue with Syran.