The next part!
Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias
April 7, 708 CR
Gerhard prepared them some eggs the next morning before wishing them
a safe journey. It wasn't anything like he was used to finding at
Metamor, but after the long journey to Marzac, Lindsey found it a
welcome surprise. They thanked their host, gathered their gear, and
started out across the meadow heading east.
Pharcellus, being the tallest and strongest, was more than happy to
carry most of their gear. Lindsey insisted on hoisting one of his
packs, while Quoddy, being a bird, carried nothing. As soon as they
returned to the forest, Pharcellus found a slender branch, snapped it
free, and then smoothed the end with his knife. After ten minutes of
work he handed the three foot stick to Lindsey with a pleasant grin.
Lindsey beamed like a boy who'd just received his first knife.
The day dawned cold but not freezing. Dew glistened on all the grass,
and a few lazy clouds drifted through an otherwise bright blue sky.
The mountains were gray in shadow, cloaked at their base in a dark
verdigris sash of trees. The pond rippled with the gentlest of
breezes, and the fish danced at the surface snatching at the first of
the season's flies. A variety of sea birds flew through the sky and
Quoddy gazed at them with some longing. But he resisted the
temptation and settled in on Pharcellus's shoulder.
As the sun climbed in the sky the air warmed a little, but it would
not be until mid-morning at the earliest that Lindsey felt certain
the air would feel like Spring. Huddled in their furs, they hiked
through the forest trails heading east, with a little boy and his
memories as their guide. During the course of the night's sleep,
Lindsey had lain awake for several hours pondering who Gerhard was.
He wasn't quite sure when, but sometime before sleep claimed him he
recalled one time when his father took them to that very pond. He
hadn't remembered Gerhard because as a little girl Lindsey had been
too busy playing with Gerhard's eldest child to note who the child's
father was.
And with that memory came the certainty that he knew his way through
the forest back to his old home. He wondered with a little
trepidation just what he might find when he arrived there. Would his
parents recognize him this way, or would he endure an awkward
inspection and questions that he knew would be even more painful to
answer than they had been with Gerhard. At least Pharcellus could
vouch for him. Their dragon companion remained unusually silent
during their walk, but it suited Lindsey's mood just fine. He'd
rather reflect on his own as he lead them through the woods.
They saw some deer in the distance during the first hour of their
trek, but after that the forest, while still alive, offered up none
of its secret inhabitants. The only creatures they saw were a few
birds newly returned from their winter migration, and these occupied
branches far over their heads. All around them the forest breathed
softly, the only sounds the few errant chirps of birds and the
rustling of branches and needles one against another. Trees scratched
by bears were plenty, but their tormentors were nowhere to be found.
Hoofprints in the muddy loam spoke of elk and moose but apart from
the few that morning they saw no others signs.
Despite how quiet and peaceful the woodlands of southern Arabarb were
that morning, Lindsey walked with a wary step, eyes watching for
blinds and traps, and ears listening for the crush of twigs and
needles. He walked gently across the varied terrain, careful to step
neither in sucking mud nor across dry needles. Moss was his preferred
path, and this Arabarb was blessed with in abundance. Pharcellus was
careful to follow him and kept watch as well, but the dragon in
disguise did not appear as troubled or anxious as either Lindsey or Quoddy.
And in truth having a dragon, especially a friend like Pharcellus, to
watch his back brought the boy immense relief. If worse came to
worse, Pharcellus could always transform back into his might
gray-scaled form. Most would scatter and flee at the mere sight of
him, especially if he appeared in so surprising a way.
Shortly before midday they found themselves climbing a long hillside
that seemed to on up forever; one finger of the mountains that
stretched north several miles creating valleys on either side. But,
after fighting his way through some overgrown bushes, Lindsey emerged
onto a small ledge overlooking the eastern sloping valley with a good
view of the mountains, a small lake, and several cleared fields. A
large root jutted out from the nearby pine which had to be well over
a hundred years old. Lindsey let out a long breath, put his hands on
his knees, and then sat down on the root, almost panting from the
long climb up the hillside.
Pharcellus emerged behind him and stretched, a broad smile on his
face. Quoddy squawked and flapped to the ground after begin dislodged
from the dragon's shoulder. The gull preened himself after he landed,
noted that Lindsey had declared a short break, and sated himself with
looking around. Pharcellus, who now sported braids in his red hair,
and a small beard on his face which was also braided according to the
custom of the land, sighed as his blue eyes absorbed the panorama
before them. "It has been too long since last I was here. I've never
walked it though. How much further do we have?"
Lindsey stared down the valley, looking for a trail of smoke to make
his family's cottage but saw nothing but treetops, glistening water,
and bright green meadows. "Not quite an hour," he added after
catching his breath. He'd scaled far more arduous peaks than this
last year on their way to Marzac without exhausting himself so;
despite the claims of many Metamor made children, his youthful body
was not limitless in its energy.
He turned to his friend and asked, "When was the last time you came this way?"
Pharcellus stroked one of his new beard braids and licked his lip in
a very human gesture, something he must have watched Lindsey or
Gerhard or any number of still human Keepers do. "Well, I think it
would be the Autumn before that terrible invasion from Nasoj the
previous winter. The Duke and Misha had me running errands last
Spring, and well, you weren't here last Summer and Autumn to send
letters." His eyes brightened. "I do hope your father will offer a
feast in honor of our return! He always served the best roast mutton,
and I even like your mother's potatoes!"
Lindsey rubbed his tummy, feeling quite famished as soon as his
friend mentioned the prospect of food awaiting them at the end of
their journey. Quoddy also listened more attentively, but the dragon
offered no more morsels. Instead, he clasped his hands at his waist
and lowered his head and in a quieter voice added, "I hope we find
them in good health and cheer."
"Seeing their daughter now son should do that," Lindsey replied,
feeling a warmth come into his chest. Being a child one last time to
his parents was a very appealing idea. He swung his feet down and
hopped off the root. "Well, let's keep going."
The climb down was much quicker, taking them through wide swaths of
pine, fir, silver birch, and a few scattered oaks finally
surrendering last year's leaves. Moss and lichen covered every rock,
and bright wildflowers exploded wherever the sun reached a clear
patch of ground. The day was warm enough that Lindsey loosened his
cloaks and allowed the air to flow freely through his outer garments.
And, despite himself, Lindsey started to rush through the clearings,
heart beating faster and faster with each step. All he could think
about was what his father and mother would say when he arrived.
By the time they were half-way down the hillside, Lindsey began to
touch the trees as he passed, smiling and remembering each and
everyone, noting the little ways each had changed in the almost ten
years of growth they'd enjoyed since he'd seen them last. He
recognized the holes where owls or squirrels once lived during his
youth. And there at the base of a particularly sturdy oak was the
remnants of what had once been a fox's den. How well he remembered
the day that he'd spied some of the little kits emerging for their
first romp outside their den.
A twittering laugh burbled in his throat as they crossed the gentle
flats at the base of the hill, ducking and weaving past the trees and
bushes before reaching the broad clearing and lake. The water was
crystal smooth, rippling with a steady breeze that brought the sweet
fragrances of wildflowers and the refreshing odor of pine sap and
good solid stone. On the other side of the lake, nestled in the lee
of a defile and shrouded by the trees was a place he had long known and loved.
Lindsey's heart soared at the sight, and he began skipping through
the tall grasses, reeds, and purple and blue flowers swarming the
meadow. The cottage was larger than Gerhard's, mostly through the
effort of Lindsey's father Alfwig to add separate rooms for the
tanning of hides and the storage of meat through the pleasantly warm
summer months. And so their home had been an odd mix of stone and
hardwood, five different rooms spread out one after another, a small
cellar, and a warm crawlspace up above near the chimney. Lindsey well
remembered afternoons spent tucked away there watching them clean and
cook food.
But by the time Lindsey was halfway around the lake, the skipping
slowed as he took a closer look at his old home. The small windows
were dark and empty like a skull, while the main door hung open, one
of the hinges broken so that it dangled like a tooth knocked loose in
a bar brawl. Across the northern face the wood was blackened by fire.
The animal stalls stood empty and abandoned. Tools were left
scattered about, and a small barrow was upturned near the little
dock. The rowboat, still tied to the dock, had sunk so far only the
rim was visible above the water.
Lindsey broke into a sprint, with Pharcellus close behind. "Mother?
Father?" Lindsey cried as he kicked his way through the grasses and
burst out into what should have been his mother Elizabaeg's little
garden. Weeds choked what was left of her turnips and potatoes,
though the sharp tang in the air suggested that the leeks were
thriving. He did not stop there, but ran as fast as he could until he
reached the dislodged door and could peer inside.
The sun shone through the windows and revealed a home long deserted.
Cupboards all stood open, their contents strewn across the floor.
Earthenware mugs and plates lay in shards across the wooden floor,
the bear skin rugs torn in large patches for some beast's den. Bird
droppings littered the floor with them, as well as rats and at least
one fox. The table at which he'd eaten all his meals as a child was
still pressed against the wall with the windows over-looking the
lake, but the extra chair at the end was smashed, splinters jabbing
out of every crevice as if shoved there.
Face white, Lindsey breathed a single word, "No." He ran into the
house, kicking scraps and shards aside, pushing past the hides
marking each doorway, to stare into the other rooms. The first was
the small room beside the hearth that Alfwig had made for his
children. Two beds, one stacked atop the other stood against the
stone wall which was kept warm from the may fires they burned. A pair
of wooden trunks stood at either end for their clothing, and a small
shelf for their shoes.
Lindsey could well remember the many mornings snuggling beneath heavy
quilts and furs listening to the Spring and Summer rains patter
across the roof like birds dancing in an ornithological festival of
colorful plumage and bright melodious song. Or the way the dogs would
come in and lay beside the beds, or on cold nights climb atop and
share their warmth.
Now, while the beds still stood, the trunks were both caved as if
stomped, and the quilts and bedding were torn to shreds. Even the
rungs of the ladder Alfwig had built to let Andrig climb into the top
bunk had been broken, each and every one. Lindsey put out a hand to
that ladder, and then over the wood of the bed, gnarly knobs and all,
and trembled, tears starting to form.
He pushed away and drove into the adjacent room where their parents
slept, their bed also pressed against the backside of the hearth for
warmth. Their bed, where on the coldest and bitterest of nights when
the wind howled and snow struck their home so hard that the walls
winced from each lash they had all huddled together and sung songs
from the Canticles to warm both heart and body, had been cracked down
the middle, the canopy with its heavy fur-lined drapes tilted inward
like a wrecked sailing ship before sinking into the sea.
"Mother... Father..." Lindsey brushed the tears out of his eyes as he
turned from the wreck of the bed to see that their chests had also
been caved in and the contents stolen. Even the little looking glass
that Elizabaeg had kept in a drawer by their bedside had been taken
out and smashed. A small thing, just big enough to capture her face,
but now there was not a single piece left in the wooden holder that
could even snare an eye. And all of it was lit by a window burst
open, slats and panes in a desultory mess strewn across the floor.
Snow had even gathered in a few corners where the light couldn't
reach, all else around them was damp, and what wood lay on the ground
was rotten and festering with mold.
Lindsey pushed away, cheeks wet, and eyes bleary. He next found
himself in the little room at the back where Alfwig had tanned hides
and tended their beasts. Little stalls that had once been covered in
hay for the sheep when they were sheared now gaped empty and barren.
The bench and frame from which the hides hung and dried had been
broken and the splinters scattered about. The cabinet with his knives
had been forced open; many of the tools were missing entirely, and
those few that were left had been broken and bent until even a
blacksmith would have difficulty mending them.
Turning, Lindsey saw that the large anvil that Alfwig had used to
make his tools was still there, only toppled on its side next to a
small painted statue of Holy Mother Yanlin. Lindsey, hands shaking,
reached down and picked up the status and set it aright in the little
alcove in the wall where she had long stood and watched over them.
Lindsey knelt down once, made the sign of the Yew over his chest, and
then rose to see what other desolation lay in wait.
The last place to look was the stables. As soon as he entered he
heard a high-pitched growling from the horse stall on his left.
Lindsey stood on his tip toes and peered over the rim at a red fox
crouched in a corner of straw and torn bedding. He recognized several
patches of fur from the torn hides in the bedrooms amongst the
beast's rumpled nest. The fox, arched his back and growled at him,
jowls flecking spittle, slitted gold eyes darkening and fixed on him.
Lindsey felt a rage burn inside him at this little creature, this
invader. Looking around, he found an old horse shoe near his feet
amidst the ruin of splinter, hay, and fecal matter. He picked it up,
swung open the stall door, and flung the shoe at the fox. It smacked
the animal in the side, and it yipped in alarm. "Get out!" Lindsey
shouted at it, looking around for something else to throw.
As he turned away from the door to snatch a shaft of wood about a
foot long and an inch thick, the fox ran past him and darted out
through a hole in the wall. Lindsey flung the stick after it but it
bounced off the stone wall just above the little hole. And then, his
rage spent, the boy fell to his knees and started crying.
He beat his fists against the floor a the tears streamed down
youthful cheeks, his chest heaving with each sob like a bellows. A
pair of arms encircled him and he leaned back into the embrace,
sniveling and weeping. His mind was so beset by images of what could
have happened here that it took his a few moments to even realize he
was being held.
Lindsey rubbed the tears from his eyes with his sleeve and looked
down at Pharcellus's human arms wrapped about his middle. He tried to
turn his head, and then squirmed as his friend's grip was too tight.
Pharcellus let him go and sat back on a small pile of hay that hadn't
been completely ruined. His expression was somber and his eyes dark.
Lindsey took several deep breaths before nodding ever so slightly to
the dragon. "Thank you. I... I knew I might find this. But... oh
Mother! Oh Father!" He put his knuckles in his mouth and bit down
hard enough to still his thoughts. He would not cry again. He may
look like a child and feel like a child but he was not a child. He was a man.
"I didn't know it would be so bad," he muttered softly after putting
his hand back in his lap. He then managed to climb to his feet and
stared guiltily at the little hole in the wall. "I know I shouldn't
have tried to kill that fox. It didn't do anything to my family."
Pharcellus spoke softly, eyes never leaving Lindsey. "We don't know
where your family is. Quoddy is out searching the surrounding area.
He'll let us know if he finds anything."
In an empty whisper, Lindsey asked, "Even bodies?"
The dragon paused only a moment. "Aye. Even bodies."
Lindsey grabbed a bit of straw and swept a portion of the wooden
stable floor clear. He then sat down, and rested his forehead and
arms on his knees. He spoke into his legs, words desolate and numb.
"I hoped they would be here and all would be like it was before. I
hoped. But they aren't here. They haven't been for some time.
Everything I knew is gone. I don't have anything left."
They said nothing for a long time, just sitting on the floor, Lindsey
staring at his breeches when he wasn't pinching his eyes shut to keep
the tears at bay, and Pharcellus staring at him. The silence was
almost a painful thing for Lindsey, as there had rarely ever been a
silent moment in this house. But it was also numbing. He could
remember all the sounds, the blow of Alfwig's hammers, the gentle
singing of Elizabaeg as she sewed or cooked, the laughter of Andrig
as he devised some new game to play, the barking and baying of
hounds, the snorting of boars, the stomping of the horses, and the
lowing of the cattle. And every now and again, the beating of
Pharcellus's wings whenever he stopped by to visit.
Lindsey lifted his head and forced a smile to his lips. It did not
want to stay. "Not everything's gone. We're still here."
"So is the house," Pharcellus noted with a quick sweep of his eyes.
"Why don't we clean it and put everything in order as best we can."
Lindsey blinked, surprised at how simple yet delightful the idea was.
"But what of Quoddy?"
"He'll be fine. He'll let us know if anyone is coming." Pharcellus
stood and held out one hand. "I think I saw a broom we can use in one
of the cupboards. You sweep, and I'll work on the beds."
Lindsey took his hand and hoisted himself to his feet. "Agreed."
Quoddy didn't like flying through the woods. He was a seagull; he was
meant to fly through the open salt air and the protective bluffs
overlooking the waves. Ducking and weaving through close-knit trees,
all the while looking for signs of bodies was difficult and trying
for him. But it had to be done; if Lindsey's parents were dead, it
was best to know.
Circle though he did in steadily larger arcs around the house, he saw
nothing. There were no exposed bones, no fresh tumulus to mark a
grave, nor even was there any hint of death in the lake. If there
were any bodies, then they must have been buried a long time ago and
buried deep. Tired and frustration, he alighted on the heavy branch
of an oak and stretched his muscles.
After the Battle of Three Gates, it had been some days before he and
his brothers had learned that they were orphans. With the
transformations and the routine of Nasoj's army, there was so much
confusion that about who was who and what had happened to everyone
that many families were separated. Quoddy knew of one family that
didn't get back together again for a full month after that dreadful
confrontation. But his mother and father had died before the spells
were cast; their bodies didn't change. Once all of the dead had been
sorted through, one of their parents friends had recognized the
bodies, found the trio of newly minted birds, and told them the
horrible news, the news they had feared most of all to hear.
Machias had sobbed for days, while Lubec withdrew in his own quiet
misery. Quoddy tried to comfort them both, all the while hiding the
pain he felt, the sense of abandonment and anguish that he could
never describe to another. But nothing he said seemed to provide them
any comfort.
Until he suggested they fly. Being seabirds saved them. They flew
south along the river, and once in sight of the shore the clouds of
pain began to part, the curtain of anguish rolled up. With every
league of sea, salt, and the companionship of themselves and the
flocks who adopted them, the loss felt the less. Yes, they were
orphans, but something much bigger had taken them in. No, it wasn't
curses that had transformed them. It was their own balm of healing.
Quoddy wondered what balm they could offer Lindsey. Though he had
known of Lindsey for many years as they were both Followers, they'd
never really talked before. This was the first time he'd ever spent
time with the northerner. He had no idea what he could do for him
except to keep out of his way.
And he also wondered how his younger brothers were doing. They tried
to meet once a week to share information. Their last meeting was
three days ago, and both of them had been in good spirits then.
Still, seeing the house, clearly ransacked and even almost burned,
made him realize that at any moment everything could change. At any
moment he or his brothers could be captured and they might never see
each other again. He cawed once anxiously, but the forest provided no
answer in reply.
He shook his head to rid it of his woolgathering and then leaped from
the branch. The knobby wood hurt his feet anyway.
The broom still had most of its original straw bristles and proved
reasonably effective at gathering dirt and grime. Lindsey still had
to get down on his hands and knees and scrub away most of the
defecation, and the scent of mildew and putrefaction was only
dispersed by opening all of the windows and doors, but little by
little his old home was starting to look like he remembered it.
While Pharcellus tended to the more difficult task of righting the
large canopied bed, Lindsey swept. Together they first cleaned out
his parent's room, offering Pharcellus floorspace to lay out the
remnants of the quilts while repairing the frame, and then Lindsey
left to tend to his own bedroom, and the rest of the house. He left
the stables for last, wondering if that fox would return if they
didn't return, but found no sign of the creature. The nest was
gratefully empty; for a moment Lindsey had worried that he'd
disturbed a mother and her kits.
The sun slid across the southern sky, rising well above the peaks of
the mountains, but always unmistakably to the south. The afternoon
marched onward, and evening would be upon them in another couple of
hours by the time that Lindsey and Pharcellus finished cleaning the
house as much as they could. The floors were clean but for stains
they could not remove, the bed was no longer a wreck even if it was
still not safe to sleep in, and the dragon had even managed to get a
fire started in the hearth after he and Quoddy unblocked the chimney.
The bird, returned to almost human size, waddled through main room
and nestled on the bench near the fire. "That feels good. Nice and
warm. And this house looks very nice. You must have had a very full
childhood, Lindsey."
Lindsey nodded as he tossed some of the brush they'd gathered onto
the fire. It sizzled and cracked. "Thank you, Quoddy. I've had a lot
of memories come back to me in the last few days, and many more here.
It was a wonderful place to grow up." He placed one hand on the
nearby wall, staring at it now so empty, and sighed. "I just wish I
knew what happened."
The seagull squawked and stretched his wings once before settling
down again. "It looks like somebody ransacked the place and stole
whatever they could. I didn't see any sign of your parents."
"Soldiers," Pharcellus suggested. "Perhaps Calephas sent soldiers
this way, and your parents fled before they arrived. We may yet find
them alive somewhere else. When the soldiers arrived and no one was
here, they took what they could, and destroyed what they couldn't."
"Part of the house was on fire," Lindsey turned and pointed to the
northern wall. The outside was charred, but on the inside they saw
nothing but a single, narrow window. "But why only part?"
"It could have been raining when they came." Quoddy leaned his head
forward to preen his chest feathers, then looked up at them again.
"I've seen a good rain put out fires before."
Lindsey glanced at the dragon. "What do you think? You know fire
better than the rest of us."
Pharcellus sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire. "I
tasted pitch there. I think someone tried to burn the house down, but
as Quoddy said, it may have been raining too hard for the fire to do
more than burn the pitch. I don't think Alfwig and Elizabaeg are
dead. I think they went into hiding."
The boy pondered that, grateful at last for some good news, or at
least, the possibility of good news. "Andrig did betray Calephas
during the assault on Metamor the previous winter. Calephas may have
sent troops here in retribution. That means this happened about a year ago."
"And what of Andrig?" Quoddy asked.
"He knew not to come back home," Lindsey said with a long sigh. "He
knew the danger. I expect he is working with the resistance somehow
and somewhere. But it won't be here. And since the resistance is not
sharing the names of its members, we probably will not find him until
after Calephas is dead." His eyes darkened and his hands balled into
fists. "Assuming Calephas hasn't found him already."
Quoddy extended a wing toward the boy as if it were an arm to wrap
about his shoulders and embrace him. "We don't know anything. We
shouldn't jump to conclusions."
"True," Lindsey admitted. "So what do we do now?"
The bird blinked. "You wanted to come here. Is there anything more we
need to do here?"
Lindsey frowned and glanced around the room already beginning to warm
and feel comfortable. "Well, I don't know. There isn't much more to
the house than this. Just the crawlspace above us and a small cellar below."
"Any caches?"
Lindsey pondered for several seconds, before finally smiling ever so
slightly. "There's a few in the floor boards, but he never kept
anything precious in them. But there is one in the crawlspace that he
showed me once. It wasn't easy for him or anyone to reach,." He
glanced down at his youthful body and chuckled. "I guess I'm the
perfect size now."
"What of the cellar?" Pharcellus asked.
"Nothing," Lindsey shook his head. "At least, nothing Father ever
showed me. Could you check on it? Quoddy and I will look through the
floor here and then I'll climb into the crawlspace and see what I can find."
While Pharcellus went down into the cellar with an old lantern he'd
recovered from the same cupboard as the broom and began feeling along
the walls for latches or hidden switches, Lindsey and Quoddy tapped
along the floor until they found the false stones. There were six
altogether, but apart from a little coin, mostly copper with a few
silver, and a few wood carvings of animals, there was nothing of
consequence. Lindsey replaced the wood carvings but kept the coin.
The crawlspace had a single opening from within his old bedroom in
the corner opposite the beds. The wooden ceiling was fitted so
closely together that the opening was not visible at all, but Lindsey
knew where it was, since there had been many times when he and Andrig
had climbed up there and played as children. Of course then, they
could help each other up. Lindsey glared at the inaccessible hatch
and lamented being a boy for a moment.
They called for Pharcellus who was only too happy to hoist Lindsey up
on his shoulders and joke about how he liked having a little brother.
Lindsey pushed up on the knot in the wood, which released the catch
and the little door swung upward and open. Pharcellus hoisted him up
even further and Lindsey crawled into the darkness above. The air was
choked with dust. "Pass up the lantern," Lindsey called down before
pulling his tunic over his mouth and nose.
The crawlspace was cramped with only a few feet of headroom. Wooden
boards cross over his head, fitted with straw and more wood to keep
in the heat. He glanced around, the feeble light revealing cobwebs in
every direction, the chimney in the center of the house, and distant
corners all shut up with wood.
Gingerly so as not to disturb the spiders, and also to avoid kicking
more dust than necessary, Lindsey moved hands and knees, carrying the
lantern with him at each slow step. The boards creaked beneath him
and he blinked constantly at the dust sifting through the air and
glistening in the golden lamplight. The tunic did little to keep out
the musty odor but it did keep him from coughing.
Lindsey circled the hearth until he could see the backside. The
chimney stone hid a secret cache in a place that very difficult to
reach, and hopefully, too difficult for any soldiers to find. Lindsey
brushed a pair of cobwebs away from the stone and felt a surge of
relief to see that the stone remained undisturbed. He set the lantern
down where it could illumine the backside of the chimney and began
feeling along the edge of the stone.
A bit of dirt shifted above and landed in his face. He brushed it
back with one sleeve and waited another moment before trying again.
How had his father Alfwig opened the cache? Feeling around the
outside hadn't revealed any hidden clasps. Nor did it seem to offer
him any purchase. Perhaps it was like the knot he'd used to get into
the crawlspace. Lindsey put both hands on the stone, and bracing his
legs against the wooden slats behind him, he pressed firmly. An
audible catch sounded, and more dirt sifted down from above.
Lindsey shook the dirt out of his hair and felt a tremble of
excitement in his heart. What had his father left here? What were his
most precious artifacts?
The stone hadn't come fully loose, but now he could see little
indentations in the side into which he could wedge his fingers.
Lindsey did so and began to pull. He dragged himself along the floor
of the crawlspace a few inches before the stone finally came loose
and swung open. Inside was a dark wooden box that filled nearly the
entire space. It was as wide as it was tall, and at least as wide as
a man's hands spread from the tip of the thumb to the tip of the
littlest finger. Lindsey put his much smaller hand son either side
and tugged it out. It groaned as it was dragged forth, and Lindsey
had to wipe his eyes free of dust again, but he finally managed to
remove the wooden cube from its hidden place.
He pulled his tunic off his mouth and shouted, "I've found something!
I'm going to come back out now!"
Lindsey carefully pushed the stone back into place. The latch caught
and the indentations were hidden again. The box was heavy and he had
to set it as far as his arm's could reach ahead of him before he took
each step. It took several minutes for him to get back around to the
opening. When he did, he pulled the woolen tunic off his face and
breathed much cleaner air with great relief. Pharcellus and Quoddy
stared up at him curiously. "What did you find?" the seagull asked.
"This," Lindsey replied, carefully holding the box over the opening.
Pharcellus took the box from him and set it on the floor before
holding out his arms for the boy. Lindsey eased his legs out through
the opening, and was grateful for the dragon's guiding hands. Gently,
he sat back down on the young man's shoulders and pulled the trapdoor shut.
After Pharcellus set him down again, his friend chuckled and wiped
dirt off his shoulders. "Looks like you're going to need that fresh
set of clothes after all. You've collected more dirt in ten minutes
up there than you did in five hours walking this morning!"
Lindsey looked down at his dust-smeared clothes and laughed. "I've
looked worse! Now let's see what's in this box."
"Do you want me to search the cellars again?" Pharcellus asked.
"Not until after we see what's in this." Lindsey sat down next to the
box and ran his fingers along the top. The box had been made from
cherry, a wood that was not uncommon in southern Arabarb, but which
was rarely used in furnishings. The top of the box had been carved
with horns and dragon's wings ornamenting the four corners, while a
dragon's tail encircled the central picture. What lay in the middle
resembled his family, at least how they were twenty years ago when
Andrig was just a boy of five, and Lindsey a girl of ten. Lindsey's
heart trembled to see it. His fingers traced over Alfwig's rough but
loving countenance, and then over Elizabaeg's gentle but stern
features. And then his fingers fled to Andrig's childish enthusiasm,
rounded cheeks and straight nose just like Mother's. Lastly his
fingers found his own visage, far more like to his father's, though
with a few differences more than just gender. Not quite his mother's
either, but uniquely his own. In her hand she held the tip of the
dragon's tail.
Lindsey looked up when Pharcellus put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm
alright," he said and forced a smile. "It's just, my father made
this. I remember the day he finished it. The sky was full of clouds
like gray waves on the sea, but no rain came. It was Summer, warm but
not hot. I was helping Mother tend the animals while Andrig chased
the sheep with the dogs. He came around to show us what he'd done. I
used to see this box in his room. He talked to it sometimes, but I
never heard what he said."
"Open it," Pharcellus urged ever so gently. So gentle in fact that
one would never have guessed he was truly a dragon.
Lindsey slid his hands down the sides of the box and pushed up on the
lid. It came free after a moment's exertion, revealing a deep
interior lined in soft fox fur, a brighter shade of red than the
cherry, but complimenting it so completely that he could never
expected anything else to be there.
And the fur was still soft to the touch. And nestled within their
embrace were several leather pouches. Lindsey took out the first and
opening the drawstring revealed a small wooden carving of his younger
brother as a man. It fit into the palm of his hand and rolled onto
its back. A smiling, bearded face greeted him, the same that he'd
seen that day they drove the Lutins back from Metamor over a year
ago. Lindsey laughed, even as a tear sprang to one eye.
"This is Andrig," he said, holding the sculpture out to Quoddy. The
bird hopped closer and crouched down, yellow eyes softening as he
stared. "He's my younger brother. This is how he looked two years
ago. It must have been the last my parents saw of him."
"He looks like a brave young man," the seagull murmured.
"That he is." Lindsey set his brother down on top of the leather
pouch next to the box. He drew out another and revealed a carving of
his mother. The next had one of himself still as a woman. Lindsey
turned it over in his hands several times before showing it to the
others. "This is how I looked ten years ago before I came to Metamor.
I haven't seen my parents since then."
"They've never seen you as a man?" Quoddy asked.
"No, never." He set the statue aside and drew out the next. To his
surprise, it was not his father that he found, but a rendering in
wood of Pharcellus as a dragon. The sinuous but sturdy body, with
wings held close to keep the wood from breaking, was very faithful to
how their friend appeared. "I suppose you visited often enough father
thought of you as family."
Pharcellus nodded but offered no comment except to point out that the
number of ridges on his back was off by seven, although this was said
with a faint chortle under his breath.
The next status was of Alfwig himself. Rugged and strong, yet still
with that deep love in his eyes that Lindsey had long cherished. He
held his father in his hand for almost a minute of silence before
setting him aside and picking up the next to last pouch. And when
that statue rolled into his hand he crumpled forward and began to
weep with trembling sobs. The man there before him, with odd features
so alien to Arabarb was none other than Zhypar Habakkuk.
There was nothing any of them could say. Pharcellus knelt beside him,
and Quoddy came to his other side and pressed a wing to his back.
Zhypar had only been in the lives of his parents for a few months,
yet in that little time, Alfwig had known how much his daughter loved
the stranger. Enough to know that Zhypar was family too.
It took several minutes before Lindsey was able to put the statue of
the man he'd loved and lost aside. Another minute before he was able
to still his tears and draw out the final pouch. This one was much
larger than the rest and occupied the bottom third of the box. It
felt odd in his hands, and after opening the drawstring, revealed
something even odder.
"Egg shells?" Quoddy squawked. "That's an awfully big bird."
Lindsey lifted out several pieces of a somewhat soft, leathery shell,
but with a bit of rigidity too. Some of the pieces were no bigger
than his finger, while a few were wider than his hands. Lindsey
turned them over, noting the dullness in the sheen, but also the
specks of crimson like little drops of blood that dotted its surface.
Lindsey had not seen this type of egg shell before, but he knew it
was no bird's egg.
"Pharcellus," he said, staring in confusion for why his father would
have such a thing, "is this what I think it is?"
His friend appeared to tremble as he stared wide-eyed at the shells.
Pharcellus, at Lindsey's invitation, reached out one hand and stroked
it across the surface of the shell. His eyes closed and he swallowed
heavily. "It is."
"What is it?" Quoddy asked.
Lindsey put the shells back in the pouch very carefully. Once all of
them were returned, Pharcellus stood and swiftly left the room.
Quoddy turned to watch him leave, but then returned his gaze to the
boy. Lindsey put the pouch back into the box, and then began putting
each of the statues away as well. "It's a dragon's egg. I have no
idea why it's here. For all I know, that could be Pharcellus's egg.
Dragons have a rather peculiar attachment to these things. It's best
we not speak of it again."
Quoddy gently nudged the little carvings with the tip of one wing and
gazed at them with an almost forlorn expression. This he kept even as
Lindsey returned the last of them to their pouches and deposited them
in the box. Once the box lid was back in place, the seagull asked,
"What are we going to do now?"
Lindsey licked his lips and sat back against the wall. "Eat
something, put this precious box back where none will find it, and
then get some sleep. We have a long walk tomorrow morning. Hopefully
the resistance will meet with us. Oh and, we'll need to come up with
a better name for Pharcellus. A dragon's name will not do here if he
is to masquerade as my older brother."
The seagull nodded at all of that then looked into Lindsey's face,
piercing yellow eyes fixed and intense. "Did you find what you were
looking for?"
Lindsey put one hand on the bird's shoulder and sighed, hoping the
tears wouldn't come back. "Not yet. But I found enough." He stood up
and brushed more of the dust from his breeches and then nodded toward
the doorway. "Let's go see if Pharcellus is okay."
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
!DSPAM:4da8e56f82742129214278!
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