Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias
April 15, 708 CR
In his human guise the wounds along his neck and chest did not appear
as vicious as they had when last he'd been in his natural form.
Pharcellus had not dared take that form since he left the meadow and
the two birds behind. He hoped and prayed that they would be able to
find Elizabaeg safely.
Despite the utter blackness of the night, the stars and moon obscured
by the thick branches overhead a well as the tumbled, hilly terrain,
Pharcellus had no difficulty in choosing a path that allowed him to
move quickly without bringing himself any further injury. That same
path would keep his pursuers from finding a consistent and
comfortable pace, which meant it would keep them following him all the longer.
Getting that beastly mage away from Fjellvidden for a time was the
only hope they really had.
At least he had been wise enough not to tell Vysterag where Elizabaeg
had gone to hide. Even if the shipwright did know about the mill, the
birds ought to be able to reach it first. But what could any of them
do? This Gmork was far more powerful than he'd reckoned.
A branch caught him in the face and made him wince as the needles
brushed across the scars on his neck. He'd been injured on other
missions for Metamor and he'd faced enemy mages whose skill was not
exorbitantly exaggerated in his retelling of the tale. And he would
brave any wound for the sake of Lindsey. But had he lingered a few
seconds more in that hallway Gmork would surely have struck a mortal
blow. He'd been fortunate to escape at all.
I will return for you, Lindsey.
Pharcellus's path brought him rather abruptly to a wide clearing with
ridges to east and south overlooking the river gorge. He paused, and
hands on knees, bent over to peer down into the depths. The slopes
were fashioned from lichen-encrusted granite with slender pine trees
and moss clinging to every scrap of earth nestling in the folds of
rock. The northern bank of the river, for the first time, was
actually below him at least twenty hands if not more.
The dragon in human guise took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly, and
peered into the darkness in the west. He hadn't heard the sounds of
pursuit for some minutes. Had they given up? He'd heard them chasing
him for the last hour, crashing through the brush and gaining on him
steadily. But then it stopped, and even his sensitive ears, much
better than a mere human's might be, could detect no hint of Gmork
and his pups.
There were two possibilities. Either they had given up or Gmork knew
some magic to silence their approach.
His eyes wandered to the northern bank of the river. Though it was
draped in tall pines as sharp as the ridges of a dragon's back, he
knew that they would find it difficult to cross such an expanse.
And even if they did, it would bring them that much further from
Fjellvidden and his friends.
Pharcellus ran one hand across his wounds and decided that it was
worth the risk. He took one last deep breath, and once his lungs were
filled, his chest continued to expand as his attire blended into his
flesh, turning a deep gray and hard. His head stretched outward, face
elongating into a sharp muzzle with horns sticking straight out from
behind his head. A long ridge grew down his spine, and from his back
erupted broad wings that stretched to cover the meadow. A tail, thick
and adorned by fine scales and tipped with a flat spade, grew over
his swelling haunches. Hands and legs swelled, fingers tipped with
dark claws that gripped the earth and supported his sudden increase in weight.
The dragon shuddered as the pain that he'd hidden beneath the human
disguise sluiced through his mind. With slow steady beats he moved
his wings up and down, eyes blinking the weariness away as he turned
his head from side to side on his long scarred neck. He lifted one
claws forearm to his neck and upper chest expecting to find fresh
blood seeping out, but thankfully the wounds had closed. He hoped
that even so brief a flight as he was about to attempt would not reopen them.
Tensing his muscles, Pharcellus leaped into the night air, feeling a
rush of cold greet him. The rushing waters beneath him roared up
through the chasm, and the trees fell beneath him in every direction.
Beyond the northern slope was a series of open rocky meadows
interspersed with trees. He felt a surge of relief and pumped his
wings three times to gain the altitude he needed to reach the nearest
of them. The river passed swiftly beneath him until it was hidden by
the first line of trees clustering at the edges of the northern bank.
The ground however sloped more steeply upward than he'd expected. He
tried to turn his wings back to give him one last burst of air but it
wasn't enough. He plunged through the last line of pines before
crashing chest first into the meadow and its stony floor. Agony
gouged his mind from his back and wings, and with a quick glance he
felt his heart sink. Through his right wing he'd torn a large rent.
The flaps of tough leathery skin drooped and bled.
Crouching low on the ground, Pharcellus craned his neck around so
that he could lick with his long, thick tongue at the wounded folds
of flesh. He kept his left wing folded at his back as he nursed the
right, whimpering in misery at the injury to flesh and to draconic
vanity. What good was a dragon that could not fly? That the wound
would heal and he would fly again in a month or two was the furthest
thing from his thoughts. Pharcellus felt the gash as if it were in his soul.
He could almost hear the elder wyrms reproaching his mother for his
involvement with humans. "Dalliances with humans only end in
tragedies for dragons!" How often had he heard that one when he
visited his people. Even the other dragons who helped Metamor often
reminded him that a certain distance needed to be kept between their
hearts and the short-lived peoples they helped. Humans could be good,
but, so short-lived as they were, they could not fail in their
ignorance to hurt too.
Pharcellus grunted and stared disconsolately at the tear in his wing.
What had been a broad expanse of flesh, tough and vivacious now hung
limply and vicious. This grievous wound had come from trying to help
the humans, even if they did look like birds. Would the elder wyrms
lower their snouts in a knowing rebuke?
Aye, the birds were short-lived. But they were his friends and his
responsibility. And Lindsey. Lindsey was so much more. Regardless of
the wisdom of his mother's infatuations, Lindsey was his
half-brother. Blood could not be ignored.
And for that, he managed to say softly, "I will bear this too."
Pharcellus used the spell that would make him human in appearance
again. Even after his body dwindled into the red-haired and bearded
adolescent form, he still felt the pain of his wound like a whiplash
up and down his back. He stumbled into the woods to the west, wincing
as he moved.
Until he finally collapsed beneath a shelf of rocks shadowed by
sheltering pines. A bed of needles and moss awaited him. Pharcellus
blinked weary eyes as he tried to push himself back to his feet. His
arms gave out beneath him and he lay there, darkness slipping over
him like his mother's sheltering wing.
A few hour's rest. That was all. A few hour's rest and then he'd continue.
And those were his last conscious thoughts until morning.
----------
Quoddy and Machias kept low, cresting the top of the trees as best
they could without risking flying into them. Night flying was
dangerous even with the stars in the sky. But the cloud cover that
had moved in shortly after their capture made it almost suicide to
attempt anything lower and certainly not beneath the canopy. How many
tales had they heard at Fellowship meetings of their brother and
sister birds thinking they knew the woods as well as their wings and
ended up bruising their skulls against a poplar or pine that they
were sure hadn't been there? More times than they had toes that was certain.
They bore west and ever so slightly south; just enough to avoid
passing to close to the castle. That and the city were all they could
see in the distance past the dark line of trees that marked the edge
of the clearing where only the previous morning Strom had been
tending his sheep. Torches flickered along the walls and at the
handful of guard towers and shacks quartered through the city.
Soldiers would be patrolling the streets and they'd know to look for
a gull and puffin.
And in the sky somewhere they knew their brother Lubec would be
watching for them. They could not see him, but they knew it had to be anyway.
That thought proved to be too much for the puffin who banked his
wings and landed on an upthrust branch. When Quoddy circled back
around to join him, Machias hopped down through the branches until he
was safely beneath the canopy and in the sheltering darkness. He
could hear and after letting his eyes adjust to the near total
shadow, he could see his brother come down to join him. They both
shifted human enough to speak and speak softly. The branch groaned
beneath their webbed feet but held.
"I... I can't do this, brother," Machias said as he trembled and kept
his wings close to his sides. "They're too powerful. He's got Lubec. Lubec..."
Quoddy hopped a bit closer and gently pressed one wing against the
puffin's back. "And we have to save him. He's our brother. And
Pharcellus is our friend. So is Lindsey."
"But how?"
"I don't know," Quoddy admitted. The gull tilted his head upward as a
sudden wind rattled the branches around them. They both listened in
complete silence for several long seconds before Quoddy spoke again,
even more quietly, which made his voice a raspy, garbled whisper. "We
have to find the others. There has to be something we can do
together. And if that doesn't work we'll fly back to Metamor and get
the whole Fellowship and anyone else who wants to come to help us
rescue our friends."
At the mention of the Fellowship, Machias's beak cracked open in a
faint avian smile. "Oh, they'd come in a heart beat. I can see Emily
biting Gmork's legs off." The image of the quadrupedal komodo with
jaws chewing through that monster's deformed legs made both of them
chuckle. But the moment of levity passed quickly and the puffin
sighed. "I hope it doesn't come to that."
"I hope not as well," Quoddy admitted. The gull glanced around once
more. The tree they perched on was shrouded in impenetrable darkness
not more than five feet in any direction other than up. The clouds
above faintly reflected the torchlight from the town, and now that
they lingered in the shelter of the forest they could see that faint
illumination and a solitary shadow passing back and forth in front of
it. The gull almost squawked but checked himself and stiffened. Quiet
as death, he whispered, "It's Lubec."
Machais peered into the sky and after several long seconds he sucked
in his breath and began to stomp his webbed feet in agitation. The
gull turned and preened at his brother's neck feathers to calm him
down. "He's looking for us," Machias whined.
"Aye. And he'll certainly see me if I get anywhere near the city. How
are we supposed to get to the mill with him..." Quoddy felt his chest
tighten as the idea formed in his mind and took deep root. It was a
risk he hated even more than the fact that his brother had been
possessed by their enemy. But it was so obvious and so true that
there was no other way.
"Machias, I am going to distract Lubec. He will see me, and will
follow me. I'm going to head south and lead him away from the city,
just like Pharcellus is leading Gmork away from the city. You can
then go and find Elizabaeg and the others and tell them what's happened."
The puffin spread his wings and shook his head. "No! We need to stay together."
"He'll catch us if we stay together, and then we'll have no chance. I
don't like it either, brother. But this is our best chance. Remember
the training we've had. Remember what Copernicus taught us. We can do this."
Machias shook his head again. "No. You can do this. But... I don't
think I can."
Quoddy leaned in closer and the branch creaked beneath them. "Please,
Machias. This is for Lubec. He's our brother and he needs us. You
have to go find Elizabaeg."
"But... but... I'm afraid!"
"I am too."
The two birds sat huddled together on that branch for nearly a minute
pressed close together, neither saying a word. They held each other
in their wings and shuddered one against another. Quoddy's tail
feathers shook back and forth nearly the whole time as the branch
groaned. A sudden northerly breeze chilled then and made the world
rattle about them.
"Can you do this, Machias?" Quoddy asked ever so gently.
The puffin chirped under his breath. "If I must."
"You must, my brother. Now, I am going to go fly until Lubec sees me.
It shouldn't take long. I'm going to head south away from the city.
After we're both gone, wait another five to ten minutes and then head
for the mill. They have to know what we know. Do what you can."
Quoddy hugged him one more time then stepped painfully back along the
branch. His webbed feet would never like trying to perch on a shaft
of wood, but in the two and a half months they'd been here in Arabarb
he'd started to get used to it.
"Don't get caught," Machias added with a mirthless chortle.
"You either. Now," his voice caught in his throat before he could go
further. Quoddy felt a hideous fear rise in his heart that kept his
wings firmly along his back. In all of his fear, he'd forgotten to
turn to the one place where he and his brother could find true
relief. "Before I go, we must pray."
Although he could only see his brother's white cheeks, he knew his
eyes almost surged in relief. They bowed their heads and intoned,
"Pater noster, qui es in caelis..."
As the words of the prayer passed over his tongue, Quoddy felt a sens
eof peace come over him. Tentatively at first, it neverless seeped
from his toes to his beak and then out to each of his wings. The
trembling stopped and he breathed more easily. Even the chill of the
night and the darkness no longer held terrors for him. And with the
"Amen" he felt his beak crack in an honest smile. "Okay, it's time to
go. Eli be with you."
"And you, Quoddy." The terror was gone from his brother's voice, and
that too gave him a renewed hope. Quoddy spread his wings behind him
and jumped into the air. He moved from branch to branch back the way
they'd come until he reached the top most branches, and from there he
launched himself into the sky.
He couldn't see Lubec against the mass of dark clouds even with their
pale illuminated from the torchlight below. Still, he moved toward
the city in a lazy zig-zag pattern to disguise where he'd come from.
He also lifted himself high above the treetops so he could maneuver
more easily.
Fjellvidden appeared quiet, both castle and city. He could see
soldiers manning the walls of the castle, including a few Lutins, and
some soldiers patrolling the city streets. But had he not known
otherwise, there was little to indicate that this was a city under
the thumb of a despot. It looked so much like many of the other
cities he'd seen in his years flying along the coasts of Galendor.
How could it have come under the hand of so great an evil as Calephas
and Gmork?
Quoddy heard a muffled squawk somewhere above him. Lifting his gaze,
he saw a dark shape moving toward him beneath the heavy clouds. He
immediately swung his wwings back and turned in a rapid arc. He put
the city behind him and beat his wings as fast as he could, heading
straight for the thick forests carpeting the tumbled landscape to the
south. His heart beat faster, but he knew he could keep Lubec close
behind him. How often had he done so on their many journeys south
together? The cormorant would come close, but would not be able to catch him.
Quoddy chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw that his brother
was following, beating his wings hard to catch up. The gull squawked
and flew faster. The game was on.
----------
May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,
Charles Matthias
!DSPAM:4dbe76e8165281412310228!
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