Dragon Clan #7: Shell’s Story

CHAPTER SIX

The words took Shell by surprise. “A problem?”

Quester tossed his bow to the ground with disgust and said, “That thing, that wolf, or whatever it is, watches us all the time.”

“How do you know that?”

“I backtracked it half way to the river and found where it lay in the heavy grass and rested as we passed by. A few times it was within striking distance, but usually, it found a high place and waited as we went by then it raced ahead to another place to watch, but we were always in sight.”

Shell listened, but instead of worrying about the creature, he wondered how Quester could tell so much about its actions from the tracks it left. But even as he wondered, the answers were obvious. A patch of old smashed grass where it had laid down, was in plain sight of their trail. The footprints probably showed where the animal had bounded ahead to reach the next place to observe the two men.

“Did you see it?” Shell asked.

“Not once. But I had the feeling it was out there watching me.”

“What do you think we should do?”

Quester removed a piece of venison and examined it closely, then approving of what he saw, bit the end off and chewed. “Tastes good. What should we do? I don’t know. We can’t hunt it because it knows where we are and avoids us. But I think it weighs more than a big man, and I’d hate to think of what it can do to us if it gets hungry.”

“It left food for us by the river,” Shell said.

“You think that was some sort of peace offering? Or was it that it ate its fill and left that deer haunch for scavengers?”

Shell gave it a short consideration and said firmly, “It was a gift.”

“You have a weird outlook. Animals are not innocent, do not give gifts, and are not our friends. Its presence should scare both of us.” Quester had set his jaw and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I like to think my flock appreciated my protection and that I guided them to the best grass to eat every day. I’d talk to them, and they would listen. We were friends.”

Quester gave the snort of derision again. His tone turned mocking. “I suppose they miss you.”

“I hope so,” Shell said in the same tone. He caught the surprised expression before Quester could hide it, and smiled. He hadn’t outwitted Quester, but he’d managed to get the last word in a conversation. He placed the two fish on a hot stone beside the fire and listened to them sizzle as he considered the future.

After eating the fish, Quester abruptly stood and paced. After taking a long look all around, he said, “It’s watching us right now. I can feel it. I’m going to look for the wolf. I should be back by dark.”

Before Shell could answer, Quester left the clearing, bow in hand again. Shell removed the smoked meat for fear of drying it out too much during the night if he left it, and wrapped each piece in large maple leaves for no other reason than that they were big enough to wrap around the individual pieces. He split them between their two backpacks, but felt a twinge of guilt when he opened Quester’s.

He refrained from looking inside while filling it. Then he went to the water’s edge, washed his hands and did a slow turn. He also felt eyes on him but saw no evidence to support his feeling. His eyes traveled to Bear Mountain, and to a smaller hill between the mountain and small lake. Perched up there, a watcher could remain hidden while looking directly down at their camp.

Making matters worse, when he returned to the fire and darkness closed about him, Quester didn’t return. Shell spread his blanket and used his pack for a pillow. As his eyes closed, the first whispers filled his mind.

It was not communication with words, but feelings and impressions. For the first time, a sense of satisfaction touched Shell. The whisperer was pleased Shell traveled nearer, but it still conveyed the impression that he must hurry.

Shell sat up, wide awake.

A new whisperer touched his mind, a different voice. Again, it didn’t speak in words, but impressions. It hinted that all was well. It said it would look after Shell and protect him. They were friends.

He leaped to his feet, staff in hand. The new ‘voice’ came from nearby, but he couldn’t say how he knew. Then, in an instant of recognition, he understood. It was the animal that was stalking him. But it was not stalking; it was protecting.

The fleeting mind-touch had already disappeared as he reacted and jumped to his feet. He now made another slow turn, holding the staff ready to defend himself.

“I’m impressed. You heard me coming for a change,” Quester said, emerging from the depths of the darkness under the trees.

“No. Well, I’m a little jumpy, I guess.”

“From now on, I think I’ll call out and announce myself,” Quester said, amused at Shell still standing in a crouched position ready to strike or parry, whichever might be required.

Shell put the staff aside and sat on his blanket, but shifted to his eyes watched across the water to the small hill on the other side of the water. “See anything out there?”

Quester unrolled his blanket, took notice of the meat in his pack, and nodded his approval while reaching for a piece. “Tracks, but nothing fresh. My guess is that it knows our direction and is probably up ahead waiting for us.”

“You’re the one that said animals aren’t smart. So, how can you say that?”

“No, I said they are not innocent or friends, but they’re smart. This one more than others. I’m sure it will be up there, watching us in the morning.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the hill Shell watched.

Shell didn’t share any of the information about the night whisperers. Quester probably wouldn’t believe them if he did, and he might think Shell strange or deranged; stranger than he already acted, for sure. He closed his eyes and waited, knowing what would come.

The whispers resumed. One calling for him, and telling him to hurry, the other cooing protective feelings as if it was a mother cat purring to her kittens.

Great. Now I have a dragon and giant wolf both taking over my mind. There isn’t room in there for three. But he didn’t open his eyes or shut out the mental contacts. He didn’t push them away or encourage them, either. Instead, he settled back and allowed the thoughts and feelings to wash over him.

Oddly, they didn’t scare him, and neither reassured him. He remembered the size of the footprint the wolf left and realized a dragon would be ten times that size. He opened his eyes a crack and peered out, finding Quester sitting across the fire staring at him.

A wolf and dragon in his mind may not be the worst things to happen. Quester was up to something, a secret he wouldn’t share, but it might be dangerous, and Shell wondered again if he should make his way to the mountain without him.

Quester said as if knowing he was still awake, “It’s not natural. The beast, I mean. If it attacked and tried to eat us, that would be natural. If it ran from us like most animals do, that would be natural.”

“Maybe it has other intentions,” Shell mumbled.

“Animals don’t have intentions. They exist. They eat, survive, and reproduce.”

“That’s a cold outlook. I believe they have feelings, of a sort. Affections, for sure. And dislike.”

Quester wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and tossed more wood on the fire. “I guess we disagree. Animals like you because you supply food. They dislike others because they smell danger or fear.”

“Sometimes what we say tells others about us. You, for instance, have never owned a dog.”

“You say that as if it is a fact.” Quester was watching him closely.

“If you ever had a dog you would understand an animal can like you, dislike you, and not because of food or smelling fear. A dog gives affection and demands nothing in return.”

“They do not have emotions.”

Some of them crowding into my thoughts at night have emotions. “You might be right.”

The fire smoked and crackled, filling the night air with pungent smells and orange light. Shell enjoyed the new smells of the hills, the dampness of the lakeside, and the echoes of an owl answering itself across the lake.

As soft as the petals on daisies, the mental touch of the wolf returned. A female touch. The wolf was not a male, he felt certain. Nothing specific was communicated except nearness and protectiveness. The mental link wormed into his mind and found a place to dwell, neither comfortable or uncomfortable, but there when Shell thought of it. He went to sleep with the gentle touch of the she-wolf and knowing he would be safe for the night.

When morning came, Quester stood and silently rolled his blanket while averting his eyes. When Shell stood, Quester said, “Have a good night?”

“I slept well if that’s what you’re asking.”

“No,” Quester said. “I was wondering about you fighting in your sleep. I almost woke you, but didn’t know what you’d do to me if I did.”

“Nightmares, I guess.” Shell didn’t remember anything about them, but the mention brought back the memory of the wolf residing in his mind. He allowed his thoughts to travel to where the wolf had been in his head, and she was still there, a soft and warm pillow within a field of brambles.

He thought of the hill across the lake and the dangers they might face today. A response came from the wolf location in his mind, reassuring him the way ahead was clear. A flash of a trail sloping down a long hillside came to mind, an unfamiliar scene with trees so large a man couldn’t wrap his arms around the trunks.

Quester said, “Outcasts, criminals, and highwaymen live at the edge of the grasslands on the other side. They wait where they have a good view and watch for people like us.”

“How can we avoid them if they are here? They can see us from so far away.”

“We stay in the low places, canyons, and gullies, and we keep trees between them and us,” Quester said as if it was the most natural thing to do.

As they started out, Shell continually felt the presence of the wolf in his mind. For the first time, it had direction. The mental signal emanated from directly across the lake. Later, it changed as they moved past the hill. It came from his right, and then from slightly behind.

Later, Shell glanced up at the side of the hill ahead where the wolf lay and watched, and thought he noticed a bush shake in response. While looking up, he stumbled and almost ran into Quester.

Quester turned and said, “Something up there?”

To deflect his attention, Shell said, “No, I was just thinking that climbing that hill might let us see what’s ahead, but it’s too high and steep.”

Without comment, Quester turned and continued. Shell fought to keep his eyes off the hillside but felt safer. After they had passed the location where the wolf hid, the newly found sensory detection told him that it too, was moving, but probably behind the hill to move where she would be out of sight. In time, she stopped again and took up a position ahead and waited for Shell to catch up.

“Hey, Quester, how big are most wolves?”

“Males usually weigh about as much as a woman, females a little smaller.”

“This one is bigger than average, right?”

“I’d say it’s on the large end, but not mystical or a freakish if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Shell hesitated, framing his next question. “Then why did you get so upset at the size of the footprints?”

“Being stalked by an animal that weighs as much as either of us, has forty-two teeth, and jaws that bite through bone without hesitation makes me feel nervous. Just having one lurking nearby scares me because I don’t know why it’s here, or why it follows us. If it was a small wolf, I’d still be upset at its actions.”

They entered an area of taller trees while Shell considered the information. The hills and valleys were green with them; the streams flowed faster and the water clearer than he’d seen at home. He didn’t correct Quester on the idea of it being mystical or a freak, which was an interesting choice of words because they almost explained what Shell believed. How else would you describe a wolf that communicated mentally and offered protection?

Shell said, “We don’t have wolves where we live, at least not many, but from what little I know, they’re usually in packs.”

Quester shrugged. “Not always. Some take off on their own.”

“Hunting in a pack would be more effective.”

“You’re right if the pack is bringing down a large animal. The pack can direct the target to one lying in wait, but a single animal doesn’t need the quantity of meat a whole pack does. Rabbits, squirrels, and other small animals will do fine.”

“For someone asking basic questions about wolves, you sure seem to know a lot.”

The laughter from Shell came quickly and naturally. “I’ve heard tales of wolves my whole life, and I know there are different kinds. I wondered what kind you had where you lived.”

Instead of getting upset, as others might, Quester nodded in agreement. He muttered, “A smart way to gain information about me.”

The slopes of Bear Mountain appeared to be right ahead, but Shell knew it was still a few days away, but he had another decision to make soon, another choice between two things. The regular roads and routes around the mountain lay to the north where most people traveled, but his objective was the southern slopes for two reasons. The first was that he’d asked the family messengers where to find the dragon lair. The second was that the Bear Mountain Family of the Dragon Clan lived to the south of the mountain, close enough to the lair that they could walk there.

While he didn’t know exactly where the Clan lived, that information should get him close, and he knew they would have lookouts watching for strangers. Once close, he only had to expose himself, and when the lookouts intercepted him, he would lift his shirt and identify himself. That had always been his plan.

But now he had Quester with him. By family law, he couldn’t take him along. There were substantial rewards for information about the Dragon Clan offered by the crown. Even though the Earl of Warrington now supported the Clan and offered a measure of protection, the King’s coin held true in any part of the kingdom.

Worse, Shell had been raised on the grasslands, well away from the political intrigue and dangers of those Family members living in close proximity to the general population. He’d heard the stories and tales, but they were like bedtime stories, barely real and often misunderstood by himself. He needed someone like Quester who had lived in a similar situation.

However, if he showed up at the Bear Mountain Dragon Clan encampment with Quester, neither of them might survive. If Shell did manage to live, he would certainly be shunned and driven from the village in shame.

While he thought, his mind told him where the wolf was, always. Now and then he stole a glance and found a flash of brown, or a shrub move, confirming his knowledge that it was where he believed.

Then, near mid-day, as he was thinking of eating a strip of venison and taking a break, he felt an odd sensation. A tickle touched his back as soft as a baby’s cheek.

Instantly, he knew it for what it was. The touch of a dragon. He’d heard of the sensation a hundred times, but never experienced it. For whatever reason, the only dragon he’d ever seen hadn’t affected him in that way. But this touch, tickle, contact, or signal hadn’t existed in his experience.

The image of a dragon on his back had been there since birth, of course, as it was on all Dragon Clan. But until today he had never felt the sensation others spoke of that said a dragon was near. While he might describe it as a tickle, that description might be confused with another sensation it was not. He knew that because the tickle conformed to the dragon on his back.

He’d seen his birthmark reflection in water and polished metal, a hundred times. Even if he had not, he would have recognized the image reflected now on his back, the gaping jaws, the claws, and the outline that started below his neck and went to his waistband.

All that aside, the most striking thing about the tickle is it turned stronger, almost into an itch with a touch of pain. He knew when he raised his eyes to the far mountains a dragon floated lazily on the wind currents. It was too far away to make out details, but the wings flapped slowly, and the dragon peered into the distance to its side, seemingly looking directly at Shell.

His emotions soared, his anticipation of seeing nearby dragons an emerging reality, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. Shell slowly let it escape, then wondered if Quester had noticed anything odd in his actions. That was the danger of traveling with someone not of the family. A simple reaction could give away his secret.

When his eyes fell on Quester, who was still walking ahead, the man’s head was held erect, his neck pink with a flush, his fingers curled as if ready to fight, and his head was raised to the heavens. He was also looking at the barely visible dragon. His left hand reached behind himself and touched his back.