Dragon Clan #7: Shell’s Story

CHAPTER EIGHT

Quester remained quiet all morning. Shell allowed him to sulk because he had a good reason. While Quester didn’t know exactly what had happened when they woke, he didn’t believe the weak story Shell had fed him. Just as the trust issue between them almost healed itself, a new breach appeared that Shell didn’t know how to resolve, mostly because he didn’t understand it himself.

What he did know was that a wolf, at least he thought it was a wolf, managed to touch his mind and set itself up as his protector. He knew the animal was now ahead of them sweeping back and forth, either hunting food or enemies. He didn’t know how or why, and no story he’d ever heard about related to such a strange thing.

In short, what he didn’t know far exceed what he did. Sharing any of it might prove dangerous in the future—or make him look a fool. Shell was not sure which was worse.

Shell said, “We need to travel more to the right. The southern slopes are where the dragons and Family are supposed to be.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that.”

“I’m not. I’ve never been there, and I’m following clues I’ve heard all my life.”

“Couldn’t you have asked someone?”

Shell didn’t like the tone Quester had used all morning. “Hey, I may have saved your life this morning.”

“If you had put an arrow into each of their legs when they attacked you at the river, we wouldn’t have the problem, so don’t expect me to thank you.”

“Is that what you would have done?” Shell asked.

“Maybe. Then I would have told you all about it.”

Shell didn’t miss the emphases on the single word, but he ignored it. If the situation were reversed, he would probably feel the same. “Did you get a look at that wolf?”

“No, it burst from cover too fast, too unexpectedly. By the time I saw it, the thing was already headed back into the trees.”

Shell continued to walk and think. The trees had gradually closed in around them, adding a protective cloak around them as they moved. While the trees hid the two members of the Dragon Clan, they also hid anyone else in the forest. Twice they smelled smoke, and once the wolf had warned Shell to avoid an area. He had the impression a bear was eating a kill and protecting her cubs at the same time.

The problem became how to tell Quester. He solved it by telling him to turn in a more southerly direction, and he had without question. As strange as it sounded, the advance knowledge of danger placed him in an awkward situation.

There were plenty of stories of Dragon Clan bonding with dragons, sharing thoughts and a dozen other advantages, but he had never once heard of someone bonding with a wolf. Although bonding didn’t seem the right word in this instance, not like fully bonding with a dragon had been explained to him. This felt different.

Maybe the ability to see through a dragon’s eyes didn’t happen right away. No, it had been that way with Raymer and his dragon. Right from the first. Other than warn him of danger, what else could the pairing? He refused to think of it as bonding. But it brought up another aspect he needed to answer. Would the wolf do anything he asked?

How can I ask it to do something? A test? The wolf didn’t speak like people. He didn’t hear with his ears. Even what touched his mind was often unclear, more of an impression than specific communication. The few times it had happened, other than knowing the location of the wolf, had been inklings of information, faint feelings that were almost like experiencing a dream while awake.

As he walked, his mind remained busy thinking about the wolf, and his hands and arms were busy twirling, thrusting, and jabbing his staff to the beat of his steps. Like dancing, using a staff proficiently involved balance, practice, and initiative. But overall, it amounted to the repetition of predetermined moves without thinking about them, and that provided him his best defense—and offense. As he parried an imaginary blow, the next move often involved an attack without conscious thought.

Since Quester was still somewhat upset with him and remained quiet, Shell allowed his mind to drift to the subject of the wolf, and the strange association developing between him and a creature he’d seen only once, for not much longer than the blink of an eye. No, twice, for two blinks. Would the connection they had affect his ability to bond with a dragon? If so, was that a concern? Like all Dragon Clan members, he wished to bond for life with one of the magnificent flying dragons, but only a few people per generations did so. Therefore the chances were small that he ever stood a chance.

But he had something else, although he readily admitted he didn’t know what, or how long it might last. An idea sprang into his mind, and he almost dropped his staff and stumbled to a halt.

“You all right?” Quester asked.

“Sweaty hands,” Shell lied, then began walking again.

But it was not sweaty hands that caused the stumble. Can I initiate communication with the wolf? Will she do as I ask? The idea he’d had earlier about a test came roaring back into his thoughts.

Those two questions flooded his mind with other questions that he pushed from the forefront of his mind. The answers to all those other thoughts depended on answering those two.

Gingerly, he searched for, and found, the place in his mind that told him the wolf had moved further ahead, and was now slightly off to his right, probably on the side of the hill he saw in the near distance. He touched that place in his mind and tried to imagine the wolf quickly moving to the other side of the valley, to the opposite hillside.

Disappointingly, he received no confirmation and decided to let the matter drop until he had the time to pursue it alone. He would also like to draw the wolf closer and get a good look at it. He sensed it was a female, larger than most, but not unduly so. But he wished to lay eyes on her to give it substance, more than faint whispers in his mind.

The wolf’s position was shifting. As Shell monitored it, the wolf moved across the road to the other hillside. It had been sweeping back and forth all morning as if making sure the way was clear, and this might be another instance, a coincidence, but he didn’t think so.

The hills they traveled grew steeper, the vegetation now mostly evergreen, and the air smelled clear and crisp, with a hint of damp pungency. The grasslands had never smelled like it, and Shell decided it held a hint of the perfume a woman in Springtown had worn. He smiled at the memory.

“Look,” Quester hissed in a whisper, but kept walking.

Shell followed his gaze and on a ridge where few trees grew. A smudge of brown on the green hillside pulled his attention. The wolf. She showed herself. Just as he’d asked.

Their communication was two-way. The action confirmed it, although he doubted he could make the wolf do something it didn’t want to do. But he could ask, possibly direct, and she could warn him of danger as it had already done. Despite the limitations of speech and perhaps other limitations yet unknown, Shell realized he possessed something perhaps nobody else in the world did.

“Beautiful,” he said.

“If it’s not stalking us for a meal,” Quester said.

“No, it has had plenty of opportunities to do that if it wanted.”

Quester had stopped and watched the wolf. “It’s as if it protected us back there with those highwaymen.”

“That’s silly,” Shell said quickly, perhaps too quickly. “Like you said before, animals don’t think. They react.”

“True, but I’m beginning to wonder if that wolf is sick or injured. It doesn’t act normal. We have to be wary.” Quester continued to stand and watch it with obvious interest.

To draw his attention away, Shell said, “It doesn’t look hurt. In fact, it looks more than healthy.”

“Then that’s one more thing to worry about. When it gets hungry, it knows where we are. Either of us would make a good meal for it, so I’m going to carry my bow from now on.”

That didn’t work out like I wanted. “I don’t see any reason to overreact.”

Despite what he said, Quester unslung his bow and pulled an arrow, but he didn’t string the bow. The longer a bow was strung, the weaker it became as the wood conformed to the new shape. Quester had the string resting in a groove where he could place one end of the bow on the ground and slide his hand upward and the bow would be strung and ready in a few seconds.

If Quester strung it to use on the wolf, he would order the wolf to run or grab his friend to spoil his aim, if necessary. He would not allow the wolf to be hurt. The idea occurred to him that he was as protective as the wolf was. “You still mad at me?”

“You’re a poor liar is all I have to say. You’re holding back. I’ll let you tell me more when you trust me. For now, I’ll put it aside—but won’t forget.”

Quester walked on in silence, without once glancing behind at Shell or he would have seen the embarrassment and the conflict he felt. Shell considered telling it all to Quester, but since he had never heard of a member of the Dragon Clan and a wolf bonding together, he wondered if he would be considered an outcast or worse. They might think him and the wolf mutants.

Besides, he knew very little of the facts of what transpired between him and the wolf. The change in position when he asked for it could have been coincidence, and even spotting her could have happened without his mental suggestion.

But the warning that woke him and the attack on the highwaymen was not mere happenstance or coincidence. The wolf had known Shell was in danger and woke him. That was a fact, as was the ability to know where the wolf was located at any time. Things were happening Shell didn’t understand or know how to explain.

Shell found he used different muscles for walking when most of the way was uphill. His legs ached, and his breath came in short gasps. Looking at Quester, he found the other at least as tired as he. “We don’t have to go so fast.”

“If we hope to get to Breslau and help before the battles are fought, we need to hurry.”

“You didn’t even know of Breslau two days ago.”

“If I had,” Quester panted and drew in a deep breath to finish his sentence, “I would already be there.”

Shell looked to his left in awe of the mountain looming above. It grew larger every day, yet he never seemed to get closer. Their footing grew treacherous. The soft loam of the grasslands had gradually given way to coarse rock under a thin layer of dirt. The gray rock protruded above the dirt in many places, and where the paths and trails they followed were the steepest, only a thin layer of sand and gravel covered the solid rock, making the surface not only steep but as slippery as ice on winter mornings.

At every vantage, overlook, or unobstructed viewpoint, Quester insisted on pausing and watching ahead to make sure no possible enemies were there. Shell monitored the wolf and knew the way was clear but couldn’t say anything.

Twice he felt the wolf slip behind them and check their back-trail before moving ahead again. They ate slices of venison as they moved, stopping at streams now and then, but never once saw evidence of other humans. Shell dropped two slices of venison in the middle of the trail and enjoyed tracking the location of the wolf as she moved to their rear and ate the treats.

By the end of the day, Bear Mountain was no longer in front of them. It stood to their left, the slopes rising gently to meet the white snow and glaciers that covered the top third. Shell was about to suggest they turn to try and locate the dragon lairs when the ground shook and a rumbling so low it was felt more than heard, stilled them.

Their eyes turned to the mountain. Somewhere up near the pointed peak smoke drifted up in a spiral, spreading as it reached higher. Shell watched and found another movement in the air, as his back tingled slightly. “Feel that?”

“Only the second time in my life, but unmistakable. It’s like someone is outlining the dragon on my back with a piece of spring grass.”

Four dragons flew together, probably disturbed by the ground shaking, and two of them veered off to the north. The remaining two flapped their wings fiercely and flew west. As Shell and Quester felt the gentle touch of the dragons, they seemed to react also, as if sensing two Dragon Clan. They turned and flew directly at the two men as if curious—or hungry.

Shell glanced from side to side, searching for a place to hide. But Quester placed his hands on his hips and gawked as if fascinated. The dragons continued in their direction, losing altitude and searching with eyes Shell knew were red. He’d heard too many stories not to know what to expect.

There were tales of King Ember and King Emory. One was the old King of Princeton that was dropped from so high; his body made an impression in the ground that filled with water after rain, as well as a hundred other stories he’d heard since childhood. But the one commonality of the stories was that Dragon Clan were never injured by dragons.

However, as two red dragons flapped their great wings and flew at him, Shell was willing to forget the old stories and run. Only the image of Quester standing stoic in front of him kept the panic from erupting as the pain on his back increased.

He heard the wings flapping, one harsh sound on the down strokes and a different, softer sound on the upstrokes. Both dragons spotted them at the same time. Their heads pointed at them, the angle of their approach adjusted slightly, and the red eyes became visible.

The dragon on the left was larger, and it opened its mouth displaying a mouthful of jagged teeth. It roared so loud Shell’s knees went weak, and he couldn’t run if he needed to.

The pair passed over them at treetop level, flying on besides each other, neither turning their head to look behind.

“Beautiful,” Quester said, closing his eyes as if to lock away the memory. “My first two dragons and they flew here to take a look at me.”

“And me too,” Shell added, just to have something to say. “Were you scared?”

“No. I almost called out to them, I was so happy. I’ve waited my whole life to see one, and today they were to so close to me, I felt the wind from their wings.”

Shell nodded. “They were magnificent. I could even smell them. They were so close.”

The barrier that had been between the two men all morning seemed to have evaporated with each beat of dragon wings. They watched the two fly away until they disappeared, and then the tingling came again.

“Coming back,” Quester said.

Shell shook his head. “No, it feels different.”

“It’s the same to me. What’s the difference?”

Shell struggled to identify what it was but felt certain the tingling was different, more defined and intense. He looked off to Bear Mountain, where the new tingle originated, but saw no dragons. Then he felt a sense of familiarity. He’d heard nightly what he now heard in his mind, even if he hadn’t felt the nearness of the animal. The night whisperer was coming. The dragon he felt was the one that had called to him for more than a year.

The wolf is bad enough not to explain, but how do I tell Quester about this? Shell waited and watched. The awareness intensity increased from a tickle to an itch, and then a sharp sting. He spared a glance at Quester, and from the wince he displayed, Shell knew they shared the same strong feeling.

Quester said, “I feel it, but don’t see it.”

“There,” Shell pointed. A flick of movement and an approaching figure flying at treetop level stood out.

“A Red,” Quester muttered.

“Something’s wrong.”

“It’s small. A chick?” Quester asked.

The dragon continued to fly in their direction, and as it neared, Shell saw that Quester was right. The dragon was small. It was black but with a reddish tint in the sunlight, and it appeared to be the same species as the others that had flown past, although this dragon was not half their size. Not even a quarter.

When it shrieked, Shell couldn’t tell if it was for joy, anger, or a threat. The welcome feelings that flooded his being couldn’t be denied. “Feel that?”

“I’m getting used to it. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Not the sting. The welcome. It’s glad we’re here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I do think that thing’s going to land near us.”