She didn’t want to think about it. She didn’t want to consider what she might have to do while he was up there inside the dragon’s lair. She wasn’t so sure now that she could do it.
“We’ll talk about it later.” She kissed him again, deeply this time, trying to drive the worry from her mind and that subject from his.
That night, they made love in the moonlight on top of the pilot-house. They tried to be quiet, but it was impossible. The act ended up being humorous and awkward. They spent most of the night giggling like children.
When Gerard woke, he was alone. He sat up and looked around. The sun was only slightly above the horizon, and only one or two white fluffy clouds were in this part of the sky. Far behind them, the entire northern horizon was a dark gray line.
The loud “CHOOK!..CHOOK!..CHOOK!” of some creature grabbed Gerard’s attention. A large, hairy mannish thing sat in a tree, voicing its disapproval of their presence in its domain. Somewhere, not far beyond the beast, a whole tree shook violently, sending a squawking flock of angry birds up into the air.
For the most part, the marsh had risen up out of the water around them. Very few open spaces could be seen now. The jungle that surrounded them was dense and steamy. The trees along the edges of the waterway leaned out over it. Their limbs hung down, the sagging branches heavy with beards of blue colored moss and long stringy leaves.
As he climbed down from the pilot-house, and its higher vantage point, Gerard began to feel enclosed. It was like moving down a roofless corridor, or a narrow, forested wagon trail.
The site of something so personally familiar to him, that it was startling, caught his eye. A large, full grown hawkling was perched solemnly on the back rail of the boat. It was as out of place as anything he could imagine. It cocked its head towards him and blinked. It was big and healthy, but to Gerard, it seemed that something, some glint of existence, was missing. It didn’t seem to be proud or even aware. A flash of sunlight reflected off of something at the bird’s neck and Gerard moved closer. It was a jeweled leather band, a collar. He went toward the hawkling, half expecting it to launch away, but it didn’t. It sat there passively, as he fumbled at the band around its neck. He tried to unclasp it, but found that it was held in place, by a solid silver ring. Perplexed, he started to look for a dagger to cut the thing off.
“Don’t release it,” Shaella barked angrily from the pilot-house. “How can I reply if you cut it loose?”
“How can someone keep such a creature bound like that?” He wasn’t sure how he knew that the collar was like a shackle around the bird’s spirit. Maybe it was the ring’s magic telling him; maybe he just felt it. Either way, he knew.
“How could you of all people ask such a stupid question?” she snapped.
“What do you mean?”
“You, and your people, are the very ones who plucked this creature from its nest before it was even hatched!”
She made a sharp clucking sound, and the hawkling flew over to her, and perched on the edge of the pilot- house roof. She tied a finger-sized scroll case to another band that was clasped around the bird’s ankle. When she was done, she stood on tiptoe, and fiddled with the collar while murmuring a few words that Gerard couldn’t quite make out. As soon as she dropped back to her heels, the hawkling leapt into flight and headed off on a swift, northwesterly course.
“What did you think happened to the eggs your people stole from the nest and sold?” she asked. Her eyes trailed after the bird.
Gerard winced. He had known, and hadn’t ever really thought about it very much. Were his people no better than that? Were they just villainous egg thieves who stole something more precious than gold? The idea was unsettling. How could his people respect and revere a creature so much, yet make a profit by selling its young into slavery? Maybe it was true. Maybe the Skyler Clan was nothing more than a band of bird-soul stealers.
The slight bit of guilt and unease he’d been feeling about leaving his people the way he had suddenly evaporated. Who were they to judge him for leaving? What reason could they possibly have to disapprove of what he was going to do for Shaella? His people wouldn’t shun him for stealing a dragon’s egg for her. They would be proud of him. What greater harvest could he make? The Elders even used a dragon’s skull for their fire pit. The memory of the size of that skull sent a chill through him. A hint of the dangerous nature of what he was going to do became real to him, and his mind went off on another track.
It was one thing to wave off an angry hawkling mother while you plucked one of her eggs away. Shooing off a dragon probably wasn’t an option. He wasn’t sure if dragons really breathed fire like they did in Berda’s tales, but he didn’t think it would really matter. The jaws on the skull in the Elders’ council chamber back home were large enough to pluck him from the fang-spire and swallow him whole. There were claws, and blasts of turbulent air from the powerful wings to think of as well. If the dragon really did breathe fire, and it caught him, then he was done for anyway. He could almost imagine being roasted like a stag’s loin while he clung helplessly to a sheer face of rock.
“Where did you go?” Shaella asked him. He had been staring after Pael’s hawkling with a look of deep concern on his face, but the bird had long since disappeared from sight.
“Your plan had better be a good one,” he said, a little more sharply than he intended to. He had meant for his voice to convey his concern without showing his fear. The result had sounded angry.
Her brows narrowed, and she stepped away from him while holding his gaze. She searched his eyes deeply. The quality of his manner that had caused her to fall so hard for him wasn’t there to be seen at the moment. She hoped that it hadn’t flown away with the hawkling. Maybe it would make it easier if she…NO! She stopped herself from thinking that way. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She huffed out her frustration. She had fallen in love with him, and already she was fighting with the possible regret. The task he was here for was dangerous, and she couldn’t let it affect her judgment.
The worry he was feeling was showing plainly on his face. She felt it too.
“Tonight, we feast with the marsh men,” she said, with a forced smile. “After the formalities, Cole and I will share our ideas with you. Our plan, if you will. If we have to make a few changes, if you can add anything, or some part of the plan needs to be adjusted to help you succeed, then we will work it out then.”
His eyes softened while she was speaking. That glint of whatever it was that she adored had returned to them. She found herself relieved that it was still there. She was irritated though, that the presence of some silly twinkle meant so much to her. Before she could think, he stole a quick kiss. The smile that resulted came across her face of its own accord.
The boat came aground just as the sun was starting down below the horizon. Before Gerard hopped down off of the pilot-house, he took a long, last look at the distant fang-shaped spire. He was sure he wouldn’t be able to see it once he was under the jungle’s thick canopy. As he hurried into the gloomy swelter to catch up with Shaella, he found he was right.
It had been uncomfortably humid out in the open, but once he was in the jungle, he found the heat stifling. The air was so thick with moisture, that he felt like he was swimming through it. The trail led away from the boat. Gerard thanked the goddess for it. The journey through the tangle of greenery would’ve been impossibly slow without the path.
Cole led them. He was followed by Greyber. The Water-Mage came next, and Shaella was behind him, prodding him along with her sword. The soft, yellow glow of its blade helped with the dimness created by the density of the vegetation.
Even if the sun had been directly overhead, Gerard thought that it would’ve been dark in this claustrophobic place.
Flick had stayed with the boat. The two deck hands that hadn’t gone with the cargo barge were with him. The further Gerard moved away from the boat, the more he found himself looking back over his shoulder into the dark nothingness.
Some sort of thorny vine spiked into his arm sharply. He tried to pull away, but it was embedded in his flesh. He pulled again, with gritted teeth, and finally broke free of it, but not before dragging several feet of the ropey plant down the trail behind him. The rustling of bushes, and the sound of heavy footfalls, as some large, grunting thing bolted away from them, hurried his pace. When he caught up to Shaella, and the comforting glow of her sword, he decided that this wasn’t the sort of place where one should lag behind.
The clamor of a hammering bird’s beak, and the chirping sizzle of a million different insects, wafted up
