The spot their dragon friend choose was a small culvert with a little snow-fed pond at the rear that dribbled out through the moss and grass clinging to the stone. It was just wide enough for the dragon to enter, but it would have been difficult for him to turn around. Once he had changed into his human shape, and attired himself in furs more typical of Arabarb, the three of them made their way down a set of natural stone steps until they passed into the trees. Quoddy shrank to the size of a normal gull and perched on Pharcellus's shoulders, gesturing with his beak which direction they needed to turn. To no one's surprise, the bird pointed to the west and the distant shore.
Even after they passed the tree-line, it took almost two hours of constant hiking before the ground leveled out and they found the pace comfortable and not so tiring. Lindsey constantly looked to the sky, but so near the mountains the sun was already absent. He wasn't quite sure how long they had before sunset, but he knew it couldn't be far off.
At times Lindsey was certain he knew exactly where they were, as the various trees and animal paths cutting through the underbrush looked familiar. There beyond that tight cluster of fir was a deer trail he'd once followed. There in that cairn of rocks a pack of wolves had once dwelt. And over there where the one poplar rose above a dell of mossy granite Lindsey had caught his first coney. When he saw these things he so badly wanted to turn and race through the familiar wood until he'd found his old home where his mother would be cooking and his father tending their beasts.
But then, the trees and rocks would all become strange and mixed up, arranged in positions that he did not know at all. Lindsey felt his hands clench and he had to fight the temptation to pick up the loose stones beneath his feet and fling them at the offending trees. This was his homeland; how could they be so confusing? One minute he knew them, the next they were strangers. It agonized him but what could he expect after ten years in a foreign land?
Lindsey looked up at the gull perched on his friend's shoulder. He remembered when Jessica had perched on his own those long months on their way to Marzac. He pushed a branch out of the way careful to avoid the needles, and asked, "Do you like my homeland?"
Quoddy blinked and turned his head to the boy before nodding his head. He grew in size a little, enough that Pharcellus gave him a nasty look as he shifted his weight. But it was just enough that the gull could speak intelligibly. "Oh aye, it is very beautiful. I loved watching Winter turn to Spring in this land. And I know it's just begun. The shore and the fjords are breathtaking. There's nothing quite like them to the south. I rather wish I had chanced coming this way before."
Lindsey felt himself blushing a little and turned his eyes back to the track through the woods. The afternoon was beginning to darken; twilight would be upon them soon, and so far he had not seen any clear sign of habitation. "You will like it in Summer. The fogs that roll off the sea, the many birds who sing the air to life, the sweet blossoms brightening our fields, it really is quite lovely."
Quoddy looked toward the sky, which they could just make out through intermittent breaks in the trees. Many here were quite tall rising to the heights of the lower towers in Metamor. But patches of blue were still visible through the throng of green and gray. "I have enjoyed meeting the few people I have here. Mostly I just watch them and listen." He paused and looked back down, staring at his webbed feet. "I'm very good at that. Most folks don't pay attention to a bird."
Curious, Lindsey asked, "What's it like being a sea gull?"
Quoddy tilted his head and shook out his wings. Pharcellus grunted, but glared in good humor at his rider. "Lonely much of the time. Other than my brothers, most of the year I spend my time in flocks with other gulls. We fight for food, work together to chase off other birds and other scavengers. I listen to fishermen a lot because they don't mind my company, even if they think I'm just a bird. They've shared their food with me before; at first it was a little humiliating, but... their food often tastes better than anything I normally scrounge." Quoddy sighed. "I wish I could stay at Metamor, but... my brothers and I just keep going back to the sea."
Lindsey felt strangely guilty. While those who were made either animals or children could not understand the pains that those like him who had their genders swapped, in much the same way, Lindsey found it hard to grasp the agonies that those like Quoddy endured with no hope of change.
After a moment of unsettled silence, Quoddy gestured to a small cleft in the ground leading between two boulders into a valley. "Through there. My contact lives down in here. I know this place."
Lindsey felt certain he knew this place too. Although it was a good distance from his old home, there was a growing recognition dawning in him. A faint recollection of scrambling over the rocks after her father with younger brother in tow, but as for where they ended up he couldn't bring to mind.
They passed through the boulders and quickly descended past banks of lingering snow, stepped over clinging roots and brambles, and emerged into a forested combe winding downward toward a meadow still lit by the setting sun. High trees gripped the edge of the combe on either side, and their shadows stretched long, reaching toward that meadow like the knives of a cutpurse stalking their next victim.
At the edge of the meadow they could see a thin trail of smoke rising, but not what made it. Quoddy nodded toward that smoke. "My contact lives there. We should make it with the sunset." So saying he shrank back down into his fully animal shape.
Pharcellus smiled a little and narrowed his deep blue eyes. "I don't know them myself, but one of my cousins has met them and said they were a good sort."
Lindsey looked up at the human dragon and chuckled. "You mean they liked dragons."
"That is a sign of a good disposition," Pharcellus trilled with a buoyant grin.
They shared the laugh, and even Quoddy cawed once, bobbing his head in good humor. After, they proceeded down the combe, navigating between the at first tightly constricting walls, before they opened out into a broad little ravine turning back and forth between two hills that leveled out at the base of a rocky defile. The stones were large and often covered in moss where they weren't buried beneath the earth. Lindsey wondered what Charles would make of them as he scrambled over their sturdy edges. He missed the rat just as he missed his other friends.
In all the shadowed places they found snow still packed, but large swaths of the ground were clear. In another month even those places still draped in wintry white would be clear for grasses and flowers and trees. Lindsey picked his path to stay out of the snow. The air was cooling as the sky darkened and behind them the mountains glowed in an orange twilight. Soon they too would be cold if they did not reach the cottage; there was no point in hastening their chill by striding through winter's remnants.
Nor did they have to in the end. Their path passed beneath another copse of trees before opening out onto a broad meadow with fresh grass and a profusion of flowers, bright yellows, oranges, blues, and purples swaying in the evening wind. Pharcellus took a deep breath, stretched out his arms and back, and smiled. "Oh, I love Spring here."
Lindsey nodded, kicking a loose stone that bounced into the grasses and disappeared. "I do too." He glanced to his right and left and quickly spotted the cottage with its trail of smoke rising from a stone chimney off to the west. A little pond with jumping fish nestled beneath a curtain of pine not thirty paces from the cottage, and a small rowboat was tied up against a little wooden shed. And laying before it was a black hound with droopy ears. As soon as they spoke he lifted his head and began to bay.
Lindsey continued toward the cottage anyway. The foundation was of stone as was the chimney, but the rest was made from wood and pitch, with thatch covering a roof of wooden planks fitted tightly together. A small stable was attached, but the hatches were already shut for the night and so they couldn't see if there were any animals within. Lindsey found it familiar but could not summon any specific memories about it.
From out the main door, and carrying a bow with a fresh arrow in his hand was a large man with red beard coming down to his chest. He bore a horned helmet on his head from beneath which he scanned the meadow until he found them. He then drew the bow and held it steady. "Who are you?" he called in a deep rumble of a growl. "This is my land!"
"Peace," Lindsey cried, holding up his hands. Pharcellus did the same.
Quoddy leapt from his perch on Pharcellus's shoulder and flew toward the man and his baying hound. The man's grim expression softened when he saw the gull and he ever so slightly lowered the bow and released tension on the string. "Quoddy? Is that you?"
The gull landed a dozen or so feet in front of him, and just out of reach of the leashed dog, and began to grow in size. As soon as he was able to speak human words, Quoddy said, "Gerhard! It is I! These are friends. May we come inside?"
The grizzled man, Gerhard, lowered the bow and nodded. He waved one arm. "Come in! Let's get you three warm and something in you." Despite his welcome, the hound continued to bay urgently. He scowled and snapped. "Tash, be quiet!" The dark-furred hound flinched as if slapped and slunk back to his place next to the boat whining under his breath.
Lindsey and Pharcellus followed a waddling Quoddy inside the cottage and were shown places they could sit. A wooden table with a bench was pressed against the wall and across its surface various lures, knives, and some fish guts were spread. Over the fire roasted a large haddock spread across a salted plank and Lindsey felt his stomach growl at the scent. The floor was covered with bear skins, while fox, wolf, and elk pelts hung from the walls. Mounted above the hearth was the stuffed head of a bear. Another hound lay curled up near the fire, while a trio of younger hounds rushed to greet them with excited barks and yips. They all fell back after Gerhard clapped his hands at each of them.
But Lindsey got down on one knee and held out his slender fingers for each of them to sniff. The dogs came close and nosed at his hand curiously. And then they began to lick his fingers. Lindsey laughed much like a normal boy would.
Gerhard glared at Pharcellus. "Tell your little brother to sit down. Why did you bring him anyway?"
Before the dragon could object, Lindsey stood up and crossed his arms. "I, like Quoddy, come from Metamor. I may look like a child but I am not."
Gerhard frowned but nodded after a moment's reflection. "Oh yes, I see. Forgive my assumption. Please sit. I will share my meal with you, it looks like you could use a good meal. And you are welcome to stay the night. I have enough bedding for all of you."
Lindsey took a seat while the dogs returned to playing amongst each other. The one laying in the corner must be the mother, Lindsey noted, and the father was still outside. He studied the warm interior some more and noticed that there was more than one set of gear for both winter and summer. Timorous, he ventured, "Do you have a wife, Gerhard? Or child?"
Gerhard stiffened for a moment and then sighed. "My wife passed away two years ago. My daughter married a few years before and now lives an hour further to the west. My son..." His face grew dark for a moment and then he spat on the ground. "My son joined Calephas's army. I should have whipped him more when he was young. I let him have his way too much."
"I'm sorry," Lindsey said softly. "We will be grateful for your home tonight. And I want to see Calephas dead as much as you. Perhaps more so."
Gerhard's brow furrowed and darkened. "What have you against him?"
"He is ruling my homeland, and has attacked my adopted home too. I am from Arabarb, but I have spent the last ten years at Metamor. My name there is Lindsey. But I grew up Lhindesaeg perhaps a few hours from your home."
The man rubbed his beard and stared at the boy. "Lhindesaeg? A woman's name. I thought you were once a man and that Metamor made you a child."
"That is a magical ruse. I was a woman and Metamor made me into a man. You may have known my father, Alfwig, and my mother, Elizabaeg. They also had a son named Andrig."
Gerhard began to stare in wonder at the boy and his companions. Pharcellus sat with his hands in his laps looking at everything in the room with a cat's curiosity. Quoddy sat as if nesting on the wooden bench with his gray wings folded across his back and his yellow beak shut politely. Lindsey alone leaned forward to bring himself under their host's scrutiny.
Their host's face transformed from one of wonder to one of recognition and relief. His voice was not nearly so gruff when next he spoke. "Lhindesaeg, I remember you. Last time I saw you you were about as old as you look now. Your hair was a bit longer though. It is a relief to know that it is you. Welcome home, Lhindesaeg."
"Thank you, Gerhard," Lindsey replied with a smile. He was relieved that the man believed him. Or at least, he appeared to do so.
The man turned to Pharcellus, looked him up and down, and asked, "And who are you?"
He smiled broadly, a little impish twinkle in his blue eyes. "I'm Pharcellus."
"That's an odd name."
"For a human maybe. But I am a dragon!"
Gerhard stared at him, eyes wide and jaw gaping ever so slightly. He then turned to Quoddy and asked. "Is he telling the truth or is he insane?"
The bird nodded his head. "This is the one I was telling you about. He's the one who carries our messages back to Metamor. I didn't know he could become human either until a few hours ago."
Gerhard swallowed heavily, turned the fish once, and then sat down on a three legged stool next to the fire, rubbing his forehead. "Very well, I believe you. You should not tell anyone else what you are. I take it that you two are trying to masquerade as brothers?"
"Aye," Lindsey nodded. "At least so long as it is safe for us to do so. It will be easier for me to move through Arabarb with a big brother to protect me."
Pharcellus frowned a bit, but his irrepressible good nature overwhelmed any misgivings he felt. Gerhard studied him with one eye and then shook his head. "We'll need to do something with his hair. No one will believe you are from our land if you do not braid your hair. And you look old enough to have a beard. You should grow one and braid that too."
The dragon in human form rubbed his smooth cheeks and chin, right down to the little dimple beneath his lips and narrowed his eyes. "I am not really human, even now. I am using a spell to make myself appear human. I cannot grow a beard like you. But I can change my spell a little bit so that I will have one."
Gerhard chuckled then, before turning to remove the haddock from the wooden slat and dumping it on a metal plate. He picked up a carving knife and split the fish into four sections of various size, then grabbed some bowls from a cupboard and slid a bit of fish into each. The smallest portion he gave to Quoddy who shrank into a normal-sized gull to eat.
After Gerhard offered a prayer to Yahshua asking for His blessings on their meal, they ate with their fingers and let the dogs lick them clean when they finished. He then poured each of them a bit of ale, even Lindsey, before going out to retrieve more wood for the fire, and to bring Tash his male hound inside for the night.
The hound was a little apprehensive at first, but warmed to them quickly once he knew they were guests and not intruders. Gerhard tossed a few more logs on the fire, including a couple branches with pine needles. The needles hissed and cracked, smoking prodigiously, but providing a pleasant odor to a cottage that smelled of a sweaty man, his dogs, and a few other animals they hadn't yet seen.
"All right," Gerhard said after sitting back down on his stool and holding a cup of ale in one hand. "I've fed you three. Lhindesaeg, you come from Metamor to help us. What are you doing here?"
Lindsey sipped the ale, but knew better than to have too much of it. He had a strong tolerance even as a young girl, but he wasn't sure how he would handle it yet as a young boy. "I learned some about the resistance here in Arabarb before I began my journey. What Quoddy has told us that is. I want to know everything I can before we continue."
The man stroked one of his beard braids. "What do you know already?"
The man was careful, Lindsey would give him that. "I know that the resistance has had to be very careful in the last year to avoid detection. I'm told that you are operating by word of mouth only for now. You each know two or three others in the resistance, and you pass messages back and forth. If somebody in the chain is taken prisoner, those who could be implicated flee for the wilds until they can settle somewhere else and begin again."
He kicked his legs back and forth, too short to reach the ground. While flying with Pharcellus he hadn't really noticed how small he'd become. Sitting at Gerhard's table and not being able to touch the ground drove home to him that he truly was a child. That and the fact that he had to resist the temptation to ask if he could play with the dogs. How did Father Hough ever get through a homily?
He took another sip of the ale and then set the cup behind him. "I know that you do have a few people still in Fjellvidden castle amongst Calephas's personal troops. But that their numbers are dwindling. Gmork has something to do with it. I didn't understand that part very well."
Gerhard spat at the fire. It hissed for a second then resumed its earnest crackling. "Calephas was very weak after the failed assault on Metamor. We were almost ready to overthrow him. Metamor's spies were providing us information, and we were collaborating on a plan. Calephas was... distracted it seemed with some artifacts he'd collected from his new allies beyond the pass. Bottles of strange potions. Nobody was quite sure what they were, although rumor has it he made the boys he raped drink them after he was done with them. We decided to strike once the first snows came; it would make it impossible for Calephas to retreat through the pass. We don't want our land back unless we can have his head on a pike on Fjellvidden's walls.
"But that's when Gmork came," Gerhard spat into the fire again, his face contorted into a rictus full of loathing. "Within days every Keeper had been found, and most of our men in the city were taken captive. Calephas's soldiers routed our hideouts nearby and destroyed the weapons we'd stockpiled. Our plans were in ruins. In the months that followed what was left of our organization was torn apart by traitors and by Gmork."
Gerhard tossed back the last of his ale and wiped the froth from his beard with the back of his hand. "We don't even know what he looks like. And the man who learned his name died shortly after passing it on. Arabarb will never know freedom again until that mage is destroyed." He turned his eyes to Lindsey who had to muster his courage to keep from shrinking from Gerhard's fierce gaze. "And that's why the resistance is so weak. But we are still here and we do know most of what is happening in the land."
"Would it be possible to gather the members of the resistance? At least those nearby so we could plan another attack?"
He guffawed, but bitterly so. "Another attack? Did Metamor make you crazy Lhindesaeg? Without total chaos amongst Calephas's forces, we don't have a chance."
"And if he's dead? If Calephas is dead, what order do you think there will be? Will that not be the perfect time to strike?"
Gerhard stopped, laughed and stared long and hard at Lindsey. He poured himself some more ale, drank half the cup, and then fixed his guests with a very suspicious glare. "Just why did you come back?"
"I'm here to kill Calephas, Gerhard. I was sent by Metamor to kill him and Gmork if possible. I'd like your help."
"Quoddy, is this true?"
The gull bobbed his head. "My brothers and I were only sent to make contact with the resistance. We were told that others would follow us who would strike at Calephas. We're just messenger birds. Lindsey speaks the truth." The gull shook out his feathers and cawed. "I cannot abide what he's been asked to do, but I believe it."
Lindsey held up one hand and shook his head. "Please don't ask how I am supposed to kill him. I don't want to say just yet."
Gerhard turned his cup around in his hands and sipped. "You don't have to. You look like just the sort of handsome boy Calephas wants for his bed. He's a dog and dogs always like something to hump. I think you are in for a very unpleasant end if this is what you intend."
"Then it is my end! I am willing to risk it for a chance to kill him. I believe that I will." Lindsey put his hands in his lap to keep them from shaking. He could feel the warmth from the ale, but so far it was not making him dizzy or groggy, or even any more excited than usual. But the words and suggestion of what that monster could do to him managed well enough to make him nauseous. He looked at his countryman with what he hoped was an expression of fierce determination. "I want to meet with the other members of the resistance to know how much support and aid they can lend me. Once I kill Calephas, I am going to need your help to secure Fjellvidden and to make sure Gmork cannot escape. Both their heads will decorate pikes before I am done. But I cannot do it without your aid. There are too many soldiers and too many eyes. They need to be somewhere other than me. Do you understand?"
"Aye," Gerhard said with a long sigh. He finished his second cup of ale but did not immediately brush the froth from his beard. "But we cannot be both distraction and besiegers. We do not have enough men or arms."
"Men of Arabarb not having enough arms? That I do not believe."
Quoddy squawked and craned his neck forward. "What Gerhard means is that they do not have caches near Fjellvidden. They would have to bring them and risk being searched and put in the dungeon."
Lindsey frowned. "Ah, I understand now. So I have more to learn. And that is why I want to meet with the others in the resistance, at least some of those nearby. I need to know what can be done. That is best discussed with many heads and not just ours."
Gerhard tossed his cup in a metal bucket, leaned back against one of the elk hides hanging on the wall so that for a moment it looked as if his ears were transforming into those of a deer's, and crossed his arms. His expression remained dubious. "What is it you want me to do? I am one end of the web. Information we intend to send to Metamor is given to me, and I give it to Quoddy. He's a good young man, if oddly shaped, and I have enjoyed his company. But I am in no position to demand a meeting of others in the resistance. I can pass your request along, but nothing more."
"That is all I ask then," Lindsey interjected before his host could offer more provisos. "Send a message saying that I have asked for a meeting so that we can discuss what can be done. Nothing more."
Gerhard pondered for a moment, one hand reaching down to scratch at the head of his eldest male dog Tash. At seeing attention given, the three younger dogs all came running over, nuzzling at the hand to lick the fingers and push it over their heads. At that he withdrew his hand and sighed guardedly. "Very well, I will pass your message along, Lhindesaeg. I will make the journey tomorrow, and return with the answer on the day after. You are welcome to stay here until I return."
"Thank you," Lindsey replied, doing his best to keep the heavy sigh of relief from escaping his chest. Beside him, Pharcellus remained placid, more interested in listening to them than in adding his own thoughts. Even his blue eyes revealed nothing more than his usual curiosity.
To his left, Quoddy took a moment to preen himself before sticking his beak in his cup of ale and sucking some down. The seagull shook his head in a quick twisting motion to get the foam off his yellow beak. He then cawed, "Do you want me to let Lubec and Machias know what we intend?"
"Not yet. Not until we have more to tell." Lindsey glanced back and forth between his friends, and then around the cottage. His heart suddenly felt very heavy. "In fact, I think tomorrow we're going to do a little hiking ourselves. There's someplace I want to go and see. We'll be back tomorrow for when you return, Gerhard. Will the forests be safe?"
Gerhard shrugged and resumed petting his dogs. "As safe as they ever are. You shouldn't need to fear any of Calephas's soldiers. They were through here a week ago and probably won't return for another week."
"Have they left the wilds alone?"
"More or less," Gerhard admitted with a disinterested shrug. "They come through exacting taxes. I pay them in skins. A good number of his soldiers served Nasoj, but he has enough from Arabarb that skins usually work at keeping them away. When in the village I've heard them boasting how they caught the beasts themselves. I don't say anything. If it keeps them from hunting the woods, then we don't starve in winter. That was a problem right after Calephas took control. They raided and hunted until we had nothing except the scraps they gave us."
He got to his feet, pushed the dogs away and shoved another piece of wood into the stove. "It's what he wanted. Tried to break our spirits by making us beg for food. He did it again a few years ago, and that's when my Eivinda got sick. I nursed her through it but... she was never quite the same." He slammed the door to the stove shut and trembled. Nobody said anything, although one of the dogs nuzzled his leg and whined a bit.
Gerhard patted the dog on the ear and looked toward the roof of his modest cottage. "I want him dead and this land free again. I don't think you will succeed, Lhindesaeg. But I hope and pray that you do." He turned back to them an he smiled ever so faintly. "I will prepare sleeping mats for you. Finish your ale. Once I have seen to my animals we will turn in for the night."
Lindsey thanked him and watched him slip into the other room. His heart burned with anger and quivered with the weight of his responsibility. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and turned to meet Pharcellus's confidant and reassuring smile. Lindsey smiled in return, feeling some of that weight lift.
"And where are we going tomorrow?" Pharcellus asked in a low voice.
"Aye, where?" Quoddy wondered.
The boy's smile faded but lingered on his lips. "Where else? We're going to visit my home."
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 mighty 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 go on 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 statue 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 frustrated, 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."