Jean Rabe - Dragons of a New Age

“Coated in dung,” Dhamon swore.

“Yuck,” the kender said. She dropped the arrows, glaring at the boy. “And there’s blankets in there, covering up stuff that stinks worse—bodies.”

“Leave them alone!” the boy shrieked.

“Are they your people? Did the sky monsters kill them?” Shaon asked.

The boy nodded.

“Why were you spared?”

He hung his head, mumbling something. The sea barbarian stepped closer so she could hear.

Meanwhile, Dhamon led Feril away toward his horse. “This will help,” Dhamon said softly, as he tugged free a waterskin. “But I want to start a fire, burn the wound a little to make sure it doesn’t get infected and so the bleeding will stop. It’ll hurt.”

The Kagonesti pursed her lips. “I wish Jasper was here,” she said, recalling how the dwarf had healed Dhamon’s wounds by casting a spell.

They sat on the ground next to a small fire pit, and Dhamon used the legs of a crude chair for kindling. He held the blade of his knife in the flames, turning it over and over until the edge glowed from the heat.

“I hope you didn’t hurt the boy,” she said.

“He tried to kill you.”

She shrugged. “He thought I was going to defile—” The hot metal hurt worse than the arrow, and Feril clenched her teeth and dug her fingers into the dirt at her sides as Dhamon probed the wound. She felt tears spill out over her cheeks. Finally finished, Dhamon doused the wound with water again. He’d found some clean clothes inside one of the homes and had torn up a child’s shirt to make a bandage. She watched him wrap her arm. He was thorough, practiced.

“You’re used to tending to the injured, aren’t you?”

He stared into her eyes. “I’ve had some training. I know how to dress wounds.”

She inched closer. “Where’d you learn how?” Her legs brushed his as she rested her injured arm on his knee. “Good in a fight and a good medic. I’ll bet you served in an army somewhere. Tended the wounded on a battlefield?”

“In a manner of speaking, I...” He brought his face close to hers, felt her breath on his cheek.

“I got some answers from the boy!” Shaon interrupted.

Dhamon reluctantly turned to face the sea barbarian. He felt the red warmth of embarrassment, and Shaon’s wide grin and quick wink didn’t help matters. The boy was standing in front of her, looking down at the dirt near his feet.

“He’d run away from his chores,” Shaon said.

“That’s why he wasn’t killed,” Blister added. Having said this, the kender trotted over to inspect Feril’s bandage. “He was behind those hills when a big storm hit, and he stayed there until the rain stopped,” Blister added.

“When he came back, all he saw were bodies.” The sea barbarian scowled. “He says he doesn’t know what happened to them, but he claims there were claw marks on some, like a wild animal got them. Says others had burns on their hands and chests.”

“It was the sky monsters,” the boy whispered defiantly. “They came with the storm.”

“He’s been burying the bodies,” Blister said. “Three a day. Said he couldn’t bury more ’cause the digging made him tired. I told him we’d help bury the rest.”

Dhamon stood and brushed the dirt off his breeches and counted the grave mounds. “So this happened five days ago?” The boy nodded.

“Everyone but you died?”

“No,” the boy whispered. “Most of the people, more than thirty, are missing. The sky monsters took them.”

“I’ll check for tracks,” Feril offered. She stretched an arm toward Dhamon, and he gently pulled her to her feet. She winced, but the pain had already lessened.

“You won’t find any tracks,” the boy said. “I already looked. The monsters fed my people to the storm.”

“Maybe they rode away on the horses,” she suggested.

“No. I told you, they were from the sky.”

“But you didn’t see these monsters,” the Kagonesti persisted. “So you can’t really know what happened.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t see them. It stormed and the adults vanished.”

“I guess I’ll just have to chat with the pigs to be certain,” said Feril. “They might have actually seen what happened.” “How many are left to bury?” Dhamon asked. He watched Feril walk toward the pen. His face reddened again as he noticed Shaon watching him with interest.

“Four,” the boy said. “Children. They weren’t big enough to eat.”

Shaon shivered, staring at the youth. She wished she had stayed with Rig. Maybe the sky monsters were the growing evil Dhamon was always talking about. “Where are the shovels?” she asked, wanting to leave as soon as possible.

The boy pointed toward the largest clay home and started in that direction. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was following him.

“I’m coming,” the sea barbarian said. “Hey, what are you doing here?”

Dhamon, Feril, and Blister followed her gaze. At the western edge of the village, Fury stood panting. The red wolf wagged its tail, and barked a greeting.

“At least you didn’t bring Rig and Groller,” she said huffily, as she squinted and looked behind him just to make sure. Then she pivoted on her heels. “About those shovels?”

Feril leaned over the rail, studying the pigs. A large spotted black one regarded her intently, while the others busily rooted around in the dirt. Wriggling her nose and making snuffling sounds, she coaxed it near and reached into the leather pouch at her side. Her fingers closed around a lump of soft clay.

The pig looked at the proffered clay and sniffed the air, thinking it might be a treat. Deciding it wasn’t, the pig snuffled dejectedly and looked at its fellows.

“I have nothing,” Feril whispered. “But don’t leave.”

The pig snorted, then slowly turned to face her. She worked the clay with the fingers of her left hand. Her arm ached, and made the process difficult.

Fury trotted around the side of the small home, sending the pigs scurrying toward the far end of the pen. Feril frowned and called the black and white one back. “Fury won’t hurt you,” she assured it.

The wolf barked, as if to agree with her, then brushed against her leg and looked up devotedly. She worked the clay faster, giving it a snout and four legs. She used her small fingernail to etch out a curly tail.

“I want to talk to you later,” she told the wolf. “Right now, I’m busy.” She smoothed the clay, making it even and slick like the pig’s hide, then she began to snuffle, her soft snorts sounding faintly musical.

The pig squealed excitedly, and Feril felt her mind reaching toward it. Hot air streamed around her as her senses focused on the pig. Its grunts were starting to sound like words inside her head, the nature magic translating them into terms she could understand.

“There were people here,” she began, using grunts that caught the attention of the other pigs. A few shuffled closer, their gazes drifting between her and the wolf.

“Many people,” the spotted pig answered. “People who fed us and chased the flies away.”

“Where did they go, these people?”

“All gone,” the pig grunted sadly. “All but the boy. He feeds us small things and doesn’t scratch us at all. The boy has no time for us.”

“Where did all the people go? Maybe if you tell me, I can bring them back. You’ll get more attention.”

“They won’t be back.”

She gestured for the pig to continue, translating its grunts and the subtle gestures of its ears and nose.

“The sky flashes came for the people.”

“The lightning,” Feril murmured to herself.

“The flashes killed the little ones. The bigger ones were pulled into the sky.”