Key of Living Fire (The Sword of the Dragon) (35 page)

Ombre sat on the bench opposite Oganna, stretched his legs, and spoke through a yawn. “How many of those creatures are there?”

“I have found ten of them. Yet I am certain there must be others, for the swamp is quite large.” Whimly sat beside her, and Caritha sat with Ombre. The Art’en pulled a fur from beside the bench and threw it over their legs. It was a very soft fur, white, and she thought it might have come from a bear. “There is another one of these to your right,” he told Ombre as he pointed to the floor. Ombre thanked him, picked it up, and laid it out for him and Caritha.

Whimly talked then, for hours, about the “Swamplands.” He told them that unless they wanted to end up getting killed, they should turn around and go back the way they’d come. “The way to the mountain is littered with crocodiles, eels, and poisonous snakes. But worst of all there are two giants, a man and a woman, that waylay anyone daring to pass through the heart of the swamp.”

“Giants?” Ombre drew his sword and balanced its hilt in his lap while eyeing the blade. “We’ve dealt with their kind before, and, believe me, they are no match for the three of us.”

Nodding his head, Whimly continued. “Oganna told me a little about what happened in Burloi—and I commend your deeds in that place—however, the giants I am speaking of are not merely twice the height of a tall man. These giants are taller than that Aquagiant.” He lifted his eyebrows for emphasis. “Getting past them is
not
a simple matter of putting up a good fight.”

“Whimly, you know the Swamplands better than any of us. Couldn’t you show us the way?” Oganna smiled as he shot a glance at her, and she read his startled face.

“Would not be wise—it would not be wise,” he said.

She leaned toward him. “Why?”

“There are too many risks, particularly for women folk. Look what happened with the Aquagiant. The next time you might not come out alive.”

She stood and went into the room where she’d woken. Avenger was lying in its sheath with her other things in one corner. “Whimly,” she said as she returned, strapping the weapon to her side, “have you ever seen a sword such as this?” Not waiting for him to respond, she drew the blade.

The Art’en jumped as the blade glowed crimson and clothed Oganna in the silver garments. His jaw dropped and he stared. “I have not seen something so marvelous in a very, very many years.”

“I call it Avenger,” she said. “You have no need to fear for me. The Aquagiant caught me unprepared, but that will not happen again. This sword is an extension of the power in my blood—my dragon blood.”

“Dragon blood?” The Art’en stood with a deep frown and stared down at her. “Is this a work of God, young lady? Or of some sorcerer?”

“No, you misunderstand,” she said, placing her hand on her chest. “I am the descendant of a dragon. And believe me when I tell you, there is nothing evil in that dragon’s blood.”

He relaxed his stance and sat again. “Then my mind is at peace. Though you had me confused for a moment. Goodness in your heart I saw, and I thought purity—a rare and valuable combination.” He pressed his hands together, forming his long fingers into a pyramid. “Tomorrow, then, I will guide you,” he said decisively. “Be ready to leave after breakfast.”

Whimly spread his wings and swooshed through the humid air to the base of the tree. It was a long fall, but he made it appear easy. Oganna stepped through the door and exited the Art’en’s nest. Wood slabs, nailed to the nearest tree’s trunk, permitted safe passage to the swamp below. According to Whimly, he had constructed this makeshift ladder as a precaution, in case he ever hurt himself and could not fly into his home.

Descending with care, she put one foot below the other until she made her way to the tree’s base and stood beside Whimly. Caritha and Ombre soon joined them. “Come.” Whimly grabbed their backpacks from where he’d piled them and helped them put them on. “We have the day ahead of us and much distance to cover, and you don’t want to be caught out here at night. There are nocturnal beasts that would love to prey on you.”

Jumping from one dry mound to the next, the party made steady though slow progress. Whimly had told the truth about the abundance of creatures in the Swamplands. There were several times when Oganna, Ombre, and Caritha slipped and disturbed the placid water’s surface. Immediately a dozen or more crocodilian creatures would pop up, jaws snapping ferociously. Every time, the Art’en pulled them to safety and warned them to watch their footing more carefully.

The deeper they journeyed into the Swamplands, the more difficult it became to navigate from one dry spot of ground to the next. The exposed tree roots, covered thickly with moist moss, proved treacherous as well. Overhanging vines became difficult to distinguish from the many varieties of snakes that hung from the trees. They encountered two more Aquagiants, but this time Oganna was prepared. She drew Avenger and stabbed the blade into one of the creature’s eyes. It slid back into the water, and she threw her boomerang at the other giant. The boomerang carved one of the Aquagiant’s eyes, and it, too, sank back into its slimy bed.

“I am beginning to think there is no way we will be able to move thousands of men, women, and children through this place,” Ombre said. “Perhaps we should turn around. We need to search in another direction.”

“What direction?” Oganna asked. “North of the Hemmed Land is Burloi, and south is Resgeria, while eastward is the vast uncharted Sea of Serpents. At least if we continue in this direction and find a suitable land for resettlement, we can skirt around to the south through the desert.”

“Perhaps,” Ombre said, though he sounded doubtful.

About midday they reached what Whimly referred to as the “heart of the Swamplands.” Here they found more solid ground. Streams of clear water wove into the murky swamp water, surrounding islands lightly populated by large oak trees.

Lights flashed in the streams—lightning under the water. Oganna held on to the sturdy trunk of an oak and craned her neck to see what caused the flashes. Zipping through the current with blinding speed were countless blue-green eels, their bodies blinking on and off as though plugged into an unseen power source.

Suddenly she felt a stabbing, paralyzing pain shoot up her legs and looked down to see the tail of one of the eels entwining around her. Knowing that to delay could mean death, she drew her sword. The crimson blade cut through the eel’s body, severing the tail like a hunk of wet cheese.

“Uncle Ombre, I can’t feel my legs!”

He came on the run, peeled her trouser legs up to her knees, and inspected her legs. A perfect line, drawn by some kind of teeth, circled her ankles. Greenish goo oozed from the eel’s tooth marks, and the lower half of her leg turned purple.

“Poisonous eels,” Ombre muttered. “What next?”

“It looks bad. I warned you to watch out for the eels.” Whimly’s wings shivered, and he motioned for Ombre to move aside. “Let me take a closer look.” After inspecting the wound, he scratched his chin thoughtfully and roved the island on which they were until he found a small bush, laden with arrowhead-shaped green leaves. He plucked several of the leaves, put them in his mouth, and started to chew.

A stabbing pain shot into Oganna’s upper leg, and she cringed. Her lower legs were beginning to swell. She closed her eyes against the agony. When she opened them again, she saw Whimly pluck some strange yellow berries from another plant. Still chewing, he approached her and knelt down before spitting a revolting mash into his right palm.

“This is the only remedy I know of—it hurts like fire!” He smattered the mash on her leg, and stood up with arms crossed, watching her.

Trillions of needles drove into her leg, and it hurt so badly that she began to cry. Ombre cleaned the bark off a stick and stuck it into her mouth. She bit it, feeling the sweat break out on her forehead as a burning sensation ran the length of her body, ending at her head. When the pain eased and she dared to look at the wound, it was running with greenish goo.

Caritha took her hand and patted it as the last of the poison left her system. “I think Whimly’s remedy is working, but let me see if I can help.” She smiled and rested the cold metal of her rusted sword against the wound. A few teeth marks closed as the weapon resonated with light and warmth. But Caritha’s face shook. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes with the effort. Within a few minutes the teeth marks vanished, the swelling in Oganna’s leg went down, and the color returned to her skin.

Whimly grinned down at her, and she felt the warmth of his friendship cover her. “Thank you, Whimly; you saved my life.”

“The lady helped,” he said, nodding at Caritha. “I suppose she is part dragon too.”

Caritha collapsed, and Ombre picked her off the ground. She lay limp in his arms, her skin bone-white. “Caritha?” He shook her but she did not stir, and he looked to Oganna with fear in his eyes. “She is not responding.”

Oganna touched Caritha’s cheek. It was cold and growing colder, as if death were claiming her. Grasping Avenger, she touched its blade to the Warrioress’s sword arm. The blade pulsed red light and warmed the woman’s skin, for a moment forming an aura around the body. Caritha coughed, and set her feet on the ground as Ombre embraced her.

“What happened there?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I guess I don’t have the strength I used to.”

But that made no sense to Oganna. Why would her aunt suffer a reduction in the power of her dragon blood? While it was true that it took the combined power of all the Warrioresses to perform any great deed, this act should have been relatively simple for her. It was as if her power had diminished.

“Don’t have the strength?” Ombre held her at arm’s length, gazing into her eyes. “What are you talking about? Where would it go?”

“Please.” The Warrioress stood apart from him and gestured for Whimly to lead them onward. “I can see Oganna has questions too. But for now, treat me as you have before. I am able to cope with whatever situations arise on our journey. The rest is a secret I alone bear. And for now I have no desire to share it with either of you. Can you respect that?”

Ombre stared hard at her, but Oganna nodded. “Of course, Aunt Caritha. If that is what you wish.”

The Art’en, unaffected by the episode, picked up Caritha’s and Oganna’s packs and glided to another island.

Several vines of sufficient length and size hung close at hand, so Oganna grabbed hold of one, pulled back, and ran forward, swinging over the stream and landing on the island. Her companions landed beside her, and the viper coddled her neck. “Psst!”

She scratched its head and then looked to Whimly. He had his back turned and appeared to be listening for something. “Whimly?” But he stopped her with a sharp glance and raised his hand for silence as a dull thud sounded in the distance ahead of them.

Placing his hand over his left breast, Whimly gave her a meaningful gaze.

Heart? His heart?
She watched him point ahead of them and frown before again touching his breast. “Heart?” she mouthed.

He nodded.

The heart of the Swamplands. We’ve reached it—but . . .
“Why the silence?”

Spreading his arms wide, the Art’en pointed up and walked in a lumbering manner.

Ah, she had almost forgotten about the giants. She nodded to let him know she understood and checked on Ombre and Caritha. Their swords were drawn, and their eyes were darting in all directions. They knew.

They proceeded onward with Whimly leading the way. The islands grew larger, and the swamp turned shallower. The air here was less humid, and the lighting was not as dim. No crocodilian creatures were in sight, and the region was deathly quiet. Not a bird dared to muster a song for fear of discovery.

For a long while they continued in this fashion until, coming upon a gargantuan human footprint, they stopped to take stock of the area. Whimly pointed to a rise in the land ahead and folded his hands under his head to indicate that the giants were sleeping. They tiptoed up the rise, then peeked over.