“No, black females are rare, but males are even rarer. Until you fell from the sky, I’d never even seen a black in all my travels. To be honest, I thought they all died out long ago. I assumed the chick would be one of the other colors.”
Back at the nest, the night whisperer told Gareth, which egg to take. They insisted he take the larger one. Had they somehow known?
Once they settled into their new seats in the rowboat, the dragon ate more chunks of dried meat from Gareth’s fingers, never once drawing blood from a fingertip despite snatching each piece so fast the movement couldn’t be tracked with the eye. Then it curled itself up in Gareth’s lap and slept, looking more like a kitten than a vicious black dragon.
Gareth whispered to Tom, “What are we going to do with this nasty creature? We can’t sell the egg now, I guess. Will the army buy a baby dragon? Or will anybody?”
“Don’t think you have to speak soft, Mama Gareth. The black looks really sound asleep. But, you should probably wrap the two of you up in a blanket and keep it warm tonight.”
“I don’t want to sleep with that thing.”
“Son, you can’t leave newborn babies of any sort out in the night cold to die. I don’t know what we’re gonna do tomorrow, but tonight you have a duty.”
“I said that I’m not this thing’s mama.”
Chuckling, Tom took a couple of strokes to center the boat in the river but refrained from speaking.
Gareth made himself comfortable, turning his back on the old man to avoid more confrontation. He pulled the blanket over himself and drew his knees up, leaving the dragon on the floorboards near his feet. The dragon woke with a start, looked around and found Gareth, then eased closer to him as if stalking prey. It nosed around until it found the edge of the blanket, slipped underneath, where it moved up his leg to Gareth’s middle and curled next to him.
Gareth felt the first nip of night air chill and allowed the animal stay. The night birds whistled and chirped, owls hooted, and the soft whisper of the rowboat slipping through the water took the edge off his temper. Eventually, he fell asleep.
The night whispers soon arrived, soothing and comforting for a change. They immersed him in soft and mellow feelings, almost happy, if happy was the right word, which it was not. But they managed to convey satisfaction with his actions and offered a hint of safety. As they withdrew from his mind, he slept better than in recent memory.
Tom shook his shoulder. “Nice night and the stars are out. Looks like a few rapids up ahead. Nothing too bad, probably, but you better sit up and help guide me.”
The gurgling sounds of water rushing over many rocks filled the night air, and as he sat up, the tiny dragon squealed in protest before resettling itself back into his lap. The edge of the blanket still covered most of it. Gareth glanced at Tom to see if he was watching. When he saw Tom focused on the river in front of them, he pulled the blanket over the dragon.
Ahead were patches of white in the river ahead. As they drew nearer, the water ran faster. Rocks and boulders flash past. Twice Gareth directed Tom to one side of the river to avoid rocks, and once the boat scraped bottom in a shallow section, but they moved quickly and soon entered a far larger river, the water turning sluggish and darker.
Tom said, “Must be the River John. Care to take the oars and let me catch a few winks?”
“No problem.” They exchanged seats. Gareth scooped the dragon into the crook of his arm and carried it to the other seat as if he had done so a thousand times.
Tom said, “Rule number one for any crewman on watch on the water. You wake me for anything that you see. Or anything you think you see. That’s all you have to remember.” He unrolled the other blanket and pulled it over his head forming a hood, and stretched out across the bench seat, feet hanging over the side of the boat threatening to dip into the water.
The instructions Tom gave were almost like orders issued to a worker. Gareth decided to not object or comment. Tom was tired and needed his rest. Gareth peered into the darkness and found his eyes had adjusted enough to allow him to see the ragged shoreline of the river, and sometimes beyond. The shore was a darker line in the depths of blackness. Stars overhead formed brilliant points of white light. Later he saw the fluttering glint of a yellow light beyond the edge of the river. “Tom, there was a light on the shore. Up ahead.”
“Gone now?”
“Yes, at least, I can’t see it anymore.”
“Maybe a cabin with a fire or lantern inside. We probably drifted out of sight. Good man. Keep watching.”
The chuckling sounds of the water slipping past the boat were soft as the current carried them down the river. Bats flitted past their heads and mosquitoes whined. A lone hoot-owl called softly from the nearby trees on the left bank. The old man needed sleep as much as Gareth did, perhaps more when his age was taken into consideration. Gareth steeled himself to stay awake at the oars until sunrise.
His attention drifted to memories of life in Dun Mare and Faring. And of Sara, Odd’s lovely daughter. Time passed pleasantly. “More lights up ahead, Tom.”
He saw the blanket move as the old man rose up and looked. “A small village or town looks like. We’ll float past as quiet as a whisper. Careful you don’t let the oars make noise because it can carry a good distance across a body of water.”
Tom lowered his head and went back to sleep.
Thinking of the events so far, as much as Gareth had been scared when the dragon flew off with him, his friend, Faring must have been almost as frantic as Gareth when he saw him dangling below the dragon on that rope. Faring probably ran all the way home and spewed the story to his father that the dragon had flown off and killed him. He’d also tell the story to any teachers he encountered, too. And he’d tell it to anyone else who would listen, but the reality was that none of them could have helped Gareth. Still, there must have been quite a stir in Dun Mare over his strange departure. He smiled at how the old men at the inn would tell and retell the story of Gareth flying off to his demise while dangling below a dragon. Probably the biggest story in village history.
But that chain of thinking soon led him to one of the mysteries that he couldn’t speak to. How had the teachers in Priest’s Point learned of Gareth’s disappearance from Dun Mare so quickly? Nobody can travel that fast, except when flying on a dragon. Even if someone had found a way to travel that fast, that didn’t answer the other question. Why had the white ship chased them?
He digested and reconsidered all the facts until he figured out a partial answer to the last question. Tom had paid a woman in Priest’s Point to sew his new pants and shirt. She knew Tom fished on his boat alone. The larger clothing was obviously not for him. Somehow, she passed that information to the teachers, who were searching for someone his size. After finding out Tom had a passenger matching the general description of Gareth, the teachers must have ordered the white ship to sail after them. The teachers must have paid the ship owner well, or they had offered a sizeable reward. If not, the white boat would not have taken the risks it had. Even poor seamen know better than to chase the fishing boat into an area filled with jagged rocks. The risk for the expensive boat had to be justified with gold.
Tom had concluded the teachers could somehow communicate over long distances. As silly as it sounded, and as quickly as Gareth had dismissed the idea earlier, there was no denying the teachers in Priests Point somehow knew of him, and within a single day. They must also have vast resources of money as shown when they purchased the trading company that bought Faring’s Da’s tannery. He thought about the white boat chasing them through the rocks. Had he seen any teachers on board? He didn’t think so.