[Mkguild] Healing Wounds in Arabarb (9 of ?)

[C. Matthias]

The next part!

Healing Wounds in Arabarb
By Charles Matthias


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 might 
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 on up 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 status 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 frustration, 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."

----------

May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias


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