DARK HOURS
Chapter 6
Kayge continued to stare at the
distant horizon in the direction where the dragon had flown. The creature was
no longer visible, but it didn’t matter. He knew where it had gone. More
importantly, he knew why it had gone there. And to whom.
“That witch has power over it,” he
muttered. “That explains everything. Damn her. Damn you, Gola! The beast is
doing your bidding! That is why it was here! That is why it swallowed me, then
Emers! It is your voice I hear! You sent it to torment me by taking my
bride!”
As if she’d heard him, her words
returned to haunt him.
Follow me if you want to see
your beloved again!
Follow me if you dare!
He took a step backwards and almost
stumbled. Hot agony zipped up his right leg, causing him to cry out from the pain.
Intense and momentary blinding, the leg buckled under him and he fell to the
ground. Somehow he’d injured it although he had no memory of the incident. Neither
could he recall if the wound was the result of a battle he’d fought.
Gasping for breath, he clutched his
hip and thigh as he waited for the fire to subside. He wasn’t yet recovered
from being inside the dragon’s gullet. Or from being vomited up, naked and
defenseless against the freezing weather. If his emergence under such
circumstances and in a strange location wasn’t confusing enough, this
campground was just as odd. A saddlebag he knew wasn’t his or Emers’ lay across
a nearby rock, yet there were no horses in the immediate vicinity. A water skin
sat near the fire’s circle of protective rocks. From the prints in the dirt, it
looked as though the fire had been tended to all night, leaving him to suspect
Emers was responsible.
“How long was she here? How did she
get here?” He checked around him. “I do not recall this place or coming here.”
It was then he saw the smears of
dried blood leading away from the encampment. Unconsciously he crossed himself.
“Oh, dearest God…”
He struggled to get back up on his
feet. Moving slowly, he followed the trail over to a nearby thicket to find the
body almost completely hidden from view. Ants had already laid claim to it, but
it was clear the man had met his demise from a wild animal. Most likely the
dragon. Noticing the man was barefoot, Kayge assumed the boots he’d found once
belonged to the deceased.
Years of training took over,
enabling him to assume the same calmness that served him well in battle. Self-preservation
became his first concern. For without the first, he couldn’t focus on his
second and most urgent concern.
Emers!
Sunlight glinted off something to
the side. Limping over to that area, to his relief he found his sword lying in
the dead grasses. Its blade glistened, clear of gore or scratches. Neither did
it appear to have been used to chop wood or abused in another way that would
blunt its keen edge.
Kayge licked his dry lips. He had
to go after the creature, after the dragon. But this terrain, this place, was
completely unknown to him. Nothing seemed familiar. There were no landmarks to
jog his memory, which still seemed to be trapped inside a thick veil of fog.
Reaching inside the waistband of
his breeches, he found the small pocket sewn there. His fingers felt the bump,
and he let out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t remember why he’d removed it from
around his neck to secure it inside the pouch in the first place, but he was
glad he had. It was a gift from Emers in preparation for their wedding. If he
hadn’t taken it off, he feared he might have lost it forever once the dragon
consumed him.
Digging out the small cross, which
was attached to a thin chain of silver, he placed it back around his neck. A
silent, earnest prayer and an Our Father helped his spirits, but did little to
allay his growing trepidation.
A crackling sound came from just
ahead. He froze in place and strained to hear what might come next. Slowly,
soundlessly, Kayge drew his sword from its sheath and scanned the trees for the
sight of a pair of dark wings or the fiery red eyes.
Or, if his prayers were answered…
Emers. The word formed on
his lips but was unspoken. It was a fervent wish, a hope.
The crackling sound came again,
fainter and farther off. Moving away from the area. Kayge slowly followed after
it, taking care to remain as quiet as possible until he reached a small
clearing.
A yearling was feeding on the last
of the fall foliage. By the looks of it the animal was half-starved, and Kayge
was certain it wouldn’t live through the harsh winter. Using his sword as a
spear, he dispatched the animal, and after gutting it, hefted the carcass
across his shoulders to trudge back to the campsite.
Curiously, Kayge didn’t feel any
hunger pangs, although he couldn’t recall the last time he’d eaten. But he had a
hazy memory of a tavern in the woods, an inn, and something shiny descending
down on the table…
A quick shake of the head did
little to disseminate the ghost-like images. They would float in and out of his
subconscious without welcome or denial.
A wave of dizziness suddenly
overtook him. His stomach protested, and he almost felt himself start to heave
against the rush of uneasiness. Kayge dropped to his knees in a patch of sodden
leaves and bent over, clasping his stomach. His head was ringing, clamoring
like a church bell gone wild. It gradually grew louder, forcing him to press
his palms to his ears in an effort to muffle the noise.
“Stop it!” he growled. “Stop it!”
His stomach clenched, throwing him
into paralysis, but nothing came up. Kayge coughed, then gasped. A thin thread
of saliva fell from his mouth. His belly tried again, without success, as his
mind became a cavern of empty images.
He had no way of knowing how long
he remained there. Eventually the symptoms abated, enough to where he could get
back to his feet. Grabbing the yearling by its front legs, he dragged it back
to the fire.
He was prepared to use his sword to
carve the animal into chunks and throw a haunch onto the glowing coals when he
noticed bloodstains on a nearby rock. A knife, his knife, lay on the ground
where it had fallen, almost hidden from view. Which was why he hadn’t spotted
it before now.
Kayge stared at the scene—the rock,
the knife, the dried blood. Hazy memories gradually floated into his mind’s
eye. Something about a squirrel…
As if a
bucket of cold water was suddenly dumped over his head, it flooded his senses,
and he remembered. Remembered how this
had come to pass. Remembered it all. And the worst part, he remembered the
pain. The feeling of absolute helplessness. The suffocation. The never-ending
darkness. The bone-numbing terror. And Emers’ deafening screams. Screams that
mixed with those of the horses.
Kayge felt
his legs go out from under him as he collapsed next to the firepit. Unable to
move and barely able to breathe, he watched it play over again in his head as
the nightmare returned to life. Reminding him of the witch’s sick and twisted
power, and how deeply her need for revenge was fueled by her anger.
The visions left him shattered, weak, and weeping.
TO BE CONTINUED
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