Black Dawn - Chapter 12: The Joey In The Clearing

Damaged, the Cloudracer goes down in the Modukaz Forest. Meineken has a revelation and the allies rest in a clearing. But are they safe there?

Armageddon TM and its characters and story are copyright Terry Tibke. All rights reserved.

Music & SFX

 [Aggression] by David Fesliyan, [Last to Fall] Storyblocks, [Not Much to Say] by David Fesliyan, [Broken Village] by David Fesliyan, [Documentary] by Royalty Free Music, [Torn] by David Fesliyan, [Magic Spell] Storyblocks, [Drifting Minds] by Alexander Nakarada, [The Brotherhood] by X, [Sad Winds] by David Fesliyan

short metal scrape (like car-body scratch).flac by Timbre, G12-35a-Eagle Cries.wav by craigsmith, Bite (Apple) by wadaltmon, Sparrows fluttering wings in bush.wav, RAM_Mouth Hawk_rev_v1.wav by reidedo, Soft Wind by florianreichelt, Ambient(light wind).WAV by o_ciz, R15-70-Males hamp rope creaks by 6polnic, BODY FALL - V HVY - DIRT by leonelmail, G48-18-Steam Train Vents Steam.wav by craigsmith 

Jake Utter [Voice Actor] - Voices Turim Gliderlance

Andrew Embers [Voice Actor] - Voices Sand Rocketblade

Demetrius Hazel [Voice Actor] - Voices Lasertooth and Darf Bloodshedder

Kobe Markworth [Voice Actor] - Voices Thunderclap and Gulanis

Sean Valley [Voice Actor] - Voices Strevan Pickaxe and Dithkanir

Hayley Craig [Voice Actress] - Voices Jaffrine Maplebow

Morgana LeFaye [Voice Actress]- Voices Tartara Silverwing

Tallent [Voice Actor] - Voices General Panthis Obsidianfist 

JJtheJetvox [Voice Actor] - Voices Meineken Shadowstar and Aurthil

Brittanie Arwen [Voice Actor] - Voices Sinfa Songbird

The Worlds Okayest DM [Voice Actor] - Voices Pond Grimslug

Ben Habel [Voice Actor] – Voices Lakalith Paledust

Maia Harlap [Voice Actor] – Voices Lala Truffleroot and Kithria Wraithchasm 

Aaron Anderson [Voice Actor] – Voices Aldor Steelaxe and Dark Elves

Transcript

Chapter 1 —The Joey in the Clearing

The Cloudracer drew close to the treetops, still spewing ever growing plumes of steam and smoke from the cogs and gears beneath the main propeller. Sinfa looked tense as she kept pulling back on levers and making short jerks at the wheel.

“Put it into the thickest trees you can find!” shouted Jaffrine from beneath the wooden framework behind the helm.

Turim looked back towards the druid to see her hands at her knees, sitting cross legged on deck. Her staff lay across her lap. “What?”

“Steer towards the trees?” shouted Sinfa incredulously. “I’m trying to keep us in one piece, Jaffrine!”

Jaffrine’s eyes were already closed, her mouth made silent words. Strevan stood over her. “Trust her,” he said, looking back and forth between Sinfa and Jaffrine. “She’ll help you.”

Sinfa growled to herself. “Alright. Not sure I have much choice anyway!”

Turim met her eyes, trying to be reassuring. Inside he was barely holding it together. Just like the airship.

The first boughs touched briefly as Sinfa descended. They were like brief scrapes at first, but quickly became louder and more frequent as the hull started to impact.

Turim glanced across deck to everyone. He found that Meineken stood, staring down at one of the griffons and dark elven bodies that lay there. Of course. He was almost envious of the kithkin. Meineken would crash to bits without a single flicker of fear in his heart, his last thoughts on—who knew what.

The branches cracked, struck harder beneath the hull. Then suddenly, the noise eased, their speed slowed. Turim looked towards Sinfa who had the same baffled look on her face, then back at Jaffrine.

The Cloudracer slowed to a stop and lowered gently towards the ground. Turim rushed to the edge, looking over the port side. “The branches?”

Tartara buzzed up to his shoulder, looking down. “Yeah. She can do stuff like that sometimes.”

The pine needled boughs lowered The Cloudracer down to the level of the grassy glade it was being set into. Dry leaves and grass kicked into the air, dancing like butterflies before the airship’s skids finally rested aground.

Jaffrine let out a long exhale like a breeze across the plains.

“Thank you, Lady Maplebow,” said Turim quietly. This frequent use of magic was going to become a problem. But it was one of many, and he still couldn’t linger on it.

Sinfa stomped past him. “Dirt eatin’ griffons!” she cursed, waving steam aside as she opened the door below deck. She threw her hat down angrily. “I told you to keep them away from the propellers.” She huffed, peeking back out the door, “And throw those bodies off my airship. I’ve got to take a look at the engine. I pushed her as far as she can go for the moment.”

Strevan dropped the rope ladder and helped Jaffrine over the edge. Tartara flew after.

Turim watched Darf descend behind them, pushing the integrity of the rope to its limits before he hit the ground. After, Darf made sure his arm was well bandaged, then moistened his finger and held it aloft.

Then he went. The others waved good-bye. He didn’t return the gesture, only grunted as he headed northward into the ancient wood of the stretching Modukaz Forest.

The trees in that part of the Modukaz were grayed with age and had thick trunks more than three times as wide as Darf himself. The dwarves who lived underground had struck the roots many times, and the forest was made stone color, absorbing the metals and minerals in the ground.

Turim realized Meineken was still standing on the other side of the deck, still staring down at a slain griffon. Beneath it, the red pool of its blood had gathered into its own puddle, and now a trickle ran over the edge. “Master Shadowstar?”

Meineken turned his head towards him slowly. “I think I know why the dark elves wanted me dead.”

Turim nearly stopped in his tracks. “I was a little concerned. You’ve been staring at that griffon and the dark elf for a very long time.”

“Not the griffon,” rose Meineken’s voice, “the sea of blood. Tusokan lies upon the sea.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I’m beginning to think that there might be a Dragon Army fleet already waiting at sea or approaching the Bay of Ixidor.”

“What? Why do you think that?” asked Turim with surprise. If it were true, that would be a terrible turn.

“It’s the best plan I can think of,” said Meineken. “They must want to march ground troops through Tusokan. That’s the reason they need to eliminate my clan; the reason they have to eliminate me.” Meineken’s elbow rested in the palm of his hand as his arm folded across his chest. He looked down to the blood. “Think of the Corleus River. They can’t march troops across it without crafting boats or going far north. If they set sail with a fleet of ships, they could go undetected for some time—long enough that our response couldn’t stop them from marching all the way to Daltaria.”

Meineken was right so far. The Corleus River ran between the Modukaz Forest and the Plains of Sirik. It made a lot of sense. “What about the dragon Wings?” asked Turim. “That’s the Dragon Army’s true strength.”

“They can only bring dragon Wings from the east,” answered Meineken. “And I don’t think they’d put all hope in the dragons and then hold back the ground companies. Not if they’re making one of the greatest strikes they’ve ever made, as we suspect.

“I think the dark elves were hired by the Dragon Army as pawns to draw out whatever resistance they could find in Tusokan so it could be eliminated. They’ve attacked us several times, but never succeeded. The dark elf raiders were the only ones who knew of our existence in Tusokan. They discovered us during a raid against our city when we were forced to reveal ourselves to protect our folk this fall. None have ever escaped us before, but they did.”

Turim’s mind started assembling the pieces. He reached down to the griffon and used his head to signal Meineken to help. Together they began to drag the beast to the edge. “No disrespect, but I was never able to understand why they’d drawn you away. Why they wanted you dead.”

“I think they wanted all four of us dead,” Meineken whispered. “The clan has a hard enough time functioning with the Magistrate against us. Without leadership, they’d be hard pressed to defend Tusokan as they came from the docks in the bay.”

“The God be with us,” grunted Turim. “We have to come up with a plan. I need to think.”

The two finished disposing of the griffons and dark elves, tossing them overboard. The deck was streaked with blood still, but there’d be time for cleaning that while they were in flight—assuming Sinfa could fix her. Turim held in the fear that the Dragon Army could catch Genova in an attack from the east and south at once. Meineken’s idea had a lot of merit. How could they defend it?

The stomp of Sinfa’s boots made their presence on the stairs as she came from below deck. “You done with that yet?” she asked.

Turim made an exaggerated hand wipe. “All set. How’d repairs go?”

“We should eat now,” said Sinfa. “I can finish up the repairs in a bit. I’ve just about got the tools put together for the broken seals. I still have to shape up the new fittings for the main pipeline though, and then the propeller is going to take some more work.”

Turim looked at her, and then he took another glimpse around the area. “I’m not sure we should linger much longer. The Modukaz can be dangerous.”

Sinfa put her hand on Turim’s shoulder. “Commander. I’m not taking us any farther before we have a decent meal. Let’s sit right here on the grass. I know you want to hurry, but we can’t keep going without food.”

“I don’t mean to go without food,” he replied, shaking his head, “but we should eat on deck while we fly.”

“No! I’m tired and I want to sit here for a little bit. There can’t be any dangers here that you can’t protect us from, Turim. There’s a pile of griffons, some pale elves, and Dark Knights back on Ys who’d agree with that if they could. And that’s just in the last two days since you showed up at my uncle’s pub. And if the Dragon Army is nearby, then we’re too late in our warning, anyhow.” Her eyes looked weary as she went down the rope ladder, and Turim knew then that he was pushing too hard.

“Please, Turim,” she went on after they all came down into the grove. “I, at least, need to eat and rest, if not the others. Piloting an airship without ceasing is wearying work. I’m hungry. I’ve worked at the Mint Hippogriff without any travel for quite a while now and I’m used to eating whenever my heart pleases. Let me get used to this.”

Turim looked over his shoulder at the rangers and Meineken. They’d been too far off to hear his quiet debate with Sinfa. He was glad. None of these folk had been trained as he had—to keep going no matter what happened. And though he believed many of them—especially the rangers—probably could, he supposed they’d all welcome a brief hour in the glade.

For a few moments Turim gazed around at the grassy clearing, silent in remembrance of Warran. He’d fallen somewhere amidst this forest. So much had happened in the past several days the thought of Warran’s death now felt distant and far off.

The clearing stretched out west, narrowing after a few miles. All around the edge were the last brave and sturdy flowers that would remain before the chill of winter sent them away. Poking up through the grass here and there like dark rabbits were tall boulders that had broken gravel under each of them, dark shadows cast long to the west beneath the stones.

When he looked over his shoulder, he saw the three rangers returning from the edge of the clearing. I’d never forgive myself if they ended up like Warren.

While Tartara and Strevan sat down on the grass, Jaffrine stood at the edge of the forest, her arms outstretched, taking deep breaths.

“Where did Darf go?” asked Sinfa. She appeared almost sad by the departure of the half-ogre as she came up to the others.

“I’m sure he’ll find a gladiator’s arena in one of the dwarven cities,” answered Turim, folding his arms. “He can do what he wants.”

“That’s good,” she said, adjusting her hat. “We ought not to have left him in the midst of a lonely forest with only his club for company.”

“Don’t be so sure he’s all alone,” muttered Jaffrine as she slowly turned to everyone. “Still, I feel at peace standing in the wood here. It reminds me of a small grove of trees back home on the island. It’s called the Greywood, where the trees grow with bark that looks silver.”

Strevan looked over to her. “It’s a special place.”

After they’d retrieved the food, the company took a seat amongst the greenest parts of the grass. They could only spare a small amount of water from their flasks to wash away the worst of the grime, even with the new supply Meineken had ‘acquired’.

They ate with vigor unseen by such a gathering of people. While they sat sharing the food, Turim looked around at each of them, trying to distract himself from the itch to set off again. They’d traveled together for a while now, but he still barely knew them.

“Will your uncle miss you?” Turim asked Sinfa, clearing his throat.

Sinfa looked to the rangers and then back to Turim before she answered. “If you mean will he miss me because he cares for my well being? Then yes, probably. But if you mean, will he wonder where I am? I’ve traveled a lot. That’s no new thing to him. For the most part, I’ve disappeared from Centerland to go to other parts of Ys. So, not so far as Daropel, but as they say, ‘gone is gone.’”

“She was a great help during the black dragonite’s slave raids on Ys,” said Jaffrine. “Before the Knights of the Badger managed to set a leaguer around the Fallow Marshes.”

“Aw, those poor, brave knights,” said Tartara wistfully.

“Now even the leaguer fails.” Jaffrine, brushed her hand across the grass as she sat. “Still, Sinfa’s done everything she could—ever since she was a little girl.”

Turim exchanged gazes with Meineken. Sinfa’s cheeks were blushing now, and she looked down and took another bite of her pumpernickel.

 “You’ve listened to me, Master Shadowstar,” Sinfa changed the focus from herself. “But you haven’t said much. I don’t know anything about you.”

Turim rubbed his moustache carefully like his father used to do when deep in thought. Then everything blurted out. “Meineken, your city guard is small, right?”

“Indeed,” said Meineken, almost laughing at how sudden Turim had cut in. “The guardsman’s skills are simple. But if my clan was able to cooperatively fight alongside the city guard, we might be able to drive a small fleet away. The outcome isn’t certain. The Black Talon is no military force. They’ll have difficulty taking Dark Knights in a head-on fight. But we do know the city and that provides us with our own advantage.”

 Turim swallowed. “I may be able to send reinforcements, if it’s the will of my Grandmaster. If our cavalry were to arrive in time, the Dragon Army might be driven from Tusokan—assuming their forces aren’t insurmountable in size, that is. No matter how much we prepare, we can only make an estimate of what troops will come from the sea. It’s a hard ride from Grendelock Keep though. You have to hold until they can arrive. Can you do that?”

“Or die an honorable death doing so,” replied Meineken.

“Well that was all… rather serious. Has anyone ever mentioned you’re good at spoiling pleasant chatter, Turim?” Tartara said with lowered brow, smiling.

Turim let out a small huff. “More than I’d care to admit.”

Strevan eyed the little fey. “It answered some of the questions I had anyway.”

“Important as that seemed to be, you can’t escape our questions,” said Tartara, turning her eye on Meineken with a rascally look again. “In any event, Turim hasn’t told us much.”

Meineken lowered the bite of napa he was about to take and put his hands in his lap. “What do you wish to know?” he asked quietly.

Tartara’s wings buzzed as she hovered over Jaffrine and Strevan. “You’re the only kithkin I’ve ever met, and for that matter, the only person I’ve ever met who wears a mask. Questions? Of course I have questions!”

Turim chuckled at her enthusiasm. “I don’t think we have that kind of time.”

The fairie wasn’t deterred. “Do you have any family?”

“No,” he replied. “My father was lost at sea. His ship was destroyed by the Dragon Army. My mother died of the grey flu several years ago.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” said Tartara, actually hesitating for a moment.

“Don’t be,” said Meineken. “They lay in peace now.”

Turim shifted upon the grass, his armor squeaking. “My friend Sand lost his mother to the grey flu also. He’s my Lieutenant—the one I told you was supposed to retrieve me from the island.”

Turim looked up at faint cloudcover as he said this, wondering what Sand was doing, and judging the time. “I think we should be making our way back. We’ve rested a while now. Day tarries onward, and Sinfa still has some work we can perhaps help with.”

Jaffrine lay on her back. She turned her eyes toward the Modukaz Forest as she began to rise. “Look over there,” she said. “There’s a little animal—just under those low hanging boughs.”

The small creature crept out from the shadows and approached the companions, sniffing around. It was a forest raptor joey with slick green skin. White stripes poured down its back as if a can of whitewash had been spilled over him.

Jaffrine smiled and sat up straight. “Isn’t it adorable?”

“Maybe in your eyes, but not mine!” shouted Sinfa, as the little lizard snatched a loaf of her bread.

It ran toward the forest, its little rear bouncing up and down upon short limbs as its tail followed closely behind.

Jumping to her feet, Sinfa gave chase to the joey. “Wait!” she shouted. “Come back with that! Find your own meal!”

The others laughed as Sinfa walked briskly to the edge of the forest, disappearing just beneath the canopy of green.

“Hurry back, Sinfa!” called Turim. He felt his own restlessness. He hated the feeling he had: ignorant of how long it would truly be before the attack. It felt like a thundercloud hanging overhead.

Standing then, he gathered the remainder of the food, stuffing it into the sack as the others did the same. He looked skyward, walking toward the airship. A few light wisps of grey rolled in. It was definitely past midday now. The grass rustled in the breeze and the boughs gently swayed. Wind came from the east, and he could smell the sea scent in it.

Then he thought he spotted movement out of the corner of his eye, though he wasn’t certain. He stood stone still.

His instincts told him something was wrong. The wood spoke to him—warning him. The grass gave heed to foul things amiss.

“Strevan, will you fetch Sinfa?” called Turim to the ranger, his heart quickening. “She hasn’t returned from the edge of the trees over there.”

“I’ll get her,” replied Strevan, and he strode toward the forest.

All at once, things went ill.

Turim saw movement off to his right in the grass. A black tail curled like a snake before receding into the scrub. He looked to the wood to see if Strevan had entered yet. It was too late. Strevan was down, tackled by one of the dragon-men called dragonites, its wings furled out behind it.

“Jaffrine, Meineken!” shouted Turim. But the other dragonites already slithered from the tall grass surrounding them. “We’re under attack! Quickly—”

His words cut short. The breath of his attacker felt warm on his neck. Turim spun, drawing his blade. In one swift cut, he hewed the creature’s arm and head from its torso. A green spray painted his armor as he tried to wrap his thoughts around the sudden attack. No time.

Another came close behind. Its screaming hiss was all Turim heard before it slammed him to the ground, trampling and pinning him down. His sword was torn from his grasp. Dragonites were all around him. They roughly bound his arms and legs, overwhelming him with numbers and strength. There was little he could do to resist. Their weight was crushing, and he fought to even breathe.

Stars swarmed over his vision and he felt himself dragged across the grasslands. Hazed, watery thoughts filled his head of the others. Were they being killed right now? Where had they gone? He entered the deep of the Modukaz Forest, the dark green boughs overhead. In short order, he felt himself hoisted up and thrown.

He struck metal and straw. His head hurt, and his shoulder felt on fire. Was it sprained? That didn’t matter right now. He rolled slowly to a sitting position, grinding his armor against the straw-covered bottom of a large, barred cage on wheels. When he looked around, he realized he wasn’t alone in his prison.

In the corner, dirty faced and fearful, sat a small, halfling girl. Brown curly hair framed her face, and her big green eyes were sad, and it saddened Turim to see them. He wondered how she’d come to be there in the steel cage.

He scoot closer to her, smiling the best he could past the pain. “Hello milady,” he said, trying not to frighten her.

The halfling girl stared blankly for a few short moments. “Hullo. They’ve caught you too?” she asked finally.

“So it seems,” answered Turim, his voice grave. He tried to stand, but there wasn’t room. “I hope my friends are alright. If I’ve drawn them into a situation like this and they’re...” He didn’t finish.

“Your friends have also been put in cages,” she said. “See? Over yonder.” The halfling girl pointed. She still seemed wary.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” assured Turim, pushing towards the bars. “I’m a prisoner too.”

She nodded. “Will we die in this place, mister?”

Turim looked to her and feigned a slight smile. “Not in this place or any other—if we can help it.” He swallowed. “Don’t worry.”

She looked like she needed a little hope.

As he peered through the bars, Turim saw they were in a line of several cages similar to the one he sat in. The one in front of him held Strevan. He looked dead, face down in the straw of his cage. A sickening feeling welled up in Turim’s chest.

He turned to the rear. The cage behind held Sinfa. Her forehead was bleeding, but she looked through her bars back at him. Five dragonites stood guard around her, and she couldn’t speak just yet. They jabbed their spears at her whenever she tried.

But her eyes showed her fear. She was afraid of what might happen when they arrived wherever they were headed. Turim could only imagine how many of the Ysians had been put in camps by dragonites, forced to build the very weapons that slew them.

He continued his search for the others. His frantic eyes scanned up and down the length of cages. But he couldn’t see them yet. Where were Meineken, Jaffrine, and Tartara? What had these beasts done with them? Turim slunk down upon the floor of the cage once more with a feeling of pain deep within, harried by guilt. Yes, he was a little afraid, but the guilt was worse. His country was going to be attacked without warning, probably burned and razed, and now he couldn’t stop it.

At that moment, the train of cages jerked to a slow, rolling start. Turim took one last glimpse to see if anyone had been left behind, but he couldn’t see the entire glade. If they’d killed any of his companions, he couldn’t tell.

He let his head fall against the bars, slamming his fist against the floor. He was being pulled farther and farther away from Sinfa’s airship. It was their only means to arrive in time to halt the great battle that could lead to the end of a great country—and ultimately to the end of a desperate world.

Turim watched until he could no longer see the light of the grassy glade. Then, he slouched, exhausted, as his hopes began to fade. He looked once more at Sinfa’s face in the cage behind him. Tears trailed down her dirt-covered face.

No words could explain the guilt and grief he then felt.