The Lost Knight (Volume III) The Lost World

Chapter 46: Ugly Flowers

Somewhere in my consciousness, I hear singing. I wish it would stop. I haven't been asleep for long, and the sound is drawing me back to a world I don't want to return to. I reluctantly open my eyes, ready to strike whoever is forcing reality upon me.

It's Dathid. He's kneeling, eyes closed, holding a bouquet of ugly flowers with an assortment of weeds piled in front of him. He might be praying. I wish I could force myself to go back to sleep because my wakefulness is intruding on his private moment, but I can't.

He's singing in Gàidhlig, which makes me even more uncomfortable. In this land where everything is so strange, I always think of him as familiar, someone like me. It's not until he extends his wings or speaks of being a royal that I remember that we are, in fact, very different.

The song is pretty, and he sings it well. It sounds sad, but it has some high points that make it somewhat uplifting. When it ends, he bends his head and rests it on the bunch of weeds in front of him.

I'm afraid to move. I want to be anywhere but here; a feeling that grows intensely worse when I hear him crying.

My pulse races as I frantically search for a place to hide. Dathid is invulnerable and grumpy and...Dathid. Seeing him cry frightens me to my core. He's the one who's okay. He's the one who's holding me together.

He thinks I'm sleeping so I should leave him alone, but the need to console my friend is stronger than my discomfort. I silently get up and kneel beside him.

He doesn't move or stop crying like I'd hoped. I rest my head on his back and put my arm around him. I'm not surprised when my own tears drip across my nose.

We stay frozen like that for a long time. When he shifts, I sit up. He gazes at me, so lost in his own grief that I wonder if he'll ever come out of it. He hugs me desperately like I'm the lifeline that'll keep him from sinking. I hold him, giving him every bit of reassurance my inexperienced self can muster. He gradually lets go and contemplates the weeds in front of him.

"One for every friend lost," he whispers.

I gaze at the large pile of weeds. Each stem is different. Each one is a dead faerie. It must have taken him hours to locate so many different types of flowering plants.

"How many?" I ask.

"Forty-seven," his voice cracks, and his tears begin again.

I can't fathom losing forty-seven friends in one day. How can I possibly help him?

He picks up one of the prettier flowers and smiles weakly. "Brolic," he whispers. He inspects the flower then puts it back on the pile. "He's like a brother."

He looks at me as if he expects me to say something so profound it makes his pain vanish.

He picks up another flower. "Reesia," he bites out and throws the flowers on the pile. He holds up another. "Phlod," he says loudly before chucking it back down. His mood is changing rapidly. I cautiously turn my body away from him as he picks up different weeds and shouts names at me as if it's my fault.

It's horrifying to know that all these flowers used to be people, and now they're dead, and he's blaming me. I know it's my fault. I should've immediately returned to Cromsmead. I never should've listened to Ziras.

He abruptly jumps to his feet and stomps to the edge of camp. I can feel the rage emanating off of him. I'm frightened for my safety. If Dathid turns on me, I won't win. But more importantly, I'm frightened for him. He's never acted this way before. How can one person lose so much and still go on?

He takes a few deep breaths and rubs his hands over his face. He keeps his back to me and says flatly, "Sorry."

"That's okay," I respond, but it's so low I doubt he hears me.

He returns and kneels beside me. He whispers some Gàidhlig words and lights the weeds on fire. I rest my head on his shoulder as the flowers burn slowly in a mass of thick smoke.

We watch until the weeds smolder to a small pile of ash. He scoops them up and throws them into the air. When nothing is left, he stands and stretches. "Thank you," he says before he walks away.

He adds wood to the fire and prepares a meal. I'm disoriented by his sudden change of mood. Except for his swollen eyes and stuffed nose, he's back to normal. I prepare some water and join him at the fire. Neither one of us speaks to the other until after we've finished eating.

"They're not coming," he says flatly.

"I know," I sigh. "Now what?"

"We pack and leave." He almost chokes on the words.

I knew days ago that it was hopeless, but I was afraid to voice my fears. I don't want to leave. It's as if our waiting is somehow keeping everyone alive.

Talking is difficult for both of us as we pack what few supplies we have. I check on Baliss, who seems like he might live. Not from any signs of life he shows, but from the simple fact that he hasn't died yet.

Dathid climbs the tree one last time. We both know it's futile, but it's his habit. He takes his time, but when no response to his call comes, he climbs down.

"Sorry, Baliss. Thank you for saving me," I whisper to the dragon as I softly stroke his leathery head. I don't want to leave him here, but I know we don't have a choice.

A faint call similar to the one Dathid just did rings through the jungle. I turn to him for confirmation, but he's already charging through the trees. I drop everything and run after him.

I catch him immediately because the jungle floor is so thick with brush it's difficult to hack through. "Who is it?" I ask excitedly.

"I don't know," he says with equal excitement.

"Maybe they all survived."

He furiously slashes at the undergrowth, and I join in to help. He whistles again, and this time a whistle is heard in response. We chop faster.

We slice our way through the brush for hours. I'm exhausted, but with every whistle, I'm rejuvenated, especially when we hear Jonah shout hello.

"You're alive!" I wail, desperate to see him.

It's a struggle making enough headway to climb through the vines and weeds. Dathid goes first, and when I finally crawl through, I jump into Jonah's arms and sob.