Stormdragons

Chapter 13

Joe was thirsty, hungry and cold but otherwise unhurt. Luckily for him the landing had been a smooth one. The dragon had levelled off into a shallow glide, backflapped twice with its mighty wings and stalled gracefully a few metres above the ground. Joe had waited until the beast had come to a complete standstill and had begun tearing huge chunks out of the dead cow, before he slipped cautiously down its tail.

At first, worried that other dragons might be fiercer, hungrier or more curious than the one he had rode, Joe had hardly moved. He had crouched behind a rock and watched the creatures carefully. A few had come to look him over, flying so low he could almost have touched their wings. But most ignored his presence. They seemed a calm, lazy species. They spent much of their time dozing or regulating their temperature by shuffling sideways into the sun or back into the shade. Joe noticed what appeared to be nesting material and food being taken into some of the larger caves. He decided these were places to avoid.

Now, after over an hour behind the rock, Joe's mouth was too parched to ignore. How long had he been on the dragon's back? How long had it been since his last drink? His watch had stopped so it was difficult to tell. All he knew was that the sun was high in the sky and there was almost no shadow on the sides of the canyon. This meant it must be about midday. Joe's heart sank. He had already stripped down to his tee-shirt but he was still sweating. His thirst, he knew, would get steadily worse. It might even kill him.

He thought how odd and sad it would be to die here, in this strange land, so far away from home. At that moment he missed his mother more than he had ever done. He felt close to giving up all hope and sitting there in tears until heat exhaustion overtook him. But he knew Clare would never give in without a fight and so he set himself some goals.

'Ok, Joe,' he said to himself, 'at least your priorities are clear. Water, shelter, fire and food. Then you can worry about everything else.'

The dragons inhabited a canyon that was, according to Joe's estimation, several miles long. The floor of the canyon was strewn with boulders and there were no clear paths. It would take him, he reckoned, the rest of the day to walk to the end.

'All the more reason to make a start,' he told himself.

So he wrapped his waterproof and sweater around his waist, shouldered the saddlebag and set off across the boulder-field. As he walked his thirst worsened. His ears strained for the sound of water and his tongue ran itself compulsively across his swelling lips. A line of poetry played over and over in his head. He began to mumble it aloud.

'Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.

Water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink.'

Large birds appeared; scrawny, hunch-backed vultures that circled patiently over his head. One, bolder than the rest, landed nearby and watched him out of the corner of its eye. Joe remembered his encounters with the Crow and shuddered. He walked on, feeling increasingly weak and stumbling more and more often. His tongue began to swell.

After another hour, with his thirst raging and the vultures coming ever closer, Joe began to despair. He was so tired he had to stop and sit down more and more often. As he sat on one rock he noticed a patch of moss beneath his feet. He touched it with his hand. It was damp. He bent close. There was no sound of trickling or dripping but the air above the moss was cool. He pressed hard until moisture oozed around his fingers. He sucked his fingertips and knew he was saved.

'Trial by combat! Does that mean what I think it means?' asked Spud.

Clare said nothing but her eyes gave the answer. Mac swallowed hard.

'He's bluffing,' said Spud. 'Got to be. Not even a nutter like him can have teenagers play gladiators for no good reason.'

'It's your bloody fault for mentioning Blue Peter' said Mac.