Creative Writing: Let The Feathers Fall

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Let the Feathers Fall

Sorry guys you’re stuck in the goblins grisly nightmare,” said a voice from the mouth of the cave. A penguin was perched on a rock. There was a hint of daring in its glowing purple gaze. It looked daunting, almost dangerous and I recognized that tone, which was more ladylike than you’d expect from an aquatic, flightless bird.
“Sage?” I sighed. “What a relief.”
The penguin nodded its head. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” Mason said. “Of course.”
“Thanks.” Sage hopped off the rock and waddled over. “Like the duds?”
“Sure,” I asked. “But why a penguin?”
“Well,” Sage ruffled her plumage, “I saw one of these creatures at the zoo and thought the tuxedo-like suit was kind cool in a black and white sort of way so I tried the body for size and it just felt right. Besides, I wanted something with flippers, so a penguin seemed the logical choice. I decided on the macaroni penguin because I thought the yellow crest complement my eyes.”

She patted her torpedo-shaped hips.

“I’m looking rather majestic, don’t you think?”
“Ah yeah sure,” Mason agreed. “Majestic’s the first word that pops into my mind when I think of macaroni penguins.”
Sage smiled peering down at our empty hands. “A little birdie told me you were searching for the staff?”
I began to explain about the wolf and the castle but was interrupted by voices from outside the cave.
Sage rustled her feathers. A tuft of fire curled from her long red beak. “Oh, no . . . My body is dissolving. I can’t hold onto this stiff for very much longer. Gotta go—” The penguin hiccupped a wisp of smoke. “Good luck.”
She flew between some swaying candelabras and zoomed past Cotton on her way out of the cave. Leaving Mason and me to clean up a pile of white and black feathers.
“Where’s Zander and the wolf?” Mason asked. “Did you find the staff? Was the goblin around? And about the castle was it booby-trapped?”
“So many questions,” Cotton smiled. “Come on, you’ll

see!”

* * *

Outside the wolf leaned against a tree, his mouth clamped firmly around the staff of Sirethiel. Breezes teased his snow-white fur into tufts, his ivory fangs glittered in moonlight—so much white, white on white, causing his pale eyes seem ghostly. Behind him, the serrated ridge of the Shadow Mountains sparkled and beside him, a pack of seven wolves lurked behind the thickets, dagger teeth bared in amused grins, yellow eyes darting from Mason to me. The white wolf limped over and dropped the staff at my feet.
“Hob,” I said looming over him my arms crisscrossed in a pretzel of concern. “Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing,” the wolf growled.
“Where’s Zander?”
“Wasn’t he inside?” Cotton asked.
Mason shook his head. “No.”
“Huh? We didn’t see him either. He’ll show up,” Cotton assured him. “He also does.”
“So,” I said, “what happened? How did you . . .?”
“Very carefully,” snarled one of the smaller wolves. “We fought our way past ogres then a wave of uncertainty spread through their ranks. They gradually began turning away from us, running in different directions. Behind the ogre army, trebuchets manned by trolls shot orange and yellow fireballs into the sky. Plumes of smoke rose from scorched craters in the ground. Monstrous one-eyed Cyclops warriors entered the battle and collided with trolls charring the mangled corpses left in the wake.
It was hard to see through the hazy air, but somehow we forced our way down several long, narrow stone passageways and zigzagged through a maze of twisting corridors that were dimly lit with a greenish light.”
“That’s awesome,” Mason stammered. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Yep,” the wolf agreed. “Anyway, the castle was rigged with all sorts of traps. We render most of them inoperable, but occasionally we had to leap over fiery pits that opened in the floor or swerve when shears shot from the ceiling. Mural images of goblins slid off the dungeon walls, formed into eerie ghouls, and wasted away.”
Leaf rustled as something green slithered between my feet. It scurried past and hissed at me from behind a tree. I jumped back my heart hammering like a nail gun in my chest.
Cotton nudged me with his elbow. “It was only a snake.”
“Right.” I smiled. “Hey how did you unlock the dungeon door?”
Cotton dangled a brass skeleton key.
“That’s way cool,” Mason said. “So how did you manage to get a hold of the staff?”
Hob ignored the question. “Aiden, look at me.”
I did, and I wasn’t sure what I saw in his fury face. There was no clear sign of trust or conviction. Nothing to egg on me on. It was like the weather in Pixie Dust, some days, you could tell if was going to rain. But most days, it could go either way. Many a gamblers had lost big time betting on such a risky wager.
“Follow the path,” Hob told me, “and return the staff to its rightful owner.”
I gripped the long shaft with both hands. It was a made of solid gold and adorned with rare and precious gemstones that glittered in the moonlight. Suddenly it shocked me—no mere spark it was a chain reaction that shot through my hands, up my arms, and into my bones. Absolute terror wrapped its icy fingers around my throat for a moment, then it gave way to something else. A razor-sharp awareness. Sharpened senses as if my mind had been honed and polished. I became intently aware of my surroundings. I could taste the tang of tree sap and the smell of the iron embedded in the soil. My hearing improved too. I clearly perceive the beating fluttering of moth’s wings from miles away and I could felt the white wolf’s heart beat as if it were my own. Then, about fifty feet in front of me, I saw a green shimmering path that swished and swayed like a coiled serpent.
Cotton clasped my hands. “Good luck.”
I gave him a quick hug, and before I could change my mind, I tore through the trees. Mason past me like an antelope, hurdling fallen logs and ducking low branches, tracking the path until our lungs blazed. Finally, the woods fell away and we broke into an open field. I was deep in thigh-high grass when cracks appeared in the ground. Where I had been standing, the earth dissolved, rocks crumbling as if broken apart by an unseen sledgehammer, chinks of the sky fell around us like confetti. The whole landscape was bending and caving in, the essence of life unraveling.
“Look out!” Mason warned.
An ancient oak tree crashed and crumpled to dust, scattering in the wind. We barely made it to the other side before the field sank into a chasm.
“We need to hurry,” Mason said.
“Yeah, but there’s no path. Which way do we got?”
Behind us, someone cleared his throat. Gordok leaned against a nearby pine tree, his glittery spaghetti strapped tank top, and metallic Speedo gleaming sliver in the sunrise.
Mason cracked his knuckles. “Get ready to meet ugly.”
“You-who I’m sorry to intrude, but, uh . . . look at what I found in the woods.” The goblin had Cotton by the neck and was savagely shaking him like a caged lion shaking the bars of his prison. He grinned and tossed the gnome against a rock.
“No!” I scream, as anger replaced my fear. Newfound determination rushed through my limbs—the same blast of power I’d gotten when waitress grew claws.
The Goblin loomed over Cotton, who lay groaning helpless in the grass. “Tell your friends to give me the staff you filthy creature.”
“Hey,” I said. “I told you to leave him alone.”
“Well, now isn’t this nice,” Gordok, hissed. “I always admire courage, even if it leads to death. Just be a good boy and give me the staff.”
I waved the stick. The goblin lunged at me, but before he could strike, I tossed it to Mason.
“Hand over the staff and you can have anything you. I’ll give you power beyond your wildest dream. You world’s struggles will mean nothing.”
Gordok smirked. “But I should warn you: If you keep the wand. I’ll kill you both.”
Mason chucked the staff and I caught it.
“Well,” Gordok screamed, froth dripping from his black lips. “have it your way!” He lunged at me, but before he could strike the staff flashed, pushing back the green beast.
“Run, Aiden!” Mason said. “Run!”
But I just stood there, frozen in fear, as the goblin charged, his arms outstretched to seize me no matter which direction I tried to dart. Time slowed down. I couldn’t jump sideways, so I leaped straight up, kicking off from the monster’s head, using it as a launch pad, spinning in midair, and landing on his back. He hit the ground and rolled around grunting.
We tore through the trees, leaves crunching beneath our feet as we ran deeper and deeper into the forest. All around us, the dense gnarled undergrowth was a symphony of splintered squeals echoing and colliding off lofty ridges, until suddenly everything grew still and then just as suddenly the hush was broken by an lurid, ripping snap and I knew without looking who had crashed between the leaves.