by Shannon Hale
“Report,” commanded the king, who sat astride a great white stallion. The horse glanced toward the cave and whinnied, trying to trot away, but the king held the reins tightly. “Did you kill the beast?”
“No,” said the largest of the knights, shaking back his sweaty blond hair. “The creature was too powerful to be defeated by a dozen men. Or three dozen, for that matter.”
“It could eat a horse in one bite,” said the knight beside him, a woman with long black hair that looked even darker covered by soot. She held out her bow, which was now little more than a blackened stick. “My arrows bounced straight off the monster’s scaly hide.”
William, the youngest son of the king, was only six. But even he could see the look of worry that crossed his father’s face. In the two months since Nogard, the great red dragon, had taken up residence in a cave outside the city, over a dozen villages had been burned and hundreds of sheep had gone missing.
The knight with the blond hair was Barton, William’s oldest brother, and the woman was his aunt. They were two of the fiercest warriors in the land. If they couldn’t defeat the dragon, who could?
The king pushed back his crown and shook his head. “Is it possible we can negotiate with the beast? What does it want? Gold? Treasure? Land? I’ll grant it anything to save my people.”
The third knight, an old man with gray hair and a white beard that disappeared down the front of his neck into his armor, shook his head. “I am afraid not, Your Majesty. We tried offering the dragon whatever it wanted, but it can’t be bought. I’m afraid the only way to stop Nogard is to defeat him.”
Crag had been the king’s advisor for more than thirty years. He was the wisest man William had ever met. If even he was discouraged, they were in deep trouble.
William’s father sighed. “I’m afraid we have no choice, then. As long as the dragon is here, no one is safe. Since my best warriors could not kill it, my decision is made. We must leave the kingdom.”
“No!” William cried. Leave their homes and lands? The castle had been in his family for hundreds of years. How could they desert it? And what about the farmers working their fields? If they left now, they’d have no money, no food. They’d starve this winter. “There has to be something we can do.”
Barton examined his bent sword and let it fall to the ground. Sadly, the three knights mounted their horses, and the group began riding back toward the castle. William urged his little pony up to Crag’s much larger horse. He leaned toward the old man. “Isn’t there anyone who can stop the dragon?”
Crag gazed down at William with eyes so light blue they looked almost silver. “Perhaps someone with extreme courage could find a way.” He raised a bushy white eyebrow. “Sometimes the bravest are not the biggest or the strongest.”
William dropped behind the rest of the riders, deep in thought. Someone with courage. His father was brave. He was king of all the land. But he was leaving. His mother was brave. As queen, she ran most of the kingdom and held the townspeople together through all kinds of trials. His older brothers and sisters were brave. But none of them had been able to stop the dragon.
Then a thought occurred to William. It was such an amazing thought that he stopped his pony in the middle of the road. What about himself? Was he brave? Although William was only six, he’d gone through some hard things in his life. People said he was brave for the way he handled the hard things, but William didn’t feel especially brave. In fact, sometimes he felt so scared he started to cry.
But as scared as he’d been, he never gave up. He never quit. Did that make him courageous? Crag had said that sometimes the bravest weren’t the biggest or the strongest. William was not as big as his father or as strong as his brothers, but maybe, just maybe, he could be brave. Biting the inside of his cheeks, trying not to let his hands shake on the reins, he turned his pony around and headed back to the cave.
He was nearly to the side of the mountain before anyone realized what he was doing. “Come back!” everyone shouted. But by then William was already tying his pony up to a small leafless tree.
“Wait here for me,” he said, rubbing his pony’s mane.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and stepped through the yellow mist into the cave.
The first thing William noticed when he stepped into the darkness were the two gold circles high above his head. It took him a moment to realize the circles were the eyes of the dragon. The sight of those two huge glowing eyes made William want to run. But even though he was frightened, he continued into the cave.
“What are you doing here?” snarled a deep voice.
As William’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out a huge red head with sharp horns, long teeth, and a pointy beard. William squeezed his hands together and said, “I want you to leave the kingdom alone.”
The powerful dragon burst into startled laughter. “Are you going to stop me?”
William swallowed. His mouth felt dry, and his nose stung from the smoke-filled air. “I don’t know how, but I’ll try.”
“Try this!” the dragon shouted. Before William could move, Nogard lunged forward, opened his cavernous mouth, and closed his jaws around William.
William looked about, blinking. He couldn’t see a thing. “Where am I?” he shouted. “Am I, am I, am I?” his voice echoed back at him.
“You are in my stomach,” the dragon growled.
William wrinkled his nose at the foul smell. “Disgusting.”
Realizing he had to escape before he was dissolved by the dragon’s stomach acid, he reached into his pocket. He was hoping to find something to cut his way out—a knife, maybe—but the only thing his fingers touched was the sparrow’s feather he’d picked up the day before.
It was small, just like him, but somehow it would have to do. Clasping the feather between his fingers, William reached up as high as he could and tickled the inside of the dragon’s throat. Nogard coughed. William tickled the dragon’s throat again. Nogard coughed harder. William tried one more time, and the dragon coughed so hard that it threw William up.
William landed a few feet away from the dragon. As he pushed himself to his feet, he realized he was covered in dragon saliva. “Yuck,” he said. “This will never come out of my leather armor.”
The dragon cocked his large red head. “I’ve never seen anyone survive being eaten by a dragon before. Perhaps you should run away while you can.”
Although his knees were shaking and his stomach felt tied in knots, William shook his head.
Nogard waggled his beard. “Aren’t you scared?”
“Terrified,” William admitted. “But I’m not going away until you agree to leave the kingdom alone.”
The dragon sighed. “I sort of liked you too.” He opened his mouth and blew a stream of fire directly at William.
William pressed his eyes shut as heat engulfed him, sure he was about to be cooked into a small, charred William-kebab. But when he opened his eyes, he was still standing. He looked down at himself, examined his armor the best he could in the darkness, and ran a hand over his head. Not a single hair was singed.
It took him a moment to realize what must have happened. “It’s the dragon spit,” he said. “If it’s strong enough to protect a dragon’s stomach from fire, I guess it’s strong enough to protect me, too.”
Nogard stepped toward William, his great claws tearing divots in the stone floor of the cave. “What weapons did you bring to fight me with, little man?”
William shrugged. “I don’t, uh, actually have any weapons.”
The dragon chuckled and spread his great wings. “You came to stand against me unarmed?”
Feeling a little embarrassed, William said, “My mother says I’m too young to play with swords and spears.”
The great red dragon leaned close until the boy could feel the creature’s hot breath on his face. His nostrils flared as he sniffed at William. “I swallowed you and yet you chose not to run. I scorched you with fire and you stood yo
ur ground.”
William shuffled his feet.
“I have traveled the world far and wide,” Nogard said. “Many warriors have tried to fight me. Every one of them wore their strongest armor. They carried thick shields and sharp weapons. They all trembled and fled when they beheld my power. Yet you, a boy, come against me without a single weapon, wearing simple leather armor. How do you explain this?”
William wasn’t sure how to answer. He rubbed his hands on his pants, hoping the dragon wouldn’t notice how grossed out he was by the spit. “I guess I’ve learned that it’s okay to be afraid. But being scared doesn’t mean you give up.”
The dragon bent his front legs and lowered his head until his chin rested on the ground. “I have searched every kingdom for someone as brave as you. You are truly a person of courage. Climb onto my back.”
William could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You mean you aren’t going to eat me?”
“I never really liked the taste of humans,” the dragon said. “I much prefer sheep. And chocolate. I really like chocolate.”
“Me too!” William said. Grabbing the dragon’s scales, he climbed onto the creature’s thick neck. His short legs dangled on either side as the dragon stood.
“Hang on,” Nogard said. The dragon bent his legs, spread his wings, and suddenly they were rocketing out of the cave faster than a speeding arrow. Wind blew back William’s hair and cooled his cheeks. Together the two of them blasted through the yellow cloud and into the sky. It was like being on the back of the biggest, coolest bird ever.
Down below, William’s father, brother, and the others looked up in terror before seeing William on Nogard’s back.
“It’s okay!” William yelled down to them. “He’s my friend.” Throwing back his head, William let out a whoop, and together he and Nogard soared toward the sky. It was the greatest day of his life.
Now the only thing he had to worry about was how to convince his mother to let him keep a dragon at the castle.
J. Scott Savage
J. Scott Savage is the author of the Farworld series and the Case File 13 series. He grew up in Northern California and now lives in northern Utah in a windy little valley of the Rocky Mountains. He has a wonderful wife who has somehow stuck with him for more than twenty years, four great kids, and a spastic border collie.
http://www.jscottsavage.com/
JP
(Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia)
Meet JP! JP is quite possibly the most confident and energetic kid I have ever met. You’d have no idea how sick he really is because JP has been fighting cancer for the majority of his life with confidence and hope and doing so like a champion. I have no doubt he is going to do great things with his life. In fact, he already has!
Anything Can Be approached the Utah Jazz basketball team with the idea of making JP an official Jazz player for a day. We thought it would be cool to see if he could maybe even play with some of the players during a game. The Jazz loved the idea and went above and beyond to make it happen for young JP. His dream actually came true, and the results were awesome.
To see how JP made the most of this rare opportunity, check out the QR code below.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ojJDlo3sv_s
The New Guy
Chad Morris
I got a new guy,” Mr. Clay, the assistant coach, said as he approached the head coach courtside. The largest crowd of the tournament already sat in their seats, and more and more people were filing in.
“Great,” Coach Hill answered, watching his team of seventeen-year-olds warm up in a college stadium, the largest venue they had played in. He was tall and bald and held a small whiteboard in one hand. His team of competitive league players had clawed and hustled their way to the national championship game, to the place where college and even NBA scouts came looking for up-and-coming talent.
Unfortunately, now that the Minn brothers had moved overseas, Josh Tempkin was sidelined with an ankle injury, and Jamal Taggart had been sick more often than not over the last three weeks, he desperately needed more players. “Where is he?”
Clay cleared his throat. “Well, the rules say that anyone who is younger than eighteen and hasn’t played on any other team in the league this year is eligible.” He spoke quickly, wringing his hands.
“Yeah,” Coach Hill said.
“The kid I found is a little young, but he can play.”
“As long as he can play,” the coach said, jotting down a note at the top of his board.
“He’s quick and accurate and always follows his shot,” Clay said. “But looking at him, you wouldn’t think—”
“Hopefully we won’t need him,” Coach Hill interrupted, glancing back at his assistant. “He’s just backup for an emergency. Where is he?”
The assistant coach looked down. The coach’s eyes followed much lower than he probably anticipated. Below Assistant Coach Clay’s waist was a spikey-haired blond boy with a huge smile. He was wearing the Jaguars’ green-and-gold uniform.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Coach said, shaking his head. “A five-year-old kid?”
“I’m six,” the boy corrected.
“You’ll be trampled.”
“He’ll be fine,” Coach Clay defended. “He can—”
“Everyone else out there is seventeen. They are some of the best young players in the nation! I need someone who can keep up with them,” Coach said, “not someone they need to babysit.”
“He can keep up,” Clay promised, his voice crisp. “JP’s like a miracle. He had leukemia, but once he started to recover, he just never stopped. His body kept getting stronger and faster and—”
“We aren’t interested in anyone his age,” Coach interrupted.
“Just let him show—”
“No.”
“If you’ll just watch—”
“No.” The coach’s voice had grown louder, deeper. “I don’t care how good he is. He’s five.”
“Six,” JP corrected again, shifting the ball from one hand to the other, and then around his back. His movements were fluid.
“Cute,” the coach said. “There’s no way he’s up to our level, and they”—he gestured toward his team warming up on the court—“would be humiliated to have him on the court.” He turned to JP. “Sorry, kid, I won’t even let you warm up with them. And there is no way you’re getting into the game. The best I can do is let you sit on the bench.”
Thirty minutes later, Coach Hill vaulted off the bench to yell at the refs for the forty-somethingth time. The game had not gone well. The Tornadoes had jumped out to a quick lead, and the Jaguars had never come close to catching them. They were outmanned, outmuscled, and outplayed.
“Foul on number fifty-four, Jaguars,” the ref yelled, pointing at the Jaguar center, a tall kid with dark skin and a buzz cut. Coach Hill palmed his forehead. The buzzer rang twice, and the overweight man at the table raised his full hand, signaling five fouls. Fifty-four was out of the game.
The coach looked down the bench. Two of his players had fouled out, his team was down eighteen points with eight minutes left, and if he didn’t put someone in, they would forfeit the championship. “There are NBA scouts in the audience,” he mumbled to himself. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He pointed at the six-year-old blond kid. “Boy. TJ.”
“JP,” the boy corrected.
“Whatever,” Coach Hill said, waving off the mistake. “I’m putting you in.”
JP leaped off the bench and tore away his athletic pants to reveal his bright green shorts.
“But,” Coach said, “stay out of the way. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
JP’s only answer was a broad smile.
As JP knelt by the scorer’s table before entering the game, the assistant coach looked back at Coach Hill. “Don’t worry.” He clapped his hands. “This is going to be good.”
“Don’t worry?” Coach Hill blurted. “I just put a first-grader in the championship game. He’s going to be steamrol
led by kids three times his age. Half of them have shoes as tall as he is.”
Coach Clay chuckled. “Your phone has a camera, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
“You might want to get it ready.”
The man at the scorer’s table sounded the buzzer, and JP entered the game. Murmurs and laughs ran through the crowd. The Jaguars hung their heads.
“Seriously?” the Tornado power forward asked. There was a hint of insult to his voice. And the refs argued JP was too young to play.
JP just kept smiling.
Coach Clay had to explain the official rules, and reluctantly everyone agreed JP could play. Soon the players lined up at the foul line for the Tornado player to take his shot. JP stood outside the three-point line, guarded by a boy twice his size. The player at the line dribbled twice, exhaled, and shot.
Swish.
He repeated the same ritual but missed the second attempt. JP took off down the floor, calling for the ball. The Jaguar who got the rebound launched it without thinking.
“What? Don’t throw it to the kid,” another Jaguar protested.
But JP jumped toward it. An audible gasp sounded from the crowd. The small boy with spikey blond hair hung several feet in the air. It was like his shoes were trampolines. With the grace of a gymnast, he clutched the ball and landed on the run. He raced farther down the court, dribbling without looking down. It was unbelievable. He could dribble like he breathed. He hit the key, took a few steps, and went up for a layup. Two points.
Silence.
The crowd and all the players on the court stood dumbfounded. The ref didn’t even signal the basket good. The scorer’s table didn’t put the points on the board. Everyone was stunned, mouths open.
Coach Clay clapped, turning toward Coach Hill. “I tried to tell you.”
It took a moment, but soon the refs shook their heads and got back to their jobs. The points went on the scoreboard.
The Tornado point guard brought the ball down and passed to the wing. But as soon as the player’s back was turned, JP dashed in behind him and stole the ball. (It’s tough to see a kid coming when he’s half your size and faster than most small cheetahs.) JP bolted down the court, faked one way, and then passed it the other. He hit thirty-one on the run, who scored an easy floater.
