PURE OF HEART

by Christopher Greyson

  Dean nodded.

  “I’ll see you in the morning. Pleasant dreams.” Panadur walked off into the other room and closed the door.

  Dean rolled his eyes and broke off a hunk of cheese. He never had pleasant dreams—they were always nightmares.

  He looked around the little room. Always wary, he couldn’t believe he trusted this guy. But what choice did he have? It was too dark to trek back down the hillside. He finished the last of the bread and washed it down with the cool spring water. He looked at the closed door for a while before he made up his mind. He figured if the old man meant him harm, he would’ve hurt him already.

  Dean walked over and collapsed onto the sleeping bag. He’d spent the last week sleeping in a doorway near the docks. Compared to that, the little cottage was a world-class resort.

  As Dean dozed off, the sound of a thunderstorm slowly came closer.

  CHAPTER TWO

  How to Train a Warrior

  Dean jumped when someone shook him awake.

  “Good morning.”

  Dean looked up at the old man, who stood over him smiling.

  “Breakfast is ready for you, and I suggest you eat heartily, for we have a long day ahead of us.”

  “Great.”

  “I’ll return in a few minutes. I have a few things I must take care of outside first.” Panadur hurried out the door, grinning ear to ear.

  As Dean slowly sat up, the events of last night swirled back through his mind. He quickly looked around the darkened room. “The sun isn’t even up yet,” he grumbled to himself. Wearily he rose and saw the table was heaped with eggs, ham, and biscuits. He’d never seen so much food. He smiled, sat down, and hungrily began to eat.

  After he’d scraped his plate clean, Panadur came back. “We will start your training now. Follow me.”

  Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and hurried after Panadur. They walked across the dirt yard to the large oak tree next to the barn.

  “Hey,” Dean called out. “Before I start working, I want to know how much money I’ll get paid.”

  Panadur took three one hundred dollar bills out of his pocket. Dean’s mouth fell open. “Uh . . .” He backed up. “Why so much?”

  Panadur grinned. “I wasn’t entirely honest with you, Dean.”

  The hair on the back of Dean’s neck rose. He got ready to run. “What’s that for?”

  Panadur laughed. “Nothing bad.”

  “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

  “If at any time you want to leave, you can take the money and go.”

  Dean eyed him suspiciously.

  “For now, although I don’t like it, I aim to buy your trust.”

  “If that’s all you’re looking for, then three hundred is a good start.” Dean started to take the money.

  Panadur nodded and tore the bills in half.

  “What’re you doing?” Dean’s hand flew up in the air.

  “You get half now.” Panadur handed him the ripped bills. “You get the other half at the end of the week.”

  Dean’s smile faded. “Everyone has an angle,” he grumbled.

  “The chores will come second. Training comes first.”

  “Training? What kind of training?”

  “It’s my intent to train you to be a warrior.”

  Dean laughed.

  Panadur didn’t.

  “Excuse me? A what? A warrior? You’re crazy, old man.”

  “Was it not enough money?” He tilted his head. “Or do you not think you are up to the task?”

  “No . . . but I didn’t know it was for training to become some sort of bodyguard. I figure for that you should pay me . . . at least twice that.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll take—”

  “My offer stands as is. You get room, board, food, and three hundred every week. Decide now.”

  Dean’s full stomach answered with a rumble. He remembered the cold and hunger of the streets. He knew three hundred dollars could last him a month. Dean nodded.

  “Good. First, Dean, you have to train your mind. A warrior is more than just a simple fighter. A fighter knows how to use physical weapons but not the most important one of all: his mind. Now sit beneath this tree and reflect on what has happened to you, what is happening to you right now, and what will happen to you. I’ll return later.”

  “Sure.” Dean sardonically nodded, and then plopped down against the tree, all too eager to close his eyes again. He stretched his legs out. Dean could hear Panadur going from here to there, whistling or humming as he worked.

  He nodded off.

  Sometime later, Dean awoke with a start when icy water splashed him in the face.

  “Hello, sleepy one.” Panadur glared down at him with an empty pail in his hands. “If training your mind doesn’t keep you awake, maybe training your body will. Now come with me,” he ordered before he turned and marched away.

  Dean rose, surprised at the old man’s ire. “Come off it. It’s six o’clock in the morning, and you expected me to stay awake meditating?” he called after him.

  “Yes, I did,” Panadur called back over his shoulder.

  The two walked behind the cottage. There was a series of walls and other varied obstacles that stretched off into the woods.

  Dean looked perplexed. “You have your own obstacle course?” he asked in disbelief.

  The old man smiled.

  “Are you like a survivalist, or is this one of those games where at the end you hunt me down and try to kill me?”

  Panadur laughed. “It is an obstacle course. They’ve been used for centuries for training. They even have these in your Army.”

  “My Army?”

  “Just get ready.”

  Dean raised an eyebrow. “You want me to run an obstacle course?”

  “You didn’t run too well last night, my friend, so I think it’s best if you start to learn how to run faster than an ox.”

  Dean snorted. He rolled his shoulders and twisted back and forth. “If I do this good, do I get more money?” he asked.

  “If you do this well . . . and the answer is no. Run!”

  Dean sprinted down a little path to the first wooden wall. He scrambled over it, but fell as he tried to lower himself, landing solidly on his back with a loud groan. Embarrassed, he quickly jumped to his feet and started down the little path again. As he neared a stream that cut across the trail, he slowed down. A very round log spanned the water. His first cautious step on the moss-covered log pitched him forward into the cold stream. Sputtering and cursing, he climbed out. Determination drove him onward.

  He ran up a large hill. At the top he stopped and gasped for breath. After a moment he ran down, but his legs started to move too quickly underneath him. His face contorted in pain, and he pitched forward. He thrust his hands out and tried to twist so he’d land on his shoulder and not his face. His breath was knocked out of him. Arms and legs flying, he tumbled down the hill until he finally rolled to a stop in a big cloud of dust.

  “Man, this moans. Gym class wasn’t this bad,” he muttered as he rose to his feet and knocked the dirt off.

  With a snarl, he tried to plow through a row of tall bushes that blocked the path. He leaped into them and yelped in pain as long briars pricked his skin. He tore himself from the thorns and raced down a long open stretch. He jumped over deep holes and ducked under fallen logs.

  Dean stopped when the path ran straight into a rock cliff that towered above him. He looked down at his body, covered in mud. “Do you have insurance?” he yelled up the hill. He heard nothing but the echo of his own voice as a reply.

  With a huff, he climbed. Loose rocks clattered down or landed hard on his feet and shins as he struggled to hold on almost as much as he struggled to climb. Scratched and bruised, he pulled himself to the top and collapsed, panting.

  He raised his head and saw the other side of the cliff descended gently, but it was covered with chest-deep briars.

  He panted. “Crazy old
man . . .”

  As he got to his feet, he could see a tunnel had been cut through the briar patch. The only way he could use it, though, was if he crawled. He dropped down to his stomach and edged forward. He was forced to stop repeatedly to free his snagged clothes or his tangled hair from the long thorns. When the tunnel ended and he could finally stand, he realized the path he looked down made a circle that would bring him straight back to Panadur.

  His legs felt like stone as he ran again. When he came to a straightway in the path, he could see Panadur waiting at the end. His pace quickened even more; he pushed forward.

  He smiled. From the corner of his eye, he caught the flash streaking at him. He tried to leap out of the way but the swinging tree limb slammed into his legs and knocked him forward. He slid to a stop in front of the old man.

  “Ugh.” He felt frustrated and humiliated.

  “A very nice first attempt, Dean. Very nice!” The old man leaned down. “But, you’ll have to do much better if you ever want to escape a Krulg.”

  “Escape a what?” Dean panted.

  “A Krulg, nasty things that they are.”

  “What the heck is a Krulg?”

  Panadur thought for a moment. “Krulgs are about your size but rather heavy, with greenish skin and little black eyes. They have two tusks that protrude from their bottom jaw. They’re strong, fast, and intelligent—in a wicked way. If they catch you, they eat you. Even though you wouldn’t be a pleasant meal for them. They don’t like gristle.” Panadur smiled.

  “I think I’d taste just fine,” Dean snapped as he rose to his feet. Panadur laughed.

  Dean scowled at him; this guy was crazier then he thought.

  After Dean caught his breath, he asked, “Didn’t I run that course fast enough?”

  “You tried very hard, but you have to learn to do it faster. I wasn’t kidding when I said a Krulg would catch and eat you. I once escaped from a Krulg of the Blood Moon clan, and he’d have caught you before you reached the first wall.”

  Dean rubbed the back of his head and looked at his feet for a second, unsure how to ask without insulting his new boss. “Do you really believe in these Krulgs?”

  “Perhaps they do in another world. But anyway, time for the next step before lunch.” Panadur went back toward the cottage; Dean limped behind him.

  Panadur went onto the porch and picked up two heavy, smooth sticks, one of which he tossed to Dean.

  “What’re we going to do with these?”

  “You’re going to learn how to use a sword.”

  “With a stick? Why can’t we use real swords?”

  “When you’re ready for a sword, you’ll use one, but right now I don’t want you poking your eyes out—or mine for that matter. Now prepare to fight.” With that command, Panadur lifted his stick until it was level with Dean’s chest.

  “I can’t fight you.” Dean lowered his stick.

  “You’ve just broken the two most important rules of combat. First rule: don’t underestimate your opponent.”

  “Great. What’s the second?”

  “Those who hesitate die.” Panadur’s stick shot out and struck Dean firmly in the arm.

  “OW. That really hurt.” Dean backed away.

  “If a light blow like that really hurt, this one will be very painful.” The old man’s stick struck Dean’s ribs.

  “What’re you doing?” Dean yelped as he lashed out at Panadur, who stepped easily out of the way of the blow and smacked Dean in the back.

  “My nanny used to hit harder than you.” Panadur hit him again.

  “I’ll show you who’s a nanny,” Dean growled and swung his stick fast and hard. Panadur nimbly stepped to the side of the blow and jabbed Dean in the stomach.

  “Maybe you can hit harder than my nanny. But I do not think I’ll ever find out.” Panadur laughed as he struck him again.

  With his stick raised over his head, Dean ran at Panadur. Panadur ducked low, caught Dean in the stomach with his shoulder, and then flung him over his back. Dean landed with a loud groan but quickly jumped to his feet. Again and again the two lashed out at each other. Dean never landed a strike. Soon his whole body ached as blow upon blow hit him. After a solid hour of being bruised and beaten, Panadur held up his hand. “Enough.”

  “Had enough old man?”

  Panadur shook his head. “It’s time for us to eat.”

  Dean felt as if his whole body had turned to lead. Every step he took wracked his body with pain. Once inside, the two ate a quickly prepared lunch. Afterward, they walked out onto the porch.

  “Why don’t you take a break? I’ll come back out and we’ll get started again,” Panadur said.

  Dean slumped down on the steps. “Thanks.” He lay back on the worn wood and wondered how much of this he could take. Then he thought of the three hundred dollars and all the things he wanted to buy. He let his arms stretch out at his sides.

  When Panadur walked back out, he sat down next to Dean on the steps and handed him a large glass of water.

  Dean groaned as he sat up. “How am I doing so far, boss?”

  Panadur chuckled. “Just fine. Better than I thought.”

  “Thanks.” Dean’s lips pressed together.

  “I mean no offense. It’s how you move.”

  “How I move?”

  “Like an angry elephant.”

  “And you didn’t mean any offense?” Dean rolled his eyes and took another sip.

  “Don’t be so sensitive. Everywhere you go you stomp around. Like Stampy, the elephant.”

  “Sensitive? Stampy? I’m light on my feet.”

  Panadur laughed. “No. You’re not. But don’t worry. We’ll fix that.” Panadur got up and went into the barn. When he came back out, he carried a long pole with a large ball of padding on one end. “Come with me, Stampy,” Panadur called.

  With a loud groan, Dean rose to his feet. “No way I’m getting stuck with a nickname like that. Knock it off.”

  Panadur smiled.

  Dean didn’t. “Seriously.”

  Panadur nodded. “I’ll refrain from using that name,” he looked Dean up and down, “if you don’t have an issue standing up for yourself.”

  Dean straightened up. “I don’t. If I don’t stand up for myself, who’s going to?”

  The two walked around the cottage and down to an area where the little stream widened and deepened. Three flat, wooden pillars rose just above water level near the edge of the bank.

  “Now you’re going to train your reactions and footing.” Panadur smiled.

  Dean took a step back and shook his head. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to let you hit me in the head with a giant cotton swab while I stand on some slippery logs.”

  “Okay.” Panadur smirked. “First I get to hit you, and then I’ll let you try to hit me.”

  “Really?” Dean eyed him suspiciously.

  “Yes, really.”

  “All right.” He grinned as he took his sneakers and shirt off and waded to the waist-deep logs, shivering as he went. Dean pulled himself up on one of the logs. He wobbled as he tried to turn around and face Panadur. “I’ll tell you when I’m ready. Oka—”

  Panadur struck him smartly in the forehead. He fell backward into the water. Dean stood up, sputtering, as he wiped the water from his face. “I said I’d tell you when I was ready,” he yelled.

  “You should always be ready. Get back on the log.”

  Dean huffed, but climbed back on. He brushed back his hair and spread his feet as far apart as he could on the log. As Panadur’s pole shot forward, Dean bent at the waist. The padding hit him on the top of the head, and he almost flipped completely over before he splashed back into the water.

  “Don’t take your eyes off the pole,” Panadur barked.

  “How do I duck and not take my eyes off the pole?” Dean snapped.

  “If you’re going to duck, bend your knees and don’t tip forward like a goony bird.” Panadur bent down and kept his
back straight. “Like this. Bend your knees, not your back. That way you can still see what’s coming at you.”

  “It’s kind of hard when I have to stay on this stump.” Dean stood up on the log.

  “Who said you have to stay on one log?”

  “Seriously? You can’t keep changing the rules.”

  “There was never a rule.”

  The pole shot forward and Dean sprang sideways. “Missed me,” he yelled as the pole passed his head. “Crud,” Dean groaned as his feet overshot the log he was jumping to, and he landed with a big splash. “I know. I know,” Dean grumbled as he climbed back up. “Don’t take your eyes off the pole or where you’re trying to land. But I didn’t get hit—” The pole smacked him in the back of his head and sent him flying once again into the water.

  “Don’t be so cocky.”

  Dean mumbled under his breath.

  “What did you forget?” Panadur asked cheerfully.

  “Always be ready.” Dean brushed back his hair.

  After an hour of dodging and ducking and splashing and sputtering, Dean stood waist-deep in the water. “When am I going to be able to hit you?”

  “Now’s a good time.” Panadur gave a sly grin. “Oh, don’t come in.” He held up his hand as Dean waded forward. “You can strike at me from on the logs.”

  “That’s not fair,” Dean protested, striking the water.

  “Neither am I.” Panadur’s voice was low and serious.

  Dean straightened and quickly moved to the platform. Panadur handed the pole to him. Dean tested the weight by swinging the pole back and forth. A slight smirk crossed his face.

  Dean thrust the pole forward, and Panadur stepped to the side, grabbed the pole, and pushed. Dean flew backward and into the stream once more.

  “You didn’t say I could do that!” Dean bellowed as his head broke the surface.

  “And I never said you couldn’t. Try again.”

  Dean was fuming as he climbed up on the log. He swung the pole sideways with all his strength. Panadur ducked low and the pole whizzed over his head. Dean groaned as the pole pivoted to his side and yelped as it carried him with it into the water.