How to Slay a Dragon

by Bill Allen

  “How about Shadow?” Lucky asked, but Greg decided on Rake instead, after the series of marks it had already left across his back.

  Nathan left the trail and made a beeline toward two fallen branches, which he retrieved and handed to the boys.

  “What’s this?” Greg asked.

  “A stick,” Nathan responded.

  “I can see that. What for?”

  “Everyone should have a stick.”

  Greg stared up at the man, stick in one hand, eternal torch in the other, waiting for an explanation.

  “Helps you walk, remember? And there’s plenty more you can do with a stick, too. I’ll show you when we stop for the night. For now just do as I do.” He planted his own staff in the mud at his feet and hopped across a narrow puddle.

  “Here, Greg,” said Lucky, “you can stow the torch in my knapsack.”

  Tricky job, pushing the torch into the pack without setting Lucky’s hair on fire. Even trickier in the dark, when Greg retrieved the torch that evening to light a small campfire so Nathan could show them what he meant about doing more with a stick. The two boys sat cross-legged on the ground while Nathan stood motionless before them, head bowed, eyes closed. His hands were clasped loosely around the staff, which rested vertically, one end planted on the ground at his feet. Only his rhythmic breathing revealed he was even alive.

  He needs a stick to do this?

  Greg was about to ask what Nathan was doing when the wiry man lunged forward, thrust the staff out like a sword and withdrew it in one flowing motion. He stood then, poised for the next imaginary attack.

  Greg perked up. Even Rake looked on curiously.

  Again the stick flew up. This time Nathan continued the imaginary fight, spinning his staff like a giant baton about the entire clearing. Greg watched in awe as Nathan parried and thrust with unbelievably fluid movements, as if he were a dancer and the stick his partner.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Greg asked once Nathan, head bowed and eyes closed, finally returned the point of his staff to the ground. As if annoyed by the noise, Rake crawled down from Greg’s lap and slunk off into the shadows.

  Nathan looked up and smiled. “Father taught me, back when I was younger than you are now.” He laughed to himself. “Though I suppose I never really took it seriously until someone very wise helped me see why I might want to practice more.”

  “Well, it looks like you’ve had plenty of practice to me,” said Lucky. “That was amazing. Can you teach me how to do it?”

  “And me,” said Greg.

  “I thought we stopped so you boys could get some rest,” Nathan said, chuckling.

  “I’m not tired,” said Lucky.

  “Me neither,” Greg lied. Truth was, he’d barely managed to keep his eyes open since breakfast.

  “All right,” said Nathan, “One quick lesson to start you off, but then you need to sleep, okay?”

  Both boys agreed, and then listened intently as Nathan described the basics of a timeless art form he called chikan.

  “Chicken?” Greg asked

  “Chi-kan,” Nathan corrected, pronouncing the a like the one in wand. “Roughly translated it means ‘energy at peace.’”

  To Greg’s disappointment, Nathan asked the boys to put down their sticks. He insisted they learn the philosophy behind the art form, claiming they’d never achieve mastery without it.

  “I’d be willing to sacrifice mastery if I could just learn to spin the stick around the way you did,” Greg told him.

  Nathan laughed. “I think it’s time you boys got some sleep.”

  They camped with the eternal torch planted in the ground to scare off animals, which might have worked better if the flame hadn’t kept going out every time Greg drifted off to sleep and lost his grip on the handle.

  “Why don’t we tie Greg’s hand to the torch?” Lucky suggested, but Nathan said no, even after Lucky insisted nothing could happen to Greg or the prophecy wouldn’t be fulfilled.

  “Don’t you believe in the prophecy?” Greg asked Nathan after Lucky fell asleep.

  Nathan sighed. “One thing I’ve learned throughout the years is that there is much I don’t know. I also consider myself a most talented observer, and I’ve noticed that Ruuan is a very large dragon, while you, on the other hand, are neither a dragon nor large.”

  Greg stared deep into Nathan’s eyes. “Do you even know what reassurance is?”

  “I’m just saying if you do live through this thing, your success will have to stem from something other than your size or battle skills. I don’t know you well, of course, but I would think your best bet would be your resourcefulness and cunning. If you were to go prancing about flaunting danger at every turn, you couldn’t possibly succeed. You’ll need to make some very sound decisions along the way.”

  Greg exhaled deeply.

  “What’s the matter?” Nathan asked.

  “I can’t . . . I mean, I just hope I don’t disappoint you.”

  The torchlight flickered over Nathan’s warm smile. Greg expected him to say, “You won’t.” But instead he said, “I hope so, too.”

  “Now let go of that torch, Greg, and get some sleep. No animals will bother us. They’re much too frightened of monsters to move about this forest after dark.”

  Greg gripped the torch even tighter. He wouldn’t have got a moment’s rest had Rake not curled up next to him. But once the shadowcat started purring, Greg’s grip weakened and fell away from the torch, bathing the clearing in sudden darkness. Fortunately Greg was too tired to notice the hundreds of eyes glowing in the surrounding forest. A moment later he was fast asleep, and not even the monkeydogs could wake him.

  “Okay, boys, pick up your sticks.”

  For the past two days, the trio had traveled south and had only recently rounded the tip of the Enchanted Forest to head north again. Both days they had marched themselves to exhaustion, but still both nights, when it was no longer safe to travel, the boys had begged Nathan to teach them more about chikan.

  Unfortunately all Nathan seemed interested in teaching them was how to breathe, which Greg felt he had a fairly good handle on already. But Nathan insisted proper breathing was important if they wanted to continue breathing at all, so Greg and Lucky inhaled and exhaled over and over again, following Nathan’s instructions to the word, until Greg felt he was the best breather this side of the Enchanted Forest.

  Finally, Nathan was permitting them to pick up their walking sticks. The movements they practiced seemed silly to Greg, but Nathan was very complimentary, insisting both boys were clearly naturals when it came to the art of chikan.

  “This position is called sensen,” he instructed, holding his staff out vertically as Greg had seen him do many times before. “It is a position of harmony and rest, the center of peace from which all power originates.”

  Greg worked hard to mimic Nathan’s stance.

  “Do not concern yourself so much with the mechanics of the position,” Nathan told him. “Sensen is mostly a state of mind. The stance merely helps you focus your energy.”

  “What energy?” said Greg, knees drooping.

  “You’re not going to tell us to breathe and meditate again, are you?” Lucky asked.

  “Afraid so,” said Nathan. He winked at the two of them. “But at least you got to pick up your sticks.”

  The next morning they were back on the trail before the sun rose fully above the horizon, as was the case each day for nearly a week. In spite of the harried pace Nathan set, Greg worried over how long it took to traverse the eastern edge of the Enchanted Forest.

  “I worry, too,” Nathan said, “but there is no other way.”

  Exhausted by the end of each day, Greg slept soundly through the nights, even when Rake was not around to help him. Each morning he woke feeling a trifle less sore than the morning before. Day by day he grew stronger, until one morning he woke feeling as if he’d been hit by a small car, perhaps just a motorcycle, instead of the usual truck. By mid
-morning he’d walked off all of his aches, and by the evening chikan session, he was actually feeling reasonably good.

  “Excellent, Greg,” Nathan said, as Greg repeated one particularly difficult move. “It’s as if you were meant to do this.”

  Greg frowned, thinking Nathan was referring to the prophecy, but then he realized the man was offering a genuine compliment. Greg really was a natural at chikan. The other night Nathan had let the boys spar, and Greg found he was able to disarm and pin Lucky, who Nathan claimed to be the second best he’d ever taught, every two out of three matches.

  For once in his life Greg actually felt strong, making him wonder if he might actually be building muscle on this adventure. He hoped so. Sure he was short, but maybe when he got home to his first day of school he wouldn’t be the scrawniest kid in class as well.

  Only his first day of school had come and gone long ago, hadn’t it? It seemed as if he’d been hiking in the woods of Myrth forever. By now his parents must have given up all hope of ever finding him, and his friends had probably forgotten he even existed.

  What friends? Greg caught himself thinking. He scowled and stabbed the air with his stick the way Nathan demonstrated.

  “Breathe,” Nathan scolded. “Breathe.”

  Greg moaned. “Did you get the number of the truck that hit me?” he asked Lucky at breakfast.

  “What’s a truck?”

  Nathan paused with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. “I think Greg was being facetious, Lucky. A truck is a sort of magic wagon.”

  Greg looked at Nathan. “How do you know what a truck is?”

  Nathan regarded him coolly. “I know many things.”

  “Yes, but this thing isn’t possible for you to know.”

  Nathan smiled. “Look at you, telling me what is possible. But you must realize, Myrth is not the only world I have seen. You, of all people, should be able to identify with that.”

  “Oh.” Greg had never stopped to consider King Peter’s magicians might have brought others to Myrth. “What other worlds have you been to?”

  “Ah, well, my home planet of Gyrth for one, but that is something I am not willing to discuss. I suggest you worry more about your own affairs.”

  Greg didn’t need to be told to worry. He had kept going over the upcoming conversation with Simon in his head, and each time the scene played out the same. He heard the prophet saying that there had been no mistake. “Of course, the prophecy was meant for Greghart from Earth. Why, Greatheart from Myrth just wouldn’t make any sense.”

  A part of Greg—a very small part that he’d have stomped out of existence if ever he caught it lurking about—also fretted that even if he did get out of this and make it safely back home, Marvin Greatheart might not show up in time to rescue Princess Priscilla. Greg wished there were some way he could help the princess, short of fighting Ruuan himself, of course, but clearly there was nothing he could do. Best not to dwell on the matter. Instead he focused on his promise to Queen Pauline to take note of the scenery. She was right. The forests here were incredible, even more exciting than those described on the pages of his journal. He didn’t even need to make up monsters to chase him here. They really were lurking behind every bush.

  Wait, she said this would be pleasing.

  “Trolls!”

  Little more than a gasp to start with, the sound cut off in Lucky’s throat. Greg got the message just the same.

  Nathan rushed forward and peered through the bushes. “How many?”

  “Half dozen,” Lucky whispered.

  “About six more than we want to tackle, then,” Nathan surmised. He motioned to the boys, and the three of them slipped into the brush to hide.

  Within seconds the trolls were upon them. Smelly, hulking beasts with sloped foreheads and dull looks across their ugly faces. Like a half dozen Manny Malices. Only in all the years he’d know him, Greg couldn’t recall a single instance when Manny had sniffed the air in search of prey.

  Greg held his breath as they passed and silently congratulated himself for not screaming, even if his ability to keep quiet was largely due to the tightness of the hand Nathan clamped over his mouth. In moments the danger was gone.

  Nathan breathed a sigh of relief. “Lucky we were downwind of the beasts.”

  Greg thrashed his head about, trying to shake the putrid troll stench from his nostrils. “You sure the upwind side wouldn’t have been luckier?”

  Nathan glanced around the woods. “I must say, I am surprised. Normally I wouldn’t expect to hike an hour anywhere on Myrth without running afoul of at least one hideous creature or another. It’s hard to believe these are the first we have seen.”

  “Ah, it was nothing,” said Lucky, dragging his toe through the dirt.

  Greg had to admit fortune had been on their side, but he also imagined a forest on Myrth was the last place he wanted to be when his luck ran out. Maybe the last place he would be.

  Lucky pointed ahead to a lush section of forest. “Wiccan Wood.”

  “Wiccan?” Greg repeated nervously. “Are there more witches here?”

  “Don’t know,” said Lucky, “but if so, they must not be the same sort as Hazel. You saw how the trees couldn’t survive in the Shrieking Scrub. Nature and evil don’t get along.”

  “I suppose,” mumbled Greg, but still he kept his eyes and ears open.

  He should have focused more attention on his nose.

  He was still pondering over a familiar scent when the bushes began to shake. At first he was going to pass it off as just another monkeydog, but then an orange blur flashed behind the brush. Rake wailed in his ear and dove for cover, leaving a series of gashes in Greg’s shoulder.

  “Something moved!” Greg shouted.

  “Relax, Greg,” Lucky said, “it was probably just another monkeydog.”

  “But I saw it move.”

  In a flash Nathan fell into sensen stance, staff held out before him, breath calm but deliberate. “Take cover,” he urged the boys.

  He needn’t have bothered. Lucky had dove behind Nathan’s legs the instant Greg said he’d seen movement, only to find the spot already claimed by Greg, who didn’t want to face anything that would concern either of his companions so.

  A large branch snapped. Greg gathered the courage to peer out from behind Nathan’s knee. The underbrush shook violently and parted, and a huge creature with reddish-orange fur bounded onto the path ahead.

  Tiger! Greg thought, but then realized no cat could be that huge.

  The creature stood on hind legs like a bear, stretching impossibly far upward, its muscular, human-like arms held wide. Gleaming white fangs curled below its pointed chin, and a row of foot-long daggers jutted out of each paw. Its bellowing roar shook the entire forest, although the sound was nearly lost beneath the ear-piercing scream Greg offered.

  Nathan visibly relaxed and lowered his walking stick to the ground. “Whoa, I must say that had me scared for an instant.”

  Greg screamed again, but his throat had closed up so tightly, he managed little more than a squeak.

  “Relax, Greg,” said Nathan. “It’s just a bollywomp. It won’t hurt you.”

  Greg tried again to speak, but no sound would come. He shot Nathan a look that suggested he didn’t believe for a second this creature wouldn’t hurt him.

  Lucky stood up. “He’s right, Greg. Bollywomps don’t like the way people taste. They only eat rabbits and mice and things.”

  The bollywomp roared again, and Greg offered a sidelong glance at Lucky. “It’d have to eat at least one person before it knew whether it liked the taste, right?”

  Lucky’s eyes darted back to the bollywomp, but the creature dropped to all fours just then and started to wander off. “See, nothing to worry about.”

  Then the bollywomp paused and sniffed the air in the same disturbing way the group of trolls had done earlier. Greg’s breath caught in his throat. He could only pray the creature couldn’t smell fear, because he was drenched in
it. The bollywomp met his eye, and Greg released a feeble whimper.

  Suddenly the beast charged, bounding toward the three of them, though Greg was sure it was after him alone. The bollywomp sprang, its muscular arms with their razor-sharp claws slashing the air.

  Even if Greg’s eyes hadn’t been squeezed tightly shut, he would have likely missed the blur of Nathan’s swing. The bollywomp howled as it passed, so close Greg could feel claws rake across his tunic, but Nathan’s defensive skills were masterful, and the creature’s vulnerable underbelly was no match for his staff. The beast fell with a thud, and Greg felt the ground shake before he could bring himself to open his eyes again. Before him lay the bollywomp in a huge, reddish-orange mound that steamed in the chill air.

  Nathan wedged a foot against the body and jerked loose his staff. He crouched and stroked the monster’s fur. “I don’t understand. Bollywomps are usually such gentle creatures. I’ve never known one to attack.”

  Greg rose unsteadily to his feet and leaned cautiously forward. “You sure this is a bollywomp?”

  “Your tunic, Greg,” said Lucky. “Are you okay?”

  Greg glanced down at his side where Lucky was staring. His tunic was slashed wide open, and beneath the ragged edges of cloth, a red stain nearly as bright as Lucky’s hair ebbed across his skin. Nathan said something, but from a long way off. For a moment Greg felt as though he were falling. Then something hard struck him sharply across the back of the head, and day turned instantly to dark.

  Damaged Hart

  “What happened?” Greg asked when daylight finally fought its way back into his vision. He was lying on the hard-packed trail, staring at a faint blue sky through a thick canopy of tree branches. Rake sniffed around his mouth, checking for breath.

  “You fainted,” said Lucky.

  “I did . . . why?”

  Then he remembered. He bolted upright. “The bollywomp!” A sharp pain exploded in his side, and he fell backward again, coughing and gasping for air.

  “It’s okay, Greg,” Lucky assured him. “It’s gone now. How do you feel?”

  “I-I don’t know,” said Greg, and this was true. He couldn’t decide whether he felt more as if he’d been repeatedly beaten with a hot poker or as if someone had tried unsuccessfully to turn him inside out.