by Bill Allen
“But—”
“OH, I KNOW YOU’RE THINKING YOU WERE JUST AFRAID TO BREAK A PROMISE TO A WITCH, BUT THERE WAS MORE TO IT THAN THAT. YOU ARE FAR BRAVER THAN YOU THINK, YOUNG GREGHART. AFTER ALL, THEY DON’T WRITE PROPHECIES ABOUT JUST ANYONE.”
“No,” Greg said uneasily. “Of course, they don’t.”
“BESIDES,” Ruuan added, “UNTIL YOU RETURN WITH THE TWO AMULETS ENTRUSTED TO YOU, I PLAN TO HOLD ON TO YOUR FRIENDS.”
Promise from the Hart
Greg tried to wipe his sweaty palms on his tunic, with little success.
“IT WAS INCREDIBLY BRAVE OF YOU TO COME HERE.” Ruuan shook his head, and Greg had to jump back to avoid being flattened.
“What’s wrong?”
“I WAS JUST THINKING, YOU MUST HAVE FELT YOUR CHANCE OF SURVIVAL TONIGHT WAS NEXT TO NONE.”
“Well, none, actually.”
“YES, WELL NOW I’M IMAGINING YOUR CHANCES WITH HAZEL WHEN YOU RETURN WITHOUT THE SPIRELINGS’ AMULET.”
Greg felt himself blink.
“THEY WON’T BE AS GOOD,” Ruuan clarified.
At least Ruuan wasn’t sending him out to face the witch alone, exactly. Greg had asked the dragon to carry him to Hazel’s, and to his surprise, Ruuan agreed. At least he would carry Greg as far as the edge of the Shrieking Scrub. Just as Ruuan’s powers were strongest here in his lair, he said Hazel’s were greatest at the center of the Shrieking Scrub. Besides, the Molten Moor was the only spot in the area big enough for Ruuan to land.
“How will I get back?” Greg wanted to know.
Ruuan craned his neck toward his mound of treasure again and dug through it with his tongue. “TAKE THITH,” he said, when his huge jaws returned to face Greg. Except for the lisp, it was the kind of thing Manny Malice always said right before he swung a punch.
At first Greg didn’t see anything to take, but then he spotted a tiny gold ring slipped over one tip of Ruuan’s tongue. “What is it?”
“A VEWY SPETHAL WING,” Ruuan said. “WUD YOU JUTH TAKE ID?”
Greg removed the ring so Ruuan could speak.
“WHEN YOU WANT TO RETURN TO MY LAIR JUST INCANT THE MAGIC WORD, AND THIS RING WILL BRING YOU HERE. YOU NEED NOT WORRY. THE MAGIC WILL PROTECT YOU AGAINST THE HEAT.”
“What’s the magic word?” Greg asked.
“TRANSPORTUS.”
“Transport us?”
“RIGHT, ONLY WHEN YOU SAY IT, IT SOUNDS LIKE TWO WORDS. IT’S ONLY ONE. TRANSPORTUS. NOW, I HOPE YOU HAVE IT, BECAUSE IT’S TIME TO GO.”
Ruuan’s jaws drew open like a rising drawbridge and beckoned Greg inside. Greg was understandably reluctant, and not just because of the putrid stench of dragon spit that wafted out at him. “That’s not your back,” he noted.
“THE TUNNEL IS TOO NARROW FOR YOU TO RIDE OUTSIDE. THIS IS THE ONLY WAY I CAN CARRY YOU SAFELY DOWN.” When Greg did not immediately climb in, Ruuan added, “IF I INTENDED TO EAT YOU, I WOULDN’T NEED YOUR COOPERATION.”
Greg supposed the dragon was right, but still he hesitated. “What about the spirelings’ amulet? You wanted me to take it back to them, remember?”
“IT CAN WAIT. NOW, CLIMB INSIDE.”
Greg continued to stare into the gaping maw, unable to will himself forward, until Ruuan helped him to it with a gentle nudge of his tongue.
With a snap the dragon’s jaws clamped shut, closing off all light. Greg’s stomach flipped as Ruuan’s head lifted. He heard the familiar whoosh of air as the dragon jetted down the spiraling tunnel, and then he smacked into Ruuan’s front teeth when the dragon came to an abrupt stop at the bottom of the Infinite Spire.
“SORRY. I FORGOT THE SPIRELINGS WERE CAMPED OUT HERE.”
Greg took advantage of the gap between the dragon’s teeth and leapt free. Everywhere he looked, spirelings lay about under the moonlight, still asleep with purring shadowcats nestled at their sides. Fatigue hit him like a baseball bat. His gaze sank to the ground, and there at his feet, amidst the debris of the splintered sleigh, lay Nathan’s staff. He stooped to retrieve it and couldn’t find the energy to straighten up again.
“CLIMB UP ON MY BACK,” Ruuan instructed. “WE MUST FINISH THIS BEFORE THE SUN RISES.”
Greg peeked up from beneath his armpit toward the dragon’s back, which although Ruuan had crouched to help, still stood some fifty feet off the ground, and his knees began to melt. Ruuan’s tongue lashed out, coiled around Greg’s waist and jerked him high into the air. Before Greg could so much as scream, he found himself lodged between two gold spikes jutting from behind the base of the dragon’s neck. Next thing he knew, he was airborne, soaring miles above the dark countryside, just moments from plunging to his death.
The rush of air helped clear Greg’s head of the effects of the shadowcats’ purring. To his surprise, the ride felt quite comfortable and secure, no doubt attributable to the dragon’s magic. He might have even described it as a pleasant experience, if he weren’t on his way to trick a witch.
Though weeks away by foot, Hazel’s shack was just minutes away by dragon. Ruuan circled the Molten Moor twice before settling delicately on the inner bank, barely squeezing his wings between the boles of two trees. Greg scrambled to the ground before Ruuan’s tongue could seek him out, then looked up to the dragon for some words of advice.
“DON’T SCREW UP.”
“That’s it? That’s all you have to tell me?”
“NO. I WILL WAIT FOR YOU IN MY LAIR. YOU MUST GIVE THE WITCH BACK THE AMULET SHE GAVE YOU, BUT HEED MY WORDS. DO NOT LEAVE WITHOUT THE ORIGINAL TWO. OH, AND BE CAREFUL. THE WITCH IS NOT NEARLY AS FORGIVING AS I.”
Before Greg could respond, Ruuan leapt away, flattening him to the ground under the rush of air wafting down beneath his wings. By the time Greg could pry his head up again, Ruuan was gone. He stood alone then at the edge of the Shrieking Scrub. A piercing scream split the night, leaving him trembling long after the echoes died away.
Nathan once warned Greg not to get caught dead in the Shrieking Scrub after dark. Sage advice, if you asked Greg. But now it looked as if the only way to heed Nathan’s words was to proceed in the dark and somehow manage not to get caught dead before he finished his business with Hazel and found his way back. At least the moon was shining brightly. Maybe he could get off on a technicality.
Greg recognized the crumbled remnants of footbridge ahead. The stagnant . . . for lack of a better term, water . . . of Black Blood Creek lurked invisible in the moonlight, but he could sense it below him, wedged firmly between the banks of the creek. Seeing no other option, he used Nathan’s staff to pole-vault across. A second piercing scream split the night as he soared through the air, but cut off instantly the moment his feet struck the opposing bank. Then the scrub fell into the same eerie silence Greg remembered from his first visit, the only sounds being Greg’s shallow breath and the pounding of his heart.
Greg wrapped his arms around himself. Why did he let Lucky talk him into leaving behind his cloak? With no choice but to go on, he took a deep breath and set off toward Hazel’s shack.
He didn’t see Hazel’s crow this time, but probably only because it would have been too hard to spot in the moonlight. He thought about Ruuan’s opinion of Greg’s chances of survival. He’d been terrified many times on this quest, but at least before he had others with him. Never had he felt as alone as he did at this moment. It was all he could do to keep from turning back.
Even so, he eventually reached the tiny shack. This time Hazel was already waiting on her porch. He marched quite boldly, under the circumstances, up the steps and stopped just feet from her.
“Hmph,” said Hazel, “that Simon fellow really is quite impressive, isn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Greg, unconsciously rolling Nathan’s staff from hand to hand. “Anyway, I’m back.”
“And Ruuan?”
“He—I—well, he won’t be bothering us anymore.”
Hazel stared deep into Greg’s eyes, as if inspecting his soul.
Can wit
ches read minds?
Finally Hazel blinked. “So, the dragon is dead then?”
Greg considered his words carefully. “I sleighed him, as the prophecy said I would.”
“Excellent.” Hazel looked very impressed but less surprised than Greg would have expected. “So, you have something for me, then, little one?”
“Y-yes,” Greg said, wondering if it was too late to dart into the scrub.
“Well, come, let’s have them.” She held out a withered hand.
“What about the two amulets I gave you?” Greg asked cautiously.
“I’ve got them right here,” Hazel said, a little too sweetly. She brought her other arm out from behind her back and held up the two shiny amulets by their chains.
Greg stared at her, his heart pounding just as hard as it had when he’d faced Ruuan. He considered snatching the treasures and running for his life, but in the end removed his own two amulets and gave them to the witch.
Hazel smiled for an instant. Then her fist clenched tightly, her face flushed red, and her eyes locked on Greg. “What is this?” she shrieked. “You seek to trick me?”
Greg felt his knees go weak. He sized up his staff, wondering if it would be suicide to attempt a preemptive strike against a witch. “W-what do you mean?”
“This is not the amulet from the spire.” Hazel hurled one amulet to the ground. “Where is it, boy? Where is it?”
“I-I got that from the spire, I swear.”
The witch’s stare bored into him, so penetrating Greg really did believe she could read his mind, if not the minds of all his ancestors before him. He tried to think of other things: blue skies, green meadows, peaceful places that didn’t have witches . . .
“The dragon put you up to this, didn’t he? Ruuan still lives.”
Greg winced. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s true.” Hazel’s whole body trembled, and just like before, she began to straighten her tormented back until she stood twice Greg’s height and more. Her hair surged into serpents, and her features changed into something else, something predatory, far more powerful than any woman or man. She raised her hands high into the air, and Greg felt his hair stand on end. Electricity fizzled between the tips of her splayed fingers.
Just as he’d sensed when to make his move against the spireling guards, Greg knew he must take action now or never get a second chance.
The witch hissed her incantation, thrust her arms forward, and a blue bolt of lightning shot from her fingertips, straight at Greg’s chest.
Greg ducked and thrust out Nathan’s staff. The spell struck the stick in mid arc and reflected the tingling blue energy straight back at Hazel. She gasped and dodged, but the bolt grazed her arm, and the two amulets Greg originally gave her dropped to the floor with metallic clinks.
Greg dove without thinking. His fingers clasped over the chains. He tucked and rolled. In an instant he was back on his feet again, spinning to face the furious witch.
Hazel already held her arms high for a second attack. “You will die for this,” she shrieked. “And then I will bring you back from the dead and kill you over and over again.” A brilliant blue bolt shot from her hands.
Again Greg whirled Nathan’s staff around to meet it. Only this time the weapon splintered into sawdust.
Hazel paused, her fingers splayed above her head, and smiled.
Greg felt all hope rush out of him. He wondered how much faster it would flow through a gaping hole in the center of his chest.
Hazel thrust her arms forward, and again the energy erupted from her fingers.
Greg dove to the side and was back on his feet in an instant. He no longer had a stick to help focus his energy, but his chikan training still helped guide him, along with his lifelong experience at running from danger. The two amulets in his fist glowed, and he felt them tingle through their chains. He danced about the clearing as Hazel shot bolt after bolt his way, each closer than the last.
“Hold still!” shrieked Hazel, who was even worse than Nathan at doling out advice.
A blinding flash warmed Greg’s skin right through his tunic. The Shrieking Scrub burst into flames behind him, but he wasn’t hit. The amulets surged with so much power Greg could barely grip the chains. Their magic must be protecting me! If only he would get the chance to thank King Peter and Mrs. Greatheart for lending them to him. And Nathan for lending his staff. Then he remembered the dragon had given him something as well.
Ruuan’s ring could save him.
“You can’t escape,” Hazel cackled.
Yes, I can, Greg thought.
“Transportus!” he shouted desperately.
A final blue bolt sprang from Hazel’s fingertips straight at Greg’s forehead. Caught flat-footed, Greg cringed, certain he was dead.
But the lightning never struck. Greg felt a disturbing jerk, an icy cold washed over him, and then his feet landed on stone. His eyes popped open. He was no longer in the Shrieking Scrub. He was standing in Ruuan’s lair in the same spot he’d left, next to a glittering pile of treasure in an otherwise empty cavern.
Reunion of the Hart
A piercing whistle met his ears and intensified until Greg felt his head might explode. Out of the tunnel soared Ruuan, who in a flurry of leathery wings managed to stop just short of crushing Greg. The dragon’s pointed teeth pulled into an enormous grin.
“AH, YOU BEAT ME BACK. YOU HAVE DONE WELL, YOUNG GREGHART, AS ANY WHO KNEW THE PROPHECY MIGHT HAVE SUSPECTED YOU WOULD.”
Greg patted himself down and inspected his limbs in disbelief. Then he spotted Lucky, Priscilla, and Marvin Greatheart waving from the crack in the wall.
“COME,” said the dragon. “MY MAGIC WILL PROTECT YOU.”
The others looked reluctant.
“It’s okay,” Greg told them. “It’s safe.”
Priscilla squealed and rushed forward, hugging Greg tight enough to make him blush. “Are you really back? You were only gone a few minutes.”
“It’s the Shrieking Scrub,” Greg remembered out loud. “Nathan said time did some crazy things there.”
“Wait, you did it, didn’t you?” Priscilla suddenly realized. “You fulfilled the prophecy.”
Lucky moved to shake Greg’s hand, but broke down and threw his arms around him instead. “Was there ever a doubt?” he said, grinning.
Greg stared at the boy, tears in his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, plenty of doubt.”
“Congratulations, Greghart,” said Marvin. In addition to his loincloth he wore a band of cloth nearly as broad wrapped around his head, no doubt covering the bruise Priscilla left on his skull. He extended a hand for Greg to shake. “We heard you dealing with the dragon. Never thought of negotiating with one of the beasts. Seems a bit easier than the brute force way Dad taught me.”
Still trembling, Greg reached out his own hand. He spotted the two amulets clenched tightly in his fist, relaxed his grip until the color came back into his knuckles and raised the treasures out toward Ruuan.
“I-I guess you want these back.”
“I WOULD LIKE NOTHING MORE,” said Ruuan, “BUT I’M AFRAID THE TIME FOR THAT HAS NOT YET COME. KING PETER HAS PLACED HIS FAITH IN YOU TO RETURN THAT WHICH HE LENT YOU, AND LIKEWISE, MRS. GREATHEART ENTRUSTED YOU TO RETURN ONE AMULET TO HIM,” he said, nodding at Marvin.
“You’re going to let us keep them?” Greg said.
“FOR NOW. JUST AS I WILL ALLOW YOU TO KEEP THE RING I HAVE GIVEN YOU, FOR NOW. AND I AM GOING TO GIVE YOU THIS, AS WELL,” he added, reaching out his tongue.
Greg nearly declined—what would he do with a dragon tongue?—but then he noticed the spirelings’ amulet resting on one tip.
“AFTER YOU RETURN THAT TO ITS PLACE IN THE PASSAGEWAY OF SHIFTED DIMENSIONS, YOU MAY BEGIN YOUR JOURNEY HOME. MY MAGIC WILL SEE YOU AND YOUR FRIENDS SAFELY FROM THE SPIRE, BUT BE WARNED. ONCE OUTSIDE YOU’LL BE ON YOUR OWN. GO SAFELY, YOUNG GREGHART. I LOOK FORWARD TO OUR NEXT MEETING.”
“Our next meeting?”
“Come on, Greg,” said Lucky. “I don’t know if it’s my imagination or not, but I’m starting to feel awfully hot.”
“Huh? Oh, right.” Greg thanked the dragon for his help, and then silently for not eating him, and was about to leave with his three companions when Ruuan stopped Marvin with a well-placed jet of steam.
“I’M AFRAID THE TINY GREATHEART LAD MUST STAY WITH ME FOR A TIME. IT WOULD AROUSE SUSPICION IF HE WERE SEEN LEAVING WITH YOU.”
Greg agreed, and even if he didn’t he wouldn’t have dared argue. Before he left he gave back Greatheart’s amulet and asked that Marvin thank his parents for letting him borrow it. “Tell them I couldn’t have survived without it,” Greg told him. “I think that’ll make them both very proud.”
With Ruuan’s magic protecting him, Greg had no trouble scampering unnoticed between the two spireling guards and setting the amulet back in its shrine, but when they reached the main tunnel Lucky refused to take another step.
“Don’t worry,” Greg assured him. “Ruuan won’t be coming down this time.”
“Yeah, come on,” Priscilla said. “It’s the only way out.”
Lucky never did agree, but he eventually succumbed to a rather strong push from Priscilla. The three made their way down to the ground, with Priscilla, who had never treated the soles of her shoes with dragon spit, skiing at arm’s length ahead of Greg, while he maintained a firm grasp on the collar of her fur coat.
The whole way, Greg worried they would meet up with the spireling army halfway down the tunnel, a sudden end to a nearly successful and rather miraculous attempt at fulfilling a prophecy. But the spirelings were still sleeping soundly among the purring shadowcats. The three children quickly covered their ears.
“My bag,” Lucky said. He bent to retrieve the magical pack, now frayed and torn, amidst the splintered debris of the disintegrated sleigh.
“Shh,” Greg insisted. He spotted the magic sword and picked it up, too.
Even Priscilla found something, but it burst into flames the moment she touched it.
