by Shutta Crum
At least I’ve wounded it, he thought. It’s going away to die.
Beneath the water, Thomas was growing faint. He couldn’t remember why there was sludge in his eyes, in his mouth, in his nose. He couldn’t remember why he couldn’t breathe. Thomas’s last thought was Perhaps I don’t need to breathe?
With a burst of energy that shook him all the way down to his bones, Thomas shot into the air. The beast had thrown him out of the lake.
Thomas landed with a thud in the shallows. The mud in his lungs slapped out of him. Now he fought for air, coughing and gasping to get the tiniest whiff, even as it pained him to breathe. He lay in the mucky shallows and groaned. He opened his eyes briefly when he felt himself being tugged sideways onto firmer soil. He saw two blurry figures looking down at him, blocking out the sky.
When his chest hurt a little less and he could breathe a little easier, Thomas tried opening his eyes and steadying his gaze. What he saw surprised him. Bartholomew and Jon were looking down at him with concern.
He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and opened them again. This time no one was looking down at him. I must have dreamed it, Thomas thought. Maybe I’m dead. If so, I might as well rest. He rolled onto his side and slept.
Later he blinked, and there they were again—both of them. He struggled to speak. “Wha-a-t—” He could not make his mouth work right.
Jon leaned over him and wiped his forehead with a rag. “You’re among the living, my friend Thomas,” he said. “Here, drink this.”
Thomas felt his head being lifted. He took a sip of something soothing. He took a second sip. Jon lowered his head gently. Above Thomas, Bartholomew’s muzzle loomed hugely, as though the donkey were sniffing him to make sure he was all right. Then he proceeded to nibble a bit of grass by Thomas’s ear.
It made Thomas want to smile, but he hurt too much to do that. Instead, he simply whispered, “Bartholomew,” and looked up at the clouds. He was suddenly happy listening to the loud, ordinary chomping sound of Bartholomew grazing by his ear. He was alive!
He ran his tongue over his lips. Feeling better, he slowly turned his head to find Jon. Instantly, the happiness in his heart died. Jon was also caring for another, who was resting farther back from the trail—it was the king!
Thomas struggled to rise, and Jon came scurrying back to him, exclaiming, “No, not yet. You’re too weak to get up.”
“But it’s … it’s the king!”
Jon nodded. “Yes.” His chin quivered. “He’s sleeping.”
“What happened?”
Jon spoke softly. “We’re all that’s left. That …” He pointed to the water. “That thing surprised us as we were hacking a path around the far side of the lake. All these … these long arms came out and scooped up several of us before we—” He put his hands over his eyes. His whole body shook for a moment before he could continue. “The king had his sword, and we had pikes and staffs! Still, we were no match for that … that …” Jon trailed off, shaking his head.
Thomas could only too well imagine what it had been like. He felt his stomach cramping, but he forced himself to ask, “Where … why is the king riding out?”
“The princess!” said Jon. “Not long after you left, he stormed along the battlements and across the grounds, saying he would not send children out to do what men should do. He declared that any who would follow him would be well rewarded. Then he left Marshal Wattley in charge until some of the knights should return.
“I do not blame him,” added Jon. “He fears for his daughter’s life. So eight from the castle who were fit enough for the journey left with him. I pleaded with him to take me so I could care for Heartwind, but he said I was too young. I told him I had almost thirteen years, but still he wouldn’t!”
“Jon!” Thomas swallowed, and then he sighed. “You’ve not got but twelve, if that.”
“Well,” Jon said with a shrug, “you know me. I’m a conspirator and the new assistant under-groomsman, after all. So I packed myself up, plucked a few apples for the journey, and joined the king two days later. He wanted to send me back on my own, but I told him I could track Bartholomew’s hoofprints anywhere. I’ve been a big help! We tracked you for a good part of the way.
“Of course, all the people we met told us which way you were headed anyway. But I didn’t let that get between me and being useful to the king. Then there weren’t any more people to ask and we got ahead of you somehow.”
“I saw you ride by, up in the highlands,” said Thomas. “I tried to catch up, but Bartholomew …”
Jon nodded and looked over at the donkey, who was still grazing nearby. A shadow of a smile played about his mouth. Almost immediately it hardened into a thin line, and Jon squeezed his eyes tight. “We fought that thing, Thomas, we did! Even old Timothy the gardener, who would not stay behind. I was knocked backward and flew into the tall grasses. Heartwind … Oh! It was horrible.” Tears spilled from Jon’s eyes. “When I came to, I found the king sheltered under … under Heartwind. It took all the strength I had, but I pulled him out.”
“Is he terribly hurt?” asked Thomas, attempting to rise.
“Easy …,” Jon said. He took Thomas by the shoulders to help him sit upright. “Yes. But he’s still sleeping. He needs his rest. I dragged him away from that place and followed our trail back through the thicket to here, where we found you. I heard splashing. I—”
Suddenly Jon put his hand over his mouth and scrambled up. Thomas could hear him gagging nearby. When Jon returned, it was in a choked whisper that he added, “All those heads and arms came back to grab whatever was left on the shore. It spared none, not even … not even my Heartwind!”
“Oh, Jon!” Thomas’s heart ached for his friend, and for the great horse. Still, he stole a quick glance over his shoulder, toward the lake.
“We do not need to fear now. Look.” Jon pointed at the lake. There was no sign of any of the heads. “I think it’s dead. And the waters are stilled.”
Several long tentacles trailed limply over tree trunks on the shore, already making a feast for vultures and ravens. Thomas saw that at least one of the tentacles had been shredded by a hundred tiny sword thrusts.
Thoughts of the ancient evil that Thomas felt in the depths of the lake returned. He sat forward and put his head in his hands. After a few moments, he looked up and stared at the water. “I’ve lost Starfast,” he told Jon. His mouth scrunched up. He had to stop his jaw from quivering before he spoke again. “How can I rescue the princess without a sword, Jon? Some champion I’ve made!”
“What happened to it?”
“The beast bit the hilt off when I stuck it in its mouth. I saw the shaft fly into the water.”
Jon whistled. “You stuck Starfast in one of its mouths?”
Thomas nodded.
“You got close enough to kill it that way?” Jon asked again, as though he hadn’t heard it right the first time.
“I think so. But before it died, it threw me out of the water.”
Jon leaned over and laid his palm on Thomas’s brow. “You’re hot. I think you’re fevered and talking crazy. Why would that beast throw you out of the lake? You need to rest some more.”
“It did!” Thomas said. Then he was silent for a moment, staring at the limp tentacles on the shore. And so quietly that Jon barely heard him, Thomas added, “It’s strange. One of the last things I remember seeing before I began to sink was Starfast’s hilt. It was stuck in the jagged gap of those teeth like … I know this will sound crazy, but it seemed to me like it fit, like it belonged there….”
Jon shook his head and laid a hand on each of Thomas’s shoulders. “Why don’t you lie back down? You’re starting to sound as wild as those people from the foothills who told us the strangest stor—” He stopped. “Wait! They were right about the beast of many heads that lived here.” He let go of Thomas and sat down by his side. “And there was something else. The monster wanted something given back to it. But what?”
“Som
ething that had been taken away from it,” Thomas said. “They told me the same strange tales. I thought they just wanted to frighten me.”
“Little did they know you, or Starfast,” said Jon, smiling. Then he sat thoughtfully chewing the inside of his lip.
“What?” asked Thomas.
“Well, I think I may be light-headed, too. But … I was just thinking about Starfast. Didn’t you say its hilt was ivory? That’s a tooth, right?”
“Yes. Or a tusk. Like a whale’s tooth, or a—” Thomas suddenly stopped and turned to face Jon. He whispered, “Or a … tooth from an ancient beast!” Then he pointed at the pool. “I did feel something very, very old in there.”
“Remember the swordsmith who carved the hilt?” added Jon. “He told Sir Gerald it could only be for the giving, not the taking, or something like that. Well, you gave it back.”
“Did I? The hill folk said the creature would only be defeated if it got back that which was taken from it.” Thomas thought for a moment. “Sir Gerald said the tooth had been found in a fish. So … do you think that’s what happened? That somehow a fish from this lake took the tooth that became Starfast’s hilt?”
Jon nodded, his eyes wide.
“And I gave it”—Thomas’s voice slid down to a whisper—“I gave it back when I thrust Starfast into its mouth.” Thomas rose shakily to his feet. “But I didn’t mean to kill it, Jon! I just couldn’t let it kill me. I …”
“Maybe you didn’t kill it,” said Jon.
“What do you mean? It looks dead.”
They both stared at the tentacles being picked at by the flock of birds.
Jon shrugged as he rose from the ground. “Maybe those stories from the hills … maybe they meant that the creature was just waiting to get its tooth back, and then it could die. You know? I mean, now that it was all in one piece. And it was old, you said.”
Thomas was silent, thinking about this. Then he turned to glance at the king lying behind them. “If only I had gotten to the lake first, before the king.”
At that, Jon grabbed hold of his friend and gave him a shake. “Stop! Stop that. You couldn’t have prevented that thing from attacking us. We can’t see the future. And, well … well, I wouldn’t want to foresee all the times I’m sure to get into trouble, anyway. Just be thankful you had Bartholomew with you.”
“Bartholomew?” Thomas asked.
“Yes. He found you. I was helping the king back along the way we’d come. I heard splashing in the water. I thought it was the beast eating …” He paused. “I couldn’t see anything until we rounded a thicket and I saw Bartholomew charge right out on this spit of land. He shook his head and brayed. I was so worried about the king that I might not have seen you lying here if Bartholomew hadn’t made sure of it.”
Thomas looked at the aged donkey and remembered that Bartholomew hadn’t wanted to follow him down to the water’s edge. Earlier, he’d sat down and refused to budge.
Thomas might have lost Starfast in the depths of the lake—but he still had his trusty mount. He wanted to give Bartholomew a good hug.
Despite his muddy hands, Thomas took hold of Bartholomew’s old gray muzzle and looked him in the eyes. “Thank you,” he said. Bartholomew twirled his ears forward and bawled softly, Ha-a-a.
“And thank you for taking such care of my shield.” Thomas untied his buckler from Bartholomew’s belt.
Jon said, “Should we look for Starfast’s shaft? You said it was flung away when the hilt got bitten off.”
“No.” Thomas shook his head. “Let us see to the king. Perhaps he has awakened.”
The king was worse off than Thomas had thought. He was having difficulty breathing.
Jon had set him down to rest in the tall grasses off the trail. He had covered him with some bloodied clothes retrieved from their battle on the lakeshore.
Thomas knelt at the king’s side. “Sire,” he whispered, “it is I, Sir Thomas.”
Slowly the king’s eyes opened. Thomas could see that the king was trying to smile. Instead, he winced and said, “Despite the mud you wear, good knight, I would have recognized you.”
“How does my liege fare?”
“Not well, Thomas. Yet these wounds are naught compared to the hurt in my heart. My desire to save my only child has led to the deaths of good men, and to the death of the loyal steed Heartwind.” The king squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “So rash! So rash! I’m such an old fool. I should have waited for the return of my knights.”
The king drew several shaky breaths and opened his eyes again before he continued. “And you … I was ashamed that I’d sent one new knight, so young, out to do what I should have been doing! When I was younger, I rescued several princesses. I had to try to rescue my own daughter.”
Slowly the king turned his head toward the lake. “Jon tells me you killed the many-headed beast.” Then he did manage a slight smile before adding, “That is well done. Well done….” The king’s voice trailed off weakly.
Thomas surveyed the lakeshore, too. He made up his mind. The king needed to be somewhere dry and warm. “Sire,” he said, “we need to get you to a place of rest where you may be rightly cared for.”
The king nodded absently.
“If you will allow us, Jon and I shall lift you up onto Bartholomew. There is a ruined cottage a short way back. It is a sad place, but dry, and you may safely spend the night. Close beyond, not more than a day’s ride, is a farm with a good widow who will surely help. I stopped there and she fed me well. It is not far, my lord.”
Jon and Sir Thomas lifted their wounded king onto Bartholomew and, using strips of cloth torn from the things Jon had scavenged after the beast had attacked them, they tied the king securely to the donkey. His feet dragged upon the ground; there was no help for that.
While Jon strapped on the king’s sword, Thomas took his bag of provisions and fished out one wrapped packet of bread from the few that remained. At the bottom of the pouch, his fingers touched something. Carefully he withdrew the hard object. In his hand was a small wooden horse, its mane carved as though it was leaping into the air. It was Isabel’s toy, the horse his father had carved when she was just a baby. He clutched it in his hand. She had slipped it into his pouch the day he’d left home. He felt his heart lift.
He put the piece of wrapped bread and Isabel’s toy into his pocket. The rest he gave to Jon, telling him he must take it to feed himself and the king until they got to the widow’s farm. “And you’ll need this as well, since you did not retrieve the king’s standard. It will ensure your safe passage.” He handed Jon his shield with Sir Gerald’s and the king’s coat of arms upon it.
“Aren’t you going also?” asked Jon.
Thomas shook his head. “The king has entrusted me with rescuing Princess Eleanor. He cannot do that; I must. I know you will tend to the king as though he were Heartwind himself.” Thomas smiled. “And you’ll have the brave Bartholomew with you.”
Thomas nodded toward the far shore. “My way lies around the lake, to the sea and Barren Isle.”
Thomas lifted the reins his father had made for Bartholomew. He touched the leather lightly with one finger. “Jon, after you return to the castle, send word to my family that I’m well. And tell Isabel thank you for sharing.”
He handed the reins to Jon, stroked Bartholomew between his eyes, and scratched the top of the donkey’s head. “I will miss you, my traveling companion.” The words caught in his throat. “But I’ll be back, soon, to visit both you and the new assistant under-groomsman in the stables.”
Bartholomew nudged Sir Thomas with his nose.
As Jon led the donkey back along the trail, Thomas raised a hand and waved to his friends. Bartholomew stopped once and turned toward Thomas, and then he trotted off bearing his wounded king upon his back.
As his friends rounded a bend in the trail, Thomas lowered his hand and rested it on his filthy chest. “So now I have neither a sword nor a steed,” he said aloud, and shook his head. “So
me champion I’ve made.”
Beneath the mud, Thomas could feel the leather jerkin his father had made him. Well, I still have my jerkin, he thought. Perhaps, with its protection, I can get close enough to the dragon to rescue the princess.
But right now Thomas stank so much, he could hardly stand it. However, he did not want to touch the spoiled waters of the lake again. He wanted nothing more than to get far from that dismal place.
He was sore and bone-tired. Carefully skirting the quicksand of the shore where he’d stood earlier, he made his way steadily—if not as swiftly as he would have liked—along the trail the king’s men had blazed ahead of him around the lake.
He came to the spot where the king and his men had fought the beast. Thomas saw long drag marks disappearing into the lake. There were dark stains on the upturned boulders and on the sand. Bits and pieces of clothing littered the shore. His stomach felt queasy. However, he did not pause except to look quickly about for any sign of the king’s standard. He saw only a strip of the blue flag floating on the water.
Along the way he kept a keen eye out for the iron shaft from Starfast. He did not find it.
From this point forward Thomas had to forge his own route around the lake, breaking through the dense tangle of shrubs and grasses. Without a sword to hack at the growth, or Bartholomew to stomp down a path, it was slow going. Yet Thomas found that his smallness helped him slip easily beneath branches and past the sharp edges of grass that could slice through skin. Many a time, the padded jerkin protected him. By late afternoon, he’d made it to the far side. A slender shoulder of dune and a pebbled beach were all that separated the sea from the tangled thicket at the back of the lake.
Coming over the dune, Sir Thomas heard pounding, like a giant heartbeat knocking against his ribs. Then he saw the sea for the first time in his life. There were rumbling waves rolling in and in, beating mercilessly at the shore.
The endlessness of the blue water meeting the blue sky frightened him. After the gloomy lake, it hurt his eyes. If he squinted hard enough, however, he might be able to see the farther shore of the bay. He could hardly believe that there was a place where the world simply disappeared into the horizon.
