The Rise of Greg

by Chris Rylander

  “Yeah, cool it, Rhistel,” Edwin said, then turned and whispered to me: “Sorry, he’s a holdover adviser from my dad’s reign. Still a little rough around the edges.”

  “He’s right, though, Greg,” Ari said. “We shouldn’t just write him off. I mean . . . he could still be alive.”

  But even as she said this, Ari eyed the severed arm warily.

  “But where is he?” I demanded, not meaning to come across so harshly. “He would never abandon us like this. If he was alive, he would have been here fighting alongside us until the end!”

  “Aye!” Lake agreed.

  “He may be incapacitated,” Froggy said. “Also, he is blind now . . .”

  “Wait, wait, wait,” Edwin said. “Your supposed navigator is blind?”

  “Yeah, well . . .” I started, but then I realized I didn’t really know how to explain how Stoney still knew where he’d been going, because I didn’t really get that part myself. “It just works somehow,” I finally finished with a shrug.

  “Okay, well, either way, let’s start looking for him!” Edwin commanded with natural authority. “We’re wasting time—something we don’t exactly have ample quantities of to waste.”

  Even though by now it was completely dark, we all agreed to team up to begin searching the area in spiraling concentric circles for any sign of Stoney. We tried to keep the Dwarves and the Elves separated, with the groupings as follows: Ari and Froggy; Lake, Glam, and Tiki; Edwin and Rhistel; Foxflame and Wrecking Ball; and finally me and Lixi. Everyone agreed we’d be the combination of Elf and Dwarf least likely to start fighting.

  Blob’s role was to patrol the perimeter and watch out for any signs of more Forest Trolls or other possible dangers while the group was split up.*

  The plan was to search for one hour, then meet back up at the “butcher block” tree stump to check in (and hopefully report news of finding Stoney). We knew we’d need to get some sleep before morning, but at the moment finding our navigator superseded that concern.

  As Lixi and I worked our way toward the creek and the mountain beyond, the sky eerily lit with blue moonlight, I kept my eyes on the ground, looking for any sign of my lost Rock Troll friend: other body parts, his thick gray blood, anything.

  Almost immediately, once we’d departed from the group, Lixi looped her arm casually through mine. I was so surprised by the gesture, I almost flinched. But I managed to catch myself before making it awkward.

  “It’s so good to see you again,” she said. “I never got to thank you for . . . well, for saving my life back on Alcatraz.”

  I nodded and waved my hand as if it were nothing.*

  “You’d have done the same for me,” I said. “Right? I mean . . . right?”

  Lixi laughed her musical laugh—and until I heard it again, I hadn’t realized just how much I’d missed it. For over a month in Edwin’s prison, I’d heard that laugh several times a day.

  “Of course,” she said.

  We walked in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. She didn’t take her arm from mine, and I didn’t mind.

  “Do you think we’ll eventually find the amulet?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I hope so.”

  “An old Elven man back in Chumikan told me it didn’t exist.”

  “Just because he said it doesn’t mean it’s true,” she said, but I could hear doubt in her voice.

  “He was so sure.”

  Lixi didn’t seem to know how to respond, and so she merely shrugged, finally pulling her arm away from mine. Then she suddenly and quickly unstrung her bow and armed it with an arrow.

  I shot her a questioning look.

  She nodded up ahead at the side of the mountain.

  At first, in the darkness, it was hard to spot the small opening at the base of the rocky slope. I nodded back at her, and then realized I only had my dagger Blackout for a weapon. I’d lost my new sword in the battle and had no clue where it might be. But a magical dagger was certainly better than nothing.

  I drew the blade, and we both crept forward toward the cave’s entrance.

  As we neared, I immediately noticed two small backpacks that had been torn open. Some of the contents were strewn about nearby: a few shirts, what looked to be empty Ziploc bags and Tupperware, eating utensils, and other random odds and ends.

  “It’s the supplies Bigfoot stole from us!” Lixi whispered.

  “Oh, great, Bigfoot,” I said. “Let’s go get the others.”

  “No way,” Lixi said. “Let’s check this out.”

  “But the last time I investigated a cave, it ended in total disaster.”

  “Did it?”

  “Yeah, I incited the Troll attack,” I said. “Which resulted in three of our Sentry warriors dying, and probably also my friend Stoney . . .”

  “But it brought us back together,” Lixi countered with a grim smile. “Come on, we got this. Don’t worry, I’m a much better fighter than you. This time will go better.”

  I knew she was kidding, but it did comfort me some. A bow and arrow in the hands of a fully trained Elf could be silent and deadly and way more effective than other weapons in a covert situation such as this.

  I followed Lixi into the cave.

  The moonlight illuminated the inside of it surprisingly well, the pale light reflecting off quartz-crystal walls. This cave had a smaller entrance than the Trolls’ den and was also a lot neater and less macabre. Aside from the scattered Elven supplies, the only other objects immediately noticeable were some loose rocks and leaves. There definitely wasn’t bloody armor and old bones and skulls littering the floor. And the place smelled piney and fresh, and not like rotting flesh, urine, and Troll farts.

  Already, this was off to a much better start than the last time I’d invaded a cave.

  But then I saw Stoney.

  He lay motionless on a bed of pine boughs, his lone arm folded across his chest like he was in a coffin.

  Like he was dead.

  I took a step forward, not really wanting to find out if the worst was true.

  Before I made it halfway to the makeshift pine bed, I was shoved to the side by something large and powerful. Lixi landed with a grunt on the cave floor next to me as a huge, hairy beast brushed past us.

  The creature was at least seven feet tall, with shaggy brown-and-gray fur covering its entire body. It walked upright like a Human, but with a slight stoop. The form in front of us, standing between me and Stoney, was unmistakable: a Bigfoot, a Yeti, or whatever you wanted to call it, looking just like it did in all those suspiciously grainy YouTube videos of days past.

  The beast roared at us.

  I raised my knife, but Lixi put a hand on my arm.

  “Just wait, Greg,” she whispered. “He could have killed us both just now if he wanted. I actually think he’s trying to . . . protect your friend.”

  I lowered Blackout slowly, making sure Bigfoot saw that I meant no harm.

  He stared at us for several moments. Two surprisingly expressive eyes peered out from under a mass of stringy hair on his face. Then he grunted and turned around and put a hand gently on Stoney’s chest. Bigfoot removed a primitive wood-and-leather flask from somewhere inside his fur and held it to Stoney’s mouth.

  “I think he’s trying to help him,” Lixi whispered.

  I hoped desperately that she was right. Not because it would mean Bigfoot wasn’t a threat (though that would also be nice to know), but more so because it would mean Stoney was still alive, even if seriously injured.

  “My friend,” I said to Bigfoot, gesturing toward Stoney. “Friend.”

  I expected Bigfoot to respond with another primal grunt or growl. Or a cocked head. But instead Bigfoot turned, stood to his full height, and spoke in perfect English (or Plain Tongue as it’s apparently called around here), in a voice so soft
and gentle it was like he was coaxing a baby to sleep.

  “Some friend, indeed,” Bigfoot said. “He’s missing an arm, has a broken rib, and a concussion, and all because you led those Forest Trolls right into your camp. You’re lucky Rock Troll blood is too thick for him to bleed to death.”

  “Stoney came along of his own volition,” I shot back. “I never forced him to lead this mission.”

  Bigfoot, who’d clearly been following us for some time, must have known this was true because he merely shrugged his massive, hairy shoulders.

  “Is he going to be okay?” I asked.

  Bigfoot glanced back at Stoney and then sighed.

  “I think so,” he finally said. “With some rest.”

  “Well, he can rest at our camp,” I said. “We can take him from here.”

  “No, you won’t,” Bigfoot said. “He’s staying right here.”

  “He’s not some possession to be fought over!” Lixi argued.

  “I know that,” Bigfoot said, his voice remaining soft and calm and surprisingly soothing. “It’s not even what I want, but it’s what he needs. We can’t risk moving him right now. He needs rest. I’m afraid he won’t be going anywhere for at least a week or two. Unless you want to risk killing him?”

  I shook my head slowly.

  “But we don’t have two weeks,” Lixi said.

  “Listen, uh, Bigfoot,” I started. “We . . .”

  “Bigfoot?” Bigfoot interrupted. “Who or what is a bigfoot?”

  I suddenly remembered that we were in a magical forest realm that had been separated from our own modern world for millennia. Of course he wouldn’t know what modern society called his mythological existence.

  “It’s, uh, well, what we call creatures like you where we’re from,” I explained.

  Bigfoot (or Not Bigfoot) scoffed and shook his head.

  “Why in the Pineshire’s fire would they call me that?”

  “Because of how huge your feet . . .” I stopped, because as I spoke, my eyes finally found his surprisingly tiny feet.

  They were bizarrely small, relative to his size. In fact, this seven-foot-five humanoid gorilla had feet that were barely bigger than mine (and let me remind you that I’m pretty short, even for a thirteen-year-old).

  Bigfoot/Not Bigfoot looked down at his feet and then laughed.

  “These are big feet,” he said. “For an Iluyaru.”

  “Iluyaru?” I said, not recognizing that word from any of our Monsterology texts or Dwarven stories or folklore.

  “You’ve never heard of Iluyaru?” Lixi asked me. “We’ve been learning about them in Elven school since we were three!”

  I shrugged sheepishly.

  If Elves knew about a whole race of Separate Earth creatures that Dwarves didn’t, then I couldn’t help but wonder what knowledge we might possess in our old texts that wasn’t in theirs. And if that were the case, how much more knowledge could everyone have if Elves and Dwarves stopped all this squabbling and finally put their heads together for the greater good?

  “Well, anyway,” the Iluyaru said. “My name in my native tongue is Johhangaggzorc Groggenzoggen. But you guys can just call me John.”

  “Um, okay,” I said. “Nice to meet you, uh, John.”

  “I’m Lixi,” Lixi said. “And this is Greggdroule.”

  “Yeah, I know,” John said.

  “So how long have you been tracking us?” I asked.

  “Long enough to know you’re never going to find what you’re looking for.”

  How could John possibly know that? Then again, I admitted to myself, he lived in these woods. A forest that I hadn’t even known existed at all until like three months ago. So he likely knew better than we did what we would or wouldn’t find.

  “Well,” Lixi said, “then maybe you can help us find what we’re looking for?”

  “No, I can’t,” John said. “No one can. Because it doesn’t exist.”

  That was now two locals who had said as much. It was certainly getting harder and harder to remain hopeful that our mission had any real chance at success. But we couldn’t be on this long, treacherous, action-packed quest all for nothing, right? Right?

  “Are you sure we’re even referring to the same thing?” I asked him.

  “The Faranlegt Amulet of Sahar?” John said drily. “Yup, I think so.”

  I sighed.

  “Well, dyffro,” Lixi said, using what I assumed was an Elven curse word to express how we both felt.

  “Can you at least help us find the cave it’s supposedly hidden in?” I asked. “So we can see for ourselves that it’s not there?”

  “Stoney was our navigator,” Lixi added, motioning toward my unconscious friend. “We can’t find it without him. And since you say he needs to stay here and rest, maybe you can help us. Since you seem to know so much about what is or isn’t in this forest . . .”

  John considered this for some time. He looked at Stoney and then at Lixi, and then back to me, then back to Stoney, and on and on like that for at least a few cycles.

  “Okay.” He finally nodded. “I’ll help. But first you must do something for me.”

  An involuntary groan escaped from my lips.

  Seriously? A side quest? How many more fantasy things was I going to have to do to complete this mission and save the world?

  But it turned out that John didn’t have a side quest for us. Instead, he unleashed an even bigger and lamer fantasy trope.

  “I’ll help you find the cave you seek,” John said in a singsongy voice. “Though brave you be, it won’t be free. First you must answer me these riddles three!”

  CHAPTER 27

  A Sublime Cup of Tea Threatens the Entire Mission

  You have got to be kidding me!” I nearly shouted. “A riddling Bigfoot? What’s next, a magical sorting hat?”

  “I am,” John said calmly.

  “Am what?”

  “Kidding you.”

  A long silence followed as Lixi and I processed exactly what he was saying. Then we both offered weak, nervous laughs.

  “I know, not that funny,” John said. “Of course you don’t need to answer any riddles. That’d be lame. I actually just need a few petals of pigeon thistle. I know the older Elven gentleman, Rhistel, has some in his pack. Bring four petals back to me. I need them to make more medicine to keep treating your friend. In exchange, I will tell you how to get to the cave you seek.”

  “Deal,” I said. “That seems very fair, perhaps even generous.”

  “Yeah, well, don’t thank me just yet,” John said, scratching his hairy cheek. “I feel I must warn you again: The journey to this cave will be dangerous. And in the end, you will not find what you’re looking for. The amulet is a myth.”

  * * *

  Everyone was relieved Stoney was still alive.

  Well, everyone except Rhistel.

  “What do you mean, you need my pigeon thistle?” he snapped, clutching his satchel closer to his chest.

  “Bigfoot, er, I mean, John says he needs it,” I said. “To keep treating Stoney.”

  “So? He can go find his own.”

  I sighed. “If we bring him the pigeon thistle now, he’ll tell us how to find the cave where the amulet is supposedly hidden.”

  “The amulet he says doesn’t exist?” Rhistel sneered back. “How convenient.”

  “It is suspicious,” Edwin chimed in. “And disheartening.” I was about to protest, but then Edwin continued. “However, we must at least try. And this appears to be the fastest way to find out where we need to go. So just give him the flower petals, Rhistel.”

  It was odd to see my thirteen-year-old friend giving an order to a middle-aged man who was once the CEO of a massive company in the Human world. But Rhistel didn’t argue. He made a big fuss of digging through his bag, but he did
end up removing several bright purple-and-green flower petals and throwing them in my general direction.

  I scooped them up (they were remarkably soft) and put them in my pocket.

  “Why did you even bring those?” Edwin asked him.

  “Pigeon thistle makes sublime tea,” Rhistel said with his chest puffed out like a royal.

  “All that fuss over tea?” Lixi scoffed.

  “If you ever tried it, you’d have fought it, too,” Rhistel said.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, we were back inside Bigfoot John’s cave.

  “The cave you’re looking for is just another day’s hike from here,” he said, as he used two stones to mash the petals of pigeon thistle into a paste. “Maybe two. Follow the creek below deeper into the valley. Eventually, it will disappear as it flows into a crevice where the bases of Dryatos Peak and the Empty Mountain collide. Once there, you will find a boulder formation that looks like a two-headed turtle. The cave’s entrance is behind them.”

  He finished making the pigeon thistle paste and began smearing it over Stoney’s arm stump.

  “Supposedly, anyway,” John added as he worked. “Nobody has ever actually managed to set foot inside the cave.”

  “Why not?” I asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  We let his cryptic answer sink in for a moment.

  “Wait a second,” Lixi said. “If nobody has ever set foot inside this cave, then how do you know we won’t find the amulet there?”

  “Because,” John explained, “the amulet is simply not real. Everyone knows the story about the Fairies using and hiding a powerful amulet is totally made up.”

  “Apparently not everyone,” I muttered, remembering that at least half the Dwarven Council had believed the story to be true.

  “Either way, I must admit I do not know exactly what you will find inside the cave,” John said, turning back to face us, his eyes dark with fear and sadness. “But knowing these woods, whatever it is will surely be horrible and dangerous.”