PURE OF HEART

by Christopher Greyson

  “You could have let go of it.” Panadur shook his head.

  “But what if you were a Krulg? If I let go of it, I wouldn’t have a weapon,” Dean teased.

  “You’d also be on your feet and in a far better position to get your weapon back,” Panadur jeered. “Get the pole.”

  Dean retrieved the pole and got back up on the log. He cracked his neck and exhaled. With the pole in both hands, he thrust it forward. Panadur stepped to the side and grabbed it once again. With a large smile, Dean released his grip.

  “Ha! I let go of—”

  Panadur flipped the pole around and smacked Dean in the stomach and into the water.

  “Know when to hold on and when to let go.” Panadur grinned.

  “How do I know?”

  “Trust your instincts and use your brain. Think. There’s a time to let go and a time to hold on to everything in life.”

  “And if you mess up on which one, life cracks you in the head and sends you into a cold stream? Sounds like a bad fortune cookie.” Dean laughed. “Lighten up—”

  Panadur hit him again.

  For the next hour, Dean thrust and swung from every angle and jumped from log to log, but not once did he strike Panadur, nor did he stay out of the water.

  Finally Panadur held up his hand. “Enough. I need a break, and then I’ll get you some supper.”

  “You need a break?” Dean grumbled as he waded back in. “Yeah, it must be hard work smacking me into the water.”

  Panadur laughed and tossed Dean a towel.

  Dean sloshed back to the cottage. While he changed his clothes, Panadur cooked, whistling the whole time. He set a pot on the stove, and Dean lay down on his sleeping mat.

  After dinner, Panadur went to the barn and saddled two horses. When he brought the horses out, Dean cringed; his body was in enough pain without having to be placed on the back of a huge horse. After a few vain attempts, Dean was atop the horse and rode next to Panadur. They went at a slow pace, Panadur letting Dean get accustomed to the horse. All during the ride, Panadur spoke of Krulgs, Varlugs, and other wicked things in the world he told Dean of. He also spoke of good things like Elves, Dwarves, and Elvanas. He talked about a place that was filled with great beauty. He sang songs, spoke of heroes and villains, and continued to talk of these things long after they’d finished their ride.

  As Dean changed into his nightclothes, Panadur walked through the front door.

  “What’re you doing, Dean? You have one more part of your training before you can sleep.”

  “Are you kidding me? It’s night. I’m tired. There’s no—”

  “Now,” Panadur commanded in such a low, even voice that Dean stopped talking, pulled back on his white T-shirt and moved for the door, almost without thinking.

  “What am I going to have to do now?” Dean asked, but Panadur had already walked out onto the porch.

  The two hiked to a large field. Panadur carried a bow and two quivers of arrows.

  “You’re going to teach me how to shoot a bow now? It’s dark out.” Dean raised an eyebrow.

  “I am going to try to teach you stealth. How to move like a shadow. How long this training will take is up to you. You can start anywhere at the edge of this field. I’ll remain in the center. All you have to do is move up on me without me seeing or hearing you.”

  “No problem.” Dean grinned as he jogged to the side of the field, all too eager to hurry and perform this task so he could go to bed. Suddenly he stopped. “What’s the bow for then?” He spun back around.

  “If I do hear you or see you, I’ll shoot you.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “The arrows are padded, like the pole I used today. They’ll not hurt . . . much.”

  Dean paused for moment and stared at the old man. “No. I’m out of my mind,” he mumbled before he headed for the edge of the field. He ducked low and then moved along the border. His mouth ticked up in a smile as he started to flank Panadur. Once he thought he was almost to Panadur’s back, he lay on his stomach and crawled through the tall grass.

  After traveling for only a few feet, Dean heard a faint whoosh and then an arrow soundly struck him in the leg.

  “Ow!” he cried in pain.

  Another arrow sped and hit him in the side.

  “Ow!”

  A third arrow smacked him in the arm.

  “Stop,” he yelled as he rose to his knees.

  A fourth arrow hit him in the middle of his chest and knocked him backward.

  “Cut it out! Knock it off! I give up.” Dean waved his arms frantically.

  “When you get hit, don’t yell, or you’ll get hit again. If I were with a band of Krulgs and one shot you and you yelled like that, you’d look like a pin cushion,” Panadur warned from somewhere in the darkness.

  “Oka—ow,” he screamed as a fifth shot caught him in the stomach.

  As the sixth shot struck him squarely in the ribs, he gritted his teeth and silence descended upon the field.

  Dean’s hopes of being able to sneak up on Panadur and quickly go to bed soon faded. Whether he crawled fast or slow, on his knees or his stomach, arrows flew through the air to strike him. But, no matter where he was hit nor how much it hurt, he never uttered a sound. Finally, he came through the grass and looked straight into Panadur’s eyes. One more arrow sped out and struck him. Dean dejectedly rose to his feet, and his whole body seemed to groan.

  “I tried to be quiet but you kept hearing me.” Dean kicked the ground.

  “I didn’t hear you for some time.” Panadur put his arm around Dean’s shoulder. “I kept hitting you because of your white undershirt. I saw you the whole time.”

  “And you didn’t tell me?” Dean screamed as he pulled away and spun to glare at him.

  “Dean.” Panadur’s voice turned very serious. “I don’t have as much time to train you as you need or I wish. Don’t ask why. You have to learn quickly. If I seem harsh, it’s for your own good. In time, you’ll understand. For right now though, please just try.”

  Dean stood silent for a moment and then mumbled, “All right.”

  Panadur’s arm came back around Dean’s shoulder as he helped him to the house. As they walked, Panadur again told him stories of this other world that he seemed to care so much for. He talked to Dean as he lay down on his mat and continued until Dean slowly fell asleep with the old man at his side, chatting away.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Red Flag

  Dean spent many days of training that resembled the first. He started before the sun rose to sharpen his mind. Next, he improved his speed and agility, followed by his one-on-one combat with Panadur. Then he worked on his footing and reactions at the stream. He practiced riding and finally his stealth. All the while, Panadur told him tales and gave examples from adventures, teaching him about this other world. As the days passed, he became stronger and more agile. He could now run the obstacle course with no difficulty and with great speed. He stayed dry on the logs and could surprise Panadur in the field. He could ride a horse and meditate for hours. Dean now thought that he was indeed becoming a warrior.

  One night when he was lying down to sleep, Panadur came to him with a small red flag in his hand.

  “Tomorrow this flag will be on the top of the mountain to the north. You’ll have until midnight tomorrow to bring it back down.”

  “Until midnight? To get to that mountain and back?”

  “Yes, get the flag and bring it back. Now I suggest you get some sleep.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Dean grinned. “If you’re going to get that flag to the top of that mountain by tomorrow, I’ll get it back before lunch,” he murmured before he fell asleep.

  When Dean awoke, he looked outside to see the shining sun. He leaped from his bedroll and dashed out the front door. As he came out onto the porch, he saw Panadur leaning back in a chair.

  “It’s almost ten,” Dean cried in disbelief, unable to remember the last time he awoke after sunrise.
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  “Yes it is. You better be on your way after the flag. You’ve already lost valuable time and now the journey will be much harder for you.” Panadur put his arms behind his head and closed his eyes.

  “All right, I’ll go.” Dean started in a slight jog toward the faraway peak.

  He jogged through the woods in a relatively straight line, now being used to traveling in the forest. His pace was a slow trot. He listened to the birds and enjoyed the warm fresh air as he jogged. After about three hours, he came to a clearing. The peak of the mountain was still far away.

  “Did I run in a circle?” he yelled at the sky. “There’s no way that Panadur got that flag up to the top of that mountain and all the way back that fast. I bet it’s not even up there.”

  Despite his words, he ran faster. He knew Panadur must have put the flag at the top, and that thought drove him on. He ran quickly; the steeper the path became, the more it slowed him down. He chose the route that would be the fastest, but it was also the most tiring. Soon he ran up a mountain path, concentrating on his breathing as well as footing. Once in a while, his foot would land on a rock he thought was stable but it would give way, pitch him forward, and clatter down behind him. On he raced up the slope as the hours ticked away and the sun raced down the sky.

  When he finally reached the top of the mountain, he saw the flag on the end of a stake, shining in the moon’s pale light.

  How did he get it up here? How am I supposed to get back before midnight?

  Dean grabbed the flag from its stake and raced back down the mountain.

  He sped back the way he’d come, running as fast as he could. Angry with himself for taking the race so nonchalantly and wanting to show Panadur he could achieve this test, Dean pushed himself even harder. Stones skipped and fell before him as he half slid and half ran sideways down the steep, rocky slope. As he raced through the woods, his lungs burned but still he ran; he jumped over fallen logs and ran through brush. His hair and clothes were soaked with sweat that stung his eyes as he frantically searched the trail for a safe footing. His muscles ached but still they pumped to the rhythmic beating of his heart. As the moon rose to its zenith, Dean knew he was close to the cottage, but his whole body seemed as if it was about to be engulfed in flames. Still he pressed on, trying to run even faster. He broke through some bushes at the edge of the cottage’s clearing, and he could see Panadur on the little porch, leaning back in the same chair. With one last push, he dove forward and leaped the three steps to stand before his trainer, the sweat-soaked red flag in his outstretched hand.

  As Panadur took the flag, a broad smile crossed his face. Dean collapsed on the top step. He lay there panting as he tried to regain his breath.

  “I did it,” Dean finally gasped.

  “Yes, and I knew you would.” Panadur laid his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Let me get you something to eat before you go to bed. You should wash up first, though.”

  Panadur went humming into the cottage as Dean wearily rose and trotted down to the stream. When he returned, the smell of dinner cooking drifted through the mountain air. Dean sat down on his bedroll and watched Panadur set the table. The two ate a quiet meal, not because neither felt like talking but because they both were thinking of the other.

  “Panadur, where did you learn all these things?” Dean asked while he cleared the table.

  Panadur looked up, startled by the question. “Another place,” he said with a lopsided grin.

  “Tell me another story.” Dean almost blushed as he laid down on his bedroll.

  Panadur smiled and sat back in his chair.

  “There once was a wizard named Lorious. His power was great, but it was evil. He was very malevolent. He wanted to rule the lands, to rule everyone and everything. In the beginning, nothing stood in his way. He either enslaved the people in the lands he conquered or killed them. He thought nothing could stop him. However, in this one land there were three brothers. They, too, were wizards. They decided to go to Lorious’s stronghold and kill him—”

  Panadur stopped his tale and looked at Dean, now asleep. As Panadur gazed down, his smile faded. “I hope you’re ready. I think you are, but I don’t know. But you have to be, Dean. There’s no more time. I can hold it off no longer. Soon we’ll both know if I’m right, and you’re the one.”

  As Panadur turned to put out the light, he looked very old . . . and very tired.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The Middle Stone

  Dean woke up as the smell of breakfast floated through the air. He rolled over. Panadur waited for him on the porch.

  “Good morning, Panadur. And what dreaded task do you have in mind for me today? A slight jog through a lion park while covered in barbeque sauce? A walk over some hot coals with gas cans strapped to my butt?” Dean laughed, his body surprisingly not that sore from his ordeal the day before.

  “Oh, nothing that easy. I want you to hunt a bear.” Panadur smiled.

  “Is that all?” Dean mockingly shrugged.

  “With a fork.” Panadur’s smile vanished.

  Dean’s laughter faded as Panadur’s face grew sterner.

  “Seriously?” Dean’s mouth opened.

  Panadur roared with laughter.

  “Ha-ha.” Dean wobbled his head back and forth. “Knowing you, that’s something you could ask me to do.”

  “What I really thought we’d do today is pack a lunch and ride the horses to a little pond I know. Do you want to go fishing?”

  “That sounds great.” Dean leaped from the porch and raced toward the barn. He slid to a stop and looked back at Panadur. “Really? Just fish? No bears?”

  “No bears. You saddle the horses, and I’ll get the rest of the things.” Panadur went into the cottage, humming a little tune.

  They rode away from the cottage and down a little trail. At the end was a wide, flat field with a large stone in its center. The huge stone was about five feet wide and twelve feet high. It loomed above him, even on horseback.

  “That’s a weird looking rock.” Dean pointed at the stone. “It’s smack in the middle of the field.”

  “It’s a Middle Stone.”

  “That’s an original name.” Dean chuckled. “Good thing it wasn’t over a little bit. Then it’d be a slightly-to-the-right stone.”

  Panadur sighed and clicked his tongue. The horses trotted forward. They rode to a sunlit pond with deep, clear blue water, which was perfectly calm. Not a ripple marred its smooth surface. Panadur showed Dean how to cut a small sapling for his pole. He picked one that was not so large it wouldn’t bend nor so small that it would snap. He showed him how to use the ring from a knot of hard wood as a hook and how to split the branches of a willow tree to use for line. Then, with their bait in the water, the two sat back against a large elm tree, whose branches bathed them in shade, and they fished. They spent the day quietly fishing, telling each other stories, and enjoying each other’s company.

  ****

  The next morning Panadur walked out on the porch and stretched. The sun was just breaking over the treetops, but as its rays drove away the shadows, the darkness shimmered for a moment. Panadur’s eyes narrowed. He scanned the bases of the trees for several minutes before he turned and walked back into the cabin.

  Dean rolled over and felt something cold and hard next to his hand. As he opened his eyes, he saw an old sword lying next to him. “A sword? Am I ready to fight with a sword?” He picked up the weapon and swung it around as he looked eagerly at Panadur.

  “Yes, the time has come for you to use a real sword.” Panadur smiled from the doorway as he twirled a large silver sword in his hands. “Let us begin.”

  They walked into the morning sun and turned to face each other. Dean realized the weight of the real sword was very close to the weight of the large stick Panadur had him use.

  “The first thing you should know about a real sword is that you must always take care of it. A sword becomes part of a warrior. The two become forged together in the fires of
battle until they’re inseparable.”

  They circled each other, testing blows ringing like struck crystal in the crisp morning air. Then they moved in. Each time one swung, the other’s sword seemed to be already there to fend off the blow. Long they fought, neither seeming to get the upper hand until Dean parried a blow from Panadur and followed through by flinging Panadur’s sword from his hand.

  “Very good!” Panadur burst into a broad grin. “You’ve learned very well.”

  “Hey . . . like they say, I had a great teacher.” Dean awkwardly smiled.

  Panadur patted Dean on the back. “I think it’s because I had a lot to work with. You’re an excellent student.”

  Dean smiled ear to ear as he went to retrieve Panadur’s sword while Panadur walked toward the cottage. Dean picked up the sword and wiped it down. He held the sword at arm’s length and looked down the blade. A shadow swept over him. His skin ran cold, and he trembled. When he looked up at the clear blue sky, he raised an eyebrow. “That’s weird.”

  As Panadur’s foot landed on the bottom step, it seemed unable to hold his weight and he pitched forward onto the porch.

  “Panadur!” Dean rushed to his side.

  “I’m all right, Dean.” Panadur tried to rise but fell back.

  “It’s okay. I’ll take you inside.” Dean helped Panadur to his feet.

  “I think I’d better lie down for a little while,” Panadur whispered.

  He leaned heavily against Dean as Dean helped him into the cottage. Dean led Panadur to his room and walked him over to a bed in the corner. The room was filled with volumes of books. Lots of odd objects lay on the shelves that circled the room.

  “Do you need a doctor or something?” Dean searched Panadur’s pale face.

  “No. A doctor will not help me, Dean. I’m dying.”

  “You’re not dying. You’re just sick, that’s all. Old people get sick, then they get better,” Dean said. “Hey, you didn’t even yell at me for calling you old.” Tears welled up in his eyes.