PURE OF HEART

by Christopher Greyson

  As the Tearog cut a path back out through the Dwarves, it saw only the Dwarven brothers standing in its way. They both turned to attack the Tearog but only one saw the spear fly from a Varlug’s dark hand. The spear flew straight for Bravic’s side. Braga didn’t hesitate as he jumped in front of it. The barbed spear sank deep into Braga’s breast, and he crashed to the ground, his outstretched hand passing just behind his brother’s back, and his dying words were lost, as though they were cried in the midst of a storm.

  Bravic’s heart was filled with a hatred that he’d never felt before. Unaware that his brother had fallen, Bravic rushed at the Tearog. He swung his axe in a massive arc only to have it crash into the Tearog’s huge shield. The Tearog’s bloody mace struck out, but it had misjudged Bravic’s attack. The mace clipped the Dwarf’s helmet. Had it struck him full on, the blow would have caved in his head, but the glancing hit was still hard enough to knock the Dwarf unconscious.

  As the other Dwarven warriors rallied around their fallen comrades, the Tearog reared back its head and laughed a wicked laugh. Its evil mouth twisted into a vicious smile and revealed its pointed teeth. The Ravinulk turned and raced back to the rest of the foul creatures.

  ****

  When Bravic came to, he was lying on the side of the battlefield next to the woods. The bodies of the fallen Dwarf warriors lay all around him. Rolling over, he saw his brother’s still form, his battle-axe still clutched in his cold hands. He pried the axe free as he wept; his tears fell onto the bloodstained grass.

  “We can’t win. Volsur’s army is all around, and all we’re doing is dying—for nothing. Braga, I’m sorry. I have to leave. I want no part of this anymore. Volsur has won. This is just needless death.”

  Bravic rose and walked into the woods, away from the two forces that prepared to face each other again. He walked away from the bloodstained battlefield. He walked away from his fallen brother.

  ****

  As the first rays of morning fought vainly to drive away the shadows, Dean and Han were already on the road. They both agreed that the few berries they had for breakfast were not the best way to start their day, but they were better than nothing at all. As they traveled along, Han pointed out various trees and birds; most of the names sounded familiar to Dean. He saw all sorts of animals as they walked: squirrels, rabbits, and foxes; blue jays, sparrows, and hawks.

  Dean pointed out the trees that looked the same: elms, pines, and maples. But he could tell there was something very different about the trees he looked at now. None looked healthy. On most, barren branches clutched at the gray sky. Others were already skeletons whose dead leaves broke off in the light, infrequent breezes.

  Toward the middle of the day, the sun drove away the shadows and shined down upon them, lightening their spirits but making the walk seem just a little too warm. They trekked on, headed down the straightening path.

  “Hey, Han. When does a Krulg look good?” Dean asked as they stopped to rest.

  “What?”

  “It’s a joke. You’re supposed to say ‘I don’t know. When does a Krulg look good?’”

  “I know what a joke is. You don’t think we have jokes?”

  “I didn’t really think about it, but I figure you must have jokes. Let’s start over. When does a Krulg look good?”

  “I don’t know?” Han smirked. “When does a Krulg look good?”

  “When it’s on the end of a spear!” Dean laughed.

  “Hey, that’s good. Do you have any more?”

  “Yeah. How many Krulgs does it take to screw in—that won’t work. How do you save a Krulg from drowning?”

  “How?”

  “Take your foot off its head.”

  They both laughed, and Dean stretched out on the grass.

  “Can I ask you a question about the Heavens . . . I mean, where you’re from?” Han asked.

  “Yeah. What do you want to know?”

  “Well, how did you get the name Dean? I never heard of a Dean before.”

  “I’m named after the movie star James Dean.”

  “Movie star? What’s a movie star? I know what normal stars are but a movie star? If you’re named after a star, then you must be from the Heavens!” Han stared wide-eyed at Dean again.

  “I’m not from the Heavens. I was born in America, but my parents went on a trip to France—”

  “France? What’s France? If you ask—”

  “Shut up and listen, and I’ll tell you,” Dean blurted out in frustration.

  The Elvana’s smile vanished, and he turned back to look at the ground. “All I did was ask a question. That’s no reason to yell,” he said dejectedly. “I’m not from Heaven, so how am I supposed to know what a France is?”

  “I’m sorry I yelled,” Dean said softly, now upset at himself, seeing how sad Han looked. “It’s just part of my life that I never talk about. It hurts.”

  “Please tell me, and I promise not to interrupt.”

  Dean shrugged. “Well, I got my name in France, like I said. Anyway, what I was told was my parents went to France when I was a baby. They were robbed and killed.” As Dean continued, the Elvana’s frown deepened. “Some French people found me. They knew I was an American, that’s another country in my world. Wow, that still sounds bizarre. They had to give me a name so I could get a visa or something, and they must have liked James Dean, so they named me after him.”

  Han was the first person Dean had ever told the story to, and it made him feel good to share it with someone.

  “That’s so sad,” Han said. “I thought Panadur was your father.”

  “No. My real last name is Walker.” Dean exhaled. “That’s not even right. They gave me a new last name too. I didn’t know Panadur long, but . . . he was more of a father to me than anyone. I was in a couple of foster homes that didn’t work out. I don’t know if the problem was I didn’t want pity or they didn’t offer any. Panadur took me in. I— Do you mind if we stop talking about this right now?” Dean quickly turned away.

  “Sure. We can stop talking about it. We’re making good time, Dean.” The Elvana tried to change the subject. “If we still hurry, I think that we can reach Vinrell—that’s the Dwarven stronghold—by nightfall.”

  Dean’s legs ached at the thought of hurrying. He couldn’t understand how Han moved so fast over such a long distance with such small legs. Before he could think of a way to ask whether they could rest for a while, Han was up again, ready to set off, looking as if he could walk forever. With an audible groan, Dean got to his feet and followed the Elvana, who skipped down the road before him.

  After they traveled about three miles, they topped a little hill. Down below, a small stream wound its way beside the path. The stream curved into a little pool that sparkled invitingly.

  “I think I’d better drink from that pool before you. You’re such a glutton there might not be any left by the time I get there.” Han laughed as he ran down to the water.

  “You can walk faster than me, but there’s no way you can outrun me.”

  Dean chased after Han. Han had a good lead, but Dean was quickly catching up to him. Before they reached halfway, Dean overtook him. As he put a little distance between the Elvana and himself, Dean turned partway around and started to run backward, infuriating Han, who pushed himself to greater speed. Han started to pull ahead, but Dean turned back around and with a leap, reached the side of the pool just before him.

  They both lay on the bank, trying to catch their breath, as they splashed the cool water on their faces.

  “Nice try.” Dean raised himself up on his knees to drink from the small pool. “Better luck next time.”

  “We Elvanas have a saying.” Han panted, still quite winded from his run. “People who say ‘Better luck next time’ are all wet,” he yelled as he shoved Dean into the water.

  Dean shot forward and landed with a big splash. He came up sputtering and flailing his arms madly. “Help me, you stupid Elvana. I don’t know how to swim,” he screa
med as he tried to keep his head above water.

  Han’s eyes went wide, and he sprang through the air to dive into the pool headfirst. His little hand reached down for Dean, but he was hoisted out of the water by his arms.

  “We humans have a saying, too: ‘You fell for it!’” Dean laughed.

  Dean set Han down. The scowl on Han’s face deepened when he realized the water only came up to his chin. Dean tried to contain the smirk on his face but it quickly spread to a broad grin.

  “Try to play me for the fool, will you?” Han playfully challenged Dean. “Well, then prepare to meet your victor.” With that, Han reached underwater, grabbed Dean’s legs and pulled them out from under him. Dean pitched backward. As Dean fell, he grabbed Han by the front of his shirt and pulled him under water too.

  Dean swam away, but he felt an arm bump up against him. “Now who’s the victor?” He grabbed hold of the shirt and stood up.

  “What the heck are you talking about?” Han asked from behind him.

  Dean’s head slowly turned. Han stood five feet behind him with a puzzled look on his wet face. Dean’s eyes widened. He slowly gazed down at his hands. He held onto a shirt, but it wasn’t Han’s. It belonged to the corpse of a man whose face was just beneath the water. Still eyes stared blankly ahead and his mouth was frozen in a twisted scream.

  Dean let go of the corpse and staggered backward. The body slowly sank back into the water. Dean turned and raced for the side of the pool while Han stood there looking perplexed.

  “What was it?” Han asked.

  “It’s a dead guy. A real dead guy,” Dean frantically yelled.

  Han turned and ran so fast he practically came out of the water. They both scrambled from the pool and turned to stare back into the water and search for a trace of the corpse.

  “Shouldn’t we get him?” Han asked.

  A stillness followed his words. Dean looked to Han and then back to the pool. He couldn’t see where the corpse was now. The water was cloudy from stirred up the leaves and dirt at the bottom.

  “You get the dead guy. I’m not touching a dead guy.” Dean backed away. “He has his eyes open. It’s the creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Dean suddenly went white. “Gross!” He spit and ran up the stream.

  Han chased after him. “What’s the matter now?”

  Dean stuck his whole head in the water. He came up spitting, sputtering, and wiping his mouth.

  “We drank out of that pool.” Dean made a face and stuck his head back under the water.

  “GROSS!” Han dropped down and washed his mouth out too.

  When they finally felt that they were clean, they walked back to the pool.

  “It just doesn’t feel right,” Han muttered.

  “What doesn’t?”

  “Leaving him in there. If it were me, I’d want someone to take my body out.” Han looked at Dean, but Dean didn’t move. Han paused for a moment and then silently slipped back into the water.

  Dean paced back and forth on the bank as he scanned the edge of the pool for some sign of the body. He wished he’d not thought of getting the body out and, worse yet, trying to find it underneath the surface.

  Han turned back to Dean. “I don’t know if I can lift him all by myself.” A pleading look rose on his face.

  Dean looked down for a minute and then stepped into the pool. “I can’t believe I’m going to look under the water for a dead guy,” he mumbled.

  Dean and Han felt around the water, sticking their arms down while trying to keep their heads above the surface. Both of their faces were contorted with looks of disgust. The water swirled around their necks and their feet stirred up the dead leaves at the bottom. Soon the smell of decay rose to hang above the pool.

  “This is gross. We don’t even know how the guy died.” Dean stood up and shook the water off his hands.

  “Or what killed him,” Han added.

  As Han finished his sentence, Dean wished he’d never said anything. A feeling of dread washed over him. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

  “I think I know what killed him.” Han’s voice rose higher. “He did,” Han screamed as he pointed at the huge creature on the shore. “It’s a Varlug!”

  Dean and Han both ran for the other edge of the pool. Crack! The Varlug’s whip snapped through the air and just missed Dean’s head. The Varlug stood nearly eight feet tall, with broad shoulders and bowed legs. Its hideous face was somewhat human except it was grossly distorted with a flattened nose, large ears, and two tusk-like teeth that rose from its lower jaw to cover its upper lip. Its gray, hairy face twisted in glee as it snapped the whip again and the leather wrapped around Dean’s neck. The Varlug jerked it tight.

  Dean’s breath caught in his throat as the whip cut into his skin.

  The Varlug laughed as it pulled in its struggling prey.

  With his right hand, Dean pulled the whip to relieve the tension and, using his left hand, fumbled for the sword at his side. The creature yanked him closer as it raised a barbed spear.

  Dean’s feet were dragged across the slippery floor of the pool until he found a rock to brace some of his weight. He managed to turn and face the creature. He stared straight into the Varlug’s black eyes. The Varlug lifted his spear. Dean yanked as hard as he could on the whip. The Varlug stumbled forward and fell into the pool. With a wicked growl, the Varlug burst out of the water and jumped at Dean. Both of them disappeared beneath the surface.

  The creature’s evil head broke out of the water and lifted its spear high. Its spear struck again and again into the water as it searched for its victim. The hideous creature felt its spear strike flesh and bone. The Varlug roared triumphantly.

  Han’s little hand was grasping his dagger from his pack when he heard the Varlug behind him. As Han spun around, he saw the creature throw the limp body to the deeper side of the pool and turn toward him.

  “DEAN,” Han screamed.

  Han raised the dagger and threw it with all his might. As the blade spun through the air, Han saw everything slow down—the dagger spinning, the creature raising its spear, and the top of a head appearing from under the water on his side of the pool. As the head continued to rise, Han saw it was Dean’s.

  “It stabbed the dead guy,” Han cheered.

  Dean’s head broke the surface, and he watched as the little Elvana’s dagger spun straight for his face. He turned his head, and the blade whizzed by his ear.

  The dagger struck the Varlug in its arm. It roared in pain and dropped its spear.

  Dean pulled himself up onto the shore and scrambled to his feet. Crack! Again, the whip lashed out at Dean. It circled around his neck. The Varlug pulled and yanked Dean off his feet. Dean’s hands fumbled for his sword as the Varlug dragged him back toward the water.

  Han ran forward. The Varlug picked his spear up and swung it like a staff as it tried to ward off the approaching little figure. The blow struck Han in the side and sent him flying. He landed in a heap on the shore.

  Dean drew his sword from its sheath as Han fell. With a cry of rage, Dean’s sword cut the whip around his neck. As he spun to strike the creature, the butt of the spear crashed down on Dean’s head.

  It felt as though an explosion went off in Dean’s brain, and he fell backward. His eyes glazed over. He landed flat on his back, all of the air in his lungs bursting from his mouth.

  The Varlug stomped triumphantly forward. Dean stared up at the creature that now towered over him. The Varlug raised its spear over its head, prepared to drive it through Dean’s body.

  The Varlug’s leather shirt jutted forward and slowly split open, revealing the bloody, razor-sharp head of a large axe. Two trails of black fluid ran from the corners of the Varlug’s mouth. As the creature tumbled to the side, Dean saw Bravic on the other bank of the pool.

  “A midget Viking?” Dean said aloud. “I got saved by a midget Viking.” Dean smiled crookedly before he closed his eyes and fell into blackness.

  CHAPTER EIGHT
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  A Fish, a Chicken, and a Squirrel

  Dean opened his eyes and saw Han’s familiar face filled with worry.

  “Bravic, he’s awake,” Han cheerfully whispered to the Dwarf.

  “Han, where are we?” Dean mumbled and licked his lips. “I feel like I ate sand, my mouth is so dry.”

  “We’re about a mile from the pool. You’ve been unconscious for a whole day now. The Dwarf and I carried you here. Actually, Bravic did most of the carrying. This is Bravic Volesunga. He’s a little older than you. If it weren’t for him, we’d both be dead. I think—”

  “Hold on, Elvana.” Bravic’s thick hand landed on Han’s shoulder. “He’s just woken up. Give him some time to get his legs,” he added, his voice deep and rich.

  “Thank you, Bravic.” Dean unsuccessfully tried to raise himself up on his elbows before slumping back down.

  Han added, “Thanks. I thought the Varlug had us. You’re very brave.”

  “You don’t know me very well,” Bravic mumbled and walked back to the campfire.

  “Dean, it’s late. Drink this tea.” Han passed Dean a dented metal cup, which he thirstily drank from. Taking back the cup, Han continued, “It’s an herb tea to help you sleep. Rest now, my friend. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Han crept away; Dean quickly fell asleep.

  He awoke to a gray morning and the sounds of swords clashing.

  Dean sprang up. His head spun, and he swayed in a large circle but managed to remain standing. He rubbed his eyes and saw Bravic instructing Han on how to use a dagger against a battle-axe in combat. The Elvana listened intently.

  Dean stretched and approached the two figures, engaged again in their mock fight.

  “Dean, you’re awake.” Han beamed. “Bravic is showing me how to be a warrior. Something you’ve neglected to do, I might add. I didn’t think of it until this morning when Bravic asked me if I knew how to fight, and I realized I didn’t. I know how to fight a little, but I’ve never been formally trained. I’ve never been trained at all, actually. I do know how to shoot a bow.” Han paused as he tried to do his best imitation of the Dwarf. “But if I ever met a Daehtar, he’d cut me in half before I could draw that little bow.”