PURE OF HEART

by Christopher Greyson

  Han stared at the now empty doorway, the smile seemingly stuck on his face.

  “She’s a cutie,” Dean said.

  “A little tall for him, though,” Bravic added.

  “I’m just grateful for the bath,” Han stammered and turned bright red.

  “A bath? I hope it’s a shower.” Dean rubbed his hands together and then turned and followed the women, with Bravic and Han just behind.

  The women laid out long cloths and set out folded piles of new clothes.

  Han held up a cloth and raised his eyebrow. “Is this like a huge towel?” he called out before Dean and Bravic could shush him.

  “Just get in the tub,” Bravic grumbled.

  Dean looked at three long, intricately carved tubs filled with steaming, hot water and sighed. They peeled off their clothes and slid into the warm water.

  The women came back in and picked up the companions’ gear and clothes. “We will clean your things,” one explained as Dean looked worriedly at his jeans.

  “You don’t have to do that.” Dean shook his head and sank a little deeper into the bath.

  “We’ll have them back before the feast.” She smiled then hurried out.

  While they were bathing, a young man came in with three plates of fresh fruits and more water, which he set beside them.

  After the bath, Bravic polished his chain armor while Han dressed in his new clothes. Dean pulled on the new white shirt and light wool pants and cringed. The pants clung to him awkwardly as he walked around the room. He pulled at the fabric of the pants before he looked at Bravic. “Is it against some custom if I wear my own clothes?”

  Bravic looked at Han and shrugged.

  “There would be no disrespect,” one of the girls said as she carried in more drinks. “We want you comfortable.”

  “Thanks. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I’d be happier in my own things.”

  “It is understandable.” The girl handed him a drink. “You are Human. Your body is different from an Elf.” She lowered her eyes and blushed.

  “Thanks.”

  The girls bowed their heads and hurried out of the room.

  Dean dressed in his jeans and the new white shirt. When the women brought his leather jacket back, the cuts and holes were mended, and the dirt of weeks of travel on his worn sneakers was gone.

  As he finished lacing his shoes, Bravic stared at him.

  “Do I look okay?” Dean finally asked, his voice filled with worry. “I feel more comfortable in my own stuff. It’s clean, right? That pack is awesome. It’s waterproof so no muck got in it.”

  “The pack is coated with marsililla root oil. It’s waterproof.” Han rolled his eyes. “My pack, wherever it is, was like that too. That stupid snake is probably wearing my hat.”

  “The pants and jacket are odd. I’ve never seen anything like them, especially your sandals. I’m thinking Han may have been telling the truth, and you are from the Heavens.”

  “Listen, don’t start that Heavens thing again. Anyway, these clothes will have to do,” Dean snapped as he tried to brush his hair with an Elven comb.

  As Han was about to say something, a young warrior appeared at the door. “The feast will soon begin. Ahulata is ready to see you. Follow me.”

  He went out the door; Bravic and Dean followed. Han ran back, took a large bite of an apple, and then hurried after them. As they walked down the wide streets, they saw Elves moving here and there. The Elves were dressed in deep brown leather and brightly dyed greens adorned with jewelry of all shapes and colors. Dean felt awkward because they seemed to smile and point at him the most. It didn’t help that at five foot ten, Dean was taller than the tallest Elf.

  Han would have stopped and talked to everyone if Bravic had not had a firm hold on his shirt collar. The Dwarf practically dragged him down the street as the little Elvana frequently tried to stop and look at one thing or another.

  Beautiful flowers covered the wooden buildings. Trees grew everywhere, making it hard to tell where the forest ended and the city began.

  When they arrived at the largest building, two Elven guards raised their crossed spears to let them pass. Inside was a huge chamber with row upon row of tables. Elves were going here and there, making preparations for the feast. They hung flowers in a rainbow of bright, vibrant colors. The three were taken to a large door at the end of the hall where two more Elven guards stood. The Elf that escorted them stopped, and the three entered the dimly lit room.

  Seated on a large chair was Ahulata, the older Elf they met before. “Welcome.” A smile spread across his face. “I know all of your names. I am Ahulata, Lord of the Kilacouquen. Dean, what news do you bring of Panadur?”

  Dean’s jaw clenched as he walked forward and stopped before the chair. He looked down for a moment before he spoke. “Panadur has passed away.”

  Ahulata’s hand gripped the arm of the chair tighter. “This is grave news. It was he and his brother Carimus we hoped could defeat Volsur. Carimus has been captured. Volsur keeps him prisoner as warning to all.”

  “Where?” Dean asked.

  “In Mount Hope. Volsur keeps him there as a symbol of defeat. Now that Carimus is a prisoner and Panadur is no longer, I do not know where hope may be.”

  Dean straightened up. “I’ve taken on the quest to stop Volsur.”

  Ahulata pressed his lips together and sat forward in his chair. “That quest is not something you can choose. The one who stops Volsur will be the one who has been chosen.”

  Dean stood taller. “Panadur chose me.”

  “You are very young, but Panadur was a friend, and I believe in his judgment. As you know, the people of the lands are trying to stay alive. You can see the dark one’s legions have come now to our own forest. Because of this, the aid the Kilacouquen can offer is limited.” After a long pause, he continued. “But I will send a hundred of my mightiest warriors with you.”

  Han wiggled his eyebrows at Dean, but Dean shook his head.

  “Thank you, sir, but I’ve thought about this. We can’t do that. If we bring that many men, Volsur will crush us. We need to slip in. Covertly. We need to act like a SEAL team.”

  A silence descended upon the room, and Ahulata’s eyes narrowed slightly. “There is no ocean along the road to Naviak.”

  Dean tried unsuccessfully not to make a face. “An ocean?”

  Han cleared his throat and took a step closer to Dean. “You said you wanted a team of seals,” Han whispered. “That’s really weird.”

  “No. I mean . . .” Dean shook his head. “A Navy SEAL team.”

  Ahulata’s brows rose higher.

  Dean’s mind raced and his thoughts piled together. “We have to be like ninjas. They’re Japanese warriors. Japan is—”

  Bravic groaned.

  “We need a small group.” Dean exhaled. “A large force would get too much attention.”

  Manitu leaned over and whispered something to Ahulata.

  Ahulata nodded. He considered the three companions for a moment. “I will let you choose the mightiest of my warriors to accompany you then. The way to Volsur is long, and time is growing short. His evil spreads through the land like fire through the woods. If you don’t reach him soon, the evil will spread too deep into everyone’s heart until no good is left. Even here, my warriors feel his pull. Even the woods are affected. The trees at the edge of the forest are sick and dying. So tonight at the feast make your selection, whoever it may be.”

  “Thank you, Ahulata.” Dean bowed.

  “When is this feast?” Han poked his head around Dean.

  “Come. It will now commence.” A broad grin crossed Ahulata’s face.

  Bravic sighed and then he elbowed Han. “Between the two of you, I think I’ll die of embarrassment.”

  As they walked back into the large hall, there was a long wooden table directly across from the door. The two guards motioned the three to their seats. Dean sat on the left of Ahulata, with Bravic and Han next to him, and Man
itu sat on Ahulata’s right.

  They took their seats as the hall filled with Elves. Tables were brought in, and the warriors sat close to the head table. The back of the room seemed to be general seating, with every Elf from the village coming.

  Ahulata rose. “Lords of the Woods. Today, as in the past, we were victorious.” Cheers erupted through the room. “And from the middle of the battlefield came one carrying the sword of Panadur. Tonight the son of Panadur will choose the bravest warrior here to accompany him on a quest. Right now, though, we hail—To the fallen! To the battle! To Panadur! To the three! To the chosen!” With each toast, everyone raised their wooden cups and drank.

  Dean looked down at his cup. It was made of a smooth wood with no grain. It was intricately carved into the shape of a head, but the head appeared to be part lion and part man.

  Ahulata saw Dean look at it quizzically and explained, “That is the Leomane cup. It is very old. In the days of my father, the Leomane passed frequently through these woods.”

  Elven servants brought out huge trays of food: fruits, meats, and all kinds of bread. The three companions ate heartily, as the food was incredibly good and they were all still very hungry.

  After they had all eaten their fill, Ahulata stood, and silence descended upon the room. “I now present to you, Dean Theradine,” he announced as Dean’s eyes widened and his heart raced.

  “Stand up,” Bravic whispered.

  Dean stayed frozen in place. He swallowed hard and stared straight ahead.

  Bravic poked Dean with his fork.

  Dean leapt to his feet and stared out to the silent, vast hall. Everyone now looked toward him. “Lords of the Woods.” Dean’s own booming voice sounded foreign to him. “I come here . . . seeking your aid. I’m looking for someone among you who’ll accompany my companions and me on a quest.” He held out a hand toward Bravic and Han. “It’s dangerous, and you’re likely to die.”

  Dean shifted his weight. He could feel the sweat form on his back, and his jaw clenched. Everyone continued to stare silently at him.

  “The chance is small that we make it to Volsur. It’s more of a suicide mission.” Dean wiped his hands on his jeans. “I understand if no one wants to go since . . . we’re probably going to die, but . . . someone has to try.”

  The room was perfectly quiet now. Not even the servers moved.

  Han jumped to his feet and raised his glass. “To the Kilacouquen, the bravest warriors in all the lands!” he screamed.

  The whole room surged to its feet and cheered wildly. Warriors pounded the table and their chests as they bellowed their battle cry.

  Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down and looked at Han, who beamed from ear to ear. “You just had to work on the ending.” Han grinned, and Bravic burst out laughing.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Doctor Dolittle”

  During the rest of the feast, each warrior vied for the chance to be selected for Dean’s journey. Each in turn stood and described the many deeds he’d done in battle, how brave he was, and why he should be the one chosen. A tall Elf sat over a table to Dean’s right. When he stood up and stretched, Dean noticed he was taller than any other Elf in the room and even taller than Dean.

  Han tapped Dean’s arm. “What about that one? He’s like a giant Elf.”

  Bravic nodded. “He’s strong too.”

  “He hasn’t spoken yet, right?” Dean stifled a yawn. “They’re all starting to blend together. Let’s hear what he has to say.”

  The night stretched on, and most of the women and children had long since gone to bed. Once the warriors finished telling their tales, some became rowdy. The most disorderly was a large group at the table to Dean’s left, who were drinking heavily. Dean sat up straighter when he saw who was serving them. It was the girl who was handed the spear of the warrior who died. The one with the green eyes and long brown hair. She looked to be about his age, but it was hard to tell from the hardened expression on her face. Despite the scowl, she was breathtaking. Her hair was pulled back into a high ponytail. She wore a simple tan and green dress tied around her waist by a light leather belt. She moved with a crispness that gave away her underlying annoyance, but Dean saw her grace as she hurried around.

  They kept calling to her to bring them food and ale, each time becoming more and more unpleasant toward the girl. As Dean looked at a rather heavy Elf who screamed for ale, he thought of one of his foster homes—the one that was horrid. He remembered the fat man who wanted not a son, only a servant. He recalled the time he didn’t bring the slob a beer quickly enough to satisfy him, and he was beaten. The beating was so savage that when the police came, he couldn’t tell them what happened because his mouth was too swollen to speak.

  The heavy Elf rose and snorted. “I’ll show that girl how to serve warriors.” The other men laughed, and he stormed toward the door.

  Dean felt his stomach churn. He got to his feet and pursued the rapidly departing Elf, who swayed drunkenly through the hall. Dean darted between warriors to catch up. He saw the Elf go around the back of the building. He followed and watched the man enter a stable attached to the side.

  Keeping to the shadows, Dean hurried and silently walked into the stable. The two Elves stood beside a horse, lying on a straw mat. The horse was covered with a blood-soaked blanket. The fat Elf’s hands gestured wildly, and he cursed at the girl.

  “So this is what you do instead of serve warriors,” the fat Elf screamed at her. “Tending to lame creatures?”

  “I’m sorry,” the Elf replied in a quiet voice, but Dean saw her jaw tighten. “It will die unless I help.”

  “That lame thing should die,” the fat Elf bellowed as he unsheathed his sword. He drew back his arm and swung.

  The blade stopped just before the horse’s neck with a loud clang. The fat Elf looked in disbelief. The girl had grabbed an old pitchfork and blocked his sword with it.

  The girl’s eyes blazed. She swung the wooden end of the pitchfork at the fat Elf’s head. The weapon clanged on the steel edge of the sword and stopped inches from the side of the drunken Elf’s face.

  “You’ll pay for that.” The fat Elf lifted his blade but stopped when Dean’s sword pressed against his neck.

  “Go.” Dean’s voice was cold.

  “Do you think you can order me?” the Elf snarled.

  “He is a guest of Ahulata,” the girl said. “You cannot touch him.” The girl pointed the prongs of the pitchfork at his belly.

  The Elf glared at both of them but raised his hands and walked backward. “I don’t have to touch him. Volsur will do the job for me.”

  Dean never took his eyes from the Elf as he stumbled out of the stables.

  “You should have let me hit him,” the girl snapped as she turned back to the horse.

  Dean looked down at her while she rubbed the horse’s neck. In the light from the lanterns, he could see she had been crying. “I probably should have, but then I’d have to help you hide the body.”

  She chuckled, but the smile quickly faded.

  Dean sheathed his sword. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “How do you know?” she asked without looking at him.

  “I saw you. When we rode into the village. A warrior gave you a spear.”

  Her hand stopped moving. Dean noticed the horse was breathing hard. She pulled the blanket up on the horse and whispered to it. “My father fell in the battle today.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She stood up and glared at Dean. “I’m sorry he’s not here. If he lived, you would have chosen him. If I had hietas, I would be picked, or I would have been able to be on the battlefield with him.”

  “Hietas?”

  The girl chuckled and shook her head. “If I were a male, I would be allowed to go to battle. Because I am a female, you look down on me.” Her ponytail swayed back and forth as she set the pitchfork against the wall.

  “What?” Dean’s hands went out. “I’m not looking down on anyone.�
��

  “You would never pick me.”

  “You?” Dean’s eyes widened. “No. It honestly never occurred to me to pick you.”

  “Because I am female.” She stepped forward so she was nose to nose with Dean. She was only five foot three but stood with her feet shoulder-width apart and her hands balled into fists.

  Dean could feel her breath hot on his face as she glared up at him. He swallowed and bit his lower lip before taking a step back. “No. Because you don’t know how to fight, and—”

  In a flash, she snagged the pitchfork from the wall, spun it around and placed it an inch from Dean’s throat. “Only one in the village is better than me with a spear.”

  “Take a chill pill.” Dean held his hands up.

  “You take . . . this pill,” the girl stammered. “I can fight. You said you would take me if I could fight and then you stopped talking.”

  “Because you stuck a pitchfork in my face.” Dean paused. “I’ll give it to you that you can fight. Okay?”

  “Agreed.” She spun the pitchfork around and thrust it into the ground. “But you still won’t take me. I can ride, hunt, fish, and track. I also know the way. I journeyed to Naviak when I was young, with my father.”

  “But—”

  “I am female.” She stepped closer and thrust her chin forward.

  “That’s not it,” Dean snapped.

  “Then what is it?”

  “We’re going to die.” Dean stared at her for a few minutes. He hoped his words would impact her. They did, just not the way he expected.

  “Is that all?” She laughed.

  “All? Look. I don’t want to burst anyone’s bubble but the chances of me and two guys stopping a wizard aren’t good. I don’t care who the fourth guy is. It could be a guy, a girl, Dwarf, Elvana, Elf, or a monkey for all I care. I didn’t want Han to come. I still don’t. I don’t want to get Bravic killed, but he won’t leave. I certainly don’t want you to throw your life away.”

  “I understand,” she sneered. “It’s not because I have no hietas that you will not pick me, it’s because you don’t have any.”

  Dean held up a hand. “I’m pretty sure I know what hietas are now and yes, I have them. It’s not about me being scared. Don’t you get it? You come with me, you die.”