The Basilisk's Lair

by R. L. LaFevers

  She nodded her head to let him know she’d heard. “Remember to stay down so it doesn’t get distracted by you.”

  Nate was only too glad to obey that particular order.

  Moments later, there was an angry hiss as the basilisk emerged from the village. It was much more horrible than the picture in The Book of Beasts.

  It was bigger than Nate thought twenty fingers would be, for one thing. Nearly as tall as Aunt Phil. And it was covered all over with scales. Its tail was thicker than Nate’s leg, with a wicked point at the end. But it was the colors that burned themselves onto Nate’s eyeballs—glittering green, deep red, and shining yellow. He had to squint against all that brightness. The beast’s small eyes were mean looking, and when it opened its yellow beak, a forked red tongue flicked out.

  The creature paused, sniffed the air, then moved forward. One of the weasels darted in front of the beast, cutting off its path to the river. The basilisk veered in the direction of Nate and Aunt Phil.

  “Start your sniggling,” she whispered to him.

  Nate jiggled the bait, making it bounce and dance. As planned, the movement caught the basilisk’s attention. It turned its gaze in their direction. Nate ducked. He wasn’t sure how far twenty paces was, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

  Keeping his head low, Nate peeked over the edge of the rock to see what the beast was doing. With the weasels nipping at its tail, it hissed and continued making its way toward the bait and the basil-sack.

  “Steady, Nate,” Aunt Phil whispered. “Keep it moving now.”

  Nate jiggled the bait as if his life depended on it. He could feel Greasle’s head poking out of his backpack, her ragged breath warm against his neck.

  The basilisk was close now, nearly to the basil-sack. Nate realized he wasn’t sure when he was supposed to toss the bait into the sack. Now? He inched forward, hoping to see better so he would make sure to aim correctly. Closer, closer—he could almost see the opening. Just as he reached the edge of the rock, it crumbled out from under him, sending a shower of loose stones down. The basilisk hissed and jerked its gaze from the bait.

  “Down, Nate!” Aunt Phil yelled.

  Nate flattened himself against the rock.

  At the sound of her voice, the basilisk swiveled its gaze in Aunt Phil’s direction. Frustrated and maddened, the beast opened its mouth and made a swallowing motion, like a cat trying to cough up a fur ball. Seconds later, a long, bright yellow stream of poison shot from its mouth straight toward Aunt Phil.

  Nate saw her hit the ground. The stream of poison sailed over her head and struck the rocks behind her.

  There was a loud explosion as the venom sundered the stones, sending rocks and droplets of poison raining down on Aunt Phil. Her mouth snapped shut, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she collapsed to the ground.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “NO! NO!” NATE YELLED. Panic—hot and fierce—spurted through him. Not stopping to think, he began scrambling down the rock, desperate to get to her. When he was halfway down, he realized he was a prime target for the basilisk. He scrunched his eyes shut and let go.

  He landed hard, twisting his ankle and sending a bone-jarring pain up his leg. He gritted his teeth against it and crouched low, looking for the basilisk.

  The two weasels were bobbing and weaving in front of the creature, drawing it away from Nate and Aunt Phil. With the basilisk distracted, Nate threw himself on the ground next to his aunt.

  “Aunt Phil?” he whispered. Her breathing was labored, her face deathly white. He glanced over his shoulder. Would the basilisk come back? He didn’t know, but he had to get her to safety, just in case. Nate reached out and grabbed her heels. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, then pulled and tugged until her body was safely behind the basil-sack.

  Once out of sight, Nate knelt down beside her again. He reached out and gently shook her shoulder. “Aunt Phil?” he whispered.

  There was still no reply. Her breath was coming in fits and starts now. He had to think of something, but what? The rue! He ran over to her huge pack and rifled through all the small leather pouches and sealed jars until he spotted the familiar leaves.

  He pulled them out and raced back to his aunt’s side, checking to be sure the basilisk was still occupied. The beast hissed and lunged for the weasels, who dodged and danced out of its way.

  Nate crouched beside Aunt Phil, then stopped. How was he supposed to get the rue into her mouth when she was unconscious? He couldn’t just shove it in. She might choke. The only thing he could think of was to hold it under her nose. Maybe the smell alone would help.

  But when he tried it nothing happened, except her breathing grew even shallower. A sharp bubble of panic rose up in his chest. She couldn’t die. She was the only Fludd left besides him. “Wake up!” he yelled, pounding his fists on the ground. Instead of waking up, she took one last wheezing breath, then lay still.

  Nate jumped blindly to his feet. He had to do something. Anything. He ran over to his backpack and dumped the contents out onto the ground. Greasle tumbled out with a howl of protest. “What is it, you great oaf!”

  Nate ignored her, his eyes zeroing in on the small packet that held the phoenix egg. The words from The Book of Beasts leaped into his head. A pinch of ashes from the fire of a phoenix can cure the gaze of a basilisk, the bite of a manticore, the scratch from a dragon’s claw, or any human illness.

  He snatched up the egg and hurried back to Aunt Phil. He carefully unwrapped it, glad to see there was plenty of ash collected in the handkerchief. Exactly how much was a pinch? He dipped his finger into the pearly gray ash and touched it to her tongue.

  For a long second, nothing happened, and then she coughed and took in a huge gulping breath. Her eyelids fluttered and color flooded back into her cheeks.

  Behind him the chattering of the weasels grew frantic. A loud hiss and roar brought Nate to his feet.

  The basilisk flung the weasels from its back with one hard flick of its tail, then turned its gaze to Nate. Nate ducked and the cliff beside him exploded in a small shower of scree.

  “What was that?” Greasle asked, peeking out from behind Nate’s rucksack.

  “It’s his gaze,” Nate explained. “It’s shattering the rocks. If we could just find a way to get rid of that, we might have a chance.”

  “We? What’s this we stuff?” Greasle wanted to know. “You wake me when you get it straightened out.”

  “Oh no. You want to get out of here alive, don’t you?”

  “Course I do. But I thinks it’s best if I stays in the pack until you get it taken care of.” She started to scramble back inside, but Nate grabbed her by the scruff of the neck. He froze as his gaze landed on his aviator goggles.

  He blinked, then looked at the basilisk, whose poisonous gaze had just withered one of the last two remaining thorn trees. It could work. Maybe.

  If he could get near the basilisk.

  And if he could get the goggles on him.

  Almost as if hearing his thoughts, the basilisk turned its bright, ugly head in Nate’s direction. Nate hit the ground just in time. The problem was, Nate was too big a target. He needed to be smaller. He looked at Greasle, clutched in his hand, her eyes screwed tightly shut. Maybe . . .

  Nate whistled, a short single note like Aunt Phil had used. One of the weasels—maybe Roland—paused mid-stride and galloped over.

  “Whatcha call him for?” Greasle asked.

  “Because I have an idea,” Nate told her. “We need to disable the basilisk’s gaze. Once we do that, we’ll have a chance of catching it without getting killed in the process.”

  “Well, good luck with that,” Greasle said, diving for the rucksack.

  Nate snagged her back. “Oh no. That’s where you come in. I’m too big. There’s no way I can sneak up on it. But you’re small. And quick. Roland here can get you in close enough. If you ride on his back, he can even carry you all the way up to the basilisk’s head. Then you can slip these goggle
s on him. I’ll step in and do the rest.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, you have,” Greasle said. “I ain’t doing no such thing!”

  Nate stared at the little gremlin. “Very well. If you’re happy being stuck out here in the middle of nowhere for the rest of your life. No oil or grease or even a steam engine for hundreds of miles—”

  “No, no!” Greasle said. “You can handle him.”

  “I can, but I need a little help.” Nate held up the goggles.

  Greasle looked at the weasel, who sat waiting patiently. “How do I know he won’t try to eat me?”

  “I’m pretty sure gremlin isn’t a part of his diet.”

  Greasle’s shoulders slumped. “Tell me what I need to do.”

  Nate knelt down in front of her. “The most important thing is to not touch the basilisk’s skin. It’s probably poisonous. Roland will get you up near its head. Once you’re up there, slip the goggles over its eyes by holding the back strap, like this. That way you won’t have to actually touch the beast. As soon as you snap them in place, get away quick.”

  Greasle took the goggles, which were nearly as long as she was, and turned to the weasel. “Did you get all that?” she asked.

  Roland made a happy chittering sound and nodded his head. He squatted down so Greasle could climb on.

  “Good luck,” Nate told them.

  “Bury me somewhere near an airstrip,” Greasle said morosely. Then the weasel leaped forward and they were off.

  Nate watched them go and hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. He was pretty sure Aunt Phil wouldn’t trust something this important to a gremlin. Unfortunately, he didn’t know what she would do instead.

  If only she would wake up. She was breathing steadily now, her color fully returned to normal. He allowed himself a brief happy daydream that she’d wake up in time to deal with the basilisk, but quickly gave that up when he heard an angry hiss behind him.

  He turned in time to see the basilisk swing around, roaring at Roland, who was trying to crawl up the creature’s lashing tail.

  Sallie helped by feinting toward the basilisk’s head, drawing its attention away from Roland and Greasle.

  With the basilisk focused on Sallie, Roland stalked toward the tail, trying to time his movement to avoid its sharp point.

  There, Nate thought. There’s your opening.

  The weasel thought so, too. He leaped onto the basilisk’s back. The beast’s mighty tail twitched, the flat arrow-shaped end nearly connecting with Roland. Nate heard Greasle squeal, but Roland ducked forward and made a mad dash for the basilisk’s head.

  “Now!” Nate yelled. Moving faster than he’d ever seen her, Greasle reached out and snapped the goggles in place. They were on!

  The basilisk gave a mighty hiss and tossed its head. Greasle and Roland went flying through the air, then landed on the ground with a thud.

  Nate’s stomach dropped to the bottom of his feet. “Greasle!” he shouted.

  The gremlin didn’t move, but the basilisk swung its head around in Nate’s direction. A big, ugly tangle of feelings rose inside Nate: sorrow, despair, guilt, anger. As he bent over to pick up the sniggle pole, he latched on to the anger. It was the least painful.

  “Okay, you big overgrown snake,” he said to the basilisk. “Aunt Phil didn’t want you dead, but I don’t care. You’ve done more than enough damage today.”

  The basilisk hissed and took a step closer. Nate jiggled the sniggle pole at it. “That’s right. Pay attention to this.” Nate’s plan, such as it was, was to taunt the basilisk straight into the basil-sack. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could think of.

  The basilisk took another step forward, then another. It opened its mouth, but no hiss came out. Surely that meant it was getting ready to spit its venom! Nate dropped the pole and snatched up the mirror from the rucksack contents at his feet. He got it out in front of him just as the basilisk launched a thick stream of venom his way.

  The poison struck the mirror, then arced back in the basilisk’s direction. Nate peeked around the edge in time to see the poison strike a rocky overhang just behind the basilisk. Stones and rubble exploded into the air. One large stone bounced twice off the cliff, then landed on the basilisk’s head with an audible thunk.

  The basilisk swayed on its feet, then slumped to the ground.

  Nate’s jaw dropped open and he looked from the mirror back to the basilisk. Could it be?

  Behind him, someone started to clap. He whirled around to find Aunt Phil sitting up against one of the boulders, weak but awake. She was applauding. “Oh, well done, Nate. Brilliant idea, that!”

  He felt himself blush all the way to the roots of his hair. “I-I didn’t know what else to do,” he confessed. “Not with you unconscious.”

  “You did splendidly,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he said, suddenly feeling shy. “I need to go check on Greasle.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE GREMLIN LAY FLAT ON HER BACK, eyes closed, not moving. “Greasle?” Nate whispered.

  She opened one eye. “Is it dead?”

  He couldn’t decide whether to shake her or hug her. “Not dead, but out cold. Because of you.”

  She sat up. “Because of me?”

  “Yes, you were very brave.” Nate gently lifted the gremlin from the ground. Sallie sat by Roland, licking him and chittering quietly. Nate reached out and gave each weasel a quick rub on the head. “You guys were great, too.”

  Greasle sniffed. “I think I scraped me elbow, right here, see?” She held it up for Nate to examine.

  “I see,” he said. “Do you want me to bandage it for you?”

  Greasle perked up. “What’s a bandage?”

  “Here, I’ll show you.” Nate carried her back to his supplies still scattered on the ground and pulled out a length of gauze. He gently wrapped it around her elbow. When he was done, Greasle studied it admiringly.

  “If you’ve seen to your gremlin,” Aunt Phil said dryly, “we should probably secure the basilisk before it comes to.”

  “Of course!” Nate jumped to his feet, feeling guilty. He should have thought of that.

  Aunt Phil pulled on her gloves and grabbed the basil-sack. Stopping long enough to grab his own gloves, Nate followed her to where the unconscious basilisk lay. Warily, Nate knelt by the beast. Asleep like this, it didn’t seem nearly as terrifying. Its bright green head lolled to one side, its small forked tongue hanging out.

  Aunt Phil rifled in her pack for one of the tightly sealed bottles that Nate had noticed earlier. “Chloroform,” she announced, then poured some on a handkerchief and held it against the basilisk’s face. “This will ensure the beast stays unconscious until we get it back to the cave.”

  Together they rolled the creature into the basil-sack. It never gave so much as a twitch of its tail. Once it was safely in the bag, Aunt Phil secured the sack with a length of rope, then slung it over her donkey’s back. The donkey brayed and pranced sideways, but Aunt Phil was able to calm him.

  With the basilisk secured, Nate began to tremble. All the fear he hadn’t had time to feel earlier now rushed through him. He didn’t have time to think before, just act. But now—now he could hardly believe what he’d just done. He’d faced the basilisk. And won. He had to sit down for a minute, just to collect himself.

  Aunt Phil politely ignored him while he sat in the dirt and tried to quit shaking. After a few moments, without saying anything, she came and helped him up onto his donkey. Once he was settled, they began the trip back to the village.

  Somehow, word of the basilisk’s capture traveled quickly. Villagers joined their procession, dancing and cheering at being safe once again. By the time they reached the village, they were a parade. The Dolon was waiting for them.

  Aunt Phil dismounted and whispered something in the Dolon’s ear. He nodded twice, then clapped his hands and called out orders.

  Aunt Phil motioned for Nate to follow her and the Dolon as they made their way to the b
asilisk’s cave. “Your goggles gave me an idea,” she explained. “I’m going to perform minor surgery. A little nip here and a little tuck there, and these goggles will be permanently in place. That way the basilisk’s caretakers won’t risk death every time they need to tend to it.”

  When they reached the basilisk’s cave, Aunt Phil and the Dolon hauled the sack holding the king of serpents into the first cavern, where plenty of light spilled in. They laid the beast out on the top of a large, flat rock, using it as a makeshift table. The next thing Aunt Phil did was administer another dose of chloroform. She winked at Nate. “Don’t want it waking up until we’re good and ready.”

  She collected a small black bag from her pack. When she opened it, Nate saw a number of shiny steel instruments. Most of them had sharp edges. “Come and watch this, Nate,” she said. Swallowing a lump that rose up in his throat, Nate inched forward.

  Aunt Phil had been right about the goggles. She made two tiny snips at the side of the basilisk’s head, so small Nate didn’t think the beast would have noticed them even if it had been awake. Next came a few efficient stitches, and the goggles were in place.

  While the basilisk was belly up on the table, Nate snuck a peek near its tail, then frowned in puzzlement. “So which is it, Aunt Phil? A boy or a girl?”

  “Neither,” Aunt Phil said as the Dolon laughed.

  Nate glanced back at the tail again. “Neither? How can that be?”

  “Basilisks are like mules, Nate. A product of two different species, a cockerel egg hatched by a serpent. They cannot reproduce and so are, for all intents and purposes, without gender.”

  Just then, the basilisk twitched on the table, then shuddered. “Everyone get back now,” Aunt Phil ordered.