“Harry paused a moment, stared into the endless dark tunnels, and said, ‘If that happens, I will forgive her endlessly, and bare my heart to her a hundred times if it takes that to win her back.’”
The old man looked up and noticed the fire marshal also had a stream of tears quietly cutting trails along his tanned face. Their eyes met, and the old man knew his friend understood.
“Then Harry said, ‘I appreciate the warning, but it hasn’t happened. I still have time to rescue the princess. Tell me what to do.’ Forced to trust this voice in his head to help him navigate his way through a maze of dark tunnels into the dragon’s den, the words of the speaker haunted him. Could he have come so far only to lose the princess now because she had lost the battle for her heart? The dragon’s power was more than the physical strength of a monster with a huge body. His most dangerous power lay in his ability as an evil tempter, a master manipulator, who could get anyone to do whatever he wanted if he just talked to them long enough. Harry feared that the princess had already spent too much time listening to the dragon’s lies. He didn’t blame her. Young, alone, and enslaved, all the attempts to rescue her had failed in the violent deaths of the men who tried to save her.
“Harry thought, That would make me feel awfully hopeless and very lonely. He started to wonder what chance he had to save the princess if all those great knights had failed. If she had already started to turn into a dragon, why would he even want to try? After a while, Harry realized he was tired and hungry. He couldn’t remember when he had last eaten or slept. So, he said aloud, ‘Speaker, are you there?’
“‘Of course I am, Harry. Where else would I be? You have the sword now, and we share a blood bond. I will be with you, whether you want me to be or not, for the rest of your life. What can I do for you?’
“‘I am tired, and I want to rest and eat something. Is there time?’
“‘I don’t know if there’s time or not. If you mean—will the princess turn into a dragon if you stop to sleep and eat—I have no idea. But I also know this: if you don’t stop to eat, you will not have enough strength to continue your mission, and then the princess will fail because you will not be there to rescue her.’
“Harry nodded, moved over to the cave wall, and slid down it. He scrounged around in his knapsack for a bundled piece of jerky—that’s a kind of dried meat for taking on long hikes,” the old man explained without missing a beat. The older members of his audience snickered, but his young fans took it as a matter of course and skipped right along with their storyteller.
“The meat was hard to chew and spicier than he liked, but it was all he had, so he kept chewing and swallowing until sometime, in between bites, he fell asleep. In his dream, he drifted down the dark tunnels barely able to see. He was, once again, moving toward the princess. Harry prayed she had not turned into a dragon, that somehow she had held on. The tunnel he followed led into the princess’s dungeon. As he entered the chamber, he could see her huddled around a fire, shivering, futilely trying to stay warm. Harry cautiously whispered, ‘Sarah… Sarah.’
“She startled as he entered the cave but said nothing. For a moment she just stared at him, then said, ‘Why do you keep coming back? Leave me alone! He is going to kill you like all the rest. No one can stop him. No one can help me. He wants me to change so he can marry me, and I have no choice.’ Sarah began to pace, stopping to twirl her hair. ‘Surely it won’t be so bad. I think I would make a fine dragon.’ She turned toward Harry, and he was shaken to see that her face had small scales like a fish, her eyes were slitted like a snake’s, and her skin had begun to turn dragon green.”
The eyes of the little ones, who were gathered close to the old man, widened. Some visibly shivered. One little girl scampered to her mama to cuddle but didn’t take her eyes off the old man. Even those with dragonish eyes leaned in. Some had never heard this part of the story, especially from the old man’s point of view.
The old man continued, his voice intense. “The fear within Harry wanted him to turn and run back down the tunnel, make his way home, jump in his bed, and pull the covers over his head. But in his heart, he knew if he didn’t find a way to save the princess and stop the dragon, it would deceive her into betraying him to his death.
“So instead of running away like he wanted, he stepped forward and said, ‘When I stood in the marketplace with everyone laughing at me, only one person came to my aid. She stilled the mocking crowd, and she covered me—rescued me from my shame. Now it is my turn. You are the heart of your people, Princess! They love and respect you. The dragon has stolen the heart of my country, and he has slain the brave men who warred with him to bring it back. I am from a long line of warriors, men and women who restore that which is stolen, who look evil in the eye, and do not back down. Sarah, you were there for me. Now it is my turn to be there for you. I am here to fetch you home, and if I have to kill the dragon with one arm and drag you home in the other, I will do it.’ Harry paused, slipped out of his warrior mode, and winced. He could not believe he’d said all that. Sword, were those your words?
“‘No, Harry, that was all you. Those words came from your heart. I just unlocked them and set them free.’
“The cold stone eyes of the princess stared back at Harry. Her pale, green face was void of emotion. Harry wondered if she would transform in front of his own eyes. A wave of dark despair slammed against his heart, almost overwhelming him. He looked away. His shoulders started to sag and his ancient borrowed armor felt like it weighed five hundred pounds. Forcing himself to watch, he looked back. Sarah blinked. Her expression changed. It softened, her eyes rolled back in her head, and she slid down to the floor. Before she could fall and hurt herself, he caught her and eased her down. Her body started to jerk, and then spasms swept through it. She rolled and groaned, and then she let out a huge breath and blinked again. As Harry watched, she changed. Her eyes relaxed, and the narrow vertical slits of a snake changed back to the normal eyes of a person.
“‘Princess Sarah? Can you hear me? Sarah?’
“Slowly her eyes began to focus. She looked up at him, and as he held her, a soft smile crept across her lips, and then she whispered, ‘Thank you, Harry. Thank you. I was changing. I don’t want to be a dragon. I want to go home, but I don’t know how long I can hold out. Please hurry.’ Then, as though realizing that he was holding her and thinking how awkward he must feel, she sat up, dusted herself off, then forced herself to stand on wobbly feet. ‘Do you know how long it will take? Do you have a plan? Please tell me you have a plan.’
“Before Harry could answer, the speaker warned him, ‘No! Harry, don’t tell her a thing. She can’t be trusted. She’s too close to the beast. What he can’t read of her mind, he will persuade her to reveal.’
“Harry gulped, then answered the princess, ‘Not yet. I don’t know. Soon. I won’t give up. I am coming for you.’ Then he felt his body start to drift away. The dream was ending, and he was swept back into the tunnel. ‘Noooo!’ he groaned. He watched in despair as the princess reached for him as he faded away. The look on her face told him she could not endure much longer.
Chapter Fourteen
“Harry sat in the dark tunnel, not wanting to open his eyes. He knew he was awake, but he didn’t want to face the day… or night. He had lost track of time in the cave. The speaker said, ‘Sitting here is not helping her. I have a few things to show you, and then we attack. You need to move. Get up. Get going.’
“‘Can’t,’ Harry spoke out loud, ‘the torch is out, can’t see a thing.’
“‘Not working, Harry. The torch went out hours ago. My flame is what has been lighting your way. I am here, the light is on, and we must go. Now get up.’
“Harry slowly forced his aching body to slide up the cave wall. When he finally stood, he opened his eyes and realized the tunnel glowed pale blue. The light came from the sword, sheathed at his side. Is this real, or have I just gone crazy?
“‘Well, my friend,’ the speaker replie
d, ‘if you’re crazy, you’re in good company. Now, let’s move!’ The sword led Harry back the way toward the dragon graveyard.
“When Harry realized where they were going, he asked, ‘Why are we going back to the cavern where the dragon bones are?’
“‘You need some tools—armor, spurs, and things of that sort. You cannot take on the dragon as you are. One breath of his fiery spray and you would be sadedzinātais vējš.’
“Harry shook his head. ‘What did you say? I don’t believe you said that!’
“‘Never mind, forget I said anything. Just trust me. We have some things to pick up.’”
“Wait! Wait!” a chorus of curious children cried. “What does sady-zina-vej mean?”
A sly look crossed the old man’s face. He had deliberately thrown in the word to spark his urchins’ outcry. He loved teasing, provoking, and even—God forbid—educating them. “It is an old cooking term from the country the sword came from. It means, well, let me ask you: Have you ever had a wiener roast? You know, where you put wieners on a coat hanger and burn them outside over a campfire?”
“Oh yeah!” one of the restless boys in the middle of the pack barked. “We did that in Cub Scouts. We put wieners on a stick or a coat hanger and burned them to a crisp; then we put them in a hotdog bun with ketchup. I ate too many and threw up four times!”
The whole nursery of avid Oscar Meyer fans howled at that remark, and a deluge of puking stories threatened to flood the moment. The old man bent over and curled up, pretending to throw up. Everybody moved out of his way; then he straightened up and smiled. The small crowd laughed and drew closer to him again. “Okay, okay. Settle down. Just trying to get your attention so I can get through this story. It ends tonight, and we have a lot left to tell, so get quiet and let’s see what happens next.” The old man was a master storyteller. He had taken communication courses in college and knew that in order to keep the attention of a modern audience, especially children, he had to create a commercial break about every seven minutes. That interlude of burnt wieners and puking stories was the commercial. The children were now ready for the story to continue.
‘“So, what are we looking for?’ Harry asked as the speaker led him down a path enclosed on either side by ancient dragon skeletons. They were various sizes. Some were as large as a big horse, others as large as a school bus, and the largest of them was larger than his village house! Most of the skeletons had tattered banners draped across their backs. Occasionally, Harry saw one with a saddle-like harness for a rider, and for a few, the rider was buried with the dragon. For some strange reason, Harry was not afraid. He could sense that the dragons that lay in this ancient cemetery were honorable creatures, and was sure if he asked the speaker, the old sword would confirm it. In a remote section of the cavern, Harry came upon the bones of an old dragon and its rider. Layers of dust and cobwebs covered the rider’s armor, and the banners which lay across the ancient beast were in shreds, ravaged by the great length of time they had been in the cave.
“‘Harry, this is what we have come for. Climb up atop the bones and haul the skeleton of the rider down. He doesn’t need his armor now, but you do.’
“Harry scowled, groaned, and grumbled, but moved forward through the maze of old bones, putting a foot here and a hand there until he climbed to the top. He looked at the rider’s skeleton, still enclosed in armor, bent down, and started to pick it up, when it moved! Harry screamed.”
The old man shouted, “Ahhh!” for effect and caused a startled ripple of gasps and “Ahhhs!” from the children, as well as some of their parents. Garnering a few glares in the process, Hank couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped.
“Wah-ha, Mamma!”
“Oh, goodness!”
One old man in the back yelled a four-letter word. Every non-dragon-infected mom in the place jerked her head around and, in hoarse whispers you could have heard next door, yelled, “Shush!”
Sarah, who had been listening intently and remembered the incident, jumped up. “Hey, it’s not what you think… it’s just a bat!”
A blanket of peer-energized pressure fell on the children; the story time princess had cast her royal authority over her friends, and they shushed. A few nervous giggles squeaked out, and a pigtailed girl on the back row whispered, “Are you sure?”
To which the little monarch replied, “Yep, I know this part. It’s not time to be scared yet, but…” Her voice dropped a notch, falling to a whisper, “But it’s coming.” Then she sat down and said, “Continue, please.”
The old man smiled proudly and sighed. She still commands and doesn’t even know it.
To which the speaker replied, “I’m pretty sure she knows it. I think she just hides it but knows when to break it out, and just as quickly, stuff it back. She is a princess, remember. They are taught these things from birth.”
The old man looked down on the little girl seated on the floor at his feet. She looked back with the most innocent smile; then he saw the twinkle in her eyes.
Wow! he thought. She does know it!
“I told you she did. Princess Sarah is reigning and ruling,” the old sword laughed.
Harry shook his head and continued on, “Well now, you guys okay? I didn’t mean to scare you too much. Sometimes I just can’t help myself.”
A storm of “sure-you-dids,” laced with “it’s okay” and sprinkled with laughter and “Hurry up and tell us what happened!” urged him on.
“As soon as Harry bent over to move the skeleton, a bat flew out. As a matter of fact, several bats flew out. He jumped back, fell off the dragon skeleton, yanking the rider’s armor with him, and landed on top of a bundle of rumpled and tattered banners. The banners broke his fall for the most part, but he felt a sharp pain in his backside.”
The room of awestruck little booger-eaters tilted their heads and scrunched up their eyes trying to understand what had just happened. The old man pointed to his own rear end, and the crew of munchkins smiled.
One whispered voice declared, “He got something stuck in his butt!”
A gaggle of snickers swept across the rug but halted like a hound dog running into a tree when the old man harrumphed, clearing his voice.
“Harry jumped up, banged his head on the low-hanging spinal bones of the dragon, and howled. He heard, ‘Oh, you found what we came for!’
‘“What is that?’ Harry asked, rubbing both his bottom and his head. ‘All I managed to do was frighten a bat, fall into the bones of a long dead dragon, and land on something sharp.’
“‘Yep, that is exactly what you did. Those sharp somethings are… spurs… dragon spurs to be exact! Dragons don’t like them, but the smartest of them will admit they do help.’
‘“Help? Help what?’ Harry asked, still rubbing the place where the spur had stuck him.
“‘Yeah,’ the speaker continued, ‘those spurs have two functions. Number one, if a dragon rebels against its rider, the rider can hold on with them and force the dragon to obey. Number two, if the dragon is exhausted, like in the middle of a battle, the rider can gently touch the side of the dragon and those spurs will supernaturally give the dragon strength. So, a bad dragon gets a spike, and a good dragon gets help. Pretty powerful things, aren’t they?’
“‘Sure,’ Harry responded. ‘But who’s going to be riding a dragon? I sure don’t need ’em.’
“There was a long pause from the speaker, and Harry began to feel uneasy. Cautiously, Harry said, ‘Speaker, I am not going to be riding a dragon.’
“No answer came from the sword.
“‘Speaker, I am not going to be riding a dragon!’ Harry said forcefully, and then hearing only a long, extended period of silence from the old sword, Harry began to look for assurance and questioned in a small voice, ‘Right?’
“This time the speaker answered, ‘Well, Harry, about that…’
“‘What!?” Harry bellowed.
“The speaker went silent.
“He could read Harry’s though
ts often better than Harry could, so he knew exactly how much Harry was afraid of heights, and fiery dragons, and wondering why, oh why he was where he was, doing what he was doing. So, the speaker paused to make sure he spoke to Harry in words that would calm him.
“When the sword realized they didn’t have enough time for Harry’s fears to calm, he laughed, ‘Well, it keeps life interesting,’ and then just went ahead and told him, ‘Harry, you’re going to have to climb up very high, walk through a dark, twisting tunnel that leads you out high over the dragon’s head, jump and fall several feet through the air, and hope the dragon doesn’t see you and swallow you whole.
“‘Once you land on its head, if you live through the fall, dig your spurs into its thick hide and hold on while it bucks like a wild horse. Be sure to hold on tight with these spurs because the dragon is going to fly out of the top of the cave, into the night, roaring in anger. Hope that your eardrums don’t burst because of the beast’s roar, and cling even tighter with your spurs when the dragon spins upside down and whips around trying to throw you off. During these dragon gymnastics, you need to be stabbing the dragon and praying that its flames can’t burn through this old armor and barbecue you.
“‘Finally, you must find just the right spot below the dragon’s head, above its shoulders, stab it—I, of course, will be there to guide you—and then continue to hold on as it spins in nauseating circles all the way to the ground, where it will crash with such fury and flame that you will be crushed and burnt to small cinders unless you jump off right before it crashes. Did you get all that or do you want me to repeat it?’”
The faces of the old man’s audience varied from grinning in unbelief to gasping in fear. The Reverend Laden Long, who coincidently was born with the strangest mark on his neck right below his head and above his shoulders, squinted with angry, lowered lids. He had always thought it was a birthmark, but when he examined it in front of the mirror, it had always reminded him of an old scar. Now that Laden Long was fully possessed by the dragon, the old man’s story brought back angry memories. The reverend had the strangest compulsion to crack his neck and rub the old scar. Funny how it itched.
The Harry Ferguson Chronicles Box Set Page 13