“And then what? We ask it for a ride?” Vance wondered.
“Something like that. But first we have to bait it.”
The cynocephalus gestured toward the yak, which was tied to a post that had been driven into the ground. “Given the steep slope of the valley, the wind currents, and the size of the roc, once it snatches the yak in its talons, it will have to fly across the valley to gain sufficient speed to clear the mountains.”
Vance grinned. “Oh, I get it. We’re gonna bide our time, wait for it to grab the yak, then take hold of the rope tied to the yak and hitch a ride across the valley, dropping right at the Guardians’ doorstep.”
“Exactly. And we can strap Sam to my back,” the cynocephalus suggested.
“Complicated and risky—I like it. Of course, it’s all gonna depend on whether Big Bird makes an appearance,” Vance reminded him.
“Yes, well, that—” The two were suddenly plunged into darkness. They had been speaking under the intense moonlight, which was bright enough to negate the need for flashlights. Vance looked up to where the moon had been a moment ago only to see a black spot. Then the spot moved. A huge shadow passed over the full moon and a loud whooshing sound accompanied it, followed by an even louder screech. The whooshing grew in volume; Vance quickly identified it as the sound of wings flapping. Massive wings.
“I’ll retrieve Sam. With all that medication, he’ll probably sleep through the whole thing,” Chriscanis said with a smirk.
“I’ll ready the ropes on the—” Vance froze. “Where’s the yak?” The yak and the post had vanished.
“Great Scottish Terrier!” Chriscanis exclaimed. He pointed to the tent. The yak was retreating inside.
“That yak ain’t as stupid as it looks. He must have sensed he was about to become supper,” Vance hollered as he ran toward the tent. Chriscanis followed close behind. And then the roc swooped down. The bird was tremendous, easily the size of a jumbo jet and just as loud. It stretched out its giant talons to grab the yak, but the creature was already too deep into the tent. So the roc snatched up the entire tent. It flapped its giant wings with increasing force, pulling the tent stakes from the ground and yanking the entire structure skyward. Vance and Chriscanis exchanged a panicked look. They sprinted forward and leapt for the dangling tent ropes. Vance missed.
Luckily, Chriscanis grabbed the rope he had reached for and, quickly realizing Vance was going to miss it, reached with his other hand to grab hold of the doctor.
“Thanks!” Vance exclaimed.
“My quick doglike reflexes,” he replied with a smile.
“Look out!” Vance yelled. The yak had lost its footing in the tent and slid out of the entrance. Chriscanis barely avoided being sliced by the yak’s horn as it fell several feet to the snow-covered ground. The roc was flying the exact route Chriscanis had predicted. Things appeared to be going well until the tent began to collapse on itself.
As the tent broke apart under the strain of the roc’s grip and the weight of the supplies, Sam’s sleeping bag—with Sam still inside—began to slide toward the entrance. Vance quickly noticed the boy was seconds away from following the yak.
“Sam!” Vance called to Chriscanis, who spotted the impending catastrophe. Unfortunately, both of the dog-man’s arms were in use at the moment.
“I can’t reach him in my current predicament,” the cynocephalus yelled down to the doctor. “I will swing you over to the other talon. You grab hold of it and I’ll grab Sam.”
“Better make it snappy,” Vance replied, his eye on Sam, who was now barely inside the tent. With each flap of the roc’s winds, Sam’s sleeping bag was jarred and sliding farther. Chriscanis began swinging Vance toward the roc’s talon as they soared across the valley floor. Vance lifted his legs to avoid passing trees. Swinging like a pendulum, Vance got closer. He stretched out his arm, but it was still inches away.
“Let go,” Vance ordered Chriscanis. “Let me go and save Sam!”
“No,” the cynocephalus called back. “We can do this.”
At that moment, Sam’s sleeping bag shifted and started its final slide out of the tent.
“Let go!” Vance pleaded.
Chriscanis swung Vance one final time and released his grip on the doctor as Sam’s sleeping bag fell from the tent. The cynocephalus grabbed hold of the corner of the bag, but the material was too slick and his paw began to slip. And then another hand grabbed the other corner. It was Vance! The doctor had used the momentum of that last swing to grab the roc’s talon. The two rangers held on to the sleeping bag as tightly as they could.
“How much of that medicine did you give him?” Vance asked, eyeing the dozing Sam.
“Looks like just enough,” Chriscanis replied, satisfied. “The bird will reach its lowest altitude as it begins its ascent on the western slope.” He nudged his head forward. Vance looked ahead and saw that they were rapidly approaching the mountain.
“I take it we’ll be closest to the ground just as it goes vertical?” Vance surmised.
Chriscanis nodded. “I propose we drop Sam first to avoid falling on him when we hit.”
“Agreed,” Vance responded. “On your word.” The roc was barreling toward the slope. Sam had slipped entirely into his sleeping bag. Chriscanis watched their progress intently. As the bird turned vertical, they were just a few feet from the ground.
“Now!” the cynocephalus yelled. The two let go of the bag and watched as Sam fell to the ground, disappearing into a snowbank. Vance and Chriscanis followed right behind, letting go of the roc’s talon and sailing to the waiting earth.
Once on the ground, the duo quickly found each other and then stumbled down the slope to where they had dropped Sam. As they pulled his sleeping bag out of the snow, the boy slowly started to regain consciousness.
“What happened? Where am I?” Sam asked groggily.
“Save your strength,” Vance advised.
“Climb on,” Chriscanis ordered Sam, motioning to his back. A still-half-asleep Sam climbed onto the cynocephalus’s back and the trio hiked down the slope. Chriscanis pointed out several darkened structures jutting out of the snow. They headed toward them and found what looked to be the ruins of a village. As they passed under a worn wooden arch, they noticed streetlamps that lined the main path, but the place appeared deserted. It was a Himalayan version of the American ghost town.
“Looks like we got here a thousand years too late,” Chriscanis suggested.
And then the streetlamps suddenly began to glow a fiery shade of orange. One by one, the lamps radiated a warm hue, as if the lights were following the group as they ventured deeper into the village.
Vance was walking a few feet ahead of Chriscanis and Sam when he came to a sudden halt. The flight in the extreme cold had impacted Vance’s supersensitive nose, drying it out and rendering it almost useless.
The streetlamps were heating up the pathway, in addition to lighting it, and had now turned red-hot. The extreme warmth moistened Vance’s nasal passages, and he inhaled deeply through his nostrils. Instantly, he could tell they were surrounded.
Sam London knew his prognosis was grim. Despite assurances from Dr. Vantana, he had come to terms with the dire state of his leg and now his life. The numbness had already traveled to his other leg and was slowly inching up his back. Sam wondered if this was the feeling of life leaving his body. He was terrified by the thought. Apparently, the village of Kustos was his only hope. He had overheard the doctor and Chriscanis talking when they thought he was asleep. He didn’t hear everything, but he did glean the critical nature of his injury and that the legendary Guardians might be able to help. Unfortunately, there was a massive frozen expanse sitting between him and his possible survival. He was skeptical that they would make it across the valley in time, and from his eavesdropping he learned that Chriscanis didn’t think they’d make it either. It was for this reason their current situation was so puzzling.
“How did we get across the valley so quickly?�
� Sam asked the cynocephalus, who was carrying him piggyback. The two had entered the village following Vance, who had taken point.
“We flew,” Chriscanis answered matter-of-factly.
“Seriously,” Sam said, believing he was being teased. But before Chriscanis could answer, he was silenced by the doctor’s hand, which popped up like a stop sign. As Vantana peered around anxiously, Chriscanis sniffed the air, growled, and instantly crouched in a defensive posture.
“What? What is it?” Sam whispered. Chriscanis didn’t respond. Sam scanned the village. As far as he could tell, it was just a collection of abandoned wood structures. They had doors and windows, but no lights. The only illumination was the strange glowing streetlamps above them. Sam was quickly feeling suffocated by his numerous layers as the warm lights melted the snow beneath their feet. “This place is a ghost town,” he said.
“And the ghosts have us surrounded,” Chriscanis replied, his eyes sweeping their perimeter. The doctor had retreated to Chriscanis’s position, and the two stood back-to-back.
“There,” the doctor said to Chriscanis in a hushed voice. He was pointing toward the entrance of the village. A figure was walking toward them.
“And there.” Chriscanis gestured the opposite way, where another figure had appeared. More of them began to materialize out of the shadows, advancing from all directions.
“Looks like everywhere,” Sam added. The figures were taking their time in their approach, remaining stone silent as they lumbered slowly and methodically toward the group. It was all quite unnerving.
Chriscanis set Sam on the ground. “Stay between us,” he directed.
“I’ll do the talkin’,” Vantana said. “Don’t make any sudden moves.”
They were soon encircled by a few dozen figures. Sam could now see they varied in size but were all dressed in thick yak hides. Each wore the same large cylindrical fur hat on their heads and carried a gray walking staff. Their faces were masked by bushy fur collars, except for their eyes, which peeked out from the narrow opening beneath their hats.
“My name is Dr. Vance Vantana. I am with the Department of Mythical Wildlife,” the doctor explained slowly. “We mean you no harm. We are here for—”
“The claw,” a calm voice spoke out from the crowd. “You seek the gryphon’s claw.” The male voice belonged to one of the taller figures in the group. He sounded older, and as he emerged from the crowd, Sam could see he was leaning heavily on his staff for support. But as he came closer, the man slowly began to stand up straighter and taller. A ruse? Sam wondered.
When the man spoke again, he did so with an authoritative and serious tone. “Those who seek the claw must die.”
“Next time, I’ll do the talking,” Chriscanis whispered to the doctor as the figures began closing in, their staffs now at their sides, wielded like weapons.
“Wait,” Vantana pleaded. “We don’t want the claw. We’ve come with a warning—”
“We do not require warnings,” the man interjected, sounding insulted. “We have protected the gryphon’s claw for over two thousand years. Guarded it with our lives.”
“And we are honored to be in the presence of the legendary Guardians,” Vantana said. He bowed his head in reverence. Sam couldn’t help but think he had taught the doctor something back in Cernunnos’s lair. Vantana continued, “We are here because we believe the claw is in danger.”
“The claw is always in danger,” the man replied. “Let me guess: you wish to have a look at it? To ensure its safety?”
“Well, actually—” Vance started, feeling optimistic.
“A most pathetic attempt at trickery,” the man concluded. “Kill them.”
“It’s pathetic because we’re not trying to trick you,” Sam declared as the figures descended on the trio. Vantana pulled out his knife, ready to fight. Chriscanis growled and got set for battle.
“Please!” Sam cried. “I have seen the gryphon!”
The Guardian gestured for the others to stop. He moved closer to Sam, staring at him with almond-shaped eyes, but the doctor and Chriscanis blocked his path.
“That’s far enough. If you’ve got a beef, you’ve got it with me,” Vantana said firmly.
“And me,” Chriscanis added. “Spare the child.”
“The child,” the man repeated those words, as if fascinated. There were murmurs among the crowd as they began to finally notice Sam. The Guardian spoke again. “You…you are the boy from our dreams.”
“Me?” Sam asked. The Guardian nodded. The doctor and Chriscanis exchanged a surprised glance.
“We saw you standing on a towering rock in a vast desert. You and the mighty Phylassos.” The Guardian gave Sam a sideways look. “You gave him cookies?”
Dr. Vantana looked back at Sam, dumbfounded. “You did what?”
“It was all I had,” Sam explained, thoroughly embarrassed. “I meant it as an offering. So he wouldn’t try to eat me.”
“We know who you are, Sam London. I am called Yeshe. I am the village elder and leader,” the Guardian said, before adding, “You may travel to Phylassos’s cave, and there you will find that the claw is safe.”
“So you’ve seen it, then?” Vantana asked. The Guardian eyed him for a moment, as if trying to read his intentions.
“No one has. Not for two thousand years.”
“Then how do you know it’s safe?” Sam responded. His voice was strained by the pain from his wound.
The Guardian moved toward Sam to get a better look at the boy. He suddenly squinted, as if feeling Sam’s suffering. “You are gravely injured,” he said with surprise.
“That’s right,” the doctor confirmed.
“His wound is growing worse. He will not survive the night, and the trip to the cave takes two days,” Yeshe explained to Vantana matter-of-factly. Sam’s eyes darted to the doctor in panic.
“Calm down, kid. It’ll be fine,” the doctor assured him. He looked back to Yeshe. “There are legends about your people. Legends that say the Guardians of the gryphon’s claw are great healers. We’re hoping these stories are true.”
Yeshe nodded. “They are indeed, Dr. Vantana.” Sam lightened a bit at this revelation. Things were looking up. “But our healing comes at a price….”
Sam felt a surge of pain through his body, causing him to shriek. Vantana felt Sam’s head. His expression was dire.
“Will this price make him any worse?” the doctor inquired. The Guardian eyed Sam, concerned.
“Tashi,” Yeshe called. A Guardian appeared out of the group. This one was not much taller than Sam. The Guardian walked up to him and gestured for Chriscanis and Vantana to move aside. The two parted hesitantly. Tashi kneeled down next to Sam and placed a hand on his head. Sam caught the Guardian’s emerald-green eyes. They reminded him of Phylassos’s, with one exception: Tashi’s eyes emitted a soft glow.
“Give your pain over, Sam,” Yeshe instructed. Sam glanced at the Guardian leader, confused. “Don’t look at me. Look at Tashi. Visualize your injury and then give it over. Use your eyes.”
Sam had no clue what Yeshe was talking about. Give my pain over? Use my eyes? It didn’t make any sense, but he thought he’d best give it a try. He met Tashi’s gaze, and once he was locked in on the warrior’s glowing eyes, he could feel a change. The world slowed to a crawl. The sounds that had enveloped him seconds earlier faded into the distance. He suddenly felt completely alone with Tashi. As if they were the only two beings on the entire planet.
As Yeshe had instructed, Sam started visualizing his injury. He pretended he was telepathically communicating with Tashi, like a mutant in one of the comic books he enjoyed. He relived the injury in his mind’s eye and could have sworn he heard Tashi whisper inside his head. Good, the voice said.
It was a moment later that Sam heard Tashi’s leg snap, just like the sound he’d heard when the yak fell on top of him. With a hand still on Sam’s head, Tashi met the boy’s gaze with brilliant green eyes. The Guardian’s brow furrowe
d in pain, and Sam stopped visualizing his injury. Tashi grabbed his arm and squeezed, mentally whispering, Don’t. So Sam continued imagining the injury, and as he did, he began to feel pins and needles in his feet.
“My feet!” Sam exclaimed. “I can feel them!”
“Do not stop,” Yeshe advised.
Sam did as he was told. It was an odd, disconcerting feeling. Not only could he now feel his feet, but he could feel the bone in his leg move. It was shifting under his skin, becoming whole once again. Soon the pain had subsided and the numbness disappeared entirely. He gazed down at the bandage on his leg and pulled it back: the wound was gone. He looked at Tashi, whose eyes were now tightly shut. The Guardian crumpled to the ground next to him. Sam quickly moved to his healer’s side. Tashi was trembling, and then the trembling turned to an increasingly violent shaking.
“Help!” Sam called to the other Guardians gathered. “Do something!”
“Once a Guardian absorbs the pain of another, they must find the strength to heal themselves,” Yeshe explained.
“Will Tashi be okay?” Sam asked with tears in his eyes.
“That is up to Tashi.” Yeshe nodded to two Guardians, who scooped up their fellow warrior and disappeared into the crowd.
Sam was overwhelmed by the possibility that he might have injured his healer. Perhaps even fatally. He wanted to turn back the clock and refuse the healing in the first place. But that was impossible. He was overcome with exhaustion. His head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, and his eyes refused to stay open a moment longer.
“Sam? You okay, buddy?” the doctor asked, his words fading as Sam fell into a deep, rejuvenating sleep.
—
Sam London awoke several hours later to a headache and the clamor of medieval combat—which consisted of the clanking of swords and the thump of weapons hitting wooden shields. He found himself in a large room with a dozen beds—a barracks, he concluded. Sam noticed that Vance and Chriscanis were not with him, so he climbed out of the bed and headed for the door. As he opened it, he was hit with a bone-chilling gust of wind that sailed through the main thoroughfare of the village. He was now very awake. The Guardians were going about their business—some moving through the town with food and other supplies, while others were training at the base of the mountain. In the midst of this snowy expanse, these legendary warriors trained with swords, wooden staffs, and their bare hands. He moved toward them to get a closer look.
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