by L. L. Bower
He takes a deep breath. “The basilisk was cleverer than I expected. It didn’t come at me directly but went for my feet. It struck the toe of my hiking boot, but its fangs didn’t penetrate the steel toes. If they had, that would’ve been the end of me right there.
“While I was momentarily safe, I couldn’t stab the basilisk without looking it in the eye, a deadly move.”
A fierce look flashes across his face. “With the basilisk still attached, I swung my leg back and forth,” (here he swings his arm to simulate his leg’s movements), “hoping the disturbance would catch the monster’s attention. The basilisk became agitated and shook back, wrenching my ankle.
“Despite the pain, I jerked the snake around some more, and it finally let go.”
He lifts a hand like he’s holding a knife. “I readied my knife, turned away from the basilisk and knifed behind me through the water where I thought it still swam.
“Without being able to aim my stabs, of course I missed. But I startled the basilisk. It dove and made a wide circle away from me to build up speed and come at me again. Below us, the creature on the bottom was alerted to our struggle and rose out of his cave, a cloud of silt sloughing off him. Both the lake monster and the basilisk were heading my way.
“This was the first time I’d seen the full extent of this monster’s body.” Baru stretches his arms as far apart as he can. “He was at least fifty feet long, with a pointed nose like a sturgeon’s, huge barbs on his back and an eel’s tail. A group of us saw a similar beast in another lake. We dubbed his kind ‘steelies,’ looking like both a huge sturgeon and an electric eel. Most creatures like him that live in the dark are almost blind, but steelies have an even more useful sense in the depths that feels vibrations in the water. That’s what directed him to our fight.
“Needless to say, I froze from sheer fright. I thought my days on this earth were over.”
Baru reaches over to push peas around his plate with his fork, while I sit on the edge of my seat. Everyone has stopped eating to stare at Baru.
He says, “I was impressed with how effortlessly that great fish glided quickly out of his hole, his mouth wide open. Like a shark, multiple rows of sharp, pointed teeth extended out of his mouth. He reached the basilisk before it reached me and bit down on its back. I saw a flash of electricity arc from the monster to the basilisk, and then the basilisk went as limp as a string. I didn’t move a muscle through all of it.”
Baru snickers. “The monster then tried to eat the snake/lizard, but its hard scaly body was impossible for a creature even his size to penetrate. He chomped and chomped, and then dove down to the lake bottom to bang the snake again and again against the lava, although the basilisk was long dead. He finally released the motionless carcass, which slowly floated up to the lake’s surface.
“I kept very still, hoping the monster fish wouldn’t sense my presence, since a cloud of silt from their battle now hid me. As the silt cleared, I saw Steely circle around and then settle back into his cave. He wiggled his body back and forth, which raised more silt, to bury himself again and await his next prey.”
I look down at my plate and realize my sweet potatoes and vegetables have grown cold.
“What happened next?” Simean leans forward.
“Using as little motion as possible, I glided behind the monster to hover near the bottom of the lake all night, at a safe distance from the great fish. The next morning, I swam to the surface. The gryphon was nowhere to be seen, nor were the leviathan and behemoth. I hoped they’d all given up the chase.
“I walked along the shore a little way, dripping water. The ankle that the basilisk twisted started to swell to where I had to loosen my boot laces to restore circulation. Still, the ankle throbbed with pain. When I couldn’t stand the agony any longer, I stopped to rest on a stone in a clearing. That’s when I saw a green dragon soaring overhead.
“I tried to hide from the dragon in the trees, but it landed, walked into the trees and found me anyway. I thought, ‘I’ve cheated death before, but not this time.’
“I pulled out my knife, ready to defend myself, though I knew a knife was a sorry weapon against a dragon.
“The dragon stepped in front of me and spoke, which blew me away. ‘Relax, Baru,’ the dragon said, ‘it’s me, Jade, Calen’s dragon. We met after you escaped from prison. I was out hunting and saw you emerge from the lake. Then I saw you were limping. Are you injured?’ ”
Leave it to my dragon to always be at the right place, at the right time.
Baru rubs his hand over his forehead. “I was so flabbergasted that, at first, I couldn’t speak. That a dragon, a dark creature, should care about my welfare was more than I could handle. Or was it all a trick to see how vulnerable I was?
“But, when the dragon didn’t make any threatening moves, I sat down to get off my throbbing ankle and told her of my encounter with the basilisk and the injury I’d incurred.
“She listened to my story and was amazed at how I’d managed to escape without more serious injuries. She offered to give me a ride back here.
“At first I refused, out of fear, but my ankle hurt so much that I finally accepted. I didn’t have any other choice.
“I’d never ridden a dragon before, and I’ve got to say, the flight was exhilarating.” Baru looks over at me. “I see why you like flying with her so much, Calen. Seeing the world from up there puts everything in perspective.”
I nod. “It’s one of the things I missed most when I was in prison.”
“Anyway, Jade brought me down through the hole in the cavern ceiling, and Claymont met me there.”
“His ankle was badly sprained by the basilisk,” Claymont adds. “But it could have been a lot worse. He’s lucky it wasn’t broken.”
“Would you like to see my boot, the one the basilisk attacked?” Baru asks.
We all nod.
From beneath the table, Baru produces a leather boot with two large puncture holes in the side and dents in the steel toe. We pass around the thick boot that’s dry on the outside but still wet inside. When it’s my turn, I put my little finger into one of the holes and find it extends almost clear through the thick leather. If the boots had been any thinner, Baru would be dead. I shoot up a quick silent prayer to thank the Creator for saving him.
Crisa says, “We’re glad you’re safe, and I thank you for leading those beasts away from us.”
Murmurs of “yes” and “thank you” circle the table.
Baru turns darker blue. “It was the least I could do. I brought those beasts upon us by losing my necklace.”
“Could have happened to any of us,” Mordea says.
Finally, Crisa stands and says, “Calen and I have a pre-dawn start tomorrow. We’re going to retire early.”
I nod and push back my chair to stand too. Everyone else expresses their appreciation for Crisa’s fine meal, and they rise as well.
“Are you excited about this trip?” Geryen asks me.
I nod. “I’m eager to meet the king and cross parts of Fairyland I haven’t yet explored. And, because of the royal fairy’s touch, I’ll be able to view everything, even the supernatural world that was hidden from me before.” I don’t tell the others, but I’m also concerned about the kinds of supernatural dangers we’ll encounter along the way.
Crisa’s magic starts to clear the dishes away when the high-pitched, front-door alarm goes off, indicating a visitor. Crisa’s viewing ball appears beyond her plate, and she stares into it. “I wonder why they’re here this time.”
Chapter 22 – A New Danger
The dishes finish their journey to the kitchen, and Crisa walks toward the mountain’s entrance. The rest of us follow. When we reach the door, she opens it to find Pholas and Chearon standing there, minus their armor.
Nostrils flaring, they snort heavily from their mountain climb. Behind them, the setting sun sends crimson streamers through the trees that stripe across their human/equine shapes. They swat at insects with their
tails.
Rampart growls. “It’s all right, Rampart. These are my friends and trainers, Pholas and Chearon.”
Has Rampart ever seen a centaur before?
“Greetings,” Pholas says, still huffing and puffing.
I nod and reply, “Good to see you both again.” I swipe at a fly with my hand.
Pholas looks down at Rampart. “So, this... is your new protector?”
“Yes, this is Rampart, son of Parapet.”
My werewolf yips.
“Nice to... meet you too.” Pholas looks me in the eye and then takes another deep breath. “We heard about Brutus.... I’m so sorry.... I know you miss him a lot.”
Chearon adds, “He was a ... great wolf.” He bends down and pats Rampart’s head. “But I must say... this new wolf is magnificent.”
My werewolf wags his tail.
Chearon looks over at Tumea and shakes his head. I follow his line of sight and see Tumea still gnawing on a chicken leg. Chearon says, “We always seem to show up at dinnertime. We’re sorry if we disturbed your meal.”
Crisa tells the newcomers, “Not at all. We were finished. What brings you here?” A bumblebee skirts around us and settles on Crisa’s shoulder.
Chearon looks around. “We were careful to not be followed, but we’d feel better if we could go inside. We have some new and disturbing information to share.”
“Please, come in and join us for dessert.” Crisa sweeps her arm toward the interior of the cave. The bumblebee leaves her shoulder and flies away.
Crisa closes the stone entrance behind us, and the centaurs’ hooves click and clack on the stone floor until they reach the red carpet strip leading to the dining room.
Pholas looks from side to side as he takes in the space. “You’ve made this mountain a home, Crisa. Who would have thought anyone could make the inside of a mountain so attractive?”
“Thank you. I do love to make wherever I live comfortable for my guests.” She smiles.
While they can’t sit in a chair like the rest of us, the centaurs have plenty of floor space to stand near the table. I still remember when I was a centaur how much time I spent standing and found it a great relief to lie down.
Everyone else takes their regular seats at the dining table as we prepare to listen to the centaurs.
I notice Grog is missing, and ask Crisa about him. She says, “He told me he had an errand to run, maybe something to do with hunting because he left with his bow and arrows.”
The memory of the attempt on my life in the woods comes flooding back—the silver-tipped arrow, the large footprint. A crazy idea crosses my mind. Could Grog have shot that arrow? I shake my head. No, Grog would never do something like that.
Crisa adds, “He reassured me he’d be back to the compound before we leave in the morning, so I can show him how to activate my security measures.” I must have turned pale because Crisa asks, “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” I’m not going to share my suspicions with her because they’re too ridiculous.
Since the dinner dishes have been cleared away, Crisa flicks her wand and in floats a tray with coffee mugs and an insulated carafe, along with a plate of cookies. Magic distributes full mugs of coffee to everyone, and the plate of cookies passes itself around the table.
Mordea addresses the centaurs. “We know you two were successful in defeating Galdo’s guards, but we’d like to hear the particulars.”
Tumea says, “I hope your mission didn’t involve bogles like ours did.” He shivers. “We were attacked by them when we reached the caves. Rampart’s kind defended us, killing some in the process. But one got me.”
He points to his magically healed arm wound that has already scarred over.
“Oh, dear,” Pholas exclaims, “I’m glad the wolves were able to intervene. Our mission, while successful, didn’t involve bogles. The battle also didn’t turn out like we expected and wasn’t as rewarding as yours.”
Simean puts down his cup. “How was it unexpected?”
Pholas stares at Simean. “You look familiar.”
“You know me.” Simean replies. “We fought together in the Seven Years’ War when you were just a lad.”
The centaur’s jaw drops. “No, it can’t be. Simean? I recognize the voice, but...” He hesitates.
“Yes, I know. I don’t look like I did, I’m afraid, thanks to Galdo’s nasty work. I’ve been in his underground prison for...” He scratches his head. “I don’t know how long.
“All I know is that Galdo brought me out of the Realm of Shadows after his father banished me there. He experimented on me for almost a year, I think, and sapped my strength. Crisa’s meals are the first good food I’ve had in that time.” He smiles at her. “But, at the rate I’m recovering, I’ll be ready to fight again in no time.”
“I can’t believe it.” Pholas walks over, bends down and pumps Simean’s hand.
Chearon smiles. “It’s good to see you, old friend.” Chearon too walks over and shakes Simean’s hand.
“It’s delightful to see you both again as well.”
I add, “I was on Galdo’s table for only a short time, certain I’d be a blithering idiot when he was through. I don’t know how you did it, Simean. Through all those months of torture, you kept your sanity and never lost hope.”
“I talked to the Creator a lot. He told me he still had a purpose for me in this realm.”
Crisa cajoles the centaurs, “Please don’t tell anyone that Simean is back, so he can regain his strength.”
Simean sighs. “I’m sure there are plenty of dark ones out there who’d like a piece of me.”
Pholas nods and Chearon says, “Of course, we’ll keep your presence a secret.”
Simean tips a pretend hat to the centaurs. “I’m anxious to hear your story. Please continue.”
Pholas looks at Chearon. “Let’s begin with the dragon battle.”
Chearon takes a sip of coffee and grins. “You know us warriors. We always love a good battle story.”
Pholas says, “When we left you the night before last, we traveled to the female dragons’ lair and practiced play fighting with them.” Pholas slashes at the air with a pretend sword. “We taught them some defensive strategies during swordplay that would make the battle look real but would prevent injury.
“They practiced shooting their drool and fire at us without hurting us. Did you know red dragons have ‘fake fire?’ It’s red like real fire, but has no heat. The heat from their ‘real fire’ comes from their bellies, so, if they spew flames from their mouths, it doesn’t burn.”
“Really?” Mordea asks in a skeptical tone. “Did you test this ‘fake fire’ before the battle to see if they were telling the truth?”
I can tell Mordea doesn’t yet trust dragons. From boyhood, he’s been taught they’re dark creatures, like Tumea believed about bugbears.
“Yes,” Chearon says. “We confirmed it ahead of time. The black dragons can also spit out ‘gray’ drool that doesn’t kill and wither like their black drool. And green dragons can dilute their acid. Blue dragons can raise the temperature of their spit to where it cools but doesn’t freeze things, and purple dragons can lessen the electrical current in their bodies. They’re amazing creatures.”
Pholas nods. “We thought we had everything under control and were ready to stage a realistic-looking battle. To make our skirmish appear authentic, we took a regiment of our strongest warriors and marched toward the prison caves the next morning, only to be waved off by a hummingbird who told us the attack was postponed, something about an unexpected death.”
“That was the tomte you met named Olea,” Mordea tells them. “He was spying for Galdo. When he tried to sneak out of the compound the night before, Crisa’s security system killed him. We needed time to bury him and to search for any dark guards still waiting for him.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Pholas purses his lips. “Knowing Galdo, I’m sure it wasn’t the tomte’s choice to betra
y his friends.”
“You’re right, it wasn’t.”
Chearon picks up the story. “So, like the dragons who were also informed of the postponement, we returned home. We repeated our march the next morning. The dragons hid until we saw Crisa’s aerial signal. Then they did a great job of making the battle look real, and when they fell, they remained immobile, as if they were dead or mortally wounded. None of them were actually hurt, by the way.”
He leans forward. “As the sun came up, the sky got darker instead of lighter, and we thought a storm was coming. It was a storm, just not a rainstorm.”
Pholas scowls. “We heard the swish of wings above us and looked up to see another circling flock of dragons. One of the female dragons we’d been fighting looked up, growled and then snapped, ‘Ah, lucky us, our men have returned.’ ”
“The male dragons are alive?” Simean’s jaw drops open. “I thought Galdo destroyed them, at least that’s what I heard a couple of minotaur guards discussing outside my cell one day.”
“We thought so too,” Chearon says. “We’d heard rumors to that effect, but they were false. Galdo must have spread those rumors to hide the real strength of his dragon army.” Chearon glares. “So a bevy of male dragons hovered above us, ready to fight for real.”
Pholas stomps a front foot. “Then things got complicated. The male dragons didn’t come after us but attacked the female dragons instead. Maybe they planned to finish us off later.
“The females, who had pretended to die, rose to help their sisters. About that time, a passel of ogres emerged from the prison, so we had to address this new threat and let the dragons battle it out.”
Pholas pounds his fist into his other hand. “In no time, we leveled most of the ogres, about twenty or so, although a few ran away like cowards. As one of them lay on the ground bleeding, I saw him using a communication device, which I kicked out of his hand, but not before he said something into the device. We expected reinforcements to show up, but they never did.”
Crisa grins. “That must have been the ogre I talked to. We stole such a device and used it to confuse them. As ‘General Korga,’ I said I’d send ogres from another command post. I’m afraid I was a terribly forgetful general and neglected to do that.” She chuckles. The centaurs smile, and several others snicker.