by D K Drake
“You want to strike your target with your two biggest knuckles while keeping the back of your hand even with the top of your forearm. Keep your arm relaxed as you throw the punch. When your fist connects, that’s when you tense your muscles and throw the hip of your punching arm forward. Remember to punch into the target; aim for a point inside the guy’s body, not the surface.”
“I can do this,” Javan said, shuffling his weight back and forth between his feet. “Big knuckles. Hand even with forearm. Relaxed muscles. Hip forward. Punch into the body.”
“You got it, kid. Now, you throw the jab with your forward hand and the cross with your rear hand. I’ll show you.” Hamilton stood behind Javan and grabbed a hold of his forearms. Like a puppet master, he guided Javan’s left fist into the target’s chest followed by his right fist. “Any questions?”
“Nope.”
“Good. Throw a jab into your target’s chest. It’s a quick punch with your front left hand. When you connect, push the left side of your body forward, twist your fist into the target and pull back.”
“Quick punch, quick punch, quick punch,” Javan mumbled. He shrugged his shoulders, swung his arms and head from side to side to loosen up and shifted back into his guard position. Taking a deep breath, he locked in on the chest of his target and jabbed his left fist forward.
His knuckles connected with the punching bag-like surface and sprung back before Javan had a chance to try pushing the left side of his body forward and twisting his fist into the target. He grimaced and shook his fingers out to dull the minor pain. “Ouch,” he said. “You sure you don’t have boxing gloves I can use?”
“Why do you want to wear gloves to fight?” Ravier rolled his eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”
“That move needs work,” Hamilton said, shaking his head. “First let me see you throw a cross punch. Get back in your guard position.”
Javan quickly massaged his hands, then did as instructed.
“This time you’ll use your rear right hand. Drive your right hip, shoulder and foot forward as you punch into the target.”
Javan practiced the weight transference a few times. When he felt prepared, he set up in his guard position, eyed his target and punched. This time the blow had more of an impact on the target than on Javan.
“Hey,” Javan said, smiling at Hamilton, “that was kinda fun.”
“Not bad,” Hamilton said. “You need to use your body more. Get your hip, shoulder and fist all working together, and imagine you’re punching through the target’s chest. You need more force.”
“Okay.” Javan threw another cross punch. He jammed his right fist into the target and actually made it shake. “Hah! It moved!”
“Nice work, kid.” Hamilton rumpled Javan’s hair. “Now do it a thousand more times.”
“Say what?”
“Make that two thousand. I want a thousand jabs and a thousand cross punches.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Hamilton crossed his arms and looked down at Javan through his bushy black eyebrows.
“A thousand jabs and a thousand cross punches it is,” Javan said, resuming his guard position. This was going to be a very long morning.
Chapter 21
The Old Man’s Warning
“O
ne thousand.” With a final jab/cross combination, Javan flung his weak and weary fists into the target’s chest and dropped to the floor.
He leaned his back against his immobile target’s legs, wiped the sweat from his forehead and closed his eyes. If it wasn’t for Hamilton’s voice still buzzing in his ears from the hours of constant coaching he had just endured, he would have enjoyed the respite.
“Nice work, kid,” Hamilton said. “We’ll do it all again tomorrow.”
“He needs to get stronger,” Ravier said. “Those pathetic punches aren’t going to get him very far in any fight.”
Javan’s eyes flew open, and he sprang back into his guard position in front of Ravier. “Maybe after I hit you a few times, you won’t think my punches are so pathetic.”
Ravier laughed. “Go ahead. Try me. See what happens when your target punches back.”
Javan tightened his fists, but Hamilton stuck his thick arm between the two men and pushed Javan back. “No fighting live targets yet, kid,” he said, nudging Javan in the direction of the ladder. “Now get yourself up to the house. It’s eating time.”
Javan glared at Ravier, then looked at the ladder. He was hungry. And tired. Maybe fighting Ravier at the moment wasn’t such a great idea. “Food does sound good,” Javan said.
“Then go.” Hamilton shooed Javan away with his hands. “We’ll be up in a minute.”
Driven by the thought of food, Javan climbed up the ladder and sprinted through the barn to the exit. He threw the door open but halted just before slamming into the frail Astor.
“Whoa!” Javan said, putting his hands up and sliding past Astor without knocking him over. “Sorry, man. I didn’t see you there.”
“You see me now,” he said, adjusting his spectacles and handing Javan a ball of bread the size of a cantaloupe. “I was just coming to get you. Hannah made you a dragon’s delight.”
“What’s in this?” Javan turned the brown bread over in his hands. It was heavier than he expected a ball of bread to be, and he was a little nervous about biting into it.
“It’s filled with meats and leaves from animals and plants dragons feast on.”
“Oh.” The idea of eating unknown meat and random leaves caused Javan’s appetite to suddenly diminish.
“It is healthy and filling. You can eat it on the way.”
“On the way? On the way to where?”
“You and I are going to meet Mertzer.”
“Who’s Mertzer?”
“A Dusk Stalker.” Astor put his hand on Javan’s elbow and walked him back into the barn. “Come now. Pick an okty. You’re going to need a brave one for the trip we’re about to take.”
◊◊◊
Javan polished off the crunchy and sweet and not altogether horrible dragon’s delight as he walked beside the slow-moving and silent Astor. The old man shuffled his feet as he walked, almost as though he no longer possessed the strength to get each foot completely off the ground.
The okty barn was behind them as they traipsed through the lush green and flowery meadows that ran parallel to the vast mountain range on their right that Javan had been itching to explore. The okties they had chosen were flying above them as they walked.
Astor was holding the antennae of the okties so Javan could eat while they walked. Since they were walking, Javan wasn’t sure why they had the okties with them at all. Finally he had to stop and ask.
“Hold on,” Javan said, stepping in front of Astor. “Wouldn’t these okties be more helpful if we were, umm, actually riding them?”
“We will ride them soon enough.”
“That sounds cryptic.” Javan took a sip of water from the canteen Astor had provided and studied his travel companion. The top of his head was bald except for a few strands of wild white hair; thicker bunches of white hair filled in the sides and back of his head and hung just past his neck.
Round glasses perched halfway down his flat nose, a nose that barely reached as high as Javan’s chest. He had a slight forward lean to him, his stooped shoulders leading the way. Red suspenders helped hold up his oversized black pants and did not go well with his striped orange shirt. Javan guessed old people could get away with wearing colorful clothes, unlike the boring brown garb Javan was sporting.
“The okties need to save their strength for the journey that awaits them.” Astor pointed ahead. “Walk.”
“Still cryptic,” Javan mumbled and fell back into step beside Astor.
Their forward progress was painstakingly slow. It was even worse now that he had nothing left to eat and thus nothing to do to keep him from collapsing out of sheer boredom. “Okay, dude,” Javan blurted, “here’s the deal. I’m really tired, and i
f we don’t talk or something, I’m going to lay down on this super soft grass and take a nap.”
“I always welcome stimulating conversation,” Astor said. “Talk.”
“Great,” Javan said. “I’m not sure if this counts as stimulating, but I have to know: how old are you?”
“One thousand one hundred and seventy seven years old.”
“Whoa! You have to be the oldest guy on the planet!”
“Yes, but not by much.”
“You mean there are other people as old as you still alive?”
“Seven to be precise. We’re all in hiding. For the past 500 years, the Dark King has been seeking out and eliminating those in my generation and older.”
“Eliminating?” Javan swallowed. “He’s been killing the old people? Why?”
“We are a threat. We remember what life was like in Zandador when a Collector was on the throne. He wants to wipe out those memories and keep the people in fear of him.”
“What was life like back then?”
“We were free, my son.” Astor smiled as he spoke and shuffled along. “We were free to do the work we wanted. To build our homes where we wanted. To travel when we wanted wherever we wanted. To live in harmony with the dragons rather than view them as dangers to be disposed of.
“We were free to love. To marry. To raise as many babies as our hearts desired.”
“Who did you marry?”
“Ahh, I was in love with Marissa, a black-haired beauty from Varzack. We were going to marry and have an army of kids.” His words drifted off, and Javan noticed a tear stream down the old man’s weathered cheek.
“Something bad happened, didn’t it?”
Astor nodded, wiped his cheek and kept plodding forward. “White winds took her away.”
“White winds?”
“Right. You’re not from here. I keep forgetting.” Astor took his glasses off and dried the lenses with his shirt. “White winds are powerful blankets of wind that sweep through without warning. They displace everything in their path and can throw objects hundreds of miles away.”
“We have storms kind of like that. We call them tornadoes. So what happened to your Marissa?”
“The night before our wedding, white winds swept through her village. When I arrived the next day expecting to be married, her village was destroyed, and she was gone. I never saw her again.”
“Dude, that is so sad. How old were you?”
“Sixty-three. I’ve been searching for her ever since. It’s been more than a thousand years, but I’ll die before I give up looking for her.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
Astor stopped and grabbed Javan’s elbow, causing him to stop, too. “I don’t need you to be sorry, my son. I need you to do whatever it takes to collect the four Dragon Stalkers and win the throne. No king has reigned as long as Omri, and there are darker days ahead if he continues his rule.”
“Okay. Got it.”
“I don’t think you do.” Astor grabbed the collar of Javan’s shirt and pulled him down so Javan was eye level with the old man. “The freedom of the people of Zandador and the survival of the dragons aren’t the only things at stake here.”
“I know. My mom’s life depends on me.”
“Yes. As do the lives of all the people on Earth.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“Unless you succeed, your Earth is in danger of destruction.”
“What do you mean?”
“The lure of Earth and the possibilities it offers have always been a threat to the Dark King. He’s been devising a plan to abolish that threat once and for all. He’s close to putting his plan into action. But he can’t until he first secures the throne for another hundred years. It’s up to you to stop him.”
“No pressure there.”
Astor let go of Javan’s shirt and allowed him to stand upright again. “Now walk. We still have much to do today.”
Javan sighed and followed Astor, desperately wishing he was back in Montana. Being an invisible second stringer on his JV football team was sounding much more doable and appealing than fighting to save his mother, two dimensions worth of people and an entire species of mythical creatures.
Chapter 22
The Zandadorian Portal
Astor’s vast knowledge of the land had Javan’s head swimming after walking alongside the old man for several hours. Every flower or plant they passed had a name and a purpose. Some could be eaten. Some could be used for medicine. Some could be used as poison.
When they weren’t discussing plants, Astor painted detailed descriptions of the geography of the Dragon Stalker territories. He made Javan spew back the descriptions of the mountains and valleys in the Midnight and Noon Stalker territories as well as the woods and plains that defined the Dusk and Dawn Stalker territories.
Astor also instructed Javan on ways to find food, water and shelter in each of the territories and described the kinds of animals Javan was bound to contend with in his quest to collect dragons. Creepy crawly creatures, deadly flying insects and ferocious four-, six- and eight-legged monsters all roamed the territories and apparently did not appreciate intruding human guests.
The talk of such animals had Javan wondering why they were about to enter the Dusk Stalker territory unarmed. He was about to ask Astor if he could fly back to the barn and retrieve his stun balls and stalker swords when he noticed the landscape was changing.
The flowery, hilly meadows were giving way to flat, white, sandy land with squiggly knee-high trees that had green bark and brown leaves. Although Javan could see the trees grew taller and more dense up ahead, he stooped to inspect one of the trees at his knee. The leaves were shaped like a dog’s paw print, as thick as the palm of his hand, as rough as sandpaper on top, as smooth as glass on the bottom and smelled like salt.
“What are these cute little trees called?” Javan asked.
“Shoreline trees,” Astor said. “The leaves make a tasty soup.”
Javan stood up so fast he nearly threw his back out. “Does that mean we’re at the shore?” He had never been to the beach before but had always longed to visit.
“The ocean is about a half a mile away on the other side of the trees.”
“Awesome!” Javan zig-zagged his way through thickening forest of shoreline trees. He could hear the rumbling of the waves and feel the salt in the breeze as the trees he passed grew taller and taller.
He finally broke through the tree line and found himself standing on a pure white beach with an endless red ocean stretching out before him. A wave higher than his head crashed on the shore and drew back. Another formed. Crashed. Drew back.
He stood there out of breath, transfixed, disturbed by the sight of the bloody red water and wishing it was the crystal clear blue he had always dreamed of seeing.
“You look distraught, my son.” Astor’s quiet voice broke Javan’s trance.
“Yeah,” Javan said. “This is wrong.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The ocean. It’s wrong.” Javan ran his fingers through his black hair and shook his head. “Oceans are supposed to be blue.”
“No,” Astor said. “Rivers and streams and lakes are blue. The western ocean—this one—is red; the eastern ocean is purple.”
“Purple? That’s crazy!”
“It is the way it is.”
“Not on earth.”
“I should like to hear about your earth oceans,” Astor said, nodding, “but first we have a trip to finish. Come. I have the okties waiting for us at the portal.”
“There’s another portal?” The red ocean no longer held Javan’s interest. He turned from the mesmerizing sight and followed Astor back into the trees.
◊◊◊
Javan stood with his arms crossed staring at the massive white circle on the ground. One triangle-shaped hole marked the center of the circle, and nine similar holes with the tips of the triangles all facing outward spread out along the circumference of
the circle.
Even though he had worked hard to sweep the sand away using shoreline tree leaves, the circle was still covered with a thin layer of the white dust. “This doesn’t look like the portal I came through with my mom.”
“That’s because this is a Zandadorian portal, not an interdimensional portal.”
“Say what?”
“The Zandadorian portal is made only of Dawn Stalker scales and utilizes their ability to teleport. From here, we can transport ourselves to any of the other regions in the Great Rift—except for Xyies—or one of four other places in Zandador where a linking portal exists.”
“This portal can’t take us to earth?”
“No. To get to earth, you have to travel through a portal made of all four scales. There is one such portal in North Zandador and another precisely 965 miles south of it South Zandador. Only Protectors know how to activate those portals, but anyone who has two seven-year Dawn scales can use the Zandadorian portal.”
“Gotcha.” Javan really had no clue what the man was saying, but he also had no desire to hear a more detailed explanation. “Where is this portal going to take us?”
“First you must see where we are.” Astor pointed to the triangle directly to the left of the middle triangle. “We are on the western shoreline and will be transported to the eastern shoreline.” This time Astor pointed to the triangle directly to the right of the middle triangle.
“What’s this middle triangle all about?”
“That is the central portal, the one located in the heart of Zandador in the basement of the king’s castle.”
“You mean we could use this portal to break into the castle and save my mom?”
“No. That would be foolishness. Omri controls it, and his soldiers constantly guard it. He uses it to send his dragons throughout the lands to devour those who try to rise against him.”
That gave Javan an idea. If he could collect this dragon they were on their way to watch, then he and his dragon could go through the portal together and rescue his mother. He wouldn’t have to wait the month Ravier wanted him to wait.