How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [35]
Again he leaned Nathan’s staff in the crook of his elbow. He took the amulet in his fingers, felt the power emanating there. Hazel had given him something else as well. Two new chains hung about his neck. He tugged them out from under his tunic to reveal two small vials: one containing a bright red liquid that swirled with a life of its own, and another that was black as night in the Shrieking Scrub.
Hazel’s eyes burned into him. “You now have everything you need. Drink the red potion when the heat becomes unbearable,” and Greg nearly popped the cork right then and there. “Use the black one on your boots. Do not disappoint me. If you do not return directly with the amulet I have given you, or if you do not bring me the other amulet from the Infinite Spire, you will not live to see your home again.”
She closed her eyes then. Her hair slowly crinkled and grayed, and her head and shoulders began to droop. When once again Greg towered over her, she cocked her head and stared him directly in the eye, looking remarkably similar to the crow perched on the rocker behind her. “Now be off. Can’t you see I’m an old woman who needs her rest?”
Greg stammered out an unintelligible response. Suddenly the world went dark. Greg had the feeling of being in an elevator coasting to a sudden stop. His stomach shifted, his feet left the ground, and once again he landed, this time on pungent soil.
Gray light filtered down from above. Greg realized he no longer stood inside Hazel’s shack but on the trail outside in the Shrieking Scrub. He was so scared he could barely stand. It didn’t seem like he’d been inside long, yet for some reason he felt nightfall was not far off. Though his head was spinning, and he had no idea how he got here, he had the presence of mind to remember one thing Nathan told him.
He didn’t want to be caught dead in the Shrieking Scrub after dark.
Hart Attack
From the unnatural stillness of the forest, Greg knew he was in the Shrieking Scrub, but which way to go? The sky ahead loomed dark as the shadow of death. But then the sky behind looked to be casting the shadow. His choice was clear. Still he jogged slowly, in case he’d chosen poorly and was about to run into the witch.
Minutes passed without so much as a single disaster. Greg quickened his step. Soon he was sprinting away from danger, and while his imagination normally reveled in such chases, the usual feelings of glee remained conspicuously absent. When he glimpsed Lucky’s bright orange tunic ahead, he felt a surge of relief.
Steps from the bank and running full speed, Greg was so excited he nearly overlooked Black Blood Creek oozing across his path. Without breaking stride he hurled the eternal torch forward and planted Nathan’s staff in the goo. Never an overachiever in gym class, he managed this once to pole-vault to the far bank, drop the staff, and roll to a stop next to the now steaming torch. The shadowcat tumbled out from under his tunic and tore into the underbrush as Lucky and Nathan raced forward.
“About time,” said Lucky.
“You okay, Greg?” Nathan added, and helped Greg to his feet.
Greg handed back the staff and started blabbering about witches, amulets, and the queasy way elevators make you feel when they stop too suddenly.
“Slow down, Greg,” said Nathan. “Take a breath. You sound like you’ve nearly run yourself to death.”
“Away from death, more likely,” Lucky noted.
Greg took two deep breaths but could wait no longer. He blurted out everything he could recall about his meeting with Hazel, slowing only when he reached the part about the witch stealing his two amulets. Afterward he waited, afraid to hear how Lucky and Nathan would react.
“Excellent!” said Nathan. “You’ve done well, Greghart. Very well indeed. If there was ever a doubt, I think we can put it to rest. This prophecy has found its hero.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“Nonsense. You not only went to see the witch and returned alive, a rather astonishing accomplishment in its own right, but you got the torch, the spell and the dragon