How to Slay a Dragon - Bill Allen [39]
“Don’t you believe in the prophecy?” Greg asked Nathan after Lucky fell asleep.
Nathan sighed. “One thing I’ve learned throughout the years is that there is much I don’t know. I also consider myself a most talented observer, and I’ve noticed that Ruuan is a very large dragon, while you, on the other hand, are neither a dragon nor large.”
Greg stared deep into Nathan’s eyes. “Do you even know what reassurance is?”
“I’m just saying if you do live through this thing, your success will have to stem from something other than your size or battle skills. I don’t know you well, of course, but I would think your best bet would be your resourcefulness and cunning. If you were to go prancing about flaunting danger at every turn, you couldn’t possibly succeed. You’ll need to make some very sound decisions along the way.”
Greg exhaled deeply.
“What’s the matter?” Nathan asked.
“I can’t . . . I mean, I just hope I don’t disappoint you.”
The torchlight flickered over Nathan’s warm smile. Greg expected him to say, “You won’t.” But instead he said, “I hope so, too.”
“Now let go of that torch, Greg, and get some sleep. No animals will bother us. They’re much too frightened of monsters to move about this forest after dark.”
Greg gripped the torch even tighter. He wouldn’t have got a moment’s rest had Rake not curled up next to him. But once the shadowcat started purring, Greg’s grip weakened and fell away from the torch, bathing the clearing in sudden darkness. Fortunately Greg was too tired to notice the hundreds of eyes glowing in the surrounding forest. A moment later he was fast asleep, and not even the monkeydogs could wake him.
“Okay, boys, pick up your sticks.”
For the past two days, the trio had traveled south and had only recently rounded the tip of the Enchanted Forest to head north again. Both days they had marched themselves to exhaustion, but still both nights, when it was no longer safe to travel, the boys had begged Nathan to teach them more about chikan.
Unfortunately all Nathan seemed interested in teaching them was how to breathe, which Greg felt he had a fairly good handle on already. But Nathan insisted proper breathing was important if they wanted to continue breathing at all, so Greg and Lucky inhaled and exhaled over and over again, following Nathan’s instructions to the word, until Greg felt he was the best breather this side of the Enchanted Forest.
Finally, Nathan was permitting them to pick up their walking sticks. The movements they practiced seemed silly to Greg, but Nathan was very complimentary, insisting both boys were clearly naturals when it came to the art of chikan.
“This position is called sensen,” he instructed, holding his staff out vertically as Greg had seen him do many times before. “It is a position of harmony and rest, the center of peace from which all power originates.”
Greg worked hard to mimic Nathan’s stance.
“Do not concern yourself so much with the mechanics of the position,” Nathan told him. “Sensen is mostly a state of mind. The stance merely helps you focus your energy.”
“What energy?” said Greg, knees drooping.
“You’re not going to tell us to breathe and meditate again, are you?” Lucky asked.
“Afraid so,” said Nathan. He winked at the two of them. “But at least you got to pick up your sticks.”
The next morning they were back on the trail before the sun rose fully above the horizon, as was the case each day for nearly a week. In spite of the harried pace Nathan set, Greg worried over how long it took to traverse the eastern edge of the Enchanted Forest.
“I worry, too,” Nathan said, “but there is no other way.”
Exhausted by the end of each day, Greg slept soundly through the nights, even when Rake was not around to help him. Each morning he woke feeling a trifle less sore than the morning before. Day by day he grew stronger, until one morning he woke feeling as if he’d been hit by a small car, perhaps just a motorcycle, instead of the usual truck. By mid-morning he’d walked