Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie

A FOOL’S BARGAIN

THE NEXT MORNING Cyrus woke up cold as stone. He looked out of the cave entrance and saw grey skies threatening rain. His belly growled, and his head throbbed. He rolled to his side and grimaced. The welt on his ribs felt like a knife wound.

“Edward, you up?” he asked, searching his jacket for his friend.

The tiny spider spindled down from his hair onto his nose.

“Yes. I’m hungry,” he said, crawling onto Cyrus’ sleeve.

Cyrus found several tidal nuts in his pocket; gave Edward one, and ate the rest himself. The kelp bulbs tasted like chewy grapes.

“Can you believe we’re getting out of here?” Edward asked.

Cyrus took a sip from the canteen. The water was ice cold.

“I don’t know. After everything that’s happened, I can’t believe we’re still alive.”

“Well, wherever you end up, you will need to know how to defend yourself,” said a warbled voice.

Cyrus’ head spun towards the mouth of the cave. From the top of the entrance, silhouetted against the granite sky, the froskman hung bat-like, his eyes glowing a dim blue. He dropped several feet from the ceiling and landed on all fours.

“Where have you been?” Edward asked, chewing on a bit of tidal nut.

“Surveying the peak,” Fibian replied, “Do you know how to use a knife?” he asked Cyrus.

“To cut bread or sharpen a stick,” Cyrus said, feeling unsure.

Fibian walked over to the two and drew his own blade.

“You want to get to know the feel of your knife,” he said, “All are different, and you want to be able to change your grip without dropping it.”

The froskman reversed his hold on the blade, then with a flash of his hand, flipped it back.

“You want to know its weight and how it will move in your hand.”

Cyrus rose to his feet, his body achy with a hard night’s sleep. He unsheathed his own knife. Its bone handle was slick, about six inches long. He rubbed his thumb along where the handle met the blade; then reversed the grip. He tried flipping it back. It fell.

“If you lose your knife in a fight,” Fibian said, “you are dead.”

With a deep sigh, Cyrus picked up his blade and hefted it in his hand. He felt awkward and foolish practicing in front of others, but Fibian was right. After what had happened on Rorroh’s ship, he had to learn to defend himself.

Fibian stood a little crouched with his right foot forward and his knife in his right hand.

“You want to try and stand sideways to your enemy, giving them as small a target as necessary, and always keep your knife between you and your opponent.”

Cyrus mimicked Fibian’s stance.

“Keep your chin down to defend your neck,” Fibian said, “and use your left hand to block your throat and chest. Better your hand is pierced than your organs.”

Pierced organs? What am I doing? Cyrus thought. He prayed to the Angel King that he would never have to use a knife in defense ever again.

Looking to Fibian, he tucked his chin and raised his left hand to his chest, as if he was going to catch something with it.

“That is good,” Fibian said, “Now put your knife away and take this.”

The froskman produced two knife-sized sticks from the back of his belt. So that is what he had been looking for on the peak. He handed one to Cyrus. Holding the other, he stood at the ready.

“When facing an armed enemy, your first goal is to disarm them,” Fibian said, “Attack the knife hand above the joints to sever tendons,” he pretended to cut Cyrus above the wrist and elbow, “and inside the arm to slice arteries,” he dragged the stick along the inside of Cyrus’ forearm and biceps, then mimicked stabbing it into his armpit, “The same goes for the legs.”

A deep chuckle echoed from within the dragon’s chamber. It was followed by heavy footsteps. The beast’s head emerged from the darkness, a sneering smile forged across his armored mask.

“Do you really think a tiny knife will aid you against the Warrior Witch?”

Cyrus dropped his stick and stood straight. He must look a fool, he thought.

“You should ask the witch that same question,” Fibian replied, “then ask her about her hand. You would be surprised by what can cause the mighty to fall.”

He cast a thoughtful glance towards Edward. The spider scurried up into Cyrus’ thick jacket collar.

“I have thought a great deal about your predicament,” Drache said, “and the story of your doomed island reminded me of a past memory.”

This was the moment, Cyrus thought. Was Drache really going to help them escape Rorroh’s web? The dragon stroked his snowy beard with an iron-crusted claw.

“A few years ago, I saw a queer island drifting north. At first, I thought, where has this rock come from? For it had trees and earth on its back. Then I saw that it swam and looked about with a head and eyes. It was a massive turtle, like the fossil you described, but living.”

Cyrus’ mouth fell open. Was Drache telling the truth? Could there be more of those giants? Edward crawled back onto his sleeve. The spider looked almost frightened.

“When I thought of the great creature heading north, it reminded me of something else,” Drache continued, “Long ago, the Warrior Witch told me of a great Yeti Kingdom that ruled in the Northern Sea. She said the yeti was a race of giants that worshiped knowledge above all else.”

The dragon lowered his voice. A fiery glow flickered in his large, reptilian eyes.

“I believe their wisdom threatened the witch, and their beast-like beauty made her envious. Many times, her minions laid siege to their stronghold, but always they failed.”

Drache brought his enormous head down to Cyrus’ level. The serpent’s hot breath smelled like a long-dead funeral pyre.

“You will not find a better place than the north to escape the Warrior Witch’s probing gaze. There you can gain new allies and ready your counter attack. Maybe even find a way to rescue your people.”

Cyrus liked the idea of aligning himself with giants and escaping Rorroh’s grasp. But a counter attack was out of the question. He was no savior of legend. And risk his life to rescue his people? Never. They did not deserve his help, and he would not give them a second chance to take his life. He pictured Sarah drowning in the lake…

“It sounds like a good place to start,” Cyrus said to Fibian, shaking the image.

“I have heard stories of these yeti,” Fibian replied, looking unsure, “It would be very cold and dangerous, but it would also be the last place the Warrior Witch would search.”

“Then it is agreed,” Drache said.

The dragon quaked with a low, rumbling chuckle.