Chapter 6

A ferocious screech filled the air. A ten-foot-long snake shot from the tallest tree. A pair of massive silver wings kept it airborne. The colts at her sides fought for balance on the quivering ocean. The snake soared toward them.

It unhinged its great jaws and zoomed closer. Without thinking, Winnie flailed her arms at it. “Get out!”

The harris cocked its head, sizing her up with one black eye. As huge as it was, nothing larger than a palm colt would fit in its wide mouth. It broke off its attack and rocketed upward.

“That’s right. You just keep going. Nothing for you here.”

It let out another fierce wail and flew at her and the colts again. She swung her canteen, smacking the snake over the head with it. “I said, get out!”

The harris let out a pained shriek and flapped back into the woods.

“Ha!” She pumped her fist. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

For the first time, she felt like an actual warrior.

The colts nuzzled their noses against her. She petted their soft fur and cooed at them. “You’re safe now.”

“Indeed, indeed!” Pall called from the beach. “You are a good and true friend to the palm as well as our Mighty Queen!”

Two palm trotted onto the ocean. They lifted Winnie onto their muscular shoulders and carried her back to the beach. They gently returned her to solid ground and to the herd’s loud cheers.

“Person-friend.” Pall bowed. “What do you name yourself that we may respect and honor you properly?”

“Winnie Harris.”

The joyous mood changed in an instant. The palm stamped the ground. Some snorted.

Pall’s ears pinned back again. “Harrik?” he snapped. “What new forms do the harris take now to steal our young?”

“Not harrik, Harris. I didn’t come to steal your young.” She backed away from the advancing herd. “I just saved two of them.”

The mob stopped to mumble to each other.

“You have no wings?” asked Pall.

She spread her arms. “Do you see any?”

Pall spoke to the crowd. “Harriks have wings.”

The herd bobbed their heads in agreement.

“Have you a tail?”

She turned all the way around for them to see.

“Harriks have tails,” Pall said.

“So do palum. Does that make you a harrik?”

Pall swished his blond tail. He turned to the others. “This is no harrik.”

She breathed easier.

“We misunderstood. One must be ever on the alert for harriks, which prey on the young and defenseless. Please speak your name again. We have heard wrong.”

“Winnie.” Last names seemed beyond their grasp.

“Ah, indeed. We must honor our gallant person-friend, Whinny.”

Four palm with bulging biceps carried tall drums from behind a row of bushes. They thumped the skins. The others formed a circle, prancing to the lively beat. A few stopped dancing to gather flowers and greens to place at Winnie’s feet.

Maybe she really was a warrior. Who else got this kind of attention? Still, she felt weird being the object of their celebration. She smiled to hide her embarrassment. Just standing there, grinning like an idiot, seemed worse, so she joined in. When the palm shook their manes, she shook her hair. She leaped and shimmied, trying to imitate their prancing steps. No one seemed to mind that she swayed to the left when they swayed to the right, or that she bowed when she should have leaped. Their full acceptance made it easy for her to laugh at her mistakes. She even laughed when she lost her footing and landed on her behind.

“I think I’ll just watch from down here.”

The beat whomped faster. The dancers never lost their fluid motion even as the steps grew more complex. Winnie bobbed her head to the rhythm. She absently untwisted her canteen’s cap and took a drink. The drums immediately silenced. The dancing stopped. The palm mumbled gravely again.

“You are an untrue friend who sins against our queen,” Pall said.

She eased the canteen from her lips. “Huh?”

The same palm stallions that had lifted her in triumph now yanked her to her feet.

“What did I do?”

“You must see the Brothers Ky.” Pall turned to a third palum. “Inform the brothers we bring a heretic.”

With a nod, the palm galloped into the forest.

“Wait a minute!” She tried to shrug away. The hands clutched tighter. “I’m supposed to see the queen.”

Pall shook his mane. “Not now. The Brothers Ky will deal with you.”

“Will they take me to the queen?”

“They will take you to the dungeon.”

“I’m a warrior. I’m supposed to lead your army!”

Pall turned his back on her. The palm guards tugged her onto a wide trail that cut into the woods. She scuffed along the dirt path, dazed by her sudden change in status. How had she sunk so quickly from hero to criminal? Were the horses crazy? If she hoped to help the queen, she had to escape and find the castle on her own.

A sudden downpour filtered through the wide leaves, soaking her and her captors. At least they’d left the smelly ocean behind. Her wet head cooled her mind enough to think clearly.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Brothers Ky,” said the palm on her right.

“What does it mean? Who are they?”

“Pious mel-yew,” said the one on the left.

Maybe it was all right after all. Mel-yew were supposed to be good. At least that’s what Mikey had told her before she left. Good people didn’t put warriors in dungeons.

After a half-mile hike, Winnie and her captors veered from the main trail to a side path. It eventually opened into a clearing. Five crude huts, made of bamboo or something that looked like bamboo, formed a circle. Their doors faced a small, moss-covered pond. Three short men, wearing suits of plate armor, stood at attention by the water’s edge. Winnie’s eyes widened. The men reminded her of the little knights from her Frama-12 nightmares.

At the small settlement, a frail, robed figure stepped out of the nearest hut. He pressed his little hands together as if in prayer. The hands looked bony but human. Since the robe’s dusty brown hood hid his face, she couldn’t be sure what he was.

“Brothers Ky?” spoke the palm on her left.

“Of which I am one,” spoke the little robed man. He shuffled closer. The pointed top of his hood came no higher than Winnie’s elbow. “A runner informed me you were coming. What manner of heretic do you bring to us today?”

“Great Brother,” said the palm on Winnie’s right, “it has many names. One is person-friend, though a lie. Another is harrik.”

“Harris,” she muttered from the corner of her mouth.

“Harris. Another is—” He turned to his companion.

“Whinny,” the other added.

“And heretic,” the mel-yew monk spat.

She chewed her lower lip. The good guys weren’t acting very helpful.

“Where is this sacred water your runner tells me about?” asked Great Brother.

Both palm eased their holds on her arms. Playing along for now, she slid one canteen strap off her shoulder. She handed the container to the monk.

“It was meant as a gift for our Mighty Queen.”

“You there, on the left. Fetch Brother Bo and a crystal,” said Great Brother.

The palm trotted around the pond to another hut. He returned with a second robed figure, shorter than the first. The little man carried a crystal goblet.

The monks bowed to each other. Brother Bo held the glass while Great Brother uncapped the canteen and poured. It just looked like water to Winnie, but the monks let out reverent gasps.

“Praised be, praised be,” Great Brother said as he closed the canteen.

Both monks dropped to their knees, rocked, and chanted, “Ahh-tee-ooh, ahh-tee-ooh.”

The palm guards joined in.

Winnie looked from one to the other. “What’s going on?”

Great Brother pointed a quivering finger at her. “Silence, heretic!”

She shrugged. “Just wondered.”

The monks rose, leaving her canteen on the ground.

“Brother Bo, call the others. We have a heretic that must be stoned.”

She gulped. “You can’t do that.”

Brother Bo held up the glass of water. “What of this?”

“Ahh-tee-ooh,” they murmured respectfully.

Great Brother gently took the glass from him. Once free of it, Brother Bo scurried from hut to hut, calling to his fellow monks.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to stone me.” Winnie straightened her shoulders, hoping to appear braver than she felt. “I’m the warrior General Takka sent to help you fight the lurkin.”

“Another lie!” Great Brother said. “The one chosen by the general arrived weeks ago.”

She shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

He held the glass to the sky. “This is the purest of sacred water that I have ever seen,” he said in a reverent whisper. “Where did you find it, heretic?”

“For real, I have to see the queen now. That’s how the dream goes.”

More cloaked monks, short as the other two, emerged from their huts.

“Palum, you are dismissed,” Great Brother ordered.

The palm guards trotted back down the trail.

“Brothers,” Great Brother called out in a boisterous voice. “Witness the creature that dares drink the sacred water.”

The monks crowded closer for a better look at her. She stood in stunned silence.

“I’ve sentenced it to a stoning.”

The mel-yew monks nodded their approval.

“Gather your stones, brothers.”

“Wait. I thought you were supposed to be good.”

“We are very good. Heretics, on the other hand, are bad. We do what we must, and we do it quite well. You shall die.”

“What? No. You have to listen. This was an accident. Where I come from, we drink water whenever we’re thirsty. I forgot about the sacred water rule, okay? Can’t I just say I’m sorry and promise never to do it again?”

“If it is meant for you to be forgiven, it will be so at the moment of your death.”

“Mikey!” she shouted at the sky. “Get me out of this!”

“Your deity cannot help you now.”

“He’s not a deity. He’s my brother.” She called his name again.

“Silence, heretic. Die like a brave mel-yew.”

“I don’t want to die at all. It was only a little spring water.”

“The spring!” the brothers cried out in unison.

“You’ve been to the spring under the castle, have you? You steal sacred water from the queen and then have the audacity to offer it as a gift? Stone this heretic!”

The Brothers Ky cheered. Winnie shivered and hugged herself.

One by one they examined the empty ground at their feet. And one by one their enthusiastic shouts died away.

“Where are your stones, brothers?” demanded their leader.

The monks scuttled through the clearing. To Winnie’s relief, their search produced only a handful of pebbles. During a dispute over what new method they might employ to execute their prisoner, an orange bird flew to the edge of the pond for a drink.

That started another uproar. While the monks chased the bird, Winnie snatched her canteen by the strap and charged into the woods. Wet leaves, big as elephant ears, slashed across her body as she ran. She leaped over fallen logs, darted around trees, hurdled prickle bushes. She raced deeper and deeper into the woods. Gradually, the underbrush thickened, forcing her to slow to a brisk walk. She pushed her way through more brush. No one seemed to be following. Sweat rolled down her face in the humid air. She strode on, afraid to stop.

At a small clearing with long, lush grass, she paused to listen. Insects sputtered and hissed from the trees. Feeling safe enough to take a short break, she flopped onto her back in the damp grass at the edge of the clearing. She gazed up at the palm trees and fern-like plants that surrounded her on all sides. Fluffy, gray-blue moss hung from the taller branches. Gradually, her breathing slowed.

A bird, invisible behind the leaves, sang, “Dora-dora-dor-ree!” Another sang, “Figgy-figgy-figgy-no?” An occasional raindrop dripped on the leaves. She heard no shouts or charging noises. After a slow count to one hundred, she concluded she had successfully evaded the little monks.

She glanced around. She had escaped one threat, only to end up alone in an unfamiliar rainforest with no clue how to get out. At least the plastic food storage bag was still attached to her belt loop. What if the food ran out before she found a way out of the woods? What if she starved out here? She shook her head. Think positive thoughts or no thoughts at all. That was what her mom used to say.

Mom.

Winnie sniffled, missing her all over again. Then she did something she hadn’t done in months. She ignored the outer world and fell into a memory.

Mom, looking frail, had sat in her favorite spot on a comfy chair facing the window. She watched a light snow settling over the pine trees in the backyard. Winnie perched on the chair arm, hoping for a day off from school so she could stay right here.

“Mom,” she said slowly. She had a question she needed to ask even though it embarrassed her to admit her fears to her brave mother. “Are…warriors ever afraid?”

Mom had taken Winnie’s hand and kissed it. “All the time,” she’d said in a gentle voice. “But fear never stops them from fighting. That’s what makes them warriors. They never give up, even when they’re afraid.”

Winnie blinked away tears. She returned her attention to her foreign surroundings. If warriors never gave up, then she had to stay strong. She breathed deeply and sat up.

She gulped another breath of air, trying to relax. It didn’t work completely. After a long drink from her canteen, she felt less scared and more annoyed. Mikey—or was it Takka?—could have done a better job warning her about this weird place. Who would have guessed she could get executed just for drinking water?

“Why didn’t you give me an instruction manual?” she muttered as she untied the plastic bag. That first juicy bite of chicken woke her appetite and lifted her spirits. She gnawed the leg to the bone. The warrior inside pulsed with renewed confidence. That lasted until the bushes nearby rustled. Her muscles clenched. She snatched her canteen by the strap, ready to hit the unseen threat.