SL001-180-60
FD-11
DATE: ********
Art teacher and single mom Odette London wasn’t sure who the boy was who had returned from the hospital in Bakersfield, California, but she was certain he was not her son. He was her new and dramatically improved son. Ever since the fiasco in Death Valley that had left several cars totaled and a “lucky” gas station in charred ruins, Ettie had noticed a distinct change in Sam’s behavior—a change for the better. The first and most welcome example of Sam’s transformation was his exceedingly affectionate nature. When Ettie dropped Sam off at school before the accident, a simple hug or—God forbid—kiss on the cheek would be met with impassioned protests and embarrassed whines of “Mom!” But since their return from Bakersfield, Sam refused to get out of the car or even open the door without a proper kiss and hug. She could even spot him in the rearview mirror standing on the curb and waving as she drove away.
It was also difficult to believe Ettie had once criticized Sam for watching too much television and playing too many video games. Nowadays, Sam had boundless energy, and she would often find him running in circles in the backyard. In addition, New Sam, as she liked to call him, didn’t complain about her cooking. In fact, she even caught him foraging in the trash for leftovers one night. He explained he was quite hungry and, after seeing a commercial about starving children overseas, felt guilty about throwing away perfectly good food. Other peculiarities that sprang up with regard to food included New Sam’s sudden penchant for nuts and berries. Cookies were replaced with fruit, and potato chips were swapped for pumpkin seeds.
The only distinctly bad behavior Sam now exhibited was an odd way of dealing with bullies at school. Sam had had run-ins with bullies in the past, but he always managed to brush off their comments and avoid messy physical confrontations. But his most recent encounter with trouble went much differently. Ettie was called to the school after an incident involving Sam and a few boys who had been teasing him about being a “mama’s boy.” Apparently, Sam had ignored these verbal taunts but reacted when one of the bullies pushed him. His response was a growl. At first blush, this would seem silly, and likely ineffective at dissuading his tormentors. However, the bullies swore that when Sam growled he revealed a row of sharp teeth and fangs. It was enough to send the boys running to the teacher, to whom they confessed their story.
Although the school principal acknowledged the sheer absurdity of the situation, he suggested to Ettie she have a talk with Sam about this bizarre behavior. “Boys shouldn’t growl like wild animals,” the principal advised. “It’s uncivilized.” Ettie nodded and assured him she would put a stop to it.
Sam was tremendously distraught after the meeting with the principal. He apologized profusely to Ettie on the car ride home and for the next several days. He even did extra chores around the house without being asked. Ettie found the story of growling amusing, if strange. Stranger still was Sam’s belief that he would have to sleep outside that night as punishment for his behavior. When she informed him, rather incredulously, that he wouldn’t, her son became overjoyed. He kissed her goodnight, gave her an extra-firm hug, and retreated happily to his bedroom. It was that night Ettie decided to make an appointment for Sam with a psychologist.
The real Sam London was having second thoughts. Actually, he was having second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth thoughts. And they were all the same: he shouldn’t have accompanied Vance to find the mysterious Guardians. Lying about having a secret message for them and going along on this dangerous journey had turned out to be his worst idea ever. In fact, it was looking like it would be his last.
It had been three days since Vance, Chriscanis, and Sam hopped a dvergen subway to the Phoksundo waterfall in Nepal’s Shey Phoksundo National Park. They were met at the station by a Nepalese park ranger by the name of Raju. He was a stern-looking fellow with a long black handlebar mustache. Sam could tell the ranger was disturbed by the presence of a child on this journey. Raju stared intently at him as he explained all the arrangements he had made and all the dangers they would face, the most treacherous of which was the extreme, unforgiving cold. Normally, an expedition of this type would require several Sherpas, a mountain people known for their Himalayan navigation skills, but the secrecy and perilous nature of the mission meant they could only take one Sherpa guide. Sam was sure Vance was pleased he wouldn’t have to be responsible for more lives if things went south.
As Raju warned, the weather was not kind. Sam never imagined he would find an opportunity to wear seven pairs of socks at once; yet even that was not enough to keep out the bone-chilling cold. Besides the cold, there were the effects of the high altitude. The Sherpa guide, Chriscanis, and Vance all seemed perfectly fine in this air. Sam, on the other hand, felt nauseous, dizzy, and tired. Although the yaks provided to them were supposed to be used to carry their supplies, once it became evident Sam was not conditioned for this kind of trek, he was allowed to use one of the creatures for transportation. It was a shaggy, heavy beast, with long, coarse hair, handlebar-shaped horns, and an unremarkable disposition.
As for food, the group was subsisting on the Sherpa version of a potato pancake, which Sam concluded shouldn’t have been considered a pancake at all. Pancakes invoked images of syrup and butter. Just the thought brought Sam back to Chase’s house. He could imagine himself eating the proper English breakfast. Heck, after being subjected to these flat potatoes, Sam would have given anything for some of Chase’s bubble and squeak or even one of his mom’s dinners, the latter being the clearest indication of his desperation. Besides the potato pancakes, there were lots of vegetables, and lentils. Sam had never tried lentils before and quickly concluded he would never try them again. The only bread to be had was immeasurably dense.
“As dense as a collapsed star,” Chriscanis joked. Sam slathered the weighty chunks with butter until he learned it was yak butter. Then he got sick to his stomach. Chriscanis noticed Sam’s disgusted expression and quipped, “You look like you might yak.” He laughed heartily at his joke.
Tenzing, the Sherpa guide who was accompanying them, turned back on the third day of the journey. He announced that he’d had a change of heart. He had a family he could not abandon and, despite pleas from Vance, headed home. All the yaks, except the one Sam was riding on, followed the Sherpa. According to Chriscanis, Tenzing’s departure was an ominous development, since he was the most capable guide among several Sherpa villages. Apparently, where they were headed was more intimidating than Mount Everest.
The terrain had changed from green and lush to white and stark. It was also becoming more treacherous. Hills turned into rocky hills, which changed into steep rocky hills and finally transformed into snowy, rocky, steep mountain passages. The trio and the yak hugged the icy ridges of a small mountain range and moved farther into the Himalayan valley. The trail was not easily identified, but Vance seemed to always know the right direction. Sam chalked it up to those legendary tracking skills he’d heard so much about. But on the fourth day, Vance’s confidence began to waver, along with everyone’s energy. He was starting to second-guess himself and appeared increasingly frustrated. The punishing blend of snow and wind caused frequent whiteout conditions that made navigation nearly impossible.
By the end of the fourth day, they reached a vista that was located a thousand or so feet above the valley floor. As the sun began to set and Sam winced at the prospect of another night spent in the icy cold, Vance stopped and pointed firmly to the horizon. The snowfall relented just enough to see what had captured Vance’s attention. It was a mountain. A massive mound of snow and ice that lay in the shadow of Everest.
“There it is!” Vance announced over the howling wind.
“Phylassos’s mountain? Are you certain?” Chriscanis asked as he eyed the impressive sight with a pair of binoculars.
“If the legends are true,” Vance replied.
“So that would mean the Guardians are just—”
“At its base,” Vance noted. “In the village of Kustos.”
“Phylassos has his own mountain?” Sam asked. He hadn’t heard this part of the legend before. Vance nodded.
“It’s his home. And it’s where some believe the real claw is kept.”
Chriscanis gave Vance a congratulatory slap on the back. “I was moments away from losing faith in you, old chum.”
“That’ll teach you,” Vance said with a smile. He led the trio down a steep path toward the valley floor. “We’ll find better shelter from the cold and wind down there,” he explained.
Sam gazed up at the mountain. Before now, his stare had always been drawn to Everest. Earth’s highest mountain rose a staggering twenty-nine thousand feet above sea level. It was a breathtaking sight—so breathtaking it was difficult to notice anything around it. Perhaps that was the point, Sam thought. With everyone so distracted by the world’s tallest peak, they never paid much attention to what might lie in its shadow. Sam hoped Phylassos was home. It would be nice to see him again and to apologize for the events in Death Valley. Sam was contemplating what he’d say to the gryphon when he heard a strange swishing sound.
His eyes immediately darted to the source of the noise. The ridge was collapsing. Snow was breaking off the path’s edge and sliding down to the valley below. Sam looked up at Chriscanis and Vance, his eyes wide with terror. The ground beneath Sam’s yak gave way. Instantly, Sam and the beast were sliding down the side of the ridge. He gripped the yak with all his strength and was immersed in a massive cloud of ice and snow.
As they hurtled toward the valley floor, Sam could feel his leg scrape against the jagged rocks. When the two finally came to an abrupt halt, their stop was punctuated with a loud, disturbing crack. And then Sam’s world went dark.
It had been nearly an hour since Dr. Vance Vantana had watched Sam London and his yak slip off the mountain’s edge. This was exactly what the doctor had feared. He hadn’t wanted to take the boy on such a dangerous journey to begin with, but Sam claimed he had a special message from Phylassos intended for the Guardians. Although Vance suspected this was a ruse devised solely to obtain approval to come along, he didn’t want to entertain that thought. It would only make him feel worse about what had happened. Fact was, he enjoyed having Sam around; it was a pleasant change from the usual day-to-day for a ranger with the DMW, and it played a major role in his agreeing to Sam’s request. However, it also meant that Vance now held himself personally responsible for the boy’s safety.
The darkness of night was creeping steadily across the valley floor, making it increasingly difficult to locate the boy. They were running out of time to tend to any injuries he might have sustained if he had miraculously survived the fall. The doctor breathed a giant sigh of relief when he heard the distinct howl of Chriscanis, followed by—
“Over here! I found him!”
Vance rushed toward the cynocephalus’s voice to find him standing over Sam and the yak. Sam was still unconscious, and the yak was disoriented from the fall. Vance quickly sprang into action and with Chriscanis’s help eased the bewildered yak back on its feet. Once it was out of the way, Vance could see the injuries to Sam from the fall. The look on his face must have been grim, because a very groggy Sam noticed.
“What?” Sam cried softly, as if in pain. “What is it?” Vance saw the tears forming in the boy’s eyes. A second later they started to tumble down his cheeks. “I can’t feel my leg,” he said, distressed.
Chriscanis gestured for Vance to stay quiet. “Let me handle this,” the cynocephalus whispered. He leaned down to Sam. “It is because your leg is cold,” he answered calmly. “But it is also cut and most likely broken.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Sam responded anxiously. “Shouldn’t it hurt?”
“It’s too cold out here, buddy,” Vance said, trying to sound as calm as Chriscanis. He wasn’t used to this feeling. This sense that he lacked control of the situation. He was someone who always remained calm under fire. But there was something about this boy that seemed to negate all that. With Sam, Vance felt like a worried parent.
“So I’m okay?” Sam asked with a glint of hope.
“I’m gonna make sure of it.” Vance tried to sound confident. He couldn’t help but feel the cynocephalus’s judging eyes on him. “You rest now, Sam,” he added, avoiding Chriscanis’s look. “We’re going to find a splint for your leg and get settled for the night.”
When Sam’s leg was splinted and he had nodded off for a nap, Chriscanis confronted Dr. Vantana. “We won’t make it, Vance,” he said matter-of-factly. “He’s burning up. Maybe if we turned back now, we could save his leg.”
“It’s too late,” Vance replied solemnly. “He wouldn’t survive.”
“Then what do you propose we do?” a frustrated Chriscanis asked.
“We charge ahead to Kustos. If the legends are true, the Guardians can help him.”
“So we are relying on legends and conjecture?” Chriscanis countered, exasperation in his voice. “We’re talking about the boy’s life….”
“Don’t you think I know that? But it’s our only play. We gotta get there before he gets worse. There are limits to their magic.”
“And you think we’ll make it across that valley in time?” Chriscanis asked. “It could very well be the same distance to the nearest Sherpa village.”
“We have no other options,” Vance responded with resignation. “I’ll do whatever I can to make sure we don’t lose him.”
Sam awoke a half hour later, hungry and restless. Chriscanis did his best to distract him with stories of his adventures as a ranger with the Agency for the Welfare of Mythical Beasts. Meanwhile, Vance was determining the best route to the base of Phylassos’s mountain. He knew Chriscanis was right—getting to the village before Sam was too far gone was a long shot, but he had to believe there was a chance.
Midway through one of Chriscanis’s stories about the real Loch Ness monster, Sam blurted out, “I lied.” Those two simple words grabbed the attention of both adults. Sam added, “I don’t have a message for the Guardians from Phylassos. I just said that—”
“So I would let you come along,” Vance finished his sentence.
Sam nodded. “I’m sorry,” he said with a genuineness that seemed to capture the weight of his dire situation.
“Well, I figured you were lying like a no-legged”—Vance caught Chriscanis’s curious eye and adjusted—“cat.”
Sam was surprised by the subdued response. “You mean, you’re not mad?”
“I’m mad at myself for buyin’ that bill of goods. I should have known better. But you gotta let sleeping”—at another glance from Chriscanis, Vance corrected himself—“cats lie. Heck, when I was your age, if I was in the same situation, I probably would’ve done the same thing.”
As the night wore on and the three huddled inside their tent, Sam made another confession.
“I miss my mom.”
“I do too,” Chriscanis added. Sam perked up at this.
“You know her?” Sam asked, surprised.
“Of course,” Chriscanis replied. Then he realized. “Oh, I see. You have heard about the cynocephali way of dealing with family.” Sam nodded. “Yes, it is true. But some of us, myself included, have rejected those archaic traditions.”
“What about your father?” Vance piped up.
“I don’t know him. For the males of our kind, old habits die hard.” Chriscanis sighed. “I envy humans. You cherish family. Celebrate it. You even have reunions. It’s quite charming.”
“Not all of us are like that,” Sam offered. “It’s just my mom and me. I’ve never met my dad.”
“Maybe you have and just don’t know,” Chriscanis suggested. “I often tell myself that. Perhaps I have already encountered him along my many travels.”
“I’ve seen a photo,” Sam added. “I’ve never met him, even by accident.”
The trio soon drifted off to sleep for the night. But before Vance fell into his slumber, he thought about what Sam and Chriscanis had discussed. He could not imagine not knowing his father. By Sam’s age, Vance and his dad had survived countless brushes with death in the wilderness. They had spent more time together before he was ten than some kids spend with their parents in an entire lifetime. It strengthened their relationship and gave Vance the opportunity to absorb much of his dad’s knowledge. Knowledge that had already saved his hide a number of times. Vance reminisced about those near-fatal moments until he finally succumbed to his tired eyes and fell asleep.
The doctor’s slumber was cut short by the sound of the wind howling. He awoke with a start and looked over to see Sam sound asleep and Chriscanis missing. Vance bundled up and stepped outside to find their companion. When he emerged from the tent, he noticed something unusual—the wind wasn’t blowing. The night was still. His eyes turned toward the sound he’d thought was the wind and spotted his friend, howling at the moon. Vance quickly headed over, but when he reached the cynocephalus, Chriscanis didn’t acknowledge him. He simply continued howling.
“What in blazes are you doing?” Vance exclaimed.
“Sam needs to meet his father,” Chriscanis answered, before proceeding with his howl.
“What are you trying to do? Howl him here?” Vance asked incredulously.
“The boy cannot meet his father if he dies. Our only hope is to get him to Kustos,” Chriscanis explained. “But you and I both know he will not make it.”
Vance couldn’t argue with him. Fact was, even with all the navigational planning Vance had done to ensure the shortest route to Kustos, there was a very good chance that what the cynocephalus said would turn out to be true. The frostbite on Sam’s wound had deepened and caused an infection. They were prepared to deal with a possible injury, but not on this scale. The medications they had didn’t appear to be helping, except to make the boy sleepy. If only they had found Sam a little earlier, they could have done more.
“I am howling to ensure we get him to Kustos on time,” Chriscanis clarified.
“Not sure I follow.”
“You are relying on the legend that the Guardians are healers, correct?” the cynocephalus asked.
Vance nodded. “I’ve found that in this line of work, legends are one of the only things we can count on.”
“I agree. And so I assume that adage also includes the legend of the roc?”
“As in the giant bird Marco Polo spotted in the thirteenth century? The one that supposedly lives somewhere over the South China Sea?” the doctor answered. Chriscanis nodded. “Well, I’ve never actually seen one.”
“Very few have. And almost all of them were cynocephali,” Chriscanis revealed. “You see, our kind have the unique ability to summon the beast. When I was very young, I saw it done with a distinct howl.”
“And then what? We ask it for a ride?” Vance wondered.
“Something like that. But first we have to bait it.”
The cynocephalus gestured toward the yak, which was tied to a post that had been driven into the ground. “Given the steep slope of the valley, the wind currents, and the size of the roc, once it snatches the yak in its talons, it will have to fly across the valley to gain sufficient speed to clear the mountains.”
Vance grinned. “Oh, I get it. We’re gonna bide our time, wait for it to grab the yak, then take hold of the rope tied to the yak and hitch a ride across the valley, dropping right at the Guardians’ doorstep.”
“Exactly. And we can strap Sam to my back,” the cynocephalus suggested.
“Complicated and risky—I like it. Of course, it’s all gonna depend on whether Big Bird makes an appearance,” Vance reminded him.
“Yes, well, that—” The two were suddenly plunged into darkness. They had been speaking under the intense moonlight, which was bright enough to negate the need for flashlights. Vance looked up to where the moon had been a moment ago only to see a black spot. Then the spot moved. A huge shadow passed over the full moon and a loud whooshing sound accompanied it, followed by an even louder screech. The whooshing grew in volume; Vance quickly identified it as the sound of wings flapping. Massive wings.
“I’ll retrieve Sam. With all that medication, he’ll probably sleep through the whole thing,” Chriscanis said with a smirk.
“I’ll ready the ropes on the—” Vance froze. “Where’s the yak?” The yak and the post had vanished.
“Great Scottish Terrier!” Chriscanis exclaimed. He pointed to the tent. The yak was retreating inside.
“That yak ain’t as stupid as it looks. He must have sensed he was about to become supper,” Vance hollered as he ran toward the tent. Chriscanis followed close behind. And then the roc swooped down. The bird was tremendous, easily the size of a jumbo jet and just as loud. It stretched out its giant talons to grab the yak, but the creature was already too deep into the tent. So the roc snatched up the entire tent. It flapped its giant wings with increasing force, pulling the tent stakes from the ground and yanking the entire structure skyward. Vance and Chriscanis exchanged a panicked look. They sprinted forward and leapt for the dangling tent ropes. Vance missed.
Luckily, Chriscanis grabbed the rope he had reached for and, quickly realizing Vance was going to miss it, reached with his other hand to grab hold of the doctor.
“Thanks!” Vance exclaimed.
“My quick doglike reflexes,” he replied with a smile.
“Look out!” Vance yelled. The yak had lost its footing in the tent and slid out of the entrance. Chriscanis barely avoided being sliced by the yak’s horn as it fell several feet to the snow-covered ground. The roc was flying the exact route Chriscanis had predicted. Things appeared to be going well until the tent began to collapse on itself.
As the tent broke apart under the strain of the roc’s grip and the weight of the supplies, Sam’s sleeping bag—with Sam still inside—began to slide toward the entrance. Vance quickly noticed the boy was seconds away from following the yak.
“Sam!” Vance called to Chriscanis, who spotted the impending catastrophe. Unfortunately, both of the dog-man’s arms were in use at the moment.
“I can’t reach him in my current predicament,” the cynocephalus yelled down to the doctor. “I will swing you over to the other talon. You grab hold of it and I’ll grab Sam.”
“Better make it snappy,” Vance replied, his eye on Sam, who was now barely inside the tent. With each flap of the roc’s winds, Sam’s sleeping bag was jarred and sliding farther. Chriscanis began swinging Vance toward the roc’s talon as they soared across the valley floor. Vance lifted his legs to avoid passing trees. Swinging like a pendulum, Vance got closer. He stretched out his arm, but it was still inches away.
“Let go,” Vance ordered Chriscanis. “Let me go and save Sam!”
“No,” the cynocephalus called back. “We can do this.”
At that moment, Sam’s sleeping bag shifted and started its final slide out of the tent.
“Let go!” Vance pleaded.
Chriscanis swung Vance one final time and released his grip on the doctor as Sam’s sleeping bag fell from the tent. The cynocephalus grabbed hold of the corner of the bag, but the material was too slick and his paw began to slip. And then another hand grabbed the other corner. It was Vance! The doctor had used the momentum of that last swing to grab the roc’s talon. The two rangers held on to the sleeping bag as tightly as they could.
“How much of that medicine did you give him?” Vance asked, eyeing the dozing Sam.
“Looks like just enough,” Chriscanis replied, satisfied. “The bird will reach its lowest altitude as it begins its ascent on the western slope.” He nudged his head forward. Vance looked ahead and saw that they were rapidly approaching the mountain.
“I take it we’ll be closest to the ground just as it goes vertical?” Vance surmised.
Chriscanis nodded. “I propose we drop Sam first to avoid falling on him when we hit.”
“Agreed,” Vance responded. “On your word.” The roc was barreling toward the slope. Sam had slipped entirely into his sleeping bag. Chriscanis watched their progress intently. As the bird turned vertical, they were just a few feet from the ground.
“Now!” the cynocephalus yelled. The two let go of the bag and watched as Sam fell to the ground, disappearing into a snowbank. Vance and Chriscanis followed right behind, letting go of the roc’s talon and sailing to the waiting earth.
Once on the ground, the duo quickly found each other and then stumbled down the slope to where they had dropped Sam. As they pulled his sleeping bag out of the snow, the boy slowly started to regain consciousness.
“What happened? Where am I?” Sam asked groggily.
“Save your strength,” Vance advised.
“Climb on,” Chriscanis ordered Sam, motioning to his back. A still-half-asleep Sam climbed onto the cynocephalus’s back and the trio hiked down the slope. Chriscanis pointed out several darkened structures jutting out of the snow. They headed toward them and found what looked to be the ruins of a village. As they passed under a worn wooden arch, they noticed streetlamps that lined the main path, but the place appeared deserted. It was a Himalayan version of the American ghost town.
“Looks like we got here a thousand years too late,” Chriscanis suggested.
And then the streetlamps suddenly began to glow a fiery shade of orange. One by one, the lamps radiated a warm hue, as if the lights were following the group as they ventured deeper into the village.
Vance was walking a few feet ahead of Chriscanis and Sam when he came to a sudden halt. The flight in the extreme cold had impacted Vance’s supersensitive nose, drying it out and rendering it almost useless.
The streetlamps were heating up the pathway, in addition to lighting it, and had now turned red-hot. The extreme warmth moistened Vance’s nasal passages, and he inhaled deeply through his nostrils. Instantly, he could tell they were surrounded.