The Sword and the Song: The Sword of Anatolia, #2

By Joel C. Graves

After his defeat by Jeres-thin, Pharaoh Sneferu was imprisoned in the red pyramid for over two hundred years. But during that time, he worked out a scheme to return with a new weapon, but also with agents in different parts of the country, working on his behalf. Now he is back. He has simple goals: to conquer the plateau, then the planet, then the galaxy, and then the universe. His weapon this time – sand, turning the world into a desert wasteland. Once again, seemingly insignificant, harmless, and even fearful people step forward, hoping to make a difference and defeat their ancient foe and save their world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Summit Bay Press, Olympia WA
• Release date: Oct 18, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215367674

Joel C. Graves

I have always been a person of the arts. I have been a lifelong learner. From my earliest memories, I have been filled with an insatiable curiosity about what things are, how and why they work, and the nuances of relationships. Because of that, my interests are wide and varied. I love to write and always have a book going. In this way, I am able to share—in story form—much of what I have discovered about the world and life. I would describe myself as a person of faith, which informs everything I do in life.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

F

or many centuries, deep in the eastern jungle, the pyramid appeared as little more than a vine and tree-encrusted hill, but now something had changed. Instead of growing louder, the familiar animal and insect calls died with the setting sun—the silence growing more profound as the darkness deepened.

All is ready, Master, Fegis croaked from a throat that had not spoken in hundreds of years. He looked up hopefully. A single brass lamp flickered on the table, casting a dismal yellowish glow around the room.

The time has finally come, my old servant, Pharaoh whispered as he entered the chamber.

He appeared like an ancient skeleton with parchment-thin skin stretched taut across bare bones, both fragile and shriveled—a dusty, faded relic of his former self. The long nose drooped down, severely wrinkled, and the squared off ears draped lifelessly on his shoulders. The tattered robe hung limply, and the mantle on his shoulders with the high collar was full of holes and tears. Even the life in his eyes seemed distant and dim. He moved haltingly to the altar, struggling to keep his balance. Behind his shuffling steps, a wispy layer of dust momentarily hung in the air, close to the ancient stone floor. At one time he had been next to immortal, but most of that evaporated at his last defeat. Now, he clung to life by a single frail thread.

Like the Pharaoh, Fegis was thoroughly decrepit, kept barely coherent by an ancient curse—living, but not alive. He had once been a Lepusian seller of dyes—now more shadow than substance, but hope lingered, about to be realized.

With some effort, Pharaoh opened the heavy book to the page marked by a scraggly raven’s feather, and his gaze turned to the dark gem to his right on the pedestal. This time it must work, he thought. He read the words carefully. Oov ra pa ghem teerch jak teerch ma dore. Oov ra pa ghem tentko renpak glim.

Nothing happened.

He raised his arms, tattooed in complicated hieroglyphic figures, and wove patterns in the air. A dim scarlet light flowed from his hands, forming into an elaborate and evil kolam. The ethereal image hung in the air, brightening as he chanted. The cracked voice rose in pitch and volume. To match his cadence, a creature in the smoky recesses beat a deep sounding drum. Out in the darkness, another drum sounded, then another. Voices joined in the chant, yet not of this world; rather far off and distant, growing louder as if moving toward the room. The chanting took on a feverish tone. Fegis cringed in the corner, his eyes fearfully scanning the walls and ceiling.

Deep in its center, the great jewel finally glowed. Pharaoh smiled to see it. He continued to chant and the glow expanded. Shadows cast from the scarlet light seemed to leap and dance madly about the room. The pyramid shook violently so dust drifted down from the ceiling, and the large gem flared brightly, then faded to black.

While still chanting, the Pharaoh walked over to the ruby, placing his withered left hand upon it. With his right hand, he took up the ancient quartz dagger lying beside the gem and drew the jagged blade across the back of his left hand. Thick blood oozed out, so dark it appeared black. One thin tendril crept to the edge of his hand like cold molasses, and a single drop touched the gem so the great ruby flared. Bright red light filled the room, revealing all manner of evil and terrifying creatures in what appeared to be an arena—not quite of this world—with stone rows of seats rising up the walls in another dimension. Near the top, in the darkest remote region, stood a ghostly creature—part bull and part man, but with the head of a bull. The creature smiled and the black eyes glowed in quiet satisfaction.

The chanting continued. Pharaoh took the gem in both hands, lifting it above his head. Release me! he cried. Re—lease—me! His eyes bulged with the strain. The creatures in the ethereal amphitheater looked down and roared their approval over the pounding drums.

A red light flowed from the gem down his upraised arms, covering his body like a glowing cocoon. The brightness around him pulsed repeatedly, briefly flaring outward then calming. He closed his eyes, trembling—not in pain but in anticipation. A groan escaped his lips. A bright scarlet circle of light with flaming yellow edges flowed out of the gem, falling from his upraised hands, down to his feet, and back up. He convulsed. In an instant, he became young—transformed—even his clothes.

As he shook his shoulders, the robe fell away, revealing bulging muscles rippling in the cool air. He had forgotten how good it felt to take a real breath—a deep breath. With eyes closed, he felt his body awaken fully. It had been centuries, he thought. Maybe more, but at least two hundred years.

At long last. He studied his body. Perfect—as always. A smile crept across his face. His nose and ears stood erect—every sound, gasp and breath distinct—nothing escaped his attention. He turned slowly, searching for something, then focused on the pile of rags in the corner.

Come, Fegis, he commanded, his tone demanding obedience.

His servant wet himself and stumbled forward to kneel before his master. Pharaoh seemed not to notice the indiscretion. Holding the gem in his left hand, he placed his right upon Fegis’ forehead. The flaming red ring traveled from the Pharaoh’s hand down the body, then back up. Fegis collapsed to the floor in a foaming-mouth convulsion. Pharaoh smiled. When Fegis stood, he was as young as Pharaoh, his antlers fully formed, but not his wretched clothes.

Pharaoh placed the glowing gem back in the base, then tilted it to one side. The pyramid trembled again, as if waking, then started west—the movement made them sway backwards.

From the outside, the pyramid seemed invisible. For centuries, the jungle had slowly covered every level. Now the plants and trees groaned and protested as the monolith rose three inches off the ground. They sought to seize and hold on, but once moving west, the massive object with a three-hundred-and-eighty-foot base, two-hundred-and-forty-feet tall, could not be restrained. Vines and trees broke with loud pops and snaps. Where the pyramid had rested lay an immense hole nearly one-hundred-feet wide.

The full moon watched the thick fog form around the pyramid base, then fall into the pit like a slow-motion waterfall. A massive block in the side of the pyramid grated stone-on-stone as it swung outward, and from the dark passageway, Pharaoh emerged and looked down into the abyss. He smiled.

Like an artist painting on thin air, he wove a new pattern. A dim trail of scarlet light followed each hand movement.

"Come to me, finally loosed,

My living sand from deep dark depths.

Come to me, my own creations:

Creatures of terror now unchained!"

As he repeated the chant, the earth shook. The sides of the hole collapsed, carrying trees and vines into the depths. A continuous rumble deep underground swelled like an earthquake, refusing to stop. He looked down in expectation. A radiance from far below lit his face, growing brighter as the object of his desire approached.

Up the evil shaft rose brilliant white sand, full of all manner of diabolical and malevolent abominations. The Pharaoh did not stop chanting until the sand flowed out of the shaft like water from an artesian well.

He faced west, pointing, and shouted, Go! The sand surged forward with a life of its own.

He walk-floated up the side of the pyramid, the toes of his sandaled feet just brushing the edge of each block. At the very top, he stood next to the highly polished copper apex looking west. The sand moved away from him the way flood waters flow out of an arroyo onto the desert floor after a downpour in the mountains. His eyes flashed brightly.

All is certainly ready, he whispered, then threw back his head and laughed maniacally.

The dillos attacked Homeburrow in the predawn, when a faint suggestion of light begins to show on the horizon, but the stars are still bright.

Where is he? bellowed Thron-bite.

Fenton fearfully stuck his head out the door; he could smell the dust drifting by. Like all rabbits, he had been scared before, but now he was terrified.

The dillos dug furiously. Soon he heard the screams; someone’s home had been breached. He jumped out, running to the burrow next to his and bumped into Chester, who was just coming to get him.

Run! We’ll get the rest out, Chester whispered. But run toward them at first, so they pick up your scent, or see you, and hopefully leave us.

Okay, I’ll try. But if they tear me to pieces, I’ll come back and haunt your burrow. Fenton grinned, but Chester couldn’t see it.

Get going or it will be too light to do anything!

Fenton got his legs under him, ready to spring forward, when Clorista grabbed him. Fenton! What are you doing?

Fenton turned back to her. I caused this mess. I’m responsible, so I must lead them away before it gets worse—it already is. Listen... More screams. He broke off not able to go on.

Be careful. You know how I feel. She squeezed his hand, then leaned in to touch her nose to his, hugging him tightly.

Let him go, daughter. You’ve got to run—now! Chester shouted. "Go. Now. And Feet of Lightning be with you!"

Fenton ran with all his might straight at the commotion. When he saw a large dillo, he veered to the left and ran by another. That wasn’t too bad, he thought. He could run circles around these lumbering beasts. Still pondering that last thought, he ran around a bush and bumped into Thron-bite, then ducked the huge paw of claws.

Thron-bite smelled him. You!

Me! shouted Fenton, running past him toward the distant plateau in the north. He did not run in a straight line, but curved east then west, over and over, hoping to confuse his deadly pursuers.

CHAPTER TWO

D

illos are relentless, undeterred in their hunt. They never forget, they never forgive, and they never, ever give up. Because Fenton did not remember that important lesson, he had led them right to Homeburrow, and the People paid the price.

Fenton berated himself—dumb, irresponsible. Now what? I’ll run like I always do, he reasoned, and figure out something later. He looked back in the dim early morning light and could see the dillos following. At least they had left Homeburrow.

Fenton concentrated on running and reached the base of the plateau two hours later, hands on knees, totally exhausted. He had never run so far and for so long. What would he do now? He noticed a crack threading its way up the side of the cliff—sometimes wide, sometimes narrow—often not visible at all. Could that be helpful? He carefully sniffed for poisonous snakes then crawled into the dark space.

I wonder... he whispered.

He glanced back. Coming down the distant slope, three lines of dust moved in his direction, closer than he thought possible. For traveling fast, dillos form a ball and roll. Climbing seemed like the only option; they would be here soon. And those big brutes were not climbing up any narrow crack in the side of a plateau. He looked up again. Perhaps he could go up a bit and wait until it was safe to come back down.

He climbed steadily. The crack in the rock wall soon became a chimney of such complete darkness, he had to feel his way along. Once he heard Thron-bite cursing far below, then quiet.

Late in the morning, he found a ledge and lay down to sleep. When he awoke, his stomach growled, but he did not want to go down into a possible trap, so while it was still possible, he continued to climb. The crack became a narrow chimney again, dark and tight. The anxiety of the tight space was almost overwhelming, even for a burrowing rabbit, but he forced himself to feel for handholds and keep going. In the afternoon, a faint glimmer of light high above filled Fenton with joy—just a pin point. He climbed quicker, anticipating his escape from the confining shaft.

When he reached the opening, he barely looked around before scrambling out of the hole. Confinement had lasted long enough. He stood, gasping in surprise, then frozen in place.

What amazed him most were all the plants. He grew up with wide-open spaces, small scrubby bushes and sparse windswept grasses. Instead, blooming flowers surrounded him, overwhelming his senses with their riot of colors and smells. What made him smile most were trees. Fenton only knew about trees from stories, but had never actually seen one until now. Different smells assaulted his senses. Something sweet, perhaps a type of grass. A minty smell. What could that be—a flower, a leaf?

A blur of yellow and black buzzed by his head.

The little bug-like thing stopped in front of his nose, wings beating furiously in a low, droning hum. Fenton stumbled backward onto the ground. Just as suddenly as it appeared, the little creature flew off at high speed across the meadow.

Well, nice to meet you, too, he said, standing. Was that a little flying pig?

At first, out of habit, he moved slowly and cautiously, looking all around. But the warm sunshine felt marvelous and the fragrant flowers made him light-headed. A few fat fluffy clouds drifted by, their shadows temporarily darkening the colors of the meadow. He sensed no danger—the whole place seemed wonderful and safe.

Joy filled his heart, so he jumped and did a spin. That felt good. Soon he was hopping around like a crazy person—skipping, spinning and jumping through the air in every direction. As he bounced off a rock, it moved, and he skid to a halt on his chin.

Watch where you are going! the rock complained.

Fenton sat up, pulling grass out of his teeth and ears. Excuse me?

"I should say you are excused."

The rock talked to him, but how? The rock turned until a hairless head with glaring eyes on an impossibly long neck appeared from behind it.

Humph, the rock grunted. You are not from around these parts, are you?

I am from the plains below the plateau. You’re a tortoise, aren’t you? But your shell, it looks like a rock.

I am a rock tortoise, as you have so clearly observed. Your name? the tortoise asked, like he did not really care what the answer was.

I am called Fenton Fleet Foot. He stood a little straighter, because around Homeburrow he was the fastest when the clans competed and everyone knew him.

Humph. He looked off over Fenton’s head, searching for something. Almost as an afterthought, he said, I am Wilbur. He spied a yellow dandelion by Fenton’s right foot and bit it off then raised his head, chewing.

A fluttering, wheezing, popping sound made Fenton turn.

Six blimp-shaped flying creatures flew over the treetops into the meadow. The translucent blue to green fliers dropped down to skim the meadow, leaving wakes in the grass and flowers like those a boat makes on the water. Tinkling laughter filled the air.

One of the smaller ones called out, I knew it! I knew it! A visitor has arrived!

Another shouted, Woshan was right. We have a visitor. What joy! A great day!

The official welcoming committee, Wilbur noted dryly.

When they converged on him, Fenton stood perfectly still while their two front tentacles caressed him from head to toe. Although they had eyes, each one shouted out a felt discovery.

He is furry!

He is tall!

He has big feet!

He has interesting clothes!

He has long ears!

He is a big rabbit!

Then Fenton spoke. Wow, you stink! Oops. I’m sorry. I don’t mean you smell bad, but well, there’s this odor that...wow, you stink!

He thinks we stink, laughed the largest and darkest green blimp. He let out a tremendous explosion of gas, shooting straight up into the air.

Fenton’s eyes watered.

Sulfur, said Wilbur, sounding tired. You might say they are aromatically challenged. What passed for a smile flitted across his face.

What? Fenton managed to choke out, his eyes and nose burning.

Methane makes them float, but the smell is actually sulfur. Some days are worse than others; depends on what they’ve been eating and how they are feeling.

So we can fly, said a light blue one. We are floaters. I am Sweet Thing.

My name is Nectar, called another, that’s Flower Syrup up there. Nectar raised a long thin tentacle, pointing to the floater who had shot into the sky.

A light green floater moved forward. I am Sugar. That is Candy and Honey over there.

Fenton almost laughed. Every one of the malodorous creatures had a sweet sugary sort of name. Nice to meet you, Sugar, he said, bowing slightly at the waist.

At being greeted so formally, Sugar blushed in embarrassment—a pink color flashed over her body.

That was beautiful, Fenton whispered. In response to this new praise, she flashed a brighter pink, bordering on purple. Wow, he said. Then a distressing thought came to his mind: Am I getting used to the smell?

The little yellow creature he had seen before zoomed up to them. It appeared to be mostly light yellow, about three inches long, with three black stripes around its waist. The dragonfly like wings beat furiously in a low drone. Hovering in one spot, it turned to Fenton. "I am Woshan. Welcome to Mook Ma Sha. We do not get a lot of walking visitors up here."

Although no larger than a small hummingbird, the creature’s voice sounded perfectly normal to Fenton, not squeaky like an insect.

Woshan is a bumblepig, Wilbur said, and Lord of Mook Ma Sha.

Fenton marveled at this news and bowed. I am honored to meet you, Lord Woshan.

Just call me Woshan, he said. I hope you enjoy your stay here. He turned to the rock tortoise. Wilbur, my friend, please let our guest stay with you. Wilbur nodded. Then Woshan seemed to lift straight up and flew off over the copse of trees to the west.

As Fenton watched him disappear, he noticed the evening sun shining through the green leaves and branches. Darkness would come in less than an hour. He felt surprisingly tired—both physically and emotionally drained.

The floaters moved toward the woods. See you tomorrow, Sugar called.

Wilbur turned and lumbered to the edge of the meadow where a large oak tree stood and dropped from sight. Fenton did not notice the ramp going down until Wilbur disappeared.

The burrow was not deep, but when it opened up, a large room greeted him. His eyes adjusted quickly. The ceiling disappeared into the great oak tree so the room appeared much larger. A river rock fireplace stood directly across from the entrance with a pile of wood stacked neatly on the left side. A chair and table sat to the right with a half-burned candle and pipe in the center. Jars and boxes were stacked neatly behind the table on some shelves. A coat and blanket hung on pegs by the door. All in all, the room felt comfortably homey.

Fenton wondered who else might stay there. He could not imagine Wilbur lighting a fire, much less needing one. And what about that pipe?

You can sleep on that grass mat over there, Wilbur said, indicating a woven mat on the floor by the fireplace. If you are hungry, there are some dried oats and raisins in those clay jars by the table.

Wilbur moved to the other side of the room, settling on a small rug. He pulled his legs partly into the shell and rested his head on a small wooden box with a little blue pillow on top. He looked at Fenton for a moment.

It is interesting that you came to Mook Ma Sha when you did.

What do you mean, Wilbur?

We’ll see. We’ll see. He turned his head to face the wall, and in less than a minute a low rumbling snore developed.

Fenton wondered briefly about Wilbur’s cryptic comment as he hung his pouch on a wooden peg. He nibbled on a handful of oats to quiet his stomach and tried a couple of raisins—delicious and sweet, the first he had ever tasted. He lay down and stretched out, hands behind head. Wilbur’s light snoring brought comfort and a sense of security. This led him to think of home and his lower lip trembled. So much had happened in such a short amount of time. He hoped everyone was safe.

As he thought about the day’s events, the room grew completely dark. The tree roots that hung from the ceiling like icicles glowed faintly, starting at the center and spreading outward. Soon, a soft green light filled the room. He had seen nothing like it. What is causing this? he wondered. The People would love these lights back home.

Fenton looked around the unfamiliar room one more time, yawning. In a few moments, his own snoring joined Wilbur’s.

CHAPTER THREE

W

hen he opened his eyes, sunlight brightened the ramp. He had a great night’s sleep, but wondered that he had slept so long and had not heard Wilbur get up and leave. As he stretched the soreness out of his muscles and groomed himself, he heard what must be a stream running nearby and went down to drink.

For breakfast, he grazed on wild flowers and clumps of clover along the banks: a richer, more satisfying meal than he was used to, so he did not need to eat as much. When satisfied, he wandered out into the meadow.

High in the trees, floaters munched on leaves. In the middle of the meadow, Wilbur ate blades of sweet grass and flowers. Other people wandered by or flew over regularly. Most acknowledged him with a friendly hello or nod of the head.

A few white clouds dotted the deep blue of the sky and he reveled in the sense of tranquility. The warm morning sun made his eyes grow heavy, so he laid back to nap for a while.

The dillos pushed the last boulder out of the way and stood looking over the meadow. Thron-bite walked out into the knee-high grass. Very nice. If I had known how easy it was to get up here, we would have done it ages ago. This will be a good place to bring the crush. A tribe of dillos is called a crush.

A crackle of cockatoos flew by.

I’ve never seen so much food, said Kasa. Plants, animals, everything we need. A steady stream of drool dripped from his chin.

It’s all ours for the taking, Foley agreed.

I name this place Thronland, Thron-bite said. Has a nice familiar sound to it.

They chuckled happily.

A dillo is best described as a cross between a large armadillo and a crocodile with horns. They have voracious appetites, eating everything that lives, both plants and animals. Any land they settle on is eventually reduced to a desert waste, because they tear the grass and plants out by the roots. Then they simply move on to the next green area. They take what they want, when they want it, and quickly destroy anyone who protests or tries to interfere. Appeals for mercy go unheard, because they have no wish to live peaceably with others. Dillos believe they are the pinnacle of perfection, and all other life forms were created for their uncontrolled consumption.

While they watched, the meadow grasses parted as something small approached. A troop of ground squirrels came into view singing a marching song, unaware of the danger. Without hesitation, the dillos attacked. Only half of the squirrels escaped. The dillos ate the victims and blood covered plants, even licking up the blood-soaked dirt.

The wind shifted.

Wait! What is that? Foley cried out. Do you smell it?

The others lifted their noses, sniffing.

Yes! Near here, Thron-bite shouted excitedly. Fenton!

Woshan streaked into the meadow. Get up, Fenton. The dillos are coming.

Fenton jumped to his feet. What? How could they get onto the plateau?

An old trail up the side of the cliff; they dug around the boulders.

What should I do? I know. I’ll run back to the chimney and climb down to the plains.

Fenton turned to run but Woshan flew ahead, blocking his escape. No more running, young one. I’ve got a plan. Follow me.

Fenton did not have time to argue and fell in behind Woshan as they crossed the meadow into the woods. After a short walk, they stopped in a little glade. Woshan had called an assembly. All sorts of creatures arrived, some Fenton had seen before, but many he had not. A few were unfamiliar and strange, like the floaters.

When everyone was present, Woshan spoke: Three creatures called dillos have found a way up to Mook Ma Sha. They want to hurt Fenton, our new visitor. The plan is to lead them into the Middle Park pond and flush them back to the plains below. We practiced this drill recently. Does everyone remember what to do?

Around the group, the people, in their own ways, indicated agreement.

This morning I saw what they did to the ground squirrels, called the Steller’s jay from a branch overhead. Terrible. Horrible. I think we should destroy them to prevent any possible return. A murmur spread through the crowd with many voicing agreement.

As a last resort, perhaps, said Woshan. Our first choice is to send them away, not destroy them. But I agree they are most dangerous—a possible future threat.

The Middle Park pond defense can send them away or destroy them, noted Tumbler, leader of the orange ring-tailed monkeys, but we will abide by your decision, my Lord. They knew Woshan saw a bigger picture than the immediate threat. If he wanted these awful creatures to remain alive, he must have a compelling reason.

Woshan waited, but no one else spoke. Okay, let’s move. Fenton, you are with me.

Woshan flew into the woods but in another direction, with Fenton walking close by. Although Fenton felt the urgency of what was going on, Woshan flew at an unhurried pace.

What’s happening? Fenton asked.

Woshan flew near his left ear. Although Mook Ma Sha is a relatively peaceful place, we have spent time planning in case problems come upon us. We are prepared for a lot of things, including invaders like these dillos.

As they walked along, Fenton could easily hear Woshan, and wondered if he was hearing with more than just his ears. They emerged from the woods by a small pond. Four mallard ducks flew off.

Now here’s the plan... began Woshan.

The dillos entered the meadow where Fenton met Wilbur and the floaters the day before.

His scent is strong, Thron-bite said, nosing the grass. He was here only a short time ago. They moved forward confidently.

A cloud of yellow and blue butterflies enveloped them, so they could not see.

What is going on? Foley shouted.

They repeatedly swiped at the swarm, but the butterflies easily avoided the sharp claws. By leaving one side open, the butterflies forced the dillos to the far side of the meadow then drifted away.

Five miniature trinoceros charged into them. They were smaller than the dillos, but the short single horn in the forehead and the scoop-shaped horn on the nose, allowed them to throw the dillos on their sides and backs.

The dillos had never encountered another creature that could intimidate them like the trinos. Whenever the dillos got in a good swipe, their long claws skidded off the armor-plated skin. This angered the dillos further. To get a better advantage, they moved deeper into the forest.

This place has gone crazy! Kasa whined.

When the dillos entered a dense thicket, the trinos turned away.

At last, we got rid of those things, Thron-bite growled.

They plowed through the thicket, then scrambled across a meadow into the next woodland section. Half way through, a band of orange ring-tailed monkeys came up behind them, howling and throwing fruit, feces and sticks. Again, the dillos could not defend themselves, so they turned south into the next meadow.

Nectar floated above them and motioned with her tentacles. Are you looking for a rabbit called Fenton?

Where is he? Thron-bite asked. We lost his scent.

He went this way. Nectar turned, flying southeast.

Thron-bite hesitated, then followed. He had no experience of anyone talking to him through negotiation or manipulation and assumed this creature meant to help because of their obvious superiority. They crossed another meadow, skirting around an old apple orchard and came out by a pond.

There he is! shouted Foley. He’s in the water!

On a piece of wood in the middle of the pond, sat Fenton. He appeared completely calm and thoroughly unconcerned with the arrival of his mortal enemies. The dillos charged to the edge of the pond, but Fenton looked off at the black birds in the reeds and scratched an itch on his back, bored by the whole display. Thron-bite splashed the water with his paws but would not go in. He had never seen a whole pond full of water before.

Fenton wondered if they might give up. Well, well, the mighty Thron-bite of the dillos, afraid of the water, he taunted.

I am not afraid of anything! Thron-bite bellowed, which was true, but he did not move.

Fenton grinned. I’m trapped. Here I am just sitting in front of you—not forty feet away—with nowhere to run. Too bad you big oafs can’t swim. Run along home now before you get hurt.

Thron-bite did not like being told what he could and could not do. I can swim! he roared and plunged into the water. Surprise appeared on his face; he was floating. With an evil grin, he paddled vigorously toward Fenton. Seeing his success, Kasa and Foley jumped in.

Fenton stood up on the board, hands on hips, but made no attempt to swim away. When they got close, the water level slowly dropped, and a whirlpool developed in front of the dillos, sucking them in. They went around and around, faster and faster.

Foley cried, We are going to die!

Thron-bite looked worried, scowling at Fenton every time he whirled by.

Fenton called out, Never come back or something worse will happen.

They disappeared down the drain hole with a loud burp. Fenton clapped his hands from his perch on the tall yellow pole with the three black stripes.

Later that afternoon Fenton and Woshan lounged in the sweet grass of the meadow. A flock of floaters passed by, butterflies flitted from flower to flower, birds called, and the soft hum of different bees and insects filled the air all around them. The meadow was alive with life, comfortably warm and pleasant.

Woshan sat on a broad leaf. The dillos were deposited back onto the plain below Mook Ma Sha. To get here they dug around an old barrier which has been restored and improved. He watched Wilbur munch on a flower.

Thank you for helping me, Woshan. I didn’t have a chance. You, you saved me.

You are welcome, Fenton. But remember it was a group effort; we helped you out of a jam. After a moment, he added, If you want, you can become part of our family.

Fenton lay back in the grass. I’d like that very much. He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of belonging and victory flow all through him—a rare experience.

CHAPTER FOUR

W

ithin a few days most people had forgotten the dillo attack and went about their lives without another thought on the matter. Fenton did not feel a compelling need to head home right away. Being new to Mook Ma Sha, he felt obligated to explore, something he often did around Homeburrow. He enjoyed the meadows but wondered about life beyond. So one morning, he grazed in the meadow then just wandered off.

He moved from meadow to woodland to meadow because the woods were like islands of trees in a sea of luxurious gardens. But sometimes just the opposite, mostly forest with islands of meadows.

He realized the meadows were different and the forests were different. Wild flowers with the industrious hum of bees filled some areas, while others were swampy and full of water birds, frogs, and fish. Forests of towering pine trees with owls and jays calling to each other dotted the land, giving way to majestic old oaks and maples with squirrels of all kinds jumping and even flying from tree to tree.

Although not in a hurry, he moved steadily east. On the fourteenth day, he came upon a really strange place—the jungle.

Fenton had never seen anything like it. He felt both wonder and a little fear. Magnificent trees of strange shapes and leaves towered over him. Rope-like vines hung to the ground and the air held more moisture. The first creatures he saw were like squirrels but with long tails, swinging from limb to limb while calling to each other. He had seen monkeys at the emergency assembly before the dillo attack, but he did not know what they were.

An orange monkey with a white face threw him a yellow fruit. The monkey ate one, so Fenton bit into it. The skin tasted a little bitter, so he pealed it back, eating only the white inside—soft and delicious.

As he walked along the trail, he finished the treat while watching the monkey gymnastics above. A thrill of unknown fear swept over him and he stopped suddenly, then jumped back six feet. In the middle of the trail lay an enormous snake. Fenton had seen snakes out on the plains where he grew up, but he had never seen one six inches thick and at least twenty feet long.

The enormous beast lay directly in the trail and spoke softly: Come closer, my friend, just a little closer. The monkeys stopped chattering and the jungle grew ominously quiet.

A chill electrified Fenton’s back, so his hair stood on end from neck to tail. He quickly backed up, but the serpent followed.

Surely you are not afraid of me, she whispered soothingly. Let’s be friends, stranger.

Fenton kept walking backwards along the trail without taking his eyes off the creature. I’ve never seen a snake as large as you, he murmured. What are you called? He trembled involuntarily.

Ah, yes. I am a python. My name is Squeeze. Her red tongue shot out twelve inches, trying to get a sense of what Fenton was feeling. The deep yellow cat-shaped eyes did not blink.

Well, that’s nice. He gulped. I think I’ll just be on my way. Perhaps we can visit some other time...

Fenton’s left heel caught the root crossing the trail, and he fell backwards. Squeeze lunged forward, opening her great, pink, tooth-lined mouth. As her jaws began to close on Fenton, a large creature fell from the sky on her head. The body of the snake shot forward to wrap around the new intruder, but the hairy creature grabbed Fenton’s shirt and jumped straight into the air.

Now Fenton knew what it felt like to fly.

The creature held Fenton with its feet, while quickly and easily climbing up a vine, then from limb to limb until over one hundred feet above the trail. Only then did it stop on a thin swaying limb. He released Fenton, who clung tightly to the branch with his arms and legs.

You’ll get used to that bouncing in a minute; I won’t let you fall.

Fenton looked down at the jungle floor far below then quickly shut his eyes in fear. He had never been up in a tree before. Who are you? he asked, his eyes still tightly closed.

I am Tort—a chimpanzee. Woshan came by this morning and asked me to watch out for you in the Kala-Wari. He paused to scratch behind his left ear. But who are you?

Fenton opened his eyes. He could see Squeeze still looking up at them, her tongue slithering in and out of her mouth. She shook her head then glided silently into the undergrowth.

Fenton felt his confidence growing and loosened his death grip on the limb. Why didn’t she just crawl up the tree to get us?

She knows better, Tort said, watching her tail disappear. If she tried to follow, hundreds of tree people would pummel her with everything they could take to hand. Some of us would attack and bite her. She could even be injured.

That’s comforting. He sat up. You know Woshan?

Everyone knows him, answered Tort. He’s the Lord of Mook Ma Sha.

I met him. My name is Fenton Fleet Foot. I am from a little village called Homeburrow on the plains below the plateau. He looked down at the trail. Thank you very much for saving me, Tort. Squeeze would have eaten me for sure.

Probably, probably. Tort scratched his chin thoughtfully. You were at a disadvantage for sure. Falling down like that was not a good idea.

Fenton looked up with a flash of resentment, because it sounded like he was being criticized for falling down. But Tort smiled, so Fenton just shrugged his shoulders. I’ve never been so high up. Wait! I’ve never flown before!

Well, we were not exactly flying, but it probably felt like it. You might call it controlled falling. He moved to a larger limb. What brought you to the jungle?" He took Fenton’s hand and helped him move over.

I’ve been exploring.

Let me help you out. The jungle floor is not a very safe place for a lot of people, so we will go for a little tour to the other side of the Kala-Wari.

Tort turned around, leaning his back next to Fenton. Climb on my back and hold on. Fenton reached around his neck, then Tort stood. Now wrap your legs around my waist. Good. Lock your feet like this. As the limb bounced up and down, he overlapped Fenton’s feet. Fenton was just getting settled with the idea when Tort shouted, Here we go!

They flew upward for a brief moment then fell—straight down. Fenton did not scream, but scrunched his eyes closed in fear, figuring Tort had actually slipped, and they were about to splatter on the trail below. But Tort grabbed a vine with his left hand, and they swung in a great arc, skimming over the tops of the bushes and back up into the