The PriZin of Zin (18 page)

Ian felt for the flask still tied to his belt loops. He had forgotten that it was even there.

“Ordinary water,” the orb said, “it has been touched by the Maker. Use it to wash away all that holds you back in life.”

The orb flashed blue-red again.

“Tell me how to use it.”

“The choice is yours, but choose wisely.”

“How will I know when the right time is?”

“Set aside all anger. It is in the quiet times when the still, small voice of the Maker can be heard loudest. Listen for that. He will never steer you wrong.”

The surface of the orb began to ripple again. The glow began to fade as the ball lowered itself back down into the pool below.

“No! Wait!” Ian tried to reach out and grab it, but his hand was slowed by mucous and slime. At his touch, the orb burst like a water balloon and rained back down into the pool below.

Ian sat alone on the lower end of the rib cage, in his dark, dank prison, wondering what had just happened.

Remember.

Chapter 26: Snot

Snot:
[snot]
noun

Vulgar
. mucus from the nose;
Informal
. a disrespectful or supercilious person.

Ian sat with the flask in his hands. Over and over, he turned the bottle, eyeing the clear liquid inside.

Simple water, touched by the Maker. It will wash away all that holds you back.

Ian had thought long and hard.

The only thing holding you back is you
.

You need to control your anger.

Ian didn’t understand a lot of what his messenger had said. He knew that there was some truth to it, but there was also a lot that he couldn’t piece together.

If the dragon was part of himself that he could not control, that meant that he was now a prisoner inside of himself? How can that be? And how can you hold yourself back? That’s what the food tree had told Morgan, too. “You will forever be a prisoner inside of yourself.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

Arm reared back, he hurled the flask across the stomach of the beast. As soon as he’d let it go, Ian regretted his action. What if it was true? What if that tiny flask held the only secret to his being freed from this prison? Plugging his nose, Ian slid back down into the slimy ooze and made his way across the cage to the floating flask. Picking it up, Ian tried to wipe away some of the ooze on the silver and glass jar. When he did, the cork popped from the top and a small amount of the clear liquid spilled out into the slime. There was an instant reaction from the beast. It recoiled and shook with an intense fervor. Gagging, the musculature of its throat opened up wide enough for Ian to see daylight above. Clamping shut again, the beast gagged and coughed, splashing Ian back up against a rib cage, and blew out all of the burning candles. He fumbled with the flask, corking it again. That’s when the rumbling started again. Poised at the side of the slime pool, Ian waited for the tone to intensify and change into a scream. That was when the flames would come. The rumble continued. It neither grew nor stopped. It just continuously reverberated, sloshing him around like a tiny ship on a stormy sea. Ian pictured the dragon squirming uncomfortably. He must be moving around a lot, judging by the amount he was being thrown around.

Then came the gas.

Large bubbles of putrid fumes began to boil up from beneath him. Faster and faster they came, one after another. Ian felt like he was swimming in soda. The smell was more than he could take. Just when he felt he would pass out, the throat gagged and the gas escaped. As soon as the sunlight from above disappeared, the bubbles began building up pressure again.

It’s burping. I’ve upset myself.

Ian didn’t know why this thought struck him as funny, but he chuckled out loud nonetheless.

All of this from a little water. I guess I need to meet this Maker.

Maybe this stuff did work after all. Right now the only thing holding him back was this stupid dragon. Whether it had a meaning deeper than the obvious, Ian didn’t know or care. Right now he saw a means of escape.

Maneuvering over to the base of the throat, he waited for the next gagging burp, and a little sunlight to see clearly. Gauging his position, he tried to reach as high up the throat as possible. He was counting on the discomfort in the dragon’s stomach to keep it off guard as to his whereabouts. With a small glimpse of sunlight, he popped the cork from the flask and dropped another single drop of the water at the base of the dragon’s throat. Recapping the flask, he held on as tight as he could. The slime began to churn violently beneath him. Now gas bubbled and popped around him at a fevered rate. Ian held on as the dragon writhed back and forth in its pain. With each swing of the giant neck, Ian slithered a step further up into the throat. Poised near the top, gaseous fumes churning, Ian tipped the flask again. This time, the gag reflex triggered the second the droplet touched flesh. Slamming the cork back into the flask, the giant serpent cut loose with a painful howl, and threw up. Ian hurtled forward and splashed down hard, back into the ocean where he had been a short time before. Swimming with all of his might, he tried to get out of reach of the creature before being sucked back down its throat once again. Arm over arm, he swam without looking back. With every ounce of strength he could muster, Ian swam as far as his strength would take him. A safe distance away, he grabbed on to a rock and turned back.

There, a short distance back, was the still-belching, writhing dragon. It looked horrid splashing around in the water. Then as suddenly as the entire ordeal began, the beast submerged, leaving in its wake only a foul-smelling trail of bubbles.

Ian shuddered. Releasing the rock, he struck out away from the danger zone before it happened again.

“Man overboard! Drop the anchor. Lower the sails. Set the buoys and bring the matey aboard!”

Ian looked back up at the giant wooden hull of the Wayfarer.

“Praise be, lad. We be lookin’ all o’er creation fer ye.” Peg Leg stomped his stump across the deck. He slapped Ian on the back.

“You were?”

“Weel, o’ course we was, lad. ‘No friend lef’ behind.’ Did ye ferget yer vows sae soon?”

The glowing orb still fresh in his mind, Ian shook his head. “No, I haven’t, sir.”

“Good man, then. Tells us then. Where’s ye been hidin’? And what in blazin’ skies have ye done te yer hairs?”

Ian raised his hand. He felt the side of his head. “My hair?” He could feel it. It was still there.

Peg Leg smiled. “Oh aye, it be thar, sure. But is nay red any longer. Be it silver now. Like’s that of me Gran.”

“Silver?” Ian looked around for a something that would show his reflection. He saw nothing.

Ruben stepped forward from the others. “Welcomes back, Ian lad. I thought ye’s a goner sure when that beastie swallered ye whole.”

A collective gasp from the crew silenced the ship. One by one the members of the Wayfarer backed a safe distance away from Ian.

Peg Leg, a stunned look on his face, inched his way backward also, unable to break his shocked stare away from Ian. “Ye twer in the belly of the beast, then were ye?”

Ian nodded.

“We’s thought ye dead.” Ruben, the only remaining crewmember to stand alongside his friend, patted Ian on the back. “What manner of beastie t’wer she, then?”

“Um. I don’t really know.” He shifted, feeling uncomfortable, the entire crew staring at him. “It was foul.” Ian wrinkled up his face, “and thick, like mucous.”

“Likes what?”

“Um. Snot.” Blank stares continued. “You know, the stuff that comes out of your nose when—“

“Ewwww! Aghhh!” The crew backed up again, widening both their eyes and their distance. This time Ruben backed away, too. The look on Ruben’s face told Ian everything he needed to know. He smelled disgusting.

Ruben pointed from a distance to his head. “Be that what turned yer hairs old?”

“I guess,” Ian said. “I’m not really sure.”

Peg Leg stepped forward from his crew, his face screwed up into a confused scowl. “Sae was ye, um, ye did,” he stuttered. “Wer swimmin’ in the beasties middle parts, then?”

“I guess I was in his stomach.”

“Oh!” The crew backed away. “No! Agh!”

Ian faced them. “What’s wrong with you? It all washed off.”

“An’ he bein’ such a good lad.” Toothless shook his head and turned to walk away.

“Ruben,” Ian reached out to his friend. His fellow pirate jerked back just out of Ian’s reach. “What’s the matter?”

“Weel, laddie. When ye’s touched by evil, then ye’s becomes evil.”

“You think I’m evil?”

“Weel, ye were swallered by such. Now,” he explained, “If’n ye’d be throwed up right quick, then thar’s a chance evil not to grab hold of ye.”

“How long was I gone?”

“Oh, pert near to three hours now.”

“Three hours!” Now Ian gasped. “No.” Ian ran to the side of the ship to peer over. Nothing but open seas surrounded them on all sides. The protruding rock formations were far behind them. His heart sank.

“What ails ye, lad?”

Ian turned back to face the crew. “When I was in the dragon- - -“

More horrified gasps lurched from the crowd.

“How ‘ere ye knowin’ it were a dragon?”

“Because of the fire.”

“Evil! Evil, I say!” Toothless screamed. “He be’s sent to the fiery pits of hell and lives to tell.”

“Quiet!” At Peg Leg’s order, the crew fell silent. “Goes on.”

Ian swallowed hard. This was not going well. Peg Leg motioned for him to continue. He wanted more.

“Well, it would cough, or sneeze or something, and fire would come up from deep inside somewhere.”

“And how did ye keep from bein’ burnt?”

“I dove into the slime.”

Peg Leg and the rest groaned and stepped back again.

“Hey,” Ian snapped. “It kept me alive, okay? You go down there and tell me what you would do instead.”

Peg Leg motioned again for Ian to continue. “After a while — a long time, I guess, there was this glow.”

Ruben nodded.

“It was like a ball, but it floated above the rest of the slime. It was spinning.”

“Ye say it glowed?”

“Yes. And it spoke.”

“Witchery!” Several of the pirates began to pace. Like rabid dogs, they eyed Ian as their prey, circling the group. Making the sign of the horns with their fingers they tried to ward off any evil that Ian brought back with him.

“No!” Ian tried to explain. “It’s not witchery! I didn’t summon it. The thing just came.”

“What did it do?”

“It showed me some friends that I had left behind, and told me —“

“It spake!”

“Well, yes, when I asked it—“

“Sorcery! He be a conjurer now!”

“No. That’s not what happened.” Ian’s protests were muffled by the disturbing murmurs of the crew. “It wasn’t me.”

“He be consortin’ with evil now.”

“No, no! I don’t think it was evil. It felt good. Like a helper.”

“Arrrgh!” Fingers shot out and pointed accusingly. “I knew he be’d a spy, from the moment I laid me eyes on the little bugger.” Toothless spat on the deck and held out his hand. Forming his fingers into an upside down W, he shook off the evil presence from around him. The other pirates followed suit.

“Evil on ‘er ship mus’ be dealt with,” Peg Leg said. “Cannot be tolerated.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Ian said. “I have to go. I need to find my friends. They need me. If I was there for three hours it might be too late. Please.”

“Weel then. Ye say ye’re no’ evil.”

Ian shook his head.

“And ye ‘er not a spy then?”

Ian shook his head again. “No, sir. I am not.”

“Ye’ll git yer chance to prove it. Only one way off this here ship.”

Ian was afraid to ask, but saw no other way. “How’s that?”

“Oh, ye’ll be seein’.” Ian caught a spark in Peg Leg’s eye, just as the world went dark. Once again, a canvas cloak was thrown over his head and he was slammed back down on to the deck.