Cover

A Willingness to Act

by Paul Mil lerI l lustrated by Ricardo Bessa

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D Y N E S H A I Z A R

couldn’t believe his eyes.

The warrior called Haddon,

renowned the world over as one of the greatest living

heroes, was lounging in the comforting shade of an apple tree

just outside the village. The man’s eyes were closed, and he wore a

satisfied smile.

Dyne cautiously approached. “What are you doing here?”

One of the warrior’s eyes cracked open. “Resting. Or at least I was

until you interrupted me. What is it you want, boy?”

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“It’s just . . . why aren’t you slaying the beast?” Dyne asked timidly.

“My mum said our village paid you to slay it. You’ve been here for

days, though, and the beast killed more livestock last night. Yet here

you are asleep.”

Haddon just sighed and closed his eyes again. He certainly looked

the part of a warrior, Dyne thought. Shiny leather armor covered his

muscular body, and a massive sword lay unbuckled by his side. Haddon

hailed from the north, so he had very pale skin, whereas Dyne’s was as

dark as polished obsidian.

“Do you fear the beast?” Dyne asked. “Is that it?”

Haddon’s eyes snapped open and he pushed to his feet, looming over

the boy. “I am no coward. What do you know of such things anyway?

You’re just a boy.”

“I may be young now,” Dyne said, “but I wish to be a great hero

someday. Like you.” He’d never told his plan to another person before

and braced himself for the laughter that would surely follow.

Instead, Haddon looked him up and down slowly. “What makes you

think you have the makings of a hero?”

Dyne searched for an answer that might impress the warrior. “My

mum says I’m very brave, and I’m faster and stronger than the other

boys my age.”

Haddon leaned down until their eyes were level. “Listen carefully

to what I’m about to tell you, boy. It isn’t physical ability or lack of fear

that make a man a hero. It’s a willingness to act, to do the right thing

no matter the cost.” He paused, eyes flashing. “True courage is striding

bravely forward even when you are afraid. Do you understand?”

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4

WHOA! I’VE NEVER SEE

TRACKS LIKE THESE.

LOOK AT THOSE CLAWS!

PERHAPS WE HAVE A NEW MONSTER

IN CRICKET COUNTRY.

Dyne nodded.

The warrior finally tore his gaze away and stretched his arms high

above his head. “If you must know, it isn’t fear that keeps me from

killing the beast.”

“What is it?”

“The beast has my scent and knows I’m a threat to it. Every time I

draw near, it flees into the network of tunnels outside the village.”

“Goran’s Folly,” Dyne said. “Mum says old Goran wanted to map

the tunnels, but instead he got lost in them and was never seen again.

Now everyone just pretends they aren’t there.”

Haddon sighed. “The beast knows the tunnels too well and easily

evades me. I need some way to draw it out.”

“Why not wait for it to come out to feed at night?”

“Exactly my thought, which is why I tried that my first night

here. It didn’t work, though. The beast caught my scent and never

emerged.”

Dyne thought for a moment, and an idea formed in his young mind.

“If I were to enter Goran’s Folly, would the beast evade me, too?”

“No. You are no threat. It would hunt you.”

“What if, when it was hunting me, I led it out of the tunnels? And

what if you were waiting to slay it?”

Haddon laughed. “A clever plan, boy, but far too dangerous. This

beast is a fearsome creature. It would tear you to shreds.”

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EEK! I WISH I WAS A GREAT WYRM OF OLDEN TIMES. NOTHING WOULD SCARE ME.

BUCK UP! WE’LL BE THE GREAT WORMS OF NEW TIMES.

Dyne took a deep breath. He knew it would be dangerous, and

he was afraid—more afraid than he’d ever been in his life. But was

that not what Haddon had just spoken of? A true hero did the right

thing in spite of his fear. And his village was desperate to be rid of

the beast.

“Just be ready,” Dyne said. He turned and ran as fast as he could

toward the tunnels of Goran’s Folly, ignoring Haddon’s shouts for him

to stop.

D Y N E L I T T H E torch that waited beside the ever-burning fire pit

near the tunnel entrance. He took a moment to gather himself then

strode bravely inside, down into the forbidden depths.

The tunnel walls glistened in the light of his torch. They were

perfectly smooth obsidian, as was the ceiling, though occasionally large

spears of rock stabbed down in his path, and he had to weave around

them. A light sprinkling of ash, sickly gray in color, coated the floor and

padded his steps.

Legend held that the tunnels were created by great wyrms that

vanished from the world long before humans came to be. Looking at the

unnaturally smooth stone surrounding him, Dyne found he believed the

legend. He pressed on, ignoring dozens of side tunnels and choosing at

random anytime the path forked.

A low rumbling sounded far ahead of him, and Dyne froze. The

beast. It had to be.

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Dyne thought of the dead livestock the beast had left behind after

one of its nighttime raids. The animals had been gruesomely mauled,

then gorged upon. Dyne realized he could easily end up the same way.

He stopped, fighting the urge to flee Goran’s Folly before the beast

scented him. He could run away now, forget all of this nonsense and

grow up to be a farmer or some other safe, boring thing. His dreams

of heroism were just dreams, after all. They would probably fade,

eventually.

Through his fear, Dyne felt his entire life at a crossroads.

Run, and live long and unafraid in relative safety?

Or face his fear, risk ending up like the slain livestock, but maybe

save the village and move one step closer to what he truly wanted for

his life?

Dyne stood in silence in the torch’s flickering glow, and his face

hardened. “My name is Dyne Shaizar,” he whispered, “and I will be a

hero one day.” He paused for a moment. “And the tales of my deeds will

start with what I do here today.”

He trembled, and his legs felt weak. But he forced himself forward.

“Come and get me, beast!” he shouted. “Though I fear you, I will

face you now!”

A deafening roar shook the tunnel walls, and Dyne fell to the

ground. This time, the sound came from much nearer than before. It

seemed the beast hunted him already.

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Dyne pushed to his feet and sprinted back the way he had come.

Holding the torch before him in one wildly shaking hand, he retraced

the path left by his own boy-sized footprints in the dirt.

Another roar sounded, echoing like thunder in the cramped tunnels.

Dyne hurtled forward, swerving wildly around the obsidian daggers

jutting down dangerously in his path. He risked a glance over his

shoulder. He could see nothing behind him, but he clipped his foot on

the rock wall and fell, sprawling awkwardly on the ground and scraping

the side of his face.

Warm blood trickled down along Dyne’s jaw and dripped from

the point of his chin as he stumbled desperately to his feet. His heart

pounded, and his breath came in short gasps. From around the bend

behind him came the sound of heavy footfalls and something scraping

against the tunnel floor.

Dyne ran. Knowing he shouldn’t, he glanced back. His heart

fluttered in fear as he glimpsed the beast thundering toward him out of

the darkness.

Filthy gray fur covered its massive body. Yellowed claws hooked

out of its paws, and a stream of thick drool hung from the corners of

its fanged mouth. Red eyes—baleful, hungry—glowed in the darkness,

focused solely on the fleeing boy.

Dyne put his head down and ran as hard as he could, but the beast

drew closer with every stride. It would be on him any moment. Dyne

could feel the great warm gusts of its breath on the back of his neck.

A rush of air whipped past his head, and he knew the beast’s

wicked claws had almost snagged him. He wondered what it would

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feel like to be skewered by one of those claws. The beast roared

victoriously. Dyne flinched, waiting.

Then he burst into gloriously bright sunlight. It blinded him. He

stumbled and fell and rolled wildly away from his pursuer as the beast

screamed its rage. Dyne came to a stop, too tired to continue, chest

heaving.

A few moments passed.

Dyne still lived.

He looked back to the tunnel mouth. The great beast lay dead at the

feet of the warrior, Haddon.

H A D D O N L O O K E D U P from cleaning his sword and nodded

gravely to the boy. Weakly, Dyne nodded back.

Haddon sheathed his sword and came to Dyne. He kneeled, placing

his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“I should probably be cross with you for your recklessness,”

Haddon said. “But the truth is, my heart would not be in it. You

remind me of myself as a youth—only braver.”

A wide grin split Dyne’s face. “I hope to be like you when I’m older

as well. A hero.”

Haddon laughed and rose to his feet. “Well, you’re off to a good

start. I think you just might do it.” He hesitated. “Thank you for the

help, boy. Here.” He drew a large dagger with a golden handle from

his belt and handed it over. “A hero’s weapon. You’ve earned it.”

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Dyne took the dagger reverently.

“Fare you well, boy. I hope someday, when I’m old and sitting

around my fire in the north, to be regaled with the tales of your many

heroic deeds.”

“Thank you,” Dyne whispered. He glanced a last time at the

beast and trembled, remembering his fear—and his courage. “I am

Dyne Shaizar, and I believe that, one day, you will.”

WHAT!?MARTY?

HI GUYS! LIKE MY NEW ALL-TERRAIN MONSTER

TRUCK WHEELS?

SUPER. NIFTY.EGAD, I COULD USE A CUP OF HOT COCOA.

THE GREAT WORM OF NEW TIMES IS VICTORIOUS! THE

LEGEND BEGINS.

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Credits

Imaginative Stories and Poetry from CRICKET® Magazine

Fiction Action & Adventure 750L • 1646 words

Text © 2015 by Paul Miller, Art © 2015 by Ricardo Bessa

Copyright © 2018 by Carus Publishing Company.

All rights reserved, including right of reproduction in whole or in part, in any form.

All Cricket Media material is copyrighted by Carus Publishing Company, d/b/a Cricket Media, and/or various

authors and illustrators. Any commercial use or distribution of material without permission is strictly prohibited.

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ISBN 978-0-8126-6634-2

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