The Underwater Well

CAMP WAS COLD AND EMPTY when Steven awoke in the morning. There was no sign of the tinker, his cart, or his donkey. The market flags were gone and what people Steven saw were distant even when he was near them. He ate sparingly of the food he had been given for travel at the manor the evening before, shouldered his pack, and started up the long road ahead.

Steven soon settled into his long one hundred steps per minute stride and was amazed that his time with the tinker had allowed him to acclimate to the altitude. 268,075. 268,076. He breathed more easily and the rise of the road no longer slowed his stride as it had when he first entered the mountains. He continued to gain height, however, and had gone 290,240 steps toward his dragon when he stopped for the night two days later and huddled by his campfire in the cold mountain air.

The road was broad, but grass and weeds had begun to grow up in the center. Steven met no other travelers after he had passed the few outlying farms. The world was still and cold. This pattern continued for two more days and Steven found that the air was so cold in the mornings that he could see his breath, and at one curving of the trail he actually saw snow caught in a crevice of the rocks.

When Steven had traveled 349,108 steps, his journey was brought to an abrupt halt. The road he had been traveling ended at a long, wide, clear lake. Steven tested the water with his fingers and immediately decided that entering this lake like he had entered the river with Ranihaha was out of the question. His finger turned blue with the cold of the water in an instant. Puzzled by the sudden turn of events, Steven could not figure out why a broad road would have no travelers on it and disappear into a lake. He was ready to camp for the night when he heard a melody whistled off in the bushes to his right.

“Ho there!” Steven called. “Who comes through the forest?”

“Ho yourself,” called a voice. “Who interrupts my melody?” Steven was taken aback. It did not sound like a particularly friendly greeting. He stood firm and strung his bow as he called back.

“It is Steven George the Dragonslayer,” he called back. “If you be man or beast, come show yourself by the water’s edge.” Steven had nocked an arrow and held the bow at the ready looking into the woods. He heard a rustle in the bushes and drew the bow.

“What do you see there?” whispered a voice beneath his elbow. “Is there a dangerous beast?” Steven nearly shot himself in the foot as he lowered the bow and swung to see beside him a very small man leaning on a very large axe.

“What, er ... who are you?” Steven sputtered.

“I’m Upik the woodcutter,” the little man answered. “And don’t tell me you thought I was a dragon. My breath is sweet as clover.”

“I was just surprised,” Steven answered. “And I thought ... well, I didn’t know what to think. I haven’t seen anyone in three days and now the road I have traveled ends at this lake and I shall have to go back and find where I turned off the wrong way.”

“Ah, well that would be easy,” said Upik the woodcutter. “You must have taken the high road back at the manor of Master Borgia. It’s an easy mistake to make, but you’ll put it to rights by just going back to the manor and taking the low road out of town.”

“But,” said Steven, “that is 81,034 steps. That way,” he added.

“You are one of those, are you?” the woodcutter muttered. “Can only go forward. It’s a hard world if you can’t go back.”

“Yes, it is,” Steven answered. “Is there another way to go? A path around the lake, perhaps?”

“Well, now that you ask,” grumbled the woodcutter, “I suppose Rayna would have my beard if I didn’t take you on. Come with me.” The little man led Steven off the path and on the other side of the bushes Steven saw a small boat anchored just out of sight from the end of the path.

“The water is too cold to pull a raft across,” Steven said.

“I’ve no intention of getting in the water,” the woodcutter said, getting in the boat and laying his axe on the bottom. “Get in.” As Steven stepped gingerly into the boat, it rocked and he fell to his knees grasping the gunnels.

“That’s it,” said the woodcutter. “Stay low and hang on.” He dipped his oars into the water and with a powerful pull dislodged the boat from the sandy bottom and they floated out onto the lake. As the little man’s powerful strokes propelled the boat into the lake, Steven felt a sudden tug and saw behind that a raft loaded with wood was being towed behind them. Steven frantically counted the strokes, but as with the floating in the river and the thumping of the staff, he soon gave up counting anything that wasn’t one foot in front of the other. He was 349,121 steps from home across the lake and across the river. He knew exactly where he was.

When the bottom of the boat scraped along the bottom of the opposite shore, Steven was able to jump from the boat and only splash a bit of water on his boots. He helped the woodcutter pull the boat and the raft loaded with wood to shore and helped unload the wood in front of a pleasant little cottage where the smoke from the chimney spoke of warmth and the enticing smell of cooking promised nourishment. When they entered the cottage, Upik called out. “Rayna, we have company.”

A woman as tall and thin as the woodcutter was short and stocky emerged from behind the fireplace. She was bright and welcoming while Upik continued to grumble and point Steven to a place where he could put his pack down.

“I’ve already set a place,” said Rayna. “Saw you coming across the lake with Upik,” she smiled. “I suppose you are hungry, aren’t you? We’ve a good stew tonight.”

Steven inhaled deeply of the tantalizing aroma. “It smells wonderful,” he answered. The three sat down to eat and Steven told them why he was on this journey.

“A dragon?” Rayna said. “My, my. Upik, there hasn’t been a dragon in these mountains in what? Fifty years? Maybe more. How did you ever come to be up here?”

“Took the high road instead of the low road,” Upik muttered.

“Well, it’s lucky you found us,” said Rayna.

“Why does the path simply end at the lake?” Steven asked. “Is there no path around?”

“Now that’s an interesting story,” said Rayna, anxious to start in at once.

“Just a moment,” Upik interrupted. “How do we know this dragonslayer has any stories worth trading? He doesn’t seem to know much.”

“Oh, I’d be happy to trade stories,” said Steven. “I’ve many very good stories.”

“Well, suppose you tell us the story of that fine feathered hat you wear,” suggested Rayna. “I’d certainly like to know that story.” In a few moments they had agreed to swap stories and Rayna was ready to tell her story to Steven.

ONCE UPON A TIME, not so very long ago for those with a good memory, and not so very far away for those who have legs to carry them, there lived a kind Prince who ruled this land with care. The people prospered under his rule. But princes do not live forever, and in due course, kind Prince Florien and his wife passed to the grave and their foolish son, Prince Gavril came to power.

As kind as Prince Florien had been, Prince Gavril was cruel. Where Prince Florien had been generous, Prince Gavril was greedy. The people of the land suffered under the burden of his taxes and even the crops in the fields seemed to wither.