The Incredible Journey of Pete McGee (15 page)

‘MANTRILS! MANTRILS!'

The King stopped walking and turned as Faydon sprinted towards the flower, a last desperate lunge to save his life. He was barely 10 metres from his goal when an invisible presence dragged him to the ground. As his screams died out, the true image of Dazene appeared, standing over him. It fed on the final stages of fear, drawing the life out of the body. Then it began to rip and tear at the corpse. King Cyril the Oh-My-God-I'm-Probably-Next didn't want to look, yet he couldn't look away. What he saw terrified him. He knew he had to move fast. He had to get to the flower before the monster returned. He began running but was stopped by an image of himself giving a speech to the people. He stared, mesmerised, as he heard for the first time what he had really said, and saw how he had looked. He watched the people as well and saw what deep down he had always known. He wasn't revered and loved. He was being laughed at. He was an arrogant, spiteful and hated king. He fell to his knees. The crowd roared and charged forward.

Sir Pete McGee also dropped to his knees. He knew this was not his mother talking, but the creature was right. He shouldn't have left. Not only could his mother be dead, but she would have died knowing that he had failed her. He had sworn that he would be by her side at the end. Instead he was here, trying to get a flower that may not work even if she was alive. Oh God, what had he done? How could he have done this to her? He looked to his left and saw Ashlyn. He watched, stunned, as the girl plunged a dagger into her stomach. Marloynne screamed and raced to his fallen love, burying his head in her body before lying on the ground, crying out for this not to be so. Then Ashlyn's body began to rise.

‘No,' Sir Pete McGee whispered. ‘NO!' he shouted at the image of his mother that was moving ever closer. ‘I will not allow victory to you. I will not die today! I am Sir Pete McGee, and I am a brave and noble man.'

He rose to his feet, dagger drawn, and faced the vision of his mother. His voice was rising with his passion, with the certainty that he would be triumphant.

‘I am Sir Pete McGee, slayer of monsters and righter of wrongs. I am strong in so many ways, and now the world will see just how great I am. I will not lay down my life for a beast such as thee. I shall retrieve that flower, and I shall restore a love that must never be lost.'

Pete placed the dagger on the ground and reached into his pocket. He grabbed Ashlyn's crystal, holding it tight for an instant before he hurled it. The crystal bounced off Marloynne's side. He lifted his head and picked the crystal off the ground. The vision of Ashlyn stood over him. Marloynne scrambled backwards on his hands and feet before standing. He looked at the crystal and in it he saw the real Ashlyn, not the lie that stood before him. Marloynne started as he heard the boy cry out to him.

‘For Ashlyn, good Marloynne. She still loves you with all her heart and awaits your safe return. You have the word of a knight.'

Marloynne gripped the crystal, holding it to his heart. The vision of Ashlyn lost its character and twisted its face into an evil grin, its raspy voice harsh.

‘You listen to a boy? You are a fool, a fool's fool, and you are nothing to me.'

Marloynne gripped the crystal so tightly the corners dug painfully into his palm.

‘No, it is you who are nothing. Yes, I will listen to a boy who puts others before himself. And I will listen to my heart. I was swayed by magic once, beast, but I will not be swayed from my destiny. I shall be reunited with my love.'

Dazene backed off a step, his features showing through the image of Ashlyn.

Sir Pete McGee cried out in triumph. Dagger in his hand, he turned to face Dazene and he roared.

‘COME ONNNNNN! !'

The vision of Mrs McGee recoiled as it realised that the love in the two men's hearts had overcome all their doubts. They were strong again. Both visions began to merge back to the true form of Dazene, but he was weakened and could not completely transform. He was being faced with his own greatest fear, that of being defeated and losing the Wilderene Flower. If he lost that he had nothing, he was nothing.

With a shrill scream the twisted creatures lunged at Marloynne and Pete simultaneously. Pete's arm swung up, the dagger moving with speed and accuracy. Marloynne, having nothing to defend himself with, was wrestled to the ground, his hands around the beast's throat. As Pete's dagger was about to strike home, the full vision of his mother appeared once more, sending a shock of fear through him, and he stayed his arm. Even killing a vision of his mother seemed wrong and Dazene, feeling some strength return at Pete's hesitance, screeched and struck his adversary to the ground before moving in for the kill. But the faith Pete McGee had in himself and his mother's love overwhelmed him, and he thrust the dagger deep into Dazene's evil heart. An ear-splitting scream burst from the beast as the cries of all his victims were released. When faced with a fear of its own, Dazene had found that there was nothing inside that he could turn to in order to overcome it. All the images that Dazene had created merged into one, and it was the beast again. It rose to its full height, screams still bursting from it, before collapsing to the ground in a scaly heap. Dazene was dead.

ir Pete McGee, slayer of monsters, righter of wrongs.

Marloynne walked over.

‘I am sorry for my actions. I couldn't stop myself.'

Pete smiled. ‘When it counted you came to my aid. It was then that I saw the real you.'

They both turned at the sound of sobbing. King Cyril the Couldn't-Face-the-Truth was lying on the ground, bloody and bruised, his arms flailing at attackers who were no longer there. Blood flew from his wounds, splattering Pete and Marloynne. They ignored it and restrained their King.

‘It's okay, your Majesty,' said Marloynne. ‘It's over. We won. We can return home.'

The King lay still, letting the words sink in, trying to work out how this could be a win. The people that had turned on him were gone now, but they would be waiting for him when he returned. He could not go back as he was.

Pete walked alone to the Wilderene Flower and bent down to pick it up, carefully avoiding the thorns. He stood, flower in hand, and realised Sir Loinsteak was standing next to him. The once strong, proud knight was a shadow of his former self. He was barely visible, his image almost transparent. He would momentarily look as solid as before, just for a second, then would flicker and fade once again.

‘Congratulations, Sir Pete McGee. Thou art truly a brave and noble knight.'

‘What is happening to you? And where were you just then?' Pete found it hard to believe this was the same knight he had first seen on the Main Stage all that time ago. Sir Loinsteak smiled sadly.

‘I fear the time has arrived for us to part. I was created to protect thee in times of thy greatest need, and even then only when strength and truth and valour had been shown. Each time I helped you, you grew. Each time I appeared, more time had passed in the test, and you had shown more of the qualities that befit a person who is growing and evolving. Thus, I did not appear to help thee in thy most recent battle. Thou had to do this one alone, and thou did. However, thy increase in inner strength drained my own.'

Sir Loinsteak, feeling the sadness of the moment even though he was a being created by magic, looked down and gathered himself before he continued.

‘Every time thou discovered a new quality I was needed less by thee, and so I became less. They are all qualities of thyself, Sir Pete McGee. I was created to help bring them out. And so I did, until this, thy greatest victory. There will be many more, many greater victories, but I shall not be there to help thee. Thou still hast much growth left, many more strengths and qualities to discover, but my help is not required to find them any more.'

Pete shook his head, his eyes beginning to water. When he spoke, his voice shook.

‘No. Mum didn't tell me this bit. Why didn't she tell me?'

‘Because there are things that one must discover for oneself. If thou had known I would disappear as thou grew, would thou not have slowed thy growth? Your chosen path has made thee a fine young man, and has given me great pleasure. I shall not be lost to thee forever, but I must go now.'

Pete didn't want to believe this was happening. In his greatest moment he was losing one of his greatest allies, and it didn't seem fair. Why must there always be a trade-off? He looked at the ground, tears streaming down his face now, his voice a mere whisper.

‘I thank thee, good knight. For everything.'

Sir Loinsteak smiled and placed a nearly invisible hand on Pete's shoulder. Then, for an instant, he was the Sir Loinsteak of old. He stood tall, and his image was solid and sharply defined. His work was done, and he knew that his work had been a success.

‘Thou art brave, young Sir.'

Then he was gone, and Pete stood alone. He breathed deeply and drank in the memories of Sir Loinsteak, the rare magic knight who had saved him so often, who had helped him grow so much.

The King rose to his feet, although he still looked shaken. His eyes locked onto the flower that Pete held as he walked over. He continued to stare at it as he spoke.

‘How can I go back? How can I return to a place where the people hate me?'

Pete and Marloynne were lost for words. What the King said about the people was true.

‘Unless …' King Cyril the Criminally-Insane-but-Starting-to-Scheme continued, ‘Unless I had that flower. Then I would be immortal. With my wish I would make everyone respect me as their finest King.'

He smiled at Pete as sweetly as he could force himself to.

‘I just need to hold the flower for an instant.'

Pete was not going to give the flower over, but before he could do or say anything the flower was wrenched from his hand.

‘Yes! This is it. My greatest moment, to be followed by my return and a new, greater greatest moment. Nothing can stop me, not when I have the Wilderene Flower.'

King Cyril the Slightly-Power-Mad paused, staring wildly at Pete and Marloynne. The look in his eyes was one of pure evil as the flower's power grabbed hold. He smiled wickedly, waving the Wilderene Flower at the two young men.

‘I cannot have you two around. The people must not be told of the way things were. I must return alone. Yes. Alone.'

King Cyril the Totally-Lost-It giggled maniacally. He continued to wave the flower in the direction of Pete and Marloynne. Then the idea took hold and he rushed at Pete, brandishing the flower. He stabbed it viciously, but stabbed on the side of Pete's missing arm and the thorns passed by harmlessly. Pete gasped. Having a missing arm had just saved his life. Marloynne tried to get the flower off the King but was knocked aside with a hip and shoulder. King Cyril the Desperate wasn't finished. He recovered his balance and went for Pete once more. Pete backed away but stumbled, tripped and fell to the ground. The King towered over him, Marloynne staring helplessly from a short distance away. The thorned stalk sped down, but had barely touched Pete's arm when it suddenly stopped. King Cyril the Uh-Oh dropped the flower and grabbed at his throat, clawed at it. Something was choking him from the inside and try as he might he couldn't stop it. He screamed a silent scream, his face turning red, eyes bulging. Pete and Marloynne watched on helplessly as the big vein in the King's head popped, his eyes flew out and he slumped to the ground. King Cyril the 23rd was dead. (Yeah, that'll happen when your head suddenly explodes.)

Pete stared at Marloynne in amazement, then at his arm. He realised immediately what had happened. ‘Its thorn, if touched by blood, will kill the blood's owner.' Pete realised that the blood didn't have to be in you. The thorn just had to touch your blood, no matter where your blood was. But the most important thing was that it was all true. The plant worked. It was real. He had to get it to his mother, and fast.