Janko and the giant: Chapter seven
The story so far: The wizard’s book has told Janko how he can defeat Velky the giant by finding the magic objects on top of Glass Mountain. However, the small problem still remains that all who go to Glass Mountain perish.
¦ CHAPTER SEVEN
None come back alive?
“Why is it that none come back alive?” Janko said.
Kon ate a mouthful of grass before lifting his head. “Because they die.”
Janko nodded. He had to be more specific when asking questions.
“Do you know what kills them?” he said.
“I do,” Kon replied.
“And it is . . . ?
“The way to Glass Mountain is long and hard. You come to the Black Bog with its bloodworms. Beyond that is the meadow of the Iron-Beaked Birds. Then, if you set foot on the mountain itself, you will slide down its slope and smash into the rocks below.”
“Is that all?” Janko said.
“Well,” Kon added, “a clever monster guards the treasure.”
It sounded hopeless, but Janko smiled as one of Babicka’s favorite sayings leapt to mind: If it sounds too easy, there is reason to worry. Then, quickly, another popped forth as if imprinted on his brain: Bad beginnings may lead to happy endings.
Janko leapt onto Kon’s back.
“Which way, master?” Kon said.
“Glass Mountain, of course.”
Kon sped along through high passes and low valleys at a magical pace no other horse could match. Finally, at dusk, they stopped beside a mountain stream. There was green grass for Kon and a thick bed of dry moss under an old pine for Janko to rest upon. Everything was perfect, except for one thing: supper.
“Kon,” Janko asked, eyeing the largest of the bags on the wizard’s saddle, “what is in this saddlebag?” With these wizard’s bags, he now knew, one must be cautious. As Babicka said, “Make certain of the water’s depth before jumping in.”
“Food and such,” the horse said. “My old master’s kitchen bag.”
Janko peered in. It was strangely dark, as if light were forbidden to enter. However, a hand in the dark finds what the eye cannot see came to mind, and Janko reached within.
“Perhaps some fruit?” he said, feeling something placed gently into his palm. He pulled out a large apple and offered it to Kon.
As Kon munched, Janko looked more closely at the bag. He’d hoped for fruit, and fruit he’d found. Did the magic of the bag match the imagination?
Janko reached in again. Something smooth and warm settled into his palm. He pulled out just what he’d been thinking about-a bowl of steaming hot halusky.
On they rode after their supper. Wild beasts and brigands and other dangers too numerous to name lurked along the way. But they passed by each peril as swiftly as a gust of wind.
Soon after dawn, on the eighth morning of their journey, they climbed a hilltop. Below them lay a great black bog divided by a narrow path. Far beyond rose Glass Mountain, glistening in the sunlight.
As they made their way gingerly along the path, the bog, bubbling like a hot, thick stew, began to make Janko feel ill. He knew he had to say something to encourage his faithful steed and to keep himself from fainting.
“Kon,” Janko gasped, “that which seems far is sometimes very near.”
Suddenly, the bog rippled on either side. Two great worms rose up like tall limbless trees-and they were very near.
Janko felt a tug on his wrist as the reins pulled his right hand down to the smallest bag on the saddle. As he reached in and found a handful of sand, both worms opened their mouths wide and blew hot, foul-smelling breaths into his face.
Janko hurled the sand at them. To his surprise, it stopped in midair and whirled into a great whistling cloud that reared up like a giant lion. Within seconds the air cleared and the bog was covered with a thick layer of dry sand-with no giant worms to be seen.
Kon made his way quickly across the sand and onto a spacious green meadow surrounded by tall trees topped with huge red flowers. In the distance stood Glass Mountain, glittering now in all its glory.
“Ah,” Janko said, taking a deep breath, “a peaceful place to rest.”
Kon snorted and tapped his hoof against something. “Some rest here forever,” he said. Janko looked down-at a human skull. It was not the only one. Heaps of bones picked clean of flesh were scattered through the thick green grass.
“Look up,” Kon said, gazing at the tall trees with red flowers, which were quivering. These were no flowers, but the Iron-Beaked Birds. They lifted their heads out from under their scarlet wings to stare down hungrily at Janko and the wizard’s horse. With a screech that shattered the air like a hammer striking glass, the huge birds opened their wings and dove.
Again the reins tugged at Janko’s wrist. Quickly he reached into the small bag. This time he pulled out a palmful of strange seeds. He hurled them into the air. Spinning in midair, seeds sprayed every which way. Wherever they fell, thornbushes instantly grew and arched over Janko and Kon in a long thorny tunnel that led across the wide meadow to the edge of the cliff. The birds screeched and tore at the thornbushes with their beaks.
Kon began to run. “No time to waste,” he whinnied. “They can’t fly beyond the meadow, but the thorns won’t hold forever.”
All at once, a bird thrust its head through the thorns. Like a lightning bolt, one of Babicka’s sayings popped into Janko’s mind: The flower that stands tallest is the first one to be cut. Janko ducked just in time to save his head from being snipped off.
NEXT WEEK: The copper belt