Cyrus LongBones and the Curse of the Sea Zombie
Chapter 27

THE HUNT

THE NEXT MORNING THE TRIO crept through the chattering forest, heading west for the fishing village, and the boat that would carry them north to the Yeti Kingdom. Cyrus’ dried clothes were crusty and stiff, but he welcomed them warmly after a cold night in his ragged underwear.

He took a sip from his canteen. Fibian had filled it several steps upstream from where the dragon’s sandy carcass lay. The water was cool and clean tasting, but it did not satisfy Cyrus’ grumbling belly. He poured a drop into his open hand for Edward to drink. The tiny spider crawled from his shoulder, down to his palm. Would the blodbad spider ever bite and kill him, Cyrus wondered for the hundredth time. His hand shook ever so slightly.

Fibian signaled for silence and ducked low. In a tiny clearing ahead, a small boar rooted in the soil. Fibian unshouldered the bow and beckoned Cyrus closer. Then he handed him the weapon.

“You want to grip the bow just below the middle of the shaft and pull the string back to the corner of your mouth,” the froskman whispered, his grey coloring blending with the shadows.

“What? I don’t know how to shoot an arrow,” Cyrus whispered.

“It is time you learned,” Fibian said, pushing the bow back into Cyrus’ hands.

Cyrus took the weapon and nocked the arrow like he had seen Fibian do. Then, keeping his left arm firm and straight, he raised the bow. With his right hand, he drew the arrow to the corner of his mouth. Both arms shook.

“Aim down the arrow shaft,” Fibian whispered, “and when you release the string, let your right hand fall back to your right shoulder.”

Cyrus was not against killing animals for food. He had helped Llysa and his brother kill many chickens and pigs in the past for supper. But he realized now that he had never delivered the killing blow.

“Good,” Fibian said in his ear, “Now trace a line up the boar’s front leg, four inches above his armpit. That is where the animal’s lungs are. That is where you want to put the arrow.”

“How do you know so much about killing and weapons and stuff?” Edward asked.

The spider was crouched on Cyrus’ shoulder, staring down the arrow shaft.

“I do not know,” Fibian replied, “That is just the way the Warrior Witch made me.”

Cyrus was certain he was not made for this. He aimed his arrow above the boar’s armpit. His belly again grumbled, and his hands began to sweat.

“Relax and loose the arrow,” Fibian whispered.

Cyrus was starving, but could he really kill this helpless animal? The boar smelled something and looked up.

“Now,” Fibian said.

Cyrus released the missile. The boar bolted. The arrow struck dirt. The wild pig snorted and squealed as it vanished into the underbrush. Fibian rose to his feet and held a hand out to Cyrus.

“It was a good shot. You would have hit it, had you not hesitated.”

Cyrus took the froskman’s hand and stood straight.

“Sorry,” he said, handing the bow back, “I’ve only really killed rats and flies, stuff like that.”

Fibian unslung the quiver and handed it to Cyrus.

“You keep them. It is time you learned to kill more than rats and flies.”

They spent the rest of the morning trekking through the forest, foraging for fruit and nuts, always on the lookout for game. Fibian spotted some footprints and dropped to one knee.

“What is it?” Edward asked.

“It appears to be a creature that walks upright,” Fibian replied, his blue eyes bright.

“A villager from the fishing village?” Cyrus asked.

“I do not think so,” Fibian said, “This creature has webbed feet like mine, but long, clawed toes. Keep your guards up.”

They carried on for several hours, crossing valleys and streams, making their way around cliffs and landslides. The sun was low in the sky when again Fibian halted.

“More footprints?” Edward whispered, crawling from shoulder to shoulder across Cyrus’ back.

Fibian crept through the underbrush with Cyrus close on his heels. They discovered a dead deer lying ahead on the ground.

“We’re not going to eat that, are we?” Cyrus asked, holding his nose.

The carcass was rancid, its skin shrunken and withered, tight to the bone. Fibian inspected the animal’s neck. There, Cyrus saw two puncture wounds.

“Something sucked the blood dry from this animal,” the froskman said.

“What would do that?” Edward asked, poised on Cyrus’ shoulder.

“We must try to make the village before nightfall,” Fibian replied.

“What is it?” Cyrus asked, noting the concern in the froskman’s tone.

A shriek that sounded like an impaled bat cut the silence. Cyrus’ guts twisted and his hair prickled.

“Klappen,” Fibian hissed, “We must hurry.”