Nov 26, 2019 5 min read

The story so far: Wesu has told Mac that he must fight the black creatures that want to destroy the forest, but Mac has only four arrows and there are twelve monsters.

n Chapter ELEVEN

Striker’s Song

Mac lifted the bow and the arrows and looked at them sadly. There were only four arrows. How was he supposed to fight against a dozen monsters with only four arrows?

“Maybe you’re right,” Wesu said. His voice was mocking. “You’re just one little kid. You can’t do anything, can you? You probably can’t even string that bow! Go on, try. I bet you can’t.”

“Bet what?” Mac said. Wesu was making him angry again.

“Bet whatever you want most,” said Wesu.

“If I can string this bow, you’ll give me whatever I want most?”

“If you can string it and shoot just one arrow.”

“Deal,” Mac said.

I know what I want more than anything else, he thought. I want to be my normal size. I want things to be just as they were before I looked out my window this morning.

Mac climbed down from Keeyii’s back and onto the tree branch holding the unstrung bow in his hand. Uncle Bear had shown him how to do it, how to get just the right leverage by wrapping your ankle around the bow and bending it back over your calf. He’d been able to string bows that even some grown men had a hard time stringing. But as he bent the bow named Striker, it offered almost no resistance. It was as if the bow knew him and was bending itself.

This is too easy, Mac thought as he slipped the bowstring in place.

He lifted the bow up and plucked the bowstring gently. The note that it sang back to him was deep and strong as the growl of a mother bear about to defend her cubs. It made him feel strong. He had always loved the feel of a bow in his hand, but Striker was different. It seemed as if the bow was holding him while he held it. He plucked the bowstring again and Striker’s deep, thrilling song thrummed through his bones.

“Okay,” Wesu said. He had hopped down from the back of the giant hawk and stood next to Mac. His voice was still sarcastic. “So you can string the bow. Big deal. But you haven’t won the bet yet. You still have to shoot an arrow with it. And even if you could, you probably couldn’t hit anything with it.”

“Like what?” Mac said. As soon as he said it, he regretted it. A big smile spread over Wesu’s mischievous face.

Wesu bent his knees and jumped to a limb high above Mac’s head. Four more jumps and now he was at the very top of the tree. He pulled free a pinecone that was half as big as he was.

“Like this!” he shouted down to Mac as he held up the huge pinecone.

“You want me to shoot it off your head?” Mac shouted back.

“I may look stupid,” Wesu said, laughing, “but I’m not crazy. You can’t shoot until I reach the count of three. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Mac shouted, waiting for Wesu to put the pinecone down and move away from it.

Instead, Wesu lifted the pinecone up higher and threw it hard. “One!” Wesu yelled. The cone fell away from the tree, tumbling through the sky.

How can I hit that? Mac thought as his eyes followed the pinecone in its flight.

“Two!” Wesu cried.

Almost without his knowing it, Mac had fitted one of the obsidian-tipped arrows to the string and pulled it back so that the thumb of his right hand was almost touching his cheek. The big pinecone seemed tiny as a pinhead now as it fell.

“Three!”

Striker thrummed its deep song as Mac let the arrow go. His breath followed it. The arrow sped through the air. Mac felt the wind whistling through his hair as it went.

A dozen thoughts ran through his head. Perhaps he was going to hit the target. Then he would win the bet. But would he be able to find that arrow again? Had he already lost one of the four arrows? But would that even matter? After all, if he got his wish, he’d be back home and none of this would be happening to him. But if he missed, he’d lose the bet and he’d be stuck here.

Whack! The obsidian-tipped arrow struck just before its target hit the ground. The big pinecone broke into a dozen pieces as the arrow passed through it, twirled in midair and reversed its direction. Moving even faster than it had been going when it left the bow, the arrow came flying back at them.

“Look out!” Wesu yelled as the black-tipped missile dove straight at Mac’s chest!

NEXT WEEK: Decision