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I wrote this creative writing piece for English class. It's aimed at a junior high to high school audience; the purpose was to encourage youth to step out and be brave in life.
Comments appreciated.
Once upon a time, in a land where exciting journeys could be had for a few minutes’ hard work and a step in the right direction, there lived a young knight named Jeffrey.
Jeffrey was not the strongest knight in the kingdom. He had never slain any dragons, never rescued any princesses, did not win the favour of many pretty maidens, and always finished eleventh or twenty-fourth in the jousting tournaments.
Every day, all the knights young and old would enter King Garthur’s court and sit at the Trapezoidal Table whilst the king handed out quests.
“Which among you shall rescue Sir Dwayne from the Mildly Unpleasant Forest of Minor Doom?” the king would ask. Or, “Who will volunteer to defeat Margret the Spiteful Sorcereress? She hath twice stolen our citizens’ bicycles, and transfigured them into fey beasts not fitting to ride upon.” Jeffrey never raised his hand, because he knew there were bigger and stronger knights than he, and more fitted to take on such quests. Often the other knights would return to town victorious, having just issued Spiteful Margret a stern warning or taken away her toys for a while, and he would get a parade with lots of maidens throwing flower petals around and a huge banquet, always a banquet. Later on the lucky knight would usually get to marry one of the king’s daughters (King Garthur had no shortage of daughters; at last count, Jeffrey estimated there had to be at least 374 of them).
No, Jeffrey usually ended up with minor “quests,” not really quests at all, like escorting the Royal Grandmother to market, or watching over the children of the city as they swam in the river. Deep down, Jeffrey wished he could do something big and important, but he figured he was not the right kind of knight for those jobs.
One day at the Trapezoidal Table, almost all the knights had been given quests. Court was adjourned, and all the knights slid their chairs back from the table to leave.
“Ah, just a minute, brethren,” said the king, as if he had suddenly remembered something. “Yes, if I do recall… step forward, Sir Jeffrey, I have a special quest for you.”
Jeffrey sighed and approached the king, hearing snickering from a few of the others. They knew that Sir Jeffrey would probably be “assigned” to take his majesty’s grandmother shopping again, or count all the cans of beans in the royal cupboards.
“Thou, Sir Jeffrey, Knight of the Trapezoidal Table,” boomed King Garthur, putting a bejewelled hand on Jeffrey’s thin shoulder, “shalt travel to the Tower of Starbuck and bringeth back the Sceptre of Folgers. It is an artefact that was stolen from our land a long time ago, and, well… we’d really, really like to have it back.”
Several of the other knights were already on their feet. “The Sceptre of Folgers?!” exclaimed Sir Pinniped, a broad-chested knight with a large handlebar moustache. “Why, such a feat is impossible! There are dragons, witches, and all manner of foul misfortunes lying in wait along the way!”
Wise King Garthur smiled benignly at the knight. “Why, Sir Pinniped, art thou volunteering for this most noble quest?”
“Ah…” Sir Pinniped quickly sat down, shaking his head.
“Very well,” sighed the king, turning back to Jeffrey. “Well, Sir Jeffrey of Whiteshell, art it in thine head to taketh upon thyselfest thist quetht hentheforth… ahem. Will you do it?”
Jeffrey’s brain went numb. Inside, a tiny voice yelled, “Don’t do it! It’s too dangerous!” But wasn’t this what he had wanted all along? To do something important?
“If the king asks me to do something,” answered Jeffrey, “I shall do it.”
“Hooray!” shouted the king. He looked around the table at his knights, who were all glancing at each other uneasily, and scowled.
“Er, hooray!” they all nervously joined in, except for Sir Pinniped, who just shook his head.
Later that day, Jeffrey saddled up his horse Stetson and rode out of the city. He trotted down the main road, trying to figure out what had happened. Normally King Garthur would have given such a super-important quest to Sir Lance-a-bit, but he was off doing something else. Getting some sword out of a lake, or something.
He rode on, camping in forests and fields, getting soaked by the rain. Three days into his journey, Jeffrey was huddled miserably in the center of his tent, trying vainly to keep dry.
“What do you care about the Sceptre of Folgers, anyways?” asked a voice. Jeffrey’s eyes widened in shock, and he looked up to see Stetson watching him intently.
“Stetson?” he asked. “Did you… talk?”
“No, you great oaf,” trilled the high-pitched voice. “Down ‘ere!” He looked down to see a little man dressed all in green standing just outside his tent, holding a tiny umbrella.
Sir Jeffrey exclaimed, “A leprechaun!”
“I am not a leprechaun!” squeaked the tiny man, stomping his foot. “Everybody says that! Do I look like a leprechaun to you?”
“Well… yes,” answered the young knight. “That’s why I said—”
“Well, I’m not! Do ye see a pot of gold anywhere around here, lad? Eh? Do I be wearing a little green hat and smoking a pipe? I don’t think so! Those things smell terrible.”
“So,” Jeffrey asked, “uh, what are you?”
“I’m a pixie. A pixie who’s wonderin’ why ye don’t just get up and head back to your hometown! What does it matter to you if King Garthur gets the Sceptre back?”
Jeffrey thought about that for quite some time. “Well,” he said at last, “I suppose it doesn’t matter to me one way or the other who has the Sceptre of Folgers. But… the king trusts me. Before they just trusted me with little things, like looking after the children while they swim or walking grandma to the market. Now they’ve given me something important, and I don’t want to mess up.”
“You’re a right clever lad,” beamed the little man.
“Uh, listen,” stammered Jeffrey, “why don’t you come in out of the rain?”
“Why that’d be right nice of ye, me lad!” The pixie stepped inside Jeffrey’s tent and shook his umbrella vigorously. Then he did a hop, skip, and a jump, and bounded right into Jeffrey’s pack. “I’ll just be havin’ meself a right tidy nap!” called the pixie’s muffled voice.
******
The sun had climbed high into the sky by the time Sir Jeffrey came in sight of Starbuck Tower. He whispered, “Whoa,” and hauled Stetson back to a slow trot. Chills crawled up and down his spine like wet, sticky scorpions. Tiny pixie snores emanated from his backpack.
“Well,” muttered the young knight, “I guess this is it.” He dismounted, slinging his knapsack over the saddle horn. “Time to get this over with.” Jeffrey slipped off his traveling cloak, and his royal armour gleamed in the bright sun. He took his shield from its hanging and strapped it to his arm. The sun reflected dazzlingly off Jeffrey’s sword when he drew it, casting blinding rays of sunlight on the nearby hills.
“Hey,” squawked a raspy voice. Sir Jeffrey looked up to see a buzzard squinting at him in annoyance from the nearby hills. “Could you turn it down a little?”
“Sorry,” he replied. Jeffrey changed the angle of his sword so that the reflection was not quite so dazzling. “Beg your pardon.”
The vulture continued to glare angrily at him as Sir Jeffrey carefully made his way over the crest of the hill. Then he saw it.
There was a massive dragon sprawled across the road ahead, its wings spread loosely over the grass. It filled the entire spaces between the two rocky cliffs that framed Starbuck Tower; there was no other way through.
Thickly armoured with dark green scales, the dragon’s defences appeared impenetrable; but as Sir Jeffrey drew closer, he realized it was fast asleep. Cavernous, reptilian snores rumbled through the gorge, vibrating the soles of Jeffrey’s boots.
Wait a minute… this is perfect! The young knight smiled nervously and gripped his sword. If the dragon’s asleep then I can… What was it Sir Lance-a-bit always said about dragons? “One quick thrust through the top of the head, if you can.” Ergh. Well. I hope this works.
Carefully, so as to avoid awakening the monster, Sir Jeffrey began creeping towards it, one slow step at a time. Twice his armour went clank and he froze, sweat running down his face, fearing that the dragon would spring to life and snap his head off. This dragon must have been a particularly sound sleeper (as dragons go), because it made no move.
Several anxious minutes later, Jeffrey was stood before the nose of the dragon. He could smell brimstone and sulphur on its breath, and now that it was right in front of him he realized that its jaws, when opened, could probably swallow an elephant. Jeffrey gulped.
“Here goes nothing,” he whispered, and raised his sword overhead for a two-handed stab between the dragon’s lidded eyes.
Something stopped him, and Sir Jeffrey cautiously lowered his blade. Sure, he could kill the dragon right here and pretend to be a hero, but it would all be a lie.
But you could be eaten, or roasted, or roasted and then eaten! screamed a voice in his head. Jeffrey stole a glance at the vulture, and noticed that it had been joined by several friends. They were all perched on blackened skulls.
It’s better to get fried by a dragon than be a coward, Jeffrey thought, even though he didn’t really believe himself. He shuffled quickly away from the dragon’s teeth, then took a few more steps back. Then he took several steps further away. Jeffrey was almost back to where he started from when he finally got up the courage to yell, “WAKE UP, DRAGON!!”
The dragon lunged to his feet with a loud roar, unfurling his mighty wings. Glowing yellow eyes stared down at Jeffrey with slit pupils as a curl of foul smoke wisped from the monster’s lips. Sir Jeffrey cringed and held his shield out in front of him, waiting for the inevitable blast of flames that would turn him to ashes.
The fire never came. Jeffrey opened his eyes and gasped to see the dragon’s huge head hanging right in front of him. “Well, well, well,” it murmured. “Someone brave enough to wake me, eh?” Its horrible laugh reminded Jeffrey of grinding millstones. “Who are you?” On “you,” its lips emitted a powerful gust of sulphur that made the young knight cough.
“I am, er, Sir Jeffrey of the—” Cough, cough. “Sir Jeffrey Donaldson of the Trapezoidal Table, and I…” He decided that “I must slay you” might not go over so well, so Jeffrey went with “I am on a quest to retrieve the Sceptre of Folgers.”
“You were wise not to strike me,” the dragon said with a grin full of razor-sharp teeth, each as long as Jeffrey’s ring finger. “Many have taken the coward’s path, but my head is harder than it seems.” It nodded towards the disappointed vultures that were now beginning to disperse. “They all end up as footrests for your friends over there.”
Jeffrey grimaced at the thought of a fate he had narrowly avoided. “Well, I suppose you’ll be letting me pass, then?”
“Let you pass?” The dragon reared up terrifyingly on its haunches and Sir Jeffrey gasped, fearing it would eat him. His panic subsided, however, when the monster laughed so hard that its wings slapped the hills and brought small boulders tumbling down onto the road around them.
“Now what kind of chivalrous quest would this be,” the dragon chuckled, “if I simply let you pass? No, no, no,” it repeated, seeing Jeffrey’s downcast face, “I’m not going to eat you.
“No…” The dragon settled on all fours once again and looked him square in the eye. “You must solve a riddle if I’m going to allow you past.”
“All right.” Squaring his shoulders, the young knight met his challenger’s gaze. “I’ll do my best.”
Clearing his cavernous throat, the dragon asked this riddle:
“I can be everywhere, waiting to be found if you will only look.
“I can be right around the corner, over the next hill, or beyond the horizon.
“Some will spend all their lives fighting to get a taste of me
“Others will realize I was with them all along.
“What am I?”
Jeffrey thought about the puzzle for quite some time. Finally he replied,
“I know the answer.
“The answer is ADVENTURE.”
“Bravo, bravo!” the dragon roared, beating its mighty wings so that Jeffrey was nearly blown off his feet. It stepped ceremoniously aside, pointing one clawed wingtip towards the looming Tower. “Behold Starbuck Tower, Sir Jeffrey. You have answered wisely, and the Sceptre of Folgers awaits.”
Beaming, Jeffrey saluted the dragon and fairly ran down the road to the tower door. It was solid oak framed by a large, foreboding arch. Stone gargoyles crouched overhead, leering at the young knight with hollow eyes.
“Hideous,” muttered the young knight under his breath.
The right-hand gargoyle looked at him. “That wasn’t very nice.”
Taken aback, Sir Jeffrey answered, “Um, I’m sorry?”
“Don’t be,” sighed the stone creature. “Everybody says that.” The ominous door swung open and Jeffrey stepped inside.
What he saw surprised him. The young knight had been expecting a dank, sinister dungeon. Instead, he saw a well-lit area with several chairs poised at small tables and pictures of coffee all over every wall. An old mail-clad knight stood behind the counter, watching Jeffrey with ancient silver eyes.
“Welcome, young knight, to Starbuck Tower,” he said. “Would you like to try some long-lost Starbuck Coffee?” With one hand the knight indicated a list of flavoured coffees as long as Jeffrey’s leg. His tone grew dire. “Beware: the true coffee will give you life, but a false brew will—”
Sir Jeffrey hastily interrupted him. “No thank you, sir. I must get the Sceptre of Folgers and be on my way.”
“Oh, of course!” The knight lit up and pointed behind Jeffrey. “Right that way, brave knight. Just beyond the WI-FI access point.” Sir Jeffrey thanked the old guardian and strode in the direction indicated. “Have a nice day,” the knight called after him.
A sombre steel door awaited at the hallway’s end and Jeffrey shuffled to a stop.
“Hi there!”
Jeffrey looked up and saw a fairy watching him from the ledge over the door. She was a pretty little thing, with transparent wings and hair as blue as the sky. Gripped in her slender arms was a golden key, almost as tall as she was.
“You want the key to the Sceptre of Folgers, right?” asked the sprite.
“Yes, please, if I may have it.”
“Well, you’ll have to catch me, first!” Chortling madly, the tiny fairy leaped over his head and flitted back the way Jeffrey had come. Cursing all fairies everywhere, Sir Jeffrey whirled around and gave chase.
Shrieking “He, he!” as she somersaulted from table to table, the fairy zipped all over the room like a deranged butterfly, always just out of reach. Twice Jeffrey made a snatch at her, only to see the key whiz past inches from his nose. He stumbled around the coffee area like a clumsy ox, knocking over several chairs, his hands never coming within more than a foot of clutching the mischievous brownie.
She screamed, “Whee!” and soared across the entire chamber. Panting hard, Jeffrey dropped his shield and his pack and drew his sword. The pixie paused for a moment, regarding its keen edge with fright.
Gritting his teeth, Sir Jeffrey raised his blade to chop the fairy in half; but then he saw how scared she was, he sighed in exasperation and let go of the hilt. Jeffrey’s mighty sword clattered noisily on the stones.
Grinning impishly, she asked, “Do you give up?”
“Never!”
The fairy spread her wings for another bounding flight. “Then you’ll just have to keep—”
“Locadora Sprixibell Dewlily! You put that key down right this minute!” The knight’s head snapped round, startled, to find the source of this furious voice. The pixie was standing on top of Jeffrey’s knapsack, radiating righteous indignation, umbrella poised jauntily over one shoulder.
Eyes wide, the troublesome fairy gulped. “Daddy?”
Jeffrey’s traveling companion burst into a full tirade. “Just what do you think you’re doing, young lady? I asked you to take care of that key and give it to any knight that makes it into the tower, not to be jumping about like some little hooligan! I won’t have any daughter of mine tormenting adventurers! Get over here!”
“EEEK!” The fairy screeched and dropped the key as Jeffrey’s pixie friend sprang onto the table and swatted at her with his umbrella. Jeffrey found himself laughing as they disappeared down another hallway, with cries of “Sorry, daddy!” and “You act like a proper young lady from now on!” fading into the distance.
The pixie’s daughter had dropped her key on the table, and Jeffrey picked it up.
“Time to go get the Sceptre of Folgers,” he grinned.
******
Days later, after the parade had subsided, Sir Jeffrey and King Garthur walked through the Palace Gardens. The king shone with pride, having spoken of Jeffrey at the banquet as if the boy were his own son.
“I saw Sir Lance-a-bit at the feast.” Jeffrey inquired, “When did he get back?”
“Sir Jeffrey, Sir Lance-a-bit has been here the entire time,” King Garthur replied.
The young man’s jaw slackened in shock as he turned to face his king. “But your majesty! He…? But then… Why on earth didn’t you send him to get the Sceptre?”
His majesty the king smiled munificently. “Sir Jeffrey, I could have sent Lance-a-bit to retrieve the Sceptre of Folgers. Lord knows he’s certainly rescued enough dragons and slain enough fair maidens to—wait, I’ve spoke it wrong. Slain dragons and rescued maidens, there we are. “But my point is…” Garthur clasped the young knight’s arms with fatherly hands and looked him in the face. “Sir Lance-a-bit didn’t need an adventure. You did.”
A knowing smile slowly crept onto Jeffrey’s face. “I see what you mean.” A thought occurred to him, and he tilted his head to one side. “Does this mean I won’t get to mind the children anymore?”
“Oh, an equally important task, truly,” chuckled King Garthur. He clasped his hands behind his back and they resumed their stroll. “You know, Sir Jeffrey, I’ve been wanting someone to go after the Witch of the Dark Grey Forest for quite some time now…”
THE END
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