The Courageous Lyons

By Emily Grant

It’s an honor being a royal hot air balloon maker. But the conversation occurring around me makes me want to float away from my coworkers and hide.

I only have one thing in common with the other three people working in the sunshine outside Princess Amzho’s castle: a love and talent for our craft. Patchett works across from me on the basket we’re weaving, his shoulder-length straw-colored hair ruffled in the breeze. He’s all right, but he tends to jump into things without thinking. Which is why we don’t click.

Then there’s Axe—filled with crazy ideas and judgmental remarks. He sits on the ground opposite Dottie, sewing the balloon. His gray eyes flash as he talks. “So, after the Brick Road Maze, I thought we could check out the Sands of Death.” He grins impishly.

The problem with his suggestions—besides the fact that they’re terrifying—is that there’s no heart to them. They’re all for thrills.

But Dottie, my childhood best friend, is enraptured, cheeks rosy with excitement as she listens. I don’t blame her; she always had a thirst for adventure, which was never quite satisfied on the farm she grew up on. Ever since we started this job, she couldn’t wait to save enough money to make her own balloon and explore every inch of Zho, and now, we’re just a few paychecks away from realizing that dream.

The problem is, I’d rather stay on the ground.

She looks at me eagerly, but when she sees my face, her joy fades.

“We’ll leave Lyons here, of course.” Axe raises an eyebrow. “He’s too scared to do anything.”

“Hey,” Dottie scolds. “It’s perfectly all right if Lyons doesn’t want to come.” But her forlorn expression says otherwise.

Rubbing my thick beard in frustration, I struggle to focus on my work. They’ve all been saving money and planning this trip for months. But I rarely leave my house. I’m so paranoid that I see things that aren’t there—like the fanged, winged monkey flying toward me from the west.

Wait—that’s real.

“M-monkwing!” I scramble backward, heart pounding. Several more of the screeching creatures emerge from behind the first, hurtling closer and flashing their sharp teeth and claws. The Western Sorceress must be angry with our princess again, sending her furry little flying terrors to wreak havoc on the castle.

Dottie cries out as the monkwings land, surrounding us. I turn to see her kneeling on the ground, panic on her face as she tries to stand. Her dress is caught on the heavy balloon; she must have accidentally sewn them together. A monkwing creeps toward her, baring its teeth.

Patchett, in his usual act-now-think-later fashion, grabs a monkwing in midair and wrestles it. Axe has disappeared altogether.

It’s up to me to save Dottie.

I throw myself to my knees beside her, tugging at the stitches. Curse this impossibly strong magic thread Princess Amzho provided. It’s great for the balloons but can’t be severed without the pair of scissors that Axe took off with.

“Lyons, just run!” Dottie pales and flinches as the monkwing swipes at her.

“Absolutely not!” I’m shaking, but I won’t leave her. What else can I do? I have no magic, no weapons, and no courage. All I can do is stay here with my friend so she doesn’t face impending death alone.

I heft the edge of the balloon over us. We huddle beneath it, the shouts and sounds of a struggle muffled through the silk. I cringe, imagining Patchett being torn apart by the monkwings.

Dottie’s hand finds mine. “Thank you,” she whispers.

What could she possibly be thanking me for?

Silence falls. I poke my head outside, half-expecting a monkwing to jump out and sink its teeth into my face. Instead, there’s Axe, standing beside two green-clad palace guards holding bloody swords. The monkwings lie in crimson puddles.

Axe must have gone for help. I guess he’s not so heartless after all.

“You all okay?” one of the guards asks.

“We’re fine, thank you.” Dottie’s eyes are wide at the sight of the dead creatures.

“That sorceress is really getting bold.” The guard shakes his head. “We’ll report this to the princess and send someone to clean up this mess.” He motions to the carcasses before leaving with his partner.

“Dottie, I’m so sorry I couldn’t protect you.” I hang my head. “I took the coward’s way out and hid. As usual.” I swallow, unable to meet her eyes.

“Lyons, what are you talking about?” She gapes at me. “What did you think you should do, fight them? You’d have to be brainless!” She glances at Patchett. “No offense, Patch.”

He shrugs, observing his scratched-up arms.

“At least he tried to help. All I did was hide.” I gesture to the balloon, which Dottie’s still attached to.

“But you hid with me,” she says softly. “You could have left, run inside the castle. But you stayed with me. And, Lyons, that’s the bravest thing you could have done.” Her eyes sparkle with gratitude.

Axe kneels and cuts her free with the scissors he still holds. “Don’t sell yourself too short, Lyons.” He tilts his head. “Not everyone plays the same role.”

I’ve always thought that because I don’t take risks, because I’d rather stay home than try new things, that I’m just a coward. But maybe… Maybe there’s more to being brave than being born with balloon-sized nerve. Maybe courage is a choice.

Dottie steps across the balloon and hugs me. “Thank you, Lyons,” she whispers. “You’re always there for me.” She pulls back and smiles. “And it really is okay if adventuring isn’t your thing.”

Something about the way she’s looking at me makes me feel as if I can do anything. “Thanks.” I smile. “But don’t count me out yet. I’m feeling a little braver now.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily Grant doesn’t remember the first time she wrote a story, but she’s never looked back. Though her main focus is on novels—mostly fantasy—Havok recently helped draw her back into the wonderful world of short fiction. She loves coffee, rainy days, superheroes, and candles, and while she currently lives in Missouri, she hopes to somehow live in the Shire one day.

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