…..Suddenly, the Tumitataken chief locked eyes with Andrew. Andrew fearfully
stared back, his eyes the size of saucers.
Peter watched in horror as the Tumitataken chief took a few
striding steps toward him. Andrew looked as if he was going to be
sick. Mr. Thomas watched helplessly as Mittowan dug his fingers
into Andrew’s spiky blond hair and gruffly yanked his head back
so he could gaze directly into his eyes. Andrew looked terrified and
panicked, as if he was about to scream. Peter couldn’t blame him.
After all, staring into that intimidating face from a distance was
foreboding enough. That cruel smirk of Mittowan’s was almost too
terrible to be true. Peter was sure that he must practice it at home.
Finally, the Tumitataken chief released Andrew and turned
toward Charlie. Andrew quietly let out a deep breath and relaxed.
Mittowan, who was now examining a frightened Charlie, scratched his
head thoughtfully as if trying hard to decide if this was his opponent.
He is the biggest coward I have ever seen! Peter thought angrily. Not
only is he not letting the Oreneans choose their own warriors, but he
is only considering inexperienced people half his age! Then a dreadful
thought suddenly occurred to him—what if Mittowan noticed his
sword and decided that since he already had a weapon, he would make
the perfect candidate? He had shown that he was cowardly enough
to choose someone Peter’s age.
Slowly Peter shifted his hand over the hilt of his sword as if
to partially hide it. Then Peter’s worst nightmare came true. The
Tumitataken chief had sensed a bit of movement in the still, dismal
tension when Peter had moved his arm, and now he was looking
looking straight at him! It was the most horrible, terrifying, almost
demonic gaze you could imagine. Peter suddenly felt sick. An evil
smile spread across Mittowan’s ugly face, and he started to walk
menacingly toward the boy. Peter wanted to bolt, but his feet were
frozen to the spot. His knees felt weak and wobbly. The great serpent
paced slowly in front of him, tapping his large ugly cleft chin steadily
with his finger and continuing to thoroughly inspect him. Peter
prayed silently with all his heart that he wouldn’t notice the bronze
sword, which he was still trying to partially conceal behind his hand.
But too late. Mittowan walked up to Peter’s side and lightly touched
the hilt of his sword. Although it was in its sheath, it was obvious he
could tell that it was a sword. Mittowan’s evil grin widened. Peter’s
heart raced at the speed of a thousand galloping horses.
“What’s your name boy?” Mittowan demanded in his own
language. Keoko interpreted.
“P-P-Peter.”
“Peter, eh?”
Hearing his own name coming out of Mittowan’s mouth made
Peter feel almost angry for a moment. He did not know why.
“That sounds like a white man’s name,” he declared mockingly,
pointing at Peter’s very fair skin. “And see, he is a really white man.”
He chuckled at his own joke. No one else thought it was amusing.
“So,” he asked Father, “how old is that red worm of yours?”
“He wants to know how old Peter est,” Keoko whispered.
“I’m not telling him that!” Father shot back.
“If I were ya,” Keoko advised, “I would tell him. He has quite a
temper. No telling what terrible things might happen.”