The Return
Varian Johnson
Scholastic Inc.
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Zerif
Z
erif jammed his fingers into a small crevice and
climbed onto the narrow, rocky ledge. Ahead, the
majestic peaks of the Kenjoba Mountains stretched
before him. Below, he could still hear the shouts of the
Niloan warriors and Greencloaks in pursuit. They had
been chasing him for days. He thought that he would
be able to hide in one of the villages in South Nilo, but
it had only taken a few days for someone to turn on him
and alert the authorities. He bolted as soon as he saw
the first Greencloak roaming the small village.
Now that the war was over, Zerif found that very
few of his allies remained. Most of the Conquerors had
surrendered as soon as they lost control over their
spirit animals, thanks to the destruction of the Evertree
canceling the effects of Gerathon’s Bile. The few war­
riors that still pledged allegiance to the Reptile King
wanted nothing to do with Zerif—­a nd would have prob­
ably turned him over to the Greencloaks themselves if
they found him.
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Not even Zerif’s jackal remained. Like the other ani­
mals, it had abandoned him as soon as he lost his power
to control it.
He was glad that he ­hadn’t bothered to name it.
No ­matter, he thought. I am Zerif. I ­will triumph again.
As always.
Zerif climbed to another ledge, scraping his hands
and face as he pulled himself up. His blue tunic, ripped
and withered, flapped against him in the howling
winds. The breeze shifted direction, and suddenly the
stench of rot filled Zerif’s nostrils. He looked around.
To his right, on another ledge, large black buzzards
picked at the remains of an animal. Zerif backed up
to gain as much ­r unning ground as pos­si­ble. Then he
took off, his weakened legs flailing as he leaped
through the air. He landed on the ledge and stumbled,
almost falling over into the deep, empty valley below.
Once he was sure of his footing, he charged ­toward the
birds, driving them away.
Zerif peered at the rotting carcass. ­There ­wasn’t
much left of the wild dog—­a few slivers of flesh hung on
the other­wise dry bones, and the beast’s fur was torn and
ripped. Still, he picked up what remained of the animal
and flung it over his shoulder. One of the Greencloaks
had been traveling with a fox; he hoped the dead animal
would help mask his own scent.
­After a few more hours of climbing, Zerif stumbled
upon a long fissure in the rock face. It took some effort,
but he crawled through. Sparse patches of green moss
covered the slick, cool walls of the small cavern. The
cave was barely big enough for him to sit up in, much
less stand. He was shivering so much that his teeth
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rattled and his fingers ­were blue, but he ­didn’t dare light
a fire.
Anger seethed from him. This was not what was
supposed to happen when he allied himself with the
Conquerors. They had failed him.
Zerif dropped the carcass beside him and curled him­
self into a tight ball. He would wait and plan. Eventually,
the Greencloaks would abandon their pursuit.
And then, very soon, he would be g­ reat and power­f ul
once again.
Two days ­later, he still ­hadn’t crawled out of the cave.
­Every time he considered leaving, he thought he
heard the footsteps of Greencloaks or the shouts of
Niloan warriors. Perhaps it was just the wind. Or the
sound of rocks tumbling down the mountain. Maybe
he was hallucinating. He had tried to eat moss to gain
strength but had retched the ­bitter vegetation back up as
soon as it hit his stomach.
It was ­t here, lying with his face pressed against the
ground, that he first saw the gray worm inching ­toward
him.
It was small and strange-­looking. And fluid—­almost
like a coil of smoke. It moved ­toward him with an eerie
purpose, as if it knew he was t­ here. Zerif had never seen
anything like it.
What is this? A leech? A snail?
And is it edible?
Zerif shook his head as he considered what do to.
Has the mighty Zerif fallen so low that the idea of eating a worm excites him?
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He picked up the worm, hoping to study it. It wriggled
up his hand much quicker than he had anticipated.
Before he knew it, it was at his elbow. He shook his arm
furiously, but the worm remained. It burrowed its way
into a deep gash on Zerif’s shoulder. Panicked, he hurled
himself into the wall, hoping to crush the ­thing. When
that ­didn’t work, he picked up a jagged rock and tried to
cut the worm out of his skin.
Nothing seemed to stop the creature. It inched its way
beneath his skin, up to his collar­bone, then neck, then
face. Zerif could feel it writhing. He screamed—­both in
fear and in pain. He felt it curling at his forehead.
Zerif twisted, clawing at his face, driving deep gouges
into his skin.
And then, Zerif fell ­silent. His legs and arms ceased
to move. They no longer belonged to him.
Slowly, he heard ancient whispers echoing in his
mind. Soft at first, they intensified, feeding the anger
and evil already residing in the depths of his soul.
Power surged inside him. He ­rose to his feet, no lon­
ger hungry or pained. He sensed the voice telling him to
leave. To travel north. A being of g­ reat power would be
­there. An ea­gle.
Halawir.
Suddenly, Zerif found himself surrounded by hundreds
of small gray worms. They crept from rocks, seeping
out like liquid darkness. Parasites. Allies.
With their help, Zerif would be ­great once again.
He would be feared and worshipped.
He would rule the world.
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