The Island of Destiny by Cameron Stelzer

it around the handle of his sword, freeing up both paws. Arching his sword over his head like the sting of a scorpion, he charged at the outermost guard. He knew he only had one shot to get it right. Imagining he was an acrobatic possum from the circus, he prepared his routine.
    It’s all in the timing, he told himself.
    The scorpion raised its tail and Whisker increased his speed. He was three steps from the scorpion when he altered his pace, taking several short hops instead of his running strides.
    Misjudging Whisker’s timing, the scorpion struck too soon. It thrust its tail downwards, crashing its sting into the ground.
    Whisker took his final step and leapt onto the arch of the scorpion’s bent tail. The scorpion flicked its tail upwards, catapulting him into the air.
    Whisker soared over the barricade of scorpions with a double somersault and landed on a rocky ledge, halfway up the side of a rough boulder. Before the scorpions realised where he had gone, Whisker had scrambled to the top of the boulder and was racing along its upper edge.
    He reached the next boulder, stuck his sword in his belt and continued climbing upwards. The army of scorpions scuttled after him, but the furious snaps of their claws only spurred him on. With a newfound strength, he leapt over narrow ravines and sprinted up slopes with a pace that would rival even the Hermit.
    The sounds of his pursuers grew fainter and fainter as he continued, but Whisker didn’t stop moving until he was high up the mountainside and all he could hear was the roar of the wind.
    As the first fat raindrops exploded around him, Whisker found shelter in a rocky crevice, covering himself with leaves and sticks to conceal his location. Thunder rumbled overhead and the heavens opened, sending an icy cocktail of rain and hail pelting down.
    Whisker shuffled to the very back of the crevice to the only dry spot he could find. He tried to remain alert but his eyelids were heavy with exhaustion. The low rumble of thunder and the steady trickle of water running over the rocks finally lulled him to sleep.

    It was still dark when Whisker awoke. Cautiously, he brushed the damp foliage from his body and crawled out from his hiding place. Outside, the sky was clear and dotted with stars.
    He scanned the dark landscape. Pine trees, loose rocks and small boulders surrounded him. The rain had washed away any lingering scents from the previous day, but the small muddy holes in the earth told him he had found his way back to the treasure site.
    He studied the constellations in the sky to get his bearings. Locating a small cross of stars above him, he moved his finger through the axis of the cross to an imaginary point in the sky.
    â€˜South,’ he muttered to himself.
    He swivelled his body to the west and saw the unmistakable shape of a saucepan. The saucepan was his favourite group of stars. No matter how lost or alone he felt, it reminded him that there was at least one family sharing dinner together, somewhere in the world. He knew the stars belonged to a constellation called Orion, but Whisker preferred the saucepan title.
    â€˜A saucepan of boiled onions,’ he mused. ‘That’s one dinner I’m happy to have missed.’
    He turned his head and looked east. The twisting constellation of Scorpio stood out against the blackness.
    â€˜Scorpions,’ he shivered. ‘Something else to avoid.’
    He set off east in the direction of his least favourite constellation. He knew if he continued on the highest path between the two mountains, he could reach Mt Moochup and bypass the scorpions. In the light of day he could then wind his way south towards the Hermit’s lair.
    He was still staring up at the heavens when the stars overhead suddenly darkened. An instant later they twinkled back to life.
    Whisker stopped and scanned the air. The stars to the north disappeared and then reappeared as if something had passed in front of them.
    Clouds