by Bill Allen
“Not now,” Nathan told him.
“But if you take Greghart away, you’re going to send him back home, and then I won’t be able to learn anything more.”
“It’ll be all right,” said Nathan. “I’ll help you with the details later.”
“Excellent. I’ll be waiting right here.”
Nathan led Greg through the crowd toward the castle gate, with Priscilla and Lucky a half step behind. Melvin tagged along too, though he did look reluctant to leave all the attention.
“Nathan?” Greg asked once they were safely inside.
“I know nothing more of the future, if that’s what you’re about to ask,” Nathan told him. “No, that is not entirely true. I do know you will return here at least once more, but I don’t know why, nor can I say when. As far as I know, Simon will make no more prophecies concerning you, but just because I don’t know of them doesn’t mean they won’t exist.”
“But you never told us how you knew so much about the future to begin with,” said Priscilla.
Nathan smiled. “I only knew what Greg told me,” he said. “That’s why I’m so sure he will return. He has yet to tell me all the things I have known.”
“I told you?” said Greg.
“That doesn’t make sense,” said Lucky.
“Yeah, you’re talking crazy,” Melvin added helpfully.
“I’m sure one day you will understand,” said Nathan. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t know all the answers myself. Now, isn’t it about time we got Greg home?”
“There’s no rush,” said Priscilla, hugging Greg’s arm as if afraid to let go. “He’s going back to the same moment no matter when we send him home.”
“Oh, no,” said Greg. “I can’t go back there.”
“What do you mean?” asked Lucky.
Greg explained about Manny Malice and his trouble at school, and how just before the king’s magicians plucked him off the Earth he had hit the huge boy with an errant sweep of his knapsack.
“He’ll kill me if I go back. Believe me, you don’t hit a guy like Manny Malice and expect to walk away in one piece.”
Melvin laughed. “I can’t believe after all you’ve been through, you’d be afraid of some kid at school.”
Melvin was right, Greg realized. Still, he hated the thought of returning. “You don’t know Manny. I think even your brother would think twice before picking a fight with him.”
Melvin nodded, though he looked as though he was sure Greg had lost his mind.
“By the way,” said Greg, “you did a great job today. I’m glad you were out there with me.”
Melvin smiled and offered Greg his hand. “Me too.”
Greg smiled back and shook Melvin’s hand, although afterward he wasn’t sure if Melvin meant he was glad Greg was out there with him or just that he was glad to be out there himself.
“Can we send Greg back earlier?” Priscilla asked her father.
King Peter scratched his head and looked somewhat embarrassed. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Let’s ask the magicians.”
They made their way to the small antechamber off the main ballroom, where all of the king’s magicians patiently waited to perform their final responsibility in this latest prophecy.
“Mordred, you’re back,” said King Peter. The magician nodded to acknowledge the obvious but said nothing. “Greghart here tells us you were quite helpful during his encounter with the witch.”
“I only did what I thought was best for the kingdom,” Mordred told him.
“Well, it sounds like you made the right choices,” King Peter said. “I thank you, and the kingdom thanks you.”
“Yes, good work,” Nathan said, stepping up from the shadows. “I knew things would work out well if we joined together on this one.”
Mordred regarded him coolly. “I do not recall us joining together.”
“What do you mean?” said Nathan. “You told me where to find the spirelings’ amulet, and I brought Greg to it so you could get him to Hazel’s shack. We make a good team.”
“Don’t fool yourself,” Mordred said. “I only did what needed to be done to protect this kingdom.”
King Peter moaned. “When are you two going to stop your feuding? Mordred, Nathan is the same good man you spent half your life with. I don’t know why he’s continued to research the Dark Arts, but I trust he has his reasons. And he’s right. This prophecy would never have been fulfilled without the two of you working together. You both did a great job. Now, there may come a day when you need to work together again, so I won’t have any more of this nonsense. I want you to make up this instant.”
“Okay with me,” said Nathan, smiling as he reached out a hand.
Mordred stared a moment before he reached out and shook it quickly. “Fine. If the need arises I will work together with you again. Now can we get this boy out of here and get things back to normal?”
“Not until I say good-bye,” came a woman’s voice from behind.
Queen Pauline entered the room and glided over to hug Greg. Princess Penelope was there too. She thanked Greg with her eyes by not looking at him with disgust. Her expression, Greg noticed, was not much different from her sister’s. Now that Priscilla was sure he was all right, she was apparently back to being mad at him for not admitting he thought she was pretty.
“Brandon was just telling me how heroic you were,” the queen told him.
“Brandon was out there?” Greg asked.
“Yeah,” said Melvin, chuckling. “I guess after Queen Gnarla made fun of him being a scribe he wanted to show everyone he could be a soldier if he wanted.”
“But I don’t remember seeing him.”
“Well, you had to look close. I spotted him once, hiding behind a fallen troll. Anyway, I guess they were lucky he didn’t get more involved in the fighting.”
“Yes, well, I heard it was very gruesome out there today,” Queen Pauline said. “I don’t think you should be making fun of Brandon if he was a bit scared.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” muttered Melvin, looking hurt by the scolding.
“And you. I heard you were quite the hero.”
Melvin’s face brightened. “Brandon said that?”
“Everyone’s saying it.”
The queen thanked the boy for his role in the prophecy, and the others buzzed excitedly about how things had worked out, until Greg brought them all back to reality by reminding them how many soldiers and spirelings had lost their lives today.
“We have not forgotten those men,” said the queen, “but you must understand. When you were here last time you were quite fortunate to resolve your problems without bloodshed, but as much as we’d like it to be otherwise, all our problems cannot be solved without a fight. This kingdom, as beautiful as it is, comes to us with a price. At times it can be a very harsh place, as we must struggle to protect it. Yes, a lot of men died here today, but far fewer than would have died had you not come to help us. We mourn those we lost, but at the same time we celebrate all the lives you have saved. I wish you didn’t need to, but someday you will understand.”
“I hate to interrupt,” said Mordred, clearly lying, “but are we going to send the boy home or not?”
“You do know patience can be a virtue,” Queen Pauline reminded him.
Priscilla was squirming fiercely, obviously wrestling with herself to overcome some inner struggle. Finally she rushed forward and hugged Greg. “Good-bye,” she said, unable to keep the tears from her eyes. “You will come back to us, won’t you?”
“According to Nathan, yes.”
“But he doesn’t know of another prophecy,” Lucky said cheerfully. “Maybe you’ll just come back to visit. You have the ring Ruuan gave you. You can get here anytime you want.”
Greg tried to
picture the circumstances that would make him want to pop between worlds into a dragon’s lair. “Right.”
King Peter handed over the clothes Greg was wearing when he arrived on Myrth, and Mordred conjured a screen of illusion while Greg awkwardly changed. A scraping noise near his feet caused him to notice Rake dragging a backpack across the stone floor.
“Oh, thanks, Rake,” Greg said, pulling the bag over his shoulder. “I almost forgot.”
Rake stood up on his hind legs and chattered so adamantly, Greg nearly checked to see if one of Myrth’s monsters had crept up behind him. “Oh, sorry, you want to get in, don’t you?”
The shadowcat circled around excitedly as Greg lowered the bag to the ground, and then dove inside before Greg pulled the flap half open. Greg closed the bag and cinched it tightly, remembering how Rake had spilled out the day the two of them were plucked off the Earth.
“You finished?” Mordred asked, pulling him toward the center of the room before Greg could respond.
“Wait,” Greg managed to shout. “We were wondering if you could send me back earlier, say about a half hour?”
Mordred scowled for a moment but then consulted with one of the other magicians. “Yes, we could,” he said eventually, “but probably not in the sense you are expecting. If we send you back early, you will not be in the body of the Greghart who left that world. He will still be there with you until we pull him over here.”
“Oh . . . I see. Well, will people see me? Will I be able to do things?”
“You’ll be going back in time, not becoming a ghost,” Mordred told him.
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll just need five minutes then.”
“You want to go back five minutes early?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.” Mordred feigned a smile. “We are here to make you happy, after all.”
After a signal from Mordred, the surrounding magicians left their positions along the wall and moved in to surround Greg, cutting out the light. Greg watched the faces of his friends disappear behind the many robes of black. Then the magicians began the chant that would open the portal between worlds.
Lucky’s face reappeared next to Mordred’s hip. He squeezed his way into the center of the circle with Greg, where he could signal the exact moment for the magicians to open the portal. Happy for the company, Greg waited anxiously for the transfer to occur.
Time lingered.
Greg was just about to ask what was taking so long when a flash split the air, revealing a window to another dimension. He watched in awe as world after world rushed by.
“Now,” Lucky shouted, and Greg gasped as he was jerked through the rift. Four times now he’d made the trip between this world and his own, yet each time terrified him as much as the last. Try as he might not to scream, he just couldn’t help himself.
“What the—? Hart? How’d you get here?”
Greg swallowed hard. He was standing in front of the school in the exact spot he’d stood when the magicians found him, just steps from the tree where Manny Malice was already hiding.
Maybe six minutes would have been better.
The huge boy stepped out from behind the trunk and rolled up his sleeves. “I asked you a question, Hart. What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
Greg observed the size of Manny’s biceps and silently wondered how the boy managed to hide behind a mere tree trunk moments before. “I don’t want to fight you, Manny.”
“I’ll bet you don’t.” Manny curled up his fists and took up a boxer’s stance.
Sometimes it’s impossible to avoid a fight, Greg recalled Nathan telling him. Queen Pauline, too, had tried to tell Greg there wouldn’t always be a peaceful solution to his problems. Greg looked at the size of Manny’s fists and hoped against hopes this wasn’t one of those times.
“Come on, Hart. Put up your dukes.”
“My dukes?” said Greg.
“You makin’ fun of me again, Hart?”
“No, of course not.”
Without warning Manny unleashed a punch that should have flattened Greg’s face. Greg read the strike as if it had been dealt in slow motion. He moved his head no more than necessary to dodge the blow. Then as Manny slowly withdrew his arm again, Greg moved his head back to fill the space—or at least half the space—where Manny’s fist had just passed.
Manny’s jaw dropped. “How’d you do that?”
Greg noted a quiver in the boy’s tone. He smiled, realizing the spell Queen Gnarla cast on him had not yet worn off. “You don’t want to fight me either,” he warned.
“I don’t?”
“Not if you’re as smart as I think you are.”
Manny looked doubtful, and for a moment Greg wondered if Manny knew Greg thought he possessed less wit than a troll. But then Manny surprised him with a second blow, or at least he would have, if the blow hadn’t been dealt with such unnatural slowness.
Again Greg dodged nimbly aside, but this time he reached out and flicked Manny’s earlobe with a finger. Manny pulled back his fist and grabbed his ear. Greg was sure he spotted fear in the boy’s eyes.
“How’d you do that?” Manny asked again.
“I told you, you don’t want to fight me. Remember what happened last time?”
“Last time you got lucky,” Manny replied, though his voice lacked its usual sureness. “And this time you don’t have that stick of yours.”
Greg glanced at the tree to his left. A branch nearly four inches in diameter extended about a foot above Greg’s head. He reached out and used the strength of ten men to snap the limb off at the trunk, then broke off a section about five feet long and held it out in front of Manny’s dazed face.
“I do now,” Greg said, and Manny stammered something indiscernible as he took a few nervous steps backward.
“Uh . . . well, consider yourself lucky this time, Hart,” said Manny. “I gotta catch my bus.” He turned then without taking his eyes off Greg and dashed toward the row of buses just now pulling out from the curb.
Greg chuckled as he watched Manny go, but something about the sight of the buses pulling out concerned him. Then it hit him. This was when his alternate self had made his sprint across the yard.
He jumped behind the nearby tree and peered around the trunk, watching in amazement as his other self dashed across the lawn toward the waiting buses. A smile came to his lips as he realized this time he would reach the bus without incident. But then a sudden thought struck. What would happen if the other Greg got on the bus and left without ever passing through the portal into Myrth?
The possibility was too terrifying to contemplate. His other self was running full speed and had already passed the tree where Greg was hiding. Greg had to do something.
Fortunately Queen Gnarla’s spell was still lingering on. Greg overtook himself within three or four strides. He tackled the other to the ground and threw one hand over his eyes. Struggle as he might, his weaker self couldn’t hope to pull free from Greg’s spell-enhanced grip. Greg dragged him back, kicking and screaming, to the spot where the portal would soon open.
In moments the air flashed and the expected rift opened. Greg didn’t hesitate. He tossed his other self through the opening and watched himself disappear into the void of space, smiling at his own quick thinking. It was only then he heard Rake chatter behind him.
He spun to witness the shadowcat racing across the yard toward the school. Of course. Greg had forgotten about the shadowcat spilling from his knapsack when Manny stopped him before. Maybe this time Greg had tripped himself up instead of Manny, but Rake was loose again just the same, and the shadowcat was too terrified to stick around long.
Remembering his enhanced speed, Greg moved to chase Rake down, but the rushing wind emanating from the rift changed in pitch, and Greg knew there was no time. If Rake d
idn’t pass through that gap this very instant everything that happened on Myrth would be changed.
Without contemplating the consequences, Greg ripped the pack from his shoulder and hurled it at the closing gap. Had he not had Queen Gnarla’s spell to help him, he’d have surely missed his opportunity, but the knapsack flew through the gap without an instant to spare. It disappeared in a flash, and Greg could only hope it ended up on Myrth, not floating around space, too late negotiating the tunnel before the rift died away.
What would happen if Rake didn’t make it?
For that matter, what would happen if he did? The Rake that was supposed to be heading to Myrth was hiding in the shrubs lining the schoolhouse wall. The Rake in Greg’s pack was the same one who’d gone to Myrth before. He’d know all that was about to happen before it occurred. Did the dangers of knowing too much about one’s future apply to shadowcats too?
Maybe not. Rake couldn’t tell anyone else what was about to happen. The most he could do is try to warn them, perhaps with a shriek just before something bad was about to happen.
Wait, Rake was always doing that.
A demanding howl caused Greg to look down at his feet. The original Rake had come out of hiding. He rubbed against Greg’s legs until Greg stooped to pick him up.
“Did you know what was going to happen to us, Rake?” Greg asked, but then he realized this Rake couldn’t tell him even if he understood. This Rake had never been back to Myrth.
Greg picked up the knapsack his other self dropped. He opened the flap, and Rake jumped inside with alarming swiftness. Odd. Then when Greg went to sling the bag over his shoulder he could barely lift its weight. Queen Gnarla’s spell was wearing off.
Behind, Greg heard the rumble of school buses. He used the last remnants of his heightened abilities to sprint for his bus and managed to catch it just before it pulled onto the street. The driver looked anything but pleased about having to reopen the door.
“Sorry,” Greg said. He jumped inside, feeling as if his limbs had turned to stone.
Toward the back of the bus, Manny Malice sat staring Greg’s way, eyes wide with terror. With a feeble shriek, he ducked his face behind the girl ahead of him.