by J. M. Stengl
“Sure, why not?”
It was the prince from Auvers who’d joined the riding party yesterday. He was young—eighteen or nineteen? But he looked fit, and he’d done his part helping with the horses after the disaster ride.
They decided to run one of the trails beside the lake. “No more than four miles for me today, and slow,” Omar said. “I need to work back up.”
“Good with me, as long as we can do a few sprints.”
“What’s your name again? Sorry I can’t remember.”
“No big deal. It’s Briar.”
They jogged on a path leading west along the lakeshore between flowerbeds and green lawn. A stand of trees blocked the lake from view. Everything seemed idyllic, yet Omar felt uneasy. “Do you ever get the feeling you’re being watched? I mean, like, now?”
“Watched by what, flowers?” Amusement laced Briar’s voice, and Omar was about to subtract the kid from his potential-friends list . . . but then Briar glanced at him. “To be honest, yeah, I do. This place is laced with magic. I’m only half kidding about the flowers.”
“When did you arrive?” Omar asked.
“Night before last. Seems like a great place.”
“You haven’t been here before?”
“Never, but I’ve heard about it all my life.”
Conversation lagged, yet the silence was comfortable. Trees still blocked their lake view, but the snow-topped mountains rose above all, majestic and silent.
“Something wrong?” Briar asked. “I don’t mean to pry, but you seem out of sorts.”
“Parents pushing for marriage,” Omar said. “Wrong girl.”
Briar nodded. “Understood.”
No further words necessary. Then the trail cut right toward the lake, revealing a view of the sirens’ island . . . or where it should be.
Omar nearly tripped over his own feet. “Whoa, look at that!” The lake shimmered in morning sunlight, but a thick mist enveloped the island.
“I’m guessing the fog is unusual,” Briar said.
“Very,” Omar said.
They both stood there, panting.
“Magical, of course,” Briar said calmly. “The island has sirens, I’ve heard.”
Omar gave his head a shake. “A friend of mine drove a ski boat to the island the other day and walked up the beach. No human has ever done that before. I’m guessing the cloud is connected to Tor’s island invasion. Sort of a message from the siren queen to keep off.”
“Took a lot of nerve to try a stunt like that.” Briar’s silvery eyes glinted as he surveyed the island. “Fantastic. That island . . . it doesn’t belong here, does it.”
“They say the siren queen moved it here from Singkiang.”
Briar shook his head in wonder. “I really want to see this place.”
“It’s off-limits to guests.”
Briar glanced at him. “We’d better get going.”
A feeling of something wrong hovered over Omar all the way to the two-mile marker and remained after they turned back. Briar was a good running partner. He talked enough, but not too much. Yet Omar sensed impending trouble, and he feared Ellie would be involved. Was Briar connected with it?
After a furtive glance at the blond prince, Omar tried to remember what he knew about Auvers. It was a wealthy land with extensive coastline and many harbors, ruled by a queen with a prince consort. He thought there was some tragic story connected with the Auvers royal family, though he might have gotten his northern countries mixed.
When it came right down to it, Omar didn’t know much about any of his summer companions. In his experience, relationships formed at Faraway Castle seldom went deep, although his sister Layla seemed happy in her marriage to a lord from El Dabaa, an ancient land far to the west of Khenifra. The two had met at the resort every summer, and somehow during the eighth year something had clicked for both of them.
Friendships were difficult enough for Omar. Romance was a greater challenge still, but he was highly motivated. If Ellie needed help or protection, he wanted to be there for her.
He and Briar sprinted the last stretch then agreed to cool down by walking to the docks and maybe even taking a plunge. Now that he’d apologized to the lake serpent, Omar thought he might take the chance.
While they paused at the picnic tables to stretch, a noise caught Omar’s attention. On the shore near the beach, someone was putting a kayak in the water. The guy climbed in, pushed off, and Omar saw him clearly.
Tor.
Taking a kayak.
To the island. The island covered in magical mist.
Omar spun toward Briar. “That’s Tor. He must be siren enchanted. We’ve got to stop him.” He took off running along the shore, shouting, “Tor, don’t do it! Wait—you don’t know what you’re doing!”
Tor heard him. He shook his head and paddled faster.
Omar stopped beside the row of upturned kayaks and stared, his mind racing. What could he do? If Tor entered that mist, would he ever return? Old legends spun through his head. Tor might go insane. He could be dragged under and drowned, or even eaten by sirens!
Briar appeared at his side. “What should we do? Was he wearing a lifejacket?”
“Yes. He swims like a fish. But the sirens . . .” He made up his mind. Turning, he gripped Briar’s forearm and pushed the button on his wristband. “That calls Ellie Calmer, the girl from the stables yesterday. She might be able to talk Tor out of the enchantment. Go back to the castle—she’ll find you. I’ll take another kayak and chase Tor down.”
He flipped one upright.
No paddle.
He took off running toward the storage sheds and racks.
“But won’t the sirens enchant you too?” Briar ran beside him.
“I don’t think so.” Omar snatched a paddle off a rack and ran back. “Go get Ellie!”
“Right. Be careful.” Briar headed off toward the castle.
Omar shoved his kayak into the water, climbed in, and started paddling. Tor had a big head start, but there was still a chance.
In the castle ballroom, Ellie carefully herded a flock of cinder sprites into a corner where she had sprinkled fresh spinach and romaine. Two males and five females, one of these quite pregnant, squeaked and puffed, but she heard the occasional crackle.
“Look at all those lovely greens I brought for you,” she crooned while pulling on her fire-resistant glove. “And there is more good stuff in my comfortable cages. Wouldn’t you like to join a whole herd of sprites at the Gamekeeper’s castle? Imagine a world where sprites run free . . .” She couldn’t help grinning when one of the females suddenly bucked and squealed then ran ahead into the waiting feast.
“There now. Smart girl! What did I tell you?” Once the creatures were happily tucking in, she could freely walk among them, tempt one at a time with a carrot, and lift it into a cage. The process took time, but she was patient. Her goal was always to capture the little squeakers without one of them going ember, and in the quiet of the ballroom she had a chance for complete success.
Her wristband buzzed. Frustrated, she glanced at it. Someone near the docks. It couldn’t be cinder-sprite trouble—they mostly avoided water—and the lake monster wasn’t a real threat. Could it be sirens? She looked back at the cinder sprites and shook her head. Whatever it was would have to wait until she finished this job.
The big black-and-white male would be the challenge. He had led his friends into the promised land called Ballroom and to all appearances expected to take over the place, though what he thought they would eat, Ellie couldn’t guess. Sprites were hard to figure sometimes. Her magical urgings had confused this tough guy into compliance, but she recognized a battle going on inside his tufty head with its long, spiraled horns. He could prove a challenge to capture.
“Here you go, sweet little thing,” she cooed to the uncertain expectant mother, whose hair fell over her face in a peekaboo style, as she lifted her into a cage. The sprite took one look at the pile of kale waitin
g for her and started munching with contented little grunts, her slender horns bobbing as she chewed.
Only the big male was left, but he eyed Ellie and the cage waiting for him with deep suspicion. He was a particularly handsome fellow, but she deduced he wasn’t the brightest intellect among sprites. Even sprite girls sometimes fell for the big, handsome, dumb ones.
“Hey, gorgeous,” she said, holding out apple slices in a fan shape. “I’ve got something special for you.”
The sprite stood on his tiptoes in front, nose high and twitching. Ellie nearly laughed at his expression but wisely stifled her mirth. He took a few steps forward, paused, looked her over with his big eyes, and dared a few more steps. Just as he took the first nibble, someone burst into the ballroom and shouted, “Miss Calmer? Ellie? Are you here?” Then his eyes alighted on her with relief. “I used my wristband. Didn’t it work?”
The big cinder sprite squawked, crackled, and burst into flame. The magic glove protected Ellie’s hand, but the apples sizzled. To her shock, the hissing ball of fire’s glowing red eyes fastened on the encroaching human, and it lowered its horns and charged. Ellie snatched up her spray bottle and shot its backside with the first stream. With one surprised squeak, the sprite melted into a large puddle. Relieved yet irked, Ellie turned on the intruder.
He stood still, eyes twinkling. “Nice shot,” he said before she could speak. “You rescued me.” Only a hint of sarcasm colored that smooth voice. She recognized the blond prince from the riding party. He was dripping sweat and panting.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped.
“Omar told me to get you,” he said, and raised his hands defensively. “Hey, like I said, I tried the wristband button.”
Her attitude crumbled, and her heart jumped to her throat. “Omar! Is he all right? What’s happened?”
“We got back from a run and saw a guy named Tor taking a kayak to the island. Omar went after him, hoping to make him turn back.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ve got to go after them both. Have you told anyone else?”
“Not yet. Omar told me to find you first.”
Ellie set down the spray bottle and peeled off her gloves. “I must tell the lake supervisor; I can’t just go off on my own. Will you please scoop up that sprite and put it into this cage? Be gentle.”
He looked from the blob of goo to the tiny cage to Ellie. “You’re kidding, right?”
She wanted to laugh at his expression, but the situation was too grave. “Just do it.” And she left the room at a run.
She found Bence at breakfast in the staff dining hall and apprised him of the situation. He leaped to his feet, sent a page to inform Madame Genevieve, then set off running with Ellie. “You say Prince Omar went after him? Then we’re likely to lose two kayaks and have two ensorcelled men on our hands,” he groused. “Take a scooter and see if you can catch up with at least one of them. I would act as backup, but I can’t approach the island. I’ll send help as soon as possible.”
Not even Madame could find fault with Ellie now that she was acting under Bence’s orders. She sprinted down to the dock and was soon skimming across the smooth water on her scooter. The island was shrouded completely in a weird fog, and there was no sign of the two young men. They must have entered it.
“Your Highness!” she called, her voice sounding thin. “Prince Omar?”
Silence. She stopped outside the fog bank and tried to use her magic to discern its nature. She sensed anger in the mist but nothing worse. “Omar?” Saying his name bolstered her courage. Slowly she drove into the fog, calling again, but she heard only waves slapping against rocks.
Then the water around her scooter began to dimple and boil. She scarcely had time to panic before a huge, weedy head rose from the water beside her knee. A yelp escaped before she registered what she was seeing. “Monster! Have you seen Omar or the other prince?”
It waggled its ears and bumped the scooter, shoving her to the right, then submerged and appeared ahead of her. Trusting its guidance, she followed slowly. Rocks loomed out of the fog on all sides. Sharp rocks that could destroy a boat or scooter.
“Omar?” she called again.
This time a male voice answered, muffled in the mist.
“Omar!” Slowly she followed the monster’s spiky head. Every rock made her heart leap; every dark wave looked like Omar’s hair. “Omar, where are you?”
“Here! Ellie?”
“Yes, I’m Ellie. Keep talking so we can find you.”
“Glad to. You have no idea how good your voice sounds to me.”
A moment later the lake serpent submerged, and Ellie saw the prince bobbing in the water, the orange of his lifejacket muted in the fog. “There he is! Oh, thank you for your help, dear serpent!” she called, even though she could no longer see the monster.
Its tail tip flickered above the surface a few feet away.
“Omar, are you all right?” Would he recognize her? Or would he steal her scooter and desperately try to reach the sirens?
He spun about to face her, and his brilliant smile flashed for an instant. “Ellie!” Then he was swimming to meet her. She was so happy that she almost forgot to offer him her hand, but he climbed up easily anyway. He wore running gear, complete with sodden shoes. The seat of her coverall soaked up the streams of water running off him, but she, at least, had had sense enough to change into water shoes.
“Are you all right? What happened?” She half-turned, trying to face him, and the idling scooter bobbed in the water and scraped against a rock. Then something pushed it from below, and they began to slowly move through the water, weaving between rocks. Trusting the serpent, Ellie sat sidesaddle on her scooter and focused on Omar.
His hands gripped her shoulders, and he studied her face as if his life depended on memorizing it. “I’m all right,” he said slowly, “though my head feels weird, as if something is buzzing inside. I think there must be magic in this fog.”
“There is magic, but I don’t think it’s evil. I suspect the siren queen is angry about a human walking on her island.” But Omar was acting . . . strange.
He slowly lowered his forehead to rest on her shoulder and heaved a deep, shaky sigh. “Ellie. Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t, Omar.” She allowed a tiny amount of magic into her soothing voice. ”You’ll be fine now.”
She felt the tension leave his body. “Thank you,” he said hesitantly. “I feel better already.”
“I’m glad.” She should probably have asked him to sit upright, but she didn’t.
A few loops of serpent body appeared behind the scooter. Rocks slid past in the fog; waves from the scooter’s passing lapped against them.
“Did you ever find Tor?” she asked.
“I did. He wouldn’t stop, so I chased after him into the fog. He told me to go away. Said the sirens weren’t calling him; he came to find a friend. But his eyes were dilated . . . He looked seriously crazed.” Omar shook his head. “I couldn’t make him hear sense. When I wouldn’t leave, he tipped me out of my kayak and smashed it over a rock.”
“What?” Ellie gasped. “You mean, he picked it up and—”
“Yes, he did. Dumped me out, hoisted it over his head, and smashed it against a rock until it was in pieces.”
Ellie’s heart raced. “Is he nearby? Did you hear the sirens call?” She kept almost seeing things in the fog. Her eyes flitted from rock to rock.
“I never did hear a siren this time, but the fog makes my head feel thick, like it’s stuffed with cotton. Maybe it affected Tor too. I don’t know what to think. I didn’t see him all day yesterday, and now . . . He looked drugged, but maybe that’s what siren-enchantment does. What man could be friends with a siren?”
If Tor had been enchanted, then why wasn’t Omar? Ellie pulled slightly away from him, and when he lifted his head, she peered directly into his eyes and reached up to touch his cheek, feeling the morning stubble. “You know who I am?”
; He blinked in surprise. “You think I’m siren addled? I’m not.” His smile was weak but genuine. “Ellie Calmer, magic-creature wrangler.”
“We must get Tor back, but I can’t fit both of you on this scooter with me.”
She had just decided to take Omar back to the dock and return for Tor, when the quick glub-glub-glub of a ski-boat engine reached her ears. Relief nearly melted her limbs. “Somebody’s here.” She faced front, and Omar rested his head on her shoulder from behind.
The lake monster’s tail touched Ellie’s leg in a clammy caress. It gave the scooter one last push then vanished beneath the surface. “Thank you,” Ellie said quietly.
Moments later, the scooter slid ahead into blinding sunlight. Ellie shaded her eyes with one hand and looked around. Not twenty feet away, a ski boat idled in the water with Madame Genevieve at the wheel.
“Miss Calmer, is that Prince Omar with you?” she called across the water. “Is he enchanted?”
Omar lifted his head and shaded his eyes. “I’m not enchanted,” he called back, “but I don’t feel so well. I think Tor is on the island. He dumped me in the water and wrecked my kayak. He said he wanted to see a friend. One of the sirens, I guess. Please let me get away from here,” he added with feeling, then again lowered his face to Ellie’s shoulder. He touched only her life jacket, but she saw Madame’s lips tighten.
“The fog seems to contain a mild repellant, but aside from a headache, His Highness is fine.” Ellie tried to sound businesslike and efficient.
“Miss Calmer, take Prince Omar to the castle at once and deliver him to the magical psychiatrist for professional evaluation.”
“Yes ma’am. Oh! And I sent for the Gamekeeper last night regarding the unicorn incident. He will be here this evening, in case you need his help with the sirens.”
If anything, Madame’s expression darkened, and she muttered something like “. . . the last person we need . . .”
Ellie gunned the scooter’s engine, and Omar tightened his grasp. Ahead, the lake and Faraway Castle looked completely normal. Behind, the ski boat vanished into the wall of fog. She felt Omar sit up and look back. Then his arms slid around her, and he leaned close.