The Grimm Chronicles, Vol.3

by Ken Brosky

  I looked over at Chase, smiling. He didn’t return the smile. His face was pure game mode: eyebrows knotted together, jaw clenched, lips pressed tightly together. I looked at Jasmine and she gave me a knowing nod. We clenched our jaws, frowning and doing our best Chase impression. For a moment, I forgot all about the Malevolence.

  Our time together will come soon enough. Think of this as practice, Alice. Practice for your re-match with the prince.

  The music stopped. The arena’s spotlights stopped swirling. The judges took their seats behind their scoring tables. The crowd, for just a moment, quieted. Then the chants picked up. Chants for each country. And from our little section, where Mrs. Satrapi and Seth and Sanda were sitting, there was a small but audible “U.S.A.” cry. They doubled their volume when my name was announced on the loudspeaker. I would be going first, against a Hungarian opponent who had no doubt popped a Jump pill earlier in the morning.

  Chase followed me to the equipment table.

  “You remember what you’re doing?”

  “Make an invitation,” I said, grabbing a helmet. “Leave an opening high for her to attack. Use my speed.”

  “What else?”

  “Bind her blade,” I said, grabbing one of the sabers. “Push her attack down and move in with a quick swipe to her chest.” I turned to him, concerned. “Chase! Get your wheelchair. Please.”

  He shook his head. “Not till you win.”

  I turned to the mat. The Hungarian girl was already there, connecting the wires on the back of her helmet to the little battery pack around her waist. She was big; I wouldn’t have been surprised if she was using something more than Jump. A quick flicker of worry ran through my body—she’s got an unfair advantage. How can I compete with that?

  I turned back to Chase. He was sweating, but his game face was still on. He had a far-off look in his eyes, like he could already see the match in progress and was watching it play out in the future. “Do it, dragon slayer.”

  “Dragon slayer,” I said, stepping onto the mat. “I kinda like that.”

  The Hungarian and I tapped blades, then got into our stances. The moment the referee cried “Allez!” she was nearly on top of me. I parried frantically, my eyes trying to adjust to the wire mesh of the fencing mask. It was harder to see out of this one compared to the practice mask. It was heavier, too, and a little uncomfortable around my neck. I had about a million other excuses, too, but I don’t think my opponent cared one bit.

  She scored the first point. Then the second.

  “Come on!” Chase called out. “Remember what we practiced!”

  Use your brain, Alice. Slow this match down.

  I took my time getting back into position. Instead of staring at the hulking frame in front of me, I focused instead on what I needed to do to get my opening.

  Bind her. Keep an opening high, then push her blade low and go in for the kill.

  I lowered my blade a bit. Just a bit. I let my breaths come fast, giving the impression I was fighting exhaustion already.

  Let’s see just how cocky you are, sweetheart.

  “Allez!” the referee shouted.

  She came at me again, attacking high. I anticipated it, my saber already coming up and inside. Instead of deflecting the blade upward, I brought it down and quickly swiped at her arm.

  Point for Alice.

  Chase cheered. There was more cheering, too, and it could have been for anyone competing at the moment but I soaked it in anyway, then forced the smile off my face. Game mode, dragon slayer. Game mode.

  I got back into my stance, this time giving her an opening low-inside.

  Let’s see if you’ll bite again.

  “Allez!” the referee shouted.

  My opponent thrust her blade at my stomach, aiming for the sweet spot inside. I swung high, parrying and pushing her blade away from her body just enough to move in and tap her stomach.

  Behind the mask, I couldn’t help but smile.

  Fight number two came four grueling hours later. We’d all won, boys and girls. And while the boys didn’t seem all that surprised at their success, we girls were positively dumbstruck.

  “Clear your heads,” Chase said, wheeling beside the bleachers where we were all sitting. He’d returned to his wheelchair between matches. “No more talk about how surprised you are to still be here. We’re almost up again.”

  Seth leaned over the aluminum rail dividing the spectators from the fencers. “Yeah, you should probably listen to Chase from here on out. He seems to know what he’s talking about.”

  “Congratulations, Alice,” Sanda said, reaching out and putting a hand on my shoulder. I had to fight the urge to flinch.

  “Thanks,” I said quietly. Also: do you realize your father is some kind of pure evil shadow creature? Are you in on this somehow?

  I caught Seth’s eye. He was giving me a dirty look—had I been that obvious?

  “Excuse me,” Sanda said, standing. “It is nearly three and Seth is surely getting hungry.”

  “Thank you!” he called out after her. He turned back to me, still with the dirty look. “Don’t look at her like that.”

  “What?” I asked innocently.

  “That look. You don’t know anything for sure.”

  Before I could weakly defend myself, Jasmine stretched her back with a loud groan. “To be honest, I’m glad we’re up again. Sitting around waiting just made my entire body cramp up.”

  “I thought you might,” Mrs. Satrapi said. She reached over her daughter’s shoulder, handing her a small round green case. “Rub this balm on your muscles, honey. And share it with everyone.”

  Jasmine looked at it, then at me. Her dark face turned a subtle shade of red. “Mother, please. Please, mother. Please. I can’t think about slimy balm right now. I’m focused.”

  Mrs. Satrapi looked at me, then Seth. He shrugged. “I’ll have some balm. I dunno.” While he applied the slimy green stuff to his ridiculously dry elbows, he chastised me some more: “Just give her the benefit of the doubt. Please. I love the girl.”

  “I’ll try,” I said. “Only because you’re my best friend.”

  Near the other side of the arena two of the last fencing pairs had finished and shook hands. Italy’s girls were creaming their competition in every match. France was doing pretty much the same thing.

  “Alice, you’re up first,” Chase said. “Remember what we talked about. Keep your stance tight. Don’t invite openings.”

  “Right,” I said, hopping off the bleachers and stretching both my legs. I let the cheers from my teammates invigorate me. My shoulder had begun acting up, and my left leg muscle was beginning to throb, but my ribs had thankfully cooperated so far. No telling how bad they’ll be tomorrow morning, though.

  “Not worth thinking about now,” I whispered, walking over to the equipment table and grabbing a helmet. Over the loudspeaker, the announcer called my name, then Park Young-Soo, my opponent. The arena’s spectators applauded politely, with a little extra effort coming from South Korea’s small fan section and the U.S.A.’s even smaller section.

  I took the most well-balanced saber available, then made my way to the mat. Park took her sweet time, hefting a few different sabers in her hand before finally deciding. She was calculated and deliberate, just as Chase had said.

  “En garde!” the referee cried out. I formed my stance, extending my saber blade in front of my body. I needed to have a perfect form. No giving Park any openings—she wasn’t like the Hungarian girl, according to Chase. Park was quicker, more fluent, and she would go after my arms any chance she got. She had a slew of go-to attacks.

  “Allez!”

  Park gave me the right-of-way. I made a feint, aiming for her upper body but not following through on the attack. She fell for it, parrying upward. I drew my blade down, slashing her across the stomach and scoring a point.

  We got back into position. My feet were tingling, ready to propel my body forward. The adrenaline silenced the soreness in my
left leg. I took short breaths, aware of the tense ache forming in my ribs. Brush it away, Alice. Don’t think about it.

  “Allez!”

  We came at each other at the same time. Park parried my first attack, then saw her opening, slicing her blade across my arm.

  “Yipes,” I muttered, stepping back. That attack had come faster than I’d expected. And the cut had been precise—she’d had to hit my forearm, and that was right where she put her blade. It was as if she wasn’t wearing the mesh mask at all, unhindered by its enclosure.

  We got in place again. In just a handful of seconds, she’d scored three more points, all of them precise strikes aimed right where I was most vulnerable. I stepped off the mat, bending the blade of my saber a few times. Checking myself. What was I doing wrong? Chase had this girl’s style mapped out. I knew what to do, but I couldn’t execute.

  “You’re fighting like your life is in danger,” I whispered. My hot breath bounced off the mask. My heart raced. My skin felt hot and prickly. I took off the mask, glancing up into the bleachers, searching for the prince. But all I could see were the hot, white lights shining down from the rafters. I could still feel where he’d dug the dull tip of his saber into my shoulder. If it had been sharp …

  I put the mask back on and stepped onto the mat. Park gave me a brisk nod, getting back into position.

  “She’s not going to kill you,” I told myself. “She’s going to swing her blade, and if it hits you it might hurt a little, but it’s not going to kill you, Alice.”

  “En garde,” the referee announced.

  “Just hit her first,” I hissed. A bead of sweat trickled down my forehead, resting atop my left eyebrow.

  “Allez!” the referee shouted.

  Park came at me fast, aiming at my upper body. Our blades met again and again, and it seemed as if the clang of steel was ten times louder than anyone else’s. I took a step back, then forced my nervous body forward after a successful beat-parry. Her blade bounced away from her body and there it was, my moment to attack. I pushed aside the nagging voice telling me to hold off and thrust my blade at Park’s heart. Knowing she couldn’t defend in time, she brought her blade down on my outstretched arm.

  Both our helmets’ lights went off. The referee turned to the judges. They conferred behind the little black computer monitor, then announced something in another language.

  “Point for U.S.,” the referee announced.

  I celebrated with a quick fist pump. I could do this. I could win.

  And I did.

  To say we were rambunctious during dinner was an understatement. We were flat-out ecstatic. We’d all won our matches, boys included. Mr. Whitmann had burst into tears twice before the main course was even served.

  “To the U.S. team,” he said, lifting his glass of wine and getting a little teary-eyed again. “I’m in awe. It was like watching Jedi flinging their lightsabers around. It was like, like a freaking movie! I can’t wait until tomorrow. I’m going to have to do push-ups just to sleep tonight.”

  We lifted our glasses of orange juice, clinking them together. There was a temporary truce between the boys and girls, and even Chase couldn’t fight a grin from creeping up his mouth.

  “I am amazed as well,” Mrs. Satrapi said, one hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I feel as if you’re all unbeatable!”

  “We are unbeatable,” Scott said with a devilish grin. His fingers drummed quickly on the table. “It’s like … it’s like we’re destined or something. Right? Destined!”

  “Destined,” Miguel said, giving his compatriot a high-five. His leg bounced under the table. All of the boys had nervous ticks. So much energy that they just couldn’t sit still anymore.

  The waiters brought out herb-crusted roast chicken and honey glazed carrots. The smell of the chicken made my mouth water—just a hint of smokiness, plus spices and cranberry stuffing. The boys started devouring everything in a matter of moments, demanding two more plates of bread even before Sanda and I got our first course.

  “They’re going to choke if they inhale any faster,” Margaret murmured. She glanced over at Sanda. “Where’s your dad? Be honest: is he sick of eating with these pigs?”

  Sanda giggled. “No, I fear my father is a bit … under the weather, as you say. This day took a lot out of him. But he insisted on watching you all fight. He would not leave until you’d won. He said he was especially pleased to see Alice dispatch the Hungarian.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Margaret told her with genuine cheerfulness. “You’re a sweet gal.”

  Sanda blushed a bit. “It’s really so nice having company. We so rarely have company in this place.”

  I turned to Seth. He sighed, glancing down at his untouched chicken. He knew what he had to do. And I knew he didn’t want to do it. I knew he was serious about the whole “love” thing, but we needed to know where she stood. If she was in danger, we needed to protect her. And if she was helping the Malevolence …

  I needed a lot of information, and soon. Time was almost out.

  Chapter 8: Briar

  Nothing would have pleased me more than to return in time to see Alice wipe the floor with her fencing opponents. Unfortunately, my travels in Hungary required a bit more time than expected. There was mayhem! And Terror! And threatening motorized vehicles! But yours truly was quite careful, and clever, and escaped unscathed.

  In other words, I was successful.

  See, it turned out those symbols I found most definitely did not belong to the prince, nor was it likely he was the one who carved them into his precious castle towers. How do I know this, you may ask? Why, because those symbols are part of a magic spell.

  Specifically, a seal.

  As in a we-don’t-want-this-terrifying-prince-leaving-the-castle seal. And given the history of the Malevolence, I’m hardly surprised. From what information I could gather in Ukigos’s library, it appears this happened quite recently, around the very same time the Brothers Grimm brought their stories to life. Many of the details are lost, but I’ll recount what I know for sure …

  Sometime around 1812, a powerful Hungarian cleric grew suspicious of the prince residing within Castle Vontescue. I know not what tipped him off (the evil, perhaps?), but this cleric got it in his head that the prince of Castle Vontescue—a descendant of Leo, its current inhabitant—was not entirely human.

  Well! Rather than sit around waiting for evil to happen, this particular cleric decided it would be best to pin the monster inside its own castle using a spell that required four magical symbols, also known as wards. In order to activate the magic, the wards had to be written carefully, and all four needed to be used. They’re like a string of old Christmas lights … if one bulb is missing the rest don’t work.

  Cue the battle music! Imagine this: the cleric and hundreds of his holiest warriors, dead set upon one mission: to infiltrate Castle Vontescue and provide the cleric with enough time to complete his spell. Oh, it was no doubt a terrifying ordeal. The Malevolence had plenty of loyal followers—and an entire town of devoted folk—who held off the charging warriors with a variety of grisly swords and muskets, tossing stones and boiling oil over the castle walls. The holy warriors charged again and again, hindered by a torrential thunderstorm.

  Three hours passed. Finally, with more than half of his army destroyed, the cleric infiltrated the castle and set about casting the spell. Still, it was no easy task, as more of the Malevolence’s loyal followers poured out of the keep. The cleric’s warriors fought bravely, giving their lives to buy the cleric more time.

  Then the Malevolence got involved.

  There is only one account of this moment, written hastily down in the diary of one of the few surviving warriors and left to gather dust in the “fiction” section of Ukigos’s library. The relevant passage is only two sentences long, but I swear to you it chilled me right to the bone, from toe to ear:

  And then the creature emerged from the keep, and it was clear he was no man at all but
something far worse. And with one sweep of his sword, he cut down five valiant knights who had been tasked with protecting the cleric.

  The Malevolence’s effort was in vain: the cleric had finished his spell, having climbed the last tower just as I had so many nights ago. When he was finished writing the last symbol, he leapt from the tower, falling to his death and ensuring that the Malevolence would never be able to wrench the secrets of the spell from him.

  Heroism indeed.

  And now that very spell is what binds the Malevolence to his castle. Sure, he can leave it still—it’s not a perfect spell, unfortunately—but the longer he’s away from his castle, the weaker he becomes. So he’s stuck, in a way. More importantly, we know these symbols have immense power. While trapped by the symbols, the Malevolence must inhabit a body … or he would perish.

  I suspect it’s no coincidence that this happened shortly after the Brothers Grimm brought their stories to life. Perhaps the cleric was even involved in assigning a hero. Perhaps the cleric tracked the Malevolence back to Castle Vontescue. Perhaps I’m wrong and merely being melodramatic. I have been known for it, of course.

  Now, where was I before I digressed? Ah, yes! Back to our story.

  I returned to the castle in the early evening, having ensured I was not followed by those lions who were quite intent on having rabbit for dinner. To avoid detection, I climbed the western end of the castle wall, choosing a particularly worn-down area where the stones had begun to crumble away. Being more concerned about my own welfare, I nearly bumped right into Little Miss Darkness herself.

  Sanda.

  Oh, I kid, I kid … she was hardly a force of evil, that much I could tell simply by looking at her. But I suspected I was in the minority … along with Seth, who at that very moment was foolishly trying to explain exactly why he’d been so concerned about his beloved’s father. I’d no doubt entered the scene en media res—in the middle of the action—and could only speculate as to how Seth had broached the subject of the prince’s evil auspices.

  “I … OK, there’s this dark power, right? No. Hold on. OK, remember how in Star Wars there’s the Sith Lords … no, wait. This is more like Lord of the Rings …”