All was falling neatly into place, and going just as she desired. The Warble was in Ramon’s possession. The boy Werrien was captured, and even a meddling fairy, who just happened to be the Fairy King’s daughter, had been caught. What a glorious day—and one to remember, the queen thought. She would have the pleasure of watching her son, Ramon, destroy the Warble, and she would make sure that Werrien had a front row seat for the event. Then, after the Warble was destroyed, she would have Werrien killed.
As she marveled in these thoughts, a sudden flashback came into her mind and her smile changed into an ice-cold glare of insecurity. She envisioned herself clutching the Book of Prophecy and then toppling headfirst into the dark, rough sea. Her stomach turned as she stared blankly out the carriage window, envisioning the book slipping from her fingers. “Gone! Gone forever,” she winced, dragging her long red nails down the sides of her pale, gaunt face in anguish.
Even though she had dropped the book onto the boat’s bottom when she slipped and fell, she thought that she had taken it overboard with her. Oh, how I want that book! It would have helped me foresee all that is going to happen in Bernovem and how well Ramon is handling being in charge at the camp. For a brief moment, a tiny bit of appreciation crept into her cold heart, and she actually felt a little proud of her son for having everything in order. This is the first time he has accomplished much of anything.
The carriage finally came to a halt and a few moments later, the queen’s door swung open. She extended her bony arm, and a zelbock helped her out of the carriage. They had arrived at the base camp, but it was definitely not what Queen Sentiz had expected. Everything was very still and quiet, except for a few pops in the dying fire. “Why is my son not here to greet me?” the queen asked.
The zelbock didn’t have a clue, so he remained silent—a well learned discipline when being spoken to by Her Majesty.
“This is preposterous!” She pushed the zelbock out of her way and began stomping angrily toward Ramon’s tent. She passed by the embers of the bonfire, but because of the darkness, she didn’t notice the sleeping zelbocks.
Clover sat on one of the door ties of Ramon’s tent, waiting for Werrien, who was busy searching under the drunken so-called prince for the Warble. He hadn’t been in the tent for more than a few minutes when Clover caught sight of Queen Sentiz marching angrily toward it. Clover stuck her little head and arms through the crack in the door flap and began gesturing with her hands for Werrien to come out, but he only shook his head and tried to shoo her away. Of all times to bother me, she’s picked the worst. And besides, I don’t need to listen to her negativity. I know she wants to tell me it isn’t worth risking my life over.
But Clover persisted by waving her hands over her head. Werrien looked up again to see her drag her finger across her throat. She was trying to let him know that trouble was coming, but he took the gesture to mean, “Cut it out and let’s get out of here.” He placed his arm between the drunken Ramon and the bed and felt around for the Warble. When he finally located it, he slowly pulled his arm out. Ramon didn’t even stop his obnoxious snoring, although he did burp loudly, right in Werrien’s face, which caused Werrien to hold his breath from the stench. Now all he had to do was make it safely out of the camp and find Kristina. After that, the two would head up Mount Bernovem, and Kristina could place the Warble in its resting place. Then the spell would be lifted, and Queen Sentiz would no longer be queen. It all sounded so easy, but when Werrien stood up and looked toward the tent door, he saw eight, long, red nails, four on each side of the door flaps, about to pull the flaps aside.
Clover jumped off the tie knot just as the dagger-like nails viciously ripped the tent door open. A cold wind blew in, followed by silence. Clover was blown up into a corner of the tent by the strong wind. Werrien felt a lump rise in his throat as he gazed up at Queen Sentiz in the doorway. Her immense figure cast a dark shadow over his entire body. She stared down at him with dark, ice-cold eyes. Werrien’s heart began to pound fast. There has to be a way out of this situation, he thought. But he had no weapon to defend himself, and with Queen Sentiz standing in the entrance to the tent, there was not much of a chance in making a run for the tent door. Hopelessness tried to invade his mind, but he didn’t let it in. He just knew that no matter what, he must not give in to the evil queen.
It was so quiet that he could hear the smooth rhythm of Clover’s wings flapping in the upper corner of the tent. Then Queen Sentiz finally broke the eerie silence. “You must be the boy, Werrien.” She revealed a wicked smile.
Werrien stood silent.
“What’s the matter, boy? Did a dwarf cut out your tongue?”
Werrien still said nothing.
“Answer me!”
“Why do you ask, when you already know who I am?”
“Don’t sass me, peasant boy. I know why you’re in here. You’re nothing more than a little thief. Now, reveal what you are hiding behind your back!”
“You’re the thief and a cowardly liar,” Werrien retorted, “and your son is nothing but a drunken fool.”
Queen Sentiz looked over at Ramon, still passed out on his bed. Her eyes grew twice their size, for she hadn’t noticed him up until this point.
A drop of sweat fell from Werrien’s forehead. Even though he was being brave, he felt like a scared rabbit being cornered by a bloodthirsty wolf.
The queen reached into her fur stole, pulled out a small purple bottle, and carefully removed its lid. “My, what youthful skin you have, and such a flawless complexion,” she crooned. Then she took the bottle, tipped it slightly, and dripped a single drop of its contents onto the rug on the tent floor. As the drop hit the rug, Werrien could hear it sizzle, and he looked down to see it had burned a hole through the tent flooring and into the earth below. When it stopped sizzling, there was a three-inch hole in the ground. “I would hate to have to pour this over your lovely head of sandy-blond hair.” Her evil smile grew more immense. “Now, hand over what you’re hiding behind your back, and I’ll put this lovely potion away.”
Werrien looked up at Clover, who was gesturing something again with her hands. Werrien nodded, although he wasn’t sure what Clover was trying to tell him. Queen Sentiz began to walk toward Werrien, but before she could reach him, Clover flew at her like a flying arrow. The fairy grabbed hold of the queen’s raven-black hair and, like a whirlwind, wound it tightly around her head, covering her eyes.
Queen Sentiz was taken by such surprise that she dropped the potion. Like a soldier fleeing a grenade, Werrien dodged around her and made it safely out of the tent, with Clover right behind him. The spilled potion was so strong that the whole tent lit up and shook violently. It even woke Ramon. He sat straight up in his bed to see a giant crater right beside it. Still drunk and not knowing what to think, he scratched his head and belched loudly.
“Ramon!” Queen Sentiz yelled at the top of her lungs from inside the crater.
Although the loud shaking of the tent hadn’t fazed the sleeping zelbocks outside, the blood-curdling scream of Queen Sentiz brought them to their feet.
28
After Ramon pulled her out of the large crater, Queen Sentiz screamed at the top of her lungs: “The boy has escaped with the Warble!”
Inside the tent, now sober but with a nasty headache, Ramon hurried to dress himself, and he hopped around, pulling his socks on. The queen was so furious with him for getting drunk and letting Werrien escape with the Warble that she picked up his horsewhip and began whipping him with it. “You good-for-nothing imbecile! I can’t believe you are even related to me!” She backed him up until he fell into to the large hole. “If you don’t get the Warble and that boy back, I’ll have you banished to Treachery Island, where you can sit and rot for the rest of your miserable days!”
He looked up into her flared nostrils and cowered at the bottom of the hole.
While Queen Sentiz was busy scolding Ramon, Werrien was also busy—he was planning his next move, trying to find his way
out of the base camp. He ran as fast as he could through the camp, dodging between tents and anything big enough to hide behind, so as not to be noticed by the zelbocks, who were now aware that he had escaped. They were swarming the place, looking everywhere for him. At one point, Werrien stopped to rest for a moment behind a tent, and while catching his breath and wiping his brow, he could see the silhouette of a zelbock through the tent’s wall. It picked up a spiked flail and headed for the tent door.
Werrien knew he couldn’t rest long, so he scoped out his surroundings, planning where to run next. Then, just as he was about to take off, the zelbock’s dark shadow appeared in front of him. He could feel as well as smell its stinky breath on the back of his neck. He turned around slowly and saw the zelbock holding a war club, directly over his head. It smiled wickedly, revealing its broken-glass-like teeth. Then with all its might, it violently smashed the war club down toward Werrien.
Werrien was too quick and agile and was able to duck out of the way, allowing the war club to smash down beside him in the moist ground. The zelbock’s wicked smile changed into an angry, frustrated look. Then it pulled the war club out of the ground, ripping a large amount of the earth and grass up with it.
Werrien began running again. Now that he had been seen, there wouldn’t be any more stopping, no matter how breathless he got. He ran straight through the camp, passing tents, fire pits, and heavy artillery, until he finally made it to a clearing. The mother-of-pearl moon illuminated the land ahead of him, making the forest visible across a flat plain. He continued to run toward the forest, but the zelbocks quickly mounted their horses and charged after him. He glanced back—there were at least fifty of them, all with lit torches and weapons. Sharp pains shot down his aching legs as the last bit of adrenaline empowered him to run even faster. No one knew the woods as well as he did, and if he could make it that far, then he was sure he could lose the zelbocks, at least for the time being. But the zelbocks were quickly gaining ground on him, and he could hear their horses’ hooves pounding the ground. They began shooting arrows at him, barely missing him. He knew that he could not outrun their military horses. His energy began fading even more—he hadn’t had more than water and a small piece of stale bread in the last few days. He closed his eyes briefly and hoped that his body would not give up on him. As he did so, a memory of his father flashed into his mind. “Someday, you will be King of Bernovem, and whatever you have to face, no matter how trying, you must be strong and never let your people down. You must never give up at fighting the good fight.”
“Never give up” now echoed in his mind. He opened his eyes and looked up to the sky, and to his surprise, he saw hundreds of ravens flying out of the forest. There were so many of them that they blocked the light of the moon, making it hard to see. The ravens flew speedily toward the zelbocks, and once above them, began dropping grenades on them that the dwarfs and gnomes had made. Werrien could smell the strong odor and smoke from the blasts as the grenades plummeted to the ground. It ignited a spark of hope inside him and his father’s words flashed through his mind once again: “Someday, you will be King of Bernovem.”
Werrien stood along the forest’s edge, catching his breath. He could see the surviving zelbocks retreating back to the camp. The ones that were hit by the grenades lay scattered along the smoking ground.
All was quiet now except for the sound of the rain that had begun falling again. Lightning flashed across the sky, and at that very same moment, Werrien felt the Warble warm up within his pocket. He took it out and held it in the palm of his hand. Its color began to change again. The vibrant yellow was turning into a brilliant orange right before his eyes. He was happy to have it back in his possession, but now he needed to find Kristina. He placed it back in his pocket and began to make his way into the forest. He couldn’t see anything as he entered the thick woods—it was too dense for the moonlight to shine through the trees. He didn’t have anything to light his way, so even though he knew the woods well, it would take too long to feel his way through the darkness. He thought for a moment and then an idea popped into his head. He would use the Warble to light the way. Once again, he took it out of his pocket and held it out in front of him. It gave off just enough light for him to see about twenty feet ahead. Now, at least he could see which direction he needed to go to get to the place where Kristina and he had camped. From there, he could try to find her or Taysha’s tracks. If he traveled fast enough, he figured he could make it there within the hour—at least that’s what he hoped.
He hadn’t traveled very far when he heard rustling in the treetops above him. He held the Warble above his head and looked up to see what was making the noise. When he couldn’t see anything, he walked on, but after a few steps he heard the rustling again. He spun around quickly. “Who’s up there?” he said sternly and shined the Warble up into the tree.
“It’s probably not a good idea to have that out in the open,” a voice said.
“Who are you?” Werrien’s eyes were squinting as he tried to see who he was talking to.
“Roage.”
“What do you want?”
Roage didn’t answer but instead asked, “Did you like how my comrades defended you out on the plain?”
“That was your doing?”
Roage’s head tilted and he blinked his black eyes. “I know that you are the true prince of Bernovem.”
“I don’t know what to say other than thank you for saving my life.”
“There is no need to say anything else, for I know time is running out.”
Werrien’s brow creased. “What do you mean, time is running out?”
“The Warble has gone through all of its colors, except for one: red. When it does turn red, which will not be too long from now, it will start to lose its powers. Before that happens, Kristina must place it in its resting place in order for the spell to be broken.”
“I still have to find Kristina, and then we have to climb the mountain and find its resting place. How can we do all of that before it turns red?”
“There is a way, but you must follow my instructions precisely.”
Werrien looked tired and uncertain. “What do you want me to do?”
“You must travel a little farther northwest, until you come to a certain Sycamore tree with a soft spot in its trunk. Push in on it, for behind it, hidden inside the tree, is a gold case. Take it out, and put the Warble inside it. This case will protect it from changing color until you open it again.”
“Sycamore trees are very rare. There may not be fifty in the entire forest.”
“Search carefully, and you will find it.”
“But what if I don’t?”
Suddenly another raven could be heard cawing from off in the distance.
“I’m sorry, but I must go.”
Before Werrien could respond, Roage flew off.
29
Werrien decided to put his trust in Roage, and so he headed northwest through the dark, wet forest. Though he knew it wasn’t wise to have the Warble out in the open, it was all he had with him to light the way. He kept searching and searching for the tree with the soft spot that Roage had told him to find, but he couldn’t find it, and time was passing quickly.
Could it be so small that I missed it? What if I’m going in an entirely different direction than Kristina went? These doubtful thoughts made him wonder if it would have been better to have stuck with his original plan of going back to the place where Kristina and he had camped out.
As he traveled farther and farther in the opposite direction from which he had first intended to go, he became more and more doubtful of what Roage had told him. Then the Warble suddenly surged with heat again, and its light orange color changed to a dark orange. It was giving the sure sign that time was running out. This just added to his anxiety, and so he decided he would check fifty more sycamore trees, and if he still hadn’t found the soft spot, he’d revert to his original plan of going back to the campsite. At least he’d have a better cha
nce of finding Kristina by following her tracks.
The sycamore trees were sparse―far apart and few in between. He counted the trees, thoroughly checking each one, and when he got to the thirty-seventh one and there was still no soft spot in its bark, he got so frustrated that he decided to not check any more. He turned around to revert to his alternate plan, but just as he did so, he heard noises coming from up above in a nearby tree. He shined the Warble toward the noise, and in return, six large, glowing eyes glared down at him. It was a family of snowy white owls—a father, a mother, and baby. The father owl hooted loudly and then said, “We thank you for all you are doing, and our thoughts are with you, Prince Werrien. God speed to you.” It was that little note of appreciation that gave Werrien the fortitude to carry on, and so he went on searching for the tree that Roage had told him to find.
He came to the forty-ninth tree and then finally, the fiftieth tree, and still there was no sign of the soft spot. He stuck with his decision not to check anymore sycamores trees after the fiftieth and turned southwest. However, a very strange thing happened; the Warble heated up again, though not like it had the other times. No, this time was like the very first time he had touched it, when it got so scorching hot that he couldn’t hold on to it. He dropped it and shook his hand from the burning pain. Then the Warble suddenly began to roll back in the direction from which he had just come, rolling back up a slope and to the tree just ahead of the fiftieth tree. It came to a dead stop in front of what would have been the fifty-first sycamore tree. What a curious thing. Could the Warble be trying to tell me something? Does it have a mind of its own? he wondered. Then he ran the palm of his hand over the tree’s rough surface, the same as he had with all the others. Lo and behold, he felt it—the soft spot. He pushed in on it, and a chunk of the bark fell back into the tree. A bright light shone out from the hole, causing him to squint. He peered into the hole and saw the gold case; the one Roage had told him he would find. That raven really knows his stuff.
The Warble Page 14