by L. EE
Boos went up from the Cavalry fans.
Blue bedecked fans ran across the field, lifted Andy onto their shoulders, and carried him several laps around the field. Andy lost count of the number of times people congratulated and praised him and slapped him on the back. But as he rode in glory, the thought continued to nag at him. What happened to me out there?
CHAPTER SIX
Pixies
Exhausted from the day, Andy fell into bed and immediately drifted off to sleep.
He stood in what appeared to be the lobby of a large office building much like the ones at his mom and dad’s companies. It was eerily quiet despite the number of silvery, transparent people coming and going. A young woman dressed in a flowing gown glided past him and stopped at the front desk. A gaunt man wearing a silvery uniform greeted her. “How can I help you, miss?”
“I’m here to see Andres Shark with your Legal Affairs department.” As she said it, the girl glanced quickly around the lobby. Her expression revealed fear and trepidation.
“Very well, if you’ll wait over there I’ll contact his office.”
The young lady glided toward the spot where Andy stood. Strangely, she did not seem to notice his presence—nor had anyone else now that he thought about it. How strange this place is.
Moments later, a slight woman adorned in a silvery, tailored dress approached the girl, introduced herself, and motioned her over to an elevator. Andy followed.
“Hold on to the railing,” instructed the uniformed operator pointing to a glowing bar that went around the perimeter at waist height, “or the elevator will go right through you when we start going up. Doesn’t hurt, it’s just annoying to have to wait for the next one.”
They ascended to the third floor. When the doors opened the woman said, “This is where we get off.”
Upon exiting, they walked down a long, dark hallway, pausing in front of a door with formal lettering that read Mr. Andres Shark, Head of Afterlife Legal Affairs.
Am I dead?
A gentleman with a rather large face and wearing a smile that proudly displayed several rows of pointed teeth approached the young lady. “Welcome,” he said in a creepy, drawn-out voice.
The man showed her to a round conference table with two other silvery people already seated. “You remember Cinus Terr, Deputy Undersecretary of Hades, and Donsay Hat, Head of the Political Correctness Bureau? Cinus, Donsay, you remember Imogenia?”
Cinus and Donsay nodded.
“Thank you for seeing me,” replied Imogenia, fiddling with her hands.
“So, how can we help you?” asked Andres.
“Do you remember how my hearing turned out?”
“I certainly do, dear,” intoned Donsay. “Wasn’t right, I say. What kind of a chairman is Dudge? Spineless if you ask me. He should never have allowed your father to fulfill the curse.”
“Well, the boy was born eleven years ago,” Imogenia replied. “He’s been to Oomaldee once and collected a red dragon scale. I hoped he’d never return after he disobeyed and got sent home, but he’s back! He can’t be allowed to stay. The longer he stays—”
“Of course,” interrupted Cinus brusquely. “What are you asking us to do?”
“I-Is there anything that can be done?”stuttered Imogenia, continuing to knead her hands.
“Does your father know you’re meeting with us?” inquired Donsay.
Imogenia’s eyes grew wide. “No…you wouldn’t! Please don’t tell anyone!”
Andreas Shark’s face took on a toothful smile.
“Hush, child!” exclaimed Donsay. “You have nothing to fear. We do our best work in circumstances like this.”
“I know exactly what you need,” Andres crooned.
“Then spit it out! I haven’t got all day,” responded Cinus testily.
“A bellicose.”
Everyone remained silent for a moment, considering the idea.
“Yes, a bellicose could work,” Donsay finally replied.
“Excuse me, but what’s a bellicose?” Imogenia braved to ask.
“A bellicose is a being conjured from the darkest magic. Its creator imprints upon it a mission of destruction. Once released, it relentlessly pursues and overcomes its objective. Nothing can thwart it,” replied Andres.
“I’ve never heard of a bellicose,” replied Imogenia.
“No doubt many beings exist of which you have never heard, child,” Donsay reproved. “Now, would you like our help or not?”
“Sorry.” Imogenia bowed her head.
“How do you propose to contrive such a creature, considering it needs to exist in the land of the living?” cut in Cinus.
“Oh, I believe I have just the candidate,” Andres crowed, his grin widening.
“Who?” Donsay inquired.
“Abaddon.”
At the mention of the dragon’s name, the scene faded.
Andy now found himself in a scene he recognized from previous dreams. He walked along a deserted dirt road. In the distance, through the fog, he could just make out the shape of a house in the fading sunlight. As he approached, he saw its broken porch railing, smashed windows, and peeling paint. When he walked onto the crumbling porch, once again the front door mysteriously dissolved and Andy walked into a dust-covered room with broken furniture strewn about. As before, it smelled of decay. He heard voices upstairs and scaled the rickety stairs, turning right as he reached the top step. He walked down a hallway with more peeling paint and dimly lit by a single window in the room at the end. The smell of decay grew stronger, like the last time he’d been here.
Reaching the room, he stopped at the doorway. Before him were two creatures in conversation. One was a dove that had drops of blood on its pure white feathers. As he stepped across the threshold, the bleeding dove instantly transformed into the silvery ghost of a young woman. Had she been alive, Andy guessed she would have been only a few years older than he. She wore a flowing white gown in the style of ancient royalty. She stood with her side to him, and Andy could see silver stains on her dress where the drops of blood had splattered the dove. She spoke with a seven-headed dragon.
“The Chosen One has returned. He must not succeed, for if he does, the curse that I have worked so hard to preserve will be lifted,” said the young woman. “That will be the end of your superiority over the land of Oomaldee.”
The dragon stared at the woman, not responding for several minutes. Finally it broke the silence, flapping its four wings. “What is it that keeps your brother alive eternally?”
“What do you mean? Did you hear what I said?”
“What keeps your brother alive eternally?” the beast repeated, ignoring her question.
“Why? What difference does it make? Look, if the boy succeeds in breaking the curse—”
“What keeps your brother alive?” the dragon growled, swishing its thick tail.
“It was a condition of the curse. Why do you ask?” She shifted on her feet.
“You know what creates this unending life.” It was not a question but a statement.
“We must thwart the boy. It is the only way,” she countered. “Our purposes are aligned. We both seek to keep the curse in effect.”
“You know nothing of my purposes!” the dragon roared. “Now, what is it that creates this unending life? Do not make me ask again.”
The woman hesitated before responding, “Fine! It’s the Stone of Athanasia that keeps him alive. Happy?” Then, attempting to change the subject back to her concern, she quickly added, “I was informed by folks in the afterlife that you have the ability to conjure up a bellicose.”
“A bellicose? What do you know of a bellicose?” the dragon thundered.
“I am told that once it is sent, it will relentlessly pursue its mission and return to its master only after it has succeeded. You could send a bellicose to hunt the boy down and kill him.”
The dragon pondered this for a minute before replying, “Bring me this Stone of Athanasia, and then we wil
l discuss your wish for a bellicose.”
“I cannot.”
“What? How dare you refuse me!” roared the dragon, taking a threatening step toward the young woman.
“No being with a soul can touch it. Not even I, though I’ve passed on,” she informed the dragon matter-of-factly.
“How do you know?”
“When the stone was first cast, several fools attempted to move it and added themselves to the afterlife in the process. I’ve tried taking it as well, but without success.” She paused before adding, “You’re wasting precious time! The longer the boy lives, the sooner the curse will be lifted!”
“I care not about being rid of the boy! What interests me is gaining eternal life!”
“But you are a shape-shifter. You have eternal—” As she said it, a smile slowly spread across her face. “What happened?” It was more of a taunt than a question.
Ignoring the young woman’s remark, the dragon schemed aloud to itself, “A bellicose is of the darkest magic and has no soul. Even though it will tax me greatly… Yes, I will bring one forth to retrieve this stone.” Then to the girl it added, “If you deceive me, you will suffer the consequences of my wrath.”
“Your wrath? If the boy is not stopped, we’ll have bigger problems than your wrath!”
“Silence! You are nothing. The boy is nothing. I will rule the world and live forever!” the dragon bellowed as it stood tall, extended its arms, and flapped its wings wildly.
The young woman returned a menacing glare as objects began flying around the room and through her form.
Andy woke with a start. His room was still dark. I don’t want to meet a bellicose!
Andy’s thoughts were troubled as he descended the stairs the next morning. He joined the King in the dining hall for breakfast, and his standard cereal and toast quickly appeared.
“That was some match last night, Andy. You were amazing. Well done!”
Andy nodded unenthusiastically.
“What’s wrong? Didn’t you sleep well?”
“Not exactly.”
Andy recounted the dream in as much terrifying detail as he could. The King sat in rapt attention. Somehow, retelling it did not diminish Andy’s fear as it would have other times. Rather, his distress was magnified.
“Are you okay?” the King interrupted partway through.
“Not really,” he squeaked.
“I’d tell you to stop, but this sounds important,” encouraged the King.
By the time Andy was done, his whole body shook again and his palms sweat.
The King spoke slowly, thoughtfully. “This is not good, not good at all. If that monster locks onto you or gets the Stone of Athanasia…” He shook his head, not wanting to consider the possibilities.
“What can we do to stop it?” Andy pleaded.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never heard of a bellicose before this. We’d best check in with Mermin to see what he might know.” The King stopped eating and reached for Andy’s arm, gently squeezing it. Then he looked Andy squarely in the eyes and said, “As much as it is in my power, I will not let anything harm you, Andy. You are like a son to me. We’re in this together. Each of us has much to lose.”
Andy nodded, still concerned.
They chatted a bit more before the King excused himself to attend a meeting.
“Remember, we’re in this together, Andy,” the King tried to reassure him as he departed.
Andy headed toward the kitchen to find Alden but spotted Razen waddling his way, wearing a scowl as usual. Razen stopped him as he was about to pass. In his high-pitched, nasally squeak he announced, “The King told you yesterday morning to let me know you are to report to me. You’ve had a whole day. Why have you not?”
The statement jarred Andy. He found himself at a loss for words.
“Let me repeat, why have you not?”
“I…”
“Well?”
“I…” Andy felt the same as when his parents interrogated him. “I guess I forgot.”
The words had barely left his mouth when his inneru began to protest, “That’s a lie, Andy. You refused to tell Razen. I told you it was a bad idea.”
Be quiet, Andy fumed at his inneru.
Razen went on, “No one in this castle is permitted to be irresponsible and use forgetting as an excuse. When the King issues a command, everyone in my charge is expected to take it seriously and to comply immediately. I’ve seen that you have the same problem at home. Selective compliance will not be tolerated. It’s time you learned some responsibility.”
“What do you know about where I come from or what I do at home?”
“Enough,” came Razen’s curt reply.
He sounds like my mom and dad.
“You will completely de-pixie the stables by the end of the day. You will do nothing else until it is done. Is that clear?”
“But—” Andy objected. Based upon his first encounter with the small pests, the thought of getting rid of the pixies seemed daunting.
“Would you like me to add more work?” Razen warned.
Andy opened his mouth to object further, but Razen’s stern expression told him further attempts to argue would be useless. He dropped his shoulders dejectedly.
“Good. Report to Major Cahill. He will have someone show you what needs to be done. And I expect you to report back to me when you’re done. I will inspect and make sure I agree.”
Andy rolled his eyes as he walked away.
Half an hour later, Andy received instructions out in the stables from the enthusiastic Private Boingderban. Two older vulture-men moved about nearby, giving the pegasi fresh water. Every once in a while they would glance over, scowl, and whisper to each other as the private explained the task. Andy found them annoying.
“The pixies are bad this year,” the young soldier mentioned. “Not sure what’s causing it. They’ve been driving the pegasi crazy, buzzing their ears and dive bombing their heads. I usually get to do this job. The pegasi appreciate it after I’m done.”
Great, the pegasi will appreciate me. Oh happy day, was all Andy could sarcastically think.
Andy overheard the two vulture-men chuckle loudly enough to catch his attention, which clearly was their objective. “Got something you want to add?” he called out.
They glanced over and continued laughing.
Ignoring the vulture-men, the private walked to a large metal box, perhaps three feet square. The walls were made of screening, allowing captor and captive to see each other but prohibiting the latter from escaping. In the middle of the cage bottom was a dish with a circular mirror propped at an angle next to it.
“Pixies care about their looks and love sweet juices, so we fill up the bowl with sweet nectar and position the mirror right next to it. That way when we capture a pixie it doesn’t mind going in the box so much,” he explained.
One of the annoying vulture-men gestured as if he were looking in a mirror, primping nonexistent hair. The other burst out laughing.
“What happens to the pixies after they’re captured?” Andy asked, trying to tune out the rudeness.
“Oh, we put the cage on a wagon, drive them back to their territory, and release them.”
“How exactly do I catch a pixie?”
Private Boingderban reached for a giant butterfly net resting against the nearby stall and handed it to him. “Use this.”
One of the vulture-men pretended to hold an invisible net. He thrashed at the air as his companion roared.
Andy tried his best to turn a deaf ear to the men as he objected, “What! But how am I supposed to grab a pixie with this? It’ll never work!”
“It’s what I always use. Usually takes me most of the day to clean out the stable.”
Yeah, I understand why.
“Any other questions? It’s pretty straightforward.”
“No, I think I’ve got it,” grumped Andy, shaking his head.
“No. I think I’ve got it,” the two vulture-men mimicked in ste
reo and loud enough for Andy to hear.
He ignored them.
“Holler if you need anything,” called Private Boingderban, walking off.
Turning his attention to the problem at hand, Andy examined the butterfly net. As he did, he noticed several pixies crowded on a nearby stall door. They had listened in on his conversation with the private and were laughing and carrying on, much as the vulture-men had. It was the first time Andy had seen pixies up close. They were small, maybe four inches or so in height, and looked exotic with their colorful bodies and shiny wings. As soon as they heard the far door latch after the private disappeared through it, they rose as one and began hurling themselves at Andy, mercilessly dive-bombing him.
“Ahhhh,” he yelled, but the private was out of earshot.
The two vulture-men watched and began roaring with laughter.
Andy raised his arms to protect his head, waving the net about wildly, thwarting a few pixies but getting hit by many more.
“Stop!” he shouted.
The vulture-men were now laughing so hard they fell down on the ground, holding their stomachs and convulsing.
The pixies chased Andy into an empty stall and continued pummeling him. Wave after wave of the angry creatures flew at him. Not satisfied with the chaos they were creating, they also began aggressively diving at the pegasi in nearby stalls. Several pegasi began whinnying loudly and kicking their stalls. Just as he thought the situation couldn’t get worse, he heard the galloping of hooves.
Oh no! A pegasus must be loose!
“Help! Help!” Andy yelled at the top of his lungs.
The sound of hoofs stopped outside the stall.
“Whoa, Alexander! Oh, it’s you, Andy.” It was the familiar and welcome voice of Sir Gawain. “Nasty pests, aren’t they?” he exclaimed as he hopped off his horse. He sauntered over and grabbed at several of the raging pixies. Andy stood there, surprised. Despite being a lumbering stone statue, Sir Gawain moved his hand with lightning speed, capturing a handful of the pests. At this display of superiority, the free pixies halted their merciless pounding of Andy and regrouped a short distance away.