by C. A. Pack
“No need for that,” Odyon said, and with a wave of his hand, the weapons seemed so heavy the troopers could no longer hold them in the air. “That’s better,” he continued. He pulled off his left glove and showed Nero 51 his palm. “Who’s in charge here?”
“I am,” answered the curator, displaying the Illumini constellation on his seventh tentacle.
“Then I suggest we find someplace private to talk.”
The Roth boys kept pace with each other as they raced up the cupola stairs. They arrived on the top level to find Ava lying on the floor, unconscious, with her finger still on the trigger of her weapon.
Jackson pushed his younger brother out of the way and eased the weapon out of his sister’s hands, before lifting Ava.
“Jackson?” His mother’s unasked question hung in the air.
“She’s breathing. Let’s get her downstairs.”
Chris started toward the stairwell, but Jackson stopped him. “No. Check the weapon and make sure it works, even if you have to destroy a book. If it does, you’ve got to stay here and guard the portals.”
“No,” Johanna said as she reached the top of the steps. “I’ll do that. All of you need to be there for Ava. I’ll protect the portals.”
The Roths trudged down the five flights of stairs, silently praying Ava would be all right.
Back in the comfort of the hotel suite, Mrs. Roth used an ampoule to revive her youngest child. “I’ll need one of you boys to go to a pharmacy and buy some more of these. We seem to go through them like water.”
Ava’s head moved from side to side as she tried to escape the aroma of spirits of ammonia. Finally, her eyes sprang open and she pushed it away. “That stuff stinks.”
Mrs. Roth kissed her daughter’s forehead.
“What happened up there?” Jackson asked.
“Maybe we shouldn’t force her to remember,” Chris said.
“If this were just about us, I’d agree. But so many other worlds are involved, I need Ava to remember whatever she can.”
“There was a bubble. And an octopus. And a ghost. And a flash of light.”
“Is she hallucinating?” Chris asked.
“No,” his mother said. “I’ve seen the octopus before in the cupola, but only for a moment before he disappeared. I thought the light was playing tricks on me.”
“Okay. The bubble sounds like the time machine, and the octopus is probably Nero 51 or some other Terrorian,” Jackson said. “I need to know more about the ghost. What makes you say it’s a ghost?”
Ava took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She took her time. “It appeared out of nowhere.”
“What did it look like when you could finally see it?” he continued to prod.
She scrunched up her face. “Like a rich business man.”
Chris’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s your idea of a ghost?”
“Shhh…” Jackson concentrated on reading his sister’s face. “I want you to think very hard about this next question. It will sound silly, but it’s very important. Was he wearing gloves?”
Ava’s mouth opened and she pushed herself up on her elbows. “Yes. I saw him take one off, and he had one of those,” she pointed to Jackson’s Illumini constellation, “on his hand. I don’t remember anything after that.”
Jackson gave his sister a huge, sloppy kiss on the lips.
“Ewww!” she shrieked. “You kissed me on the mouth. That’s disgusting.”
“Yeah, bro,” Chris said. “What were you thinking?”
Jackson raced up the cupola stairs. “Nero 51 was here.”
“How do you know?” Johanna asked.
“Ava saw an octopus in a bubble. Then she saw a ghost. One who materialized into a ‘rich business man’ who removed his glove and has one of these.” He flashed her his left palm.
“Odyon.”
“He was here, but not anymore. The last Ava saw of him, he was in the bubble. So if that’s gone, so is Odyon.”
“Where are they going to go if all the portals are sealed?”
“Didn’t they say only the windows and doors were sealed on Terroria, but not the portals? I’ll bet dollars to donuts Odyon went back there with Mr. Personality. Umm…donuts. I could use a couple of those right about now.”
“No one thinks about eating more than you do.”
“Chris. He eats more than me. Maybe I can talk him into going out to get some donuts.”
“It’s late. All the donut places are closed. We need to think about—”
“Room service! I’ll bet we can order some.”
“You’re more likely to get French pastry than donuts.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Stop. We need to contact the overseers and tell them what’s happened.”
“So write to Mal in your diary.”
“Exactly.” She thrust the gun in his arms. “Guard the portals.”
Under cover of darkness, the Terrorians slowly made their way through the water to the far end of the Juvini pond. Perog 2 signaled Mope 98 to stay behind, before he slowly slithered up onto the embankment beneath the bulk of a heavily boughed tree. He saw his tormentors sitting on the opposite end of the pond, toasting something over a fire. They were totally immersed in their conversation and didn’t notice the Terrorian had emerged from the water. He snaked a tentacle into the pond and wrapped it around Mope 98, pulling him slowly to the shore. The two Terrorians stealthily crept into the woods beyond in an attempt to evade the flamethrowers.
“We must circle back to the library and look for our weapons.”
“What if there are kiddlets there?”
“They may be too scared to go back there. Besides, there’s nothing there for them anymore.”
“Except our weapons. What if they found them?”
“Even if they got them to work, being decimated is a better end than burning to death. Nero 51 says it’s painless.”
“I wonder how he knows? It’s not like he’s ever been decimated.”
“Follow me, and be quiet. We can’t afford to make noise or speak.” Slowly, they circled around darkened buildings, through the quiet alleys protected by the darkness of nightfall. If anyone had been about, they would have heard the squishing of the Terrorians’ feet before they actually saw the invaders who blended exceptionally well into the shadows of night.
—LOI—
7
The politicians of Mysteriose were curious about the man in the vivid green robes and oversized green hat that flopped over to one side of his head. “Who accompanies you, Proteus Bligh?”
PB:♆Malcolm Trees has been appointed by the College of Overseers as its Chancellor of the Exchequer.
“We are unfamiliar with his title. Is he an overseer?”
PB:♆ In a manner of speaking. Malcolm Trees is the receiver of taxes—
One man raised his voice. “Of tithes, you mean?”
PB:♆ Call it what you may, we are here to discuss your need to tax your people in preparation for war.
“What war is this?” asked the speaker, who had addressed the group earlier.
A voice came from behind them. “Gentlemen, I did not know you were here,” Mysterian curator, Hue the Elder, cried as he rapidly approached Proteus Bligh and Mal. “What have I missed?”
“War taxes!” one of the politicians bellowed. “Yet, we are not at war.”
Hue the Elder sighed. “I was planning to discuss what has occurred, but I have been busy relocating.”
“Why would you relocate?” Sean of Oster asked. “Have you been expelled from the library?”
Hue the Elder slumped onto the nearest bench. “The library is off-limits. Sealed against intruders. I have had to find space to stay elsewhere while the threat of war lingers in the air.”
“Who would fight us?” another person called out.
PB:♆ Let us all be seated and I will explain. Or maybe it would be better if you told them what you know, Malcolm.
“Gentlemen, and ladies,”
Malcolm began, taking note of the two women who stood at the fringe of the group, “one of the realms has decided to destroy the contents of the Libraries of Illumination, to gain control of all knowledge.”
“It matters not,” one of the women said. “We carry our knowledge within.”
“Of course,” Malcolm noted, “and no one can take that away from you. But, sometimes we need to refer to older texts of what has come before, and if that were suddenly to go missing, it could affect your daily lives.”
PB:♆ I’m sure there are some chants and spells that are much too complicated to be committed to memory. Imagine if one day you consulted the writings passed down to you from learned ancestors and found the pages blank.
One of the women gasped.
PB:♆ That is the threat of this war.
“Who is carrying out this atrocity?” Sean of Oster asked.
PB:♆ The Terrorians.
The atmosphere immediately changed. The Mysterians let Proteus Bligh and Malcolm Trees know in no uncertain terms that their meeting was over and they would discuss nothing further with them. It didn’t matter how long ago they had chosen the wrong side in war. Some taints failed to fade.
Horatio Blastoe and Furst carried the decimators to a small glade west of the Library of Illumination. Dame Erato and Natalia Dalura followed, the curator strapping on her bow and quiver. Romantica’s twin moons illuminated the clearing, and Natalia explained how her group of seven naturalists enjoyed walking the surrounding forest trails where they could study the various plants and herbs growing there.
Furst pulled an arrow out of a tree. “The plumage you use is substantial. Does it not weigh the arrow down?”
“No,” Natalia answered. “It is light enough to allow the arrow to fly true, yet heavy enough to propel its trajectory. It is beautiful, no?”
HB:✠ It is light and lovely like everything on Romantica.
Natalia inserted the arrow, drew back her bowstring, and aimed it at a low-lying branch. The arrow hit its mark and severed the branch. She retrieved the branch and showed it to Furst. “This is what we use to make our arrows. Notice how it snapped cleanly? We used to use arrows made from live branches, thinking the moisture in them would make the arrows flexible, but as they dried, the arrows no longer stayed true. Now we make them from dry wood, like this. The arrows break more easily, but they hit the target more often.”
“I, may?” Furst asked.
Natalia handed him her bow and he aimed an arrow at a narrow sapling. The arrow split the wood just below the joint where it branched out. A bird sitting on one of the branches took flight, seeking solace in a bigger tree with higher branches.
“Very nicely, it works.”
Natalia examined the shot as she pulled the arrow from the tree. “You’re an excellent shot, Furst.”
“A lot of practice lately, I have had.”
“Do the weapons you brought shoot arrows?”
Furst looked at Horatio Blastoe before answering. “A projectile, they do not shoot.”
“Then what are they good for?” Dame Erato asked.
Furst picked up a weapon and set it on stun. He saw a rabbit feeding at the edge of the clearing and nodded toward it. Before Natalia Dalura could say, “Furst, no!” he had caught the rabbit in a force field.
“Is it dead?” she asked.
“No. Move, it cannot. Away, step.” He shot it again and it scampered away.
“Oh. I like this weapon.” She reached for it.
“No,” Furst said, stepping back. “This first, you must see.” He showed her how he switched the lever and then took aim at a rock. “The rock, watch.”
Natalia and Dame Erato turned to watch the rock, and a moment later, it was nothing more than dust.
“Where did it go?” Natalia asked.
“Gone forever, it is.”
“You cannot shoot it a second time so it comes back?”
“No. Kind, this weapon can be. Or fatal.”
“Oh!” Dame Erato exclaimed, realizing the potency of the weapon.
“I could never use such a weapon,” Natalia whispered.
HB:✠ You will have to, Horatio Blastoe advised, HB:✠ because Terrorians won’t hesitate using the same weapon on you. You must fight them with their own weapons if you wish to save yourselves.
“But I won’t have to, will I?” Natalia asked. “After all, isn’t that why you sealed off the library?”
HB:✠ I do not know how long it will take for someone to figure out a way to undermine the seals. I hope no one ever does. But at the very least, we have given you some time to prepare.
A glimmer of sunlight dappled the glade. Dawn had broken. HB:✠ It is time to summon your militia. Advise them about the threat of war and ask them whom else they know who could join your ranks. It will take more than a handful of you, and you need to start training.
“It will take some time,” the curator replied.
HB:✠ Go as quickly as possible. He turned to Dame Erato. Perhaps, while we wait you could prepare a small meal for Furst?
“Of course,” Dame Erato replied. “Go, Natalia. Rouse your friends and tell them to meet us here in two hours’ time. I think that should be enough to alert everyone.”
Natalia walked toward the village with them but left before they reached the library. She had a number of stops to make, including visiting some people who had expressed a desire to join the group but had not yet done so. She planned to tell them enough to fire up their imaginations and draw them to the glade but would leave the more frightening details for Horatio Blastoe and Furst to impart.
Three sisters lived at the first home she came to. Only Felicia, the middle sister, belonged to her nature group, but after listening to the curator speak, the other two asked if they could join in.
“All are welcomed,” Natalia said. “All are needed.”
“I think being part of a war is very exciting,” the youngest sister, Milencia, said.
“You are ridiculous,” the oldest sister, Arraba, replied.
Natalia smiled at the young girl, who looked taken aback by her sister’s rebuke. “We are all unfamiliar with war except for what we have read, however, I’ve been told it’s very dangerous, and our lives could be at stake. It is not romantic or comfortable. War is tolerating the intolerable to gain or maintain the freedoms we hold dear. You will learn through experience, as we all will. You are most welcomed to join us, but you need to understand sacrifices may have to be made. Painful sacrifices.”
Milencia lifted her chin. “Even if it is not easy, I am ready to fight.” She thought about it for a moment. “Can I ask my friends, too?”
Natalia nodded. “Meet us at the glade before the sun has risen above the tree line.”
They agreed to split up and recruit as many volunteers as possible to the cause.
Natalia realized she must move more quickly. She still had five members to visit in the agreed upon time frame.
Mal, sensing the question Johanna wrote in her diary, turned suddenly toward Proteus Bligh. “Nero 51 has been sighted on Fantasia. It’s believed he has now returned to Terroria, and he’s brought Odyon with him.”
“Odyon,” one of the politicians repeated. “That is the name of the most powerful wizard in the history of Mysteriose. We have many wizards, but none have reached Odyon’s level of greatness. He is long dead, however, having died in the Two Millennia War.”
“Apparently, Odyon did not perish, and is now on Terroria.”
One of the politicians drew himself up. “Odyon may be a Mysterian, but that does not mean we will necessarily side with him in the event of war. He chose to hide himself from us for many millennia and no longer commands the people of this realm.”
HB:✠ Then you are willing to rise up against Odyon if he sides with Terroria in battle?
Murmuring grew loud among the people in the crowd. Some of them agreed to defy Odyon, but others hurried away, knowing if he still possessed the power he once held, the
y could not make such promises.
HB:✠ We must take our leave, but we will soon return to continue this meeting. I’m sure there will be a lot to discuss among yourselves, for this latest development is, indeed, a most serious one.
As they returned to Lumi, Mal asked Horatio Blastoe, “Do you believe the Mysterians who say they will take up arms against Odyon?”
HB:✠ I do. Unfortunately, it bodes badly for the people of that realm because it means it will be a world divided.
“Did you get in touch with Mal?” Jackson asked Johanna when she returned.
“Yes. He sent me a one-word answer.”
“Which was…?”
“‘Understood.’”
“Doesn’t say much, does it?”
“No.”
Chris came up the stairs carrying a plate of pastries. “Room service told Mom the kitchen does not serve donuts, but if she was willing to wait for them, they would search the city for an American bakery that specializes in them. She told them ‘pastries are just fine.’ So, here.”
“What is this?”
“Paris-Brest.”
“I guess it’s round like a breast, but shouldn’t there be two of them?”
“Not boobs, you idiot. Brest is a city. Francois says it’s named after a bicycle race between Paris and Brest.”
“Francois?”
“The guy from room service.”
“The way I see it,” Jackson said, “bicycles have two wheels, so there should still be two of them.”
“If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it.”
Jackson snatched the rich pastry off the plate before Chris could grab it. “Hey,” he said, his mouth filled with pastry and cream, “this is pretty good.”
“I’m glad you like it. I ate two downstairs.”
“Why didn’t you bring us two? Now Johanna doesn’t have one.”
“You could have shared yours,” Chris said.
“Am I interrupting?”
The three teens turned to find Mal standing at the top of the stairs. He still wore his Chancellor of the Exchequer robes.