Legend of the Lost Legend

by R. L. Stine

  Contents

  Title Page

  1

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  9

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  11

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  13

  14

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  31

  About the Author

  Also Available

  Copyright

  Justin Clarke tugged his gloves under the sleeves of his heavy blue parka. Then he shielded his eyes with one hand and searched all around. “I don’t see Dad,” he told his sister, Marissa. “Do you?”

  “I can’t see anything!” Marissa cried, shouting over the wind. “All I can see is ice!”

  The sled dogs barked and shook themselves, eager to start moving again.

  Justin narrowed his eyes, squinting to the right, then the left. The ice stretched smooth and shiny, silvery under the bright sunlight.

  In the distance, it darkened to blue. Darker. Darker. Until the blue ice appeared to melt into the sky. Justin couldn’t see where the ice ended and the sky began.

  “It’s cold,” Marissa murmured. A sharp gust of wind blew the parka hood off her red hair. She instantly reached up with both gloved hands and pulled it back in place.

  Justin rubbed his stub of a nose. He pressed his furry gloves against his frozen cheeks, trying to warm them.

  The dogs tugged. Justin grabbed the handle of the dogsled to keep it from sliding away.

  “What do we do now?” Marissa asked. Justin could hear a slight tremble in her voice. He knew his sister was as frightened as he was.

  He stepped onto the sled runner. “Keep going, I guess. Keep going until we find Dad.”

  Marissa shook her head. She held her hood in place with both hands. “Maybe we should stay right here,” she suggested. “If we stay here, it will be easier for Dad to find us.”

  Justin stared hard at her. Why does Marissa look so different? he wondered. Then he realized — the cold had made her freckles disappear!

  “It’s too cold to stay in one place,” he said. “It will be warmer if we keep moving.”

  He helped her onto the back of the sled. At twelve, he was only a year older than Marissa. But he was big and athletic, and she was tiny and skinny.

  The dogs grunted and impatiently pawed the silvery ice.

  “I hate Antarctica!” Marissa wailed, grabbing the sled handle with both hands. “I hate everything about it. I can’t even spell it!”

  Uh-oh, thought Justin. Here she goes. Once Marissa started complaining, she never stopped.

  “We’ll be okay,” he said quickly. “As soon as we find Dad, everything will be okay. And we’ll have some amazing adventures.”

  “I hate amazing adventures!” Marissa declared. “Almost as much as I hate Antarctica! I can’t believe he brought us to this awful place — and then lost us!”

  Justin gazed up at the sky. The sun had started to set. Wide streaks of golden light sparkled over the ice.

  “We’ll find Dad really soon,” he told Marissa. “I know we will.” He lowered the hood over his forehead. “Let’s get going, okay? Before we freeze.” He snapped the line and, in a deep voice, called out to the six dogs, “Mush! Mush!”

  The dogs lowered their heads and moved forward with a burst of speed. The sled jerked hard as it started to slide.

  “Whoooooaaa!”

  Justin let out a startled shriek as he felt himself start to fall.

  His gloved hands flew off the sled handle. He frantically groped for it.

  Missed.

  And fell off the sled. He fell hard onto his back on the ice.

  “Ooooof!” He felt the breath whoosh from his lungs.

  His arms and legs kicked the air, like a bug on its back.

  He struggled to a sitting position. Blinking. The ice shimmering all around him. Shimmering so brightly, he could barely see the sled as it sped away.

  “Justin — I can’t stop it!” Marissa’s shrill shriek sounded tiny against the steady rush of cold wind.

  “Marissa — !” He tried to call to her.

  “I can’t stop it! Help me! Help!” Her cry already so far away.

  Justin leaped to his feet and started to run after the sled.

  He fell again. Face first this time.

  How can I run in snowshoes? he wondered. They’re like wearing tennis rackets on my feet!

  He had no choice. He jumped back up and started to run.

  He had to catch the sled. He couldn’t let Marissa face the cold and the endless ice on her own.

  “I’m coming!” he shouted. “Marissa — I’m coming!”

  He lowered his head against the onrushing wind. He dug the snowshoes into the snowy surface of the ice. One step. Then another. Then another.

  Running hard, he raised his head and squinted into the distance. The sled was a dark blur against the glowing ice. A tiny blur.

  “Marissa — !” he gasped. “Stop the sled! Pull the line! Pull it!”

  But he knew she couldn’t hear him.

  His heart thudded in his chest. He felt a sharp stab of pain in his side. His legs ached from lifting the heavy snowshoes.

  But he kept moving. He didn’t slow down.

  When he gazed up again, the sled appeared larger. Closer.

  “Huh?” His cry sent a puff of white steam floating above his head.

  Am I catching up? he asked himself.

  Yes!

  The sled appeared clearer now. Closer.

  He could see Marissa, holding on with one hand, waving frantically to him with the other.

  “How — how did you stop the sled?” he choked out as he staggered up to her.

  Her blue eyes were wide with fear. Her chin trembled. “I didn’t stop it,” she told him.

  “But — ”

  “It stopped itself,” Marissa explained. “The dogs — they all stopped. I’m frightened, Justin. They stopped all by themselves.” She pointed. “Look at them.”

  Justin turned to the dogs at the front of the sled. All six of them had their heads lowered, their backs arched. They all whimpered and shook, huddled together.

  “Something is frightening them,” Justin murmured. He felt a sudden chill of fear.

  “They won’t move,” Marissa said. “They just hunch together, whimpering. What are we going to do?”

  Justin didn’t reply. He stared past the sled. Past the frightened dogs.

  He stared at an amazing sight.

  A blue lake. Almost perfectly round, as if someone had carved it out of the ice. A pool of water reflecting the clear blue of the sky.

  “Oh, wow!” Marissa gasped. She saw it, too.

  In the center of the small lake, they both saw a creature sitting on a large chunk of ice. It had its head lowered, staring back at them.

  A sea lion.

  A blue sea lion!

  “It’s the one Dad is looking for!” Justin cried. He stepped up beside his sister. They both stared in amazement at the magical creature.

  “The only blue sea lion in the world,” Marissa murmured. “A creature from a myth. No one even believes it is real.”

  Where is Dad? Justin wondered, not taking his eyes from the enormous blue animal. How can Dad be missing this?

  He brought us all the way to Antarctica to search for this creature. And now he’s lost — lost! — and Marissa and I are the on
ly ones to see it.

  “Do you think we can get closer to it?” Marissa asked. “Can we walk up to the edge of the water and see it better?”

  Justin hesitated. “Dad said it has strange powers,” he told his sister. “Maybe we should stay back here.”

  “But I want to see it better,” she protested.

  She started to step off the sled — then stopped.

  They both heard the rumbling sound at the same time.

  A deep rumble, low at first and then louder.

  “Where is it coming from?” Marissa asked in a whisper, her eyes suddenly wide with fear.

  “The sea lion?” Justin guessed. “Did it roar?”

  No.

  They heard it again. Louder this time. Like thunder.

  Thunder … beneath them.

  And this time the ground shook.

  Justin heard a cracking sound. He looked down in time to see the ice start to break.

  “Ohh!” A frightened cry escaped his throat. He grabbed for the back of the sled and pulled himself onto it.

  “What is happening?” Marissa cried. She grasped the sled handle with both hands.

  Another rumble of thunder beneath them.

  The sled tilted and started to rock.

  The sound of cracking ice drowned out the low rumble.

  Ice cracked all around. The ground appeared to split open.

  The blue sea lion, perched in the center of the small, round lake, stared back calmly at them.

  A loud crack made the dogs howl.

  The sled bobbed and tilted. Justin grasped the handle as tightly as he could.

  He peered down. And saw that the ground holding them had broken away, broken free.

  As the ice cracked, the lake opened up. Water rushed all around.

  It’s not a lake, Justin realized. It’s a hidden ocean — under the ice!

  “We–we’re floating away!” Marissa shrieked.

  The dogs howled, drowning out the sound of the cracking ice. Water rushed up over the sides of the sled. A strong current carried the sled away.

  Justin and Marissa held on tightly, struggling to stay on the rocking, tilting sled.

  The blue sea lion faded into the distance.

  And they floated away, bobbing and swaying. Floating out to sea.

  “What happens next, Dad?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Don’t stop there,” Marissa begged. “You can’t leave Justin and me on a chunk of ice, floating out into the ocean. Go on with the story.”

  I pulled the top of the sleeping bag up to my chin. Outside our tent, the fire flickered low. I could hear the chittering of insects all around us in the forest.

  I peered out through the open tent flap. Too dark to see the trees. I could see a narrow patch of purple sky. No moon. No stars at all.

  Is anything darker than a forest? I wondered.

  We had a kerosene lantern inside the tent. It sent warm yellow light around us. But no heat.

  Dad buttoned the top button of his sweater. It had been hot in the tent when we came in after dinner. But now a damp chill had fallen over us.

  “That’s all for tonight,” Dad said, scratching his brown beard.

  “But what happens next?” Marissa demanded. “Go on with the story, Dad. Please!”

  “Yeah,” I agreed. “Do we float out to sea? How do we get back? Do you show up and rescue Marissa and me?”

  Dad shrugged his big shoulders. Under the woolly sweater, he looked like a big, brown bear. “I don’t know,” he replied. “I don’t know what happens next.”

  He sighed and bent over his sleeping bag. He has a big stomach, and it’s hard for him to bend over. He started to unfold the sleeping bag.

  “I haven’t thought of an ending to the story yet,” Dad said softly. “Maybe I’ll dream a good ending tonight.”

  Marissa and I both groaned. We hate it when Dad stops a story in the middle. He always leaves us in terrible danger. And sometimes we have to wait for days to find out if we survive.

  Dad sat down on the tent floor. He groaned as he pulled off his boots. Then he struggled to squeeze into the sleeping bag.

  “Good night,” Marissa said, yawning. “I’m so tired.”

  I felt tired, too. We’d trudged through the forest since early morning, cutting our own path through the trees, and rocks, and tangled weeds.

  “Justin, do me a favor,” Dad said. He pointed to the kerosene lantern. “Turn that off, okay?”

  “No problem,” I said.

  I leaned forward. Reached for the lantern.

  My hand pumped it. Knocked it on its side.

  And in seconds, the tent was ablaze with orange and yellow flames.

  I let out a sick cry and struggled to pull myself out of the sleeping bag.

  Dad climbed to his feet first. I never saw him move so fast before.

  He picked up a section of the canvas tent floor and smothered the flames on the tent wall.

  “Dad — sorry!” I managed to choke out. I finally struggled out of the sleeping bag.

  Luckily, the flames had only caught on one wall. I have too good an imagination. I instantly pictured us surrounded by fire.

  I guess I get my imagination from Dad. Sometimes it comes in handy. Sometimes it doesn’t.

  Now I was breathing hard, my whole body trembling. “Sorry,” I repeated.

  “That was close!” Marissa cried, shivering. “Justin is such a klutz!” She had scrambled to the tent flap, ready to run outside.

  Dad shook his head. “It just burned a small hole,” he reported. “Here. I can cover it with this.” He spread the section of canvas floor over the hole.

  “This thing burns pretty fast,” I murmured.

  Dad grunted but didn’t reply.

  “I’d hate to be in the middle of the forest without a tent,” Marissa declared. “Especially in this weird country.”

  “Everything is fine,” Dad said softly, still fiddling with the tent wall. “But no thanks to either of you,” he added sourly.

  “Huh? What do you mean?” I demanded, straightening a leg of my pajama pants.

  “You haven’t been much help,” Dad complained.

  “What did I do?” Marissa asked shrilly. “I didn’t try to burn the tent down.”

  “You wandered off and got lost this morning,” Dad reminded her.

  “I thought I saw a weird animal,” Marissa replied.

  “It was probably a squirrel,” I chimed in. “Or her shadow.”

  “Give me a break, Justin,” Marissa muttered.

  “Then tonight you both refused to get firewood,” Dad accused.

  “We were tired,” I explained.

  “And we didn’t know where to look,” Marissa added.

  “In a forest?” Dad cried. “You don’t know where to look for firewood in a forest? How about on the ground?”

  Dad was getting steamed.

  Maybe he’s right, I thought. Maybe Marissa and I should try to be a little more helpful.

  After all, this was a very important trip for Dad. And it was really great of him to bring us along.

  My dad is Richard Clarke. Maybe you’ve heard of him. He’s a very famous writer, storyteller, and story collector.

  Dad travels all over the world, searching for stories. All kinds of stories. Then he puts them in books. He has published ten books of stories. And he goes all over the country, telling some of the stories he has hunted down.

  He has been on a lot of exciting trips. But this one was special. He brought Marissa and me to Europe — to this forest in the tiny country of Brovania — because of a very special search.

  Dad had kept the whole thing a surprise. But he told us about it as we made our way through the forest that morning.

  “We’ve come to Brovania to search for the Lost Legend,” he explained. He pulled a large, black beetle from his beard and tossed it away.

  “The Lost Legend is a very old manuscript. It is said to be hidden away in a silver chest,” Dad conti
nued as we walked. “It hasn’t been seen for five hundred years.”

  “Wow,” Marissa murmured from far behind us. She kept stopping to look at bugs and wildflowers. Dad and I had to keep waiting for her to catch up.

  “What is the legend about?” I asked.

  Dad shifted the heavy equipment pack on his back. “No one knows what the legend is about,” he replied. “Because it has been lost for so long.”

  He used his machete to hack away a tall clump of weeds. Then we followed him through a narrow opening in the trees.

  The trees were so thick and leafy overhead, little sunlight could get through. Even though it was still morning, the forest stretched as dark as night.

  “If we find the Lost Legend, we’ll be very lucky,” Dad said. “It will change our lives.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  His expression turned solemn. “The ancient manuscript of the Lost Legend is worth a fortune,” he replied. “The whole world is curious about it. The whole world wants to read it. Because no one knows who wrote it — or what it’s about.”

  * * *

  I thought about it all day as we twisted our way through the forest. What if I’m the one to find it? I asked myself.

  What if I look down and see the silver chest? Hidden between two rocks, maybe. Or half-buried in the dirt with only part of its silver lid poking up.

  Wouldn’t that be cool? Wouldn’t that be awesome?

  I pictured how happy Dad would be. And I thought about how rich and famous I would be, too. I’d be a hero. A real hero.

  That’s what I thought about all day.

  But so far, I knew I hadn’t been much of a hero. In fact, I nearly burned down the tent.

  And Dad was already grumbling that Marissa and I hadn’t been much help.

  I’ll be more helpful, I promised silently that night. I snuggled lower into the sleeping bag, trying to get warm.

  On the other side of the tent, I could hear Dad snoring lightly. Dad can fall asleep in seconds. And he’s such a sound sleeper, you practically have to hit him in the head to wake him up!

  Marissa and I are not like Dad. It takes us hours to fall asleep. And the tiniest, tiniest sound wakes us up instantly.

  So now I lay on my back in the sleeping bag, staring up at the dark ceiling of the tent. Trying to clear my mind. Trying not to think about anything.

  Trying to fall asleep … asleep … asleep.