“Nooo! Stop! I can't take it any more.”
“Fool! You let them defeat you!”
“But they … nooo!”
“Shut-up, Captain!” the snaking voice hissed. “You deserve worse.”
The hunchbacked creature jerked, straining against the manacles that chained him to the cubicle walls. There, Lord Sickhert punished any who displeased him. Many a Shadow Swine felt these burning waters over the millennia, but this was Captain Sludge's first time under the boiling steam.
He lurched toward the opening, but the chains recoiled like a bowstring. Twitching, Sludge tried to lean into cooler air, but the guards shoved him back under the scalding spray. He felt his spiked hair wilt in the steam.
When the handcuffs seared his slime-covered wrists, he writhed in pain. The boiling shower paused. Hot droplets dripped from the obsidian pipe above, singeing his shoulders. Sludge shuddered. His yellow eyes implored his leader, but he knew there'd be no mercy.
I have failed. All because of those idiot boys. Those whose dreams I so easily twist. He roared his rage until another blast from the shower above silenced all sound and thought. Except pain, anger, revenge.
His naked back blistered, gelatinous hide cracking and peeling like layers of bark in a forest fire. Long sheets of singed skin slid down his soaked black trousers into the drain.
Captain Sludge looked down at his large feet. Each claw on his toes had gone from glorious point to short stub.
“They completed the first task. You weren't supposed to let it happen.”
“I was tricked… the boy Deliverer…”
“I made you captain to avoid such stealth.” Lord Sickhert narrowed his bone white eyes and pressed a crystalline button on the stalactite hanging from the ceiling.
Another scalding stream licked at Sludge's head. “Ahh! Please! My lord, no! I'll invade their dreams!”
“Fool! The Deliverers are too powerful now. Their Painted Knights never sleep.” He reached up to push the button again but stopped just before his ashy gray finger touched the stalactite.
“But perhaps there are others. Yes. Close to them. Others whose influence we can use to our advantage.” His tall form stood as straight as a razor's edge when he turned to address the two hunchbacked guards on either side of the correction chamber. “Release him.”
The henchmen unlocked the shackles on Sludge's wrists, and the burned creature collapsed into a heap on the floor. He knew Sickhert was watching, looking for weakness. Waiting for him to make another mistake, the one error that would cost him his life. Sludge would not make such a mistake. He crawled to Sickhert's feet. “Thank you for sparing me, my Lord.” He opened his mouth to release the honorific spittle.
“Save your platitudes. Night falls soon in the west. Ready yourself to invade.”
I am spared! Sludge thought, yellow eyes brightening.
“I must consult The Lava Pool Gramarye.” Muttering to himself, Sickhert kicked Sludge out of the way. He strode from the room, long dark cape scraping the torture chamber's floor like claws on skin.
Chapter 4
Gwendolyn Obranovich glanced around the skate park. Where was everybody? They said they'd meet at three thirty. It had to be close to that now.
“I'm not waiting,” she said.
Gwen hopped onto the sugar maple deck of her skateboard and kicked off to practice something she'd been working on lately—a stance with her right leg forward. She liked goofyfooting because it gave her a different view of the hills and ramps and helped her to see all the angles and places she might trip. Picking up speed, she carved a long arc on the concrete course. “Just a little faster. Bend and you'll have it,” she told herself. Gwen scraped both axles on the curb. Score!
A few kids stopped and nodded appreciatively. She rolled around the course one more time with her arms raised in celebration before stopping to get a drink.
“Hey, saw the grind. Goofyfoot. Cool,” Alex said as he walked to her, his own board tucked under one arm.
“Thanks.” Trying to look humble, Gwen glanced down at her purple high tops marked with peace signs and skater logos. Although they didn't look as cool now as when she'd drawn them, anything was better than brand new tennies.
“Seen Jose or Zach?” Alex asked.
“Naw. Reaching into her backpack on the grass, she pulled out a water bottle and squirted a long stream into her mouth. She swished the water around her cheeks, letting the liquid cool the place in her cheek that kept getting scraped by her braces.
As if on cue. Jose Hamlin and Zachary Van Gromin strolled to them. Gwen noticed how Jose's long ponytail blew behind him gently in the ocean breeze. No matter what was going on, he always possessed a peaceful hippie air about him. She had no idea how. Maybe it was all the yoga he did.
He was a stark contrast to Zach. Mr. Entertainment was always going for the flashy stunts before looking around to see if anyone was checking him out. Zach was a little older than them, thirteen from being held back in first grade. He'd tell you someone mixed up his records. He did know how to dress, though. The dude wore the most awesome board shorts and Vans of anyone. He could afford it. His dad was some Hollywood producer or something.
“Where you guys been?” Alex asked.
“Mr. Fashion here had to stop at home and change,” Jose explained.
“Yeah, but you gotta admit,” Zach said crossing his arms as if posing for a magazine. “I do look good.”
All three kids groaned. Alex and Gwen exchanged a glance and rolled their eyes while Jose shrugged and pulled out a bamboo mat from his backpack. He unrolled it and placed it on the grass before doing his usual warm-up of lying on his stomach with his back arched high and neck stretched toward the sky in a yoga pose.
“Let's do it.” Gwen grabbed her skateboard and headed back onto the course.
Alex and Zach quickly followed. Soon, all four of them were laughing and challenging each other to more and more daring stunts. Alex practiced his ollies, while Jose worked on 360s. Zach, of course, went for the flash, doing jumps and grinds whenever he thought people were watching.
That night, Gwen smiled at the memory as she readied herself for bed. She'd been in her element, dancing to the skate park song, sometimes getting just enough air to be able to see over the railing. Then the blue Pacific and the sky had melded with her body, and they all became one.
Cool.
Gwen undid her tight red pigtails and brushed her hair enough to satisfy Dad before threading the dental floss in and out of her braces. Her orthodontist tried to make braces fun, letting kids pick out all kinds of colors and change them every time they went in. This month in honor of Halloween, she'd chosen orange and black, thinking how her smile would look like the grin on a funny jack-o'-lantern.
“Gwen?” a deep voice called from the other side of the bathroom door.
“Yeah?” she mumbled through a mouthful of toothpaste.
“T-minus seven minutes.”
“'kay!”
Gwen's dad was a bit of a freak about time. He timed everything from her morning jog on the treadmill in the exercise room to how long it took her to brush her teeth. She guessed it was because he had to rush around so much, managing all those gyms and everything. Now he owned seventeen California Dreamin' gyms with the slogan: “Where the dreams of a California body come true.” Gwen's Mom helped come up with the phrase back when she and Dad were still married and before she took off to Europe to go back to modeling.
But it's all right, Gwen told herself. Even if Mom hasn't called since last year, I do have Dad. Sort of. When he isn't working.
Gwen wiped the toothpaste off her mouth, splashed a little water on her freckled face, and dashed down the hall to Dad's office.
“You beat your record by one minute twenty seconds,” he said looking up from his cell phone.
Gwen beamed. She jogged in place a few times, her big white feet slapping against the marble floor.
“Okay, ready?” she called out pic
king up the pace.
“You know it.” Dad stood and nodded.
“Arms strong?”
Dad flexed his biceps.
“Legs strong?”
“I don't know.” Mr. Obranovich did a few squats, then said with a grin, “I only bench pressed two-twenty today.”
“Oh, Dad!” Gwen giggled.
“On your mark!”
She crouched like a runner getting ready for a race.
“Get set! Go!”
Gwen ran full speed toward the bear-like body of her father. When she reached him, he grabbed her under the arms and lifted her up over his head. He spun like a carousel, faster and faster, while Gwen shrieked with laughter.
“Heads up!” Dad cried as he tossed her into the air. Gwen slapped the ceiling in high five celebration and fell into his comforting strong arms. “Time for bed, Tinker Bell.”
“Night, Dad.” She nuzzled against his broad neck and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
As she snuggled under the surfboard-printed sheets, Gwen felt perfectly safe.
* * *
The girl's breathing was soft and even as the creature snaked its way through the window. Its yellow eyes scanned the floor and walls. With only a few posters of skateboarders and no art anywhere, she'd be perfect for dream draining.
“No knights in sight. Come,” the slime-covered invader hissed.
Two more slimy wisps twisted their way in to rest silently on the hardwood floor. Each took shape revealing hunched backs, piggish nostrils, and jagged teeth. Pairs of bony hands crowned with claw-like nails opened and closed in bone crunching pops.
The two Shadow Swine bowed before their leader who pointed a talon toward the sleeping child.
“Ahh the sweet smell of the innocent,” Captain Sludge took a deep breath through rattling nostrils. “Her dreams will be easy to turn.”
His two minions nodded.
“I will invade first. When the connection is complete, you two follow. This one must be turned. She is a friend of the Deliverers.”
“Yes, sir,” Stench and Slurry grunted in unison.
Sludge glared at them, doubting their abilities. As the captain of Subterranea, he knew that intelligence was a rare gift among Shadow Swine. His kind was good at following orders, but most lacked his unique ability to dream drain. Only a handful could come up with the truly terrifying nightmares that were his specialty.
Captain Sludge opened his cavernous mouth to release what looked like a swarm of locusts. Then he let out a gurgling breath, and they buzzed straight for Gwen's left ear. His dream connection strengthened, causing the child to stir. “No… no…” she mumbled.
“I see her dream. Now, minions.”
Two more slimy mouths opened as dual strips of dark mist joined Sludge's cloud entering Gwen's ear canal.
Sludge ran a hand over his bony forehead, spreading slime over the short spikes of hair atop his head. “Yes…an easy one to twist.”
Inside Gwen's dream, he saw a happy family picnicking on the beach. It was a sunny day with water a sickeningly bright blue, and they were laughing. He'd change that. Sludge raised his arms, and the dream sky grew dark.
The mother walked toward the water. Now it wasn't only a sea. Sludge made it a swirling bay filled with paint-can shaped sharks that thrashed and circled the mother.
“Rochelle!” the father cried, leaping into the choppy waves. He waded several yards while reaching those ridiculously muscular arms to save her.
“Shrink…shrink,” Sludge chanted.
The father's arms immediately withered as a shark's fin sliced through the water toward him.
“Dad, no!” the dream Gwen screamed.
“It is the art,” Sludge said, making his voice blare from the sky. “You must get rid of it.” With a snap of his fingers, a lightning bolt cracked in the nightmare sky.
The child threw the paintbrushes that now littered the shore into the sea.
Captain Sludge chuckled. Then he felt a tap on his real shoulder. He almost turned to brush away one of his dumb minions when Stench's cry stopped him.
“Turn away from that child or be destroyed,” a deep voice ordered.
“Knight of Painted Light!” Slurry shrieked.
Sludge blinked to remove his gaze from the dream to see the child's room. At the window stood a painting of an African warrior wielding a glowing sword.
“One against three! Ha!” Sludge pulled his own blade from under his cloak.
Lightsaber raised, the knight lunged. He swung twice, and Stench fell with a thud. As the Shadow Swine rolled over, he clamped his mouth shut, severing his dream connection. Now, only two wisps of smoke remained.
Captain Sludge quickly added more terror to Gwen's dream. The paint-can sharks turned to circle the father as dozens more snapped at Gwen's screaming mother.
The girl whimpered in her sleep.
Feeding on the fear, the brazened Sludge returned his focus to the knight. Eyes narrowing, he raised his razor sharp sword to draw a figure eight in air. When the knight's eyes locked on the blade, Sludge struck. The clank of metal meeting metal filled his bat-like ears.
Without hesitation, the captain swung again, forcing the painted one against the wall. When the knight jabbed, Sludge sidestepped the thrust with an easy guffaw.
He signaled Stench to his side while ordering Slurry to stay put and continue dream draining. Stench pulled a dagger from the top of his combat boot, and they both bore down on the painted soldier.
The knight swung wildly; his saber met only air.
Sludge took a step back. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw fear in those eyes. Strange. Even when the odds were stacked against them, these creations were usually brave to a fault.
Then he noticed its legs were missing.
The Deliverer had never finished this painting! Captain Sludge tried to hide the smirk that threatened to split his slimy face. His enemy would never know what hit him.
“Prepare for your doom, Cre-a-tion.” Sludge sneered. With a single slice, he drew a long scrape across the knight's stomach.
“Nooo!” The warrior clutched his side as his lightsaber darkened. Then the spark in his eyes dimmed. He faded and shrank from view.
When he disappeared with a slight pop, Sludge held up a triumphant sword.
His underlings nodded appreciatively, their hunched backs heaving up and down like a mudslide destroying a mountain of homes.
“Goo' job, Captain,” the taller Slurry said.
“I know.” He puffed out his barrel-shaped chest.
He glanced back into Gwen's dream. Only a few paintbrushes remained on the beach. The sobbing child kept picking them up and tossing them out to sea. To Sludge, her tear-stained cheeks were a wondrous sight.
“Lord Sickhert will be most pleased,” he said, rubbing his claw-tipped hands together.
As dream Gwen threw the last brush into the waves, every shark disappeared, and her parents embraced her on shore.
“Keep art away.” Sludge's grisly voice reminded her as the smoky wisps exited her ear. “Only then will your family be safe.”
The child rolled over, and her breathing returned to normal.
Sludge's work was done.
Chapter 5
Wanting to get an early start on the painting while the folks were still asleep, Alex scampered out to the garage, Rembrandt padding behind. He pulled the sheet off the easel and gasped. “What the frick?”
His knight had a gaping hole in its stomach, and the painted lightsaber was gone. Both hands were empty, and they'd changed, clenched fists raised in anger now replacing the heroic pose Alex had painted the day before. Even the noble African face was different. Today it was twisted as if in agony.
“Did someone repaint it?” Alex asked Rembrandt.
The dog flipped up one ear and then the other as if to say, “Beats me.” Hands on hips, Alex walked around, examining all his supplies.
The brushes lay on the counter right where he'd left
them the night before. Every paint bottle was tightly capped. Reaching out a shaking hand, Alex touched the canvas. It was nearly dry. If anyone had painted over his work, it would still be wet.
“Could Shadow Swine have done this?” Alex whispered, thinking back to the god Apollo's explanation of how the Shadow Swine came to be:
Long ago, one man destroyed art and unleashed dark forces that still lie in wait. Kandart gave birth to an evil race of creatures, Apollo had said with a shudder. The Shadow Swine who live below Artania are bent on destroying us. Whenever humans curse art or spoil its beauty, their army gains power and one of us dies.
Alex shook his head remembering the rhyming prophecy on the Soothsayer Stone:
The Shadow Swine will make you live in fear,
Bringing death to all those whom you hold dear.
Alex stared at that tormented face that had been so noble the day before. Was he dead? He peered closer at the painting and shook his head.
“Not if I have anything to do with it! Come on, Rembrandt. Let's fix this warrior.”
With a quick tailwag, Rembrandt pranced to the cabinet and snatched a few brushes up in his muzzle. When he trotted back and dropped them at his master's feet, Alex patted the faithful head and set to mixing colors.
Dipping a brush in light sable, Alex dabbed at the painting like a nurse swabbing a feverish patient's face. He filled in the stomach's gaping hole, softened the anguished lines on the ebony face, and loosened clenched fists. He stood back to examine his progress. “Better. But I want to make sure no Shadow Swine can defeat him.”
He enlarged arm and leg muscles and added a shield in one corner—a golden shield that would deflect every blow those monsters could throw.
Alex imagined the strength of a million suns as he repainted the lightsaber with transparent yellow and titanium white. This sword would be greater than before. This would glow with the power of creation.
Hours later as father was rising, Alex stood back to admire the painting.
The Kidnapped Smile Page 2