The Kidnapped Smile

by Laurie Woodward

  Alex opened his mouth in retort when a hush fell over in the crowd. The dancers parted for a stooped man. The dark bronze statue hobbled through Saint Mark's Square as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Every Artanian took off his or her mask and bowed reverently as he passed.

  “Who is that?” Gwen whispered.

  “The Thinker, their leader” Alex replied. “He knows everything. All about Bartholomew and me. Why we're here. That we have to complete seven tasks to save Artania.”

  “Seven?” Gwen raised her eyebrows.

  Alex sighed and nodded.

  When the Thinker reached them, he extended his bronze hand to Alex. As the boy shook it, he noticed how soothing the metal was against his skin. Switching Alex's hand to his left, the Thinker grasped Bartholomew's in his right before lifting both in the air.

  A resounding cheer rose from the audience.

  “Give thanks, Renaissance nation,” The Thinker said in the gravelly voice that Alex always thought had a twinge of sadness. “The Deliverers have completed the second task. The prophecy is being fulfilled.”

  “Soothsayer Stone. Soothsayer Stone!” The crowd chanted as one.

  Keeping Alex and Bartholomew's arms raised, his noble speech continued. “Yes, as it was foretold.”

  Our world was born from the magic of two.

  The smiling twins whose creations grew.

  They painted walls with ideas anew.

  Until the dark day we came to rue.

  When one jealous hand used mud to undo.

  And the life of many too soon was through.

  When the Thinker released his hand, Alex bent closer and whispered to Gwen. “He's telling the story of how Artania and the Shadow Swine were born.”

  The Thinker continued:

  But listen to this prophecy with open ears.

  To know what happens every two thousand years.

  The Shadow Swine will make you live in fear.

  Bringing death to those whom you hold so dear.

  “We have avenged those lost in battle!” Mars cried raising his spear.

  The bronze man nodded then kept speaking:

  For they will open the doorway so wide.

  That none of you will find a place to hide.

  And the creators will stop,

  As their dreams are drained

  Before twelve moons wax and wane.

  He placed his steely hands on Alex and Bartholomew's shoulders.

  But hope will lie in the hands of twins

  Born near the cusp of the second millennium.

  On the eleventh year of their lives.

  They will join together like single-forged knives.

  Their battle will be long with seven evils to undo.

  Scattered around will be seven clues.

  Many will perish before they are through.

  But our world will be saved if their art is true.

  “Their art was true!” the costumed revelers cried.

  “Yes. And now we honor them.” The Thinker turned to the gathered gods behind him. “Venus?”

  While doves dropped fluttering rose petals, the goddess of love made her way towards them. She gently removed the Gwen's cap. “Thank you, human, for your excellence with a crossbow, agility on the rolling chariot, and strength in battle.”

  “No problem,” Gwen said.

  “Do not forget your own beauty or that of the Renaissance nation. Keep this beret as a reminder that you were both brave and beautiful in Artania.”

  Alex was sure Gwen would burst out laughing at this; she hated to be thought of as a girly-girl. But she didn't. Instead, her nose twitched and green eyes grew misty.

  Venus blew on the velvet cap which began to shrink until it was small enough to for a mouse. Placing it in Gwen's hand, she curled her fingers around the girl's. “Love and beauty are yours, child.”

  Gwen curtsied awkwardly.

  “Hermes?” The Thinker said after giving them a slight smile. “Come forth.”

  Ever the showman, the god extended his arms and tilted his head back. The wings on his sandals and helmet fluttered wildly as he rose into the air. Hermes did a loop-the-loop and landed in front of Bartholomew. While the crowd was still chuckling, he grabbed Bartholomew's mask by the hooked nose and gave it a tug.

  It snapped Bartholomew in the face.

  “Hey! What did you do that for?” Bartholomew cried.

  “Tee hee! To remind you, Deliverer, that playfulness will lighten your load.”

  Not seeming to know what he was talking about, Bartholomew shrugged.

  “Remove your mask and give it to me.”

  Bartholomew did so.

  “This is Pulcinella,” Hermes said. “The melancholic dreamer. He coasts through life, a simple poet.” Hermes held up the mask with the ridiculously long nose and wrinkled face.

  “So he's nothing like me.”

  Hermes lifted his chin and his helmet wings fluttered faster. The breeze they made blew back the mask's strings and then, just like Gwen's beret, the Pulcinella shrank until it was small enough to fit in Bartholomew's palm. Hermes placed the tip of the mask on one finger and gave it a spin. Twirling and twisting, it rose into the air, flew over their heads, and landed in Bartholomew's open hands.

  “When burdens seem too heavy, pull out this clown mask and recall that you once brought laughter and lightness.”

  The sides of Bartholomew's mouth turned up to a wide grin. He took off his sugarloaf hat and made a sweeping bow for the crowd.

  “Pulcinella. Pulcinella,” the crowd chanted.

  The Thinker held up a bronze hand for silence. “The father of our dear Mona Lisa has his own words.”

  Leonardo released his arm from around Mona Lisa's shoulders and climbed the stairs of the platform. Stroking his long beard, he smiled down at Alex.

  Alex didn't want this. Even though they'd saved her, it had been such great cost. His friends' trust. His belief in himself.

  Leonardo's kind smile was more than he could bear.

  “Pico,” He called down and pointed where Alex had been sitting.

  The ship's boy scampered to the table where Alex had left his mask and picked it up in his small painted hands. He scrambled up the stairs and handed it to Leonardo.

  “Thanks, Pico.” Alex grinned at the little curly top.

  Pico backed away bowing again and again.

  Leonardo turned the mask over in his hands and held it out toward Alex. “Young Deliverer, what did you notice when you donned this costume?”

  “It was hot and stuffy.”

  “Now, that is obvious. Tell me more.”

  “It frightened people, and it smelled.”

  “Yes. There is good reason we chose such a mask for you. Yours was the Plague Doctor costume. It was a disguise doctors wore when visiting people afflicted with disease. The strong herbs were to overpower any dangerous fumes while its ugliness kept others away.”

  Alex had no idea where Leonardo was going with this. He was certainly no doctor.

  “We give it to you as reminder.” He stroked his beard three times and the vulture-like face began to shrink. “As much as you may try to keep others at arm's length and be the lone hero, it is but a mask. Not your true face.”

  Alex shifted uncomfortably. He knew he shouldn't have locked up Gwen and Bartholomew, but he was trying to protect them! He opened his mouth to protest. “But—”

  “Remember,” Leonardo cut him off. “You are true when you stand shoulder-to-shoulder with your celestial twin.”

  Alex glanced at Bartholomew who was nodding.

  “The herbs are a second reminder that although loved ones may seem to inhale poison, you have the power to fill your lungs with healing perfumes to ease and calm each breath.”

  Alex thought of Mom and how he worried so much about her that he tensed up every time she was near. Maybe that was why he kept losing his temper. He took the small mask from Leonardo and held it up to his nose, imagining Mom
as he took a long fragrant breath. In his mind's eye, she became healthy and whole. He gave a long sigh before looking into Leonardo's soft eyes. “Thanks.”

  “No, thank you, young one.” Leonardo gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Because of you, my daughter dances in my arms.”

  In the square below, Mona Lisa gave a twirl and waved.

  “Remember your gifts, Deliverers,” The Thinker said. “You are still needed.”

  “We'll do our best, won't we, twin?” Bartholomew puffed out his cheeks in a goofy face only Alex could see.

  Alex gave him a playful shove. “You know it, B-three.”

  “Find your wonder. Create.” The Thinker turned away from them and bowed to the crowd. The Venetians below donned their masks again. “Apollo!” the bronze leader called.

  The sun-god threw his head back. “Owoo!” he cried.

  “Owoo!” the Venetians repeated.

  “Art was true!”

  “True!” they echoed.

  Apollo was right. When he'd worked side-by-side with his friends, at long last his art had been true. Alex draped an arm over Gwen and Bartholomew.

  “Ready to go home?” he asked.

  Bartholomew grinned and said, “Right on, dude!”

  “Finally,” Gwen chimed in.

  Alex shook his head and chuckled as they stepped into Apollo's chariot. The handsome god snapped the reins, and the fiery stallions trotted across the square. They rose into the air above the waving crowd. Higher and higher. Between the Bell Tower and the Doge's palace. Over the Venetian canals.

  “Goodbye!” they called, as Saint Mark's became a model town below, and their friends like toys peppering its streets.

  A rainbow shot out of the east, arcing under them. All three of their costumes flew off and fluttered back to Venice. Gwen's hair grew back, and her red slippers were replaced with marked up skater shoes. Bartholomew's white suit brightened until it was just as clean as before.

  “Owoo! Keep your art true!” Apollo hooted as both he and the chariot faded away.

  “Oh, we will,” Alex said, stroking the Plague Doctor mask with an index finger.

  “You know it, twin.” Bartholomew pointed to their feet.

  Three pairs of legs were draped in color. Riding faster and faster over that shining rainbow.

  Carrying them back.

  To the real world.

  THE END

  About the Author

  Laurie Woodward is a school teacher and the author of the fantasy books: The Artania Chronicles. Her Artania: The Pharaohs’ Cry is the first children’s book in the series. Laurie is also a collaborator on the award-winning Dean and JoJo anti-bullying DVD Resolutions. The European published version of Dean and JoJo for which she was the ghost writer was translated by Jochen Lehner who has also translated books for the Dalai Lama and Deepak Chopra, In addition to writing, Ms. Woodward is an award winning peace consultant who helps other educators teach children how to stop bullying, avoid arguments, and maintain healthy friendships. Laurie writes her novels in the coastal towns of California.

  Why do I write? I get to be a kid again. And this time the bully loses while the quiet kid wins. Also, I get to have awesome battles with wings and swords, while riding a skateboard.

  Why did I write Artania? Several years ago when education changed to stress test score results over everything else, I began to think of art as a living part of children that was being crushed. But I have watched children create and discover the wonder inside. To me, Shadow Swine represent bullies who subdue that most beautiful part of children.

  “Our world will be saved when their art is true,” the Artanian Prophecy says. Every year I tell my students how every sketch, painting, or sculpture instantaneously becomes a living being in Artania. Then I stand back as they hurriedly scribble a creature, hold it up, and ask, “Was this just born?”

  “It sure was,” I reply with a smile. “You just made magic.”

  And for that cool moment, they believe.

  Dear reader,

  Thank you for taking time to read Artania II: The Kidnapped Smile. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend and much appreciated.