by Onk Beakman
Zook’s eyes lit up. “Batterson’s pies? Mmm-mmmm. Is it lunchtime already?”
“Only for him,” grumbled Morbo.
Cynder turned to see a parade of ghosts and zombies streaming out of the town hall, each carrying a huge, steaming pie. The smell was mouthwatering. Zook had been right. These were Batterson’s pies. They were the tastiest, juiciest, most delicious pies in all of Skylands—and, bizarrely, the Undead’s favorite delicacy.
Of course, it hadn’t always been like this. For centuries, the Undead had terrorized the living, pouring out of their tombs to cause havoc.
But that all changed when an enterprising Molekin baker by the name of Batterson opened a bakery in Darklight Crypt. The ghouls went gaga for Batterson’s pastries and gave up haunting on the spot. Why spend all your time freaking out mortals when you could be feasting on succulent pastry morsels instead? Now Batterson’s pie shops were springing up all over Skylands and were loved by both the living and the Undead—and, it seemed, Hurrikazam.
“Bring me my pies,” the huge head demanded, its fluffy mouth visibly watering. “Bring them to me NOOOOOW!”
As the head howled the last word, a dark twisting vortex appeared beside the cloud. Mini tornadoes spilled from the rift in the sky and spun down toward the parading pie-bearers. One by one, the tiny twisters plucked the island dwellers from the ground and lifted them spinning back up toward Hurrikazam, pies and all.
“He’s ghost-napping them,” Cynder cried out in alarm as the first tornado buzzed back beneath the head’s monstrous mustache. “We’ve got to stop him.”
Cynder leaped forward, grabbing the foot of a ghost that had already been whipped up into a whirlwind. The spook’s pie spun out of its hands as Cynder pulled it loose and landed with a plop on the ground.
“Oh no,” wailed Morbo. “The crust has broken! We are doomed!”
“Don’t worry,” said Flunky, attempting to scoop the pastry back into the pie dish. “It’s not that bad! Wooooooah!”
Another tornado had whizzed down and snatched up the spectral private secretary. Beneath him, Dogwood roared in anger and reached up in an attempt to grab Flunky, but he too was snatched up by the mini storm. Stump Demon and bespectacled ghost alike spun through the air toward Hurrikazam.
“Let him go!” Cynder roared into the whirlwind-filled air. Beside her, Zook swung his bazooka up on to his shoulder.
“Don’t sweat it,” he said. “This big head will soon be shell-shocked.”
Chuckling to himself, Zook squinted down his bazooka’s sights and squeezed his trigger. Hurrikazam was about to get blasted right between his cloudy white eyes.
Chapter Seven
Lightning Strike
“No!” shouted Morbo, barging into Zook. The Bambazooker fired, but his shot went wild, soaring harmlessly into the sky.
“What are you doing?” Zook yelled, struggling to bring his bamboo-tube back to point at Hurrikazam. “I could have stopped him!”
“We can’t,” Morbo whined, keeping a meaty hand on the bazooka. “Hurrikazam is the most powerful Weather Wizard we’ve ever seen. If we don’t meet his demands—”
“He won’t restore the bad weather,” Hex said solemnly, finishing the Night Mayor’s sentence.
Above them, the last of the tornadoes were spinning into the Weather Wizard’s vortex.
“Exactly,” Morbo said, looking crestfallen. “It’s the only way.”
High in the sky, the Weather Wizard’s vortex finally closed, a satisfied smirk stretching across his cloudy face.
“It’s time this billowing bully was taught a lesson,” Cynder declared, launching into the air.
“What have we here?” Hurrikazam bellowed as Cynder sped toward him. “Tsk. That’s the only problem with picnicking in the sunshine. There are always annoying bugs.”
“Sorry to spoil your snack.” Cynder sneered, coming level with Hurrikazam’s ginormous eyes. “Now, send those specters right back.”
“Or what?”
“Or this!” Cynder roared, a sparking stream of spectral lightning bursting from her open mouth. The dark energy slammed straight into Hurrikazam’s smirking face.
“Ha!” the Weather Wizard boomed, the electricity arcing up and down his misty mustache. “Think yourself a bright spark, do you?”
Cynder glared. Usually enemies evaporated in a blaze of light when hit by her spectral lightning. At the very least they looked shocked. Hurrikazam was just laughing.
“Using lightning to fight a meteorological mage? Not so bright after all!”
Cynder’s jaws snapped shut, exhausted. The Weather Wizard had absorbed everything she had. Time for plan B.
Cynder started to fly around and around in a circle.
“There’s no need to get yourself in a tizzy,” mocked Hurrikazam.
You’ll be laughing on the other side of your cloud, Cynder thought as she pushed herself even faster. Within seconds she was an indigo blur.
Far below, Zook cheered her on. “That’s it, girl,” he shouted, waving his bazooka. “Send that selfish storm cloud back where he came from!”
“But what’s she doing?” asked Morbo, bewildered at the sight.
“A high-altitude shadow dance,” breathed Hex in admiration. “She’s summoning a ghost-haunter attack.”
“Yeah.” Zook giggled. “Old fog-face is going to get more spooks than he can swallow.”
Sure enough, glowing ghosts started to manifest themselves in Cynder’s wake, an army of apparitions that turned angrily on the Weather Wizard.
Hurrikazam just laughed louder than ever.
“Am I supposed to be scared?” he chortled. “Am I supposed to quake in my boots? If I had boots, I mean.”
The Skylanders heard Cynder’s defiant reply as the ghosts started streaking toward the cloud. “This day will haunt you forever!” she screamed, more ghouls appearing all around her.
“Ha!” The Weather Wizard barked. “You don’t stand a ghost of a chance against me. You tried your lightning. Now try mine.”
Hex shouted out a warning, but it was too late. Bolts of lightning blazed from Hurrikazam’s eyes, lancing through the ghostly guards and zapping into Cynder. The dragoness cried out in surprise and then plummeted to the ground, wings still sparking with Hurrikazam’s fiendish electricity.
Chapter Eight
Under the Weather
“Levitate!”
Hex shot into the air and caught Cynder as she fell. Zook, meanwhile, was firing volley after volley of high-velocity shells at the Weather Wizard.
“Please,” begged Morbo. “Don’t anger him.”
“He angered me,” snapped Zook, his usual happy-go-lucky persona slipping for a second. “How d’ya like that, cloud-chops?”
The shells exploded harmlessly against Hurrikazam’s fleecy cheeks.
“Oh, I’m cool with it,” he shouted back. “But not as cold as you!”
“What’s he talking about,” Zook said, his wooden brow furrowing. “I’m not c-c-c-cold.”
“Then why are your teeth chattering?” Morbo asked, but Zook couldn’t answer. When the Night Mayor looked again, a blanket of sparkling frost had spread over the Bambazooker, freezing him in place.
Above them, Hex was clutching Cynder with one hand and conjuring a spell with the other.
“You will bow down before my power,” she growled, orbs spinning from her fingers. “All hail the dark arts.”
“Hmmmm,” mused Hurrikazam. “’Hail,’ you say? What a splendid idea, witch.”
The Weather Wizard’s face darkened and Hex found herself pummelled by hailstones the size of beach balls. She twisted, shielding the still-stunned Cynder from the onslaught, and was forced back down to the ground.
“I have had my fill of your pies and your insolence,” boomed Hurrikazam tri
umphantly. “I will return when the clock strikes thirteen tomorrow. And hear this—if you dare defy Hurrikazam again, I will make sure that darkness never returns to your miserable little island. Remember, the Weather Wizard rains supreme!”
With a peal of thunderous laughter, the cloud dissipated and with it the sunshine. The island was plummeted into darkness, the newly grown flowers withering and dying instantly.
“Thank the dark powers.” Morbo sighed in relief. “We have survived another day.”
“Survived?” Cynder said, still shaking from the lightning attack. “But what about all those ghosts?”
“A-and F-f-f-flunky,” shivered a rapidly thawing Zook. “He was s-s-s-snatched too, remember?”
“As if I could forget,” Morbo insisted mournfully. “It’s the same every day. Hurrikazam appears at the witching hour, demanding that we hand over at least twenty pies. Or else.”
“Or else what?” asked Hex, her face grave.
“Or else he’ll make the sun shine forever,” replied Morbo, wincing at the thought. “An endless summer.”
“What’s wrong with a little sun, eh?” Zook said, brushing the last of the frost from his arms. “Could give you a tan.”
“And destroy their crops,” Hex said sharply. “Undead plants need bad weather to grow. Darkness. Storms. Freezing conditions.”
“That’s right.” Morbo nodded. “Nothing would grow in the sun, except for ”—he paused, hardly able to say the word—“flowers.”
“And that would be bad,” said Cynder.
“You mean good,” corrected Zook.
“Whatever.” Cynder sighed.
“But what about the Island Dwellers he abducts with the pies?” Hex asked. “Do you ever see them again?”
A shadow passed over Morbo’s face. “No. They’re gone forever. All except . . .” His voice trailed off.
“Except?”
Morbo looked at each Skylander in turn. “Someone did come back, but they had changed beyond all recognition.”
“Can we see them?” Cynder asked.
Morbo nodded. “If you must. But prepare yourself. It’s enough to give you nightmares—even when you’re awake.”
“Heh-heh. There sure are a lot of stairs,” Zook said with a chuckle as the Skylanders followed Morbo down into the Town Hall’s basement.
“F-five flights,” Morbo confirmed, stammering with nervousnesses. “We need to k-keep him down here. Away from everyone.”
Hex didn’t like the sound of that. “In the dark? Is that completely necessary?”
“Oh a-absol-lu-lu-lutley,” Morbo replied, his chains clanking together as he trembled. “No one came out of their h-h-houses when we kept him upstairs. B-besides, he was putting me off my t-t-tea . . .”
The lower they descended, the worse the Night Mayor stammered.
“Sheesh,” Zook whispered to Cynder. “Morbo looks like he’s seen, well, himself.”
“This is more serious than we first thought,” Hex warned from behind. “There isn’t much in Skylands that can scare a ghost.”
“So, this Hurrikazam guy?” asked Zook. “He turns night into day, darkness into light?”
Cynder immediately picked up on what he was getting at. “You think he’s got something to do with the segment?”
“Using the complete opposite of the Undead Element against the Undead themselves,” pondered Hex. “A distinct possibility.”
They continued down the staircase, Morbo shuddering as they reached the lower basement. “I-i-it isn’t too l-late to ch-ch-change your m-m-mind.”
“We’ll be fine,” Cynder said softly. “Don’t worry about us.”
“I-I wasn’t,” admitted the mayor. “I was w-w-worried about me. V-very well, h-here we are.”
The spooked spook snapped his fingers, and—as if by magic (which is exactly what it was)—torches blazed into life in the corridor ahead of them. By the flickering light of the flames, the Skylanders could see a solitary door at the end of the passage.
“Are they in there?” Cynder asked, wide-eyed.
Morbo nodded with a whimper. “H-he said he escaped from the wizard’s cloud. We f-f-found him hiding behind a tomb in the graveyard. He wouldn’t let us s-see him at first. I s-sometimes wish I hadn’t p-persuaded him to come out.”
“Hey, it can’t be that bad,” said Zook cheerfully, marching down the corridor. “Trust me, we’ve seen scary stuff. Monsters. Gorgons. Kaos’ feet.”
“Y-you don’t understand,” Morbo said, floating behind the Skylanders who were already rushing after Zook. “It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen.”
Zook had reached the door by now and was reaching for the knob.
“P-p-please reconsider,” pleaded Morbo, rushing ahead of them and placing a warning hand on Zook’s. “People have gone mad looking at what’s in that room.”
“Really,” snarled Cynder, beginning to lose her temper with the shaky specter. “We’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” said Morbo, gliding aside. “It’s your f-f-funeral.”
Chuckling at the nervous ghost, Zook turned the handle. The door was stiff, creaking as the Bambazooker pushed it open.
The room inside was pitch black.
“Um, hello?” ventured Zook, stepping into the darkness.
“Hello,” returned a weak, wheezing voice.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Zook said breezily, fighting the urge to swallow nervously. Even he was getting the jitters. “We’re Skylanders and we’re here to help.”
“Oh, there’s everything to be afraid of,” said the voice from the shadows.
“Hex?” said Cynder, peering into the dark. “Can you help us out with a little light?”
“Gladly,” the witch replied, sending a glowing orb up to the ceiling.
The three Skylanders gasped as one as they finally saw what was sitting in the center of the room.
Chapter Nine
The Thing in the Room
“Is that it?” asked a mystified Cynder. “Is that what everyone is so afraid of?”
“Y-y-yes,” whimpered Morbo, purposely looking the other way. “Don’t say I didn’t w-w-warn you.”
“But,” started an equally confused Zook, “it’s just a . . .”
“I-I know.”
“Mabu,” completed Hex.
The sorceress was right. There, sitting in the middle of the room, illuminated by Hex’s orb, was the most lovable Mabu you could ever hope to see.
“Awww,” cooed Zook. “He’s adorable!”
“Waaaaaaaaaaah!” wailed the Mabu, bursting into tears. “See? I’m adorable.”
“You are.” Zook nodded enthusiastically. “Real cute.”
“Cuuuuute!” The Mabu bawled. “This is the worst day of my un-life!”
“What did I say?” Zook shrugged, looking at his friends in bewilderment.
A look of realization passed over Cynder’s scales. “Of course,” she said, turning her attention to the snivelling Mabu. “What’s your name?”
“Rib Cage,” the Mabu sniffed in reply.
“Strange name for a Mabu,” Zook commented.
“A strange name indeed,” agreed Hex, also realizing what had happened.
“You weren’t always a Mabu, were you?” asked Cynder, taking a tentative step forward. The Mabu shook his head.
“What were you?”
“I was a skeleton,” Rib Cage howled. “A terrifying, bone-white, Undead skeleton.”
Hex swept past Cynder and rushed toward the Mabu.
“And now you’re . . .” She paused, not quite believing what she was saying. “Alive?”
“Yes,” said Morbo from behind, his voice betraying his disgust. “This is how we found him.”
“I was Undead when I got sucked up by one of the We
ather Wizard’s tornadoes,” Rib Cage explained, pulling a tissue out of his pocket. “And now look at me. I’m a freak.”
“Even his family has disowned him,” Morbo reported with a shake of his head.
“They made no bones about it,” sniffed Rib Cage. “Said they wouldn’t be seen alive with me.”
Cynder frowned. “How did this happen?”
“It was the wizard. That big head isn’t really him. It’s a floating magical lair—his Cloud Citadel.”
“And what’s inside?” Hex asked, hanging on to Rib Cage’s every word.
“Some kind of factory,” Rib Cage remembered, “with plants and flowers everywhere. There are birds and butterflies and the sweetest smells imaginable.”
“The complete opposite to the Isle of the Undead,” said Cynder quietly, sharing a knowing look with Hex.
“Sounds beautiful,” Zook said, smiling at the thought.
“Exactly,” said Rib Cage, shuddering at the memory. “We were placed beneath a machine that looked like a big metal cloud. Hurrikazam threw a switch, and it started to rain. Huge, fresh raindrops, drenched us in seconds. And when the rain stopped, I . . .” His voice dissolved into sobs again.
“I-I can’t bear it,” said Morbo, also fighting back the tears.
“It’s okay,” comforted Cynder, as gently as she could. “You can tell us.”
“When the rain stopped, I was like this,” Rib Cage sniffed. “My Undead nature had been washed away. I was alive.”
“Can that even happen?” asked Zook, scratching his trunk.
“No,” insisted Cynder, shaking her head. “It’s impossible.”
“But it’s true,” Morbo said solemnly. “Our local witch doctor has performed every test he knows. Rib Cage is alive. He has a heartbeat and everything.”
“But it must be a trick,” Cynder said, not knowing what to believe. “No one can bring the Undead to life.”
“Why not?” said Hex, her voice as cold as ice. “The living can be made Undead. Why not the other way around?”