The Cinnabar Box (Guardians of the Earth)

by ILIL ARBEL

  “I want to go to where the Vizier really lives. I bet he keeps Aunt Yolanda there. You can direct me, and I will leave the Cinnabar box with Camellia and Bartholomew.”

  “It’s incredibly dangerous, Donna. The chances of coming back alive are slim.”

  “We can save your planet, Jessamine, not to mention Aunt Yolanda. Are you scared?”

  “Yes, I am. Terribly scared. But I will go anyway, Donna. It’s worth it.”

  “I am scared too. We are in real trouble. I wish Aunt Yolanda were here,” said Donna. “How I wish she were here ...” she smiled sadly. These words always worked when Aunt Yolanda could read her Wicca Stone. In this reality the stone may or may not reveal Donna’s thoughts, even if she could be sure that Aunt Yolanda was alive. For the first time, Donna was not sure of that. What would life be like without Aunt Yolanda, her cheerful smile, her steady support, her unconditional love?

  Tears came to her eyes and she could not suppress them. They flowed and a small sob attracted Jessamine’s attention. She looked up from her crochet work to see Donna covering her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. She put her work aside, went to Donna, and hugged the crying girl with silent understanding. The tent shook as the wind went on beating and throwing sand and pebbles against the fabric.

  ~~~

  “I just can’t bear it, Your Majesty,” said the prime minister as he gazed at the crystal. “This brave little girl. Look at her crying for her aunt. We have no right –”

  “She chose to come, my friend,” said the queen. “She may be a little girl, but she has Wicca honor. And look at your niece Jessamine comforting her. This little girl lost her parents in the fight to save our land. See how brave, how strong she is. Never a complaint, never a tear, hungry and exhausted half the time.”

  The prime minister stealthily wiped his own tears. “After Jessamine’s parents were killed while trying to save the river dam, I wanted her to live in the palace, but she chose to help Grandmother.”

  “I know, my friend. Did you think I could forget her courage and determination? And some day we will reward them both, I hope. Please don’t cry – we do what we can. But without Donna’s help we will all die. Who knows, she may be able to find Senior Witch Yolanda.”

  “Two little girls, all by themselves, defying the Vizier and his violent Sound Magic, Your Majesty?”

  “A butterfly, batting its wings in the forest, can cause a chain of events that may change the weather thousands of miles away.”

  “I believe you are using a parable, Your Majesty. How does it relate to the great danger awaiting these two little girls?”

  “Two little girls, whispering to each other in another reality, may interfere with the sound vibrations the Vizier may have set up with his loathsome shrieking wail in this reality, Prime Minister.”

  Chapter 5

  The girls stole into Grandmother’s tent, carrying the Cinnabar box and a written note of explanation wrapped around it. Grandmother and the animals were sound asleep on their blankets. Donna put the little packet on a clean plate on the workbench, and the girls crept out of the tent and returned to Jessamine’s to attempt the reality shift.

  “Not so fast,” they heard a voice. Bartholomew was sitting on a pillow inside their tent, his straw hat pulled low on his forehead.

  “Oh, no,” said Donna. “How did you manage that? We woke you up, right?”

  “Not exactly. I snooped when you thought you were alone in your tent, and then pretended to sleep in mine. I knew you would be up to something. I don’t trust you, Wicca, and I am coming with you to see that you don’t mess everything up. Camellia will take the Cinnabar box to the queen.”

  “It’s tremendously dangerous, Agent Bartholomew,” said Jessamine respectfully.

  “Do you think I will let two insignificant Wicca make trouble without trying to save the day?”

  “Thank you, Bartholomew,” said Donna. “You are a real friend.”

  “Ha!” sniffed the donkey. “I just know you can’t manage without me. Besides, can you imagine how it will annoy Camellia? I can’t miss that!”

  Jessamine opened a small wooden box and took out a heavy, cloth-bound notebook. “My grimoire,” she explained. “A Wicca spell book. I copy everything I learn into it. Each of us has her own grimoire. It’s much more powerful than a printed book of other people’s spells, because it’s personal and geared to our own style. I will take it with me.”

  “Should we pack anything else?” asked Donna.

  “What for?” scoffed Bartholomew. “Either we accomplish everything right away, or we are dead. We won’t need any equipment.”

  Jessamine studied a page carefully, then tucked the book into her belt’s pouch. “Donna, I will tell you what to do, and you will follow me, repeating the words and actions exactly as I describe them. Agent Bartholomew, please do not utter a sound, because anything you say may alter the coordinates. Stand near me. We must stay in physical contact.”

  She took off a ring, mounted with a small crystal ball, and slipped it on Donna’s finger. She put her arms around the donkey and the girl.

  “Donna, stare at the ball. Blink as little as possible, and allow your eyes to get tired. Focus on the center of the ball.”

  Small lights appeared in the ball, dancing, fleeting here and there, growing and expanding.

  “Donna, create a fog in your mind. Think fog, mist, grayness.”

  Gray fog materialized in the ball, easily, effortlessly, gracefully. It filled the ball.

  “Donna, make the fog envelop us. Think coolness, mistiness, grayness around us. All three of us. It’s coming out of the ball to embrace us.”

  The fog drifted out of the ball like a tiny tornado. It grew into a mantle of soft, swirling wind. It caressed and encircled the trio.

  “Donna, create the coordinates in your mind and project them into the ball. See the numbers in the ball. 003-67-8-4. 003-67-8-4. 003-67 …”

  Red, glowing numbers appeared in the ball. They shifted and moved, but were firmly planted inside the gleaming glass.

  “Donna. Now. Take us there. We are following the coordinates. See us following the coordinates.”

  They stood on a windswept beach, illuminated by the pale light of an early afternoon. Black tar and rank, limp seaweeds mixed in filthy shallow pools and on the wet sand. Blue-black water mirrored sunless sky. The sound of the wind mingled with the shrieks of sea-birds.

  “Done,” said Jessamine flatly. “You are good at switching realities, Donna.”

  Donna gazed stupidly around her, blinking and shaking. Bartholomew laughed. “Where are we?” she whispered.

  “Wizards’ School Island,” said Jessamine. “That’s the Vizier’s permanent home. He studied here years ago and decided that he liked the miserable place. Wizards come here from all realities, so I guess he enjoys the company.”

  “It seems deserted.”

  “All activity takes place underground, and only at night. We will have to go to the school to get directions to the Vizier’s home. I know where the school is.”

  They followed her into a cove lodged between rugged cliffs. A large, dark hole in the ground gaped at them. No gate, no sentry. Anyone who chose to take the risk could go down.

  They descended the slippery, winding stairs. The rock walls emitted the odor of brine and seaweed, and the air became increasingly suffocating.

  Finally they reached a huge, cavernous chamber cut directly into the rock. Heavy slabs of rock, serving as desks, supported many books, quantities of paper, and various writing tools, but no computers or even old-fashioned typewriters. Donna opened a book at random. It contained nothing but blank paper. Suddenly, letters leaped into the paper from nowhere, and the page blazed with fiery red and green words, written in an unfamiliar language. After a few minutes, the writing disappeared, and the page turned by itself. New words appeared on it, stayed for a short time, and vanished.

  “More instruction appears on the walls at night,” sa
id Jessamine. “The same red and green letters. It stays there all night, and the students can copy it. Then it disappears for the day.”

  “No teachers?”

  “Not visible ones, anyway. Here, I have found the book of locations and coordinates,” said Jessamine. “As it includes jails and current lists of prisoners, perhaps it will tell of Senior Witch Yolanda.”

  “Can you read the language?”

  “Yes. Here is the address of the Vizier’s home. We have to follow the path by the cove to the low hill in the west. Coordinates 52-1-6. Write it down, just in case, but I don’t think we should use the crystal ball here, we might be intercepted. We’ll have to walk, or fly. Ah, the prisoners’ list. Nothing. No official prisoners at present. Senior Witch Yolanda may be held, anyway, at the Vizier’s home.”

  They left the school and walked, following the path described in the address book. The island, a dismal, flat place except for the rugged cliffs on the beach, presented an unchanging landscape.

  Their destination was not far. Another hole in the ground gaped at them. “We will have to creep in carefully. The occupants are probably asleep, but they may have a sentry,” said Jessamine.

  They crept down silently, treading each stair with extreme care. Reaching the bottom, they entered a room similar to the school, but smaller. A few doors opened to other rooms, furnished with plain, stone carved furniture. Whatever the Vizier did with his incredible wealth, it was not evident here. There was no sign of life, let alone Aunt Yolanda.

  “She is not kept here,” said Donna sadly. “It was a wild goose chase.”

  “We had to know,” said Jessamine. She opened the door to look into the last room, and suddenly flew back as if some incredible force punched her in the face. A sooty cloud drifted in. Purple lightening pulsated at its edges, and the sound of thunder rumbled through it. With chilling certainty, Donna recognized the purple face outlined in the cloudy substance. It was the same face she saw when her aunt was abducted. The face grinned viciously with its toothless dark blue mouth, and its hollow, yellow-green eyes winked at Donna, just as it did then. But this time she did not lose her consciousness. Grasping at Bartholomew and Jessamine, she visualized the coordinates of the beach she had used before to transport them to the island. 003-67-8-4. 003-67- …

  They were standing on the beach. “Donna, here are the coordinates to my home. 005-98-8-2. Repeat. Transport us.”

  Donna repeated, but could not continue to concentrate. She saw the purple cloud advancing. It followed them, playing with them, laughing viciously.

  “Donna, concentrate!”

  She tried. Palms sweating, heart beating. The cloud hovered above them, grinning, obviously enjoying their terror. Without warning, the blue mouth emitted a long, high screech. A small rock at Donna’s feet immediately exploded, sending a shower of splinters and torn seaweeds around her. Some of the material hit the water. A small whirlpool started to swirl in the dark water. It grew steadily.

  “Donna, he started Sound Magic. It will grow. Concentrate on the coordinates or we will die!”

  Donna’s mind blanked out. Nothing occupied it except the face of the Vizier, mocking her, paralyzing any strength she had left. The whirlpool grew. A huge foam column started forming around it. From a distance, large and small waves, coordinated like advancing soldiers, marched in unison toward the whirlpool. The growing water column fed steadily on the waves. Enormous now, it covered the sky with its swaying bulk. The darkness was torn by purple lightning. The column approached them as if walking on the water, gliding with oily ease.

  “Move it, Wicca!” screamed Bartholomew, kicking her with his front hoof. “You miserable cowardly creature! Do you or don’t you want to save your aunt?”

  Aunt Yolanda’s face suddenly filled Donna’s mind, replacing the Vizier’s terrifying grin. 005-98-8-2. 005-98-8-2. Smiling emerald eyes. 005-98-8-2. Always there, always supporting and loving. 005-98-8-2. 005-98- …”

  They stood at the entrance to Grandmother’s tent.

  ~~~

  “You can look now, Prime Minister. They are safe.”

  “Temporarily, Your Majesty. He knows them now.”

  “It’s a chance they had to take, my friend.”

  “But they failed, Your Majesty.”

  “I wouldn’t say that, Prime Minister. At least we know Senior Witch Yolanda is not kept at the Wizards’ School. She must be imprisoned on our planet, therefore, because he has no real power elsewhere, and we have a better chance of saving her.”

  “True. And he may not think it worthwhile to pursue the girls here.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Your Majesty, have you noticed, just before they went, Jessamine said something about our great river having no name …”

  “Yes. I am ashamed to own that this thought had never crossed my mind, Prime Minister.”

  Chapter 6

  “Iwill never trust you entirely again, Donna,” said the camel. “And there is no excuse, no explanation, nothing that could justify your actions, Bartholomew.”

  “You are upset because you slept through the fun,” grumbled the donkey, looking somewhat guilty.

  “You jeopardized the mission,” retorted the camel.

  “We left you the Cinnabar box. The mission was not jeopardized. And Bartholomew came to protect us,” said Donna. She had never seen Camellia so angry before. “Please don’t be mad, Camellia, please!”

  “He should have woken me up – we work as a team. You had no right to go, Donna. Not without consultation. I am truly disappointed in you.”

  “You were hurt and sick, Agent Camellia,” said Jessamine. “You needed rest. We knew you would insist on coming if we woke you up, but someone had to take the Cinnabar box to the queen if something happened to Donna.”

  “Perhaps. Nevertheless, once I lose my trust …”

  “Agent Camellia is right,” said Grandmother sternly. “The future of an entire planet is in your hands, Donna. Jessamine, I am surprised. I thought I had instructed you well in Wicca honor.”

  Jessamine looked up, her black eyes blazing with rage.

  “Honor?” she shouted. “Wicca honor? There is no such thing left, Grandmother. We are useless, helpless, miserable worms, dying in the dust, slaves to our fear of the Vizier. Did anyone do anything when my parents were killed? Do you think I will ever forget watching the dam crumbling, dragging them into the filthy water with the Vizier’s blue smile hovering in the sky? And do you remember how all of you ran away? Wicca honor indeed. I had a chance to do something with Donna. I had a chance to revenge my parents, or perhaps just to save her aunt so that she would not have to suffer the loss like I did …” her voice broke and she ran out of the tent into the desert.

  Grandmother looked helplessly at the tent’s flap and at her visitors. She seemed extremely distressed, Donna thought.

  “Well, now,” said Camellia, batting her long eyelashes to stop her own tears. “Poor little girl. I will go after her immediately. Let’s just forget the whole matter, Bartholomew. Donna, darling, I really was so worried – thank goodness you are safe – I must talk to Jessamine –”

  She spread her large wings and flew off.

  Bartholomew laughed. “She can’t be angry for more than two minutes at a time,” he said affectionately. “Good old Camellia. One wonders how she manages to hate the Vizier.”

  ~~~

  They flew for hours, because settlements were located at great distances, and there was no point in landing in the middle of nowhere. Donna felt drowsy. The swaying motions of the flying camel were much like sitting in a rocking chair during extremely hot weather – uncomfortable but definitely sleep inducing. The drowsiness annoyed her until she was somewhat cheered by the realization that it meant that she was getting used to flying. So she took her belt and tied herself securely to Camellia’s neck – just in case.

  She woke up with a start as the animals landed in the middle of a deserted little town. The buildings were gray and d
usty, made from dry, rotting wood that looked as if it would crumble away any minute. Not a single tree graced the empty, silent streets, and there was no sign of even a small animal to liven it up. The hot wind lifted the dried vegetation and debris from the ground occasionally, and circled it in tiny, dusty whirlwinds. This is really eerie, Donna thought. It missed only tumbleweeds to look like a ghost town in some old Western.

  “They’re gone,” whispered Camellia.

  “Yup,” said Bartholomew. “Probably on their way to the palace.”

  “Why?” said Donna.

  “Their water disappeared,” said Bartholomew. “It happens all the time. One night, you go to sleep in a reasonably normal place, for this miserable planet. In the morning you wake up, and the water hole is dry, as if the water was sucked into the ground.”

  “What do people do, then?”

  “Well, they have a choice – die of thirst or go live like beggars in makeshift towns the queen creates around the palace,” explained Bartholomew.

  “Not beggars,” said Camellia sternly. “Refugees.”

  “They are starved, thirsty, homeless – show me the big difference, Camellia,” said Bartholomew.

  “The queen does her best, Bartholomew.”

  “I know, you stupid old camel. That’s not the point – everyone knows how kind the queen is. I just wish she would overlook a few fine points and get things done in a simpler fashion …”

  “Bartholomew, if the queen will do the things you want her to do she will sink to the level of the evil Vizier. Wicca honor must be upheld.”