The Battle for Urth

Home > Other > The Battle for Urth > Page 8
The Battle for Urth Page 8

by Lee Bacon


  “SORCERESS SAYS THE PRINCE IZ HERE SOMEWHERE,” says one.

  “REMEMBER, WE’RE NOT S’POS’D TO KILL HIM,” says the other. “SORCERESS SAY WE GOTTA CAPTURE HIM.”

  “BUT I’M HUNGRY,” the first moans. “AND KIDS TASTE THE BEST.”

  “MAYBE WE JUST HAVE A SNACK.”

  “LIKE AN ARM OR SOMETHING?”

  “EXACTLY!”

  “GOOD IDEA!”

  What is the Sorceress up to? Why does she care about capturing me?

  “COME ON,” says the gravelly voice. “LETZ KEEP LOOKING.”

  The footsteps begin pounding the floor again, moving farther away. And they probably would’ve kept on going if it weren’t for a noise that rings out beside me.

  A jingling chime.

  It only lasts for a second, but that’s more than enough time to send a wave of alarm across my skin. Especially when the noise comes again. And again. And again. Repeatedly shattering the silence of the bathroom. I glance around until I locate the source of the noise.

  “Your pants!” I hiss. “They’re beeping.”

  Kara frantically reaches into her pocket and yanks out her Self-Own. Right on cue, the horrid device erupts with another loud chime. The screen illuminates with rows of words.

  “It’s Marcy,” Kara whispers. “She’s texting me.”

  In a panic, I read each line of Marcy’s strangely spelled and oddly punctuated texts:

  Where r u???????

  Ur already n trouble. This is NOT the time to skip class

  BTW, that foreign xchange student is soooooo cute

  Does he have a girlfriend????

  Kara flips a button and the Self-Own goes silent. But by now it’s too late. Footsteps are thundering in our direction again.

  A moment later, the door flies off its hinges and a massive gray figure smashes through. I stare up at the intruder as fear sizzles through my brain.

  An ogre has just crashed into the boys’ bathroom.

  The monstrous beast stands nearly twice the size of an ordinary man, with legs like tree trunks and massive, muscular arms. Its skin is a revolting gray color. It opens its mouth, revealing a set of teeth—each as big as my fist.

  The ogre’s dark, glassy eyes fix on the spot where Kara and I are crouched. Then it unleashes a mighty bellow and charges in our direction.

  I stagger sideways just in time to avoid being crushed by the creature’s massive foot. The next attack comes a moment later. A gargantuan gray hand swings in my direction. Kara and I dive backward and instead, the ogre punches a toilet.

  The toilet explodes into a thousand porcelain shards. Water spews across the floor.

  “RAAARGH!”

  The ogre’s roar echoes across the bathroom. A fist collides with the tiled floor. Another smashes into a sink. More water gushes across the floor.

  In the flash of a moment, I glimpse an opening. The ogre’s momentum has carried it sideways, crashing into the wall. This leaves a path to the gaping hole where the bathroom door had once been.

  “This way!”

  Grabbing Kara’s hand, I dash for the exit. As we race past the ogre, it spins to pursue us. But we’re too quick for the big, clumsy creature. Its feet slip on the watery floor. Both its legs kick out in opposite directions. Thick gray arms fling to either side. And for half a second, the ogre looks like the world’s biggest (and ugliest) ballerina, twirling among the toilet stalls.

  Then it collapses to the floor.

  Kara and I continue our race for the doorway. Our feet splish and splash with each step.

  Before Kara reaches the door, however, she’s greeted by the ogre’s friend. This one looks just as colossal and terrifying as the first. The only difference is, it has on a very large shirt. On the front of the shirt, in big, stretched-out letters, are the words—

  I HAD A LEGENDARY TIME AT LEGENDTOPIA

  The ogre’s huge gray hand grabs Kara.

  “GOTCHA!” The creature’s mouth twists into a grotesque grin. Its dark, glassy eyes gleam with malicious amusement.

  “Ahhh!” Kara twists to free herself. But it’s no use. Buried within the ogre’s grasp, her arm looks like a twig that could snap at any second.

  Paralyzed with fear, my brain catapults backward a day. Before I ever met Kara. Before I journeyed to Urth. All the way back to the tedious session with the wheezing old tutor. Learning about my brave and noble ancestors. Men who ruled Heldstone with honor and courage.

  When King Frederick the Fierce was battling an army of trolls, did his emotions ever swell with as much fear as I feel right now? Was there ever a moment when King Frederick the Giant Killer wanted to curl up in a ball and cry? And what about King Frederick the Bold? My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, who wrestled bears and fell madly in love with a mermaid? Surely he would not simply stand here and allow an ogre to kill his friend.

  But unless I do something—right now—that’s exactly what’s going to happen to Kara.

  Well, that’s just great. I’m about to die in the boys’ bathroom.

  The ogre’s enormous gray hand wraps around my arm. The more I struggle, the tighter it grips me. The monster’s dark eyes shine with nasty glee. It’s actually enjoying this. Playing with its prey before finishing it off.

  If only I’d silenced my phone. If only Marcy didn’t send those texts.

  If only.

  A foot away, Prince Fred has gone pale. His face frozen into a blank, shocked expression.

  And then something seems to click. A spark lights up his eyes. His jaw clenches with determination.

  In a flash, the prince plunges his hand into the water that’s pooled around our feet. When he pulls it out, he’s gripping a porcelain shard—a piece of the sink that broke off when Ogre #1 smashed it. The shard is as long and sharp as a butcher’s knife.

  Prince Fred raises the white blade above his head. And in a voice that echoes against the tile walls, he hollers:

  “You shall regret the day you encountered Prince Frederick the Fourteenth, foul beast!”

  Then he thrusts the shard into the ogre’s foot.

  “BLAAAARGHH!”

  Letting out a howl of pain, the ogre releases its grip. I fall sideways, into the hall. My arm feels like it’s covered with fire ants, but at least nothing seems to be broken.

  Meanwhile, the prince is still stuck in the bathroom. Ogre #2 towers over him. And with a porcelain shard submerged halfway into its foot, the creature looks pretty ticked off.

  “STUPID PRINCE!” it groans, hopping on its uninjured foot. “I DON’T CARE WHAT SORCERESS WANTS! I’M GONNA EAT YOU WHOLE!”

  The ogre lunges. Rolling to the side, Prince Fred splashes across the watery floor. Then he springs to his feet and bolts under the monster’s grasp. Past the row of shattered sinks and out the gaping hole where the door had once been.

  We take off sprinting down the hall.

  Somewhere behind me, I can hear the ogres smashing out of the wrecked bathroom and lumbering toward us. Their huge feet pound the floor.

  SMACK!…SMACK!…SMACK!

  On both sides of the hallway, classroom doors are closed. Everyone else in school is probably crouched under a desk with their hands covering their heads. All the noises, all the demolition—they must still think this is an earthquake.

  I guess that makes slightly more sense than reality. Two ogres playing the world’s deadliest game of tag with a couple of students.

  Prince Fred and I bolt through the main doors—correction: the place where the main doors used to be. Now the entire front entryway is a tangle of twisted metal and broken glass.

  The moment we burst outside, I see the cloud formation in the sky. The slow-motion tornado. It’s grown over the last twenty minutes. Now the slowly swirling gray mass occupies even more of the blue sky.

  But this isn’t the time to worry about the weather. Fred and I keep running. Down the sidewalk and across the bus lane, I set off in the direction of
Pevensie Park. It’s our best shot at survival.

  If we make it that far.

  I can hear the massive footsteps behind me, getting louder with each second.

  The park is straight ahead. Just a little farther. Every stride brings us closer and closer and—

  Prince Fred shrieks. An instant later, I realize why.

  A unicorn is galloping across the grass.

  I recognize it from Legendtopia. Of course, the last time I saw the unicorn, it was nothing more than a horse doll with a horn duct-taped to its forehead.

  Now…not so much.

  The unicorn is bigger and badder in every way. Its white fur shines in the sunlight. Muscles flex and strain as it runs. Even with nacho cheese splattered across its haunches, the creature looks impressive. Its white horn is much longer and sharper—and definitely isn’t being held on by duct tape.

  I don’t know about you, but when I think of a unicorn, I imagine a creature frolicking in a meadow. Maybe a rainbow in the background. A pleasant stream trickling nearby.

  But this unicorn doesn’t match that description at all. Its thick hooves pound the earth, tearing up huge chunks of grass. Nostrils flaring, teeth gnashing. Horn jutting out like a spear. It looks like it just escaped from the world’s most dangerous magical rodeo and is ready to kill anything in its path.

  And it’s headed straight for us.

  There’s nowhere to hide. No escape. If we keep running in the same direction, we’ll probably get skewered by a unicorn’s horn. But turning around will only send us straight into the arms of the ogres.

  We’re trapped. We’re doomed. We’re…

  My eyes land on Fred’s backpack. The little cartoon unicorns seem especially ridiculous now that we’re about to get killed by an actual unicorn. But the sight also gives me an idea.

  “Our backpacks!” I scream.

  “What about them?” Fred screams back.

  “We can use them! As weapons!”

  A hopeful look blazes in Fred’s eyes. He yanks away his backpack and I do the same.

  The unicorn is closing in on us. The point of its horn gleams in the sunlight as it speeds toward my chest.

  Without slowing down, I swing my backpack. It strikes the unicorn in the eye.

  The creature releases a surprised “Neeeeiiighhhh!” Prince Fred swings and hits it with his own backpack. The blow thrusts its head sideways. At the speed the unicorn’s moving, the double impact is enough to knock it off balance.

  The creature collapses to the ground. Grass and unicorn slobber fly everywhere.

  I can’t believe it! Our attack worked! But it’s too early to start celebrating. We’re still being followed by two ogres. And they’re gaining ground fast. The monster with the injured foot is lagging behind. Unfortunately, the other is closer.

  Much closer.

  The ogre reaches out with one massive gray hand. I attempt another swing with my backpack. But this time, the strategy doesn’t work so well. The ogre snatches the backpack out of the air and crushes it within its thick fingers.

  “NEXT THING I SMASH GONNA BE YER HEAD!” the ogre grunts.

  Just a little farther. On the other side of the road is the park. My feet pound the street. My heart booms in my ears.

  The ogre growls as it makes another grab. A streak of gray. Its huge grip closes in on me.

  Another second, and we would’ve made a nice meal for a couple of ogres. Instead, we crash into the woods.

  Suddenly, branches are everywhere. Leaves slap me in the face. My legs slip out from under me and I slide down a muddy ravine. Kara’s beside me. Tripping, falling, sliding. When we hit the bottom, I tumble onto my side. Kara helps me up, and we keep running.

  Sounds explode all around us. Footsteps pummeling the dirt, branches snapping, rasping breaths. We dodge trees, veer around knotted vines, leap over stumps.

  When we finally come to a stop, we take cover between a few thick bushes. I bend over, hands on my knees, gulping for air.

  Every inch of my body hurts. My lungs burn, my arms are covered in scratches, my legs ache from all the running. Growing up in the Royal Palace, I was always kept safe and protected. Whenever I tripped, someone was there to catch me. Whenever I climbed on tables, someone was there to gently lower me to the floor.

  Pain is a new sensation for me. And I don’t like it very much.

  THWACK! CLOMP! CRAAACK!

  The ogres’ footsteps pound the forest floor. I duck lower, hoping the trees and bushes will keep us hidden. Through the branches, I can just barely see their huge gray legs come into view. A porcelain shard pokes out of one foot. The beast with the injured foot turns in our direction. It sniffs loudly.

  “YOU SMELL SOMETHIN’?”

  “NOW THATCHA MENTION IT…I DO.”

  I hold my breath. Inside my brain, there’s a shouting match taking place. One side is screaming, Run! Run! Run! The other’s yelling at an equal volume. Stay! Stay! Stay! Both options seemed equally logical. And equally dangerous.

  “YEAH, I SMELL SOMETHIN’, ALL RIGHT.” The first ogre sniffs. “SMELLS LIKE…YER BUTT!”

  And then it bursts into a round of atrocious grunts of laughter. The injured ogre seems less amused.

  “THIS NO TIME FOR JOKES!” it growls. “WE GOTTA FIND THAT PRINCE!”

  The other chokes down the last of its laughter. “WHY’S THE SORCERESS WANT THE PRINCE SO BAD, ANYWAY?”

  “ ’CAUSE HE’S HANDSOME.”

  Handsome? Did the ogre just call me handsome?

  I appreciate the compliment, but what does that have to do with anything?

  “SHE NOT SAY HANDSOME,” corrects the other ogre. “SHE SAY HE’S SOMETHING ELSE. SOMETHING THAT SOUND LIKE HANDSOME.”

  “GANSOME? PANTSUM?”

  “NO. THAT NOT IT, EITHER.”

  “ZANSOM?”

  “OOH! I REMEMBER!” The ogre jumps up and down with excitement. Tremors shake the ground. “SORCERESS SAY THE PRINCE IS RANSOM!”

  The ogre with the injured foot grunts its agreement. “OF COURSE! RANSOM! THAT MAKE PERFECT SENSE!”

  A brief silence fills the conversation. And then—

  “UH…WHAT RANSOM MEAN?”

  “NO IDEA.”

  “ME NEITHER.”

  I, however, am quite familiar with the term. The Sorceress wishes to hold me hostage, to use me as bait, to lure my father into giving her anything and everything she wants.

  The question is…What does the Sorceress want?

  Soon, the ogres continue on their way. As they clomp through the forest, their plodding footsteps fade. I’m about to step out of our hiding spot when a different noise grabs my attention. A rustle in the bushes. I spin, skin tingling with nerves. All my fear fizzles away when I see what made the noise.

  A fat little frog.

  I take a calming breath. Unicorns and ogres are one thing. But frogs? We can handle frogs.

  My relief lasts a total of three seconds. Right up until the moment that the little amphibian opens its mouth and begins to speak.

  I must be hearing things. The stress of the past few hours is finally getting to me. There’s no other way to explain what happens next. An ordinary-looking frog hops onto the path, opens its mouth, and croaks a word.

  A word that sounds exactly like “Hello.”

  It can’t be. I must be losing my mind.

  Except if that’s the case, why does Fred look so freaked out?

  “D-did you hear that?” I ask.

  The prince nods.

  We both turn back to the frog. It looks up at us with its little froggy eyes. A long moment passes. And just when I’m starting to convince myself that it really was just my imagination, the fat little frog opens its mouth and croaks—

  “My name is Frog.”

  “Uh…Kara,” Prince Fred mutters. “I thought you said the creatures of your world can’t talk.”

  “They can’t,” I say.

  “This frog seems to disagree with you.”

>   “My name is Frog,” the frog says again.

  “The Sorceress,” Prince Fred mutters. “She must be behind this.”

  “But how? Pevensie Park is nowhere near Legendtopia. She’d need some way of enchanting them beyond the walls of—”

  And then I realize. The cloud. The slow-motion tornado. It’s been growing all morning. Increasing in size. When I gaze up through the branches, I can see it. Looming in the sky. Dark and churning. And definitely coming from Legendtopia.

  I point at the swirling black mass in the sky. “That’s how she’s doing it. That isn’t a cloud, and it isn’t smoke. It’s”—I search for the right description—“it’s, like, magical pollution.”

  Fred tilts a disbelieving glance my way. “Magical what?”

  “It’s like the Sorceress’s evil magic is pouring out of Legendtopia. Into the air, into the water. It’s spreading.”

  “And that includes frogs?”

  “Exactly.”

  Croak. “My name is Frog.”

  When I look at the frog again, it isn’t alone. Now there are several. A dozen, at least. More and more of them hopping out of the bushes with each passing second, their voices croaking out the most mundane conversation I’ve ever heard.

  “My name is Frog.”

  “My name is also Frog.”

  “My name is Frog, too.”

  “I am also named Frog.”

  Sheesh. These frogs may have figured out how to talk, but they don’t have anything interesting to say.

  “I am Frog.”

  “That is what I am also called.”

  “Me too.”

  There must be fifty of them by this point. Maybe more. They come in all different shapes and sizes. Big and small, fat and slim, warty and extra-warty. Their moist little eyes blink up at us, their necks bulging. It’s getting creepy.

  I edge closer to the prince. Frogs crowd us on all sides. My eyes land on the biggest of the group. It’s about the size of a softball, with bumpy brownish-green skin.

  With a croak of effort, the creature rises onto its hind legs. For a moment, the frog wobbles like a newborn who’s just learned to stand. Its belly bulges out in front.

 

‹ Prev