by Lee Bacon
I take a relieved breath. Kara made it out. She’s safe. At least for now.
Crow must notice my reaction. He taps his beak against the stone windowsill. The sharp noise echoes through my cell like the final nail sinking into a coffin.
“It’s only a matter of time till we find her,” says the bird. “The Sorceress’s army is growing stronger with every moment. Her minions are searching the village. Your girlfriend won’t last long on her own. Most likely, she’s already been captured. Or she’s dead.”
Crow’s words hang over me, heavy and cold. The iron shackles dig into my wrists. A terrible sense of dread sinks into my thoughts. And yet I refuse to give up hope. Kara may be young, and she may be alone, but she’s many other things as well. She’s intelligent, and resourceful, and strong.
She’s the most courageous girl—no, person—I have ever met.
I’m about to say this to Crow when a sound catches my attention. A rattle at the door. The brass knob slowly begins to turn.
Crow’s black eyes gleam with wicked excitement. “Looks like you have another visitor.”
With a flutter of dark feathers, the bird flaps away from the window, cawing with laughter. A moment later, the door creaks open.
And in walks the Sorceress.
I have no idea how long I was lying unconscious in the department store. All I know is, when I wake up, the ogres are gone. And so is Prince Fred.
At least the Sorceress demanded they take him alive. By now, he’s probably being held prisoner somewhere in Legendtopia. So that means all I need to do is escape this department store, make it through the fantasy nightmare of Shady Pines, break into an enchanted castle, and find the prince.
Easy, right?
Making as little noise as possible, I climb to a sitting position. My head throbs. A dull pain clings to my foot. But at least the ogre knocked me into a clothes rack. Which means I’m surrounded by heavy brown tunics on clothes hangers. Kind of like being inside my own personal tent. It isn’t exactly the best hiding spot, but at least it gives me some cover.
Through a slim gap in the tunics, I peer out at my surroundings. The door is a scene of destruction. Piles of bricks and shattered glass where the ogres made their entrance. The opening is being guarded by two suits of armor. One is missing a head, but they both have swords. And without a weapon of my own, I’m not about to take them on.
More soldiers are patrolling the store, joined by a few dozen fairies. They buzz from place to place. When I notice a couple heading in my direction, I huddle deep inside the clothes rack. I can hear their high-pitched chatter getting louder and louder.
“…ogrrre says theeee girl is herrrre sssssomewherrre.”
“Whaaaat does she looook liiike?”
“She is exxxxtremely talllll.”
“All humans loooook exxxxtremely tallll to us, stuuupid.”
“Goooood point.”
“Whaaaat color hairrrr doessss the girl haaaave?”
“Brown.”
“And whaaaat is she wearrrrring?”
“A whiiiite T-shirrrrt and bluuuuue jeans with graaaay sneakerrrrs.”
I look down at my outfit. It’s a perfect description. With so many minions patrolling the store, they’re sure to find me eventually. And when they do, I won’t stand a chance of convincing them I’m someone else.
Unless I find a disguise.
Once the fairies buzz off, I begin checking the labels of the tunics all around me. L…XL…XXL. The sizes are way too big for me. And besides, the brown wool feels super-itchy. It’d be like wearing a giant potato sack filled with mosquitoes. No thanks.
I take another peek outside. Not too far away is another rack of clothes. Swirls of pink and gold and blue. Flowery ribbons and curls of lace. The sign above the rack reads: CHILDREN’S BALL GOWNS—PERFECT FOR ANY SPECIAL OCCASION!!!
The colorful, puffy dresses aren’t my style. But I don’t have many other options.
When I’m sure the coast is clear, I make a run for the ball gowns.
I plunge inside the rack.
There’s no easy way to be sneaky when you’re trying on a fluffy ball gown inside a tiny, confined space. The satin material swishes noisily. My fingers shake as I untie the knotted silk ribbons. I’m terrified that any second, a suit of armor will bust in on me in my underwear.
Once I’m through, I look down at my new outfit. A pastel-pink gown, lined with white lace and flowery bundles of silk. A wire hoop at the bottom causes the whole thing to bulge out around my legs.
How am I ever supposed to fight an evil witch and rescue a hostage prince while wearing this?
And I’m not even done playing dress-up. The Sorceress’s minions also know that I have brown hair and gray shoes. I need to change that.
Along the wall is a shelf that used to hold baseball caps. Now it’s displaying powdered wigs. The kind of fluffy white hair you see on French royalty in old paintings. I pluck one off the shelf. A massive, curly bundle of white hair. Trying the thing on, I feel like I’m wearing a bag of marshmallows on my head.
But, hey—at least my hair isn’t brown anymore.
Now I just need a new pair of shoes. But as I’m on my way to the shoe section, my puffy dress knocks a stack of clothes hangers to the ground. The sound jangles across the store. A second later, a high-pitched voice calls out.
“You therrrre! Huuuuman! Stop riiight whhhere you arrrre!”
All the blood freezes in my veins. The flapping of the fairy’s wings fills my ears, loud as a buzz saw. A second later, it appears in front of me. From up close, it looks even creepier. The thing’s no bigger than my thumb. Glowing skin. Narrow golden eyes. Pointy teeth.
I’m definitely not dealing with Tinker Bell here.
The fairy looks me up and down suspiciously. It hovers around my powdered wig and circles my fancy ball gown.
“Whhhhat are you doinnng in heeeere, human?” it asks.
My brain spins to come up with a response.
“Welllll?” The fairy’s accusing tone hits an even higher pitch than usual. “Whhhhat do you havvvve to sayyyy? Speak, hummmman! Orrr else I shallll havvvve one of the soldiers chhhhop offfff your tongue.”
Every moment of hesitation feels like a lifetime. I think about making a run for it. But in a dress like this, I wouldn’t make it ten feet. So I open my mouth. And I speak the first words that come to mind.
“My sole authority,” I say in a dull, even tone. “My ruler. My queen.”
I do my best to act brainwashed. Glazed eyes. Drooping mouth.
“My sole authority,” I repeat. “My ruler. My—”
“Yeah, yeah. Weeeee get iiiit.” The fairy rolls its eyes. “Humans cannnn be sooooo annoying. You shouldn’t beee here, human. This mallll is parrrrt of the Sorceress’s domainnnn.”
“My sole authority,” I say. “My—”
“Just leaaaave!” the fairy snaps, pointing a tiny glowing finger toward the exit.
I grab a pair of golden slippers on my way out.
That’s how I end up wandering the streets of Shady Pines in a puffy satin gown that makes me look like a human wedding cake. The curly powdered wig keeps getting in my eyes. The golden slippers dig into my heels with every step.
Every muscle in my body wants to run, to race as quickly as possible to Legendtopia. Prince Fred’s in trouble. No telling what horrible things the Sorceress is doing to him. But there are too many of her minions around. And they’re all on the lookout for me. And so I do my best brainwashed zombie impression, lurching dull-eyed in the direction of the massive funnel cloud.
I hardly recognize my town any longer. Shady Pines has become a twisted fantasy theme park. I pass by a shopping center that looks more like a medieval village square. The stores transformed into thatch huts. Wooden signs advertising butter churns, blacksmiths, shoe cobbling. In the parking lot is a man whose hands and head are clasped inside a painful-looking wooden device. We learned about this kind of thing in social studies. Th
e stocks. That’s what they’re called. A crowd is gathered around the man, taunting him, throwing rotten vegetables.
There’s only one way to put an end to this madness. By stopping the Sorceress.
At the intersection, a yellow school bus is being pulled by a team of horses. It’s like some kind of a weird, hybrid bus-carriage. The driver’s seat is vacant, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a driver. Sitting on the hood of the bus, with the reins in her hands, is Mrs. Olyphant. My English lit teacher.
I turn my stunned gaze to the rest of the bus. Through the windows, I can see my entire fourth-period class. Their eyes stare blankly ahead. Their expressions are empty. Twenty-something middle schoolers, chanting the same thing over and over again.
“My sole authority. My ruler. My queen.”
Near the back of the bus, I spot the seat that’s occupied by Trevor Fitzgerald. He doesn’t look nearly so smug anymore. His mouth hangs open. A glob of spittle quivers from his bottom lip. One seat behind him is Marcy. Her eyes are glazed over. She keeps repeating the Sorceress’s words mindlessly. Seeing my friend like this is heartbreaking. It used to be her dream to live in a fantasy world. Now it’s become a nightmare.
I clench my hands into fists. An inferno of anger and determination swirls inside me. Someone needs to stop the Sorceress. To bring her cruel magic to an end. And that someone is me.
The horse-drawn school bus clatters in one direction. I go in the other. Until I finally approach the place that I’ve been trying to reach all day.
Legendtopia.
Worried that my disguise won’t work so close to the Sorceress’s evil headquarters, I crouch between a couple of parked cars. The gown bunches up around my waist. The curly, white wig falls into my eyes.
Legendtopia looks nothing like the place we visited yesterday. The cheesy fake-castle restaurant has been replaced by a massive stone fortress. Impenetrable dark gray walls. Towers and turrets rising high into the air. Yesterday, there was a shallow goldfish pond in front of the door. Now it’s a moat. Whatever’s swimming through the gloomy water is gold in color, but looks as big as a shark.
The enormous steel doors are closed. Guards patrol the perimeters.
I’ve got to figure out a way inside. The only question is…how?
The Sorceress stands before me, hands clutched behind her back. Sunlight traces the lines of her beautiful, terrible features.
“So lovely to see you again, Prince Frederick,” she says in a pleasant voice, as if she’s invited me over for tea and cake. “How have you enjoyed your time on Urth so far?”
I scowl at her in furious silence. The corners of the Sorceress’s lips curl into a smile.
“I quite like it, actually,” she continues. “The people here have made me feel right at home.”
“Because you brainwashed them!” I growl.
I only learned the word “brainwashed” a few hours ago when Kara used it, but it seems the most fitting description of what the Sorceress is doing. Going inside people’s brains. Washing away their personalities, their thoughts, everything. Turning them into her mindless slaves.
The Sorceress smiles down at me like a polite hostess, but her eyes…
Her eyes are dark and evil.
“Urth is full of such fascinating magic,” she says in a delighted voice. “Of course, the people here call it ‘technology,’ but you and I”—she raises her eyebrow at me—“we know the truth. It is magic. Back in our world, if I wanted to cast an enchantment spell on someone, I had to be in the same room. I needed to look them in the eyes. But here…I can cast my spell through screens. And the best part is—there are screens everywhere! And the people of Urth always seem to be looking at them. It’s perfect!”
As much as I hate to acknowledge it, the Sorceress has a point. I’ve seen the way people here constantly check their Self-Owns. The way Kneel spends hours playing his video games and exploring the Internet. The televisions flickering endlessly in the windows of homes.
And the Sorceress knows this, too. The best way into people’s brains is through their screens.
“But the magic of technology doesn’t stop there!” she says. “They have such marvelous weaponry here on Urth. Things that make our swords and axes look like children’s playthings. Weapons that can engulf entire nations in fiery destruction with the mere push of a button.”
Although a warm light still glows in the window, I feel a bitter chill enter the room. I can’t bear to listen to another word. Before the Sorceress can say anything else, I speak in a furious, trembling whisper.
“This scheme of yours will never succeed!” I say. “The armies of Urth will stop you!”
“The armies of Urth?” Amusement gleams in the Sorceress’s dark eyes. “Soon the armies of Urth will serve me.”
“Then what am I doing here?” I rattle at my chains. “If you’re so powerful, then what do you need with me?”
“You are my ransom.”
I heard the ogres use the exact same term earlier. “Ransom for what?”
The Sorceress narrows her black eyes. “You really are a brainless little worm. Do you not see the purpose you serve in all this?”
I ignore the insult. My entire concentration is elsewhere. “What purpose?”
“You are the son of the queen and king. The most powerful couple in all of Heldstone. They would grant me anything to have you back. Anything.”
“You already have countless minions. What more can you possibly want?”
The Sorceress sighs. “My minions have served me well. But there is a limit to what they can do. Just look at the ogres. Sure, they’re strong and obedient. But they’re clumsy and dull-witted, too. The same goes for my armored soldiers. They might look fierce, but the truth is, they are little more than empty tin cans.”
The Sorceress turns and gazes out the window longingly, as though imagining the day that she will rule every inch of Urth.
“What I need is a real army,” she goes on. “A ruthless, efficient army. And I know just where to find one….”
The Sorceress doesn’t have to say any more. I already know precisely where she will get her army. From Heldstone. My parents will give it to her. And all she has to give them in exchange is her prisoner, her hostage, her ransom.
Me.
A dagger of fury twists inside me. The Royal Guard is the most experienced and loyal army in the history of Heldstone. Tens of thousands of them. Commanders, knights, soldiers. Bound by oath to obey the orders of the king and queen. My parents. Even if that means fighting on the side of the Sorceress.
“Once they discover that I’m keeping you captive in Urth, your mommy and daddy will agree to march their entire army—one by one—through the miniature door,” the Sorceress says. “All the might of Heldstone’s greatest army and Urth’s superior weaponry? All in the hands of the most powerful wizardess in history? Nothing will be able to stop me. Nothing.”
The Sorceress’s expression is a mask of pure evil. Swirls and tangles of black hair, casting clawlike shadows over her icy features. Dark eyes of bottomless cruelty.
“Before long, I will rule all of Urth,” she says. “But why stop there? Without their army, your mommy and daddy will be defenseless. Unable to fight against the power that I have assembled on Urth. At long last, all of Heldstone will fall to its knees and recognize me as their one true queen.”
My thoughts plunge into a pit of fear. The Sorceress is on the verge of ruling both our worlds. And Kara is the only one who can stop her.
A horse-drawn police van is headed for Legendtopia. Hooves clomp the concrete. The van rattles closer. A uniformed officer is slumped on top. I worry that he’ll see me. But he’s too dazed by the Sorceress’s spell to notice anything except the horses’ butts in front of him.
This might be my only chance. I check one last time to make sure there aren’t any monsters nearby. All clear. I bolt from my hiding spot.
My dress billows around me. The wig flops around on my head like a
fluffy white octopus. I manage to make it to the van without being noticed. Lunging forward, I grab the handle to the back door and yank it open.
Pulling myself into the back of the van, I snag my dress on the bumper. I grasp to pull it loose at the same time that the van hits a pothole and—
RRRRIIIIIP!
I tumble backward into a heap of satin and ribbons. A huge gash runs down the bottom of my dress. It looks like I’ve been mauled by a tiger on my way to a fancy ball. But there’s no time for fashion concerns. The van’s nearing Legendtopia and the back door’s still wide open.
I lunge forward and close the door just as we reach the moat. A muffled voice calls out from the roof.
“Munitions for Her Majesty!”
The van is crowded with metal crates. They rattle all around me. When I peek inside one of them, a chill seeps into my bones.
The crate’s filled with guns. And so are most of the others. A few are carrying bullets or knives. Basically, I’m hiding out in a traveling arsenal.
The van jostles over the drawbridge. I’m entering the castle.
From a crate in the corner, I grab a knife with a serrated edge and go to work on my torn gown. I’m not much of a seamstress, but I can at least make it easier to sneak around by cutting away some of the puffier parts. I slash at satin, toss silk ribbons aside, chop lace to shreds.
When I’m finished, I’m surrounded by piles of torn fabric. My gown’s been cut to the length of my knees. The bottom part is a jagged mess of uneven layers. Pink scraps hanging off everywhere. I think I just invented a whole new fashion. Fairy-tale punk.
The van lurches to a halt. Gripping the hilt of the knife even tighter, I listen to the sounds from outside the vehicle. Heavy, plodding footsteps. A guttural grunt. The handle rattles.
And suddenly, the back door swings open.
I find myself looking at the giant gray belly of an ogre. At its full height, the creature is too tall to see into the van. But when it hunches down, the ogre’s shiny black eyes go wide with surprise.