Raising the visor of his crimson helmet, the soldier craned his neck, his gaze sliding higher and higher. When he finally caught sight of Reacher's head far above the writhing red treetops, he shook his own head, turned, and walked away.
Reacher helped him along, kicking him with his enormous foot and sending him tumbling through the brush. Every time the soldier got to his feet and took a few steps, Reacher gave him another kick ... until something else drew his attention.
Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a hovering figure. Just as he turned for a closer look, his body suddenly plunged down out of the treetops, snapping back to normal size.
Dazed by the sudden, drastic change, Reacher ended up sprawled on his back in one of his own giant footprints, staring up at the orange sky through a huge hole that he'd torn in the tree canopy.
While he lay there, the figure he'd glimpsed drifted down toward him, turning slowly as an autumn leaf.
It stopped right above him, feet pointed to the sky, face inches from his own. Her familiar gaze locked with his, and her black hair—loose now, not in braids—fell all around his head.
"Eurydice?"
"Call me Scrier." When she spoke, she sounded like Eurydice in the middle of a windstorm.
She reached out to touch his face. Her fingernails, like Eurydice's, were painted like yin-yang symbols. But instead of the dark half being closest to the tip on one hand and the white half closer on the other, hers alternated. The dark half was closer to the tip on one finger, then the white half on the next finger, and so on.
She closed the last few inches and pressed her lips to Reacher's for a lingering kiss.
FLYING came naturally to Idea, as if he'd always been Lord Fireskull, and he was thrilled by it. Flapping his leathery wings with the ground dropping away from him, he was overwhelmed by a feeling of pure freedom and an elation that he'd never imagined possible.
It was quite a change from the way he'd felt just a short time ago. After realizing that he'd been transformed into Fireskull, he'd experienced a full-blown Deity Syndrome meltdown. Throughout his life, the fear that he might be a character in a novel had been enough to make him physically ill; once he knew with absolute certainty that he'd become a fictional character, the sickness had been truly overpowering. In the throes of it, he'd lain squirming and trembling on the ground for a seeming eternity, spitting up gouts of flame.
Eventually, the attack had passed, fading like a storm in the distance. Idea had still felt queasy when he'd gotten up off the ground, as if the syndrome could rise again at any moment. But the sensation had faded as he distracted himself by experimenting with Fireskull's abilities.
The local foliage had suffered as he'd tried out Fireskull's flaming breath and great strength, burning swaths of forest with a sigh and knocking over red-tentacled trees with a flick of his wrist. None of that, however, could compare to the thrill of unassisted flight.
He climbed higher into the bright orange sky with each flap of his wings, then angled his body and glided forward. Warm air rising from below filled his wings, holding him aloft like upraised hands.
Diving down, he skimmed the surface of a pond, then shot back up into the heights. He looped around and spun in circles until he was dizzy, then did somersaults and cartwheels in midair. When a yellow-feathered long-necked bird that was bigger than he was flapped past, he zipped after it and matched its speed, his fingers brushing the tips of its wings.
Gracefully Idea rolled in and out of foamy clouds, feeling as if he were in a beautiful dream of flight. If he could have felt the white wisps of cloud vapor caressing his face, the experience would have been complete. But since his skull was afire, that wasn't likely to happen.
Great sweeps of his wings lifted him above a high ridge. On his way over the crest, he dipped down and touched the head of a green and gold deerlike creature with writhing antlers. The beast raised its head and met his gaze with what seemed like an expression of indignant surprise.
And when Idea turned and looked at what lay beyond the ridge, he experienced a surprise of his own.
A scene of destruction spread over the vast plain that rolled out from the base of the ridge. Everywhere, in every direction, the vegetation was trampled, the ground churned up, the houses afire. The bloody corpses of people and animals littered the ground beneath rings of screeching, slow-flying buzzard-things. Armies of men in crimson armor marched in tight ranks, their movements synchronized, flowing like carpets over the sea of bodies and debris.
At the heart of it all, plumes of smoke pumped from a giant black castle, blotting out the sun. Crimson-armored soldiers heaved furniture and people from the ramparts, which piled up in mounds along the base of the castle walls.
Hovering just past the ridgeline, Idea stared at the wasteland below. He'd never seen anything like it outside of a movie or video game. All at once, he was gripped by amazement and outrage ... as well as another sudden revelation.
Until that moment, Idea had known only that he'd been dropped into the world of Fireskull's Revenant. He hadn't known exactly when in the novel he'd arrived.
Now he knew. He was at or shortly after the point where he'd left off reading the book.
The unknown army had just conquered Fireskull's kingdom. Fireskull had flown away from the battle, retreating into the forestlands. The enemy was bound to try to track him down.
In other words, it wasn't a great time to be Fireskull.
What came next, he didn't know. He hadn't finished reading the novel and hadn't peeked ahead, either. Now that he was trapped in the book, he wished he'd read the rest of it, after all.
Slowly he turned and flew away from the wasteland. He dropped below the ridgeline on the other side as soon as he could, plunging out of sight of the multitude of soldiers on the plain.
He needed time to think, time to figure out what he should do next. He would get as far from the ruined heart of the kingdom as he could and hole up in a cave until his situation made some kind of sense.
At least, that was what he planned to do, until he saw the woman gliding toward him.
Her gleaming white gown wrapped around her as she slowly corkscrewed through the air, angling down from higher altitudes over the forestlands. Her arms were extended straight out from her sides like the wings of an airplane, and her long blond hair swirled around her head like ribbons around a Maypole.
Idea watched her, mesmerized. As she drew closer, he realized who she must be in the world of the novel. Thenhe recognized her as someone from what he'd always thought of as the world of reality.
She was Scrier Inevitas, of course, the sorceress in Fireskull's Revenant. She was also, unmistakably, the same woman who'd kissed him at the rest stop along the highway near Cincinnati.
"Eunice!" He flapped his wings to fly toward her.
"You may call me Scrier." Her voice sounded just like Eunice's, but surrounded by howling winds.
"It's good to see you." Idea reached out and caught her by the shoulders. "I missed you."
"I cannot kiss you," she said. "Not the way you are now."
Idea was glad she'd said that, because he had been thinking of trying to kiss her. Even with his vision veiled by flame, he'd momentarily forgotten that his head was made of fire.
"I guess being Fireskull isn't so great after all," he said.
"It is still good to see you." Scrier/Eunice placed a palm against his gleaming black breastplate. Her fingernails were painted with yin-yang symbols but the dark half and white half alternated from finger to finger in being closest to the tip. "I would recognize you anywhere, in any disguise."
Idea smiled and gazed at her for a moment, then grew more serious. "Can you tell me what's going on? How did I end up inside the novel I've been reading?"
"It's your chance to make everything right," she replied. "Remember what Eurydice said?"
"No guarantees," he recalled. "The outcome is in my hands."
"And one other's," said Scrier/Eunice. "You pr
omised to work with him, no matter what happens."
"So Reacher is here, too," Idea said as another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. "Where is he?"
"We will find him." Scrier/Eunice folded her hands around his massive metal gauntlet. "But first I must tell you the secret that led to the downfall of your kingdom."
AS riders approached from both directions on the road, Reacher held his breath and hugged the ground under the bushes. His Johnny Without body was not exactly made for prolonged concealment; at any moment, it could expand to enormous size or spin like an out-of-control stopwatch needle or shatter like glass into a billion glittering, squawking shards.
It wasn't a matter of if his body would undergo a disruptive transformation, but when. He just hoped it wouldn't happen until he'd seen what he'd come to see.
Scrier/Eurydice had led him to this spot and told him to hide in the brush along the road. She'd said, "If you are patient, you will learn the answer to a mystery. You will see the face of the man who conquered your kingdom."
Before he could ask any questions, she'd kissed him and spiraled up out of sight above the clouds. Reacher had waited a while before anyone approached his hiding place. It could have been minutes, though it had felt much longer because of his struggle to hold still. He'd been changing the whole time, constantly shifting shape and position. When he saw the riders coming, he redoubled his efforts and got himself partly under control.... But he knew it wouldn't last.
Two groups of riders on ostrich-back now trotted toward each other. Each group consisted of five men in identical crimson armor, clustered around a sixth man who looked different from the rest. The man in the middle of one group wore a helmet that looked like a human skull and a black leather uniform festooned with medals. The man in the middle of the other group wore a cloak of rough brown cloth like burlap; a hood concealed his face.
The two groups met and stopped several yards down the road from Reacher. He pushed aside a clump of leaves so he could see them from a low angle. He had a clear frontal view of the man in the skull helmet and black uniform, but he could only see the hooded man from behind.
Fortunately, they were close enough that he could hear their conversation without difficulty.
The man in black removed his helmet and bowed low on his ostrich. The crimson-armored men around him did the same.
"Sire," he said. "May all the world bask in the light of your perfect love."
"Rise, General Deathcrave," said the hooded man. "What news of Fireskull?"
General Deathcrave straightened. In that instant, Reacher got a good look at him for the first time, and he immediately recognized him.
Deathcrave had a broad jowly face with twinkling eyes and a shaggy brown mane. His skin was flushed and sweaty, and short braids descended from his bushy puff of beard.
Reacher was stunned. The surprise must have had some effect on his physiology, for he felt his body changing and stirring as he lay there. He struggled to hold himself together. A few leaves rustled, and then his body settled. But he knew better than to assume it would stay calm.
"Fireskull is on the run," said General Deathcrave. "Colonel Sweat is leading a task force in hot pursuit."
As the general spoke, Reacher couldn't believe his ears. Not only did Deathcrave look just like Wicked Livenbladder, lead guitarist for Youforia, but he sounded just like him, too.
In fact, the hooded man also sounded familiar, although Reacher could not yet place his voice.
"As long as Fireskull is at large, my victory is incomplete," he said.
"Sweat shall destroy him." Deathcrave never looked directly at the hooded man as he spoke. None of the other men looked at him, either.
"I have another mission for you," the man continued. "Bring me Johnny Without."
Deathcrave started to look up, then caught himself and kept his eyes trained downward. "Without is dead. Burned at the stake."
"In his present form, Without cannot be killed," said the hooded man. "You should have awaited my arrival before authorizing an execution."
"I am sorry." Deathcrave bowed his head lower. "It has always been our law that the kings of conquered lands shall be killed before they can set eyes on you, Secret King. Even I am not fit to behold your glorious face."
"Find Without and bring him to me," said the Secret King. "I know a way to destroy him."
Again Reacher became agitated, and a series of changes rippled through his body. One leg turned freezing cold, as if it had become ice, while the other leg felt as if it were either numb or gone. One hand turned hard and heavy as solid rock, while the other tingled and fluttered with electrical current.
Reacher closed his eyes and tried to relax. As his breathing slowed and steadied, his body felt more normal, and he began to think he would be okay.
Then he opened his eyes and saw his bare foot squirming past his face, about to wriggle out onto the road.
Without thinking, he grabbed the foot and yanked it back, ruffling the brush in the process. The foot jerked in his grip, nearly escaping, and he shook the brush again trying to restrain it.
With the foot clamped hard against the ground, Reacher watched the riders on the road. The conversation had ended, and everyone was looking around as if they'd heard something and were trying to locate its source.
He held his breath. General Deathcrave and the armored riders looked in every direction except the right one. But the Secret King turned to look back over his shoulder and down.
Reacher could have sworn the Secret King's gaze went right to him. His heart pounded. He felt the rippling and tingling that always heralded a new transformation, and he clenched his teeth and tried hard to will it not to happen.
His foot twitched in his grasp.
The Secret King pulled back his hood, revealing his face. Finally his gaze slid onward, but not before Reacher got a look at him and understood why his voice had sounded familiar.
His face was thin and chiseled, with high cheekbones and bright blue eyes. His wavy hair was silver.
The Secret King could have been the twin of Youforia's manager, Sty Latherclad.
At first, Reacher was surprised. As he thought about it, though, he decided that coming across Sty or someone who looked like him in the world of Fireskull's Revenant wasn't so surprising, given the circumstances. If Reacher could become Johnny Without, and Wicked could become General Deathcrave, it almost made sense that Sty would also play a role in this place. In fact, Reacher fully expected to encounter others here who resembled people he knew back home.
He was still pondering this as the Secret King and the other riders stopped looking around for the source of the rustling noise he'd made.
"Must have been a squid-rat," said Deathcrave.
"Enough delays," said the Secret King. "Field your men and find Without. Do not return until you have him in custody."
"Yes, Your Majesty." Deathcrave's eyes remained fixed on the ground.
"And whatever you do," the Secret King added, "under no circumstances allow him to unite with Fireskull."
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"My prophecy must be upheld. Its accuracy must never be called into question."
"Understood, Your Majesty," said Deathcrave.
It was then that Reacher realized the Secret King had another identity.
As he and his soldiers rode off in one direction, and Deathcrave and his group rode off in the other, Reacher thought back to the text of Fireskull's Revenant. One man was described in the novel as having handsome features and silver hair and wearing a hooded cloak made of rough brown cloth. One man was depicted delivering a prophecy that Johnny and Fireskull had to be kept apart or the world would end.
Apparently, the Secret King, who looked and sounded like Sty Latherclad, was also Highcast the Prophet.
THE guy forcing the sword toward Idea's throat looked just like Bud System, except for the blood-red armor and the murderous glint in his eyes.
Bud was the fat man in Chicago w
ho had tried to sell Idea "tickie-tickies" to the Youforia concert. Bud's double, who called himself Colonel Sweat, had far more harmful intentions.
Sweat and a group of armored warriors had ambushed Idea and Scrier/Eunice in a gorge. She had just finished telling him the secret of who had conquered Fireskull's and Johnny's kingdoms and how he'd done it.
Idea hadn't been very surprised by the plot twist that Scrier/Eunice had revealed. Milt Ifthen, author of Fireskull's Revenant, had made it pretty obvious from early in the novel what the identity of the leader of the invaders would turn out to be.
Scrier/Eunice had explained that Highcast the Prophet, also known as the Secret King, had discouraged an alliance between Fireskull and Johnny, an alliance that could have successfully opposed him, by predicting the world would end if they ever again met face-to-face. He'd used similar false prophecies many times before that, driving wedges between other kingdoms, which he then had been able to conquer. Fireskull's and Johnny's had fallen just as easily; it hadn't taken much effort to pit the long-standing enemies against each other.
As thoroughly as the Secret King had defeated Fireskull, however, he'd still felt the need to send Colonel Sweat to eliminate him, which had been a smart move. Scrier/Eunice had assured Idea that he and Reacher could still triumph if they joined together.
Scrier/Eunice had also told Idea that she would lead him to Reacher, and the two of them would join forces. As she'd promised back in the diner, they would have the chance to change their lives, as long as they worked together.
Before Idea could press her for more details on how exactly his life could change, Colonel Sweat and his team had attacked.
"Yield, Firefool." Sweat grunted as he pushed his silver sword against Idea's black sword. "Why drag this out?"
The Fireskull body that Idea now inhabited was physically powerful, but Sweat still managed to force the crossed swords forward. Idea redoubled his effort, pushing both blades back toward Sweat ... and Sweat regained the advantage again with a sudden heave.
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