“What do you know, magician!”
“He knows a lot,” Christopher said. “And that’s why you’ll never win, Belthasar, no matter how hard you try. You can hurt us, separate us or even imprison us, but my family’s strength goes way beyond that. It carries on through time.”
“In other words,” Molly added, “we’ll simply outlast you, Belthasar. Your kind pops up now and then like mold in a dark corner, but eventually we get rid of you. Sometimes it just takes a bit of hard work.”
Fennic boiled with rage. “Don’t you lecture me, little girl!” he shouted, reaching for Artemas like a caged tiger swiping its claw through the bars. Christopher raised his hand and pushed back Fennic’s advancing fist as Molly shoved him in the chest. For an instant, Christopher felt an electric chill run through his fingers as the angry spirit of Belthasar swiftly passed in and out of him. Fennic took a step backward, glaring at the trio as he breathed slow and heavy breaths through his clenched teeth.
“Didn’t you say a moment ago that this was a parley?” Artemas asked. “Aren’t we here merely to talk?”
“I make the rules,” Fennic replied with a snarl, “and I can change them whenever I–!” Suddenly his face softened and he stared at the magician with a twisted smile. “Oh, how interesting! It seems you have a plan, Artemas. So I guess you aren’t here just to talk either.” Christopher and Molly glanced at the magician with a hint of dread in their eyes. “Yes, I now know everything,” Fennic added, raising an eyebrow as he scowled at Christopher. “I just had another peek at your thoughts.”
“What are you talking about, Belthasar?” Artemas anxiously asked as the growing light in the east reflected off his ocean blue eyes.
“You really would give your life to save these people,” Fennic said, sauntering toward the edge of Three Frogs and looking down. “My, but that is quite a leap. Not a pleasant way to go.” He walked back to his prisoners, a smug expression plastered upon his face. “But guess what? It’s not–going–to–happen! Your ill-conceived plan to put an end to me will never work, Artemas. I’m too strong to allow you to walk off this rocky tower and destroy my greatness. I guarantee it!”
“Brag if you like, Belthasar. And maybe I couldn’t destroy you that way,” Artemas grudgingly admitted. “But you will never have the one thing you want as long as your spirit lives–a new body. And I guarantee that!”
Christopher and Molly quickly closed ranks in front of Artemas, staring down Fennic with stony defiance.
“And we’ll stop you if you try!” Christopher said. Molly nodded, raising a pair of clenched fists.
Fennic chuckled. “So you need children to protect you, Artemas? Not what I expected from a mighty magician. Or are they the best King Rupert’s army has to offer?”
Artemas gently laid a hand upon Christopher and Molly’s heads, looking at Fennic with a sea of contempt. “These two have shown more courage, bravery and ingenuity in the short time I have known them than you and your legion of trolls could display in a lifetime. I am honored by their unwavering support.”
“And you’ll have to destroy us first before you get to Artemas,” Christopher said, his eyes filled with fiery determination.
“So take your best shot,” Molly added, raising her fists even higher.
Fennic grinned like a fox as he advanced a step, his mop of dirty hair blowing in the breeze. “As tempting a prospect as that is, I don’t need to destroy you to get to Artemas,” he said. “I can go through you!”
Fennic grabbed Molly’s wrist and he instantly stumbled backward, holding a hand to his head until the dizziness subsided. Molly felt a tingling chill along the locks of her hair as Belthasar’s spirit passed through her and into Artemas. The magician quickly removed his hand from Molly’s head as if he had just touched a hot stove, then stepped back and observed his surroundings.
“Ah, this is more like it!” Artemas said, grinning viciously as the spirit of Belthasar took control of his mind and soul. Christopher and Molly spun around and looked at him with heart-pounding fear. “Oh, don’t worry, my dear sweet children. Your magician friend is not going to walk off this precipice any time soon. I feel the struggle within as he tries to shield his thoughts from me, wishing at the same time he could leap over the edge.” Belthasar shrugged, savoring his victory. “Artemas is too overwhelmed and weakened to put up a good fight anymore.”
“We’ll fight for him,” Christopher said, standing tall, trying to control his rage.
“Careful so you don’t get too riled up,” Belthasar replied, pointing over Christopher’s shoulder. “I have extra help now.”
He and Molly turned around and their hearts sank. Standing before them was Fennic, his dagger raised in the air and the gap in his bottom set of teeth visible through a grim smile. He scratched his whiskered face, the rope burns on his wrist painted dull red in the faint morning light.
“You remember old Blade here, don’t you?” he asked Christopher with seething hatred in his voice. The glowing line along the eastern horizon reflected off his sharp knife. “Bet you never expected to see either one of us again, huh?”
Christopher glanced at Molly and smirked. “Just more mold popping up, right?”
Artemas brushed past them and strode toward the middle of the stone platform. “Guard them closely, Fennic.”
“Not a problem!”
Fennic raised his knife, forcing Christopher and Molly to back away to the right side of Three Frogs as their parents watched in horror from below. Artemas, in the meantime, stepped near the edge to address the anxious spectators.
“This is a drastic turn of events,” the magician said. “And quite in my favor.”
“Get to your point!” King Rupert sputtered, wanting to attack Belthasar at once. Yet he dared not, knowing that Christopher and Molly were in peril. He could easily win the battle but at a tragic cost.
“My point is this–I want you to leave these parts at once. Retreat with your forces to your castle and never return.”
“Release my children!” Mr. Jordan shouted. “Or so help me–”
“Or what?” Artemas sneered. “You are in even less of a position to bargain than is the King. I decide what is to be done around here. So if you hope to see your two precious children ever again, I suggest you convince King Rupert to do as I say. I will not–”
Suddenly Artemas’ right arm twitched. He wavered as if losing his balance. The magician gritted his teeth as the real Artemas tried to get through, but Belthasar quickly took control of the situation again, taking a step back in safety.
“I guess you’re not deciding everything yet, Belthasar. It appears that Artemas still has a little fight left in him,” Mrs. Jordan shouted. King Rupert nodded, an ember of hope burning in his heart.
“Your parasite spirit is no match for an actual human being,” Christopher said. “As strong as you are, Belthasar, you’re still only a flimsy shadow of a real person.”
“And that’s all you’ll ever be,” Molly said. “Weaker than tissue paper. An invisible nothing!”
“That’s what you think!” Belthasar cried, flaring his nostrils in rage. He had endured enough torment from the Jordan siblings to last a lifetime. “It’s about time you two see who you’re really dealing with!”
He shook a fist at them before seeking out a small piece of stone on the far side of Three Frogs where the endless wild weather had cracked and weakened the rock. He found a chunk of stone about the size of a brick and pried it loose, then walked back to the spot where he had addressed King Rupert.
“What are you going to do? Throw rocks at us?” Christopher taunted.
“Wait and see,” Belthasar hissed, tossing the rock on the ground. “Now prepare to meet your doom!”
Belthasar raised his arms like a vulture spreading its wings and pointed his fingers at the rock. He uttered a series of words and phrases that neither Christopher nor Molly could comprehend, speaking sometimes in soft whispers, other times in harsh commands. His fa
ce tightened and his eyes narrowed as the onlookers watched in morbid fascination. At one point, Christopher thought the rock quivered slightly, wondering if he had imagined it. When he looked at Molly and saw her glance back in astonishment, he knew that what was happening was all too real. Belthasar was casting a spell over the rock using Artemas’ magic powers, trying to recreate another copy of himself. A moment later Belthasar looked up, his gray eyes as wild as a storm, his face frozen in concentration.
“It is useless to resist any longer, Artemas! You’ve lost!” Belthasar said to himself, glancing about but looking at no one in particular. “It is time to accept your defeat. Give me the last word of the spell. Now!”
“Don’t do it, Artemas!” Molly cried.
“Not another word out of you!” Fennic shouted, raising his knife.
“And what are you going to do about it?” Christopher said, jumping in front of his sister. “Still haven’t learned your lesson?”
Before Fennic could reply, Artemas screamed as if in agony. Everyone turned to look. The magician stood with his fists clenched and his face twisted in rage as the battle between Artemas and Belthasar stormed on. His cloak and tangles of gray hair fluttered in the wind as faint wisps of smoke rose from the piece of rock in the reddening glow of the approaching sunrise.
“Tell me what it is!” Belthasar cried to the skies above, flailing his arms in the air as he battled the magician in his mind. “What is the last word of the spell? Give it to me! Give it to me NOW!”
Then as if hit by an electric shock, Belthasar stood arrow straight. His face softened and his eyes widened as a beaming smile spread across his face. He had finally plowed through all the barriers that Artemas had constructed in his mind. He had overwhelmingly defeated the magician by unearthing the pivotal last word of the spell. Belthasar raised his hands over the piece of rock and shouted.
“DÉVLIAFATÉLLEGRO!”
Instantly the rock turned into a gray fluid, looking like a chunk of frozen liquid metal for a split second before collapsing into a small puddle. It reflected the crisp morning sky like a mirror as it slowly spread out a few feet in all directions. Then as if being pulled up by an unseen string, a tiny bead in the center of the puddle began to rise. Suddenly more and more drops of the liquid bubbled up and melted into one another, coalescing into a black solid that grew over a foot high into the familiar yet terrifying shape of a pair of black boots.
And the gray liquid migrated upward, creating a towering being in a pair of brown trousers and a black shirt, topped with a vest of pewter gray chain mail. A flowing black cape grew downward from the neck like a spreading vine, covered with intricate stitching of silver and gold as it fluttered in the breeze. Lastly, the neck and head developed as the remnants of the puddle disappeared, forming a face both haunting and eerily familiar. A pair of closed eyelids was framed by a shock of iron gray hair and a pointed jaw on a figure that stood broad shouldered and as tall as a troll. Though slightly different and yet all too familiar to those who looked upon him, there he now stood like a sleeping statue. In the chilly gray dawn, Belthasar had returned to this world like a festering sore, yet at the moment he appeared as lifeless as the rock he was created from.
Molly gulped, feeling the last flicker of hope extinguish in her heart. “What happened?” she whispered to her brother, wanting to cry and feeling so cold and alone.
Christopher shook his head, his spirit pummeled to a point miles beyond shock and dismay. “He’s really back,” he muttered helplessly, staring at the grotesque figure.
Artemas stepped back and looked proudly upon his creation like a sculptor who had just completed a masterpiece. “Now that’s the power I’ve always craved!” he said with smug satisfaction. He glanced down at King Rupert and grinned. “Now you’ll soon learn what a real leader is!”
King Rupert, Mr. and Mrs. Jordan and Mina gazed up in stunned amazement as the frozen figure of Belthasar loomed like an evil giant ready to wake. Ulric saw the fear and confusion in their eyes and shouted out, hoping to break the tension and burst the bubble of Belthasar’s mounting pride.
“Looks a little taller than the miserable Belthasar I used to know,” Ulric said. “Are you tired of having the trolls looking down upon you?”
“Fling your jokes,” Belthasar replied with a disgusted sigh. “You won’t have many more to make.” He looked with satisfaction upon his creation and smiled. “I tweaked the spell a little bit. Why should I not stand equal with my tallest subjects?”
“A wise decision,” Fennic said, viciously grinning as he tried to curry more favor with Belthasar. He felt deliriously happy as if he had finally discovered the path to the wickedly wealthy life he had always desired.
Artemas walked around the frozen shape of Belthasar, scratching his head as he examined it. “Such a handsome figure if I do say so myself,” he said. “But something is missing which I can’t put my finger on. What could it be?” His voice dripped with taunting arrogance. He looked down at King Rupert. “Any ideas?” The King glared back in reply. Artemas walked confidently toward Christopher and Molly. “How about you two? Any suggestions on improving my wonderful creation?”
“Push it over the edge,” Christopher muttered. “That’ll make a definite improvement.”
“Not fair! You took my suggestion,” Molly said, grinning at her brother. Then she looked at Belthasar with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “You should stick it in a cornfield. It still looks like an ugly scarecrow, just like the first time I saw you in the great meeting hall in King Jeremiah’s castle.”
Artemas brushed aside their comments with a flick of his fingers and turned around, his chin in his hand, staring at the motionless shape of his old self. Then his eyes lit up and he spread out his hands, the answer to his question now obvious.
“I know! It needs a bit of me!” He held up his right hand and extended an index finger. “And all it will take is one small touch.” Belthasar smiled, prepared to take on the world once again. “Come, Artemas. Let’s finish this task, and then you can crawl away and join Malaban in utter defeat.”
He took a few steps toward the frozen figure of Belthasar, now casting a faint shadow in the growing light along the eastern horizon. But as Belthasar extended the magician’s arm, Artemas held back, locking the arm in midair.
“You’re resisting again,” Belthasar said, gritting his teeth. “But it’s too late to defeat me, magician. You are under my control!”
“Don’t let him get near it!” Christopher shouted.
“Fight him, Artemas!” Molly cried, grasping her brother by the arm. “Fight him!”
“Don’t think your friend is going to stop him,” Fennic said. “The birth of Belthasaria takes place here and now. And you two urchins get to witness it!”
Christopher and Molly saw Artemas putting up a last desperate struggle, but Fennic’s sharp dagger prevented them from rushing over to help. Christopher pretended to lunge forward to see if he could catch Fennic off guard, but the man raised both arms, holding his ground.
“You haven’t won yet, Fennic!” Christopher shouted.
“Oh, but I think this knife says otherwise,” he replied with a smirk.
Molly quickly searched through her pockets. “Oh yeah? Well, let’s see if that can compete with this!” She held out her penlight, causing Fennic to grunt with laughter.
“And what exactly is that strange object, little girl?” he said, tapping the side of the pen with the tip of his dagger. “You’re going to fight me with that? I don’t think so!”
“Take a closer look, brainless, and maybe you won’t be so confident!”
Fennic leaned forward, peering closely at the top of the pen. “Looks pretty harmless to–aaaaahhh!”
Fennic pulled away the instant Molly clicked on the penlight, sending an icy blue flash directly into his eyes. The glowing beam clouded his vision with an explosion of bright spots as if a flock of wild seagulls had engulfed him. He staggered back for a second, insti
nctively protecting his eyes with his free hand. Before he had a moment to recover, Christopher seized his other wrist with both hands, twisting in opposite directions. Fennic screamed out in burning pain and dropped the dagger. Molly kicked him hard in the shin at the same time, dropping him to his knees. Christopher shoved Fennic to the ground, grabbed the knife and held him at bay.
“Molly, help Artemas! Hurry!”
“I’m on it!” she yelled, rushing across the rock.
Belthasar saw what had happened out of the corners of his eyes, fearing that his mighty plan was in danger from the two children he so vehemently despised. He howled in rage as he tried to walk the final steps toward the towering figure of Belthasar as Artemas resisted, feeling as if his feet and extended arm were made of lead.
“You won’t stop me this time, Molly Jordan!” Belthasar cried. “Never again!”
With every ounce of strength left, Belthasar forced Artemas to take one more step, then another, and another, inching his fingertip closer to its goal. It was now a foot away, then only inches. Belthasar pushed his hand through the air as if swimming against a strong current. Molly was nearly upon him as the flash of her blond hair caught his gaze. Belthasar knew he had only an instant left to succeed. He suddenly grabbed his own right wrist with his left hand and slammed it hard against the fingers of the sleeping hulk. In the blink of an eye, Belthasar’s spirit passed into the motionless figure. Artemas was catapulted backward through the air, flying into Molly so that they both tumbled to the stony surface.
Molly shook her woozy head. “Are you all right, Artemas?” she asked, massaging a bruised arm as she sat up.
“I’ll be fine,” he muttered, nearly out of breath as he rubbed his burning forehead. “Just give me a moment.”
“I don’t think we have a moment,” Christopher replied. “Look!”
Molly and Artemas stood up and saw a commotion brewing among the soldiers and trolls below. Everybody gazed up and pointed at Belthasar, still as motionless as a statue–or so it appeared. Molly and Artemas circled around to the front side to get a better glimpse of his face, gasping at the sight.
The Endora Trilogy (The Complete Series) Page 66