Evertaster

by Adam Glendon Sidwell

  “Gusser!” cried Henry Junior. Guster couldn’t meet Mom’s eyes. It was Mariah’s he saw instead. They were pleading, but brave.

  What if he hadn’t grown up on the farmhouse? What if he hadn’t had those wrestling matches with Zeke, or heard all those facts from Mariah, or been there when Henry Junior mimicked the rooster’s morning call? Could he give up that? Palatus clutched the eggbeater tightly in his hand.

  “What shall we do, boy?” Duodenum forced Mom’s jaw open and raised the ladle. Guster imagined an empty kitchen with no Mom banging pots and pans.

  “Eat yourself!” cried Guster, stabbing his fork into Palatus’ thigh. The chef stumbled, losing his grip on Guster’s arm. Guster broke free and darted for the snow bridge. Chunks of ice broke from the edges and fell into the crevasse below as he ran. He was terrified to think it might collapse now. Halfway across, he dove for the other side like a football player diving for the end zone. He landed chest-first on packed snow.

  There was a cry, then a gurgle as he looked up to see Duodenum forcing the gravy down Mom’s throat. “No!” Guster screamed. Zeke kicked at the chef’s legs, knocking him over. Mom swallowed. Her eyelids fluttered, then fell shut like the lead doors on a bunker. She swayed, then slumped down in the snow, asleep. Estomago grabbed Guster by the hair before he could reach her.

  “You’ve had this coming!” hissed Estomago. He lifted his cleaver. Guster braced himself, dreading the worst. Suddenly, the mound of fallen ice next to Guster’s feet rumbled and a huge fist smashed out from below. Shards of ice sprayed Estomago in the face. Torbjorn leapt out, his head shaking in rage and his horned helmet pointed skyward.

  Estomago dashed for the snow bridge, but it was too late. With a roar, Torbjorn grabbed him by the back of his neck and lifted him off the ground. He flailed; his cleaver fell to the snow.

  “Insolent Scavengers,” Palatus cried, pulling the fork from his leg and tossing it aside casually. He drew another cleaver and started deliberately toward them. Torbjorn saw him coming and hurled Estomago like a missile at the Lord-Evertaster. Palatus stepped aside, dodging the projectile body.

  “Torbjorn, the bridge!” cried Guster. Before Palatus could get any closer, Torbjorn smashed both fists down onto the ice bridge. It crumbled and broke into huge chunks of snow that plummeted into the crevasse. Palatus stepped backward, firmly planting himself on the ground as the bridge fell away, his eyes never leaving Guster.

  “You will come back to us, Guster,” Palatus said. Duodenum drew another knife, but Torbjorn caught him by the apron and hoisted him high before he could attack.

  “Be gone, swine!” Torbjorn bellowed, his nostrils flaring with anger. He swung the screaming Duodenum by the apron around his head like a lasso, then tossed him over the crevasse where he smashed into an ice shelf just above Palatus. It rumbled; the entire shelf broke free and crumbled down all around Palatus and Estomago. Palatus stood unflinching, staring coldly at Guster as chunks of ice plummeted down around him.

  “Everywhere you go, you will remember what it is you ’ave tasted!” said Palatus as a huge pillar of ice toppled over, cutting him and the other two Gastronimatii from view.

  “Mom!” cried Zeke. Guster scooped her up from the snow and cradled her limp body in his lap. Zeke slapped her gently on the cheek. She was breathing, but there was no response. Her body was there, but she was in a sleep so deep, her mind was far away. “Mom! Mom!” Zeke slapped her again. She lay still.

  Torbjorn dropped to his knees on the mound of ice and began to dig. “Brother!” he cried. “Can you hear me?” The sound of Storfjell’s voice was barely audible through the ice.

  “Oh ya! Mine brother!” said Storfjell as his face appeared under the snow. “Did you vanquish the foes?”

  “Ya! But there is loss,” Torbjorn said, a frown coming to his face “The Mom-Maiden — she has fallen,” he said, looking to Mom as he dug more furiously.

  Guster held his hands to her face, trying to warm her cheeks. This was worse than when Dad fell asleep after eating a big Thanksgiving dinner. What had he done? Pangs of guilt stabbed at him. He had gotten Mom into this.

  “Come, we haven’t much time,” said Torbjorn as Storfjell climbed out of the ice, his lips blue and shaking. “We must get you back upon your silver bird so you can find help for her before the Wicked Ones return.”

  Guster couldn’t lift her, so he took Henry Junior from Mom’s back and strapped him to his own. He was heavy, even for a little guy, and he squirmed and pounded on Guster’s neck. It was a small price to pay — one that in no way could make up for his crime.

  Torbjorn gingerly plucked Mom’s sleeping body out of the snow. They raced back down the hill toward the longhouse, the burden Mom had always carried now weighing heavily on Guster’s back, because she could no longer carry it herself.

  Chapter 13 — The Castaways

  They made their way quickly down the glacier to the longhouse, where they mounted the sleds. Torbjorn placed Mom down carefully on a blanket in the middle, then fetched a barrel of butter.

  “Feed her some of the butter-gold. It can cure wounds,” he said, putting the barrel in Guster’s lap. He and Storfjell kicked off toward the airstrip. The sleds sped along the crusty snowfield toward the mountain, even faster than they had come the first time.

  Guster had to try. He popped the lid off the barrel, scooped up a spoonful of butter in a wooden spoon, and held Mom’s jaw with his other hand. He forced the butter to the back of her throat until she swallowed.

  He counted the seconds, hopeful. There was no reaction to the crisp breeze, no notice of Henry Junior howling in her ear. Mom’s eyes were shut fast.

  “It didn’t work,” Guster said, the panic building inside him. He looked to Torbjorn for help.

  “Then I do not know what can save her,” Torbjorn said.

  Ten years. It was a long time. She would sleep through family vacations, the first day of school, even Christmas. He needed her. He had done this to her, and now he had to fix it. “We have to get help,” said Guster.

  “From who?” asked Mariah .

  “I don’t know. Maybe a doctor. Maybe someone like the Master Pastry Chef,” though he knew Renoir was dead. The thought popped into his mind: maybe Archedentus, but he knew that was impossible too.

  If not the butter, then maybe another ingredient would help. If they stayed on the trail of the one recipe, maybe, somewhere along the way, there would be a chef or someone or something that could cure Mom. It was their only option.

  “We’ve got to follow the Gastronimatii,” said Guster.

  “Are you crazy!” Zeke said. “Mom is practically a zombie and all you can think about is getting your taste buds tingled!”

  He couldn’t blame Zeke for thinking that. This was his fault and he knew it. He felt sick with himself.

  “Guster is right, Zeke,” said Mariah. “Going home isn’t going to do us any good. It was the Gastronimatii’s gravy that did this to Mom and only some food just as rich will be able to undo it. We’ve got to keep going.”

  Just then it hit Guster. He’d been so worried about Mom he hadn’t realized it until now. It’s gone, he thought as the sled zipped along the snow. Palatus had gotten what he wanted. “I lost it,” he said. “The eggbeater is gone.” He started to shake. After all he’d done to hold on to it, it had been wrenched out of his fingers.

  Mariah put a hand on his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter,” said Mariah.

  “Of course it matters. Without the One Recipe the trail is cold!” shouted Guster angrily. Didn’t they understand?

  “After all that time you spent studying the symbols, don’t you remember any of them?” she asked.

  Guster shook his head, “Vaguely. But there are so many details. And there’s no way I can remember all the measurements and mixing instructions,” he said.

  Mariah smiled. “You don’t have to. I wrote it all down,” she said. “There’s a copy on the plane, for safe-keeping.”

 
; So it wasn’t over. His brilliant, brilliant sister had done it again. Guster could have hugged her.

  There was still a chance. They would have to race the Gastronimatii every step of the way now, but it wasn’t impossible. Maybe they could save Mom and make up for everything he’d done. They just had to get to the plane.

  It came into view as they rounded the mountain. It was good to see its sleek silver lines. It meant comfort — their one constant throughout a journey full of so many surprises.

  Torbjorn kicked the sled on furiously. When they reached the gravel, Guster leapt from the sled, and jogged as fast as he could toward the airstrip, his younger brother bouncing on his back.

  He hadn’t gone more than a few yards when he saw a faint wisp of smoke rising from the plane into the air. Braxton ran toward them, something under one arm. A moment later, there was an enormous crack. The plane exploded in a gigantic burst of red flames.

  “No!” shouted Guster. The rushing wind and the deafening noise hit at the same time. It was searing hot on his cheeks for just a moment, then it was gone.

  An orange and black fireball floated skyward from the wreckage in a mushroom cloud; the charred wings of the plane broke loose from its now hollow fuselage. This can’t be happening, Guster thought.

  He ran in a daze toward the wreckage, ignoring Henry Junior’s weight. The rest of the family was right on his heels. Braxton lay on the ground face-down, knocked over by the force of the blast. The old pilot groaned and pushed himself up, his chauffer suit singed.

  “Braxton! Are you alright?” shouted Mariah.

  He nodded, then slumped back down in the gravel. “I need a rest,” he said.

  A sick feeling welled up inside Guster’s gut. Where was the egg? He scanned the ground until he found it, half-buried in gravel a few feet away from Braxton’s outstretched arm.

  He rushed to inspect it, wiping away the gravel with his arm. There was no yoke or cracks. The shell must’ve been made of stone, after all it had been through.

  Mariah turned Braxton over to check for wounds. He groaned. “I’m fine little lady. Nothin’ I haven’t been through before.”

  “Did you get my notes?” asked Mariah.

  The old man’s smile faded. “Sorry darlin’. Didn’t know you had any. I smelled smoke and only had the sense to grab the egg from the fridge on the way out. Somebody must’ve sabotaged the fuel tank.”

  Guster smelled a faint hint of caramel mingled with the burning aircraft fuel. The Gastronimatii must have stuck it to the fuel tank sometime before they found Guster on the glacier. Just like a plastic explosive. “Palatus!” he cried. He hated that man.

  “Boom boom?” asked Henry Junior, apparently unaware just how bad things had gotten.

  “Sadly, yes,” said Mariah, smoothing his hair.

  A whirring noise from the mountain caught Guster’s attention. A blood-red zeppelin rose from behind the peak and set coarse straight out to sea. The Gastronimatii were headed back to the mainland with the eggbeater.

  Hope drained out of Guster’s toes. Mariah’s copy of the recipe was the only chance they had. Without a plane, their only means of escape was gone.

  “We’re stranded,” said Mariah as she watched the zeppelin make its way toward the mainland.

  Guster stared at his hands. If only he hadn’t been so greedy, he never would have been caught by Palatus. It was his fault they lost the eggbeater. It was his fault Mom had fallen asleep for good.

  “Stranded?” cried Zeke. He charged toward Guster when Mariah caught him by the shirt. “You fancy-mouth! If you didn’t always have to eat so-and-so and such-and-such, none of this would have happened!” he yelled. “Every one of us is here because of you!”

  Guster felt hot embarrassment rise in the back of his neck. Zeke was right. He had been all along. The days of frustration and years of guilt finally boiled over.

  “You —, ” Zeke started again.

  “I’m sorry!” Guster cried, cutting Zeke off. “I’m sorry for almost getting us killed. I’m sorry for doing this to Mom! I’m sorry for being such a… such a…,” Guster stuttered. He had to say it before Zeke could, and because he knew it was true, “such a… picky eater!” As soon as he’d said the words, he felt like he’d snapped a net that had been tying him down.

  “Like I said,” said Zeke, but he wasn’t gloating this time.

  A picky eater. Guster kicked the dirt. It felt good to kick something. “I didn’t mean for all this to happen, Mom,” he said, looking into her sleeping face.

  Guster could almost imagine the advice she’d give him. This time, he wouldn’t mind the lecture. “I don’t want to be an Evertaster,” Guster said glumly.

  If she could hear him, she would have told him to be brave. He wished she was awake to say it. He wished he knew how to do what she asked. “The Gastronimatii have the eggbeater. Mariah’s notes are all burned up and we have no airplane. We’ll be lucky if we ever see Louisiana again,” he said. Even if Mom were awake, there was no way she — or anybody — could fix this one.

  Storfjell began pacing back and forth furiously. Torbjorn hung his head. No one said anything for a long while. Would this be there life from now on? No Mom? Joggling bovines on Bear Island? Guster was sure to starve to death if it was. They were stuck, and they knew it.

  Finally, the fuming Storfjell stopped in his tracks and beat his chest, his eyes on Guster. “At times, the sun shines even when it is midnight!” he announced. “Come with me. There is hope yet!” He turned and started back toward the longhouse.

  What’s the use? thought Guster. No matter how big and strong the giant was, he couldn’t get them back to the mainland by brute force alone.

  Zeke trudged after him. Torbjorn, who looked just as confused as Guster felt, picked up Mom and followed his older brother.

  “I say, who exactly are these large fellas?” asked Braxton, picking himself up off the ground.

  “Meet the Buttersmiths of Bear Island,” said Mariah as she helped Braxton up. He started toward the longhouse. “We’ll explain everything on the way.”

  “Come on Guster,” said Mariah. She held out her hand. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t go to the plane. He picked up the egg, cradling it in both arms. There was nothing else to do but follow.

  Chapter 14 — The Return of the Sea Dragon

  Torbjorn and Storfjell argued the entire way back to the longhouse. They didn’t stop when they got there.

  “Du verden! Er du helt gal?” exclaimed Torbjorn melodically.

  “Nei, men du— !” burst Storfjell back, his words striking a high note.

  Guster couldn’t tell what they were saying, though it was obvious they were fighting about something by the way they threw up their hands and pounded their fists at each other.

  Storfjell turned to Zeke, “You, take those and harness the bovines on their heads,” he ordered, pointing to a row of leather straps hanging on hooks. “And you two,” he said to Mariah and Guster, “Please be stacking as many muffins and dried fish as you can in those barrels.” He clapped Braxton on the shoulder. “You can bring the ropes,” he said, and had Braxton coil lengths of thick brown rope and strap them around the cows’ mid-sections.

  The work didn’t bother Guster, since it was a welcome distraction from their predicament. In a matter of hours they had each cow saddled with a load of rope, barrels, and blankets.

  “It has been decades! You don’t even know if it is still working!” said Torbjorn in English. “And your skills may not be as sharp as you remember!”

  Storfjell grunted, “Then we will perish,” he said. He opened the longhouse door and led the cargo-laden cows out through the field of clover. Guster followed. He trusted both giants, thought it was hard to decide which one to believe — especially without knowing what they were arguing about.

  They hiked across rocky beaches that led them around the far side of the island. They came to a sheer cliff that plunged straight into the ocean, blocking their path
. Storfjell turned toward the island interior and led the herd up a faint trail of winding switchbacks. It was hard going for Guster, especially with Henry Junior in the backpack on his back — how had Mom carried him all this time? — and the egg in his arms. Eventually, they made it to the top of the cliff. From there Guster could see the sea fade off into the distant horizon. They were so very, very far from anywhere.

  They carefully picked their way down a steep face on the other side of the cliff to a narrow beach tucked between sheer rock walls. It took hours, until finally the entire herd of cows, Mariah, Zeke and Braxton all stood on a small sandy beach surrounded by cliffs with nowhere to go. It was a dead end.

  “Wait here,” said Storfjell. He led the herd into the mouth of a wide cave and disappeared into the darkness. Torbjorn set Mom down carefully on the beach and followed him inside. Guster sat next to her.

  “Mom sleep?” asked Henry Junior, tugging on Mom’s baby blue apron. She let a tiny snore flutter from her lips.

  “That’s right,” said Guster sadly. “But we’ll get her back,” he said. That’s what Mom would want him to say.

  Zeke skipped rocks from the banked beach into the waves. After almost an hour, he stopped. “This is boring. I’m going to see what they’re up to,” he said. He wandered up toward the mouth of the cavern.

  Suddenly, the sound of groaning wood echoed out from the cave. Torbjorn came running from the mouth, the entire herd behind him, each cow pulling at a rope that led back into the darkness.

  The cows were halfway to the water when the ropes went taut. They heaved against them, mooing in unison, straining at some unseen object inside the hole. “Hi-ya!” cried Torbjorn, and together they gave one more great tug.

  A bow of a ship shaped like a dragon’s head emerged from the darkness with Storfjell standing proudly and magnificently on the deck beside it.

  Torbjorn cried “Hi-ya!” again. The herd pulled, and an entire wooden vessel spilled out of the cave on a bed of rolling logs. It tumbled down the slope and splashed into the sea.