by Paul Rudnick
The stuff these people were wearing or holding included glow-stick halos mounted on Angel Wars baseball caps; oversized Angel Wars T-shirts silk-screened with the logo from the movie; Angel Wars tote bags filled with special triple-platinum editions of the books featuring three additional pages; plastic golden crossbows; and, of course, plastic harnesses, which were attached to the little sets of plastic golden wings on everyone’s backs. These wings were making the people wearing them lean forward, which made them look even more eager and overheated. I don’t want this to sound in any way mean because everyone looked amazing, but when a grown man wears a little set of plastic wings, getting him to actually fly might present an aerodynamic challenge.
“Check your phone,” said Wyatt. “#AWLiveEvent.”
Wyatt showed me how to do this and every split second there were tweets:
I looked around the arena and I wished that I had my own halo, tote bag and set of wings, because it was incredible. In the book, Mistress Miracle uses a monastery of one hundred devout Buddhist monks to painstakingly create the world’s largest and most elaborate mandala, which is an impossibly intricate set of drawings made entirely from different colors of sand.
I don’t know who the studio hired to create the Angel Wars mandala inside Madison Square Garden but it was magnificent: The entire floor, which seemed to go on for miles, was covered with a perfectly smooth layer of truckload upon truckload of the finest grains of sand worked into pictures of all the stars of the movie and moments from the major scenes. While a painting that large and that specific would have been breathtaking, the fact that all of these images were made entirely of sand, and of sand that hadn’t been glued into place, made the whole arena seem precarious and sacred and magical and also like the world’s largest billboard for the books and the movie, and I wanted to tell everyone to be really careful and to hold their breath so that we wouldn’t disturb or destroy even an inch of the mandala.
The lights in the arena changed dramatically, with lasers blasting out over the crowd’s heads, which made everyone scream. Electronic music from the movie’s soundtrack boomed, which made everyone scream even more, and I started to understand what this event was all about because it allowed the fans to be included in the whole Angel Wars phenomenon, through screaming. I’ve never been to a rock concert but I’ve heard that there’s always lots of screaming and that the screaming sometimes drowns out the music but that no one minds because fans can always listen to the music once they’re back home or in their cars. At a Singing Singleberries concert, we usually have more polite audiences who applaud at the end of each song and who’ll only clap along with the beat if my dad raises his arms over his head and starts clapping first to let everybody know that it’s okay.
“This is fabulous!” Wyatt told me, over the noise. “It’s Angel Wars–palooza!”
All the lights went out and a huge face appeared on three Jumbotron screens that had been lowered from the ceiling. It was a woman’s face, and her mane of white hair had a life of its own, streaming and curling with the tendrils forming yin and yang symbols, hearts and exclamation points.
“I am Mistress Miracle,” said the woman, and everyone screamed again as the woman smiled. “Welcome to the AllSouls Universium. Today we decide the fate of all humankind, and I shall require the assistance of all in attendance. Are you ready to fully participate, in the triumph of goodness or the onslaught of evil?”
This caused the loudest screaming yet and I had no idea which side the crowd was on or if it mattered. What mattered was that Mistress Miracle was here and she was talking to us.
“That’s Caroline McNaught,” Wyatt told me. “She has three Oscars but no one here cares. From now on, she’s Mistress Miracle.”
“As you know,” said Mistress Miracle, “each realm has chosen a combatant to represent their interests. Who shall battle on behalf of the Golden Lord and all that is righteous?”
A shaft of light burst from the heavens, and there was Heller, up near the ceiling, aloft on her glorious golden wings with a span of at least twelve feet. I could see the individual feathers fluttering. I knew that Heller must be on wires but those wires were so thin and transparent they became invisible and Heller really seemed to be flying and the crowd went ballistic, with everyone, but especially the girls, sobbing and hugging one another as Lynnea, who they’d read about and dreamed of and talked about for years, came to life. Even more amazingly, I could tell that the crowd wasn’t just watching an astonishing special effect—they were watching Heller, because through her talent and her determination and her stardom, she was making them watch.
Heller gradually swooped to earth, landing at one side of the mandala with a gentle whoosh. As her wings gracefully folded and detached, allowing Heller to move freely, a radiant halo appeared over her head, and the halo seemed to be free-floating and followed Heller’s every move.
“I am Lynnea, the Chosen Winglet, and I shall defend the Golden Lands,” said Heller, and her voice had been amplified so that while she was speaking simply and clearly, she could be heard throughout the arena.
“Who will battle for the Darkling Creeper, on behalf of the Destervoid and all that is unholy?”
Another shaft of light appeared at the opposite end of the arena, only this light was tinted purple and contained a slashing black rain and I wasn’t sure if this rain was water or black glitter but it was hurricane-force. A girl appeared near the ceiling and she seemed to be riding the rain as she slithered to the floor of the arena. This girl was dressed just the way Malestra is described in the book, in a tight black jumpsuit that gleamed like armor, with a stiff collar and a crown with high, jagged black spikes. A cobra rose from this crown, spitting and hissing at least ten feet in the air, right at the crowd, and then the cobra disappeared as everyone gasped.
“I am Malestra,” said the girl, “and I serve the Darkling Creeper and his regiments of necessary doom!”
The girl’s voice, which had been amplified, made me realize the difference between how an experienced actress speaks and how a regular person comes across. While Heller had sounded straightforward, her voice had been filled with emotion, with pride and torment, as if Lynnea knew that she was doing something important but the responsibility was tearing her apart.
“Ava Lily Larrimore,” said Wyatt, pointing to Malestra. Ava’s voice was less passionate and even a little high-pitched and nasal, like a girl you might overhear at a restaurant complaining about her salad and asking to see the manager. Ava was perfect as Malestra because she sounded like she was about to stomp her foot and tell everyone in the arena to shut up because she was talking.
The crowd hissed “Malestra” and Ava raised her arms for silence, proclaiming, “You will all serve the Creeper! You will bow low!”
“I’ve never thought of this before,” said Wyatt, “but doesn’t the name Malestra sound like a new antidepressant that would make you feel even worse?”
“The first round!” said Mistress Miracle. “A battle of words! Malestra, should you prevail, what form will our world inhabit?”
“Our world,” said Malestra, just like in the book, “will at last become a realm of constant deceit, of delicious inhumanity, and of joyous dread. There is an evil in every one of us, in every soul here tonight, and the Darkling Creeper shall nourish that evil and allow it to bloom within the horror of an eternal night!”
“Ava should know,” said Wyatt.
“Lynnea?” said Mistress Miracle, and Heller waited a few seconds before she spoke, as if she needed to say exactly the right thing.
“If I win … ,” said Heller, and there was an overpowering hum because everyone in the arena knew this speech by heart and loved it and was murmuring the words right along with Heller. “No. This battle is not mine alone. I fight for all of us, for anyone who hopes and prays and dreams that goodness is possible. I fight for the Golden Lord, who has taught me, who has taught all of us, that the need for kindness and compassion and love, this need
is always a struggle. I fight so that for perhaps a brief moment, the world can stop fighting.”
There was a pause and then Mistress Miracle announced, “Round One—to the Chosen Winglet!”
Everyone, and especially me and even Wyatt, screamed, whistled and cheered, and all of the girls made heart shapes using their thumbs and fingers.
“Silence!” said Mistress Miracle. “The day is far from won! Round Two—a battle of commitment and allies. Who stands with Lynnea?”
Laser beams crisscrossed the mandala-covered floor like searchlights and then a corner of sand swirled into a tornado-like cone and when the sand settled there was Tallwen, standing a few yards from Lynnea. By which I mean there was Mills, who was visibly bruised and wearing ripped, stained linen because earlier in the day he’d been ambushed by Dastroids. He had wings but one of them was bent nearly in half. Most shockingly of all, Mills’s hair was flat and greasy.
“I am Tallwen,” said Mills, his voice shaking, “of the Stelterfokken, who have nurtured the Winglet and watched over her. I am assigned to protect Lynnea from all foes and wrongdoing. I will stand beside her, unto my death.”
“But if you die, who will protect her, oh brave and battered one?” asked Mistress Miracle.
“I will!” shouted Myke, and everyone in the arena swiveled their heads as a spotlight found Billy, hanging in a fiery cage high over the arena. Billy was wearing bits of shredded and dented armor that Myke had made from recycled coffee cans. Billy’s arms and legs were manacled; in the books Myke is always getting kidnapped and beaten up and brainwashed so that Lynnea has to rescue him, usually when she’s right in the middle of trying to defeat the Darkling Creeper. If he hadn’t been so cute, Myke might have been annoying, like a little kid who keeps wandering off and getting into trouble.
“I am Myke!” said Billy. “I am but a humble potter and poet and leathercrafter from New Hampshire! I believe in Lynnea and all that she represents! I will stand with her at all costs!”
“Malestra?” said Mistress Miracle and everyone turned toward Ava, who smiled. She clapped her hands and from the blackness high overhead at least fifty children, all dressed completely in glittering black, with hoods, descended on ropes with silent, lightning speed, like special-ops ninjas or an exploding nest of spiders. Once they’d reached the floor these children all ran to Malestra and gathered at her feet, cackling and kicking the sand in order to demolish large sections of the mandala.
“My child army stands with me,” said Malestra. “Their souls have been secured and they live only to serve. Children of darkness?”
At Malestra’s command, all of the children tilted their heads back and howled, and the sound was electronically magnified to become even harsher and more terrifying, like a pack of starving wolves who’d just come across a church picnic. As the howling peaked, each child held up a flare gun that shot purple flames high into the night, backed by the augmented sounds of machine-gun fire, and the arena was filled with smoke and chaos, as if the world was ending.
“Malestra’s companions are mindless and enslaved,” said Mistress Miracle over the din. “They will question nothing. Lynnea’s companions are steadfast and free yet easily captured. Round Two—the victory is Malestra’s!”
“The final round!” decreed Mistress Miracle. “A battle to the death! According to our Universium bylaws, flight, supernatural assistance and gunplay are not permitted. All else is allowed. Lynnea, Malestra—enter the circle of destiny.”
The crowd hushed as the overhead lighting dimmed, while bulbs built into the floor outlined a circle at the very center of the mandala. Lynnea and Malestra stepped into this circle from opposite sides and Lynnea said, “Malestra, I wish you no harm. We can end this right now, simply by refusing to fight each other. Why can’t we leave this circle together, arm in arm, as friends?”
“Agreed,” said Malestra, and the two girls walked toward each other. Lynnea gave a special angel wave and then stretched out her arm, offering her hand in peace. Malestra grasped Lynnea’s hand and then kicked Lynnea’s leg out from under her, sending her sprawling.
“I’m not your friend,” said Malestra. “I’m here to prevail!”
Lynnea leaped to her feet and crouched as she and Malestra circled each other like sumo wrestlers. Lynnea seemed to reach for Malestra but it was a trick. I’m not sure how she managed this but Heller soared over Ava’s head, touching down right behind her, where she wrenched both of Ava’s arms behind her back. Ava then sank her teeth into Heller’s shoulder and Heller yelped in pain and let go.
“Did they rehearse all of this?” I asked Wyatt. “Because just now when Ava bit Heller, it looked like it really hurt.”
“It’s been completely choreographed and they’ve been practicing the whole thing,” said Wyatt, who sounded concerned. “But I don’t remember anyone biting.”
Ava was now pursuing Heller, shoving and kickboxing her. From the darkness, outside the circle, someone tossed Lynnea her golden crossbow, but Malestra caught it and hurled it into the audience where at least ten Angel Warriors grabbed for what could become a very valuable souvenir, like a home-run baseball caught in the stands at a World Series.
“In the book, doesn’t Lynnea catch the crossbow and use it?” I asked Wyatt.
“Of course Lynnea is supposed to catch the crossbow!” said Wyatt, who was looking around frantically for the security guards. “I don’t know what Ava is up to, but they have to stop her!”
Heller was holding up her hands as if she was trying to surrender and stop the fight but Ava kept going after her, grabbing Heller’s hair and landing what looked like a really painful jab right in Heller’s stomach. I saw that Ava had either a dagger or a hunting knife tucked into her belt.
“WYATT?” I said, but Wyatt was gone to track down the guards. Because I was sitting so close, I could see that Heller looked genuinely terrified, but to the crowd it was still part of the show. I stood up and grabbed the railing in front of me, as the size of Madison Square Garden and the presence of so many people crashed over me. I felt like I was going to faint.
Focus on helping Heller. Focus on stopping Ava from hurting or even killing Heller. Do your job.
The girl in the seat next to me was wearing a homemade Dastroid costume with a knee-length black vest, a pointed helmet with a visor that covered half her face, and a sword, called a Lucifoil, where the blade ended in what was designed to look like two very sharp devil’s horns.
“I’ll give you ten dollars for your Dastroid outfit!” I told the girl.
“No way!” said the girl. “My mom made this! It took her a whole weekend!”
“Twenty dollars!” I said, which would use up a major chunk of the emergency fund that my dad had tucked into one of my extra pairs of rolled-up kneesocks. “And you can meet Lynnea in private after the show! Just do it!”
A few seconds later I was wearing the Dastroid outfit and I was standing right at the opening to the arena floor.
Save Heller’s life. Trounce evil. Do your job, bitch.
Did I really just call myself bitch?
Heller and Ava were now wrestling on the ground and rolling in the sand and Ava was reaching for her knife. The crowd was screaming:
“KILL HER!”
“SAVE THE GOLDEN LANDS!”
“HERE COMES THE CREEPER!!!!”
I took a step into the arena and froze because I made the mistake of looking around, which made me feel completely exposed. Thousands of people were standing and yelling. The lights and the iron catwalks and other chunks of machinery dangled and swayed high overhead, as if they might fall at any second, and there was sand everywhere, swirling into clouds of choking dust.
I CAN’T DO THIS! I’m not a gladiator or a security guard or a special-ops ninja or anything useful! I started to shake uncontrollably, as if my skeleton was falling apart, and my newly acquired Lucifoil wobbled in my hand. I was having a massive panic attack.
SAVE HELLER’S LIFE!
&nbs
p; “Catey!” said Heller, crouching on the ground. Catching Heller off guard, Ava slammed Heller onto her back and straddled her.
There was a microphone dangling from a wire a few inches from my face. I grabbed it and yelled, so my voice blasted throughout the arena: “I AM AVIANDA!”
Ava held for a second, with Heller pinned underneath her.
The crowd stopped yelling and began buzzing with questions: “Who’s Avianda?” “She’s not in the books!” “Isn’t there an Avianda in Lord of the Rings? Is she an Orc princess?” “Look, she’s got a Lucifoil!”
“BOW LOW BEFORE AVIANDA!” I howled. “THE EVEN MORE EVIL DAUGHTER OF THE DARKLING CREEPER! SPAWN OF THE CREEPER AND … THE SUCCUBUS OF SARWELLIA!!!!”
“You’re not Avianda!” said Ava, and I could finally see her face and all I could think was—she really is a Killer Medium! Even in her fancy custom-made Malestra outfit, Ava Lily Larrimore looked like a seriously snitty, outraged girl who’d gotten eliminated in the first round of a spelling bee and who’d demanded a do-over and who’d still lost. She had nice skin, beady eyes that were too close together and one of those little upturned noses that some people call a button nose and my brothers would call a pig’s snout. She had too much smoky eye makeup, which was supposed to make her look like Malestra but instead made her look like a surprised panda.
“I don’t know who you are!” said Ava. “But Heller Harrigan is going to die!”
“Holy shit!” screamed Heller.
Ava swung her knife and Heller struggled and tried to yell but she was so scared that no sound came out. At the last second Ava leaned over and whispered something in Heller’s ear that made Heller’s face go white and she stopped struggling, as if it wasn’t the knife that had defeated her but Ava’s words.
“You know I’m right,” I heard Ava tell Heller and Heller just stared up at Ava and nodded as if she was agreeing with her, which scared me more than anything else.