Second String Savior

by Rick Gualtieri

  Mind you, neither armor nor cold resistance helped as the roar of the water increased and I once again found myself in freefall, this time over an underground waterfall.

  Thankfully it wasn’t much more than a ten-foot drop. I once again surfaced, thankful—sorta anyway—to find myself floating in a wide pool with a much weaker current than what had pulled me over the falls.

  I looked around, realizing I was luckier than I’d realized. A hairy form bobbed limply in the water nearby. Oh no! Bush would never forgive me if I didn’t do something.

  I lifted Burp’s head out of the water and began to paddle toward shore, dragging him with me. The cold was getting worse by the second, but I was still in control enough to do the job. Sadly, I had a feeling that wouldn’t leave much left in the tank for what waited on the shore.

  Huge Yakman lay in the mud, crawling his way up the bank beneath the will-o-wisps that continued to dart about.

  Beneath their light, however, I could see he wasn’t in any better condition to continue our fight. He rolled over, breathing heavily, bloodied and with one of his legs bent at an odd angle. His size and weight, combined with the pull of the river, had seemingly made for a much bumpier ride than I’d suffered. It wasn’t the smartest move to beach myself next to him, but with Burp in tow, I didn’t have much choice.

  I dragged Burp onto the beach, only to realize he wasn’t breathing. Damn it! Come on, breathe, you hairy ape!

  I rolled him over and pounded on his chest to no response.

  “The heir of Turd is no more!” Huge lifted his head and let out a long, low bellow.

  “Not on my watch.” I remembered health class. The semester before last they’d forced us all to take CPR training. At the time it had seemed little more than an excuse for the cheer squad to practice Frenching the dummies. But now. . .

  “Here goes nothing.” I pinched Burp’s nostrils shut and clamped my mouth over his. Oh, dear lord of all that is holy! Sasquatch smell had nothing on Sasquatch breath. It was like strapping a rotting skunk to my face. One, two, three, four, I breathed as hard and as fast as I could. Please work, damn it! Again.

  Third time’s the charm—

  I was rewarded with a mouth full of Sasquatch saliva and filthy water. I gagged, realizing this was probably far worse than any beating he could have handed out, all while Burp gasped and proceeded to hack up a lung full of water.

  Huge let out a gasp. “By the ancestors! The mating rituals of the hairless ones can bring back the dead?”

  There was no way I was justifying that with an answer.

  Burp spat again, staring at me as if he’d just given Satan a rim job. “Ugh! What is terrible taste in Burp’s mouth?”

  “It’s called fluoride. You might want to consider it.” I reached into my mouth and pulled out a hair—not one of mine. Please let me repress this memory!

  Burp was out of the woods, so to speak, but Huge was still pretty banged up. CPR was one thing, but setting a compound fracture on a leg bigger than my torso was a whole different ballpark. Somehow, I doubted it would be as easy as it was in comics or movies. It was a testament to Huge’s hairy cojones that he wasn’t whimpering like a baby as I saw his leg just dangling and the bone sticking out of his fur. If I can suck face with Burp, how bad can this be?

  Oh, that was a lot of blood, so much blood. Vampires just turn to death confetti when you kill them—this was meaty and gross.

  “Are you . . . a god?” Huge groaned as I approached where he lay. I was tempted to ask why he would say that, but then noticed sparkles dancing at the edge of my vision. Warmth began to radiate down from my head . . . delicious warmth! My magic hair was recharged and ready to play. I guess I could see how bringing back Burp, combined with my glowing noggin, could maybe freak someone out.

  Despite Ghostbusters logic dictating how I should answer, I knelt down and said, “I’m a Jessie.” Feeling the heat on my scalp spreading, I examined his injuries. His leg was definitely broken in multiple places. “C’mon, magic hair, help him if you can.” It felt a bit . . . odd to be negotiating with my hair, but I didn’t have any better ideas. The burning rose up my scalp and my hair felt heavy. I leaned over and rested my head against his giant yak thigh, hoping I didn’t burn him.

  “Please work,” I begged again.

  A moment later, Huge roared and the smell akin to that of roast beef filled the air. What had I done?

  There came a snap, crackle, pop sound, and then blinding pain radiated from my hair down to my own leg, like some kind of terrible feedback loop. The room spun as the pain became too much to bear and I promptly passed out in front of the creatures who’d been trying to kill me mere minutes earlier.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “Jessie! Jessie, can you hear me?”

  My eyelashes fluttered open to see two pairs of concerned eyes staring down at me, one of them sans corneas.

  “Gary?” Ugh. My mouth still had a nasty Burp aftertaste in it.

  Not being dead was good, albeit surprising. Still, one thing at a time.

  I lifted my head and caught sight of my hair back to its normal, unremarkable brown. I must’ve used all my mojo on Huge, although whether that meant I’d. . .

  A quick glance around confirmed he was very much not vaporized. He was resting with his back to the wall. He didn’t exactly look great, but his leg was back to its normal shape . . . with the exception of a nasty burn mark where I’d touched him. Still, it seemed the good I’d done him had outweighed the bad, especially once he raised a hand in greeting my way.

  “How did you find us?” Ugh, Sasquatch mouth is horrible. Dionaea pointed up where a cluster of lights whizzed back and forth. “I thought you said will-o-wisps were bad.”

  “Normally they are, but you apparently entertained them enough that they were happy to lead us to you. Never discount the power of boredom, sugah.”

  “Burp is . . . shamed.” The Sasquatch came shambling out of the shadows, his head hung low.

  “Yeah, that’s twice you’ve lost to me in a fair fight.” I had a feeling this was better than letting the truth get out, for both of us. I gave him the slightest of nods, hoping Sasquatches understood subtlety. He returned it.

  “Yes, Hairless Holy One mightier than Burp . . . for now.”

  Fair enough. I could live with that.

  “You even beat Huge Yakman?” Dionaea asked. “No wonder the wisps were entertained.”

  “You know the saying about the bigger they are,” I said weakly. I let them pull me to my feet. The world spun, but I remained upright. The yak-man snorted but didn’t dispute me. I glanced at both of them. “Are we cool here?”

  Burp nodded. Guess that was one problem solved. I then turned back to my friends. “How do we get out of here? My head is pounding, and I really need to find my toothbrush.”

  Dionaea raised an eyebrow. “Same way the will-o-wisps showed us in. We’ll just backtrack and hope they’ve had enough amusement for one day.”

  “Sounds like a—” I was interrupted by the sound of Huge growling. “Really? I thought we were past that.”

  But Huge didn’t seem focused on me. His head was raised, sniffing the air. “Doom is upon us.”

  What now?

  There came a splash from the pool of water, followed by another. Soon the entire surface of the water churned as if something big were right beneath the surface. Hold on. Something big, or lots of smaller somethings.

  The wisps began to circle us excitedly, the cave illuminated with their glow.

  “Stay close,” Dionaea warned, waving her arms. A faint purple shimmer surrounded us all—all except for Burp. The idiot opted instead to panic, backing up and making an annoying screeching sound.

  “Oh, shut up.”

  My protest was cut short, however, as Dionaea grabbed my arm and motioned toward the pool. “Oh no.”

  That couldn’t be good, especially with my hair lying limp and brown. There came a loud splash from the pool and then something skit
tered out of it. It moved with surprising speed toward us before stopping and rising to two legs.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously, guys?” I asked. “It’s just an otter.”

  The adorable little fuzz-bucket stared at me, chattered, and then its eyes glowed a sinister red. Oh boy. I might not be a zoologist, but I somehow doubted that was normal. “Death otters . . . really?”

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Kushtaka Rhapsody

  “Is there such a thing as death otters, Gary?” More of the adorable hellions crawled from the pool and surrounded us.

  “Apparently,” he replied, wide-eyed.

  For the moment, Dionaea’s purple bubble seemed to dissuade the creatures, but I couldn’t help but be unnerved by the fact that Huge stood with us trembling, while Burp continued screeching from where he’d backed up against the wall.

  “Your spell will not save us,” Huge warned. “The kushtaka are too powerful.”

  Even more of the critters arrived, scurrying around us. However, the playfulness of their antics was seriously downplayed by the oversized obsidian teeth filling their mouths.

  “Kushtaka?” Gary asked. “I’ve seen that word before but can’t quite place it.”

  Huge reached up and grabbed at something around his neck. It was a leaf amulet like Boo made for me. “They are the eaters of souls and bringers of chaos. To speak their name is to invite disaster.”

  The lead otter stood up, revealing itself to be nearly my height, and nodded as if in agreement. He motioned to a few of the others who moved off to form a circle around Burp, then turned back toward us and . . . smiled?

  Okay, that was freaky.

  “You know of us, yes?” the head death otter hissed. And getting freakier by the second. “You know of what we want and what we shall have?”

  I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing—not just a chuckle, but a donkey-esque belly laugh until the tears rolled out of the corners of my eyes. The whole thing was just too absurd to take seriously.

  The death otter cocked its head. “I see your friend here has gone quite mad. Delicious.” His face fell though as I dropped to my knees, clutching my sides as my ribs started to ache. “Okay, we get the point. Really. You can stop laughing now.”

  I could think of few things more hilarious than being chided by an evil otter, especially one who was totes adorbs! The kushtaka turned his attention to Gary. “Is she always like this?”

  He shrugged, prompting me to slap him on the arm. That was enough to let me catch my breath. “Come on, guys, let’s be serious. This is a peace conference and I’m pretty sure the big glowy guy upstairs specifically forbade eating any of the other delegates.”

  The kushtaka chattered amongst themselves while the leader grinned. Huge, meanwhile, bent over me. “They are not delegates. Underwater causeways such as these are their ancestral home, which we have invaded.”

  “Oh, so these are the locals.” A sinking feeling began to war with the humor of this situation, although I still found it hard to take our plight seriously.

  “War?” the leader hissed. “Peace? You all taste the same regardless.”

  The ones surrounding Burp began to advance on him. I turned to Huge and Dionaea. “Any bright ideas? Maybe a weakness. You know, sunlight, crocodiles, maybe country music?”

  Huge shook his head. “Nothing can stop the—”

  “Did you say music?” The lead otter’s ears perked up and he skittered to face me again. He twiddled his tiny little thumbs in glee. “Music is part of the soul.”

  “Um, okay. So, you guys like music?”

  Huge stammered, “To parlay with the kushtaka is pure folly, Hairless Holy—”

  “One song, for your lives,” the lead otter said. “If it fails to please us . . . we shall feast.”

  I glanced at Gary. Hopefully he had his phone, or maybe a magic radio. Either way, as far as deals went, this one was a piece of cake. “Fine, a song. What do you like? I know every Weird Al song from Bad Hair Day—”

  Dionaea screamed as the lead death otter slipped right through the magical barrier as if it wasn’t even there. It slithered against me, pulling upright so we could be face-to-face with no concept of personal space. I think it was supposed to be unnerving, but I had to stifle another round of giggles.

  “Please tell me you’re one hell of a musician,” Dionaea said, dropping the barrier now that it became evident it was useless.

  The otter took my hand, his paws so cute, and led me to the water’s edge. He stepped back and looked up. Almost as if on cue, the will-o-wisps concentrated their energy, bathing me in a spotlight. Little jerks.

  The death otter cocked his head. “Be forewarned, human, you must give us a song straight from your heart, something that belongs to you and only you!”

  Wish someone had told me it had to be original before I volunteered.

  “Give us a song that is a piece of your soul,” the death otter said, twiddling his fingers like the world’s cutest James Bond villain.

  “A great anthem of your conquests!” Huge suggested.

  “Maybe something that gets your motor revving,” Dionaea added.

  I turned toward Gary last. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I’m tone deaf.” Thanks, Gary.

  “It has to be my own song?”

  The otter nodded. Nothing like staring into the eyes of an evil weasel to give you a terrible case of stage fright. Actually, no, the stage fright was pretty bad before my life was on the line.

  I thought of all the pop songs I listened to as a little kid. Maybe one of them. . .

  As if in response, the otter gave his head a single shake. He opened his mouth and leaned in, as if anticipating the kill.

  No, it had to be more personal, something special. I let my mind wander back, before all of this, before even the debate team, back to my happiest memories. That’s where it would be.

  But it needed to be quick. The otter swarm was closing in on my friends as they stood there in mute panic. Something about these creatures oozed pure, unadulterated fear . . . to all the others, but not to me. No time to wonder why—I needed to focus on . . . my dad! My dad and the special breakfasts we used to share on his days off. That was it!

  I cleared my throat, and the otter backed up ever slightly. Here goes nothing.

  “I want some toast. . .” I sang weakly. All the otters froze. “I want some toast. I want some to-ast. I want some toooooooooooooast. Toast! Toast! Toast! Toast! Toast! Toooooooooooooast.” Yeah, those lyrics definitely sounded a lot better when I was five, but it was all I had. That song and the memory of singing it to my dad on Sunday morning.

  The head otter stared deep into my eyes. His mouth opened wide and he made a little “go-on” motion with his paw. His cronies turned and stared as well. Um, that was pretty much the entire song. He made the motion again. Okay, you asked for it.

  “I want some toast?” I sang a little louder.

  The lead otter burst into applause while a bevy behind him sang in the same tune, “She wants some toast!”

  “I want some to-ast?”

  “She wants some toooooooooooooast!” the entire kushtaka gathering sang in harmony, complete with a light show from the wisps.

  My friends could only watch in slack-jawed amazement as one by one the death otters leapt into the water, each with a different tone of “Toast! Toast! Toast! Toast! Toast-toast- toooooooooooooast!” Call me crazy, but I could’ve sworn I heard an orchestra playing in the background.

  “When did we step into a Disney movie?” Gary asked as the lights flickered. The lead otter danced around me as the mystical music swelled. All eyes fell to me. I needed to end a song that culminated in some lightly-browned Wonder bread. Usually there weren’t production values and a bunch of soul-eating monsters to live up to.

  “Annnnnnnnnnd,” I sang, making it up as I went. “I want it noooooooooooowwwwwww!” I even added some jazz hands, because those always made my dad laugh. All the kushtaka followed in turn
before diving back into the water.

  At last, only the leader remained, a strangely pensive look on his face. He touched his paw to my cheek and in my mind’s eye I saw a snowy day with honey butter toast, hot cocoa, and Christmas music in the background. I could hear kindergarten me singing that terrible toast song with my father joining in, equally off-key, but there was now something different about the memory.

  A shadow curled up into the kitchen chair opposite me. It grinned and suddenly I understood. My happiest memory would now forevermore be tied to killer otters.

  . . .And somehow that made it even more awesome.

  The kushtaka chattered, turned, and dove into the water. Wait, did this mean we won? A moment later he emerged with a clam and held it toward me with both paws. I guessed it would be poor form to refuse the clam of peace when offered. “You have pleased us, Jessie Jameson Flores. Please accept this token of our gratitude.”

  Wait. How did he know my name?

  The death otter smiled. “I know you, so it is only fair you know me. You may call me Dís-One.”

  “Dís-One?”

  He pointed to his chest proudly. “Yes, and Dís-One will be seeing you again soon.” I did not like the way he cackled as he swam away under the flittering lights of our antagonistic wisp guides.

  Everyone was staring at me standing there with a stupid clam. I motioned to toss it over my shoulder, but stopped as Huge’s eye grew large with fear. Okay, guess I’ll keep the clam.

  I walked over to Gary and Dionaea. “Were we really saved by a song about toast?”

  Gary shrugged. “Guess so, but perhaps we should get out of here before they come back and demand an encore.” He then snapped his fingers and a ball of light erupted from his hands.

  “Look at you.”

  Gary nodded toward Dionaea. “We hooked up . . . magically speaking, of course!”

  “Uh-huh, sure.”

  Gary and Dionaea led the way out, me following with Huge and Burp taking up the rear. By the time we reached the surface, I’d concluded that maybe those otters hadn’t been so bad after all. I mean, they seemed scary down below, but had turned out to be pretty reasonable in the end.