by Tara Grayce
We pass several more farffles, which wrinkle their noses at us and keep eating. A flock of floating butterflies stir into motion and flap their wings to get out of our way. In the nearly silent, breezeless trees, the rustle of the leaves against our bodies and the crackling of branches sounds like an entire herd of unicorns crashing through the treetops.
In front of us, the banbaffa trees abruptly end, once again giving way to rolling hills. Trygg and I slow, but Brett races ahead, a grin blooming on his face. He turns around and prepares to do a backflip.
I open my mouth to speak, but my thoughts and words are too slow. Brett does a perfect backflip off the last tree...right out of the low magic zone.
He drops with all the speed of suddenly being his normal body weight and lands on his back with a thud.
Trygg snorts a laugh, floats down next to the last tree, and steps out of the low magic zone. I quickly follow, but I’m not laughing. I broke my arm doing something similar back when Trygg and I were ten.
Trygg had the same reaction back then too. Chortling, snorting laughter.
He kneels next to Brett and slaps his shoulder. “Don’t you know it isn’t a good idea to get cocky?”
Brett groans and sits up, rubbing the back of his head. “You don’t have to translate that, Amy. I think I can make a good guess at what he’s saying.”
I kneel next to him, wincing when I strike my knees harder than I intended. Going back to regular magic-gravity takes a few minutes to get used to. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Good thing your grass here is kind of spongy. Falling doesn’t hurt as much.” Brett levers himself to his feet.
Trygg slaps him on the back. “Nothing better than a person who can take a fall and get right back on their feet.”
Brett thumps Trygg’s back in return. “I have no idea what you just said, but thanks. I think.”
I grew up with two brothers and Trygg for a best friend. I know all of this back-slapping is boy code for new best friends. Great. Just what I need. Bro-bonding. I’m going to feel like a real jerk when I have to tell Brett and Trygg that they won’t ever see their new friend again. It isn’t like Brett can ask Trygg over to his house to play video games, and Trygg can’t invite Brett out to the hills to do whatever it is that boy unicorns do when hanging out.
How am I ever going to tell Brett he can’t return to Averell? That he has to go back to his messy home life and the homework and high school English class and forget all about magic and Averell and farffles and racing a transforming unicorn boy through banbaffa trees?
Someday, I will have to make a choice. If I want to marry and have a happily ever after, I will have to choose someone from Earth or Averell. And the thought of choosing one or the other when my home is in both tears my heart in two even though that decision is years and years and years away.
But Brett? His home is Earth. He only stumbled into Averell by accident, and that accident doesn’t change the fact that he never should have known about all this. He doesn’t belong, even if this place must give him the same sort of freedom from responsibility that I have on Earth. A place where taking care of his siblings and worrying about finances and his mom holding everything together don’t matter so much because they are an entire realm away.
I already feel guilty about taking that away from him. I shouldn’t. I won’t be the person barring him from Averell. My parents are the ones who get to decide who comes and goes through the portal.
I suppose I could sneak him in and out of our basement occasionally. With Mom and Dad busy at the castle, it wouldn’t be too difficult.
But the other portal entrance isn’t used as often because it is more exposed. And, besides, I’m not the rebellious type. This trip is the most rebellious thing I’ve ever done, and even this is me trying to be a responsible daughter and fix my own mistake before it gets any worse. Sure, this could have gone badly, but we rescued Brett and would have him back in Michigan before this time tomorrow. We’ll be back in time for school on Monday.
Ahead of me, Brett wobbles and presses a hand to his head. I swing my pack around and open it, fishing for the canteen. “Time for more unicorn horn powder.”
My fingers brush cool metal, and I pull out the canteen. Handing it to Brett, I turn to Trygg. “Is there any water nearby?”
Trygg changes into his unicorn form and sniffs the air. His ears swivel before he changes back into a boy. He points to our left. “There’s water in that direction.”
“Perfect.” I take the canteen back from Brett and stuff it in my bag. “Let’s keep moving.”
Turns out, the water source Trygg smelled is a small creek winding its way between the low hills, probably headed for that river next to the Ellian Forest. Thanks to the afternoon sun, we are all thirsty. Sweat has built up along my hairline while there are damp spots on the shirt Brett is borrowing from me.
While the naiad here isn’t as agreeable as Nella, we eventually convince him to allow us to drink. Trygg immediately turns into a unicorn and drinks directly from the creek, slurping as he sucks up water between his horse lips. As thirsty as I am, I give Brett the canteen first, after I sprinkle in some unicorn horn powder.
Once he’s finished, I refill the canteen and drink. The cool water slides down my throat, tasting fresh and clear like the well water back in Michigan. The naiads keep the creeks and rivers in Averell sanitized and drinkable, so we don’t have to worry about boiling the water first or picking up some horrible parasite or dysentery because we didn’t.
We aren’t far from the river. The Ellian Forest rises to our left while rolling grasslands surround us. I think, in the trough between hills ahead, I spot the twinkle of sunlight on water. Once we cross that river, we won’t be that far from the portal in the hillside. In a few more hours, I will have Brett safely back in Michigan.
I glance to our left, but I don’t see any signs of Dad with a search party. How far behind us are they? Maybe they will catch up in time to give us an escort the last few miles to Largone Castle.
This is almost over. I’ve almost managed to get this straightened out and Brett safely back to Michigan. It won’t be fun, confessing this mess to Mom and Dad. But I am a princess of Averell and the daughter of a Guardian. Taking care of these kinds of problems might be my job someday, depending on which realm I am forced to choose.
And, maybe, a tiny part of me is hoping that by fixing this myself, I can prove I am capable of handling the issues that come from mixing the two realms. That, perhaps, I won’t have to choose between my homes someday.
“Uh, guys? Didn’t you say those horned rabbits only live in those low magic zones?” Brett’s voice has an edge to it.
“I didn’t say only. They are just more common there. Why?” I turn, and I don’t need Brett to answer my question.
Five farffles graze on the grass a few feet away. As I watch, another two join them.
This isn’t good. Something is wrong. Farffles don’t usually act like this. I stand and nudge Trygg’s furry shoulder. “Trygg. You have to see this.”
He stops slurping and swings his head and neck around to look behind him. When he does, he wheels around as quickly as he can in unicorn form and brandishes his horn as if prepared to spear the farffles on it if they take a step closer.
Three more farffles have gathered. The ten farffles have lots of different colors sprinkled in their fur—red, purple, blue, green, and yellow like we saw in the banbaffa trees—so they probably aren’t just one family group of farffles that has happened to stick together longer than most once the young farffles are full grown.
Trygg steps forward, his head and horn low to the ground. The farffles bare their teeth, but they don’t back off. Behind us, the creek is completely still. I don’t think the naiad stuck around to help us out.
Brett swallows and clenches his fists. “I thought you said farffles are harmless.”
“They usually are.” I ease my pack open and pull out my knife. “But something is seriousl
y wrong here.”
I’ve lost track of the number of farffles now surrounding us. When I glance behind us, I spot farffles lined up on the other side of the creek, cutting us off.
We are completely surrounded by a rainbow of horned rabbits. I shouldn’t be scared. These are just farffles. The largest one barely comes up to my knees when sitting on its hindquarters, not counting the ears and horns. These animals don’t attack humans.
But my stomach clenches tighter than my fist around my knife. This isn’t normal. And when things aren’t normal in Averell, that isn’t good at all. Averell functions by a very delicate balance of power. Anything that throws that off can prove deadly.
“What should we do?” Brett raises his fists, as if he intends to fight his way out of this with his bare hands if he has to. I don’t blame him for the catch in his voice. Of the three of us here, he doesn’t have a weapon.
What should we do? Somehow, I don’t think staying here to figure out what the farffles are up to is a good idea.
We should get out of here. Before more gather. Before we are completely surrounded.
“When I give the signal, run. Trygg in the lead.” I repeat myself in Averellian for Trygg. Both Brett and Trygg nod.
I sink lower, tensing my muscles for a burst of speed. I focus on a spot to our right where only three farffles block our path. Trygg swings his head in that direction as well. The muscles under his fur tense. I take in a deep breath. Now.
“Go!” I shout in Averellian, but Brett lunges at nearly the same instant Trygg does. It would be hard to mistake my shout for anything other than the signal.
I take off with them. In unicorn form, Trygg surges ahead of us, all four hooves pounding the earth as he goes from a standstill to a gallop in mere strides. The farffles scatter out of the way of his drumming hooves, clearing a path for Brett and me.
We charge after Trygg. There’s no way we can keep up, but that doesn’t matter right now. All we can do is sprint as fast as we can.
We clear the farffles and keep running. My pack jounces against my legs and keeps twisting until it falls in front of me. I tuck it under one arm and try to keep running as fast as I can.
Trygg wheels and charges past us the way we’ve come. I don’t turn around to look. Not even a peek over my shoulder. I know Trygg is using his trampling hooves to scare off any farffles that might have attempted to follow us.
His thundering hooves draw closer, and he tears past us, taking the lead again. After a moment, he skids nearly to a halt and wheels. When he takes off at an angle to the direction he had been running, I spot the horde of farffles bearing down on us from that direction as well. Their teeth are bared, their eyes narrowed.
Brett is a few yards ahead of me now. He changes direction, and the two of us dash in Trygg’s hoofsteps.
I’m gasping. A cramp starts from my hip up through my ribcage on my right side. But I keep on pushing myself. I can’t stop. I don’t know what the farffles are going to do if they catch us, but it can’t be good if they’ve gathered in such numbers.
Is this some kind of Averellian form of rabies? But why do I see only farffles? No other animals affected by it. Why do they seem so intent on getting us?
Trygg skids to a stop again and rears. He paws the air and trumpets a savage, unicorn war cry. I’ve never heard him make that angry, that terrible of a sound before.
A horde of rainbow-colored, evil horned and fanged rabbits surround us on all sides.
Trygg charges into the pack closest to him. He tosses a few aside with his horn. Kicks others aside. But they climb all over him, dragging him down with sheer numbers.
I would’ve called to him. I try to run to him. But the farffles are clambering up my legs and sinking their fangs straight through my slacks into my legs. I kick at them, stab a few with my knife, and even shriek something of a war cry myself.
But there’s too many. I trip and fall. Clawed feet scurry over my back, my neck, my scalp. Fangs bite into my arms.
Even as I squirm, something besides their weight drags my limbs down. I’m struggling to breath. My eyes refuse to focus.
Farffle venom. Blackness curls around the edges of my vision. The venom in their fangs stuns their prey like mice and lizards so they can eat them.
One bite or even ten wouldn’t do much to a human. But dozens of bites?
Bites...farffles crawling all over me....blurriness...blackness.
Chapter 11
We Find a Dragon Princess
“Ami!”
“Amy!”
My name...being called in two different languages.
I blink my eyes open, but for a moment, I’m not sure if I’m still unconscious, just dreaming that I opened my eyes. Everything is dark. Stone is beneath me, aching against my head and warming beneath my body.
I squeeze my eyes shut before opening them again. This time, I can just make out a hint of light coming from somewhere above my head. Well, behind my head because I’m lying down.
With a groan, I force myself to sit up. I’m stiff, as if I’ve been lying on this stone for too long. I’m pretty sure the back of my head is bruised just from sitting there. Places all down my arms and legs throb.
The farffle bites. Passing out.
But how had I gotten here? Where is here, exactly?
“Ami!” Trygg’s voice calls again. This time, there’s a hint of panic coating his voice. I’m not sure if the panic is for me or because he’s locked in a tiny, dark space like I am. Unicorns don’t do well in tiny dark holes.
Iron rattles over stone, like chain against a stone floor.
“Amy!” Brett’s shout seems closer.
“Stop it, you two. Do you want them to come back and sedate you?” A girl’s voice this time, one I don’t recognize. Her tone holds a menace, as if she intends to march over and silence Trygg and Brett herself if they don’t stop yelling.
“Trygg, I’m here. Brett, I’m fine.” I force myself to stand. Something drags against my leg, rattling. I look down. A manacle clamps around my left ankle, a length of chain bolting it to the wall.
What in Averell is going on here? It’s like I’m locked in a dungeon. But that doesn’t make sense. I’m a princess. No one in Averell would dare lock me in a dungeon, and I’m not just saying that out of a snobby attitude. Dad has worked really hard to establish good relations with the other races in Averell. It isn’t so much that no one would dare lock me up, but more like no one has any reason to.
I’m in a small cell. Its ceiling is maybe seven feet tall, which sounds like a lot until you’re in a tight, dark space. The rest of it is about six by six feet, and I’m glad I’m only about five foot five inches tall. There isn’t a cot or a pallet or even a pile of hay to sleep on. Just bare stone and a six inch by six inch grate in the corner that must be what passes as the bathroom in this dungeon.
The door is several inches thick, made of wood reinforced with strips of iron. A small, barred window is set at what is probably the normal head height for a full grown man. When I peer out, my nose is level with the sill.
Outside my cell there is an open space surrounded by more cell doors identical to mine with a set of stairs leading upward disappearing into more darkness. A glowstone is set in the wall next to each door, but their glow is so poor I can only guess they were enchanted hundreds of years ago and the spell is beginning to wear off.
Based on the round shape of the room, I’m guessing we are at the bottom level of a tower. Which tower in what castle is anyone’s guess. I only know this isn’t Largone Castle. My brothers and I played hide and seek down in the dungeons so often we know the entire place better than the castle jailer.
Across from me, Trygg’s face appears in the bars of a cell. He sticks his hand through the bars and waves. “There you are, Ami. I was getting worried when you didn’t wake up right away.”
“I think I’m in the cell next to yours.” Brett’s voice comes from my left.
I stand on my tiptoes and
stick my arm through the bars as far as it will go. “Stick out your arm and wave.”
When I press my face to the bars, I can just see Brett’s wrist and hand waving. I wave back, and I think he spots me because he pulls his arm back into his cell.
A huge, sarcastic sigh—sounding as if the person is muttering something under her breath about ridiculous cellmates—comes from one of the other cells, though I can’t pinpoint which one.
“Hello. Who else is here?” I grip the bars and pull myself higher on my tiptoes to see the other cells.
There’s movement in the cell next to Trygg. A girl’s face appears behind the bars. She has black hair streaked with red and gold like the dye job of a rebellious teenager on Earth, except that these highlights are natural. She has a small, slightly pointed nose and skin darker than mine, though lighter than Trygg’s.
A dragon in her human form. What is a dragon girl doing here?
Probably the same thing we are, though hopefully she knows a bit more than we do.
Although I really, really want to start with the questions, I figure we probably should start with introductions before we get into discussions about where we are and what we’re doing here. I put on my best princess smile, glance at the stairway to make sure no one is coming, and face the dragon girl. “I’m Princess Amarani Coriantha of the silvarans.”
The dragon girl sniffs, the sound so clearly communicating that she is very not impressed that she might as well have said the words out loud.
“I’m Tryggvey, nephew to the Stallion of the Unicorns.” Trygg announces. Even through his cell bars, I can tell he has puffed his chest out and cocked his head as if trying to pose in his human form the same way he would in his unicorn form.
I stick my hand through the bars again and do my best to point at Brett’s cell. “And our other companion is Brett Haverink, a foreign diplomat who was traveling with us. He doesn’t speak Averellian.”