“What we really need to do is: Start bathing our shoes. Yes. Yes, I think if we give our shoes baths at least once a week, that will solve the problem we’re having with the ants.”
OR:
“A word of advice: If you meet a python, don’t play dead, play fast. A piano, I mean, of course. Play it fast!”
OR:
“A Kernel of Truth for you all: Red is the best color for foods to be.”
I wish I was making those up, but they’re really things my dad has loudly announced in the middle of Council Sessions in the past few months. Eagan even heard rumors that Dunmor was considering relieving my father of his position as an Elder. And I had to admit: I wasn’t sure I blamed him.
But the problem was that Dunmor couldn’t actually do that. Or technically he could, as the Council Alderman, but he probably never would because it’d be a massively unpopular move. One that would almost surely get Dunmor voted out of his own position during the next round of Council Elder elections a year away.
That’s because of the strangest development of all:
My dad was now a Dwarven celebrity.
A living legend.
After everything that happened, he’d become one of the biggest icons in the modern Dwarven world. Everywhere we went in the Underground (and even above in the Human world), Dwarves would stop and stare at him as he passed, whispering excitedly among themselves. If phones were allowed in the Underground, I can only imagine he’d be stopped to take a selfie with someone at least fifty times a day. He was the lone Dwarf, after all, who had predicted the return of Galdervatn. He was the Dwarf largely credited with taking out the Elf Lord and his wife (which was fine by me—I didn’t want any more guilt for that on my conscience, I felt enough of that in my nightmares as it was). And last of all, my dad was the Dwarf who had cheated death by surviving an ancient Elven poison.
He was a hero in the way Stormbellys were supposedly destined to be.
Sure, the other Dwarves noticed he was stranger than ever. But they only took that as further evidence of his genius. After all, he’d always been a little quirky. People had called him nuts for years, when he rambled on and on about Galdervatn and the return of ancient magic—which until recently had been considered nothing more than a wild conspiracy theory. But then he’d been proven right. So now who were they to argue with his increased weirdness?
It wasn’t completely bad logic, but just the same I knew my dad and this wasn’t him at his best. Something was definitely wrong. And I didn’t know when or if it could ever be fixed. Foggy Bloodbrew didn’t either. She’d been spending all her free time studying trace amounts of the two ancient Elven substances leftover in the vials. But without access to old Elven alchemy texts, it was hard for her to learn much about them. Separate Earth concoctions were governed more by holistic mumbo jumbo and magic than the laws of modern chemistry.
A loud pounding on the door broke both my dad and me from our own reveries.
I jumped up and answered it.
“Fynric!” I said.
“Greg,” he grunted with a thin smile.
Despite the fact that he’d been my guardian (and roommate) for a while when my dad was being held captive by the Elves, he still wasn’t exactly a chummy sort of guy. In fact, he’d gotten even grouchier somehow than when he used to work at my dad’s old store, Egohs (Earthen Goods and Organic Harmony Shop).
“Dad, Fynric is here,” I said, turning around and stepping aside.
“Actually, Greg, I’m here to see you,” Fynric said.
My dad looked at us from the table, not moving, with a sense of calm that suggested he already knew Fynric was here to get me and not him.
“Me?” I asked incredulously.
Fynric nodded.
“Dunmor wants to see you right away,” he said. “And he’s none too pleased. Not happy at all.”
I sighed, figuring I knew exactly what this was about. Behind me, my dad whistled long and low. He was shaking his head slowly.
“Greg, a Kernel of Truth for your meeting with Dunmor,” he said. I slapped my palm to my forehead. “Talk to him as if you’re raking leaves. Raking leaves in the fall. And a squirrel is there, too, watching you both.”
Fynric and I exchanged a hopeless glance.
Then Fynric sighed and, with very little humor, said, “Well, come on, then, Greg. Let’s go rake some leaves with Dunmor.”
CHAPTER 6
Of Course Yet Another Fantastical Mystery Is Explained by a Mystical Object with a Lame Name
It turned out I was right when I said I knew exactly why Dunmor was so angry.
“Tell me again,” he demanded of us. “What is rule number one of an MPM?”
Glam, Eagan, Lake, Ari, Froggy, and I were all sheepishly sitting across from him, around his huge stone desk in his Underground office. We stared down at our feet. He’d already made us repeat the rule twice now: Avoid violence at all costs.
“It was either that or let it kill us!” Ari said.
“So perhaps you had no chance to befriend the beast,” Dunmor admitted. “But did you have to make such a scene? What is rule number two?”
“‘Don’t make a scene,’” we all mumbled.
“Well, guess what?” Dunmor asked, moving his hand to his large red beard—almost like it was helping him drive the point home. “You made a scene. Not only in front of eyewitnesses, but several people caught it on camera!”
“They did?” Eagan asked, looking sick.
Dunmor nodded.
“Yes, a video of Glamenhilda smashing the Gargoyle to pieces with boulder fists apparently went bacterial,” Dunmor said. “On the Interweb.”
“A video of Glam smash?” Glam asked, looking sort of proud.
“Went viral?” Ari clarified.
“Yes, whatever it’s called,” Dunmor said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Luckily, most of the public, including the major media outlets, are declaring it a fake. Crafty visual effects done by a few Northwestern students.”
“For what’s it’s worth, I’m sorry,” I said. “It was all me. It wasn’t their fault. I caused all the ruckus.”
“I know you’re sorry, my boy, I know,” Dunmor said, his features softening. “The fact is, I normally wouldn’t be handling this at all. We’ve got other people in charge of MPMs. You’re not the first Dwarves to violate MPM rules, and you won’t be the last. But you are the first children to go on an official mission. Which is why I wanted to speak to you all personally. There’s a lot riding on you six as the trial group for recruiting and sending Dwarven youth on MPMs.
“The fact is: the number of reported monster sightings in the Great Lakes region this week alone is up 40 percent. And a full moon is due in a few weeks, which almost certainly will lead to a great many people finding out they’re Werewolves. It’s more than we can handle. And so we’d like to start mobilizing more Dwarven youngsters who are as deep into their training as you are. But we have to be sure you can handle it first. And I really believe you can. So you’re all getting another chance to prove me right.”
“We are?” Ari asked.
“Yes, and soon,” Dunmor said. “You’ll leave first thing in the morning. Forgive me, I know that’s not a lot of time, but as I said, we simply have no other choice. Magic’s presence is finally being noticed, and it’s getting harder for Humans to dismiss. Tomorrow we’ll be sending a seasoned MPM veteran along with you to supervise. And also to help get you there, since it’s a bit of a drive.”
“Wh’re art thy terminal destination?” Lake asked.
“Wisconsin,” Dunmor said. “Near the Dells. There have been reports of a strange creature roaming the forest, killing wildlife, throwing boulders at cars on rural highways. We suspect it may be a Rock Troll, with which you’re all familiar, I would hope. They’re large, destructive creatures, but generally dim-wi
tted and usually easily fooled. Study up this afternoon and then get some rest. You’ll meet your chaperone and driver at the west Underground entrance at sunrise.”
For a few seconds, there was total silence. I wasn’t sure whether it was from excitement, shock at getting another MPM so soon, or utter fear of facing down a possible Rock Troll in the woods of Wisconsin. For me it was partially a mixture of all three, but also something more. Something that had been bothering me lately.
“Thank you,” Glam finally said. “For the chance to smash a Rock Troll to dust.”
“Glam!” Ari said. “Rule one!”
“Oh, yeah . . . I mean—of course—I meant only if I have to.”
Dunmor sighed and put his face in his hands.
“Please don’t make me regret giving you another chance,” he pleaded.
“Before we go, I have a question,” I said, not able to hold back my curiosity any longer. “How do you know all of this? I mean, I’m not trying to doubt you, but just a few months ago nobody even knew magic existed at all, let alone how or when it would come back. But now we have monsters popping up everywhere, MPMs, and all this knowledge about how quickly magic is returning. How do we know all this? And why now? Why is magic suddenly coming back after so many thousands of years?”
Part of me expected my friends to groan with embarrassment. Or nudge me to be quiet and not question our Dwarven World Leader so openly. Or maybe they’d laugh at my ignorance? But they didn’t, instead they all turned their cautiously curious gazes toward Dunmor.
He surprised us all by grinning.
“I’m shocked that it took you so long to ask,” he finally said. “Especially as Trevor’s son. Of course, in his current condition, I sort of understand why perhaps you hadn’t thought to ask him these same questions . . .”
I dropped my head—it was true: Though he was still my dad, I barely asked him any real questions anymore. Because most of the time his answers were total gibberish. I didn’t know how much I could trust of anything he said anymore.
“It might help me to answer your question if I explain how the Fairies banished magic in the first place, all that time ago,” Dunmor said somberly.
At that introduction, my friends leaned forward and I knew right then that this was one ancient Dwarven tale that even they weren’t fully familiar with. As if the banishment of magic had been some dark secret that nobody ever wanted to talk about. At least, that is, until we all found out it was coming back.
“The Faranlegt Amulet of Sahar is key to this story,” Dunmor began. I tried not to groan at the fact that of course it was an enchanted amulet with a mysterious-sounding name that had caused all this. “It was created by the gods upon the very inception of the earth. In fact, some say that it formed the very seed that once was the core of our planet, and that all life and existence grew from it. And the amulet was only later removed from this spot by the Fairies in a time of desperation. Either way, the heart of the ancient amulet was made from a rare, now extinct enchanted gemstone called Corurak. It was a stone that apparently glowed and sparkled with many translucent colors all at once, depending on the eye of the beholder. The amulet’s whereabouts for many tens of thousands of years was unknown. But what is known is that the Fairies used it to banish magic near the end of Separate Earth.”
“How is it possible that one small amulet could do that?” I asked.
“Patience, Greg, I’m getting to that,” Dunmor said. “It was foretold that the amulet possessed the power to transform magic into another form. And indeed the Fairies used the amulet to convert magic into what we now know as Galdervatn. But according to the legend, back then Galdervatn wasn’t a fog-like substance at all. It was the Fairies themselves. They embedded magic into their very souls. And seeing the global destruction magic was causing in the escalating war between Elves and Dwarves, they sacrificed their lives, traveling together as a whole race of beings deep into the Earth’s core, burying magic along with themselves in the process in an attempt to save the world. But they could not have foreseen the epic geothermal shifting, the changes to the earth that have transpired over the last few eons. Or that these geological vicissitudes could somehow release magic from its resting place deep within the earth. Nobody did, except for your father, of course.
“But now the Fairies’ souls, the strange mist that we call Galdervatn, are escaping, drifting through the cracks in the earth’s dying shell, back toward its surface. We know this is happening because we can see it. Sometimes the swirls of purple fog can be spotted drifting up from the sewers, or in the burst of a geyser in a national park. And furthermore we can see the signs: the formerly extinct magical creatures. They could not be returning without magic—it’s essential to their existence.”
“Where is this amulet now?” Eagan asked.
“Nobody knows,” Dunmor said. “It’s assumed to have been destroyed. But there are some writings among the remnants of the ancient Annals of the Fairies that indicate that before they banished themselves to the earth’s core, they hid the Faranlegt Amulet of Sahar inside the magical realm of a cave in an unknown, remote forest. But most consider this to be Orcdung.”
“But why?” Ari asked. “So much of the rest has turned out to be true. Why would that part be so easily dismissed?”
“Because it’s a paradox,” Dunmor said. “It can’t be true.” He glanced at our confused faces and then sighed before elaborating. “The hidden realm of this forest requires magic for entry. But if magic hasn’t existed for years, and technically was already banished when they hid the amulet in this forest . . . then, well, you can do the math on that, I’m sure?”
We all paused to think over what was surely meant to be a rhetorical question.
“But it stands to reason,” Eagan started, surprising us all, “that if magical creatures are coming back with magic, then surely so could the magical realm of a secret forest.”
Dunmor smiled and nodded.
“That is indeed sound logic,” he agreed. “But even if it’s true, the sections of the Annals of the Fairies that chronicle which forest it might be, where it’s at, how to find it, etcetera, have not been found, and were likely destroyed by the ravages of time, along with most of Separate Earth’s other ancient records. And even if those records do exist and are found, they still wouldn’t fully explain how to find the secret cave within this magical forest, or how to get past the alleged guardian of the amulet. The reality is that the Fairies did not want it to be found ever again—and so if they were, in fact, unable to destroy it, then they did the next best thing: hide it in a place so inaccessible that it would surely never see the light of the sun again. In fact, many believe they simply brought the amulet with them into the Earth’s core, and that there is no magical forest or cave at all. Either way, as much as it might be nice to find it, allowing us to harness the power of magic in unimaginable ways, it’s not something the Council considers even a remote possibility. The Fairies did not want it found, and thus surely did everything within their power to ensure it never would be. But that’s enough for today, I have a lot to do. So off with you now.”
We all nodded and then collectively stood to leave.
“Not you, Mr. Mooncharm,” Dunmor said. “I have another matter to discuss with you.”
Eagan paused at the door, looking equal parts worried and confused.
“It will only take a few moments,” Dunmor assured him.
Eagan shrugged at us, stepped back inside Dunmor’s office, and then closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER 7
We Knock Around Some Skulls with Other Bones Just for Fun
What was that all about?” Glam asked as the rest of us gathered in the Arena to hang out and relax.
Though Dunmor had told us to spend the day studying, and we intended to, we also needed at least an hour of fun to unwind first.
“Getting a new mission so soon, or
Eagan staying behind?” I asked. “Or the whole story about the amulet?”
“Everything!” Glam said.
“Well, I’m just glad we’re getting another chance to prove that we can successfully complete an MPM,” Ari said.
“Can we, though?” I asked, as I started racking up pool balls in the game room.
Ari glared at me.
Playing games in the Arena had become something of a ritual for us. Almost every day after long hours of magic training with Fenmir Mystmossman, combat training with Buck, or classes with one of our Separate Earth Studies teachers, we’d come to the Arena and play a game of pool. It wasn’t just about ignoring or escaping the pressures we were facing, including the impending chaos of magic’s return. And it wasn’t because pool was symbolic of hanging on to some semblance of the modern world.* I mean, sure, it had become a nightly ritual partially for all those reasons, but also because we were, ultimately, still kids. Just because a New Magical Age was quickly approaching didn’t mean our whole lives had to revolve around combat training and school lessons, did it? We could still make time for fun, right?
Plus, it was helping me learn more about my Dwarven friends. I mean, we had bonded quickly from the start, but I’d still only known them for about three months and so there was a lot about their lives I didn’t know.
For instance:
Ari—When I first met her, half her head was buzzed short, with wild, silvery-purple hair on the other side. And I loved it. But it turned out she changed her hair more than once a month, and it was always something fun and different. Presently, her whole head was clipped short and dyed blue, except for a tiny pink rat tail dangling a few inches down her neck. It wasn’t my favorite of the four different hairstyles I’d seen her in, but I still loved how boldly different and fun it was.
Eagan—Turned out he was a huge gamer. Despite living Underground, in a place where most modern electronics were banned (though this was rarely enforced since Dwarves believed in personal freedom above all else), Eagan was obsessed with video games. Whenever we weren’t all hanging out (and sometimes even when we were), his face was often buried behind a black-market phone or handheld game console, his fingers scrolling deftly across the screen or buttons. He sheepishly called it a guilty pleasure, but the rest of us figured a guy who read and studied as much as he did deserved a break from academics from time to time.
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