The Curse of Greg

by Chris Rylander

  So it wasn’t courage that led to what I did next, it was fear.

  I put the Bloodletter back in its sheath and then stood up and stepped into the clearing in front of the Wraith’s mausoleum.

  What are you doing, Greggdroule? the Bloodletter asked.

  The concerned panic in his voice was a little touching.

  “Marie Laveau!” I shouted at the Wraith.

  She stopped swirling and turned her gaze on me.

  “Let us help you set right whatever is causing you so much pain!” I cried, willing myself not to turn away in disgust or run in terror as she zoomed toward me, her horrific face twisted into a furious snarl. “We can help! We can make things right!”

  She pulled up in front of me, her glowing face just inches from my own. Spirit or not, she definitely smelled like a decaying corpse that I could actually reach out and touch.

  Heat unfurled from her flaming eye sockets and my own eyes began to burn.

  The Wraith opened her mouth. The snake I’d seen before was gone. Instead, a strange green fog spewed from her rotting face. It blasted over me, oddly sweet and intoxicating. I gasped and reluctantly breathed in a lungful of the strange Wraith mist.

  And then I dropped to my knees and screamed—the pain so unimaginable words could never do it justice.

  CHAPTER 25

  My Battle-Ax Is Also My Therapist

  The pain wasn’t entirely physical.

  It was much worse than that. I mean, yeah, it definitely hurt in that way, too. My lungs burned as if I’d just breathed in fire. My bones shook within me like they were trying to break free. I writhed in physical pain. But the worst was how I felt in the depths of my heart.

  It was nothing but dread and sorrow, like the whole thing—eating, breathing, living—was all utterly pointless. As a Dwarf, I was accustomed to feeling generally pessimistic. But that was different, because as Dwarves we’d learned to channel that worldview into happiness, to use it to see the good in everything, even in events that most people would see as bad. But this new feeling the Wraith poured into me was something altogether different. It was as if for the first time ever, I truly knew what real hopelessness was. What it truly felt like to simply want to die—a feeling I hope you never know.

  First I saw visions of my dad and me when I was younger, going to Chinatown, where he’d shop for hard-to-find tea ingredients. Then I saw him now, babbling, spouting off nonsensical advice to nobody. Next I saw myself yelling at him inside our old store, just before a Mountain Troll destroyed the place, wiping it clean off the map. Then I saw Edwin, the time he gave me his old bike after someone stole everything off mine but the frame. All the times we played chess and talked about space exploration. How we laughed at everyone’s reactions at the PEE that one time I came to school with my pockets stuffed full of bacon.

  Then his pain hit me and it was even worse than anything I could imagine. It was the betrayal he had felt when I didn’t listen to him and attacked his parents’ office building. The pain he felt when he found out his parents had died in the battle I initiated. Edwin still thought it was entirely my fault and feeling his agony now doubled me over there in St. Louis Cemetery #2, screaming as a decade of all my past miseries squeezed my whole being into pure hopelessness.

  Last, the Wraith’s fog showed me a vision of my friends dying here in New Orleans. All of them. One at a time, I had to watch them each perish, knowing that it was my fault. That they were there because of me. And the images in my head were so vivid that I began to think they might be real, that these weren’t hallucinations at all but that my friends were actually dying right now in front of me while I rolled around on the ground in my own selfish misery and did nothing to help them.

  But it was this last thought that finally brought me back to my feet.

  That forced me back into the now.

  Back to reality.

  And I saw that there was indeed a battle raging all around me. My friends threw spells and launched attacks at the Wraith as she floated past, unaffected by their futile efforts, spewing even more of her pain onto them in the form of that horrible green fog.

  Snap out of it, Greggdroule. The Bloodletter’s voice cut through the chaos in my head. All those things are done and over with now. Hurting won’t change what happened. You’ve got to help your friends, or else the last vision you saw will become a reality.

  I shook my head and stood tall. My ax was right, whatever spell the Wraith had cast over me, I needed make it go away. Now. There wasn’t time to wallow in my past. I held up the Bloodletter. The Wraith’s back was to me as she descended on Ari, covering her in that strange pain smoke.

  That’s when the Bloodletter started glowing bright blue. I felt the Galdervatn I had drunk surge into the ax. I wasn’t sure what was happening to it, or me, but suddenly I realized I could do anything. Like I could even end the world, if I wanted to.

  Reveling in my newfound strength, I lifted the glowing blade of the ax and charged at the Moonwraith.

  But before I reached her, something clanged into the Bloodletter with enough force to knock it from my grip. It went pinwheeling across the rough concrete as an arrow clattered to the ground near a huge marble mausoleum behind me.

  THWACK!

  Another arrow appeared with a soft whoosh, lodging into the trunk of a Canary Island date palm tree behind me, missing my face by inches. The fletching was made from gold-and-green feathers and the arrow shaft was conditioned Port Orford cedar. Instantly, I knew it was Elven.

  All at once, Elves were rushing into the cemetery, at least a dozen, armed to the nines with swords and bows.

  “Protect the Wraith!” one of them shouted. “Form a perimeter and bring me the Sprythe Crystal. We can trap her spirit inside it.”

  “What of the Dwarves?” an Elven voice asked.

  “Kill them all.”

  The order was given like someone might order a coffee.

  I spun around in an effort to find the Elf who’d just issued an order to kill nine kids as easily as asking for no pickles on their cheeseburger. Though I was now unarmed, I still had a very strongly worded insult all ready to go for him.

  But as I turned, the very next thing I saw was a blade flying toward my face.

  I dropped to the ground like deadweight just in time, actually feeling the sharp edge of the sword graze my hair. I rolled and another sword descended, thumping into the ground where my neck had been half a second before.

  The Elf standing above me had two small swords and he spun around with them, twirling like an acrobat. I realized I couldn’t dodge his next attack fast enough, and so instead I summoned magic to conjure the most basic Dwarven defense spell.

  By the time his swords reached me, they clanged harmlessly off my now-stone midsection.

  Greggdroule, you need me!

  I quickly shifted back to flesh and blood and lunged toward the Bloodletter, which was close to thirty feet away near the base of a small brick tomb. The Elf followed, spinning his swords at my back like a windmill. They clinked and jangled on the concrete just behind my heels, sending up a spray of sparks.

  As I neared the Bloodletter, I passed another Elf, engaged in an epic sword fight with Tiki Woodjaw. As Tiki stepped backward she tripped over the heavy ax, stumbled, and then landed on her back with a thud. Her Dwarven shortsword fell from her hand as she gasped for air, now completely defenseless.

  I almost had a chance to grab the Bloodletter, but there wasn’t time. Instead, I threw myself at the Elf standing over Tiki as she swung her sword down in a sharp arc. My shoulder slammed into the Elf’s midsection and she flew backward into a mausoleum with a grunt.

  I rolled to my feet, my eyes searching the ground for the Bloodletter. It was no longer in sight. Tiki was catching her breath and desperately reaching for her sword as the double- bladed Elf who had been pursuing me now spun his bl
ades at her instead. Just beyond them I saw three Elves battling the Moonwraith. One was holding up an orange crystal like an offering.

  The Moonwraith shrieked as she tried to get away.

  But I couldn’t worry about that now—Tiki was still in danger. I charged forward, pulling my dagger, Blackout, from its scabbard. I thrust it in between Tiki and the Elven blades just in time. The force of the blow easily knocked Blackout from my hand, but it bought Tiki just enough time to retrieve her sword and climb back to her feet.

  Greggdroule, where are you? the Bloodletter called out.

  I didn’t have time to answer as Tiki engaged in battle with the two-sworded Elf. Her lack of training was clear right away as she desperately struggled to fend off the Elf’s quick and efficient attacks. I dove to the ground and picked up Blackout, springing back up to help.

  The Elf stunned Tiki with an attack, sending her to the ground. I intervened again, managing to deflect one of the Elf’s swords with Blackout, painful reverberations shooting through my hand. The Elf’s other sword was suddenly tangled in some vines I had magically summoned to life from a nearby mausoleum.

  But the Elf simply let the sword go, freeing himself. He placed two hands on his remaining sword and grinned at me, looking more cold and heartless than even the Moonwraith had up close. I rolled away from the Elf’s next attack and then lunged at his legs with Blackout.

  He easily jumped over my counterattack and landed softly behind me, like he was made of air. Then he swung his sword down in a quick arc, the blade now in flames from Elven magic.

  But I surprised him by charging forward, into the attack instead of away from it. My shoulder collided with his midsection and he flew backward and landed on the ground with a breathless OOOMPH. The Elf rolled slowly to his side, groaning and dazed.

  I helped Tiki back to her feet and then spun around to assess the rest of the battle.

  It was utter madness.

  On one side of the cemetery, Ari, Boozy, and Lake worked to fend off five Elven attackers. On the other, Glam took on three Elves by herself. Arrows were sticking out from her back and thigh, but she fought on fiercely as if they were mere mosquito bites.

  But in that quick glance, I saw how outnumbered we were.

  “Run!” I yelled at my friends. “We need to get out of here, we can’t beat them!”

  Tiki ran over to help Yoley, and I started toward a fray in which Froggy was desperately fighting off an Elf and a huge green monster with armor made from bones. It had thick, muscular arms and a hunched back. An Orc, clearly allied with the Elves. Froggy held two small axes and stood bravely in front of an unconscious Giggles in an effort to protect him.

  But before I could get there to help, something else caught my eye. Something shocking and confusing that I didn’t fully understand. Behind Froggy, back near a huge palm tree, was another portion of the battle. It looked like there were Elves fighting against other Elves.

  I stood there for a second, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.

  But then something slammed into the back of my head and everything went dark.

  CHAPTER 26

  An Old Friend Calls Me a Cockroach

  When I opened my eyes and saw Edwin’s face, I assumed I was dreaming.

  So I closed them again and tried to melt back into the sort of sleep that didn’t come with dreams. Or a pounding headache. But as I lay there, I realized that my bed was hard and lumpy. And that there was a smell about me that was musty and unpleasant. And that Edwin’s face had been behind rusty iron bars.

  Was he in a prison cell? Had we captured him? What had happened back at the cemetery? Were my friends okay?

  I didn’t want to reopen my eyes—I still felt too groggy to actually believe anything I would see was real.

  Where are you? I called out to the Bloodletter in my mind. What happened?

  My magical ax didn’t reply. Of course the one time I actually wanted the ax that wouldn’t shut up to speak, he stayed quiet. There was only silence in my head and the faint noise of shuffling feet on concrete in the real world.

  I wasn’t asleep and couldn’t pretend that I was anymore.

  So I finally reopened my eyes.

  And there was Edwin’s smiling face, still behind bars.

  “Hello, Greg,” he said. “It’s actually good to see you again.”

  If it weren’t for my headache I’d have been slapping my own face to see if I were dreaming. Was it really possible I was here, now, looking at my old best friend? And had he really just said it was good to see me? It sounded like he meant it. But how could he be so bright and chipper inside a prison? I slowly sat up and looked around, only to realize Edwin wasn’t in prison.

  I was.

  My cell was tiny, with dirty walls that had been mostly stripped of their cream-colored and green paint long ago. For furnishings, there was only a small, hard cot on which I was lying, an old toilet in the corner, and a little wall-mounted table next to the cot. Water dripped slowly somewhere nearby.

  Sunlight painted the floor in a huge hallway behind Edwin’s smiling face.

  Large birds cawed somewhere close by.

  So I wasn’t Underground.

  My mind was spinning. Did this mean that Edwin was the leader of the group of Elves in New Orleans, after all? It had to—my brain couldn’t find any other reasonable conclusion. Then again, my pounding head and foggy memory were indicators that my brain wasn’t exactly functioning at full capacity either.

  “Not going to say anything?” he asked. “Maybe you’re still reeling from the blow you took to the back of your head? I was told it was pretty bad. Nothing a Human could have survived. But you Dwarves have stubborn bones. You’re like bugs with hard shells.”

  “My friends?” I finally said, my voice hoarse.

  Edwin gestured toward a glass of water on the small table next to my creaky cot. I reached over and drained it all in one drink.

  “You were out for nearly twenty-four hours,” Edwin said, ignoring my question. “You must be hungry. And groggy. I’ll have some food brought and then once you gather your wits about you we can talk, Greg. This might surprise you, but I really do miss you. You were my best friend once, whether you want to believe it or not. Anyway . . .”

  He turned and stalked away quickly, as if staying any longer would have been dangerous.

  “Wait . . .” I tried to call out, still having so many questions, but my voice was only a hoarse croak, barely above a whisper.

  He was already gone either way.

  I closed my eyes and lay back down, my head thumping with pain. The back of it throbbed where I’d been struck by something. I ran my fingertips across my skull. Dried, crusty blood matted my hair.

  Bloodletter? I tried again. Carl? Where are you?

  Silence.

  Distance had never been much of an issue in our telepathic communications. But I’d also never been farther than five or six miles from my ax from the moment I first saw it. So how far away was I now? Where was I? Where was it? Was the Bloodletter okay? It felt absurd to be worrying about an ax’s well-being. Especially since I still didn’t know what had happened to my friends. What had happened at all, really.

  Carl, tell me everyone is okay. What happened? Why won’t you respond?

  I lay there in my cell and waited for an answer.

  But there was only silence.

  CHAPTER 27

  Al Capone and I Now Have One More Thing in Common

  I’m not sure when I fell back asleep, but it was likely within seconds.

  Otherwise, my many spinning thoughts and questions would have taken over, even in spite of a likely concussion, and made sleep impossible. I awoke sometime later with all my panic and worry and questions rushing back in like a mental dam had just burst. I didn’t know how much later it was. It might have been two hours or two
days for all I knew. But that didn’t concern me much just then. As I sat up, a few realizations hit me (some surprising, others more obvious):

  I was almost in a can’t-breathe panic attack worrying about the fates of my friends. After all, the Moonwraith had already shown me what it would feel like to lose them on this mission.

  Not knowing where I was or what was happening was nearly as excruciating as the physical pain hammering inside my skull.

  Part of me was relieved, almost elated, that I now knew Edwin was alive and seemingly quite well.

  But the relief was almost overtaken by worries that Edwin was indeed the mysterious leader of the Elves who had imprisoned Stoney, tortured his fellow inmates, and was rumored to be planning something horrible and destructive. The part of me that wasn’t relieved thought it might be easier to handle news that he had died a good person, rather than discover he was even more evil than I ever thought possible.

  One thing I did know was that I was being watched. Because within minutes of me waking, a middle-aged Elf in jeans and a hoodie brought me food, just as Edwin had promised. He set the tray on the floor and then slid it under the narrow gap below the cell door.

  He sneered at me like I was a pile of mud, then turned and left without saying anything, his footsteps echoing down a massive hallway.

  There were no other voices or sounds around me. Whatever prison this was, I may very well have been its only inmate.

  The plastic food tray held a pile of lukewarm SpaghettiOs, a few pieces of plain white bread, and a Snickers candy bar. I ate the food hastily, not caring that there wasn’t any meat. Of course, without meat, it hadn’t really felt like much of a meal at all, but beggars can’t be choosers. Especially when you’re a prisoner.