The Curse of Greg

by Chris Rylander

  I kept assuring him that they treated me a lot better than he had been and that did calm him down some.

  It was good to see my dad again, even now that I knew there was probably no way to fix his condition. But it didn’t matter as much anymore. Not after everything that had happened with the Bloodletter and the Elves. At the very least, I realized I should be grateful. After all, the Bloodletter did help me get more perspective on my dad’s condition. It really was better than losing someone forever.

  After my dad finally stopped hugging me, he gestured toward an envelope on my bed.

  “It arrived earlier this morning,” he said. “Hand delivered to the Cronenberg’s Offal Delicatessen and Rotary Telephone Repair Shop storefront by an unarmed Elven courier.”

  Inside the envelope was a handwritten letter from Edwin:

  Greg,

  I hope you made it back to Chicago safely. We saw your party escaping on the boat and did our best to distract the beasts of the Verumque Genus long enough for you to slip away. I want to thank you for remaining a true “friend,” so to speak. You tipping me off about Dr. Yelwarin gave us just enough warning to survive the surprise attack. We eventually fended them off and they retreated, but both sides suffered heavily and I know this is not over yet. They will strike again. Can you believe that jerk Perry Sharpe is their leader? I guess it shouldn’t surprise us, but I never thought he was smart or likable enough to lead an army. Unfortunately he got away . . . this time.

  Anyway, I hope you saw the state of the world on your return. All flights have been suspended worldwide. We’re on the brink of societal collapse. All these things should make it clear to you now that I am right. That I must succeed in my plan. The fate of the world rests in our hands, Greg. Please do not try and stop me. When this is all over, I really hope we can still be friends. Or at the very least, not mortal enemies.

  “And?” my dad asked when I finally looked up from the letter. “The Council almost made me surrender the letter to them since it came from Elves. But I convinced them that that sort of tyrannical intrusion would be beneath us as Dwarves. Privacy and freedom are vital to our culture. To our integrity.”

  “It’s from Edwin,” I said.

  I sat down and explained to my dad what my former best friend’s plan was. At least, the parts of it I knew about: stripping magic from the world once again, except for a select group of Elves, who would then use that magic to keep the peace and restore the world back to a tranquil normalcy—as best as possible.

  “It’s not a terrible thought,” my dad said, surprising me. “At least his heart is in the right place. But he’s wrong. Magic returning in full is the only way to true peace.”

  “But . . .” I hesitated, afraid that asking the question too forcefully might set off another spell of delirium. “You keep saying that, but do you know how?”

  My dad looked into my eyes and for a second I was sure he was going to start ranting about ducks wearing hiking boots or some other such nonsense. But his gaze stayed clear and sharp for once. It almost felt like something else inside him, something mystical (like magic!), was keeping him in check at the moment.

  “I wish I knew fully,” he said. “But I do know I’m right. You do, too. You must sense it every time you feel magic coursing through you. How pure and good it really is. How powerful. It just needs to be harnessed the right way. I believe that’s why the Fairies banished it all those years ago—not because they felt that magic itself was bad, but because Elves and Dwarves and everyone else were misusing it for corrupt purposes. It was an escalating war that they saw no end to; we were past reasoning. Think about it, Greg: What makes the Bloodletter so dangerous? The fact that it’s magical? Or is it because it’s a weapon? It was made to kill, that’s the whole reason it was created! It’s not the magic itself.”

  “So it’s really just as simple as we need to stop making weapons?” I asked skeptically.

  “Yes!” my dad said breathlessly and for a second I thought maybe this was one of his crazy spells after all. “But it’s more than that. I mean, it requires a whole shift in thinking, but getting rid of weapons would certainly be a good start. Think about it: Dwarven spells by nature are not offensive. They’re not suited for battle, but rather for protection. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed this, but Dwarven spells by themselves are not capable of killing. Had Dwarves not started forging weapons, magic would only be used for good, helpful purposes. It was our shifting nature that corrupted magic, not the other way around! And the same is true of Elves.

  “Magic can be used to clear our minds of all the negativity. The gut reactions. The hate and anger that come with fear and jealousy and insecurity. These are the core emotions behind almost all that is wrong in this world. Of course, this isn’t to say that magic can end the existence of bad people. Or evil deeds. Without the freedom to be bad, what is the point of living? But I truly know that magic can allow people to see things, the world, and the other living creatures around us more clearly. With more empathy and understanding. And when that happens . . . well, I think we’ll all be surprised by just how quickly people—Human, Dwarf, Elf, or otherwise—stop being bad on their own. We won’t want to create weapons or use magic for destructive purposes anymore.”

  I didn’t know how, but I knew he was right. It made perfect sense: Magic itself has no violent tendencies, no inherent malice. We, people and creatures of all kinds, ruined magic’s purity all that time ago, not the other way around. By creating weapons, instigating wars, making enemies. Magic was just another tool for living beings to use, no different from uranium, metal alloys, certain plants and residues: all resources that are misused in the modern world to make the same mistakes over and over again. I was more convinced than ever that my dad’s theory was still correct. That magic was the answer to lasting peace on this earth. We just needed to use it properly for once.

  All of which meant, in spite of Edwin’s letter, we still had to stop him.

  My dad must have been thinking the same thing, because he stood suddenly.

  “Come on, let’s go tell the Council about your friend’s plans.”

  CHAPTER 44

  Always Butter Your Flag for the Lions

  For a moment there, I actually allowed myself to feel hopeful.

  An obvious mistake for a Dwarf.

  At first I was hopeful that my dad might actually be getting better. After all, he had been remarkably clear and thoughtful back in our apartment. But then, on the walk to the Dosgrud Silverhood Assembly Hall, he introduced another of his Kernels of Truth. All I could do was sigh in despair as he launched into an overwrought bit about the importance of soaking flags in melted butter before raising them up on flagpoles—his even more nonsensical reasoning being something about how it would make the pride easier to fight off (whether he meant a pride of lions or the emotion, I didn’t know, and frankly, I didn’t care).

  Then I allowed myself to feel optimistic that we actually might be able to stop Edwin. After I explained to the Council everything I’d discovered about the Elves’ plan while in captivity (being sure to include the parts about them being very humane in their treatment of me), Dunmor nodded and said that he knew exactly how Edwin planned to pull this plan off. Which I hadn’t expected—I’d figured I’d tell them the plan and they’d be just as clueless as I was about how Edwin thought he could achieve this feat, leaving us all hopelessly ignorant as to how to stop him.

  But of course that’s not what happened.

  “He must believe he knows where to find the Faranlegt Amulet of Sahar,” Dunmor said.

  “But it doesn’t actually exist!” Dhon Dragonbelly, one of the Council Elders, practically shouted.

  “Preposterous!” Ooj added.

  “It must!” a regular Councilwoman from the surrounding seats countered. “How else could the Fairies have banished magic all those years ago?”

  “
Even if it existed once,” another Council member argued, “that doesn’t mean it still does.”

  This was about to initiate another round of incoherent arguing among the Council, but Dunmor stopped it before it started by banging his rock on the table.

  “Well, clearly Edwin Aldaron believes it still exists,” Dunmor said once he had the room’s attention again. “Out of an abundance of caution, I think it’s safer if we assume not only that it still exists, but that the new Elf Lord somehow knows where to find it. There’s simply no other explanation for this plan of his. We should now assume that Edwin plans to use the Faranlegt Amulet of Sahar to convert all magic to some other substance that he and his followers alone will have access to. It’s possible he may even plan to destroy the amulet forever once he succeeds.”

  There was another rabble of debate and panic from the Council. I slowly raised my hand and the hall eventually fell silent as Dunmor again pounded on his stone table with the huge rock.

  “More input, Greg?” he asked. “A detail you forgot, perhaps?”

  “I mean, if he thinks he found it, then that means we might be able to as well,” I said. “Let’s not just give up so quickly.”

  “So where is it, then?” Dhon Dragonbelly demanded. “Your friend clearly has information we do not!”

  “Okay, fine,” I said. “But he got it somehow. What do we know for sure? I mean, what do the ancient texts or whatever say about its possible location?”

  “Well, see, that’s the problem,” Dunmor said bleakly, sitting down in defeat. “Anything we know about the amulet is only according to ancient Fairy lore, which is information passed down verbally in stories—not in writing.”

  “So what do the stories say about it?” I said, not letting this go.

  They may have wanted to ignore this like a bunch of Dwarves, but that wasn’t me anymore. I wasn’t going to let destiny make me act a certain way anymore. I was Greg, and only Greg, and would do whatever I felt was right.

  “Well,” Dunmor began, “before they banished themselves to the earth’s core, the Fairies hid the Faranlegt Amulet of Sahar inside a charmed cave that lies within the magical realm of an unknown, remote forest. They supposedly used the last bit of magic left to enlist the ancient spirit of a half- Elven, half-Dwarven mage named Ranellewellenar Lightmaster to guard the amulet. Edwin must know the location of the forest and the cave. And now it’s just a matter of getting there—something he theoretically cannot do until magic fully comes back. The cave is said to require magic for entry—one reason many Elves and Dwarves have long believed the amulet to be lost forever. A paradox.

  “But now that we’ve been proven wrong about magic’s return . . . then, well, it stands to reason the cave could eventually be accessible once again. May even be right now, as we speak. And so if Edwin really does know the location, and how to get past the spirit of the mage, then he will have everything he needs to implement his plan. And there is nothing we can do to stop him since we still do not even know the location of the forest, let alone of the magical cave hidden within. It could literally be anywhere in the world where there is, or even once was, a forest.”

  As Dunmor finished, the entire chamber seemed to exhale in defeat all at once, as if collectively punched in the gut by hundreds of invisible fists.

  All was lost.

  There was no way to stop Edwin if he indeed had found the location of the Faranlegt Amulet of Sahar.

  And I knew he had. Replaying our conversations now in my head, I’d recognized that look on his face. Edwin’s confidence was never false. I knew him too well to think he’d been bluffing. Even that one time I brought up the amulet he’d only grinned at me, and it was the same smile that always appeared on his face right before he swooped in and made the move that would checkmate me.

  Edwin had all the information he needed to find the amulet. He was headed to that cave, and once he retrieved the amulet, all would be lost.

  Plus, there was still the problem of the Verumque Genus. We couldn’t forget about the threat they posed. Even if Edwin was somehow stopped, then what would we do about this other group of Elves? The ones amassing an army of monsters with plans far more sinister than anything Edwin had in mind.

  See?

  See now why I said it was a mistake to ever let myself, a Dwarf, get hopeful?

  CHAPTER 45

  An Unlikely Hero Emerges, and It’s Not Me

  After the Council Session, I went to see Stoney.

  I wasn’t sure if it was because I thought he could cheer me up. Or perhaps deep down I wanted to steal more of his “poop” so I could enjoy one last hedonistic spending spree before the world ended. But either way, just the sight of him somehow did cheer me up when I walked into his room.

  He was sitting with his back to the wall, battle wounds all bandaged up, snacking on a huge stack of gold bars like they were popcorn.

  “You got some gold!” I said, pleased that someone had brought him some of his favorite food.

  “ARI CONVIVIAL CONTRIBUTION!” Stoney bellowed, his stomach bulging from the millions of dollars’ worth of gold he’d eaten.

  I laughed in spite of everything else going on.

  “Nothing better, right?” I said.

  “NEGATIVE!” Stoney said. “SOLITARY ARTIFACT SUPE- RIOR.”

  “Oh, yeah?” I asked, sitting down next to him. “What could be better than a pile of gold? I know if I was sitting at a table filled with hamburgers, which is my favorite food, my life would be complete right now.”

  “ROCK ONE!” Stoney bellowed. “ROCK ONE UNRI-VALED OBJECT.”

  I seemed to remember him babbling on about some special rock before.

  “Oh, yeah?” I said. “Why is it special again?” I asked, and braced myself for Stoney’s enthusiastic response.

  “SCARCEST MINERAL. SOLITARY. ENDANGERED. UNIQUE. ALLEGED NONEXISTENT.”

  “Hah,” I said humorlessly. “That sort of sounds like this dumb enchanted thing that’s the key to—”

  I stopped and leaped to my feet so suddenly that Stoney cried out in surprise.

  “Stoney!” I nearly shouted. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

  He stared at me dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open, full of crushed, half-chewed gold bars.

  “INCONTINENCE, GREG?”

  “No, no, I didn’t have an accident,” I said, actually allowing myself to laugh again. “Come on, follow me. You’re about to save the world, Stoney.”

  * * *

  – –

  Partly because of my dad’s celebrity status, and partly just out of the sheer panic and excitement in my voice, I was able to get the Council to reconvene on short notice.

  Ari, Froggy, Lake, Glam, and Eagan were with me. We stood in front of the towering table of Elders, Stoney at our side. My friends had been just as excited as me when I told them what I thought Stoney might know.

  Even the NOLA Dwarves—Giggles, Tiki, Yoley, and Boozy—were there, behind us in the spectator seats. They smiled at me encouragingly when I glanced back. They’d made the decision to leave New Orleans, to go with my friends to San Francisco to rescue me, knowing full well it might be a while before they got back home—if ever. But they were excited to finally be a part of the larger cause—which is also why Kimmy had given them her blessing.

  “This better be good, young Stormbelly,” Dunmor said wearily, taking his seat. “We have much to do.”

  “It is,” I assured him. Then I turned to Stoney. “Go on, Stoney. Tell them about Rock One.”

  “ROCK ONE EXTRAORDINARY MINERAL!” Stoney shouted excitedly, causing several Elders and half the Council members to flinch. “STONEY COVET!”

  I could see from the look on Dunmor’s face that he was already losing his patience with this.

  “Stoney, what is Rock One?” I asked.

  “SCAR
CEST MINERAL,” Stoney explained. “SOLITARY. ENDANGERED. UNIQUE. PURPLE GLEAMING MINERAL. RED SHIMMERING MINERAL. GREEN GLISTENING MIN-ERAL. ORANGE SPARKLY MINERAL. VOLUMINOUS HUES. LUMINOSITY. ONE ONLY. ONLY ONE.”

  “And do you know where to find it?” I prompted.

  “AFFIRMATIVE. STONEY PINPOINT,” he said, pointing at his head. “LOCALITY DIAGRAM WITHIN.”

  I looked at the Council excitedly, expecting them to rejoice and immediately instigate a vote for a call to action. One that would pass unanimously, setting into motion a flurry of activity that would, hopefully, save us all.

  But of course that’s not what happened.

  We were still Dwarves.

  Instead, the whole chamber seemed to emit one loud exasperated groan.

  “He’s lost his mind!” someone quipped. “Like his father.”

  It seemed like my dad’s celebrity had worn off even more in the past month. The full extent of his condition must have been getting more evident with every new episode because at least forty others in attendance laughed at this.

  But that was of no concern to me right then.

  “What on earth would this dumb Rock Troll and his dumb Rock One have to do with anything?” Ooj shouted at me angrily. “You’re wasting our valuable time!”

  “Give him a chance to explain!” Ari said. “You all owe Greg as much—more than that even!”

  “Yeah,” Eagan added. “We wouldn’t know any of this without Greg. Not about either faction of Elves or their real plans. Greg may not want to accept the fact that he will be our savior someday, a true Dwarven hero, but surely by now you all must recognize that it is true.”

  “He’s already done more for our cause than all of you combined!” Glam pitched in. “And he’s pretty good at smashing stuff when he needs to . . .”

  While their arguments that I was some kind of hero made me pretty uncomfortable, I still couldn’t help but grin with pride that I had such great friends. I knew they would always be there for me, would always support me, no matter what my next plan was: whether it might be breaking into an Elven skyscraper fortress to rescue my dad, running off to New Orleans to investigate a rogue group of Elves, throwing the most sacred ancient Dwarven relic ever found into the San Francisco Bay, or wherever else this new insane life would take me next (to the moon for all I knew).