by E. C. Stever
Frenja held up her sword, ready to slice off Gulchima's head. But a movement in the pile of cake caught their eye.
It looked like a large rodent was burrowing out of the cake!
Isolde popped up, out of the cake pile. She was holding two plates.
"Care for some dessert?" Isolde asked. She mashed both plates of cake into the guards' shocked faces.
Frenja and Menja were thrown back, as if hit by a runaway ox cart carrying bags of potatoes. They slammed against the wall, and the fire coals in their eyes went out.
The room was silent, save for the sound of groaning.
They'd defeated the bandits! At least the ones in the caverns.
Lady Keyhide went around the room, kicking the unconscious bandits.
"Why are you doing that?" Jaroo asked.
"I just like kicking them," Lady Keyhide said. "I like the sound it makes."
"Oomph," said one of the bandits.
Jaroo scowled. Then he kicked one of the bandits. "Say, that is fun. If you hit them just here, they curl up. Watch!"
Jaroo kicked another bandit and laughed. He looked almost happy.
Gulchima wished she was done, and that she could go around kicking bandits. But there was one small task that awaited her. The dragon. Well two tasks, actually: The dragon and the evil creature Ash that lurked inside it. She had an hour. How hard could it be?
"Isolde, take Jaroo and Lady Keyhide and get up to the surface," Gulchima said. "There's fighting at Bayadev. Brunhild has invaded with a magical army, so take as much of this yellow cake stuff as you can carry."
"And you?" Isolde asked.
"I have to take care of that dragon," Gulchima said, "and the monster that lives inside of it." She held up her hand. "And I have to go alone. Otherwise it will use you to manipulate me. You know: take one of us hostage, use our love against us, that old trick."
Isolde paused, as if ready to argue. Then she agreed. "If you don't come back I'm going to burn all your clothes. Especially your bedding. Seriously, have you ever even washed them?"
"Yeah," Gulchima said, annoyed. "Once. Last year. I think."
She hugged her sister, then jogged toward the water, afraid that she might stop, and if she did, she wouldn't be able to go through with it.
Gulchima grabbed the dragon tooth from her boot, and leapt into the flowing river. The water carried her down until, as she suspected, Gulchima was transported.
The river carried her into the dragon.
But this time, she was in the belly of the beast.
Chapter 45: Brunhild Loses
Turnip Burn.
Squash Squish.
Beet Feet.
The children laughed and taunted and fired down vegetables. Only Brunhild, SwampWeed and Stranguela remained. The rest of her River-Hag sisters had fallen unconscious when they were hit. They couldn't be hurt by potatoes this night, but other root vegetables still worked. Especially if they were shot from a cannon.
"Potato, potato, potato . . . Tiktok!" cried the children.
A handsome boy gestured for the other children to be quiet. He stood on the wooden platform above her, and was eating an onion.
"How about some . . . Onion Fun?" Tiktok asked the crowd. He threw the half-eaten onion at Brunhild's feet. It bounced twice, and she heard an ominous hiss.
The onion exploded in a miasma of eye stinging smoke.
The boy had placed a small package of Roog's fire medicine inside the onion. Brunhild wasn't allergic to it, but Stranguela dropped as if hit by a giant's boulder.
Stranguela had always been allergic to onions. Not every River-Hag was affected by every root vegetable (except potatoes, that was a universal). But the children had so many vegetables to try. And they had a lot of time to experiment.
"Potato, potato, potato . . . Tormo!" yelled the crowd.
A small boy with a glow-in-the-dark beard walked to the edge of the wooden platform. "Radish Smash?" He dumped a bucket of radishes on them.
Brunhild and SwampWeed jumped away. The radishes clattered against the wall behind them, but did not explode. They were a distraction.
"Radish Splash!" Tormo said. The children cheered.
An entire cauldron of radish juice splashed down on top of them, dousing Brunhild and SwampWeed. SwampWeed fell, her allergy to the juice of radishes exposed. She lay face down in the puddle of juice, her arms spasming.
At last, Brunhild was alone. Her scale armor was filthy. She couldn't take the chanting of the children any longer. Eventually they'd find something that worked on her.
Brunhild ducked into the sauna, then slammed the door shut. She took off her scale armor and tried not to weep.
Perhaps she could wait them out. Perhaps without the armor, they wouldn't recognize her. Perhaps . . . .
Roog sat in the sauna, eating honey from a jar with his fingers. He was dressed in white robes, and his white hair sprouted from his head like a geyser. From outside she heard the giggling voices of the children.
"Ah so you must be Rattbone's wife," Roog said. "Bunhead is it?"
"Brunhild," Brunhild said. It was getting hot in the sauna. The stove was glowing red, and on it sat a bubbling stew. She reached for the door behind her, but it was locked from the outside.
A small trapdoor in the wall, probably for firewood, was her only escape. But Roog sat in front of it, grinning and eating honey.
"Right now, sauna is closed. But since you're family," Roog took out a ladle and scooped some of the bubbling stew. He poured the liquid onto the stove, and it hissed. The sauna got much hotter. She felt as if she might explode.
"There, how's that?" Roog asked.
Brunhild started singing, meaning to enchant Roog.
"Deaf in that ear," Roog said. He dipped his finger into the small jar of honey. "Must be all the fire medicine."
Brunhild stiffened.
"I see you noticed the stew bubbling on top of the stove," Roog said, scowling. "I've been cooking that up for you since we got here. I figured you'd be back."
"What is it?" Brunhild asked in a small voice.
"Every root vegetable known to man, and some known only to worms," Roog said. "I call it: Roog stew." He ladled out more stew and poured it on the stove.
Brunhild sniffed the air. It smelled of onions, but something in it immediately caused her face to break out in hives. She staggered away from it.
"It's like the opposite of a love potion," Roog said, "because that's what you deserve. I'm not your brother-in-law, but if I was, I'd tell you what I really think."
"Oh, what's that?" Brunhild gagged.
"I think you're terrible," Roog said with a sneer. "You were terrible as a wife and you're worse as a villain. Chasing us around, bothering my coworkers. I don't like them much either, but I really don't like you. Wanna know why?"
Brunhild pressed her lips together. She shook her head.
"Because you don't have to be this way, Bunhead. Things are bad enough, and you're making them worse," Roog said. "You could have given Rattbone a chance to pay you back. But no, you had to get all hurt and grumpy, because your heart was broken. Well boo-hoo for you!" He poured more stew onto the stove, then took out a large bag of explosive powder.
Brunhild started to cry. Such an awful man. Such an awful truth.
Roog ate the last of the honey, then put the empty jar on the seat next to him. He pointed a honey encrusted finger at her. "Just because nobody loves you, that doesn't mean you get to destroy the world Bunhead. It's not the world's fault. It's your fault!"
Roog tossed the fire medicine into the stove, then dove out the steel trapdoor in the side wall.
Brunhild tried to follow him, but the stench of vegetable stew was too strong for her.
At least she was alone, she thought.
No, she was trapped.
Brunhild asked her voices for guidance . . . but her voices had abandoned her.
Her sisters were defeated. Her plan had failed. And now, all Brunhild could
do was watch the explosive powder as it grew hotter and hotter.
Brunhild closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered.
She heard an explosion and felt a cornucopia of vegetables slam into her.
Roog stew. It really did feel like the opposite of love in every way.
But perhaps, it was what one needed.
Brunhild went dark.
Chapter 46: Enter the Dragon
The underground river led her into the dragon, as Gulchima knew it would. There was simply too much magic for it to work any other way.
This time she emerged dripping wet into the belly of the dragon. Ash was there, coiled, and waiting. She knew it would be.
She stood in a smaller cavern, perhaps the size of the houseboat. The dragon's yellow stomach acid lay in a swirling pool above them. Occasionally a drop landed on her, sizzling holes in her tunic.
Why wouldn't it be up there? Gravity was strange inside a dragon.
Gulchima held the dragon tooth in front of her. A small bag of yellow cake swung at her side.
"Have you come to defeat us?" Ash asked. Its eyes flared, as if daring her to try.
"I've come to talk," Gulchima said, warily stepping closer. "To negotiate your departure."
Ash curled around in the air. "That tooth would have worked, up there," it pointed with its tail. "But here, we cannot be touched by magic."
That meant the yellow cake wouldn't work either! Somehow she knew Ash was telling the truth.
"Then what are your terms?" Gulchima asked. She had learned about negotiations from her father. The first person to speak was at a disadvantage. So she'd let Ash do most of the talking.
"A debt is owed," Ash said. "We demand payment."
"It's not my debt," Gulchima replied. She stepped closer to Ash.
"You will pay, whether you have reason or not," Ash hissed. "Or do you sssuggest . . . another take your place?"
There. She had its terms. Someone had to pay. Gulchima was here. She would do it then. Save the family, save Baltica, get rid of the magic. She would do it. Or die trying.
"It's not my debt, but I am responsible," Gulchima said. "I'll pay. I'll tell you what you want to know. But you must leave and never come back here."
"Agreed—" Ash started to say.
"—And," Gulchima said. "I want eight knives made of this tooth."
Ash's eyes dimmed for a moment. "Yes there is a way," it said. "The splitting is not a problem, but the handles would require Sacred Oak . . . but yes we can do it. We can. We can do it as payment."
"And I want some answers," Gulchima added. "Did you cast the spell, kill the dragon?"
"Ninestone cast the spell. She is currently the Sorcerer," Ash said. "But no one killed the dragon. Dragons come to Bayadev to die. That is why the water is tainted with magic. Thousands of dead dragons lay under the soil."
"She brought you here?"
Ash twirled in the air. "She did everything to keep us away. When she realized we had found a way through her barrier, by tricking the dragon into eating us, she stripped away all magic. But we were protected. Her pet dragon's scales protected us."
"And you control Brunhild, and Frenja and Menja?"
"Control? No. But we have many powerful magical objects, swords in stones, unbeatable dice, powerful armor and so on. That magic comes with a price. We are the voices that whisper, and occasionally, we ask the users for assistance. We don't force, yet, we are persistent."
Gulchima swallowed. Now she would ask the final question. Her heart thudded in her throat. "Did you—did you set the trap that sent me away for five years?"
Ash paused. Its eyes narrowed. "We set it for another. But you showed up and stepped into it. We required an explorer and we . . . had someone else in mind. But you survived, and all would have been well except, we couldn't find you afterwards."
"What?"
"We could not find you," Ash repeated. "You have been stripped of all magic. There is nothing magical about you Gulchima Brixby. Not one freckle, not one hair on your head. This should be impossible, we thought. But there is much we need to learn."
Ash puffed up. "So Gulchima now is the time to pay what is owed. The lies have ended. The threats have ended. You are here by your own decisions. Now tell us what you saw."
✽✽✽
Gulchima told Ash what really happened the five years she was gone. It wasn't the true-truth, it was THE truth. And this is what she said:
To the outside world, Gulchima probably looked like a happy young girl in a pretty dress, collecting berries and singing, free from cares.
In reality, she'd only worn that stupid dress, because all her normal clothes were dirty. Gulchima was wasting a perfectly good morning collecting berries, because her mother had made her gather some for one of the carpenters who had a urinary tract infection. And she was only singing to make sure a bearded bear didn't stumble upon her and attack.
Still, it looked ridiculous. A young girl in a pretty dress, singing and gathering fruit. Perhaps that was why she got trapped.
At first, she remembered nothing. Gulchima had stepped forward, stooped over to pick a berry and—
—then she stood up. Her lower back was sore. The fresh berries were still in her basket, but it was the wrong season. It was winter. She was still wearing the same stupid dress, but the cold wind tore through it like it wasn't there.
Gulchima started to cry, and the tears had started to freeze to her face. Because where did the snow come from? Because . . . .
She wished there was more to the story, some secret, some magic prince. A map with runes on it. A friendly slug. Some payment in gold coins. But it was just a trap, a five year trap. And trapped animals never got anything. Except eaten.
And if you believed that, then you haven't been paying attention. There was always something between the dots with Gulchima. Something that wasn't said when she trailed off. Because she'd left some things out. Because she'd said, dot-dot—
✽✽✽
—dot. She remembers the nothing.
For a long time there is nothing. Occasionally a streak of light is visible out of the corner of her eye. When she turns her eyes, she finds they won't focus on anything. Gulchima stops counting at three-hundred-forty-seven streaks of light. She never thinks of pacing around. She never gets hungry. She just waits. It is magic and she is afraid.
There is water, and she drinks it by scooping it with her hand and slurping it out. The water tastes like medicine, like a tincture. She never eats anything. She never blinks. She never goes to the toilet and she thinks that will make a good story, when she is done. No potty breaks? Magic is ridiculous.
It isn't five years for her. It feels like a month. Sometimes she opens her eyes, so that means she must have closed them. Perhaps she is sleeping. It is weird that Gulchima isn’t bored. She drinks water. She waits.
At last there is something.
She opens her eyes and sees a small mountain, not much larger than a hill. It isn't remarkable in any aspect, other than the fact that she's seen absolutely nothing for so long. Nothing except for the zips of light.
It is dusk. At the top of the mountain are flashing lanterns, red and white, on a scaffold of some sort. The scaffold surrounds a tower that is half-built. She sees metal carriages, a caravan of them, moving on a black road that winds to the top. She sees words spelled out in white rocks on the mountain, in a language she doesn't understand. It looks like her mother's native tongue. She memorizes the rocks.
Later she will draw those letters, then look up what they mean.
S-U-N-
D-A-
N-C-E.
Sundance. There is a pulling in of the sky; an unnatural darkness like the light is all bunched up in a bed sheet. Sundance. The mountain is called Sundance. Or is it a description? Perhaps that is what you were supposed to do there.
In the distance, she sees a flat topped mountain, like a volcano that had been sliced off. It has deep gouges up the side as if a giant
bear has scratched it. That mountain seems more impressive and powerful, but it isn't. The power is here at Sundance.
She sees the darkness, and through that, another world. Perhaps it is her own world. Perhaps it is another. Either way Gulchima knows what it is really.
It is a portal. The true-truth: She sees a portal at Sundance mountain.
A portal! To another world.
How boring.
✽✽✽
Ash had the look of a snake who has just eaten a hearty meal of mice, and was now sitting by a warm fire. Satisfied.
"Sundance Mountain," Ash said, contemplatively. "We were aware of it, but had no idea that would be the location. There is no warning you see. It just happens and then it is over. The magic flows out of the world for a time, so we must be in place before it happens. No zipping about in puffs of smoke. There is no magic available."
"No warning for what?" Gulchima asked.
Ash smiled faintly.
"Are you the Sorcerer?" Gulchima asked.
Ash said, "Let us speak plainly. We are not the Sorcerer. We are not the dragon. We are not destroyers of worlds. But we seek the portal. And you've found it."
"Plenty of portals around. What's so great about that one?" Gulchima asked. "Every fairy tale I know has a portal. Every battle against magic has a magical gateway. Otherwise most of the story would be about trying to find a place to sleep for the night, or buying comfortable footwear."
"Plenty of magical portals, yes," Ash said. Its orange coal eyes flared. "But what we seek is a non-magical portal. What we want is the Information that travels through."
"Information . . . ."
"From when we were skimmed," Ash said. "There is a prophecy—"
"STOP!" Gulchima yelled. "If you tell me a prophecy, I will head-butt you."
"What if I call it a fable? Will you listen?" Ash asked.
"What if I put a pig in a wedding dress? Will you marry it?"
Ash paused. "You really ought to hear the prophecy. But you've already fulfilled your part. Are you sure you don't want to hear it?"
Gulchima took a deep breath. She was curious. But the thing about a prophecy was that once you knew about it, you'd see it everywhere. Like if you suddenly thought about the color blue, and then noticed all the blue things in your room.