Bobby groaned. "Oh, no. Not her again."
Mrs. Kresky walked into the room, a legal pad in one hand and a cheery smile on her face. "So, Bobby. How are you feeling?"
Of all the many psychologists he had seen, he hated this one the most. It didn't matter what he said, how much he tried to convince her of the truth. She wouldn't budge. She wouldn't be swayed. And, he finally realized, she was just like everyone else. No one was going to help get Sheila and the others home. No one believed him. And no one ever would. How could they? They figured they knew all the answers anyway. He'd been asked about, what? Slaves in Mexico? Caves in Nevada? They were all nuts.
Still, it was good to be home. He didn't realize until he got back just how much he missed his mother and father. And pizza. And cartoons. There was a part of him that missed home even more than Eric did. After Uni left., the only thing he wanted in his whole life was to get back home. He'd rather die than admit it, though. He was no baby.
Then there was Terry. She knew; she realized it was all true when she first saw him walk around the corner with her locket in hand. She was the one who had convinced him what he should say at this point. What he had to do. Part of it grated against his nerves, but the truth was, no one was going to help the others get back. It would take the magic of the Realm to get them out, and no police detective or even nuclear physicist was going to be able to do it for them. He saw his mom and dad hurting so much, even more whenever he tried to tell them what really had happened. No, this was the only way.
"I'm fine, Mrs. Kresky. I...I wanted to talk to you today."
"Oh, Bobby? What would you like to talk about?" She settled down in the wing-backed leather chair in her office. Bobby was reminded of the Demon Sorceress that Diana blasted. That brought a grim smirk to his lips.
"I was thinking about what we talked about yesterday." And the day before and the day before that. "About it really being a car, not the ride. We did, sorta, tell some stories to try and cheer each other up, you know. Not that I was scared or anything, but it was a lot better to listen to the others' stories than to, you know, think about what was really happening." Sheila would wash his mouth out with soap.
"Then there was a car? And you were driven out of the park?" The psychiatrist leaned forward on her seat with anticipation.
Bobby made himself nod.
The battery of questions continued, and Bobby let himself give whatever answers the psychologist seemed to want to hear. No, he didn't know the Dungeon Master's real name. Yes, he had to work, and had to sleep outside sometimes. No, he didn't know where he was. Yes, the cave in happened about a year and a half before. No, he didn't know if the others made it out alive.
Saying that was the worst part, because it was true. He couldn't tell, in all the falling stone, if the others had made it out of the cave alive. Still, they had beaten Venger, and Kelek, and Demodragon, and a rather nasty giant with a Brooklyn accent. They'd definitely find some way to get out of some dumb old cave. Bobby wouldn't be surprised if the rest of them showed up tomorrow, through some other portal. But, until then, everyone would feel better listening to his lies. They'd do until the others showed up.
He was running, and his breath burned in his lungs as he pounded up the gray stone steps. The sky above flashed orange and green and blue, fading and coalescing into a hundred images he couldn't understand. A magical bolt shattered the stone just in front of him, and the black, winged shadow blotted out half the sky. Venger. Behind him, following, he could hear the sound of a great army of orcs, howling for his blood.
Sticky threads erupted out of the ground, wrapping around him, holding him in place for the army to come sweeping over him. He yanked hard to raise his head, and saw the Dungeon Master, smiling while instructing the tendrils to hold fast. Behind him, an old man with a long, gray beard laughed at him. He tried to pull free.
There was a glimmer of a knife in the shadows, but he couldn't see who was carrying it. It sliced through the threads. Sheila's voice, sweet yet hard as ice, said, "It is no longer your concern." But he didn't wait. He ran.
His heart was pounding in his ears as he continued to race up the steps. Above him, he saw Eric, dressed in bright plate mail, mounted on a horse with a sword and shield. "You have to help me, Eric!" he called out. He stumbled towards him. "Venger's after me. You've got to show me how to get out of here. How do I get back home?" Eric, however, didn't seem to see him at all. Behind him was a mounted flank of cavalry, somehow spread across a giant landing on the stairs. They were all gazing over his head. He turned to see what they were looking at. Diana. She was dressed in white, and carried a long spear in her hand. "Diana, please!" Behind her, an army of footmen bearing pikes leveled their weapons. He heard Eric's voice call, "Attack! For the princess!" He had to dive out from between the hooves of the cavalry as they charged, the sound thundering in his head. He crawled away from the attack as the battle was engaged.
Somehow, the mass of fighting men and horses blocked Venger's army of orcs, and he could stop to catch his breath. As he wheezed on the stairs, he felt an icy cold hand laid on his shoulder. He whirled, and there stood a black-robed, skeletal figure wearing a crown of steel. He tried to wriggle away, but the skeleton's grip was strong, twisted in his shirt. The skeleton pointed, and his eyes were drawn to look. A portal opened up before him, swirling with the colors of the amusement park. He could make out the arc of the Ferris Wheel.
It was reflex. It had been so long, he'd searched so hard, and he was suddenly hit with such a tremendous home-sickness. 'The way home....' He took a step towards the opening, and the skeleton released him. A few more steps, and he was running. He plunged through the portal...
Just after midnight, Hank was drifting towards an exhausted sleep when an inescapable feeling of horror overwhelmed him. His eyes flared open, his hand reflexively reaching towards his bow. However, the cottage was silent. Too silent. He bent over Presto's still form, but failed to feel the puff of breath against his cheek. He pressed his fingers to his throat, and felt for the thin, irregular pulse. He couldn't find it.
"Oh no you don't, Presto. Not that easily. You're coming back here and you're going to fight this." Hank's fingers gripped the boy's nose and opened his mouth. He forced a deep lung-full of air through Presto's lips. The still chest rose and fell. Again. "Do you hear me? Come back!"
Bobby fidgeted, sitting on a bench by the front door of the old home. His mother was upstairs, discussing foreclosure things with the attorney. The chair he was sitting on was draped with a sheet. So was the table in the hallway. He'd never been to Preston's house before, and he thought it was a bit creepy to be sitting in his front room like this. Especially with Presto's grandparents gone.
'I never realized that could happen,' he thought unhappily. 'Imagine leaving for all that time, and finding your folks had died while you were gone. Poor guy.' He shivered. So much had changed since he had disappeared, things he was only just beginning to get used to. He was three years older than the other kids in his class, and it felt like more. No one hung out at the arcade; they all went home to their Nintendos. None of his favorite TV shows were on any more. His parents were different than he remembered, sadder. It seemed like everything had changed. He drummed his heels against the legs of the chair.
Slowly, at first, he began to notice a pale green light welling out from underneath one of the shut doors. Bobby quickly glanced upstairs, then stood. "I'll check it out. Maybe the others have got back. That'd be great." He slipped down the hallway to the door, and, trying not to make a sound, pulled it open. His eyes widened.
"Presto?" he asked hesitantly. The room was dusty, but untouched. A mobile of the solar system hung from the ceiling, and the bookshelf was stacked with paperbacks. A worn, black top hat hung from the mirror above the desk, which still held some pencils and a textbook. Standing in the middle of the room, translucent, glowing with a faint green light, was the room's owner. As pale as a ghost.
Presto looked up. He seemed confused for a moment, then his eyes widened in understanding. Bobby saw him try to say something....then gasp as if no sound would come out. Suddenly, his faint form wavered in the air and began to disappear.
Bobby leapt forward. If Presto had managed to magic himself here, maybe he could carry a message to Sheila. "Presto, I'm home! Tell Sheila I made it home, okay Presto? I'm home!" He couldn't be sure how much the magician had heard. He had vanished as completely as a dream.
"Are you ready for tomorrow night, Sheila?" Her master yawned and tucked his hands behind his head. The clearing they were in was dark, and only the soft sounds of Krill calls broke the silence.
Sheila pulled up her blankets. For almost two months, now, she had been training by day, and, more often, by night. She balanced on beams and climbed up lines, picked locks and pulled bells from her master's cloak, but until now, she hadn't really stolen anything. Even as raw as she still felt inside, she wasn't sure she wanted to just steal for no reason. "I don't know, Randale. Why are we stealing the Goldenward anyway?"
"Why? For the simplest of reasons. We could use the money. I haven't got enough for horses, and we could use a pair. Unless you want to travel to the Kingdoms of the Far East on foot? Not a comfortable experience." Randale smiled. His apprentice was coming further every day. He did not doubt that she could one day surpass him. "But don't worry. This is for a good cause."
Sheila released a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding. "What is it?"
"The Goldenward is a plant unique in all the realm, and the national symbol and treasure of the kingdom of Coulone. The people believe that, while the Goldenward is in their possession, the dragons will keep away and they can live in prosperity and peace. Ten years ago, King Harduc of Darkcruigh raided Coulone, carrying away the Goldenward for himself. We, my dear Sheila, are going to steal it back."
Sheila settled back in her blankets, letting herself relax. "That sounds like something the Dungeon Master would tell us to do."
"Don't say that name. I do not want to hear what that one would do."
Sheila was surprised and a little frightened at the anger behind Randale's smooth voice. She knew the reason for her anger, but her master had never explained his. She considered leaving him alone, but there was so much pain there, she had to know why. "Master, I'm sorry. Please, tell me why that name bothers you so much? I don't understand."
She heard Randale sigh. "You must know, my apprentice? You will not like what you hear, but perhaps it will give you better concentration for tomorrow night. Very well. It happened twenty-five years ago, now. There was six of us, growing up at the foot of the Blackskull mountains near what was once the Forest of Mists. We liked to play together in the pond outside our village, swimming and laughing, having fun. However, one day, a great whirlpool arose in the center of the pond, dragging us into the depths.
"We were terrified; we were sure we were all going to drown. Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and we found ourselves on the other side of the world. That one, Dungeon Master, was there. He said we had been dragged there through some strange magic, and that he would try to help us get back. And so he did. But not without having us stop every step to fight some demon or tackle some injustice along the way."
Sheila's aquamarine eyes grew wider and more angry with every word. The same thing that had happened to them happened to Randale and his friends? She felt the shreds of peace she had managed to wrap around herself fall apart about her. "You can't mean..."
"Yes. He used us. He was the one who cast the spell to drag us there to be his champions. He tricked us into doing what he wanted, to follow his agenda of 'goodness and light'. After that agenda killed my best friend, we all felt it. So we left. He let us go. That's what he does, Sheila. He finds people and uses them to suit his needs; I don't think he has the power or the desire to fight his own battles. He has spies all over the Realm. That's why he knows so much."
Fresh tears started to swell in Sheila's eyes, but they wouldn't slip. She crushed the feeling under icy rage. "He never meant for us to go home?"
"Of course he did," Randale replied, closing his eyes tiredly. " He's not evil. But he did bring you here to use you as long as possible before you made your way out. And he's not above using your desire to get home to get him what he wanted. To get you to become what he wanted. Go to sleep, Sheila. That part of your life is over, and you'll never have to go back to it, not as long as you don't want to. Go on. We have work to do tomorrow."
After about ten minutes, Presto began to breath on his own. Hank was exhausted, but ecstatic that the CPR had worked. He would have been happier if he had actually awakened too. But the magician mumbled something about going to tell Sheila and slipped back into unconsciousness. At least he was alive for now.
Sheila tried to sleep, but every time she closed her eyes, the cryptic little hints Dungeon Master always gave jammed into her like darts. 'Eric was right. He didn't give us a straight answer, not ever. He used us! He used us! We wanted to get home, so we did whatever he said, no matter how much danger it put us in. We were so stupid to fall for it!' She pounded her fist on the ground in rage.
She became aware of a pale green light shining over her shoulder and scrambled to her feet, a rock in hand and ready for a fight. She blinked to adjust her eyes to the dim light. There, not more than three feet away from her, stood Presto, dressed in blue and brown. He looked pale, translucent, but his face shone with a beatific smile. His eyes were bright and feverish, but it was hard to see more in the glow that shone about him.
The anger that had been boiling within Sheila for hours came bubbling to the surface. "Presto, what are you doing here? It's the middle of the night."
Presto began babbling, his words stumbling over each other in their effort to get out. "Bobby's alive and I saw him, he's in my bedroom at my Grandparent's. You cut me out and Eric and Diana are having a war and then I saw the way home and saw Bobby in this light and he's okay, so you can come back now and we can all ask Dungeon Master how to get home." He swayed and quickly pulled himself upright. "I had to tell you...."
Sheila couldn't take it any more. 'He's lying to me...Dungeon Master somehow got to him and is using him to try and get me to come back. Well, I won't! Not ever!' Aloud, she shouted to the wavering form, "Go back, Presto! Get out! Can't he's just using you? He was using all of us. Go away! The Dungeon Master is just trying to make you do what he wants!"
Presto's form wavered into near transparency, and he sounded more unsteady, "I know. The threads...they...."
"You knew?! You figured it out? How could you not tell us, Presto? Before Bobby died?" Furious, all the anger and pain spilled out at the only target she had available. She threw the rock she held at the transparent form, and stooped to pick up another one. "Get out! I never want to see you again! Do you hear me? Never!"
The rock whistled right through the ghostly form, as did a second. The green light disappeared abruptly, casting the clearing into darkness. He was gone.
Sheila felt a hand laid on her shoulder, and turned to make out the faint outline of Randale in the darkness. "Did that make you feel any better?"
Sheila shook her head numbly. With a focus for her anger gone, the realization of what she had said began to seep into her.
"I'm sorry to hear it," replied Randale, his voice soft and regretful. "You are almost certainly going to get your wish."
Sheila wiped her eyes as her Master began to walk away. "What...what do you mean?"
Randale was silent for a long moment, weighing his words with great care. "Nothing. A random thought. It is a dangerous world, and who knows when it will let two friends meet again this side of the grave?"
Sheila frowned and hunched her shoulders as she went back to her blankets. "I know," she said, her voice filled with regret. "I shouldn't have said that. He did look like he was sick. Maybe the Dungeon Master got to him because he was hurt or something. Maybe he'll leave when he's better."
"Witch fever," Randale said softly as he went back to his own blankets.
"What's that?" Sheila asked, wrapping herself in the warm fabric has she tried to push down the feelings of guilt. "Nothing too serious, I hope."
There was another long pause. The master thief's voice was uncharacteristically somber as he said, "Nothing the Dungeon Master couldn't handle, one way or another."
"Bill, Hi. This is Ethan.... Right, from the astronomy department. I know this is a busy time of year for you....All the field trips, I remember. Eileen and I have to get out there soon.... I know. Anyway, Bill. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't absolutely vital, but I need your help. I have a pollen sample. Can you check it for me? I need to know the assemblage as accurately as possible....I know you specialize in Early Pleistocene pollens....no, it's modern. But I need to have them identified..... Yes. Yes, it's about Diana. Will you?..... Thank you so much, Bill. You know how much this means to me.... Thank you. We could use all the luck we can get."
Dr. Curry's eyes glittered as he hung up the phone. Then he lifted a clear plastic bag with a scrap of yellow fabric in it up to the light. "I know this will find them. I know it!"
He tried to find the portal again, but it was so hard, and the skeleton that had showed him the way before was gone. His lungs ached, and he didn't know why. It was cold, here, too, and he was getting very tired of running. How long had it been? A day? A week? Still, he had to tell Sheila about Bobby. Sheila was always hard to find...something to do with being invisible, he supposed. He climbed up a few more stairs.
Sheila was sitting in the dark. She had somehow grabbed hold of the night sky and wrapped herself up in it, a black cloak of shadow. She looked so sad and angry. He smiled. She'd definitely cheer up when she heard that Bobby was at his house. He'd have to hurry up and tell her about everything that happened before Venger showed up again.
When she threw the first rock, it hurt. He dizzily lifted a hand to his forehead and touched the wet spot that was growing there. The second hit his shoulder. But she was supposed to be happy! Well, if she didn't want to see him.... he turned and stumbled away as fast as he could.
It had been the longest six days of Hank's life. Madeline was often there, trying to coax her apprentice to drink, or laying more herbs on the fire to fill the cottage with strange, sweet-smelling smoke that supposedly would give him strength. She sprinkled him with cool water, or laid damp rags on his forehead, and pulled the blankets up when he shivered. Hank had just waited, sitting on the little stool by Presto's cot, cradling his long bow in one arm. Sometimes he talked about life with Donavan, about their adventures together before Bobby's death, about high school, about the things they'd seen. Sometimes he slept. But mostly he watched as Presto weakened daily.
Even Madeline was beginning to lose hope. Somewhere, the boy had managed to pick up a purple bruise on his forehead, dark enough to match the shadows under his eyes. His breathing was growing more irregular, stopping twice, and his heartbeat fluttered like the wings of a captured butterfly. He didn't shiver any more. He didn't drink. It was true. Presto was dying.
The stairs seemed to go on forever, and he was exhausted. The sounds of fighting had died away some time ago, and he couldn't hear the Orcs or Venger any more. His shoulder throbbed, and he felt so dizzy he couldn't stand up. He sank down to the floor. 'I hate stairs.' That lit a faint spark of memory, but when he went after it, it flitted out between his fingers. 'I think I'll just rest a little while. Just a bit.' Venger was gone. Dungeon Master was gone. The way home was no where to be found. He could rest. His eyes slipped shut.
He heard the sound of laughter behind him, deep, rumbling laughter that echoed through the stairway. It took more energy than he thought possible just to open his eyes. He found himself looking straight into four of the eyes of Tiamat the dragon. "What?" he asked, bewildered as he tried to pull himself up to his feet. Tiamat slowly reared back her red head, spreading her wings and visibly filling her lungs. He pulled himself up a few more stairs, almost too tired to try to get out of the way when she flamed. She missed, but he could feel the heat near him, and he realized foggily that he did not want to die. He climbed a few more, unable to move fast. However, Tiamat always managed to be behind him, shooting a bolt of lighting to his left, a burst of ice to his right, spurring him on. He stumbled the last few steps to see Hank standing at the top. He was surrounded with an aura of white light, and in one hand he carried a longbow. He held out his other hand.
"Come back."
Presto collapsed into Hank's arms as Tiamat veered up and into the wheeling night sky.
Crouched at the edge of the castle wall, Sheila felt the lightening sparkle of excitement course through her. She still felt guilt over her harsh words the night before. Deep down she still prayed that Presto would recover soon, and get away from the Dungeon Master for good. 'But,' she thought, as she counted silently until Randale could move into position, 'It is his choice. We're not together any more. He can go back to Dungeon Master if he wants.' The distraction, the thrill of sneaking into another fortress held by another evil overlord, was enough to keep her from worrying about it for too long.
The seconds ran out. Randale was in place, and the guards making their rounds were on the other side of the walls. She tossed the grappling hook, its end padded with rags to make it silent, up, hooking in on one of the iron spikes set around the battlements to deter invaders. She scrambled up the rope, and squeezed through the narrow arrowslit. Had it been an inch smaller, she would never have been able to fit. She wiggled in, unhooked the grapple, and disappeared into the Royal Keep of the Kingdom of Darkcruigh.
The stone passageways were dark and still. The sound of quiet snoring came from a number of rooms, but even so, the keep seemed particularly grim and somber to Sheila as she crept along. Without a sound, she slipped down the stairs and into the main throne room, empty now. She waited by the shadows in one of the entrances. Her master should give the signal soon that he had prepared the way out. She held her breath. Finally, on the other side of the throne room, she caught a glimpse of a white streak of hair and a white smile in the darkness. A smile of her own curled her lips. It was so much nicer to be doing this with someone else for a change. She didn't have to be alone, and Randale would never let her down.
Sheila darted across the throne room. The Goldenward shone faintly in the darkness. The plant was pretty, tiny triplets of golden leaves and little copper berries. It grew in a pot of some dark metal which stood on a stone pedestal next to the throne. Sheila scooped the plant up and wrapped her cloak about it, concealing the shine. Then she ran on silent feet after Randale.
The bright moonlight was filtering in through the lacy curtains, casting soft shadows of leaves across the room. The last smoke had cleared away, and Madeline had opened all the windows to let the warm night breeze through the cottage. The sparkle of the near-dawn constellations was nearly washed out by the moon's light. A sad smile came to Hank's lips as he gazed up out of the window and thought how much his friend would enjoy a quiet night like this.
"Come back," he whispered for the hundredth time, resting his cheek against the polished wood of his bow. He did not anticipate an answer.
"Hi, Hank." The voice was very weak, exhausted, but when Hank turned back to the bed, he saw his friend's hazel eyes look directly at him, lucid for the first time in a week.
"Presto! Hey, stay with me. You're going to be okay. I told you I'd be here." He walked to the cot and took his friend's hand in his own. "You feeling any better?"
"Tired." Presto closed his eyes for a moment, but opened then again. "Can I have some water?"
Hank almost whooped for joy as he poured a mug of the medicine-infused water and brought it to Presto's lips. "Here, my friend. Drink." Presto could hardly raise his head, but he drank thirstily.
"Thanks, Hank," Presto mumbled, closing his eyes again.
Madeline confirmed later that his fever had broken. He slept the natural sleep of the hurt and exhausted, not the delirium of the last week. His breathing and heartbeat grew stronger. The magician had passed the first test.
Randale was silent when she came, carrying the Goldenward. He led the way to the main drawbridge. There were plenty of guards, but Sheila saw that at least four watching the gate were distracted, looking towards the northeast and the fire that Randale had triggered to burn there. Randale led her down beneath the drawbridge to a narrow rope bridge he had managed to string across the moat. They nimbly crossed, and disappeared into the night. Running, clutching the Goldenward to her chest, Sheila bolted through the shadows. She could do this, fight and stand up for what was right, and she didn't need anything from Dungeon Master to do it, either. She didn't need anyone at all. She was free.
The Dungeon Master stood within the Cave of Vision, watching Sheila and Randale speed off into the darkness with the Goldenward. He folded his hands behind his back and shook his head sadly. "Well, my friend." The fairy darted forward and perched on a stalagmite which shone with its own visions of another far away place. "I foresee great harm coming from this. I should tell King Harduc where the Goldenward is before it causes great sorrow to many. Though I fear that these two would be executed for it." The fairy tilted his head inquisitively, silently offering to bear the message. Dungeon Master shook his head. "No, little one. They are still, perhaps, my responsibility. I have done what I can to see that they get the teaching they need. They must make their own paths from here. We must wait and hope." The Dungeon Master turned back to the visions.