Billy: Messenger of Powers (24 page)

Billy caught up with his friend as Vester was walking out into the open part of the stadium. Billy gasped. It
was
a stadium, but it was enormous, dwarfing any other sports arena. There must have been a hundred thousand seats in the place, most of them filled with chatting people. The center arena was big enough to put three football fields in it, and the whole thing was covered by a huge pool of water, waves slapping up against the protective walls that lined the space and kept the nearby spectators from being drenched. Periodically throughout the water there were pillars, big enough to stand on, their tops about five feet higher than the water below.

Atop many of the pillars there were small pyres, a few sticks arranged in a teepee and set ablaze. And on two of the pillars stood a man and a woman, each dressed in a bright red suit of what looked like armor. Their red metal faceplates were closed, so Billy couldn’t make out their faces, but the two armor-clad figures waved at the crowd, which roared its approval.

Billy realized that this was the arena he had seen the “boxing” match in earlier, the two rock giants pummeling at each other amongst the screaming people. But at that time, the place had appeared to have sand in it. Where had the great pool of water come from?

Vester started walking down a set of nearby stairs, craning his neck for a good seat. As he did, something clicked in Billy’s thoughts. “Hey,” he said. “I thought that there were only supposed to be twenty thousand people on Powers Island at once.”

“There are,” answered Vester.

“But,” Billy said, “this place is huge. It has to have a hundred thousand people in it.”

“Yeah, but most of them aren’t here,” said Vester. “They’re just watching the Challenge Match.” And with that, the fireman stepped into a row full of cheering people…and stepped right through them. Not “through them” in the sense that Billy would walk through a crowd, ducking and moving to avoid being trampled. Vester literally passed right through the people sitting in his way as though they were ghosts. Billy gulped, not wanting to follow his friend anywhere that required walking through people, but realized he preferred that to being left alone in the middle of a strange place on Powers Island.

He took a deep breath, then walked into the aisle, following Vester. He passed through ten or twelve sets of legs, their owners not seeming to mind that Billy was walking through their smoke-like appendages, though several did holler at him to move it because “You’re blocking my view.”

Finally, he got to where Vester was. His friend was holding down a fold-out plastic chair that was apparently the universal standard issue for sports stadiums—even on Powers Island. “Take a load off,” said the young fireman.

Billy almost fell into the proffered seat. “I don’t get it,” he said.

“Don’t get what?” asked Vester, finishing off the last bit of his happy hot dog.

“Pwease help,” said a voice that sounded like that of a toddler. “Pwease, pwease help.” Billy looked around for the source of the voice. He finally saw a tiny last piece of a hot dog, evidently left over from the seat’s previous occupant, sitting on the ground in front of him. As soon as Billy looked at it, the food whispered, “Pwease finish me. Pwease eat me.” Billy shuddered, then nudged the hot dog away. “Nooooo,” it cried in a small voice.

“Well?” repeated Vester. “What don’t you get?”

“Anything,” said Billy, praying that no more food would talk to him. He felt slightly sick, and knew he was going to have nightmares about talking hot dogs tonight.

“Well,” said Vester, looking around, “the people are mostly Projections. It’s like watching a show on TV, only in reverse. Instead of a real show being broadcast into what you see on TV, the Powers all around the world are broadcasting themselves into the stadium.” He shrugged. “If the show won’t come to you, then you just go to the show.” Then he winked. “At least, that’s how it works if you’re a Power.”

That explained how Vester had walked through everyone, thought Billy. Aloud, he said, “How can you tell if the person you’re walking through is really there or not?”

Vester’s eyes glimmered with mirth. “If you feel something when you walk into them, and they yell at you to get off their toes, then they’re really there. The uncertainty is part of the fun.”

“Okay,” said Billy. “So are these…Projections…all of the Powers in the world?”

“Probably most of them,” said Vester. “I was going to be Projecting here myself, if Mrs. Russet hadn’t asked me to baby-sit—er—hang out with you.”

“And what exactly are we going to see?” asked Billy.

“Geez, you don’t know anything, do you?” said Vester good-naturedly. “Powers Stadium is where we Powers come to see our version of sporting events. Usually, the players are Powers who are competing to achieve some objective, or they’re controlling Fizzles who do battle.”

Billy snapped his fingers. “So those two rock giants we saw—the boxing match—those were Fizzles,” he said.

Vester nodded. “Right-a-roni, my friend.”

“And is that what they’re going to do?” asked Billy, gesturing at the two armored people on the pedestals in the arena.

“Not exactly,” answered Vester. “I mean, they are, but it’s a bit more complicated in this case. This is a Challenge, which means that someone thinks they should be a member of the Council. So he’s challenging the current Councilor to a match of magic. The greater Power will win, and either ascend to—or keep—the place on the Ruby Throne.”

“Then that means,” said Billy, looking at the armored woman far below.

“Yeah,” said Vester, eyes aglow with that look of dumbfounded affection Billy had seen in them before, when Billy had stood before the Council on the Diamond Dais. “It means that the woman down there is Fulgora.”

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH

Billy’s breath caught in his throat. “What’s going to happen?” he asked.

“You never can tell,” answered Vester. “Not in a Challenge.”

“But, it’s not…I mean, no one is going to get hurt, are they? I mean, it’s not dangerous, right?” he asked. He didn’t know Fulgora, but the Red Lady was beautiful, there was no denying that, and it seemed somehow wrong to Billy that a woman so beautiful could be in danger.

Vester looked at him seriously. “Billy, have you seen anything since you came to Powers Island that seemed to tell you that there is any magic without danger?”

Billy was silent. Even the Transport spell that he was coming to accept as commonplace could mummify you if you didn’t hold your breath. Vester was right, he knew. There had to be an element of danger in any spell, just as there was always a danger—however slight—whenever you turned on the stove or got in a car to go to a friend’s house. Even the smallest conveniences came with a price.

He turned his attention to the arena. “What’s with the water? And the little fires?”

Vester spoke distractedly, reminding Billy again of his father. His father spoke in that same voice when explaining the finer points of a football game to Billy: like he was there, but not there.

“The fire is because Powers generally need their Element to work their magic.” Vester withdrew the matchbook from his pocket, the one he had used to create a small horse of flame. “I strike a match, I can control the fire it makes. But I can’t
create
the fire. So that’s why the fires are set on the podiums. And as for the water all around them, that’s because Water douses Fire.” He seemed to sense Billy’s confusion, because he amplified that thought. “No one Element is supreme. It’s like a big game of Rock, Scissors, Paper. Water can often destroy Fire. So in a Challenge, the most dangerous anti-Element is placed nearby. Only the strongest of the Powers will be able to practice their magics while in the midst of such danger. It’s just one more way of proving the strength of the winner, and their right to the Council seat.”

“So who’s the Challenger?” asked Billy, nodding to the armored man who was still waving to the crowd. It was hard to tell at this distance, but Billy rather thought the red-suited man looked much, much larger than the diminutive Fulgora.

“That’s Napalm,” answered Vester. “That’s what he calls himself, anyway. Thinks it makes him sound tough. His real name is Clarence Underweather, if you can believe it.” Vester snorted. “He’s a twit.” Then, reluctantly, he added, “Good magicker, though.” He cupped his hands around his eyes like a three year old looking through “binoculars,” clearly trying to focus better on what was going on below, then the young fireman bolted to his feet. “Hey, foul!” he called out. A roar went up from the crowd, as though in agreement.

“What happened?” asked Billy.

“You didn’t see?” said Vester incredulously. “How could you not see what just happened?”

“It’s around a million feet away,” answered Billy, a bit perturbed. Maybe it was just the talking hot dogs, but he felt on edge, and not in the mood to be reprimanded for his lack of knowledge of this world. “I can barely even see that there are
people
down there, let alone seeing some foul that I probably wouldn’t recognize even if I
could
see it.”

“What?” said Vester. Then, sheepishly, he said, “Oh, I forgot. You don’t know about Close-Ups in the Stadium. Do this.” Vester again put his cupped hands to his eyes, motioning for Billy to do the same.

“No way,” said Billy. That just looked too stupid.

“Okay,” shrugged Vester. “You’re missing out, though.” He swung his cup-handed gaze back to the arena, sitting forward on the edge of his seat. “They’re starting.”

Billy looked around, embarrassed, then reluctantly put his hands to his face. As soon as he did, he almost jumped out of his skin. Suddenly he could see the arena as closely as if he was standing right next to it.

The pillars stood about five feet above the level of the water that covered the arena floor. Each pillar was a few feet from the next, so that you could get from one to the other if you jumped, but a miss would mean the jumper would fall to an immediate soaking.

Billy realized, too, that there were shapes moving through the water. Long, dark shadows moved sinuously among the pedestals, like thick underwater snakes. Billy didn’t know what they were, but he suspected that finding out would be a deeply unpleasant experience.

Vester’s voice came from beside him, and Billy was surprised to see that when he turned toward his friend, he could see the Stadium in its regular size, with his friend still sitting right next to him. Apparently the Close-Up spell only worked when you were watching the central arena. “Here we go,” said Vester.

As he said this, a spark shot up in the middle of the Stadium, like a miniature firework or a flare. As soon as it did, both Fulgora and Napalm moved. Each jumped quickly to the nearest podium with a flame on it. Napalm, moving more heavily than the lithe Fulgora, nevertheless reached one of the open flames first. He put one hand in the open fire and lifted, pulling the fire away from the sticks as though it were a solid mass. The flame danced in his hands, and a moment later it solidified into several bright balls.

Napalm held out his other hand, large and heavy in a red gauntlet, and pointed at Fulgora, who was still trying to jump to one of the fires. The spheres of flame belched from his hand, roaring toward Fulgora at a tremendous speed. Billy gasped as the first ball struck the Red Lady on the chest, knocking into her in mid-jump.

Fulgora fell backward with the force of the blow, and Billy gasped, thinking she was surely going to fall into the sea of water below her. Apparently whatever the creatures under the water were, they were thinking the same thing, because they immediately began closing in on her.

Fulgora didn’t fall into the water, though. She managed somehow to fall back onto a nearby podium, arms wind milling as she struggled to keep her balance. The next ball of flame struck her then, actually helping her as it shoved her backward onto more solid footing.

“Stupid,” murmured Vester. “Napalm might have had her if he had only thrown one flame at a time.”

More balls of flame were speeding toward Fulgora, however. She barely had a moment to throw up her arms in front of her. The next fireball ricocheted off her, and she sent it hurtling back at Napalm, its speed even greater than it had been. Napalm had to dive aside at the last second as the trajectory of the ball curved in mid-air, coming not at the armored man, but instead hitting the podium on which he stood.

A roar went up from the crowd as Napalm’s pillar blew into tiny pieces, destroyed by Fulgora’s return attack. Vester smacked his hand into his palm. “Attagirl,” he said.

But Napalm was far from finished. He had managed to retain control over his fire when he jumped, and now hurled a new barrage of fireballs at Fulgora. This time she was prepared, however, and deflected them harmlessly skyward, where they exploded into a display of fireworks. She also managed to reach some flame on a podium nearby her, and sent one huge fireball hurtling directly at Napalm, who barely managed to get his arms up in time to shield himself from the blast.