The Call (12 page)

T
he chewing, grinding sound was getting slowly louder. “It's Risky,” Mack said.

Stefan nodded. “Huh.”

“Risky,” Mack explained to Jarrah and her mother. “The Princess. She works for her mother. I guess it's a really weird family business.”

“Risky…Wait! I know who that is!” Karri cried. She raced to the wall, began frantically searching it, then cried out, “There! Yes. You see this symbol, this
head with too many teeth and wavy lines? It's woven all through the story, often intertwined with the female death's-head symbol.

“Ereskigal,” Karri said excitedly. “Ereskigal was the Babylonian queen of the underworld. But she's known by many names. To the Greeks, Persephone. To the Norse, Hel.” She grabbed Mack by his shoulders. “Are you telling me she has a
mother
?”

“That's what…um…what I hear.”

Karri pushed him away. “The death's-head symbol. The mother of evil,” she whispered. “I didn't understand…I didn't realize…” Eyes brimming with tears, she held her arms out for her daughter. “Oh, Jarrah. The death's-head! It's the Mother of Evil, the Breeder of Monsters. The…the…Pale Queen.”

“We knew it was some great evil, Mum,” Jarrah said. She was trying to sound reassuring, but Mack could tell she was shaken up.

“The old ones say she was bound for all time in the underworld, in the vast World Below. Forever!” Karri said.

“Or three thousand years, whichever came first,” Mack said. “All of which is very informative, but what are we going to do about whatever is digging
its way through to us?”

“I was hoping you knew,” Jarrah said.

“Me?” Mack laughed, but not in a funny way. “How would I know? I only remembered that one thing I heard from Grimluk. Like some kind of magic spell or whatever, but you heard the elves: it only works once every twenty-four hours.”

“It was Vargran, wasn't it?” Jarrah asked. She pointed at the wall. “That is all written in Vargran.”

“We believe it's some kind of sacred language,” Karri said. “A very ancient tongue…”

“Yeah. It's magic or whatever,” Mack said. “So what can we
use
?”

“We can read it; we can't really pronounce it!”

“Give me something, anything,” Mack snapped. His claustrophobia had been temporarily displaced by the fear of the princess-monster who somehow was digging through solid rock to get at him.

“I know the words for all the numbers,” Karri said frantically.

“Is there a math test, Mum?” Jarrah cried. “If not, maybe something else would be better than numbers.”

“I think I know how to say moon:
(sniff) asha
. And
sky:
urza
. And sun:
edras
. And we have the verb to be:
e
,
e-tet
,
e-til
,
e-ma
. And…and…and…”

“Wait,” Mack said. “You can say
sun
?”

“Yes.”

“And you can say
to be
?”

“There are four tenses: present, past, future, and ‘or else.'”

“‘Or else?'”

“It implies an order that must be followed or else.”

“Hope my parents never learn it,” Mack said. His mind was going a mile a minute. Possibly faster. “Say it. Say, ‘Be sun. Or else.”

“
E-ma edras
?” Karri said.

“Yes. Like that,” Mack said thoughtfully.

The chewing sound was a jackhammer noise now. A crack appeared in the polished wall. Small rocks became dislodged.

“Whatever it is, it's coming straight through the wall,” Jarrah said.

“I'll try to protect you,” Stefan said to Mack.

“Thanks,” Mack said. “And I'll try to protect you, Jarrah.”

Jarrah made a dismissive snort. “I don't need
protecting.” She grabbed a short steel shovel and swung it once, testing the weight. “Yeah, whoever this is, she gets it good and hard.” The polished wall was shaking like an off-balance washing machine now. The noise was incredible. The wall cracked like a windshield in a car accident, star patterns racing across the rock.

Suddenly a ten-foot-diameter section of the wall collapsed. They could see a tunnel. And standing in that tunnel was a redheaded girl with lovely green eyes and massive three-pronged hands. Each prong was a shard of diamond so big it would make every diamond ever mined look like a speck of dust.

“Well, hello again, Mack,” Risky said. “What a coincidence you being here.”

The diamond-tipped hands were slowly melting away to be replaced by Risky's milky-white fingers dipped in blood-red polish.

Risky climbed nimbly down from the tunnel to the floor of the cave. She turned to take a look at the remains of the polished wall.

The transformation from nonchalant triumph was instantaneous. Risky's face was a mask of spite and fury. “The old meddlers,” she spat.

Her blazing eyes found the clocklike symbol. “The Twelve Pairs of Potentiality,” Risky said in a whisper. “Which did you think you would master, Mack? Would you like Fire and Ice? Dreams and Nightmares?” She looked over her shoulder at Mack. “Darkness and Light—I think that would have been your thing.”

The diamond-tipped hands grew back in seconds. With a howl of fury, Princess Ereskigal attacked the etched stone.

The violence of it was shocking, the sound deafening. The diamond tips whirred like drills. They cut through the rock like fork tines ripping through a block of cheese.

Okay, that's not the best analogy, Mack thought. But it was close enough.

“Stop it!” Karri cried. “That is a priceless treasure!”

Her daughter, Jarrah, did not cry out. Instead she took two quick steps and swung her shovel.

It caught Risky on the shoulder.

The princess staggered to the side and spun around, fast but not fast enough. Jarrah reared back and stabbed the shovel blade with amazing accuracy. The blade hit Risky in her long, lovely neck.

The shovel bit deep.

Risky's eyes opened wide.

Jarrah drew back, determined to keep hitting until the princess was as dead as whoever had chiseled this wall ten thousand years ago.

This time Risky caught the shovel with the tip of her jackhammer hand and knocked it away.

But the damage was done. Risky's neck was sliced almost all the way through. Where blood should have gushed, a blue-black ooze, like molasses, bubbled out in sluggish spurts.

Risky's head toppled to one side. It lay on her shoulder, red hair tumbling down.

Risky's head was hanging by a thread. Her sharp hands melted to reform her own fingers. (Well, Mack assumed they were her own.)

And then, to Mack's utter horror, Risky, her head horizontal, smiled and said, “Ooooh, that pinched.”

With both hands, Risky took her own head, pushed it back upright, and settled it back in place.

“Huh,” Stefan said.

“Ruuuuun!” Mack screamed.

A REALLY, REALLY LONG TIME AGO…

G
rimluk wandered far and wide with his companions of the Magnifica.

Four had been killed in the great battle, so they were eight when they started out. But soon they were five. Two left for home, discouraged. Another, Bruise, was killed in a Skirrit ambush.

They buried Bruise with his wild-boar shoes and his skunk pelt.

They traveled through lands that had no name. Across seas that no one had ever crossed before. Through mountain passes clogged with snow, across waterless deserts (pretty much the only kind of desert), and along the banks of mighty rivers.

The Pale Queen might be safely imprisoned in the World Below. But her daughter was traveling the length and breadth of the world above.

Although they heard rumors of the princess here or there or somewhere else, they never caught up with her.

And with each day, Grimluk knew their powers were weaker. They were growing older and fewer in number. If they did find Ereskigal, she would be as likely to destroy them as the reverse.

Grimluk found it hard to keep going. For one thing, he and Miladew and the rest spent much of their time only looking for food. And they spent a certain amount of time fighting the evil creatures Ereskigal sent to destroy them, in addition to just random folks who didn't like strangers and thought it might be fun to stab them with spears.

But it was the death of Gelidberry and the nameless baby that weighed on Grimluk's soul.

He had been friends with Bruise, and so that death added another layer of grief.

He was sustained by his growing closeness to Miladew. She was as elegant as ever, even though she was now dressed in buttonless yak pelts and was somewhat reduced in toothiness.

From time to time they would stop and find a place to stay for a while to recover. Each of these places felt the effects of the ever-dwindling Magnifica. Eleven times they had created small camps while they tried to find a new clue to the whereabouts of the princess. Each time they left an imprint of the
enlightened puissance
behind, a mark that would be felt in the mind and soul, though perhaps not seen.

Once they chanced to return to an earlier camp and there found that others had turned the site into a sacred place.

In the end it was just Grimluk and Miladew. All the others had lost their powers, or left discouraged, or died. Just the two of them reached a far, far shore. Rumor told of a great island, the last place on the six-cornered plane of earth that they had not yet visited.

“We must find a boat,” Grimluk said, gazing out at
what looked very much like all the other oceans they had crossed.

“Yes,” Miladew said. “One final voyage.”

“Why final?” Grimluk asked her.

Miladew sighed. “Grimluk, we have traveled together for so long a time. We have done all that Drupe asked of us and more.”

“But we have not found the princess, so the Pale Queen cannot be killed.”

“Grimluk, do we not have a right to some measure of our own happiness?”

“Happiness?” Grimluk echoed sadly.

Miladew then did something she had never done before. She touched Grimluk's now-scarred and sunburned face with her now-calloused fingers.

Her touch moved him deeply, in strange ways. Feelings he had not allowed himself since the death of Gelidberry surged through his liver.

“Um…,” Grimluk said.

“Grimluk, the time has come for you and I to make a new life together. The past is the past. Your beloved Gelidberry is no more.”

It was a thought at once frightening and enticing.
Grimluk realized just how tired he was, how much he had aged during this interminable quest.

“Happiness is not my fate,” Grimluk said.

“Forget about fate,” Miladew snapped. “Don't you get it? I love you, Grimluk.”

Naturally this was news to Grimluk. He was a guy, after all, and not always very aware of the finer points of human interactions.

He made a grave decision then. He had told Drupe he would never give up. He had told her he would act as the sentinel, surrender all hope of a life and live in grim and terrible isolation for the rest of his days.

But the truth was, he kind of liked Miladew back.

“We will undertake this last journey, to this island of mystery,” Grimluk said. “And there we shall search for the princess. But…”

“Yes?”

“But if she's not there, then I kind of have to think we gave it our best shot, and future generations will just have to take care of themselves. After all, the Pale Queen is bound for three thousand years. Whatever that means.”

“It's a number even larger than eleven or twelve,”
Miladew said. “It is forever. Like my love for you.”

Grimluk gulped.

They took a ship with a band of local folk who claimed they traveled to the island on a regular basis to hunt for the delicious
koraroo
, their word meaning “bouncing meat.”

And thus, long, long ago, did Grimluk and Miladew depart for Australia, although in those days it wasn't called that.

T
hey ran—straight into the tunnel Risky had cut. They ran like some unholy demon was chasing them.

And she was.

Karri was in front, shining her flashlight. Jarrah was right behind, with Mack crowding behind her.

Stefan had snatched up the fallen shovel and was now trotting backward, turned to face the monstrous princess.

“Back off!” Stefan yelled. “I will totally hit a girl!”

The tunnel was surprisingly smooth, but it was tubular, so the sides curved up and that made running awkward. Just the same, Mack was giving it his best.

He glanced back to see Risky just twenty feet behind Stefan. She was still holding her head on, which slowed her down a bit, particularly when she banged into the low ceiling and knocked her head straight back.

It took her a few seconds to get the head settled again.

“Ruuuun!” Mack yelled. Not that anyone needed any encouragement.

Suddenly they were out of the tunnel and tumbling across sand and through low bushes under bright stars and pale, wispy moonlit clouds. Not that Mack cared about those details.

“The buggy!” Karri gasped.

It was where they'd left it, but that was still a hundred yards away. Mack felt sharp bushes tear at his legs, and felt sand filling his shoes, but he didn't care, because he was very strongly motivated to
run
and not really worry about scratches or shoe discomfort.

“Hey, look!” Stefan said brightly. “Kangaroos!”

Sure enough, a small herd of kangaroos—although people sometimes said a “mob” of kangaroos—was bouncing along parallel with them. It made Mack feel he was moving pretty slowly because the kangaroos were quicker. They bounded, flew, and practically levitated over the ground.

Karri reached the buggy and jumped in. The rest of them piled in after her, a tangle of arms and legs, all shrieking and gasping for breath.

At which point Karri fired up the engine. The rack of lights snapped on, and there in the glow they saw Risky.

She stood there, smiling. Her head seemed to be once again firmly in place. Good for her, but not good from Mack's point of view.

The buggy lurched into gear and went tearing straight for Risky.

She sidestepped it like a bullfighter. Mack heard her laugh delightedly as they shot past.

But then the buggy was tearing across the bush, bouncing and jouncing and vibrating, and all Mack could think was, Faster, faster, faster!

He looked back and saw Princess Ereskigal
standing, almost a lonely figure. Then she raised her arms high, and Mack could see, though not hear, that she was shouting something.

She probably wasn't shouting, “Bye, kids! Have fun!”

In fact, she definitely wasn't, because behind Risky a storm was growing. It was like a wall of sand, as if the desert itself had come to life and was now hurtling after the fleeing buggy.

Tornadoes spawned to right and left. A howling rose, so loud it obliterated the sound of the buggy.

The storm front, that crashing wave of sand, blew and snatched Risky up with it. She was riding the storm wall like a surfer.

“Dingoes!” Jarrah cried, and pointed.

A pack of what might be yellowish wolves was vectoring to cut them off, running with what could only be supernatural speed.

But they were not alone. From every side now came the living things of the Outback. Camels, wallabies, kangaroos—all flying along the ground so much faster than nature could make them move.

Karri drove through a shrieking madness of storm
and beast, the entire Outback transformed by Risky's spell into a hammer blow that would crush the buggy and all within it.

A dingo leaped, then flew! It hit Karri from the side, right through the open window.

The buggy lurched. Karri screamed. The dingo fell into the backseat, snarling and snapping on Mack's lap.

He had time only to punch it, helplessly, before the buggy tilted and tipped and went rolling over and over. Sand and rock everywhere. The seat backs and ceiling and headrests battered Mack like he'd been tossed into a mixer set on “knead.”

“Aaaahhh!” he cried.

Stefan was rolling loose inside the spinning car, knees and head and elbows punishing Mack.

Suddenly the buggy came to a stop upside down.

Mack heard crying, moaning. Stefan was stirring. The dingo squirmed. Mack tried to figure out where up was. In the front Karri was silent, still, resting upside down on the ceiling of the buggy. Her neck was at a terrible angle.

Jarrah cried, “Mum! Mum! Wake up!”

Mack pushed his way through the open window, fighting Stefan's weight. He crawled out onto the sand, still warm from the day's heat. His mouth was full of blood. His nose had been smashed earlier by the Tong Elf's club, but his arms and legs all seemed to still be working.

He rose on shaky legs to find himself standing inside a whirling maelstrom, like the calm eye of a hurricane.

The storm whipped around. The beasts waited, panting, staring wildly, doing the bidding of the evil girl who walked forward with an arrogant swagger.

“I'll bet you're ruing the day you ever listened to that old fraud Grimluk,” Risky said.

“Kind of,” Mack admitted.

Risky nodded. “Grimluk and his twelve were just a temporary impediment. This world belongs to my mother. And to me.” She grinned her fabulous this-is-what-orthodontia-can-do-for-you smile. Then she threw back her head and laughed. “Mine! All of it, mine!”

Mack couldn't think of much to say about that, but he'd had some experience in defying bullies. “You
know, there are medications that can help people like you.”

“There are no people like me,” Risky said.

“You're a thug, a punk,” Mack said. “A murdering creep with deep mental problems. Sorry, but there are lots of people like you. Unfortunately.”

“Ah, defiance. That's good: it makes it more fun. Grimluk was defiant, too. In fact…” She looked around, like she was trying to remember something. “Yes, it was very near this spot. No, no, wait: it was on the other side of Uluru. I remember now. Yes, that's where I killed Grimluk's little girlfriend, the next-to-last of the so-called Magnifica. I forget her name. I killed her, and I could see the way it broke Grimluk's spirit. I watched the hope die in him. Unfortunately he was able to escape. And now”—she sighed theatrically—“he's still making trouble, all these years later.”

“Looks like he was tougher than you thought,” Mack said. “Maybe you didn't quite break his spirit.”

Risky's smile turned steely. “It's a very bad idea to fight me. You do realize I've survived for ten thousand years, don't you? I know that to you I'm just the most beautiful girl you've ever seen, but—”

“No, you're not,” Mack blurted.

The smile disappeared. “You're a very bad liar, Mack. I see the truth. It's always been the truth: no male can resist me.”

She came closer. And somehow, despite the howling wind, he could hear her whisper.

“Young or old, it doesn't matter,” Risky said. “They all die the same way: screaming in pain. I hold the keys to the Thirteenth Pair, Mack: Life…and Death.”

She was so close now that Mack could smell her and yes, yes, the smell of her, the colors of her hair, the slow way she blinked and then revealed again her startling green eyes, it all reached inside of him.

Took him.

“And yet, and yet…even as their eyes fail, and their breathing stops and their minds invent visions of welcoming lights; even as death steals their souls; even then, even as the final terror seizes them and they experience the awful silence of their own hearts, they love me.”

Mack swallowed. He was frozen. Unable to move. Unable to look away.

“Have you ever been kissed, Mack?” she asked.
“No. I see that you have not. What a pity.”

She touched him then, her hand on his cheek, cradling his face. “To die so very young. To die without ever being kissed.”

And yes, he wanted her to kiss him. He wanted it more than he had ever wanted anything ever or could ever imagine wanting anything ever—and he was just twelve years old, so really kissing girls had not moved to the top of his agenda.

And yet…

Mack was vaguely aware of Karri Major stirring, waking. And of Jarrah and Stefan hauling her out of the far side of the buggy.

Risky drew him to her, unresisting. Her lips parted just slightly. She tilted her head. Her lips were so close.

A voice from a million miles away yelled, “Dude. No! Noooo!” Stefan's voice. Mack could barely hear.

From the corner of his eye Mack saw Jarrah rushing. She had something in her hand: a shovel. But she was moving in slow motion.

To his muted amazement she didn't rush toward Risky. Instead she launched herself at Stefan, hit him, carried him down to the ground.

He felt Risky's breath on his lips. He knew he would die.

Then, millimeters from her deadly kiss, Mack put his arms around her, held her close, and in a loud, clear voice cried, “
E-ma edras!
”

A small nuclear weapon went off.

Mack's body became light. And heat. Approximately 27,000,000 degrees Fahrenheit—the temperature of the sun's core.

Mack didn't feel it, didn't really even see it. It wasn't outside of him, it
was
him. The Vargran spell had turned him into a creature of blinding light and terrifying heat.

Risky's pale, soft skin and her lush red hair burst into flames.

The light lasted only a split second, but in that split second the desert was bright daylight.

Bushes caught fire.

The sand beneath Mack's feet melted to glass.

The animals nearest were incinerated. The rest turned and ran, blinded, panicked.

The gas tank of the buggy exploded.

But mostly, Risky burned. She staggered back, a living torch.

The storm ended in a shower of falling sand.

Risky screamed in pain but much more in rage.

She pointed a flaming, crisping hand at Mack. “You!” she screamed. “You!”

And then, Princess Ereskigal became a pillar of black, oily smoke. Her body was gone and in its place a thing of twisting, writhing smoke, and within that smoke a seething mass of shiny black insects.

Suddenly she was gone.

Gone.

“Yeah,” Mack said as the killing light died out, “I think I'll do Darkness and
Light
.”