The Magical Flight of Dodie Rue (2 page)

“And a bully!” added Binni.

“He's never given me any grief,” shrugged Taj.

“That's because he knows you could beat him up,
and
beat him in the Grand Flyer,” argued Dodie.

They watched Atallah pick up speed down the alley, then suddenly turn sideways and skim the white-washed walls. At the end of the alley he swooped up, riding for a moment upside down, then turned over and zoomed toward them. He suddenly stopped inches from Dodie's head.

Dodie refused to duck, and tried his hardest not to even blink.

Taj touched knuckles with Atallah and said, “Nice threading!”

“Thanks.” Atallah grinned. “I haven't tried threading standing up though.”

“You've got plenty of time to practice before the race.” Taj hopped on his carpet and took off again.

“So you really can't fly, huh?” Atallah turned to Dodie.

“I can fly,” said Dodie. “I just don't like to.”

“No, you can't,” argued Atallah. “You're
afraid
. You're an embarrassment to the whole village.” He leaned in closer. “You're just a poor rat catcher who doesn't have the guts to fly.”

Dodie felt his face heat. His heart hammered, and his chest tightened.

“Come on, go for it,” taunted Atallah. “Prove us all wrong.”

Dodie tried to swallow, but his throat felt as dry as sand.

“Give us a minute.” Binni pulled Dodie aside and said in a low voice, “I have a new potion if you wanna try it right now.”

Dodie groaned. “I don't know, Bin.”

“If it works Atallah will eat your dust!”

“And if it doesn't?” Dodie looked worried.

Binni shrugged. “That's the chance you take.” He opened his palm to reveal a tiny bottle of maroon liquid.

“Hey! Now or never, Rat Scat!” called Atallah, shifting his weight impatiently.

“Fine.” Dodie took the tiny bottle, unstopped the cork, and drained the maroon liquid. It tasted extremely sour, as if Binni had squeezed a whole lemon into the potion. He returned to where Atallah waited with his carpet. “Ready!”

Atallah grinned wickedly, held a hand over his rolled up rug, and said, “
Sky Cleaver
.” His carpet opened, and hovered a foot off the ground.

Dodie gingerly placed one knee on the carpet. The carpet stretched tautly and held still. Dodie brought his other knee up and crouched down in a prostrate position. He gripped the two front braided loops, special handles found only on racer rugs. His chest tightened and burned until he realized he had forgotten to breathe. He inhaled deeply.

Dodie stared down the alley behind his house. Lines of colorful laundry stretched across the alley above him. The breeze ruffled his dark hair. Somewhere nearby a donkey brayed. He felt sweat trickle down his cheek even though it was not a hot day. He noticed the crowd had suddenly hushed. Taj had disappeared around the corner.

“Not too late to back out,” said Atallah behind him.

Dodie gripped the loops tighter, and tossed a prayer heavenward.

The thought to go was barely in his mind when the magic carpet responded and took off. He shot above the clotheslines and rooftops, then leveled out and zipped around a tower with an onion-shaped top. The carpet grazed a red-tile roof. Dodie looked down and his eyes crossed. He looked ahead at the village skyline and his chest tightened painfully. Below him he heard the crowd cheering, but he couldn't go on. Clearly Binni's potion was not working.

He barely had enough of his senses to coax the carpet down with his thoughts, and he did so too abruptly. The carpet dropped like a stone. His stomach leaped into his throat, then plummeted down again. It felt like his insides were churning, then—

He threw his head over the side and puked, showering the crowd with vomit. Everyone screamed and scattered.

Just land, just land!
Dodie pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut.

Finally, it all stopped. His eyelids fluttered open, and he saw the ground a foot below him.

Binni rushed over and grabbed him by the arms, trying to help him up. Dodie shook him off. Atallah laughed. Dodie stumbled to his feet and hastily wiped his chin on the back of his hand. He didn't look Atallah in the eye.

“Don't know what to tell you, Rat Scat,” started Atallah as he knelt on his carpet. “Embarrassing—”

“Dodie!” Taj called as he slid to a stop beside them. “What was that all about?”

“Nothing,” muttered Dodie.

Atallah shot off, and the crowd dispersed.

“Atallah dared Dodie to prove everyone wrong,” Binni piped up.

“Prove everyone wrong about what?” Taj looked confused.

“That the village is embarrassed about Dodie,” continued Binni, “because he can't fly.”

“What?!” Taj jumped off
Sand Surfer
. “That's not true. How would Atallah know how the whole village feels? You're right—he
is
a creep! Ignore him. Remember what the Seer told you? Someday you'll grow out of your fear of flying.”

“That's right!” Binni brightened. “And when that day comes you'll be laughing in Atallah's face.”

“In the meantime, want me to beat him up or something?” Taj gave a lopsided grin.

Dodie gave a small smile. “Nah, just make sure you beat him in the Grand Flyer.”

Taj threw an arm around his little brother's neck. “No worries there. You saw him, he can't even thread properly!”

Dodie chuckled as they headed back home.

“Hey, and next time you try out flying,” said Binni, “do it far away from people. No one wants to get puked on.” He waved and crossed the road toward his house.

When Taj and Dodie entered the emporium, they found their father deep in conversation with a tall man in long emerald robes. Gamal Rue looked up at his sons.

“Ah, Taj, over here,” he waved the boys over to the counter where he and the tall man stood.

“This is your racer, eh?” the man turned to them.

Dodie knew exactly who this stiff man was and his heart sank. Lord Hadi, Atallah's father, had the same rare icy blue eyes as his son, and held his head up in the same haughty manner. He was dressed in rich emerald robes trimmed with gold thread. His face was narrow and clean shaven with a prominent nose that would have been a feature to make fun of if it was on anyone lesser. But on Hadi it looked regal, and gave him an excuse to look down it at others. He did so at Dodie and Taj.

“My son is excited to race against you, Taj,” Hadi said in a smooth voice. “He admires you greatly.” He ignored Dodie as he turned back to Gamal. “This will be a good fair bet. Shall we?”

“What bet?” Dodie asked. “What are you talking about?” He looked from his father to Lord Hadi.

“Stay out of this,” Gamal said quietly.

“I have the contract all written up.” Hadi slapped a sheet of parchment on the counter and whipped out a quill. He scrawled his signature at the bottom of a block of text on the parchment. The signature glowed gold for a moment, then dried into black. He passed the quill to Gamal.

Taj put out a hand to stop his father. “Wait, what are you signing? What is this?”

“Later.” Gamal hastily signed his name.

Hadi smiled in satisfaction, rolled up the parchment, and tucked it and the quill into an inner pocket of his robe. He fished out a stone amulet carved into a pair of wings and held it out across the counter. He gripped one wing in his fingers while Gamal gripped the opposite wing.

“I solemnly swear to uphold my end of the bargain,” whispered Hadi.

“I swear it, too,” answered Gamal.

The amulet glowed blue and snapped apart, leaving both men with a wing. Hadi looked very pleased, while Gamal looked anxious.

“Nice doing business with you, Rue, as always.” Hadi swept out of the shop with a swish of his long robes.

“Dad! What deal did you make with him?” Dodie asked.

“Does it have to do with the Grand Flyer?” questioned Taj.

Gamal ran a hand over his haggard face and through his long gray beard. “I made a wager.”

“What did you wager?” Dodie felt his pulse quickening. “We don't have anything!”

“‘S why I made the wager.” Gamal tucked the wing amulet into his inner pocket and started closing up shop. He wouldn't look at his sons. “Taj wins the Flyer, Hadi forgives our debt to him. Atallah wins the Flyer—”

“He won't!” Taj growled. “I won't let him.”

Gamal managed a small smile. “‘S why I made the wager.”

“But if Atallah does win,” interrupted Dodie. “What happens?”

“Hadi owns the emporium,” finished Gamal quietly.

“Oh, Dad,” moaned Dodie. “We can't lose the shop.”

“I won't lose the race,” Taj said with steely resolution in his voice.

“What if someone else wins the race?” wondered Dodie.

“Nothing changes,” replied Gamal. “We keep paying off our debt to Hadi.”

“I'll win,” repeated Taj. “Then we won't have our debt, but we'll have the prize money, and I'll have my genie wish, and life will be good!” His optimistic spirit was back, and it lightened the mood.

“Here.” Gamal dropped five sheks into Taj's hand. “For the Seer.”

“Dad, no.” Taj tried to give the coins back. “We can't afford her.”

“You gots to get a word from her to get sponsors.”

Dodie agreed. “You've gotta have all the help you can get. You gotta beat Atallah.”

“Oh I will.” Taj pocketed the coins.

Chapter 2

After a usual supper of herb soup that night, the Rues went up to the roof. Lately Taj spent the evenings poring over the race course map and inspecting
Sand Surfer
for loose threads. Gamal left to lock up the village gates, one of the many side jobs he had taken on to pay for Taj's registration in the Grand Flyer. Dodie and his grandfather Nadar stargazed.

Nadar Rue was the racing legend of the county, but now he was a cripple confined to a one-passenger rug. Though Nadar's muscles had deteriorated and old age had set in his bones, he still had the look of a racer. He was long and lean, and he kept his white hair cut short and his face clean-shaven. He never complained about his disability, but there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. He spent his days keeping house and making meals, jobs he had taken on ever since Dodie's mother had died. His carpet, burnt orange and henna colored, bent itself into a chair shape so Nadar could recline comfortably. At night the carpet straightened for him to sleep on.

“Would you like a story tonight?” croaked Nadar, gazing up at the stars.

Dodie nodded. “The one about your last race.”

“Again, eh?” Nadar smiled, his face creasing into a thousand and one wrinkles. “Well, you know the Grand Flyer occurs only every five years, and the Grand Renegade is usually the same year after the Grand Flyer. I raced in three Flyers and two Renegades. The third Flyer was my last race. Your grandmother tried to convince me not to race that last one, but I really wanted the prize.”

“One wish granted from a genie,” recalled Dodie, “and the treasure.”

“That's right. The race was typical. There was the usual trek across the dunes, a nice route by the seaside, the occasional band of thieves or run in with a ghoul. But on the last day, a sand storm kicked up. Now, I had flown through my share of sand storms before, but this one was like nothing I'd seen. It was more like a sand hurricane. I thought I could get ahead of it in time to finish the race, but it overtook me.”

“But you still won the race,” said Dodie.

Nadar nodded. “At great cost. I made it across the finish line and tried to stop, but the wind was too strong. The wind slammed
Phoenix
against the Capital wall. I was riding on my knees, so my knee caps shattered. I fell off
Phoenix
and landed unconscious. When I awoke, the storm had passed and the race officials had finally found me.
Phoenix
had covered me to protect me from the storm. If it wasn't for her, I might have died.”

“But carpets don't have a mind of their own,” countered Dodie. “Or their own will.”

“Ah, but when a carpet and its rider have been together for as long as we were, a special magic forms between them.”

“Grandpapa? Do you regret not using your wish to heal your knees? You could have kept on racing.”

Nadar gazed up at the black sky glittering with stars. “I chose to make a much more important wish. Someday I'll tell you about it.”

This year's Grand Flyer was scheduled for the first week of spring, so as the last few days of winter waned, the village of Turah was swept up in the preparation and anticipation for the race. Racers campaigned for sponsors, which involved plastering the adobe walls with posters listing their strengths and racing experience, both of which were highly exaggerated (
Racing is in my blood—a blood sample is available upon request)
. Gamblers cast their bets, which were officially recorded on a long scroll and locked in Magistrate Oxard's vault. While anyone was allowed to sponsor and bet on any racer from the five competing villages, it was considered near treason to do so for a racer not from one's home village. (One man was refused service at the Wishing Well because he backed
a racer from the next village over.) The race was all everyone talked about, and streets and alleys became hazardous to traverse because the racers were practicing nonstop—or at least were trying to intimidate each other with their threading.

Rue's Rug Emporium was not exempt from it all. Daily the store was bombarded with people purchasing new carpets for the journey to the Capital where the Grand Flyer would finish. Long runner rugs, called Caravaners, were the most popular sale since they carried up to eighteen passengers. Dodie had been spending every day helping in the shop, and every evening helping Taj practice takeoff speed.

Besides the emporium, the Seer was the next most sought after service in the village. Racers, sponsors, and interested parties lined up outside her tent, hoping to hear words of good fortune or prophecies about the Grand Flyer. As a contestant, Taj was expected to visit the Seer, as any word spoken over him would affect his sponsorship. He invited Dodie to go along with him, hoping that perhaps the Seer would have a good word for Dodie in regards to his fear of flying. The two brothers arrived just before closing time. They thought they were the last visitors of the day until Atallah and the village alchemist Raz showed up. They all stood under a tall palm tree shading the Seer's tent.

“Taj, Dodie,” Raz greeted with a head nod to each. To Taj he said, “Good luck in the Flyer. Your grandfather must be very proud.”

“Thank you, sir. He is,” said Taj. “How's the threading, Atallah?”

Atallah grinned at him. “Better. I've been practicing a ton.”

Whack!
A palm frond whipped through the air and smacked Atallah in the back of the head.

“Crazy tree!” Atallah rubbed his scalp. “You need to do something about it.” He scowled at Raz.

A few of the palm trees in town had become victims of Raz's alchemy experiments, and had taken on personalities that ranged from playful to vindictive. Dodie had gotten on the good side of a palm growing by the Wishing Well, and could always count on getting a shower of dates from it. For whatever reason, this palm by the tent had a grudge against Atallah and kept taking swings at him. Atallah dodged away from it, and took a seat on a rough wooden bench outside the tent entrance.

“Listen, Taj,” Raz said. “I'll be sponsoring you, no matter what the Seer tells you.”

“Thank you, sir!” Taj grinned.

“Of course. You're like family to Binni and me.”

A head poked out from the tent. “The Seer awaits,” a small withered man whispered to them.

Taj and Dodie ducked through the low doorway and into the tent. The boys stepped over baskets of fresh herbs that made them sneeze, and dodged hanging jars of exotic beetles, lizards, and scorpions. They swept aside layers of sheer fabric until they found the Seer sitting cross-legged on a round pillow. She was shrouded from head to foot in black fabric with a thin, black veil covering her face. Dodie could never tell if she was awake, or asleep, or even if she was looking at him. A large gold pendant engraved with a sun hung around her neck. She was fanning herself, for the tent was very warm and stuffy. The air was thick with incense that made Dodie sleepy. He and Taj sat before her and waited.

The Seer stopped fanning herself and raised a hand over them. She put her head down and rocked gently back and forth. Suddenly she cried out with a loud voice, causing both boys to jump.

“
You will triumph over
both soul and body and have a change of heart.

At journey's end you will be victorious and find more than you seek.”

The Seer stopped rocking and resumed fanning herself. Taj and Dodie waited a few seconds, unsure if she was finished. When she pointed to her money box, they paid her and scrambled to their feet. They stumbled over baskets and ducked under jars and out the tent. They nodded farewell to Raz. Atallah, who was glaring at the palm tree that was still trying to whack him, ignored them as they hurried home.

“So what do you think that prophecy meant?” asked Dodie, hurrying to keep up with Taj's long strides.

“It's gotta be a good prophecy, right? It mentioned I would triumph and be victorious.” Taj bounded along with a spring in his step. “Whatever it means it'll get me sponsors.”

“Do you think it means you're guaranteed to win?”

Taj stopped in the alley, his tall figure casting a long shadow as the sun set behind them. “I'm thinking it does,” he said in an excited whisper. “The Seer's never wrong, is she?”

Dodie's face clouded. “My prophecy hasn't come true yet.”

“It will, trust me. You'll fly someday. And don't let anyone get to you—especially Atallah, you hear me? One day you'll make them all eat their words. Plus there's so much more to you.” Taj threw an arm around his brother's neck. “I was hoping she'd say some good luck to you.” He stopped and turned back toward the Seer's tent.

“Where are you going?” asked Dodie, running to keep up with him.

“Getting you some good luck.” Taj stopped outside the tent at a clay pot hanging from the awning.

Painted on the clay pot was
Good Luck Charms 1 shek
.

Taj picked out a small amulet made from clay. It was a burnt red color and had a flame carved on its face.

“Don't spend your last shek on that,” said Dodie. “It's just a trinket. It won't bring me luck.”

“You don't know that.” Taj dropped the shek into the clay pot and handed the charm to Dodie. “Carry it with you for a while and see if your luck changes.”

They started for home again.

“Hey, do me a favor and don't tell anyone about my prophecy yet, okay?” said Taj.

Two days before the Grand Flyer the Rues completely sold out of carpets. Dodie excitedly watched his father tally up the sales, and he caught a small smile behind Gamal's beard.

“Is it enough, Dad?” he asked, leaning his elbows on the counter and eyeing the columns of gold coins.

“Hmm?”

“Is it enough to pay off Hadi?”

Gamal looked up at his son, and Dodie's excitement fizzled. His father was looking at him, but his eyes were glassy, which meant his thoughts were far off calculating their plight. Gamal was rarely present. His mind was always elsewhere, usually in the grips of his stress.

“Nah, not enough.” Gamal's bushy brows knitted together. “Gots to keep some money to buy more rugs to sell, see?” He scratched a number into his ledger. “‘S never enough.”

Dodie watched his father, and suddenly realized how old he looked. He had to turn away before he got sad.