by Jeff Rosen
“You are the threat!” Commander Pike’s little rhino eyes were practically bugging out of his head at Roon. “And the term ‘non-person’ is a grievous insult! As is the construction of your so-called ‘Freedom Wall.’”
“But, if …” the frog-faced man began haltingly, “Olpheist has returned, we cannot hope to defeat him ourselves. We need to summon the Watchers.”
“The Watchers.” Roon sneered. “A dangerous cult clinging to a dead religion. They were all destroyed long ago.”
“Not quite all.”
A tiny man with a long foxlike nose, gray whiskers, and firtipped ears in baggy gardener’s overalls, muddy gumboots, and a pointy straw hat seemed to have appeared out of thin air. He bent over a wooden staff and had the most astonishingly bright orange eyes, like little suns. The talking toad was so startled he toppled into the pond, then floated around on his back, pretending he did it on purpose.
“Master Pim,” Chancellor Abbetine started with a frown, “you are late.”
“Late is something you can only be when you have not arrived, and I am clearly here,” said the fox-man, hopping with surprising agility onto a floating rock. “I do apologize, however. I was hoping a special flower I have been growing would bloom tonight, what with the full moon.” He pointed his staff at the ceiling that disappeared to reveal the starry sky. “Alas, it failed to do so. Or I failed to observe it doing so, because you see, the phantom flower is, sadly, largely invisible.”
“We are all fascinated by your gardening hobby,” said Abbetine, without sounding a bit fascinated, “but right now it seems some of us feel the End of Days is near.”
“Olpheist!” said the talking toad.
“And nuts.” Pim nodded. “We must not forget the nuts.”
“Nuts?” repeated Abbetine.
“The squirrels’ nuts. Quite concerning.” Pim stared around as if everyone knew what he was talking about, which no one seemed to. “There is only one thing to do. We must consult the Oracle.”
Everyone slowly nodded in agreement, except, Caley noted, Roon, who suddenly looked uneasy.
Pim tossed a pebble from a pocket of his overalls into the pond. The water began to boil. Steaming water formed the shape of a woman with three eyes and a crown made of wriggling serpents. She was terrifying, but Caley forced herself to watch. The Oracle began swaying violently, then went still. She seemed to be in a trance, her eyes staring around wildly at nothing that could be seen. Then she spoke in a language Caley had never heard before, a hissing sound like sparks hitting ice. When she was finished, she dissolved again into the pond, and Pim translated.
“From the morning and the night,
Born the Shadow and the Light …
Born as one, as one must die,
As one must die or dead return …
Worlds turn or worlds burn.”
No one spoke for a moment.
“So … it’s kind of a good news/bad news prophesy?” asked the talking toad.
“But what is the meaning?” demanded Abbetine.
“The ‘Shadow’ refers to the Shadow Raiser—Olpheist,” Pim replied, “the ‘Light’ to the one known as the Last Watcher—the one destined to defeat him or help him destroy us all.”
“A bit vague,” Pike snorted. “Which is it?”
“Olpheist has escaped the Black Gate,” answered Pim. “That much is known. But he is weakened. Perhaps he seeks something that may return him to power.”
“And who is this so-called ‘Last Watcher’?” asked Abbetine.
Pim let out a slow breath. “That … is unclear.”
“Who is willing to risk our destruction on the word of a crazy old gardener who grows imaginary flowers?” Roon stared around the chamber with a challenging look. “I am at work on the ultimate weapon that will ensure our victory.”
“Only a Watcher could have opened the Black Gate and freed Olpheist,” Pim said evenly. “And only powerful magic can defeat him once and for all.”
“There is no magic in this world,” Roon spat, his gloved hand slowly curling into a fist, “only the will to crush one’s enemies.”
“Then we are truly doomed,” Pim said quietly.
The chamber erupted in argument again.
“Who are you?”
Caley could hear Pim’s voice in her head, but he wasn’t speaking. He turned toward her. She couldn’t seem to look away, and she met the penetrating gaze of his orange eyes for a split second before she managed to wrench herself from the knothole, amazed to find herself back in her bedroom, as if she’d never left.
She collapsed into bed, too tired and too scared to even think about what had just happened, and this time she slept without a single dream until dawn.
CHAPTER FIVE
Know Your Baest
Caley was woken by the sound of someone in her room. She sat up, half-expecting to see a talking rat, or a mole with Winston Churchill’s face, but instead she found a maid carrying in a tea tray. Caley rubbed her eyes in the bright sunlight streaming through the opening eyelid window. The air from the gardens smelled of oranges and warm biscuits. The carved flowers on the walls opened, and the wooden finches in the branches of the ceiling rafters began to sing, like little alarm clocks. On the tapestry, animals—deer, rabbits, partridges—appeared from the woven forest and drank from the pond.
“Good morning, Your Highness.”
Caley looked around before realizing the maid was talking to her.
“Can you call me Caley? I never know who people are talking to when they say ‘Your Highness.’”
“Yes, Your … uh … Caley,” stammered the maid.
“Who are you?”
“Neive Olander, ma’am.”
Neive set the tea tray down and curtsied. She had a pretty, heart-shaped face, a dimpled chin, strikingly large chestnut-colored oval eyes, and spiky hair in the most amazing shade of gray, even though she seemed about Caley’s age.
“Would you like to take a bath?” asked Neive.
Caley shook her head to try and snap herself out of it. “Sorry, I’m stressed out. I’ve been running some scenarios. I’m either in a coma, or I could be dead.”
“You’re not dead,” Neive said solemnly. “I knew you were coming. The squirrels told me.”
“Riiiiiiiight …” Caley nodded slowly. Transient ischemic attack? Paranoid schizophrenia with a side of psychosis? She began naming maladies to herself from the Gunch’s medical dramas. Metanoia? Neurasthenia?
So many diseases, so little time.
Neive drew a bath. The water looked real enough, so Caley decided to just roll with it. She was used to taking cold, quick showers, and the water was so warm she almost couldn’t bear to end it. Eventually, her skin started to prune, so she climbed out and wrapped herself in a towel.
“Would you like me to comb your hair?” asked Neive.
“Not unless you have a rake.” Caley frowned.
“I wish I had curls,” said Neive. “Mine just sticks straight up. I have to use barrettes to keep it down, or it looks like I’ve been electrocuted.”
Neive fetched a small wooden box with the “Cross” crest on it and held it open to Caley. Inside was a row of what looked like rose blossoms floating in water.
Caley regarded them, clueless.
“You’ll want the school uniform.” Neive pointed at a green-and-white blossom.
Caley kept staring. What was she supposed to do with it?
“Hold it out in front of you and blow,” Neive instructed.
When Caley’s breath hit the blossom, it dissolved into sparkles and the sparkles spread over her, instantly forming a school uniform: a green skirt and blazer with a crest for “Erinath Academy” on the front pocket, a crisp white shirt, and green tights. It was fibrous and slightly fuzzy, like cotton mixed with leaves and bark. It was also a bit big but quickly shrunk to fit her perfectly, like an octopus on a rock.
“This … is … crazy.” Caley grinned.
“It’s a
clothes-rose. Don’t they have them where you’re from?” Neive held up Caley’s roadkill costume with a look of mild horror. “Can I throw this out? I don’t think you want to wear animals around here.”
“No one should wear that anywhere,” said Caley.
Neive dumped the getup in the mouth of what looked like a giant toad made of tin. The mouth closed, and there was a kind of grinding, gulping sound, like a garbage truck makes when you feed it a bin.
“Trash toad,” Neive explained, seeing Caley’s surprised expression.
There was a sharp rap on the door, and almost before they could turn, Duchess Odeli stood there in her black bird outfit, like a storm cloud had dropped from the ceiling. She bowed quickly to Caley.
“Good morning, Your Highness. If you would accompany me …”
The duchess set off out of Caley’s room in that soundless, float-fluttery way she had. Caley bolted after her. She didn’t want to get left behind in those hazardous hallways.
“Bye, Neive,” Caley called, waving.
“Bye, Caley.”
The duchess’s head swiveled around, regarding Neive with a mortified look.
“I mean … Your Highness!” Neive curtsied, red-faced.
“Your class schedule.” The duchess handed Caley a sheet of paper with the Erinath Academy crest above it. “Breakfast at seven forty-five. Classes begin promptly at eight thirty and conclude at three fifteen, at which time you have a period of unscheduled personal recreation. I suggest you use it to engage in miscellaneous social interactions with your subjects. Dinner is at six thirty, followed by homework and lights out at nine forty-five. The weekend schedule will be posted outside the dining hall on Fridays. Don’t be late for anything. And don’t be early. Especially for Professor Wormington’s class.”
Caley saw that Professor Wormington’s class (Wednesdays at 2:15) was Black Holes and How to Avoid Them.
She followed the duchess though an arched doorway into a dining hall. Long, polished wooden tables that looked like they’d grown from the floor were lined elbow-to-elbow with students in school uniforms, all talking excitedly. Everyone stood and bowed when Caley walked in, staring at her and whispering. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do, so she bowed back to a flamingo-faced student who kept bowing back to her, not wanting Caley to be the last to bow. They both stood there, bowing back and forth to each other like a pair of dunking birds until the duchess told everyone to sit, took Caley firmly by the arm, and led her to a table at the front of the hall. There were about a dozen or so girls around Caley’s age in school uniforms and tiaras. The duchess gestured to a throne-like chair at the head of the table and float-fluttered off again.
Caley stared, slack-jawed. She had never seen so much food in her whole life. She had also never seen so much cutlery. She had three forks, at least as many spoons, and a row of knives. She wondered if other people were supposed to eat there after she did. She was trying to choose a fork when the girl nearest her fixed her with a warmthless smile and held out a hand to shake.
“Princess Ithica Blight.”
Caley shook the girl’s hand. It was like a dead fish.
“Hi. I’m Caley.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Ithica replied blandly, as if practicing lines for a boring play. She had a turned-up nose, sunless skin, iceberg-blue eyes, laser-straight blond hair, and a mouthful of gold braces that appeared to be on too tight because her face looked like she was permanently about to puke. She gestured lazily around at the tiara-topped girls who were all regarding Caley with unfocused faces, like a lot of girls Caley knew on Earth who were pretty but dull and knew they were supposed to be interested in things but couldn’t quite figure out why.
“May I present Princess Fawna Fardsarrage, Princess Allison Von Vunderling, Princess Wilhelmina Poting-Sackson, Princess Addleton Semadult, and, of course, the Pingintee cousins, Pansy and Petunia of the Penninghast-Pingintees.”
Ithica said all this without pausing for anyone to say anything, like she was used to talking a lot and no one interrupting. Caley couldn’t remember a single silly name, so she just waved at everyone and said, “What’s up?”
“We’re all so frightfully pleased you could join us,” said Princess Addled Semi-Adult (something like that?).
Nobody looked pleased, Caley thought. She realized with a shock that along with tiaras and braces, they all had sideswept bangs. It seemed all the popular kids had them (even in Rainbow Land or wherever).
“They’re going to bring your throne.” Ithica gestured sulkily to the throne Caley sat on, covered in gilded gold, so bright it nearly blinded her.
“That’s Princess Ithica’s,” said one of the Pig-in-a-Trees (was that their name?).
“She used to be the highest-ranking royal. Before you,” added the other Pig-in-a-Tree.
The two girls were pink-skinned and looked a bit like boars, with pushed-in noses and round little eyes that darted around hungrily, as if they were missing out on something. Ithica shot them a look, and they went back to staring at Caley’s plate. Caley glanced around the hall and realized no one was eating and they were all watching her. Someone placed her napkin on her lap. It was Neive.
“Start eating. Second fork on your left,” Neive whispered, and she hurried off again.
Caley hadn’t had such a delicious breakfast in a long time (forever, to be exact), and she wolfed down the food—even faster than a wolf-faced boy at the next table. The tiara-topped girls stared at her with alarm, but she didn’t care.
“I heard earthlings eat animals,” said Ithica. “Is it true?”
“I ate toast and birdseed mostly.”
“We don’t eat them,” said Ithica. “On account of the boggers.”
“Boggers?”
“You know … non-persons. I’m sure you’ve noticed them, with their beastly features.” Her eyes slid to the wolf-boy, and she lowered her voice. “It’s disgusting the way some people let animals take them over. Do you have boggers?”
“We do have animals. Not as many as we used to. Other than pets and the ones we eat …”
Ithica and her friends exchanged impressed looks.
“How droll,” said Ithica.
“Droll means you don’t drool a lot,” Pansy Pingintee informed Caley.
“Which you shouldn’t do,” Petunia Pingintee added glumly, wiping drool from her big pink chin.
“Don’t mind Lumpy and Dumpy,” Ithica said, scowling at the Pingintees, “they’re ignoramuses.”
“Meaning ingenious,” explained Pansy.
“Inbred,” corrected Petunia.
“Tell me absolutely everything there is to know about you,” Ithica told Caley, and then she began talking again before Caley could get a word out. “I can help you get accepted around here in no time. I know everyone and any thing worth knowing. Hairdressers, for example.” She pointed at Caley’s hair. “I imagine you want to get … that … dealt with as soon as possible.”
Caley started to help herself to more food when Neive appeared again and grabbed her plate.
“I better.”
“Better what?” said Ithica.
“Better get the food,” answered Neive.
“Better get the food, Princess Caley.” Ithica poked Neive with her fork. “Or did you forget your manners?”
“It’s OK,” Caley told Ithica, “no one needs to call me that.”
“Oh, but they do. Servants need to know their proper place, or we’re no better than boggers.” Ithica poked Neive again. “Isn’t that right, you?”
The Pingintees made a mean snigger-snorting sound.
“Neive. Her name’s Neive.” Caley really didn’t like Ithica Blight.
Ithica fixed her with a nasty look that Caley decided suited her better.
“You’re probably not used to all this, owing to your upbringing, but you’ll find it’s best here to keep everyone where they belong. It’s no good upsetting the natural order.”
“No good,” echoed the h
ulking Pingintees, staring down at Caley menacingly.
“I’m full,” announced Caley (two more words she had never used together in a sentence).
She got up and left the dining hall. This new life was beginning to feel awfully similar to her old life (at least so far as mean girls and assorted adults who thought she was a demon were concerned).
CALEY’S schedule said her first class was supposed to take place in room 11B in the academy courtyard, but she couldn’t find the courtyard, let alone the academy, only endless root-riddled hallways that seemed to lead to even more hallways. A boy about her age hurried past in a school uniform hauling a bulging backpack and munching on an apple.
“Are you lost?” he asked, turning to her. “Everyone always gets lost. The castle moves.”
As if on cue, the hallway gave a shudder, like it had the hiccups. A cherub fell from the ceiling and landed heavily beside them, rubbing its wooden backside, which had completely split in two.
“It’s going to kill someone one day, you mark my words.” The boy shook his head. “It’s all made of wood, you know. Imagine a giant tree house bouncing around like a mad monkey. Total carnage. I’m Kipley Gorsebrooke. Everyone calls me Kip.”
“I’m Caley.”
“Caley Cross? No way!” Kip kept shaking her hand and stared at her like he had just spotted a unicorn. “Scarcely So!”
“Pardon?”
Kip took his hand back. “It’s an anagram. The letters of your name rearranged. I’m a wiz at puzzles and riddles and things.”
“Scarcely So,” repeated Caley. It made sense. She usually felt scarcely anything (other than starving and slave-driven).
“Everyone’s talking about you,” Kip continued excitedly. “First earthling in Erinath. Follow me. I never get lost.”
The two set off together, with Kip sniffing the air now and then as they went. He had thick yellow hair that stuck out at every angle, a long nose, and large hands and feet, as if they’d grown faster than the rest of him. His school uniform was completely rumpled, like he’d gotten dressed in a washer/dryer. He reminded Caley of a big wrinkly puppy. He tossed his apple core in a trash toad, then pulled a muffin from his backpack, which Caley saw was crammed with food.
