Bad News

by Pseudonymous Bosch

“A nursery rhyme?” guessed Kwan.

  “No! It’s from the Occulta Draco,” Clay said. “Don’t you see? The sled is the ‘shield I made.’”

  He tapped his helmet. “The helmet my brother gave me is a ‘helmet from home’!”

  He waved DragonSlayer. “And this right here is my ‘enemy’s sword.’”

  Brett looked impressed. “It’s not exactly how I would dress you. But, you know, I think you’re onto something.”

  Pablo reached over and grabbed the hilt of the sword, adjusting Clay’s grip. “You hold it like this.”

  “How do you know?” Clay asked skeptically. “You took fencing?”

  Pablo shrugged. “Table tennis.”

  Leira looked Clay up and down. “You’re really doing this?”

  Clay nodded.

  “Do you need a snack to take?” Brett asked. He flashed a candy bar from his secret stash.

  Clay laughed, accepting the candy bar. “Thanks, I guess I could get hungry,” he said as a sobering thought hit him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

  Mr. B walked up, taking in Clay’s outfit. “That’s very true. I don’t mean to scare you, but you could take off and be gone for five minutes or five years. Time is different on the Other Side, if it exists at all.”

  Jonah glanced around. “So for all we know, he came back yesterday and he’s hiding behind a rock, watching us right now?”

  Mr. B nodded.

  “Whoa,” Pablo said, shaking his head. “Trippy.”

  “Trippy,” Mr. B agreed.

  “Well then, I’d better get going, I guess,” said Clay, whose nerves were beginning to fray. “There’s that whole time-travel thing where you’re not supposed to run into yourself, right?” he joked halfheartedly.

  Clay climbed onto Ariella’s back—no easy task with his sword and shield—and awkwardly saluted his friends. “Wish me luck.”

  His friends saluted back. “Good luck!”

  “Wait,” said Kwan. “What if everything is all reversed on the Other Side? You know, parallel universe–style. Shouldn’t we wish him bad luck, too—just in case?”

  But it was too late. Ariella lifted off the ground, sending the group scattering with a great flapping of wings. The campers held their hands to their eyes, squinting as Clay and Ariella flew higher and higher, until they were nothing more than a dark speck in the clear blue sky.

  After a moment, breakfast was announced, and all the campers started walking toward Big Yurt. A mood of quiet anxiety pervaded the group; so much seemed to rest on Clay’s trip to the Other Side, and yet the nature of his destination was totally mysterious.

  Suddenly, Jonah stopped and pointed. “Hey. What’s that?”

  As one, his friends turned their heads to look in the direction opposite from the way Ariella had flown. There was another spot in the sky, but this one was getting bigger and bigger.

  “What the…?” Leira said as the spot got closer. It was starting to look like… Could it be…?

  “Ariella?” Brett said, incredulous. “Already?” It had been less than three minutes since they’d left.

  The dark spot was indeed Ariella, returning to the island at breakneck speed. The dragon coasted over the volcano and came to a rest on the shore of the lake. Leira and everyone else sprinted past the yurts to where Ariella had landed.

  As they got closer they could see Clay, but something wasn’t right. He was lying facedown across Ariella’s back, completely still. He was still wearing the helmet, but the sled-turned-shield was cracked in half, and the sword was gone.

  Leira and Brett ran across the beach as the dragon hunched its back and Clay slid to the ground.

  “Clay?” Leira asked, lifting her friend’s head from the sand. “Clay?”

  Clay’s face was pale and sweaty. He opened his eyes, but his pupils were dilated and he was breathing unevenly.

  “I’ve got to go back…” Clay muttered deliriously. “Back there… not here…”

  Jogging up to them, Cass slapped a hand over her mouth. He sounded just like a certain deranged cowboy back at the Keep.

  “Back… back…” Clay repeated, and then his eyes shut.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  THE TRIP TO THE OTHER SIDE

  Three minutes earlier

  Ariella rocketed through the layer of vog that surrounded the island. In seconds, they were sailing through a cloudless sky, above a sparkling ocean. The wind tugged on Clay’s garbage-pail shield as if it were a kite, and Clay felt like he might fly off the dragon’s back at any second. And yet he couldn’t resist letting go for a moment and raising his hands in the air, sword flashing in the sunlight. For one exhilarating moment, he forgot about everything—the people who were pinning their hopes on him, the dragons he was supposed to bring back with him, all the dangers he would soon confront—and he was lost again in the thrill of flight.

  This was the feeling he remembered.

  “So how long does it take to get there?” he asked, finally lowering his arms.

  To what you humans call the Other Side?

  “Yeah.… Wait. If you don’t call it the Other Side, what do you call it?” Clay asked.

  Home.

  “Oh, wow, like that’s where you grew up?”

  Not that kind of home.

  “What kind, then?”

  Another kind.

  “Well, how do we get there?”

  We’re there now.

  “We are?”

  Look around.

  Clay looked around. They were still flying over the ocean. The sun was high in the sky.

  “It looks the same.”

  That’s because your mind hasn’t opened yet. You are seeing only what you expect to see. Try again.

  Clay closed his eyes, then opened them.

  “Still the same.”

  Not your eyes, your mind.

  “How do I open my mind?”

  Ariella was silent a moment, perhaps thinking about how to translate dragon knowledge into human terms.

  Jump.

  “What?”

  Jump. Don’t worry. I’ll catch you. You won’t need me to, but I will.*

  Clay jumped.

  Well, first, he stood on Ariella’s back—helmet still on his head, sword still in his hand, shield still over his shoulder—with his arms outstretched.

  And then he jumped.

  Or dove, really. Somewhere in his mind was an image of a skydiver diving headfirst through the air with his arms spread-eagled, and Clay unconsciously copied it.

  Of course, a skydiver has a parachute. All he had was the word of a dragon. He was terrified.

  He was in free fall. Or he should have been. He’d never been in free fall before, but he assumed it would feel faster, colder, windier.

  Instead, he seemed to be falling in slow motion. And then he didn’t seem to be falling at all but rather floating through space. No, not space. Light. It seemed like he was traveling through light—pure and bright, but also somehow soft and gentle.

  He never saw Ariella fly past, but there Ariella was, waiting to catch him, as promised. Clay drifted down, as if he were no heavier than a leaf, and settled gently onto the dragon’s back.

  And then he became very, very tired.

  He blinked a few times. His eyelids felt heavy.

  Don’t go to sleep, Ariella warned him. Or you will not go back.

  “What? Oh, right!”

  Clay shook his head and sat up straight, remembering what the Occulta Draco had said: his sword, shield, and helmet were supposed to keep him “woozy but awake.” Forcing himself to keep his eyes open, he adjusted his grip on DragonSlayer, rattled his garbage-pail shield, and tightened the strap of his skateboard helmet.

  “So is this it?” he asked, looking around. There still wasn’t much to see, but the light had become sparkly and iridescent, as if at any moment something spectacular might pop out of it. “Or is there, like, a particular place we’re going to?”
<
br />   You tell me. This is your trip.

  “What do you mean? Where are the dragons?”

  Wherever you find them.

  “You don’t know where they are?”

  Where they are for me is not where they are for you. On the Other Side, you make your own path.

  While Clay tried to digest this, a shape appeared in the air in front of them. Clay peered at it as it came closer. “Is that a… house?”

  Do you see a house?

  “You don’t?”

  Everyone sees different things on the Other Side. Even dragons do not see everything here.

  It was a little white cottage floating toward them. Clay was reminded of The Wizard of Oz, except that there was no tornado whipping them around; there wasn’t even a breeze.

  As they approached, Clay saw that the door of the cottage was ajar. (He remembered learning the word ajar when he was little: “When is a door not a door?” his brother would ask—one of his many corny jokes and riddles.)

  “Do you think I should look inside?” Clay asked. He felt somehow that the door had been left open—ajar—for him.

  Perhaps.

  “Can you stop—”

  I can…

  “Will you?” said Clay impatiently.

  Ariella had pushed him to go on this journey to the Other Side; couldn’t the dragon be a little more helpful?

  Ariella slowed almost to a stop, and Clay nervously jumped to the front stoop of the cottage. It was like jumping onto a boat, or maybe a bouncy house. Gravity was more of a “suggestion” here. Clay nearly sprang back up onto the dragon before righting himself and heading for the cottage door.

  Just before entering, he looked back at Ariella. Was it his imagination, or was the dragon slipping away?

  Good-bye, Ariella said.

  “Aren’t you going to wait!?”

  I’ll be there when you need me.

  And then, to Clay’s alarm, the dragon vanished altogether.

  Forcing himself to remain calm, Clay walked into the cottage and found himself in a tiny wood-paneled room the size of a coat closet. What was so familiar about this room? It was like a room from a half-remembered dream.

  A little brass sign on the paneling read:

  Then he realized what the room reminded him of: the entry to the old magician Pietro’s house. When Clay was little—when his brother was not much older than Clay was now—Max-Ernest would often tell Clay a bedtime story about his adventures with Cass. And the story would often begin in Pietro’s strange underground house.

  In Max-Ernest’s telling, the entry to the house was an elevator, activated when the magic word was spoken, that word being please. Max-Ernest seemed to think this was hilarious, but Clay had never found it especially funny.

  Funny or not, saying “please” didn’t work. Perhaps this wasn’t the same room after all. Well, of course it wasn’t; he was on the Other Side. Nothing would be the same here.

  Clay thought a moment; for him and his brother, there had never been magic words, only bad words. That is, bad word had been their preferred word (or phrase, actually) for magic word.

  “Bad…” he said, and waited. When nothing happened, he added, “… word.”

  Sure enough, there was a jolt, and the room started to descend. Max-Ernest’s story had morphed to suit Clay.

  When the elevator door opened, Clay saw an old man with a bushy gray mustache and twinkling eyes. He was wearing a black suit and a top hat, and he appeared to be floating a few feet in the air, like a man in a Magritte painting.*

  “Paul-Clay, if I do not make a mistake? Welcome, my young amico—”

  He beckoned to Clay, who hesitantly stepped out of the elevator and into—what? Not a cloud. More like blankness. He found he was able to walk, but the sensation was a bit like swimming.

  “You look a little like your brother, but I do not remember him wearing a helmet. Or carrying a sword.”

  The man’s voice was warm and crusty, like bread out of the oven, and he had an Italian accent. Clay felt immediately that he could trust him.

  “Do you know who I am?” the man asked.

  “Pietro?” Clay guessed. “My brother—he used to tell stories about you.”

  “Sì,” Pietro said with a warm smile. “Tell me, why have you come to the Other Side? You are chasing after a chicken?”

  “A chicken?”

  “Oh, just a little joke.” Pietro waved his hand dismissively. “You know, why did the chicken cross the road?”

  “To get to the other side?”

  “Right. But then the next one to cross the road, he is chasing after the chicken, no?”

  “Okay,” said Clay, still not exactly sure what Pietro was getting at, but already seeing why he and Max-Ernest had gotten along so well.

  “But speak truly,” said Pietro. “Why are you here? You are so young. I hope you have not come to stay!”

  “No, I’m here on a… chase, I guess you could say. But not chasing chickens. Chasing dragons.”

  “Ah, dragons, yes.” Pietro beamed. “We must all face our dragons. Our darkest fears. Our secret hopes. Those monsters we vanquish to find our true selves…”

  Clay shook his head. “Um, that’s not what I—”

  “Now, your brother, he had many dragons. Do you want to know what was one of the most important?”

  “The Midnight Sun?”

  “Well, yes, of course. But I was thinking of one closer to home.… You.”

  “Me?” Clay blinked.

  Pietro nodded genially. “You are surprised? Like many older brothers, when you were born, Max-Ernest, he was a little jealous. He felt he was being replaced in his parents’ hearts. But then what happens? Your parents, they were so lost in their own world that he had to take care of you himself, did he not?”

  “Yeah, maybe, for a while, but he didn’t stick with it for that long,” said Clay, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  “Perhaps not, but it is a big challenge for a teenage boy, to be not just a brother but a father. To put another life first before his own.”

  “Right. Well, anyway,” said Clay, “that’s not the kind of dragon I’m talking about. I mean real dragons. Dragon dragons.”

  Pietro frowned, disappointed. “Dragon dragons. Hmph. I do not think I can help you with dragon dragons.” He looked around as if to show that there were no dragons easily available.

  “Oh, that’s okay,” said Clay, disappointed. “Do you know who can?”

  “I have no idea,” said Pietro, bemused. “Are there dragon specialists? Is that a branch of zoology I’m not aware of?”

  “There are Dragon Tamers,” said Clay.

  “Well, there you are,” said Pietro contentedly. “Then a Dragon Tamer you shall find.”

  “But I don’t know how to find a Dragon Tamer, either.” Clay sighed. At least he had Ariella’s word for it that there were dragons on the Other Side; he had no evidence that there were also Dragon Tamers here.

  “Maybe you should try calling for one. In the real world, this might not work, of course. But here…” Pietro shrugged.

  “You mean just, like, call out loud… or on the phone?” asked Clay, confused.

  “Either. It matters not. But if it makes you happy, you can use this—” He held up a white-tipped black stick.

  “Your magic wand?”

  “Oh, sorry, I meant this—”

  Pietro tapped the air with the wand, and the wand turned into an old-fashioned black telephone receiver with white ear- and mouthpieces. A cord dangled uselessly; the main body of the phone was missing.*

  “Um, that’s okay,” said Clay. “Maybe I’ll just try shouting.”

  “Have it your way,” said Pietro amiably. “Before you go, I have a message for your brother.” He removed the hat from his head and turned it over, showing Clay the inside. “Tell Max-Ernest to look under the lining. I’ve left one last surprise for him.”

  With that, Pietro put the top hat back on and
started to walk away.

  “Hey, don’t you want to give the hat to my brother?” Clay called after him, confused.

  “Oh, no,” Pietro chuckled, disappearing from sight. “He already has it.”

  Clay thought of the old top hat that Max-Ernest wore during his magic shows; it did look very similar, come to think of it. Max-Ernest had had the hat for as long as Clay could remember. Along with that rabbit of his, with the silly name. Quiche. Whenever he wanted to make Clay laugh, Max-Ernest would pretend Quiche could talk. The way Max-Ernest described it, Quiche was always mad at him and always demanding more carrots.

  It was funny, thinking back to that time. Maybe Quiche really could talk. Clay had seen stranger things by now—including a few talking animals.

  Clay turned, thinking he would get back in the elevator, but the elevator was gone. He was all alone in the nothingness.

  Trying not to panic, he took a breath. There was no reason not to take Pietro’s suggestion and call for a Dragon Tamer. Which Dragon Tamer? The author of the memoirs, presumably. Clay didn’t know his name, but maybe that didn’t matter any more than whether or not he used a telephone.

  “I am looking for the last Dragon Tamer! The author of the memoirs!” Feeling extremely foolish, Clay shouted as loudly as he could, but his voice did not seem to carry very far in this nowhere land. “I am a follower of the Occulta Draco!”

  He waited, not knowing what to expect or what he would do if there was no response.

  The wait was not long. As soon as he started to yawn, a stone archway appeared where the elevator had been. Behind it was a narrow stairway leading upward.

  Full of trepidation, Clay mounted the stairway. It was long and steep, with hundreds of steps. He climbed, huffing and puffing, until he had to stop to take a breath.

  A voice cried out from above:

  “Keep going! Are you afraid of a few measly steps? A Dragon Tamer must have strong legs!”

  A few measly steps. Right. Clay’s legs burned from climbing all those stairs with the added weight of his shield and sword, but eventually he reached the top.

  A man stood in front of a heavy wooden door that glowed around the jambs. He wore an old leather vest, had long dark hair swept back, and met Clay’s eyes with an intense gaze.