The Guardians of Zoone

by Lee Edward Födi

  “That’s . . . impossible,” Aunt Temperance stammered. “These can’t be rib bones. Nothing is that . . . gargantuan.”

  “Not even dinosaurs,” Ozzie added.

  “I don’t know what a dinosaur is,” Fidget said, “but legends say that dragons the size of mountains used to roam Ru-Valdune. They were peaceful creatures. Herbivores. Until the sabermages hunted them to extinction.”

  “Cho was a sabermage,” Tug spoke up. “But he wouldn’t do that.”

  “No,” Fidget agreed. “Not Cho.”

  Ozzie didn’t say anything. There was a question hanging heavy in the air, one he still didn’t want to consider.

  Aunt Temperance addressed it anyway. “He’s okay. He survived the river. He’ll come for us.”

  “What does it matter?” Fidget lamented. “Cho can’t fight a whole clan.”

  Ozzie tugged again at his bindings. Deep down in his front pocket was the beacon given to him by Captain Traxx. If this wasn’t the time to call her, then he didn’t know when would be. But unless he could free himself, there was no way to reach the device.

  This is why we should have just gone to Zoone, like I wanted, Ozzie thought, which only sent him further into a downward spiral. If everyone had listened to him, done things his way, then Tug wouldn’t be injured, Scoot wouldn’t be lying in a heap, and Cho would still be . . .

  A thunderous cacophony blasted through the arena: a mixture of beating drums, clashing gongs, and deafening horns. Ozzie suddenly realized the sun was dipping behind the wall of the city; the arena was growing darker by the minute.

  More clansmen began to emerge from the doorways in the rock, striding down the steps to join the other warriors in the arena. Some of them carried torches, while others were playing the instruments causing the riotous din.

  When the noise finally came to a reverberating stop, every man turned toward a large archway in the rock face. A figure appeared, prompting the warriors to hoot and cheer: “Ku T’en Nedra! Ku T’en Nedra!”

  Even in the faint light, Ozzie could see that the man was old. The top of his head was bald, shining with skin that was mottled bleach white and livid red. Below, gray hair fell upon his shoulders in long shanks and braids. His nose was pierced with large white tusks that protruded at right angles from each nostril. There was little to be seen of his body; it was obscured by a cloak of black, red-tipped fur.

  “He must be their chieftain,” Fidget said. “Ku T’en Nedra. But I think he’s their sabermage, too. And that means . . .”

  “The ritual is about to start,” Ozzie finished for her.

  Ku swept down the steps and sprang into the arena like a leopard. He prowled in front of Ozzie’s bone pillar, eyes darting between him and the others. Now that he was closer, Ozzie noticed that he was wearing a necklace of teeth. Some were long and sharp, like those of a wolf or a dragon. But some, Ozzie realized queasily, were human.

  His gaze wandered up to the chieftain’s face, and he was startled to see just how similar to Cho he looked. He was older, more haggard, and his skin was pale as chalk, but he had the same chiseled cheekbones, the same strong chin. The difference was in his eyes. Cho’s eyes were soft and brown, like a warm cup of cocoa on a winter’s morning; Ku’s were gray, like hard slate.

  The chieftain strutted up close, narrowed those eyes at Ozzie, and inhaled deeply. “Ah,” he murmured in satisfaction. Lifting his chin high, he began to speak to his warriors, his voice rumbling across the arena like a roll of thunder. “Nedra, clan of Valdune, children of steel!” he boomed. “How many weeks and months have we yearned for the precious nectar of magic? The drought of enchanted creatures has sent us spiraling into desperation. Into starvation. But, at last, Valdune smiles at us from the heavens.”

  “Well, not all of us,” Ozzie heard Fidget mutter as an excited stir emanated from the assembly of clansmen.

  “Tonight, we shall taste the blood of magic,” the chieftain continued, licking his lips. “Tonight, we shall not know thirst. We shall not know hunger. We shall not know weakness. TONIGHT, WE FEAST.”

  The clansmen erupted into a raucous cheer, hammering their drums and smashing their gongs.

  “What’s going on?!” Aunt Temperance asked desperately after the warriors’ clamor had faded. “I thought only the sabermage consumed magic. Not the entire clan!”

  “That’s what Cho told me,” Ozzie managed to reply. “This isn’t right!”

  Ku whirled on him with a brandished fist. His hand and wrist were ornamented with jewelry, though it definitely wasn’t the kind you’d find lying around your aunt’s apartment. This jewelry was savage, consisting of knife rings and a bracelet edged with blades. The chieftain’s hand was as weaponized as a moto’s.

  And now that hand was raised above Ozzie, ready to slice him open.

  19

  The Duel of the Valdune

  All the blood rushed to Ozzie’s head. He couldn’t explain what his legs were doing—maybe an impression of a pair of wet noodles. If not for being tied to the bone pillar, he would have collapsed. He squeezed his eyes shut, heard Aunt Temperance scream—and then the chieftain started laughing.

  Ozzie opened his eyes and stared in bewilderment at the chortling man.

  “You?!” Ku heckled. “You’re the man of this group? Not much of one.”

  Ozzie blinked. He had heard similar insults from the boys at school—hearing it from Ku snapped Ozzie out of his terror, at least momentarily. Because Ku might have the slice-and-dice costume, but when you stripped it all away, he was basically just another bully, the kind who thought you were only a real man if you swaggered, spat, and punched.

  How did Cho ever fit in here? Ozzie wondered. Just the thought of the captain filled Ozzie with despair—but it also served to remind him of courage. Emboldened, Ozzie drew a deep breath, fixed his eyes on Ku, and said, “What about you?”

  The chieftain glowered. “The man speaks. What did you say?”

  “What about you?” Ozzie repeated. “You’re going against the laws of the Valdune—”

  “What do you know of the laws of my people?” Ku spat. “The law is my law, the law is—”

  “I know enough!” Ozzie cried. “I know Cho Y’Orrick.”

  Ku’s face flushed hot and red. “Do you? Then you know what his name means: Lost. Alone. Without clan. He should have taken my place as sabermage long ago. Instead, he abandoned us. Now these metal men are coming, encroaching upon our territory. More than ever, we need magic. Our survival depends upon it.”

  “You’re wrong,” Ozzie said, wriggling in his restraints. “Killing us won’t help you. The motos aren’t alive. Your sword won’t stop them, no matter how much magic it has.”

  “He’s right,” Fidget added. “We’ve seen them. We know how they work.”

  Ku pointed at Fidget with his bladed hand. “Silence your tongue, girl. Lest you want me to slice it from your throat.”

  Tug whimpered. Aunt Temperance gasped. As for Fidget, she turned bright purple, but it wasn’t from fear, Ozzie knew. It was anger. She looked like she was about to berate the sabermage, despite his warning. She’s such a princess! Ozzie thought. Not used to being ordered around. He needed to jump in—quick.

  “You’re wrong!” he challenged, and Ku spun back toward him. “The whole point of a sabermage is to defend the people from magic. You’re not under attack from magic! You—”

  “Enough talk!” Ku growled, his eyes bulging with rage. “I will suck out your magic like marrow from a bone, I’ll . . .”

  He trailed off. There was a trilling in the distance, causing the chieftain’s brow to furl. Ozzie glanced about in surprise; the noise sounded like a sick trumpet. Or maybe a dying accordion.

  “It’s Scoot!” Tug purred in recognition.

  It was the most beautiful ugly sound Ozzie had ever heard. He could see the uncertainty in Ku’s face, a look that transformed into complete stupefaction when, a moment later, Scoot trundled through the opening of the drago
n’s throat and into the center of the arena. She was still issuing her kazoo sound, with one hand curled up to her mouth, but when she saw Ozzie, she raised it to give him an overly exuberant wave. She still had the dent in her belly, but Ozzie had to admit it wasn’t out of place on the mishmash of scrap parts that made up her body. He noticed that she had found Aunt Temperance’s bag—it was hanging off her round back.

  “Hi, Creator!” Scoot called out cheerfully. “I’m here to rescue you!”

  “Oh, great,” Fidget muttered. “We’re all going to die.”

  Ku thrust off his cloak, revealing arms taut with muscles and a chest crisscrossed with jagged, violent scars. He unsheathed his Valdune blade and charged toward the moto, only to stop after a few steps. A murmur of confusion rippled through the clansmen—everyone was staring at the chieftain’s blade. It wasn’t changing shape, like it was supposed to when brandished before an adversary.

  “I told you,” Ozzie called to Ku from his pillar. “Your sword has no power over motos.”

  Ku frowned, then continued approaching Scoot. The moto herself seemed nonplussed. A pipe telescoped out of the top of her hat and began gushing a thick cloud of white smoke, quickly obliterating the light of the Nedra torches. Ozzie couldn’t even see Aunt Temperance or Fidget on either side of him. The next thing he knew, Scoot was right in front of him with her large, unblinking eyes and ever-present smile.

  “Do you like my tricky-trick, Creator?” the moto asked. Using one of her welding fingers, Scoot started to burn through Ozzie’s ropes. “Up-down-up-up-down! As soon as I free you, we need to skedaddy-daddle.”

  “The Nedra aren’t going to just let us prance out of here,” Ozzie heard Fidget say through the haze.

  “Don’t worry,” the moto chimed. “Up-down-up-up-down! There’s a planny-plan.”

  “Is it for us to die horribly?” Fidget wondered.

  “Come on—hurry!” Ozzie urged the moto.

  The smoke began to dissipate, revealing a new figure in the arena, standing directly between them and Ku.

  It was Captain Cho.

  “He’s alive!” Ozzie cried, his heart singing at the sight of the mighty man. Cho was still dressed in his Zoone uniform, and though it was scuffed and smeared, he looked strong and determined. “Hurry!” Ozzie urged Scoot, tugging on his ropes.

  “Ku T’en Nedra,” Cho called in a loud voice. “You stole these people from beyond your territory. They are not yours to take. Set them free, at once.”

  Ku arched his head back and issued a guttural laugh. “You make demands, Cho Y’Orrick? Look about you, boy. You are surrounded. All I need do is flick my fingers and a hundred warriors will descend upon you. So here is my demand. Leave now, walk away. Alone. We will feast on these magics. You will live. Everyone wins.”

  “Except us,” Ozzie heard Fidget grunt.

  Cho dropped to one knee. “You cannot take them, Ku T’en Nedra,” he said. He bowed his head and exposed his neck to the chieftain’s sword. “But you can take me.”

  “What?” Ozzie cried. “Cho—no!”

  “Y’Orrick scum!” Ku growled, spitting on the ground. “Your blood will do nothing to satiate our hunger. We need these outsiders’ magic to save us.”

  Cho looked up. “They can save you, Ku T’en Nedra; just not in the way you think. They will stop the metal men. If you let them go.”

  Ku said nothing. He paced the sand in front of Cho like an impatient predator.

  Cho’s hand flitted up to rest on the pommel of his blade. “If you do not accept my offer, I shall defend my clan.”

  Clan? Ozzie thought.

  Ku seemed to have the same thought. “Clan?” he scoffed, his eyes flashing wide and white. “CLAN?! You call these outsiders your clan?”

  Ozzie saw Cho squeeze the hilt of his sword. “I do.”

  Scoot had finally succeeded in burning through Ozzie’s ropes. As soon as he was free, he burst forward to join Cho’s side—only to freeze after a few steps. One of the warriors had hammered his gong and the sound reverberated through the arena like a warning.

  “So be it,” Ku said, spitting again at Cho’s feet. “Fight for your pitiful clan. After you lose, you can burn together in the fires of Ru-Kavell.”

  The chieftain raised his Valdune blade and Ozzie watched, entranced, as it transformed into a long, curved shape. It reminded Ozzie of a scimitar, except it had two half-circle notches near the bottom.

  “Do you see the shape my sword has taken?” the chieftain taunted as Cho rose to his feet. “The steel knows you, boy. It has tasted your flesh once before. The notches are to remind you of that.”

  What? Ozzie thought, but a terrible suspicion began to nibble at him. He had always thought Cho had lost his two fingers fighting a Thrakean lizard—not from an attack by his own clan.

  “Yes,” Ku hissed, “my blade hungers for you again, Cho Y’Orrick.”

  Then, without warning, the chieftain charged. Cho unsheathed his sword, but it was not quite in his hands before Ku was upon him. A clang sounded through the arena as Cho’s sword was ripped from his grasp. The blade twirled through the air and stabbed into the sand, where it quivered, far beyond Cho’s reach.

  It’s his missing fingers! Ozzie thought as the clansmen whooped in jubilation. He couldn’t get a firm grip in time.

  Cho didn’t even look to see where his blade had landed. As Ku swiped at him, the captain ducked, then turned, planted his feet, and faced the chieftain.

  “You betray our customs,” Cho accused him, circling with the chieftain. “You attacked before we could exchange bows.”

  “You are Y’Orrick,” Ku jeered, stalking forward with his blade. “You are not worthy of that rite.”

  He lunged forward, swinging. Again, Cho dodged the assault—but just barely, and when Ozzie next caught a glimpse of the captain’s front side, he could see the sleeve of his coat torn open in a mess of blood. Ku thrust once more; this time his blade nicked Cho’s chin.

  Ozzie couldn’t stand by any longer. He scrambled to where Cho’s blade was still standing in the dirt, gripped it by the hilt, and pulled it free. It was far heavier than he could have ever imagined, but he managed to lug it toward Cho.

  Ku was still viciously slashing at Cho, but as soon as he noticed Ozzie approaching, the chieftain turned on him. Ozzie instinctively tried to step out of the way, tripped on his own shoelace, and crashed to the dirt. Ku’s sword stabbed into the ground next to him; Ozzie could feel the rush of air.

  Ku lifted the blade for a killing blow, but Cho plowed into him from the side. Both men crashed into the sand and Ozzie heard the crunch of breaking bone. Cho got to his feet, turned, and helped Ozzie up. Ozzie had dropped Cho’s sword, but he collected it again and passed it to the captain.

  “Thank you, lad.”

  Ku was still on the ground, struggling like a beetle on its back. His breathing was sharp and ragged.

  “Rise,” Cho commanded, marching back over to Ku. “Find your feet, and we will complete our duel.”

  That’s Cho for you, Ozzie thought. He fights fairly. Even though Ku doesn’t.

  Using his sword as a crutch, Ku pulled himself to his knees, his face contorting with agony and rage. “Clan of Nedra!” he shouted to the assembled throng. “Kill him! KILL THEM ALL!”

  A war cry erupted from the Nedra, and then they spilled into the arena like a tidal wave of fury. Ozzie collapsed to the ground in panic.

  But Cho didn’t. He calmly turned in a circle, confronting the onslaught. When they were almost upon him, he thrust his sword high above his head as if announcing victory.

  “What are you doing?!” Ozzie screamed. “Aren’t you going to fight? Aren’t you—”

  Cho’s blade began to change. A crackle of lightning flared up the steel, accompanied by a thunderous, reverberating boom. It was so loud that it caused the clansmen to skid to a halt, many of them dropping their weapons. Ozzie only allowed them a glance before returning his attention to Cho’s sword. I
t was cycling through different forms. At first it was long and broad, next short and curved. It bared countless serrated teeth, then four sharp prongs, and still next it became an undulating blade that crackled with blue fire. It took the shape of a battle-ax, a triple-bladed katar, a quoit, a spiked mace . . . on and on in a dizzying blur.

  Ozzie knew the blade could transform, but not like this. Not so quickly. Not so dramatically. And perhaps neither did the Nedra.

  “It’s . . . it’s impossible,” Ku stammered, his own sword sliding from his grip. “You, Cho Y’Orrick—you have never hunted magic.”

  “No, he hasn’t,” Ozzie said proudly.

  Ku’s eyes looked like they would roll into the back of his head. “Then . . . h-how?”

  “Perhaps things aren’t as you have always claimed they must be,” Cho said.

  Ku bowed his head in resignation. “Claim your right, Cho T’en Nedra.”

  “Cho T’en Nedra!” the audience of warriors chanted, all standing at attention. “Cho T’en Nedra! Cho T’en Nedra!”

  “Cho T’en Nedra?” Aunt Temperance asked. Scoot had freed her, Fidget, and Tug, and now they crept forward to gather around Ozzie and Cho. “Why are they chanting that?”

  “I think Cho’s about to become chieftain of the Nedra,” Fidget said. “But first, he has to . . . behead Ku.”

  “He can’t do that,” Aunt Temperance gasped. “Captain!” she shouted. “CAPTAIN!”

  Her words were drowned out by the roar of the warriors. Cho remained where he was, unwavering, sword still poised in the air.

  “I can’t watch this,” Aunt Temperance said. She grabbed Ozzie and Fidget and reeled them into her arms, burying their faces into her chest. “You must not see this.”

  Suddenly, the crowd went silent. Ozzie squirmed free of Aunt Temperance’s grasp to see Ku still bowing in the sand, the same as before. But Cho’s sword was back in its sheath.

  “You must kill me!” Ku beseeched. “If you do not, you cannot lead the Nedra.”

  “I have no desire to serve as chieftain,” Cho said, looming over him. “As I have said, I already have a clan.”