Emily and the Spellstone

by Michael Rubens

  It was only later, after the party had ended, that he realized his priceless ceremonial dagger was no longer clipped to his belt, and he wondered what might have happened to it.

  Dr. Harold Longmeer glanced through the window at his waiting room. Phew—​only two more patients for the day, a boy who appeared to be around six years old and a girl around twelve. The office nurse had let him know that they were siblings. From this distance, sitting quietly next to their parents, they both appeared in fine physical shape.

  He didn’t know either of the children—​in fact, he hadn’t been a doctor very long and had just joined this practice a few weeks ago. Today had been the most unusual he’d had so far, with a visit from a girl named Kristy who had apparently fainted at school. “She kept repeating something about one of the students removing her own head!” the girl’s mother had told him.

  “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he had told the mother. Some sort of benign juvenile fainting episode, he figured. Perhaps low blood sugar. The hallucination she reported didn’t bother him much—​people often had strange visions or dreams when they lost consciousness.

  “Send the next patient in,” he said to the nurse now. “Let’s start with the boy.”

  “Well, now, young man,” said Dr. Longmeer when iDougie entered the examination room. “Why don’t you have a seat here on the table.”

  The boy complied.

  “So, how do you feel? Good?”

  “I don’t.”

  “You don’t feel good?”

  “I don’t feel,” said the boy.

  Huh, thought the doctor. “Okay. Well, let’s check your pulse and take a quick listen to your heart.”

  About a minute later the doctor was in a state of barely controlled panic, having spent the previous sixty seconds trying in vain to find (a) a pulse, and (b) the sound of a heartbeat. Several minutes later his anxiety had increased even further, because he had now discovered that his patient had no reflexes, that his pupils didn’t contract as they should when a bright light was shined at them, that he didn’t seem to have lungs, and that he had a body temperature of 72 degrees, which was coincidentally where the thermostat was set. Meaning he was room temperature.

  “How am I, Doctor?” asked iDougie in an expressionless voice.

  “F-fine, fine,” said Dr. Longmeer, his voice shaking. “Why don’t I have a look at your sister.”

  Several minutes after that, when he had taken the same measurements on iEmily, Dr. Longmeer felt a strong need to hold on to the edge of the exam table, because it felt as though the universe were swinging about him in a very discomfiting manner.

  “Emily,” he said, his own voice coming from what seemed like a long way away, “may I ask you a question?”

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  “Can you,” began the doctor, not believing he was about to ask this of a patient, “remove your own head?”

  About fifteen seconds later, Mr. Edelman and Mrs. Edelman saw the doctor emerge into the waiting room and walk with great purpose toward the exit, his eyes focused intently on the floor in front of him. “A specialist. Need a specialist,” he was muttering repeatedly.

  “Dr. Longmeer?” said Mr. Edelman. “Dr. Longmeer!”

  The doctor seemed to take notice of them for the first time.

  “How was the examination? Is everything okay?”

  “Need a specialist,” repeated the doctor.

  “The children need a specialist?” said Mrs. Edelman, alarmed.

  Dr. Longmeer seemed confused for a moment. “What? Oh. The children. Yes. I suppose they do. I was referring to myself.”

  With that, he turned and walked out the front door.

  “Here it is,” said Acrimina, displaying the dagger to Maligno Sr. He took it from her reverently and carefully drew the weapon from its jewel-encrusted scabbard. The blade gleamed in the greenish light from the flames in the skull fireplace.

  “The blade looks like opal,” he said.

  “It’s a type of pearl, darling.”

  “It seems to be glowing.”

  “It’s special pearl, darling.”

  Many materials can be used to make an enchanted blade. Dragon teeth are popular. Hydra scales. Griffin claws. Iron from meteorites. But this particular blade was made from the heart of a pearl. A large pearl. One that, if whole, would be about the size of a beach ball. A pearl created by a mollusk the size of a city block.

  “It’s from a dire lava clam,” said Acrimina. “From deep inside the lower depths.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Maligno Sr., admiring the dagger. “And it will do the job?”

  “It’s the only blade that can. It will sever the magic link that binds the demon to the girl. And once he’s free . . .”

  “Yes,” said Maligno, and smiled. “I wonder if he’ll need salt and pepper.”

  Chapter

  Nineteen

  The Spellevator bucked and rattled like a jet plane in heavy turbulence.

  “Gorgo, what’s going on?” said Emily. “Why is it taking so long?”

  “I think it’s them. You know who. I think they’re somehow trying to stop you.”

  The Spellevator jerked again and would have sent Emily sprawling if Gorgo hadn’t caught her.

  “Are you okay?” he said.

  “Are you?”

  “I sometimes get a little motion sick,” he said.

  “Are you gonna throw up?”

  “I hope not,” he said.

  Emily tried not to think about what it would be like if a fire-breathing creature Gorgo’s size got sick.

  “Me too,” she said.

  Another big bump, then another, and another, until the turbulence was so intense that even Gorgo struggled to hold on. It was all Emily could do to keep from crying out in terror.

  When it seemed as if the tumult had gone on forever and would go on forevermore, Gorgo said, “I think . . . I think it’s getting better. I think we’re nearly there.”

  And indeed the bumps were lessening, and then stopped altogether.

  “We’re here,” said Gorgo. “It should be a lot better from here on out.”

  Then the doors opened behind him to reveal a massive boulder flying directly at them.

  “Look out!” said Emily, and dived to the floor.

  Gorgo spun an instant before the impact and punched the boulder away, shattering it. Smaller rocks and dust rained down on Emily.

  “Ha!” said Gorgo. He turned back to her, grinning. “Pretty good, right?”

  “Gorgo!” she said.

  “Huh?”

  CRACK! Another flying boulder shattered on the back of his head. More rocks and dust covered Emily.

  “ARGH!” Gorgo clutched at his skull. “That does it!”

  Flames jetted from his skin. He dashed out of the Spellevator and onto what Emily now realized was a field of battle, swatting at miniature warriors with abandon. “Gorgo!” she shouted, and ran out of the Spellevator, the doors closing behind her and vanishing.

  Far away she could see the ramparts of the fort where Dougie should be. Gugglins were scrambling past her in mindless eagerness to attack the enemy. Boulders and arrows were flying through the sky in both directions from catapults and siege engines and teams of archers. Larger troll-like creatures swung clubs at Ugglins and Gugglins and at one another, combatants disappearing in puffs of smoke when they were mortally wounded. Gorgo was in the midst of it all, laughing fire, joyfully clobbering whatever was in reach. A troll took a swing at him with his club. Gorgo responded by grabbing the troll by the legs and using him like a club.

  THUD. Another boulder landed right next to Emily, embedding itself into the ground, and Emily knew that she wouldn’t just disappear to be endlessly reborn again, like a character in a video game—​if she got squashed, she’d stay squashed. Not only that, but some of the combatants had noticed her and were running toward her, weapons raised.

  “Gorgo!” she shouted. “Get over here!”

>   Gorgo saw her and leaped, landing next to her with each foot crushing a charging Gugglin. He spun in a circle, sweeping the troll-turned-club around like a scythe cutting wheat, combatants poofing into nonexistence.

  “Woohoo!” said Gorgo. “This is so much fun!”

  “Gorgo, we have to hurry! We have to get to that fort!”

  “But—”

  “Now!”

  “All right, fine.” He tossed the troll away over his shoulder, grabbed Emily and tucked her under one arm like a football, extended the other arm, and shouted, “CHARGE!”

  Dougie didn’t see Gorgo and Emily. Dougie was crying.

  “Please let me leave!” he begged.

  “No leave! Stay forever!”

  “But I don’t want to! I want to go home!”

  “No home! You king! You stay!”

  Dougie began to cry harder. He was scared and tired and hated this game and more than anything just wanted to stop.

  “Dougie!”

  He lifted his head. Who was that? Was that a boy’s voice?

  “Dougie!” It was a girl’s voice this time.

  “Over here!” said the boy’s voice.

  Dougie looked to his right. There was a door he hadn’t noticed before—​where did that come from? It reminded him of the time his family had stayed in a resort hotel in Oregon—​there had been a similar-looking door that led to the hallway on their floor. And in fact, beyond this door there did seem to be a long carpeted hallway, just like in the hotel. More important, there were two children standing next to each other in the doorway, holding hands, a boy and a girl. They were about Emily’s age. They looked like twins. They smiled at him.

  “Come on, Dougie!” said the girl. “Come play with us!”

  “Yes, come play with us!” said the boy. “And you can stay with us forever and ever and e—​OW!” said the boy, as the girl gave him a sudden smack on the back of the head.

  “Do you have a bathroom?” said Dougie.

  The children both laughed. “Of course,” said the girl. “Come with us. We’ll help you.”

  They reached out their hands to him.

  Dougie took off the crown.

  “No! You stay! You king!” said the Ugglins. Dougie ignored them. Getting off the throne, he walked gratefully to the doorway, where Maligno Jr. and Maligna were waiting for him.

  Warriors scattered and turned to vapor as Gorgo rocketed across the field, trampling and bulling his way through anything and everything in his path. A catapult exploded into splinters. A defensive wall loomed and suddenly wasn’t there. A giant troll raised a giant club and became a doormat. Emily kept her eyes clamped shut and prayed she wouldn’t be smooshed or set aflame. She opened them just in time to see a rapidly approaching moat.

  “Gorgo, look out for the—” she started, and then they were airborne, going up and up, and then they landed on the fort next to the throne.

  But when Gorgo put Emily down, the throne was empty.

  “Where is he? Where did he go?” she said, despairing.

  All around them the battle continued to rage. “You queen! You command!” said the Ugglins, pressing around her, shoving the crown at her.

  “Where did he go?” she demanded. “Where is Dougie? Where is the little boy?”

  “Boy no here! You here! You command!” they yelled. Gugglins were trying to scale the wall with ladders while Ugglins pushed them back. The fort was shaking from the impact of a battering ram.

  “No matter how many I hit, more just keep appearing!” said Gorgo, hurling a Gugglin away.

  “You command! You lead!”

  “EVERYBODY STOP FIGHTING!” Emily bellowed, and it seemed that her voice rang out across the entire battlefield, rang out from the ground to the sky and from horizon to horizon. And when the reverberations died, all was eerily quiet, the warriors looking at her in astonishment.

  “Whoa,” said Gorgo.

  Then the silence was interrupted by a new sound: a tiny fanfare, as if played by mice.

  Emily took the Stone out of her pocket. A chorus started, the voices singing in unison like a Gregorian chant: “You-hoo-hoo-hoooo’ve go-ooo-ooot a po-oo-oost.”

  Emily tapped on a small piece of parchment that was undulating insistently. It emerged from within the Stone and expanded quickly to full size, accompanied in rapid order by a large writing quill and a pot of ink. Dipping itself into the ink, the quill moved in a blur across the floating surface of the parchment, sketching a perfect likeness of Maligno Sr.’s face.

  “Hello, Emily,” said Maligno, the face coming to life like an animated drawing. “You’re probably wondering where your delightful brother is.”

  “He had better be okay,” said Emily. “Because if he’s not . . .”

  “Well! I certainly don’t think you’re in any position to make threats. But since you asked, he’s perfectly safe.”

  As Maligno spoke, the parchment unfurled farther, and the quill danced over the blank area, and very quickly there was a moving illustration of Dougie, playing with blocks with the Venomüch children.

  “As you can see, little Dougie is happily at play with my children. Hopefully nothing untoward will happen. But as you know, children can sometimes be so cruel.”

  The Venomüch children looked directly at Emily and leered, flashing their vicious pointed teeth. Then the girl reached over and started pinching Dougie’s arm. Dougie tried to jerk away, alarmed, confused, but she was too strong, and he said, “Ow! OW! Stop! That hurts!”

  “Dougie!” said Emily, but then the floating ink pot suddenly overturned on that part of the parchment, covering everything in black.

  “Let him go!” said Emily.

  “Oh, I think not,” said Maligno. “By the way, this is where you say, ‘What do you want?’”

  “I know what you want,” said Emily.

  “Perfect!” said Maligno, smiling. “Then bring the Stone to us. Your brother for the Stone. That is my offer.”

  Emily glared at him. She felt beyond tired, beyond frightened, beyond any feeling. Except for one. She felt very, very angry.

  Then she heard herself say this: “Here’s my offer. I’m going to go there, I’m going to get Dougie, and we’re going to leave.”

  “Ah, I see. And we will get . . . ?”

  “You will get nothing.”

  Maligno smiled. “Well, now! Why would you have such confidence?”

  “Because I’m a Stonemaster,” she said, and the moment she spoke, she knew it was right and true, and she felt the Stone tremble as if in a thrill of excitement, felt as if the universe and many universes beyond had heard her declaration, and she waved her hand with contempt, and the parchment ignited and burned away to nothing.

  “That,” said Gorgo, “was baaad aaaaa—”

  “Quiet,” she ordered. She looked at the Stone. The tiny moon was a mere sliver now, the power nearly gone. Driven by some obscure instinct, Emily held her other hand over the surface of the Stone and thought about the challenge before her, thought about the distance she would need to travel both to the Venomüch realm and then back to her home, thought about what options she might have.

  “I have enough TwitCoins, but power might become an issue . . .”

  “How can you be so certain?” said Gorgo.

  Emily looked at him.

  “Right. You’re a Stonemaster. Bad aa—”

  “Shh.” She did a series of complicated but rapid taps and swipes. The rough-hewed doors of the Spellevator appeared. Emily regarded the assembled warriors, who were still looking back at her expectantly.

  “Okay,” she said. “You, you, you, you guys there, you, and you—​you’re all coming with us.”

  So she and Gorgo and dozens of Ugglins and Gugglins crowded into the Spellevator.

  “What do? What command?” asked the Ugglins and Gugglins.

  “Yes,” seconded Gorgo. “What command?”

  “When these doors open again,” said Emily, “you and I are going
to find Dougie.”

  “What we do? What we do?” demanded the Ugglins and Gugglins.

  “You guys get out there and wreck things.”

  It was as good a plan as any.

  Too bad it didn’t work.

  And now we come to the part where Emily meets her terrifying and sad fate.

  Chapter

  Twenty

  Some children have a treehouse. The Venomüch children had a tree jail. A wooden-floored, iron-barred cage in the crook of a fat, twisted, gnarled tree that looked as if it would mug you if it could move.

  The tree jail was in the backyard, high enough that if you fell, you’d break something. Or die.

  The jail had a single occupant. The occupant was weeping tears of despair.

  The occupant was Dougie.

  He didn’t have the energy left to do the sort of full-on sobbing he’d been doing earlier, when the Venomüch children had shoved him into the cage and slammed the door on him, laughing and jeering at his pleas and his tears.

  They had seemed so friendly when they rescued him from the Ugglins and Gugglins. He’d been so relieved. They let him use the bathroom (although the skull-shaped toilet was weird), they had given him juice and snacks, and then they had all played together in the yard (although, just like the toilet, the games they suggested had all seemed a bit weird).

  Then it had all changed. Without warning, Maligna started pinching him hard and giggling, not pausing even when Dougie started to cry and beg her to stop. The two siblings began roughly pushing him around and slapping his head and yanking his hair while he cowered from them, because they were both much larger than he was and also much stronger than any child he had ever encountered. The girl had picked him up above her head like an Olympic weightlifter and spun him in circles until he thought he was going to be sick.