Festus stared down at him, his face frozen in a mask of pure, unrelenting hatred. He bared his teeth like the hybrid wolf, and Albert heard his uncle’s voice in his brain, hissing, sizzling with hatred.
“You will die today, Albert Flynn. You will die, and I will use your Tile to take over the world.”
Festus raised his arms to the sky and a wall of fire erupted around his platform, covering himself from Albert’s view. The bird cried, and Albert hauled himself to his feet and turned around.
The great bird soared toward him, its talons aimed for the kill.
Albert unsheathed his sword.
CHAPTER 31
The Master Tiles
Sparks flew as Albert’s sword clashed with the bird’s talons, but with every flap of the beast’s wings and swipe of his sword, Albert’s arms grew heavier and heavier.
He tried to harness the Strength symbol, but his mind was flickering like a candle flame in the wind. He swung the sword, and more sparks flew as the bird’s talons clipped it. The beast let out a piercing cry and lunged with its knife-beak.
Albert dodged.
He tried to pull forth the Speed symbol, but it didn’t work.
“You’re exhausted,” Festus’s voice whispered into Albert’s mind. “Give up, Albert. You won’t make it.”
“No,” Albert said. He closed his eyes as the bird backed away, its great wings flapping and cooling the sweat on Albert’s face.
Please, don’t let me fail, Albert thought. It struck him that this was the first time he’d fought in the Pit without his friends beside him. I don’t know if I can do this on my own.
Heat singed his hand, and for a second Albert thought he’d been burned by a fireball. When he opened his eyes, though, the sword’s blade had turned red at the edges, as if it were an ember fighting to stay aflame.
As the bird came in for a final attack, Albert lifted the sword and swung.
The bird’s talons struck, and there was a blast that shook Albert’s body.
The bird was rocketed backward, screeching. It fell to the ground of the Pit, its wings crumpled over its body.
Albert gasped and sheathed his sword. His hand was hot, but not burned, where he’d held it.
What just happened?
He didn’t have time to think. He had to climb higher before something else attacked him. He ran as fast as he could without using Speed, making it to the top of the pillar.
But he wasn’t done yet.
Festus was waiting inside his wall of flames, atop his platform.
It floated high over Albert’s head, higher than Albert could jump. He could use the Jackalope symbol to get up there, but the pounding in his head had intensified, and all the focus he’d had while fighting the bird seemed to have evaporated. How could he keep using his Tile with the pounding in his head? Festus was whispering, You will lose, Albert. You will not win.
Albert was bleeding, and burned, and his clothing was ripped and covered in oil. Sweat covered his whole body, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten or had a drink of water. His throat was like cotton. If he could just close his eyes . . .
He looked over the edge of the pillar, down to the firefall below. It glittered bright and fierce like a deceiving smile.
If it was him in that cave, and Birdie and Leroy up here . . .
“They wouldn’t quit,” Albert whispered. “Not ever.”
He was so close. He’d made it this far.
He stood tall, shoulders back, the way his dad always did.
Then he wrapped his fingers around his Master Tile. The Tile that would be used for good instead of evil. The Tile that was impossibly dark, but would be used for light at the end of all of this.
If he could just survive.
Albert pictured the Jackalope symbol, and for one second, he chuckled to himself as he imagined Leroy riding Jemima like a true cowboy from the Wild West.
“Let’s do this, Tile,” he said.
He felt the buzzing in his legs, the eagerness to jump that he hadn’t felt only moments before. He opened his eyes and stared at the wall of fire, and he knew Festus would be ready just beyond.
Albert would be ready, too.
He bent his knees.
And leaped.
CHAPTER 32
The Fight to the Finish
High and wide he leaped, and as he came to the wall of fire, Albert pictured the AntiHeat symbol.
His body felt like a chunk of ice, soaring through the air.
He slid straight through the flames and landed in a crouch, fists clenched and teeth bared like a warrior.
Then he looked up into the eyes of Festus Flynn.
“Marvelous,” Festus said. He did a slow clap, but didn’t make a move for Albert. Not yet. “Great form, nephew. I must say, I do see a lot of myself in you.”
Albert practically growled. “I am nothing like you.”
“Oh?” Festus spread his arms wide. “But here we both are, high in the air above the Pit. The very place we have always excelled. It’s you and me, the Flynn boys. Masters of the Great Black Tile.” His eyes fell onto Albert’s chest. “I’ll give you a final chance to join me.”
“Join you how?” Albert said. He’d made it this far, and now all Festus wanted to do was talk? Enough was enough. Albert took a step forward, but Festus followed suit, stepping back.
Festus sighed dramatically. “Join me in greatness, dear boy. Imagine, the Realms as our kingdom. The people of the Core and the creatures of the Realms bowing before us, bending to our every will.”
“But why?” Albert said, his rage fueling him another step forward. “What good does that do? What’s the point?”
Festus was circling him now. Albert moved opposite him. They were like two sharks waiting for the kill.
Who would strike first?
“It doesn’t do any good at all,” Festus said. “That’s the point.”
“That doesn’t even make sense,” Albert said. He put a hand on his sword.
Festus laughed and took a step toward Albert. “That’s exactly what my useless brother said. And after I destroy you, I’m going straight to your father, to show him what true power really is.”
At the mention of his dad, Albert let out a battle cry and swung his sword.
Festus danced out of the way with ease, chuckling. “A sore spot, it seems,” he said. “Perhaps instead of ending your father, I’ll keep him as my personal slave.”
Albert lunged again, swinging his sword for the chain around Festus’s neck.
“He tried to help you!” Albert shouted.
“I didn’t need his help,” Festus said. “I needed him out of the way.”
Albert swung yet again, but Festus was on the other side of the platform before the swing was done. Albert couldn’t think of a single symbol that did that. Which one was Festus using?
Round and round they went, Albert swinging the sword, Festus somehow gliding out of the way so fast that Albert could hardly see him.
“You have to stop this,” Albert said. “Let my friends go. I’ll leave the Core, and I’ll never come back.”
“That would defeat the purpose of defeating you,” Festus growled.
Albert screamed and swung the sword again. Festus shoved him on the shoulder, and Albert face-planted on the platform.
“Get up,” Festus chided. “Get up and face me like a real Balance Keeper would. It’s time to fight, Albert Flynn, and I’m tired of your childish games.”
That was when it hit Albert.
Festus was playing with him. His uncle wasn’t even sweating or breathing hard.
Albert would have to try a little harder if he was going to make this a real fight.
That meant using his Master Tile. The one, tiny, single Master Tile against double the power.
Festus raised his arms into the sky. “You want to be a brave little hero and save the day?” He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Then you’ll have to do better than this.”
From the darkness above the Pit, two shining sticks of gold buzzed through the air, soaring toward Festus’s outstretched arms.
Albert’s eyes grew wide as he realized what they were.
“The other two strikers,” he said.
They landed in Festus’s hands. “Took you long enough to realize what the cause of the Imbalance was. Imagine my pleasure when the little note I left you sent the entire Core into a blessed uproar!”
Festus gripped the strikers. Had they been here this entire time, hiding in the shadows around the Pit?
If they could somehow get these strikers back to Belltroll . . . then maybe they could reverse the Imbalance, wake up the Trolls, and solve at least that problem. There would still be Festus to deal with, but the people of the Core and the surface world wouldn’t be in so much danger.
Festus twirled both strikers in his hands and then held them out like twin swords.
“If it’s a sword fight you want, then it’s a sword fight you’ll get. Only the best for family,” Festus said, with a wink that made Albert’s toes curl in his boots.
Then Festus attacked.
Albert threw up his CoreSword, blocking the striker from view. Golden sparks erupted between them, and Albert stumbled back, gasping.
Festus swung the left striker, and Albert blocked it. But then Festus jabbed with the right, and Albert had to spin to escape the hit.
He has two Tiles and two weapons, Albert thought. Festus now literally had double the chance of winning over Albert . . . and Albert had double the chance of losing and letting the whole world die.
Festus laughed, and swung again.
Albert dropped to one knee and felt the whoosh of wind as the striker nearly shattered his skull.
“Two Master Tiles, two weapons,” Festus said. “What would your friend Leroy say? Ah, yes. Looks like the odds are not leaning in your favor.”
Albert was sick of this.
He focused on his Master Tile, calling forth what was left of his Strength and Speed, and struck.
It was like a lightning storm. Festus’s two strikers were twin bolts, erupting against Albert’s sword. Thunder boomed as they hit again.
They circled, and Albert laid on the Speed.
Come on, Tile, he thought. I need more than this to win.
Festus leaped into the air, soaring high above Albert’s head. He landed, and the platform shook like a Belltroll quake, rocking sideways in the air. Albert had to drop the Speed and Strength symbols and focus on Balance to avoid falling off.
But Festus was advancing again, with the platform still tilted unevenly.
Albert swung with a Strength that could shatter the world, a Speed that rivaled the gods. He swung with all his might, but he knew he wasn’t going to win. Not like this.
He tried the Invisibility symbol and felt his body fade. But the CoreSword was still visible, and Festus laughed at Albert’s weak attempt to disappear.
“Think smarter,” Festus said as he swung a leg out at Albert.
Albert used the Jackalope symbol to jump over Festus’s leg and landed on the other side of the platform.
Festus charged again, and Albert whirled around to deflect the twin strikers.
The power of Festus’s swings increased until Albert’s hand went numb. He dropped his sword.
“Not good enough,” Festus said. “Pick it up, and give me a real challenge.”
I won’t win, Albert thought again. Not like this.
“Use the Tile as it was meant to be used, boy,” Festus growled. “I’m getting bored.”
Suddenly, an image appeared before Albert. It wasn’t from the Black Book.
It was a horrible symbol from the Book of Bad Tiles, one that could block out someone’s vision so they saw only darkness.
Albert knew what it meant to use that symbol, to cross that line from good to bad.
But he had to save his friends, the Core, the entire world.
He focused on Darkness and his entire body trembled with the weight of evil. It was an awful feeling, but he pushed through. He pictured the symbol, like an eye with an X where the pupil should be.
With a violent tremble, Albert felt the power of Darkness surge out of his body and into Festus.
His uncle stumbled for a moment and blinked twice.
Albert swung his sword and it was a perfect hit. Festus dropped one of the strikers. He held on to the Darkness symbol in his mind.
“Do you feel it?” Festus asked, unfazed even as he couldn’t see. “The power that comes from using my kind of symbols?”
Albert gritted his teeth and called forth the Darkness symbol in his mind even clearer than before. He didn’t like the way it made him feel, but he was out of other ideas. Maybe he could maintain this one and layer another on top of it? What else had he seen in the Book of Bad Tiles?
Fear.
He knew it was wrong, even as he called forth the symbol. He thought of Festus and imagined sinking his hands into his uncle’s soul, plucking out his very worst fears.
The power of the symbol slipped over Albert’s body like a second skin.
“What are you afraid of, uncle?” Albert heard himself say, the words slipping from his lips.
An image of a spider popped into Albert’s brain, and he harnessed it, picturing hundreds of tiny black spiders crawling all over Festus’s skin. Merge, he thought, and together, Darkness and Fear struck Festus.
His uncle let out a gasp. “You’re learning,” Festus said, his hands shaking as Albert kept his focus on the Fear symbol. Festus writhed with the feeling of thousands of invisible spider legs all over his arms and legs and face. He clearly wasn’t enjoying Fear, but it hadn’t had the effect Albert was hoping for. He let Fear go.
Albert tried to think of another symbol to combine with Darkness, but his body was growing heavier. His head began to throb, and his vision was peppered with spots of black. He thought he might throw up.
I can’t let go, he thought. I’ll lose without it. And there’s something about seeing Festus suffer . . .
Suddenly, he felt the Darkness power leave his body. Festus was using his own two Master Tiles to push back against Albert’s. The symbol faded from his mind.
“Very good,” Festus said, shaking his head as his vision returned. “You’re joining me, little by little. Now try again.”
The words were like icy water, shocking Albert back to the truth. He wouldn’t try again. He wouldn’t join Festus, not ever.
And yet, the power . . .
Albert stumbled. No, that little taste of bad magic was enough. It wasn’t just the physical strain of it. He felt as if his very soul had lost some strength. But if he didn’t use the Bad Tiles, what could he do? His arms felt like dumbbells. It was like every symbol he’d memorized from the Black Book had turned to mush in his mind.
Festus swung the striker, and Albert held up the sword, his arms trembling. He would lean over the edge of the platform and empty his stomach any minute now.
“You won’t win,” Festus said as he pushed back against Albert. “You’re too pathetic to use my magic, nephew.” Then Festus raised a hand, and without even touching Albert, shoved him to the ground.
Albert tried to get up, but it was like two hands were pressing on his shoulders. The pressure forced him down until he was lying flat on his back.
Festus approached, walking as lazily as a cat.
The CoreSword was barely in Albert’s grip. This is it, Albert thought. This is the end.
Festus stopped over him, arms crossed. “I guess I was optimistic, to hope for a fair fight.” He frowned, and Albert felt those invisible hands again, pushing against him. Against his chest, his rib cage, his heart.
He couldn’t breathe.
He couldn’t think.
Please, he mouthed, but no sound came out.
“Begging,” Festus said. “Begging like the pathetic little child you are.”
The invisible hands pushed Albert closer to the edge of
the platform. His head was dangling over the edge. Now his neck, and his shoulders.
Blackness took over Albert’s vision as his breath left his lungs. There was no hope, no chance, no . . .
A sound rang out, in the distance.
It started low, far enough away that Albert could just barely, barely hear it. Albert turned his head so that he could see the Pit’s door, off to the left, far below.
“It’s time to say good-bye,” Festus said.
The door to the Pit burst open, and a blur of black shot through the opening. And then came the howl. No, Albert thought, the roar.
The fire around the platform flickered away and back again, and in those moments Albert could see two brilliant, blazing blue lights.
Farnsworth!
A stream of people flowed in behind him. Balance Keepers, Professors and Apprentices and Core workers, everyone rushed into the Pit, their faces looking up at Albert arranged precariously on the edge of the platform.
“An audience,” Festus said. Albert couldn’t tell if he was glad they were there or not, if their presence would provoke Festus or distract him. Albert hoped it was the latter, but had a feeling that wasn’t the case.
Professor Bigglesby shot an arrow from the CoreBow at Festus, but Festus simply waved an arm and the arrow was knocked off course, soaring into the shadows.
Still, that momentary distraction took a little weight off Albert’s chest and he had a chance to breathe.
“Albert!” Professor Flynn burst through the crowd.
Dad.
“Not him again,” Festus growled. He swung an arm, and a wall of fire blazed around the Pit’s edges, stopping the crowd from entering. Albert heard them change direction and rush into the bleachers. The wall of fire crackled, but Albert could hear them chanting his name. Louder, then louder still.
Festus was standing over Albert, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. The crowd had distracted him after all.
“ALBERT!” He heard his dad screaming below, then the whole crowd joined in. Farnsworth’s howls chimed in, too.
AL-BERT, AL-BERT, AL-BERT!
Albert lifted his head to look at Festus. He needed to give this one more shot, for all those people out there.
AL-BERT, AL-BERT, AL-BERT!
The Traitor of Belltroll Page 20
