by Danny Lasko
“We’ll get her back,” I say pressing my hand on his shoulder. His body tenses for a moment until he realizes I’m not going to hurt him.
“I was … wrong to have doubted you,” he says.
“I doubted me, too, but you were the only one brave enough to say anything.”
Linus heaves a smile. I glance over to Jayce, still in a sweaty stare.
“Jayce!” I cry, grabbing his shoulders, pulling him out of his trance. He snaps out of it, blinking and wheezing.
“Horatio.”
“You did it, Jayce. You saved me.”
Jayce nods while catching his breath.
“There had to be twenty wizards down there. Did you place the illusion in every one of their minds?”
Again a nod.
“Thanks. Thank you.”
But all Jayce can do is continue the bobbing head nod. He looks as though he’s doing his best not to pass out.
“Linus,” I call back, “you once asked if I had to decide between saving Annie and saving Mira if I could make the right choice. Do you remember?”
“Yes,” he says, bowing his head. “But I will fight whatever battle that brings her back safely.”
“Good,” I say. “Because to save Annie is to save Mira.”
“What do you mean?”
I pull the green bound book from my back and hold it out in front of Linus. I wait until the realization hits him square between his eyes. And when it does, his eyes water as though he’s been reunited with a dear friend.
“Annie is a SongKeeper,” I explain. “And tomorrow is her birthday.”
18
Magic Kingdom
THE JOLLY ROGER SPLITS THROUGH THE ORANGE DAWNING LIGHT WHILE I TELL THE TEAM ABOUT THE GREY, ABOUT BOXRUD THE WIZARD KING, ABOUT LARA, ABOUT THE LESSONS LEARNED, ABOUT THE AURAVELLA AND THE AIRES, AND ABOUT ANNIE.
“There is no other explanation,” says Linus, running his fingers down the words of the Mirastory. His eyes bulge as they absorb the new material. “SongKeepers are the medium in which Aires are created. They’re born with it, a kernel of something that flourishes within them for seventeen years. Then on the anniversary of their birth, halfway between dusk and dawn, the Aire manifests itself using the SongKeeper’s voice, a voice that cannot be described even when heard. That sounds like Annie’s voice to me.”
“The Grey said Annie’s Aire will be needed to restore the Soul.”
“Saving her is saving Mira,” repeats Jayce.
“But they think you’re dead,” says Dad. “Won’t they kill her now that they don’t need her as bait?”
“She was never bait,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“Boxrud knows about the SongKeeper. I’m betting he knows Annie’s it.”
“Does he know she’s about to turn seventeen?”
“I’m certain of it,” I say.
“So he will kill her, no matter if you’re alive or dead.”
“No, he won’t kill her. At least not according to my granddad. Boxrud wants his enemies to see him succeed, especially the ones who threaten him most. So he’ll keep her alive and parade her out in some horrible way to show us he’s won. But there’s no way he lets that song loose if he can help it.”
“So how … oh.” Jayce realizes the answer to his unstated question. The rest of them undersatnd as well. Plenty of ways to silence a voice without killing its owner. But none of them are pleasant.
“It gets worse,” I tell him. “Boxrud knows the location of the Looking Glass.”
“What?!” they all blurt at once.
“He’s built a fortress around it in the form of his new Escape stadium to make sure no one can get to it. That’s where he’s taking Pock’s Auravel, to destroy it.”
“Destroy it? Why would he want to do that?” asks Jayce. “Why not use it?”
“Because he can’t,” answers Linus, stooped over the book. “He can’t because only princes of Mira can harness the power of the Auravella.” Linus stares up at me. “You’re a prince.”
I watch for each of their reactions but especially Linus’s. It was bad enough for him to watch someone who rejected the whole idea of the Children to be called to save them. Then to see that I had ideas other than carrying out Pock’s request. I wait for the worst, but it never comes.
“Of course you are,” he says. “I’ve known it since we opened the box. Just didn’t want to admit it.”
“My son, a prince of Mira? But you’re here. On Earth. Why would they choose someone from here to be a prince when they’re meant to be protecting Mira?” asks Dad. “Unless … ”
My dad and Linus get it at the same time and look at me expectantly.
“Page two forty-three.”
“Earth is one of the lands of Mira,” announces Linus, showing Jayce and Dad proof.
“That’s … that’s impossible.”
“Then that means—”
“Five-thirty-five,” I tell them. “A personal note from the Piper—to the Children of Hamelin.”
For me, I always had a commitment to this world, and so to read that it is a part of Mira only made it easier to want to find Berebus Pock. But I just showed my dad proof that this world–its people–were meant to be served by the Children and he’s rocked by it.
My dad’s eyes close as he falls to his knees. His hands shake as he pulls them up to cover his yellow-bearded face and he tries to rub the shock and guilt from his skin.
“What have we done?” he whispers. “What have I done?” I’ve never seen him so vulnerable. I sit next to him, give him a minute to catch himself. I watch his eyes scanning his unseen memories, identifying his past wrongs against this world.
“All I ever wanted was to do right by the Soul. Right by Mira,” he says, staring into the empty air. “I just tried to protect it. Protect my family. Give them something to believe in … the people of Earth … ” My father covers his face with his hands and blows the heavy air from his lungs, his thin yellow hair falling over his fingers.
“I was wrong before, son,” he says finally. “I am the threat to Mira.”
“Dad,” I say softly, “this fight isn’t over. I need you.”
“Horatio … I am not worthy. I’m a crippled, corrupt old man … please … ”
I smile and put the recently carved Auravel to my lips and play Hook’s song. The ship creaks and shrieks. The holes in the hull miraculously patch themselves, the shredded sails are rewoven, the cannons bend themselves straight and sturdy, and the charred wood chips off to reveal the sleek fresh red and black paint of the Jolly Roger.
“Dad, look at your hand.”
He furrows his brow at me, then looks at his hand. His right hand. The hand that was blown off during the attack on the Garden. He holds up both of his hands, looking back and forth from one to the other, probably just to make sure he’s seeing both at the same time. He stomps his right foot as well before picking up the replacement hook and silver foot piece he had built for himself. The tears flow freely and unashamed. He looks up to me with eyes that I seem to see for the first time. He grabs my neck and pulls me in, wrapping his arms around me. And I gladly wrap him back. And a thing passes between us. A thing that pulls the anger and blame that I have held onto for so many years and replaces it with understanding and yes, love. My father and I. Finally, we see each other and it is good.
“A reawakening,” he says letting me go, the determination coming back into his voice. “A new beginning.”
“A new beginning,” I repeat.
“What’s the plan?” Linus asks me.
“I think you have something to show me.”
“Yes!” exclaims my father. “Linus!”
Linus pulls out an ornate red and gold box topped with a striped
cat lounging on a pile of old playing cards, the queen of hearts visible.
“We were taken by surprise soon after you … left,” says my father. “Annie was taken. So was the music pipe. We survived only because of Jayce making them believe we fell into the ocean. We didn’t know what to do or where to go, so we just followed Pock, hoping that … we’d find … ”
I turn to Jayce, who was never asked to come on this quest and yet has done everything asked of him without complaint.
“Thank you,” I say to him.
“I wish I could have helped Annie, too,” he answers, his head down.
“No, it was me. I never should have left.”
“No!” interrupts Linus. “No, you had to leave. Horatio, you listened to the Soul and we didn’t. You had to leave. You found the Wizard King. You found your second sight. You found the Mirastory and learned to play the Auravel. And you know the location of the Looking Glass. You had to leave.”
“I almost died learning all that. And Annie–”
“But you didn’t,” he says, smiling. “You didn’t. And Annie–”
“Annie won’t either,” I finish for him, nodding. “We’ll get her back. You did good, Dad,” I say finally, seeing my dad struggle. “We all have mistakes to make up for.”
My dad looks up at me and nods. He then waves Linus over.
“Tell him, Linus,” chokes my dad.
“It belonged to Charles Dodgson, or as he was better known, Lewis Carroll, the author of a children’s book of fiction called Alice in Wonderland.”
“Sounds like it was a little less fiction than people thought,” I say, smiling knowingly at Linus.
“Pock’s seventh note was nothing more than a small page that seemed to be torn out of a journal or notebook of some kind, with pairs of letters written in someone else’s handwriting. Turned out to be a cipher written by Dodgson.”
“Linus deciphered it,” adds Dad. “Led us to this music box hidden away in a great hall at Oxford University.”
“Dodgson was a professor there back in the late 1800s when he became acquainted with the Liddell family. The legend says that he would make up stories for their young daughter, Alice, but turns out they weren’t made up at all—”
I open the lid and immediately hear the tinny tone of notes coming from the box that must be more than two hundred years old now. I catch the melody and start to play. Forty-two notes total, the last fifteen I play in unison with the music box. When I look up, I find Linus, Jayce, and my dad staring out, away from the ship at the hundreds of flying dragons that have surrounded the Jolly Roger, flying in silent unison. All shapes and sizes, colors and kinds.
“Jayce,” says Linus, not looking away, “are you doing this?”
“No, I … I don’t … it’s too big, too complex … wow.”
I climb the main mast up to the crow’s nest while the rest of my crew is distracted. The dragon mirage did exactly as I had hoped. What I do next I need to do without argument. All I keep thinking about is what Boxrud will do, if he hasn’t done it already, to Annie to silence her. He has frost, fire, lightning, brute strength—any of which could keep her quiet. I want to keep her alive. And I need to give her every chance to stay that way. The vision to see the consequences of my actions has got me this far. Annie will be even wiser with it. I flash forward one more time, attempting to see what will happen if I play “Borrowed Light” and give Annie my power. Never has the Soul been so vague.
PLAYBORROWEDLIGHTFORANNIE Annie receives your Soul.
No consequence other than the Aire is successful. Does she escape? Does it keep her safe? Does it make me vulnerable? I pull myself over the wall of the crow’s nest. It doesn’t matter. It’s all I can do for her now.
I think of Annie, fill my whole mind and heart with her, and play.
Long wisps of light start streaming out of my nose and ears. Luminous tears drop from the corners of my eyes. And with each note produced, my breath lets loose a thread of light that dances through the Auravel and up into the sky, joining all the others. I play the song over and over until the light disappears. And suddenly my chest expands with a warm rush, as if confirming my choice.
“What were you doing?” asks my dad as I make my way back to the deck.
“Helping Annie.”
“With one of the Aires? What did it do? Will it help?”
“We’ll see. Come on. We have to get to California.”
As if it sensed my need, the blue eagle screeches and lands on the railing beside me.
“Will you lead us?” I ask.
With a simple nod, the magnificent blue eagle launches back into the sky and heads northeast across the ocean.
“Northeast,” says Linus. “That means we’re in the Pacific Ocean. South Pacific, if I had to guess by the climate.”
South Pacific. I shake my head, finally realizing what my granddad was trying to tell me all along. He couldn’t say much, but he helped with what he could. I already miss him.
It’s midnight by the time we arrive at the southern coast, about thirty miles south of Revolution. A little unnerving to be so close to the Synarch stronghold. Twenty-two hours from now, the first professional Escape will be played at the Magic Kingdom, the same time that the Synarch has designated for Allen’s culling. In twenty-four hours, it will mark halfway between dusk and dawn of Annie’s seventeenth birthday.
Twenty-four hours to open the Looking Glass, find Pock, and bring him back to help us save Annie, save the Children, save Allen, and save Mira.
The stadium is dark, which surprises me. No security that we can see except for a few guards at the gate. Boxrud thinks I’m dead, I remember. He already thinks he’s won. Under normal conditions, there’s no reason a stadium needs more than a couple of police standing at the front gate. And there’s no reason to think tonight is anything but normal.
I can tell from the shadows that the stadium is sort of an oblong shape, an open-air arena, and while I can see what must be the six pillars of the Escape, I can’t make out their forms. They aren’t uniform, each of them a different shape and size. Other obstacles crowd around the arena with wide pathways intertwining in a maze-like form. Reminds me a little of the cracks and cliffs of Allen’s own playing field.
“This is close enough,” I say, readying myself to play the combination of Aires.
“One, seven, six, four,” reminds Linus.
One, seven, six, four. One, the Healer’s Hymn, retrieved from the harpsichord of a pirate ship that can fly. Seven, the page from Lewis Carroll’s diary, which led Dad and Linus to the music box. Six, recorded from a flower and a chandelier. And four, “Borrowed Light,” which sung in the morning from the mouth of a boy who never grows up.
I focus on the Looking Glass, imagining it, something I have a much harder time doing without the Soul. Suddenly, a panic hits. Without the Soul, do I still have power over the Auravel, or will I just play hollow notes like Linus and Annie? Could it be that by trying to save Annie, I’ve condemned us all? I shake those thoughts out of my head. No, one has nothing to do with the other.
But when nothing happens, my doubt grows stronger. I play the series of Aires over and over with my mind fixed on the Looking Glass, waiting for some sign that the gateway has opened. But after a few times through, we can tell that the music is starting to gain attention.
“Why isn’t it working?” whispers Jayce. “We did everything we were supposed to do, right? You got the Aires, you found the Looking Glass? What did we miss?”
“I don’t know,” I say, sliding to my seat on the deck. I’ve done … everything I know how to do. I may have done too much … ”
“No, wait. It’s not you,” says Linus, pulling out the ninth note written on plain brown paper. “It’s the Auravel.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Looking Glass is locked. It needs a key. A specific key. One with two parts. The playing of the Aires in order and the correct Auravel to play them.”
“Pock’s Auravel,” I say at the same time that my dad and Jayce slouch in their seats.
“And Anton Boxrud has it,” adds my father.
“We have to get it back,” answers Linus.
“How? We don’t even know where it is,” my father reminds us.
“Yeah, we do,” I say, sighing every word. I know where this is heading. And normally, I would jump at the chance to end this no other way. But not like this. Not as I am. Not without my gifts.
“It’ll be here. At the stadium. Boxrud plans on destroying it when the trove is burst at the end of the game.”
“You mean it’ll be on the field?”
“Yeah.”
“Just out in the open?”
“In front of Boxrud, probably every wizard, the Synarch, and about two hundred thousand Citizens, but yeah.”
All three of them start celebrating. My father cheerfully explains that it just so happens his son is the best Escape player in the history of the game. Jayce joins in recounting my first two games in detail. Even Linus seems to breathe a sigh of relief. I let this go on for a few minutes before I tell them my Soul is otherwise occupied.
“What?!”
“You’re kidding. He’s kidding,” says Linus.
“I’m not kidding.”
“You can’t just give away your Soul, Horatio. It isn’t possible.”
“It’s an Aire called ‘Borrowed Light.’ I sent it to Annie.”
“From the crow’s nest?” asked Linus.
I nod.
“Can you get it back?”
“Yeah, I can get it back, but I’m not going to until I know Annie’s safe and the final Aire has been sung.”
