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There!” Will yelled to Cordelia. The sled dogs were still behind them. Brendan was on his last legs dancing in the arena, but he was infusing “Glory Days” with the energy that came from hope.
“What’s going on?” Cordelia said. “Is he . . . is Brendan pretending to be a rock star?”
“Not for long,” Will said, and pulled a trigger.
Acka-acka-acka-acka
Bullets hit the arena floor, sending blasts of dirt everywhere. The Roman audience gasped as the World War II plane, followed by a team of flying dogs and a sled, dove into the Colosseum and circled Brendan. Everybody was in shock—it seemed that the gods themselves had come to put on a show.
Never one to miss an opportunity, Occipus nudged Rodicus.
“Ladies and gentlemen, behold the emperor’s display of aerial wonderment!”
Will circled, steering the plane so close to the stands that the spectators’ hair was blown back. He wanted to land in the middle of the arena, but that’s exactly where Brendan was standing. So Will steered the plane toward the far end of the Colosseum.
It dipped lower, inches from the arena floor—and crashed.
First, the back landing gear snapped off. Then the entire underside of the plane started screeching against the dirt, spewing sparks as it careened forward. Then the propeller blades hit the ground, bent, and zinged off, spinning into the air, whizzing toward Brendan—and breaking open the door of his cage.
Brendan ran toward freedom.
The plane had stripped as it slowed, losing the wing with the beautiful star on the top before stopping. It was a smashed, smoking mess.
The cockpit door opened. Will and Cordelia tumbled out, coughing. They took off their flight helmets and looked at the utter chaos around them.
The Romans had figured out that this wasn’t part of the show. Fearing for their safety, they were streaming out of the Colosseum through the hole the Nazi tank had made. Occipus, in his viewing area, was screaming to his guards, pointing at the plane. On the arena floor, the guards drew their weapons and moved toward it, but Will leaped back inside the cockpit, pulled the trigger . . .
Acka-acka-acka-acka!! The bullets hit the ground in front of the guards. They scrambled, running for their lives.
“Stop!” screamed Occipus.“You cowards! Go back! Fight!”
But the guards followed the spectators out of the Colosseum.
Occipus looked around, seeing that even his mistress and Rodicus were running away. He grabbed a sword and eyed Brendan on the arena floor.
Brendan rushed toward the cockpit.
“Deal! Will!”
He ran into his sister and hugged her. He was more grateful than he had ever been in his life. Cordelia hugged him back—My little brother. But the blown-open cage door had created an escape hatch for the lions. They charged—
“Bren!” shouted Cordelia, turning him around. “What do we do?”
The lions were rushing right toward them when Will yelled, “Batan sled dogs! Attack!!”
The dogs and their sled were circling above. But as one of the lions reached Brendan and eclipsed his face, its sharp teeth and rotten breath filling his world—
“Awooooooooo!”
The lion suddenly wrenched back. The Batan sled dogs had arrived.
In the eternal battle of cats versus dogs, the Batan sled dogs put a win in the canine category that day. They were nearly as big as the lions and there were eight of them. They jumped on the lions and pulled them down. It was a brutal, bloodthirsty battle. In the midst of this—with dogs ripping the lions to shreds—Brendan put his head on Cordelia’s shoulder and almost cried.
“You guys came back for me! Even though I behaved like a complete—”
“Shh,” Cordelia said. “It’s okay. What happened to you?”
“They made me a gladiator-in-training . . . with him!” said Brendan, pointing to Ungil.
Ungil was shouting at his guards, frantically trying to gather them back together, but the guards would have none of it, running out with the crowd through the open Colosseum wall. Meanwhile, the dogs had completely dispatched the lions, and Will saw it was time to beat a hasty retreat.
“Come on!” he said. “To the sled!”
They headed for the Great Sled of Buddha, but not before Emperor Occipus appeared, running into the arena with his sword, staring up at the emptying stands, tears—this time real tears—pouring from his eyes.
“My people have abandoned me,” cried Occipus. “They’re all leaving! It’s over for me! My empire is in ruins!”
He turned to Brendan. His face was bright red with anger, his mouth twisted into a cruel frown.
“You’re responsible for this.” Occipus raised his sword. “You’ll die for this!”
Occipus ran toward Brendan. Will stepped between them, and with a quick punch to the emperor’s nose, and another to his gut, sent Occipus to the ground. Nearly unconscious and out of breath, groaning and whining, holding his Buddha belly, Occipus didn’t look like much of an emperor anymore. He was just a sad, hurt, weak man.
“Serves you right,” Cordelia said.
“Let’s get out of here,” said Brendan.
Will called the dogs into position and they arrived with the sled. Occipus was panting hard on the ground. Will and Cordelia got into the sled, and Brendan started climbing up—
When Occipus grabbed Brendan’s ankle.
Brendan screamed; the sled dogs spooked; all of a sudden the Great Sled was taking off, and as it soared high into the air, Emperor Occipus clung to Brendan, trying to pull him to his death!
“Get offa me, you fat phony!” screamed Brendan, trying to kick the emperor down.
But Occipus hung on as the sled rose higher: “Never! I’m taking you with me!”
Hundreds of feet above the Colosseum, Occipus’s added weight was too much. Brendan was using both of his arms to hold on to the sled—but he was starting to weaken, to feel that he might even be pulled apart.
Occipus gurgled and reached up, trying to clutch at Brendan’s torso, and he wound up grabbing Brendan’s loincloth—
Which suddenly slipped clean off!
Occipus found himself in a weird moment—an almost comic moment, if it hadn’t been for the fact that he was no longer holding on to anything solid. He looked at the loincloth in his hand—
And screamed as he fell away from the sled.
Brendan climbed up into the sled. Completely spent. Safe. And naked.
“Take my jacket,” Will ordered. Brendan was only too happy to have a cool vintage bomber jacket, even if he was wearing it as pants.
On the arena floor, Ungil frankly wasn’t sure what to do. He was surrounded by chaos, screaming spectators, and fleeing guards. No one was listening to him. And then he heard a whooshing sound, followed by the growing scream of Emperor Occipus. He looked up—
And saw the emperor much too late.
Before he could move out of the way, Ungil was crushed with a squelch.
Cordelia gave Brendan a hug. “We missed you so much! Don’t ever leave us again. Please.”
“I won’t,” Brendan said, finally letting all of the fear and panic of the last few days out, crying without the aid of any onion. “I won’t I won’t I won’t. I love you guys so much . . . hey . . . where’s Nell? And Felix?”
“They’re fine,” Cordelia said. “We’re going to them now.”
Before they left the arena, Brendan looked down. It was the last look he would have of the Colosseum—Unless I go and visit, which I can’t imagine ever wanting to do.
Emperor Occipus was dead in the middle of the arena. The head of Ungil peered up from behind Occipus’s shoulder; the rest of him could not be seen. Ungil’s eyes were wide open; even though Brendan was high in the sky, he could see that they were big and white, as if th
ey had literally bulged out under Occipus’s weight—and they were moving. Ungil was still alive.
Brendan shouted to him: “Now that’s what I call entertainment!”
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Who’s going first?” Wangchuk asked.
“I’ll do it,” said Eleanor, stepping forward.
“No,” said Felix, pushing her aside. “It should be me.”
Even though Felix stood with his chest puffed out, proud and strong, inside he was feeling uncertain about taking the lead. He did not want to be here, in the Himalayas with Eleanor and the monks in a bulky frost-beast coat. He was accustomed to fighting under the blazing Roman sun. The cold made his muscles feel dense and slow. Nevertheless, they were about to enter the cave of the frost beasts. And he wasn’t going to let little Eleanor be the leader this time.
“We can’t go anyway,” said Eleanor. “Someone has to give a speech. The monks are terrified.”
Eleanor, Felix, and Wangchuk faced the crowd. The monks were far fewer than the 432 who lived in the monastery. After different monks had claimed they were too old, or had injuries that prevented them from fighting, or had a phobia of frost beasts, less than forty monks had actually shown up. And they had refused to bring any of the guns, knives, or grenades that they found in the tank! They just stood there with bits of tank shrapnel crudely attached to wooden sticks.
“Who will give the speech?” he asked.
“You do it,” said Eleanor.
Felix opened his mouth to speak . . . but he couldn’t. He turned to Eleanor and whispered: “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
“It’s not a good idea, but it’s the only idea.” Eleanor was scared too—but she couldn’t show it. “Just get them fired up. You can do that, right?”
“I’ve never given a speech,” said Felix. “I’m not really good with . . . with words. . . .”
“You need to do this,” said Eleanor, putting her hand on his arm. “Our lives depend on it.”
Felix paused and took a deep breath.
“Look at all you fearsome warriors! If I were a frost beast right now, I’d be turning the snow yellow!”
The monks laughed. Eleanor thought it was a gross opening, but it worked. Felix continued.
“You may not be the most experienced fighters I’ve ever seen. But you have something that no one can take away from you: anger. It may not be obvious on the surface, but I know it’s there, deep down inside you. For years you have been oppressed by these creatures. You have sacrificed your brothers to them! You have watched your closest friends die!” Felix paused a moment, wondering why these words seemed so familiar to him. Then he realized: I saw plenty of my own brothers die in the arena, all under the thumb of that horrible slave . . . Ungil. And I never had the opportunity to do anything about it.
“When you channel your anger into energy, there’s nothing you can’t accomplish! You must attack these beasts as if, with each thrust of your blades, you were taking back a fallen brother!”
The monks cheered in unison, raising their makeshift weapons high in the air.
“Do this for the memory and the glory and the spirit of your brothers!” shouted Felix.
The monks shouted again, this time louder, more ferociously, and with great passion.
Eleanor pulled on Felix’s sleeve and whispered in his ear. “One more thing: They have to use their magic!”
“Oh yes,” Felix said. “You must remember . . . we cannot win this battle with strength alone! You must tap into the mystic arts that you have learned. Otherwise we will have no hope!”
One of the monks raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“We have never learned how to use our magic to help us fight. We only use it in meditation and healing.”
All the monks nodded and agreed. But Wangchuk spoke up: “Trust in yourselves, brothers. When the time is right, the magic will come.”
“I certainly hope so,” mumbled Eleanor.
Felix went on with his speech. Eleanor looked at the cave behind him. The wide, tall entrance was big enough to fit Kristoff House in. It looked too perfect to be a cave. Maybe the frost beasts made it wider. Maybe they dug little pieces out bit by bit over the years to turn it into their home. Maybe they’re smart, Eleanor thought. And if they’re smart . . .
Felix was still talking. “Hold on to your weapons. They will be your greatest allies in this battle. Never give up. And most importantly, never back down. Remember: You are no longer the monks of Batan Chekrat. You are the warriors of Batan Chekrat!”
The monks raised their shrapnel sticks high over their heads and cheered louder than ever. Felix flushed with pride; the only way he’d ever known to please a crowd was through fighting, but here he’d done it with words. He smiled at Eleanor, who had helped show him what words could do.
The two shared a heartfelt look—
And the frost beasts attacked.
They didn’t come out of the cave as anyone expected. With bloodcurdling roars, three of them jumped down from above the entrance. They are smart! Eleanor thought. They were hiding!
The first was the leader, six feet taller and wider than the other two. The beast continued its strangled-human cry as it hit the ground in front of the monks. Then it beat its fists against its chest, before snapping its face upward. The beast’s mouth opened wide, baring all its sharp white teeth.
“Braaaaaoaar!”
It was a threat display, and it worked. Eleanor huddled behind Felix, her heart pounding. If he hadn’t been there she would have run away, possibly tumbling down the mountain, never to return. Ten of the monks did run away, bolting back toward the monastery as fast as they could on the path the frost beasts had made in the snow.
The other two beasts, standing beside the leader (who Eleanor thought of as “Broar” because of the sound he had made), copied him by beating their chests and roaring. As Eleanor was forcing herself to be brave, remembering that this was her idea, she noticed what Cordelia had pointed out before: the tops of the frost beasts’ heads, where there was no hair. It really did look like they had baby soft-spot fontanels, very pink and thin. She thought, I wonder what would happen if I got one of the frost beasts right in the fontanel?
“Attack!” Felix called.
But Broar attacked first, slamming his paw into a monk, sending him flying backward, tumbling down the mountain. The beast behind him turned to Felix, who whirled around and swung his knife, slicing the creature’s paw. The third beast slashed at Felix’s side; Felix swirled and jabbed like a small whirlwind as the monsters surrounded him.
“Save him!” Eleanor called, raising her weapon, and the monks charged.
Wangchuk was the one who surprised Eleanor most. He had more courage inside him than his wrinkled skin would let on. Now his mouth was frozen in a battle cry as he rushed forward with a dozen monks behind him. They all plunged into the two lesser frost beasts, burying their makeshift weapons in the animals’ backs. Eleanor, who had kept a knife from the tank, jumped onto one of the frost beasts’ legs and started to climb upward.
The beasts turned from Felix and attacked the monks. They used their enormous arms the way a human might sweep ants off a table, sending their assailants stumbling, rolling several of them down the mountain, jabbing others—
But Eleanor didn’t give up.
She continued to climb up the frost beast’s back, determined to get to its shoulders. She grunted and hissed and gritted her teeth. The creature roared and grabbed for her—but like a pesky itch, Eleanor stayed in the center of its back, where the beast couldn’t reach her.
“Eleanor!” Felix yelled. He was having his own problems ducking and weaving, trying to avoid Broar’s swinging arms. “What are you doing?”
“Their heads are the weak spots!” Eleanor yelled. “Aim for the fontanels!”
Eleanor
’s beast reached up and grabbed her, squeezing her torso. But Eleanor held up her knife even as the creature began to squeeze its hands around her, crushing her insides . . .
She plunged her blade down.
The beast’s eyes rolled back. Its legs went out from under it. It loosened its grip on Eleanor and fell forward.
Eleanor rode its shoulders the entire way down—and when the beast hit the ground with a loud KERTHUNNKKK!, she flew off and rolled into a snowdrift.
Eleanor sat up, momentarily dazed. Directly in front of her, the frost beast lay sprawled on the ground.
Completely still.
Completely dead.
Felix turned back and continued to battle Broar.
“Rrragh!” the giant frost beast bellowed, diving at Felix like a major-league shortstop. Felix jumped, aimed his knife down—
And pierced the beast’s head.
Broar gave a raspy breath, tried to reach up and wrench the knife out—but it was too late.
He went limp and collapsed, beside the body of his subordinate.
Eleanor and Felix looked at the two fallen frost beasts in front of them. Each creature’s fur shimmered and rippled, looking momentarily like an oil slick floating on water, and then went still. The third frost beast turned on his big ape feet and ran into the cave.
“Are you okay?” Felix asked Eleanor. “Are you hurt?”
It took a moment for Eleanor to catch her breath.
“No. I’m not okay. It’s horrible to have to do this . . . I don’t ever want to hurt a living thing again. My heart won’t stop beating—I—I . . .”
“Maybe they’re scared of us now,” Felix said, hugging her. “You saw that one run away from us . . . . maybe the battle is over. Your plan worked! And you were so brave.”
“Is it over?” asked Wangchuk. “I pray that’s true. We lost ten brothers.”
“There are always losses in battle,” Felix said solemnly. “We just have to be ready for what’s next.”
“I am trying . . . ,” Wangchuk said, but then his voice trailed off as he saw something behind the gladiator.
House of Secrets: Battle of the Beasts Page 25
