Battle of the Beasts

by Chris Columbus

  “Which way?” asked Brendan.

  “Right,” Eleanor said. “We should always go right. Then it’ll be easier to remember how to get back when we turn around.”

  “Good point,” Will said.

  “Leave it to the dyslexic to figure out stuff like that,” said Brendan, actually meaning it as a compliment.

  They went right, again and again. Feels like we should’ve come full circle by now, Brendan thought. And then he stopped.

  “Guys? The wall’s not made of wood anymore.”

  They all started pressing it with their palms. There was a clear seam where the wood stopped and turned into wet, jagged stone.

  “How is this possible?” Will asked. “There’s a rock wall inside the house?”

  “We heard about this!” said Eleanor. “Remember how Penelope Hope told us about that cave? The one where Denver Kristoff snuck off to use the book, to create his evil wishes?” She shuddered. “Maybe we should go back—”

  “You can’t act out of fear, Nell,” said Cordelia. “We need to move forward. No matter what we find.”

  The group kept going, slowly and cautiously. Water droplets plinked in the stone tunnel. Suddenly, Brendan spotted a faint light, shining out of the floor up ahead.

  “Guys! Check it out!” shouted Brendan.

  The light was about as bright as the glow of a computer screen leaking from a bedroom, but it looked like the sun to Brendan. He broke free and ran toward it.

  “Bren, what are you doing?”

  Brendan stared at the light as he got closer. At first it just seemed like a reflection of something in the ceiling, but there was nothing up there, only blackness. Then it looked like a sheet of ice on the floor, or maybe a pile of blue-white gems, and only when Brendan got very close did he realize what it was—

  A pool.

  A still, glowing pool of water, right in the middle of the ground.

  It looked as if a full moon were floating inside the pool, shining up. The water illuminated the surrounding walls, which were no longer close to Brendan. He was in a real cave, not huge—but big enough to pitch a tent in. The shimmering light made it quite beautiful.

  “What is it?” Eleanor asked, rushing up. They all looked into the glowing pool. The water was blue—gemstone blue, as if it were a sparkling mineral that had been liquefied—and resting below the surface was something familiar.

  A bookshelf.

  It looked like the driftwood bookshelf they had seen on their last adventure. It was completely submerged in the pool. And on its shelves, perfectly visible in the water, were dozens of manuscripts.

  “Books,” Brendan muttered. “More books.”

  The top row of manuscripts lay just below the surface of the water. But they don’t even look wet, thought Cordelia. That’s weird: If Kristoff left them down here all those years ago, they should have disintegrated into pulpy mush. . . .

  Cordelia reached out to touch a manuscript—but Brendan grabbed her wrist.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to get a book.”

  “I think before you touch anything, you should ask me.”

  “Excuse me?” Cordelia drew back. “You want me to ask you for permission?”

  “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

  “That doesn’t mean you can order me around—”

  “It does if I’m protecting you.”

  As Cordelia and Brendan argued, Eleanor reached into the pool and pulled out a manuscript before anyone could stop her. She plopped it on the ground; it was a stack of papers held together with a leather strap. Eleanor started undoing the strap. The liquid that came off the manuscript didn’t seem to be water. It felt thicker and softer, like oil. Eleanor put a drop on her fingertip. It sat there, glowing from within.

  Cordelia and Brendan whirled around—but neither of them could get mad at Eleanor.

  “What’s the book covered in? Some phosphorescent preservative?” Cordelia asked.

  “Just be careful, Nell,” warned Brendan.

  Eleanor looked at the first page of the manuscript. Whatever the liquid was, it had protected the pages, because they looked as pristine as if they had just come out of a printer.

  “Red . . . D . . . Dalmatian?” she asked.

  Felix looked over her shoulder, pretending to concentrate on the title Eleanor was trying to read. The young gladiator didn’t know how to read at all.

  “Red Dominion,” corrected Cordelia.

  “By Denver Kristoff,” continued Eleanor.

  Felix nodded as if that made perfect sense.

  “Jeez, how many books did this guy write?” asked Brendan.

  “Enough to need a magical underwater bookcase,” said Eleanor.

  But Cordelia said over her shoulder: “This is very weird.” She read aloud: “‘Red Dominion. Chapter One. It was 1959, and the Iron Curtain was about to erupt into a wall of fire.’ Brendan, when did the Iron Curtain begin?”

  “That’s the Cold War, so probably 1945—”

  “Cold War?” Eleanor asked. “What’s that?”

  “Arms-building race between the Americans and Russians,” Brendan said. “Almost went nuclear.”

  “Is this more information from the future that I need to know?” asked Felix.

  “It’s definitely interesting,” said Brendan. “The U.S. called the barriers Russia created between themselves and Europe the ‘Iron Curtain.’”

  “These are books Kristoff wrote after he became the Storm King,” Cordelia said. “Check the others.”

  Brendan reached into the blue pool and pulled out a manuscript called Fields of Vietnam. Then another: Flying Saucer Apocalypse.

  “Look at this,” he said. “It’s like, ‘Kristoff, the Secret Works.’”

  “This is terrible,” said Cordelia. “Now there are twice as many books we could be trapped in. What if Japanese kamikaze planes show up? Or Iraq War drones? We have to get out of here!”

  “You’re saying that like we have a choice,” Brendan said, “but there is no way to get out of here.”

  “If we keep going past this cave, maybe we’ll find one—”

  “Hold on,” Brendan said. “We’re not going any farther tonight. We need to go back and get some sleep. You heard the emperor. He wants us to be in tomorrow’s games.”

  “So?” Cordelia asked.

  “So? We’re his biggest stars ever. We’ve got to be ready. Aren’t you guys excited to be in the games? A little?”

  They all looked at one another. No one answered.

  “Of course you are! Will? Felix? Felix, I know you’re excited.”

  “I don’t really like the games,” Felix said. “I’m good at them, but I don’t enjoy them.” He turned to Cordelia. “I’d rather explore more of these books with you. Books are things I don’t know much about. Maybe I could learn—”

  “You guys are out of your minds!” Brendan said. “Tomorrow there’s going to be more feasts, more entertainment, more of those little grapes with the honey—and you want to hang out in a cave all night reading?”

  “Brendan . . . ,” Will said. “You’re getting a little too enthusiastic about the Roman lifestyle. You do realize it’s not going to last. . . .”

  “Why not?” Brendan asked. “I mean . . . at this point we don’t have a way to get home. And why would we even want to go back? Guys, I know Occipus is a pain in the butt, but this is so much more fun than going to school, where I have to deal with that stupid bully, Scott, and then coming home and listening to Mom and Dad argue all night! We should take advantage of this. Start having fun. You know what I think? I think you’re all just jealous because I’m the emperor’s favorite!”

  “His favorite? He almost had you executed,” said Eleanor.

  “We understand each other,” said Brendan, and then he stormed away from the glowing pool, back toward the corridor. “I’m going back,” he called without looking. “See you guys later! Maybe I can get the emperor to give me my ol
d bed back in his personal quarters. . . .” He kept muttering, but his voice faded.

  “What do we do?” asked Eleanor.

  “Stay put,” said Will. “We need to study these carefully. There may be a clue inside to find a way home.”

  “And leave Brendan all by himself?”

  “Definitely,” said Will. “He needs to grow up. If he does talk to that slimy emperor, I predict that by tomorrow, he’ll be thrown into the middle of the arena, all alone, fighting polar bears and lions, crying his eyes out, screaming for us to come and save him.”

  “But what if something happens to him before we get there?” asked a frightened Eleanor.

  “At least,” said Will, “he will have learned a valuable lesson.”

  As Brendan ran away from Kristoff House in the dark night (the Roman guards let him pass once he explained he was going to Occipus for special training for tomorrow’s games), he started to have doubts. I’ve never been on my own before, never really been away from my family. But I’ve got to stay tough. Maybe being a Roman is what I’ve always been destined for. I always thought I was meant to be a lacrosse star or a player for the Giants, but I’m not really that great at those things. But here . . . maybe I can be great. I’m already close to the emperor. He seems to like me. And I think he respects me. But what if I never see Deal or Nell or Mom and Dad again? . . . No, you can’t think like that. You have to keep going, keep going, keep going—

  “STOP!!”

  Brendan froze in his tracks, and slowly turned. It was the Wind Witch.

  She floated a few feet above the ground, on a gentle gust of air. She wore her new chrome false hands, which glowed, and a long cape that flowed behind her. The curve of her smile and the curve of her bald head reminded Brendan of the eye symbol on The Book of Doom and Desire.

  “What do you want?” Brendan asked.

  “One final test,” said the Wind Witch.

  “Test?”

  The Wind Witch stuck one of her false hands under her armpit and pulled it off. Beneath it was another metallic item attached to her stub: a long, razor-sharp, curved knife.

  The Wind Witch lowered herself to the ground and started to walk toward Brendan. As she got close, she extended the knife.

  The Colosseum was empty. Kristoff House was too far away—if Brendan called for help, no one would be able to reach him until it was too late. He stalled.

  “What are you doing?” asked Brendan, his voice shaking.

  “I tried to kill your sister Cordelia,” said the Wind Witch. “And I failed. I tried to kill Eleanor. And I failed again. As you can imagine, it’s all very confusing and disturbing to me. I don’t know why my power has weakened. And in my search for an answer, I realized one very important thing: I haven’t tried to kill you.”

  “Look, lady,” said Brendan, trying to stop his voice from trembling. “I just want to get back to the emperor. . . . I’m not trying to hurt you. . . . Do you really need to do a test on me? I mean—”

  Before Brendan could say another word, the Wind Witch’s arm shot forward, plunging the knife deep into his chest.

  Deep into his heart.

  Brendan gasped. It hurt. It took his breath away. He felt his heartbeat starting to slow. He couldn’t speak. He looked down. Blood poured from the wound, down his chest. The Wind Witch pulled out the knife and smiled. Brendan fell to his knees and felt himself losing consciousness.

  “It worked,” said the Wind Witch. “My power has returned.”

  Brendan’s heart stopped beating. Everything around him spun. But before he collapsed on the ground . . .

  The wound in his chest began to close back up. He could feel his heart muscles rethreading. And he felt a thump of life inside him. He was confused, overjoyed, terrified. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. Within seconds, he was able to breathe again. The color returned to his face.

  “Nooo!” screamed the Wind Witch.

  Brendan stumbled back to his feet and placed his hand on his restored chest, feeling his heartbeat. He smiled at the Wind Witch. It felt like he had just won a huge gladiator fight, like he had beaten her in front of a packed crowd.

  “Guess your mojo’s gone, Baldy!”

  Hearing that, the Wind Witch shot up in the air like a rocket, screaming “It can’t be!!” before disappearing into the night sky.

  Brendan turned away and, with a renewed sense of confidence, raced toward the entrance to the emperor’s palace.

  This is a sign, he thought. I’m not just supposed to be a Roman. I’m invincible! I’m supposed to be a gladiator! Maybe . . . the greatest gladiator of all time!

  Cordelia, Eleanor, Will, and Felix spent the night in the Kristoff House living room, with as many manuscripts as they could carry from the underwater bookshelf. They used them as pillows, and even blankets, since there was no bedding, lying down in piles of books.

  The next morning, Eleanor awoke to see Felix kneeling over some of the manuscripts. He had placed them in neat rows, faceup, with the title pages displayed.

  “What are you doing?” Eleanor asked. Will and Cordelia were still asleep. Gray light stretched across the living room; the sun hadn’t risen but there was a hint of heat in the air. It was going to be a scorcher in the Colosseum.

  “Nothing,” Felix said, quickly turning away from the manuscripts. “Just . . . guarding these.”

  “Guarding them? You’re trying to read them.” Eleanor approached. “Can you read them?”

  Felix hung his head, too embarrassed to say no. But Eleanor understood.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I’ll teach you.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. At least while Deal’s asleep. When she wakes up she’ll be like, ‘Step aside, Nell. You’re the last person who should be teaching people to read.’”

  “Why’s that?” Felix asked.

  “Because I’m . . .” Eleanor was going to explain, but then she thought, What’s the point? Felix doesn’t know! “Never mind. Where do we start? Do you know your alphabet?”

  “Like all the letters?” Felix shook his head. “All I know is how to write my name. But the others . . . ?”

  “Oh boy, we’re starting right from the beginning,” Eleanor said.

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No, it’s great. The beginning is what I know best.”

  Eleanor started with the letter A and all the different sounds it could make. As she spoke, she realized how difficult English was. A lot of the letters could make more than one sound depending on what other letters were near them. O could make about four different sounds, and she had a feeling there were more. If you wanted to design a language to be difficult, it couldn’t get much tougher than English. Really, it was amazing anybody could read it.

  “Why do C and K sound alike?” Felix said. “Shouldn’t they just get rid of one?”

  “They should,” said Eleanor, “but you’d have to email the dictionary people about that.”

  Felix nodded as if that made total sense before he started sounding out the title of one of the books. Then Will woke up and tapped Cordelia.

  “Look at this,” Will said. “Your sister’s teaching the Greek to read.”

  “You could help,” said Cordelia. “Be the bigger man after almost getting in a fistfight with him.”

  “Good point,” said Will, thinking to himself, “Be the bigger man.” I like the sound of that! He walked over to Eleanor and Felix.

  “Would you two fancy some assistance from an educated Englishman?”

  Felix was wary at first, but then allowed Will to join them. Soon the pilot was helping the gladiator sound out letters, and when Cordelia joined in, Felix felt a bolt of pride as he accurately sounded out an entire title.

  “At . . . Atlantis Brigade!”

  Everyone applauded.

  “Excellent,” said Eleanor. “If you keep practicing, you’ll be able to read the whole book.”

  Felix’s voice shook as he spoke: “El
eanor—all of you—I was raised to be a gladiator. My strength training involved the most difficult and deadly exercises. But never once in my life did I have the strength, or more importantly, the courage . . . to attempt to read. And now . . . I’ve actually done it. Because of you. It’s a miracle!”

  “Wish Bren were here to see,” said Eleanor wistfully.

  They all took a moment to think about Brendan and what kind of trouble he could be getting into, and then Cordelia took charge and started organizing a reading of the books. Eleanor and Felix kept looking at Atlantis Brigade. Cordelia and Will began skimming manuscript titles—The Mine Field Under the Sea; The Lunar Odyssey—in an attempt to find what other books they might be trapped in. It was sobering; Cordelia’s head began to fill with all the horrible and deadly scenarios that were inside each manuscript. They had a tough enough time with gladiators; what if they were attacked by a spaceship or prehistoric creatures?

  In the middle of this investigation, Brendan returned to the house. He wore a purple toga, like the men who sat close to the action in the Colosseum, and a golden, vine-shaped crown. His body glistened, covered with oil; he walked with his chest held high as if he had something long and straight sticking up his backside.

  “Good morning,” he said. Roman guards stood behind him.

  “Brendan!” Cordelia gushed, despite still being angry at how he had left them. “Where have you been?”

  “With Occipus,” Brendan answered. He seemed cagey; he looked at his feet, which were adorned with brand-new leather sandals. “I’ve been in his palace. We feasted until I don’t know when last night; I just woke up. Check out my cool outfit!”

  “Bren, don’t leave us again,” Eleanor said. “We had a horrible night. There were no blankets or anything, and believe it or not, we actually missed all of your dumb jokes and complaining.”