Battle of the Beasts

by Chris Columbus

  “I’m sorry,” said Cordelia, “but I’m totally against it.”

  “If you don’t wear it, you’ll freeze to death! And this time, I won’t be around to save you.”

  Cordelia put on the coat and Will smiled; he could see how warm it made her feel. He was standing majestically at the front of the sled.

  “Mush!” Will said.

  The dogs didn’t move. One of them turned to look at Will: “Rrrr?”

  “Why didn’t my command work?” Will asked Wangchuk.

  “You’ve got to tell them where you want to go!”

  “Rome!” Will called.

  The sled dogs tore off, knocking him back into his seat.

  Will had never experienced anything like gliding over snowy mountains at high speed. The snow was blinding white, and he had to scrunch his face up; he thought, I probably look like Wangchuk. The air was so cold that it cut into his lungs, but it was also impossibly fresh. And the views were so spectacular—the blue mountains patchy with snow, the deep valleys with scrubby bushes like puffs of green paint—that it felt like he’d been lifted into heaven.

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” he asked Cordelia.

  She smiled; Will didn’t think she could hear him. The wind was too loud. She looked glorious in her multicolored coat with her hair flowing behind her. Will thought he’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

  The Great Sled of Buddha rounded a curve, throwing Will and Cordelia into the sides of their seats. The sled skidded precariously close to a cliff’s edge and, just as it felt they were going over, righted itself. The dogs displayed no dismay or deceleration. They were professionals.

  The thudding, whooshing snow under the sled and the frantic pace of the dogs seemed to make time slow down, and the sun put Will and Cordelia in such a daze that neither could say for sure how far they had traveled or for how long.

  Then it happened.

  It started with Cordelia’s hair. As the Great Sled took a sharp turn, a huge swath of it slapped Will’s face and triggered a sneeze. He emitted a great aaachoo into the air (his hands were holding the reins of the dogs), and then something odd took place—

  The sneeze didn’t stop.

  It bounced off the mountain in front of him: aaachoo!

  The mountain behind him: aaachooo!

  The one to the side of him: aaaaa-choo!!

  It continued to echo all around the speeding sled, like some nightmare version of surround sound, an innocuous sneeze turning into something much more dangerous, much more terrible. . . .

  Then he saw it, above and to the left.

  A chunk of the mountain was moving. There was a tiny black gap in the whiteness. A monumental slab of snow was rumbling toward the sled.

  Will yelled: “Ava—”

  Cordelia finished: “—lanche!”

  It was moving down the mountain like a cloud, only this cloud had weight that could kill. It was tough to comprehend, because it was just snow; it defied perspective—somehow seeming slow and fast at once. It was the most terrifying thing Will had ever seen.

  Will tugged the reins, trying to get the dogs to move faster than the avalanche. Maybe, just maybe, they could outrun this thing. But the snow was getting closer. In a few minutes, they would be engulfed. The sled dogs turned—now they were heading away from the avalanche . . .

  Toward the edge of a cliff.

  “Other way!” Cordelia screamed.

  “I’m trying!” screamed Will. “But the dogs . . . they’re taking control!”

  The two of them took the reins together, pulling with all their strength, but the animals were determined to go over the edge. The thousand-foot wall of snow was inches from crushing them. . . .

  And the Great Sled of Buddha flew off the mountain.

  Will would later remember it only in glimpses: Cordelia closing her eyes and putting her arms around him; the snow cascading over the side of the mountain; the sun shining down with uncaring clarity.

  But of course what he would remember most were the Batan sled dogs.

  They changed.

  It was a beautiful transformation, unlike the Wind Witch’s bone-cracking affairs. It was as if the dogs had been meant to do this all along. The fur that lined their enormous midsections folded out from under their shoulders—

  And formed into glorious furry wings.

  Then, in sequence, they all began to flap.

  “No way!” Cordelia yelled.

  Now Will understood the reason there was so much space between each dog at the front of the sled; it was so they could spread their wings and fly. The animals’ legs kept moving, running on air, flapping and pawing as they flew over a crevasse far below.

  As the avalanche finished crashing over the cliff behind them, they flew through the mountains like Santa Claus.

  “Those are some special powers,” remarked Will in awe, and it was quiet enough for Cordelia to hear him. She clasped his hand.

  In a few hours, the scenery below had changed, from white peaks to brown mountainsides to green hills. Then Will spotted something, far beneath him on the ground.

  “Is that . . . ?” he asked Cordelia.

  “Yes,” she said. “Maybe the avalanche represented the same kind of seam between two worlds that the tank went through when we flew up on the mountain.”

  “Kristoff House,” said Will. “I’m glad to see you again.”

  Back in Rome, somewhere in a dark room, Brendan woke up and immediately asked, “Deal? Nell?” He was certain that everything he had been through was only a bad dream. “Will?” he continued . . . and then the world flooded in on him and he remembered what had happened in the arena.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” said Emperor Occipus. “It’s only me.”

  Brendan heard a click and saw a flame above him. Will’s lighter! It was in Occipus’s hand, pointing up at his face, giving it an eerie glow.

  “Where am I?” Brendan asked. “What happened?”

  “Below the arena, in a sick bay,” said Occipus. “Many gladiators are brought here when they have been pierced or bludgeoned in battle. But you didn’t suffer an honorable injury. You passed out when your opponent had you beaten. It was one of the most cowardly performances I have ever seen.”

  Emperor Occipus let the lighter go out. Brendan was back in darkness. He felt something drip on his forehead and realized it was Occipus’s sweat. He tried to get up, but found that he was strapped to his bed, which wasn’t really a bed at all, but a stone slab.

  “How long have I been here?” Brendan asked.

  “Not even a day,” said Occipus, “but it has been quite a humiliating day. Word of your failure to fight has spread far and wide. You are no ordinary young man, after all; you are General Brendan, the lion tamer. You skyrocketed to fame. Your name was on everyone’s lips until those Nazis showed up. Even afterward, there were many who said that you would be the one to conquer them.”

  Brendan started to say, “But the Nazis haven’t come back, just like I told you, Supreme Emperor”—but then he thought, No more lies. Because whatever else had happened, he had been given another chance at life. He had a heartbeat; he could breathe. There must be a reason I’m still here, still alive. And when there’s life, there’s hope. Who told me that? Wasn’t it Will? . . . Yes, Brendan decided. And from now on I’m living my life differently. I’m going to get out of here and find Nell and Deal, and find a way home. And then I’m going to tell Mom and Dad I love them, no matter what.

  Emperor Occipus lit his lighter and menaced Brendan. “So put yourself in my position. Which is something I know you like to do—I see the way you look at me. I have created a superstar gladiator who has proven himself to be nothing but a liar and a charlatan. My people are now whispering behind my back, doubting me, losing faith in me. They have started to ask questions. There is even talk they are looking for my replacement!”

  “If I were in your position,” Brendan said, “I would stop these games entirely.”

  �
��Why?”

  “They’re wrong. People are getting killed every day. Not to mention helpless animals.”

  “I can’t stop the games. In fact, the games are the only way I can regain the trust and love of my people.”

  “How?”

  “By making you today’s star attraction!”

  Brendan gulped: “Star attraction” didn’t sound as great to him as it once had. He thought about that Twilight Zone episode he’d watched with Eleanor last year, titled “To Serve Man.”

  “This afternoon,” said Occipus, “will be the first and only day in Roman history that I will allow all Romans free admission to the Colosseum. And not just the citizens: the slaves, too. They will all crowd into the stands. I will serve them free, unlimited food and drink. And when all of their stomachs are full, when they have all had enough wine to make them giddy with happiness, you will be led into the arena.”

  “And . . . ,” Brendan said shakily.

  “I will make a speech,” said Occipus, “as I am wont to do. A very humble speech where I will beg for forgiveness. I will admit that I made a big mistake, that I misjudged your character. In my left hand, I will be clutching a sliced onion. And when I raise my hand to my face, this onion will bring tears to my eyes. Crying always manages to create sympathy. Then I will conclude the speech by making my usual empty promises that can never be fulfilled. But I will be so passionate and engaging, my people will believe every word. And they will trust me again. And then, to wipe away any doubts that may still be lingering about me, I will do something that will restore all of Rome’s belief in my power, ‘General’ Brendan.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Feed you to the lions.”

  Will had a plan. He came up with it moments after spotting Kristoff House in the Italian countryside. It was comforting to see the house, to know that they were on the right course flying back to Rome. But something beside the house was more important: an American P-51 Mustang.

  “We need to get that plane,” Will told Cordelia.

  “No, we need to get to Rome and save Brendan.”

  “I agree,” said Will, “but we have no idea what the Romans are going to fight us with. Personally, I’d feel better arriving in a plane with artillery, rather than on a sled with flying dogs.”

  One of the Batan sled dogs snapped its teeth at Will.

  He whispered to Cordelia: “I forgot they could understand us. Anyway, I’d feel safer in a plane.”

  “You have a point,” said Cordelia, “but apologize to the dogs.”

  “I’m terribly sorry. I promise—” said Will to the dogs. He suddenly stopped midsentence, feeling very silly. “Oh, bloody hell, this is absolutely ridiculous! Talking to a bunch of mutts!”

  All the dogs turned and snapped their teeth at Will. And growled ferociously.

  “All right, all right, don’t worry . . . ,” said Will. “I truly am sorry. Won’t happen again.”

  The dogs ended up landing on green grass behind a hill a few hundred feet from Kristoff House. Their wings folded beneath them and they curled up for some much-needed rest. Will helped Cordelia out of the sled, and the two of them reached the top of the hill and looked down. Below was Kristoff House. Next to it was a bored-looking pilot leaning against the P-51 Mustang.

  “Americans keeping guard,” Will said. “They know there’s something unusual about this house.”

  “Well, we’re not letting them occupy it either!” Cordelia said.

  “Relax,” said Will. “I’ve got a plan.”

  “What’s that?” asked Cordelia.

  “We’re gonna pull a fast one, kiddo.”

  Cordelia squinted. “Why are you doing an American accent?”

  “You’ll find out soon enough, sweetheart,” said Will.

  “It’s not half bad,” she said.

  “Thanks. All of us Brits can do Yank. We learned from your Westerns and gangster pictures, partner.”

  “That was a little forced,” said Cordelia. “That time you sounded too ‘movie cowboy.’”

  “Just what I had in mind, sister,” said Will, now sounding more like a Roaring Twenties cinema gangster.

  “You have to pick between gangster . . . and cowboy,” said Cordelia.

  “I’ll stay somewhere in between,” said Will. “Now, time to put your hair up, little lady.”

  Cordelia laughed as Will wrapped her hair up over her head. It wouldn’t stay put until he found a twig and stuck it through. Then he took the hood of her multicolored fur coat and pulled it over her eyes.

  “Hmmm,” he said. “Almost.”

  He smudged his finger in some dirt and smeared it on her face.

  “What the heck are you doing?” Cordelia asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I’m trying to make you look like a boy.”

  “By getting me dirty? For your information, girls get dirty too. We play sports, we—”

  “Just bear with me,” Will said. He pressed his hand against her lips. “What is this? Are you wearing lipstick?”

  “That’s my normal lip color! Leave my lips alone!”

  “Oh,” Will said. “Oh. Wow. Really?” He looked at her face again. Darn, he thought. She still looks completely beautiful!

  “Hey! You two!”

  The air force pilot standing at the plane yelled up at them: “What’re you doing?! This ain’t lover’s lane!”

  Will put on his American accent: “Ya got me wrong, buddy! This isn’t my main squeeze, it’s my assistant.”

  The pilot aimed a pistol at Will. “Who are you?”

  “The name’s Marvelous Marcus, Master of the Mystic Arts,” said Will. “And this is Jimmy Hobbs.”

  “Jimmy?” said the suspicious pilot. “He’s no Jimmy. More like a Judy.”

  “Believe me, partner,” said Will. “This here’s a young man. He’s been my assistant for five years.”

  “Look, buddy,” said the pilot, “I don’t got time for nonsense. This whole area is US-seized property, and you have point-five seconds to explain what you’re doing, before I blow you and your ‘assistant’ away.”

  “I’m a world-famous magician,” said Will. “I’ve been sent here by the good ole U.S. of A. to entertain the troops with incredible feats of magic and illusion!”

  “Oh yeah?” said the pilot. “Well, I’ve been stationed here for the last two years, and I ain’t seen any entertainment. Betty Grable was supposed to show up and never came. Neither did Bob Hope. And I sure as hell never heard of any Marvelous Marcus. So get down on the ground with your hands on your heads. Both of you—”

  “Let us show you something!” said Will. “Something so magical, so fantastic . . . that you’ll have to believe us.”

  The pilot paused, intrigued. Back home, he used to love going to magic shows with his father.

  “You’re going to enjoy this,” said Will. “I promise.”

  “You got thirty seconds,” said the pilot.

  Will turned back and shouted: “Batan sled dogs! Fly!”

  A moment passed. Cordelia looked at Will. Uh-oh. Is this going to work? Maybe the dogs are asleep, or maybe they’re still ticked off at Will for insulting them.

  Then suddenly they appeared, flying over the top of the hill. Wings spread wide. Soaring high in the air. Like Rudolph and his reindeer friends, but a lot cooler.

  The pilot’s jaw dropped. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull. Will turned to him. “Convinced?”

  The pilot could manage only a small, shocked nod.

  “Would you like to see more?” asked Will.

  The pilot smiled, like a young child witnessing his first circus. Will turned back to the dogs: “Do a few more tricks for the chap!”

  “Hold on,” said the pilot, “why are you suddenly talkin’ like a Brit?”

  Will exchanged a startled look with Cordelia. Without missing a beat, she spoke up in a perfect British accent of her own: “It’s all part of the show, mate. When we’re onstage, we pretend we’re Brit
ish.”

  The pilot was about to ask Will why Jimmy Hobbs sounded like a girl. But Will interrupted: “Fly, boys!”

  The dogs soared even higher into the air. The pilot watched, amazed, as they began to perform a stunning aerial show. They flipped, doing loop-the-loops, and then dove at an incredibly fast rate. Just moments before impact, they swooped back up into the sky, and the pilot actually dropped his gun and applauded.

  Will nudged Cordelia. They sneaked away from the pilot and climbed into the cockpit of the P-51 Mustang. Will started the engines, causing the pilot to turn.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doin’—?”

  But Will hit the gas and the plane sped off, toward the pilot. He leaped out of the way as the plane went airborne. The duped pilot picked up his gun, got to his feet, and shot at the departing craft, but it was too late. The plane disappeared into the clouds, flying toward Rome, with the sled dogs following close behind.

  Back in the Himalayas, Eleanor was having a tense moment with Wangchuk. “What do you mean, ‘This is it’?” she asked.

  The monk shrugged at her. The two of them, along with Felix, were standing in the Batan Chekrat dining hall, staring at a pile of butter knives and spoons.

  Eleanor said, “You expect us to fight the frost beasts with butter knives and spoons?”

  “They’re not butter knives,” Wangchuk said, “they’re yak knives.”

  “I don’t want to hear that word ever again!” Eleanor tapped her finger on the knives. “Look at these! They’re not even sharp. We’re supposed to be getting ready for a battle, not a cookout.”

  “I apologize,” Wangchuk said. “But yak meat is extremely tender. We don’t require anything sharper.”

  “We. Need. Weapons!”

  Felix could see that Eleanor was getting worked up, nearing tantrum-level anger. Since Cordelia wasn’t around to put a hand on her shoulder, Felix did it.

  “We are men of peace,” said Wangchuk.

  “We’ve heard,” grumbled Eleanor.

  “You have already convinced us to join you in battle,” said Wangchuk. “You have to be reasonable. It is you, the warriors, who are responsible for bringing the weapons.”