Of Mice and Magic

by David Farland

  Lady Blackpool stood for a moment under the lip of the turtle’s shell and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Poor Sea Foam was trying to raise his head, but each time that he did, his eyes rolled back, and he’d drop it again.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Lady Blackpool asked.

  “I couldn’t feel more cooked if I was turtle soup,” Sea Foam said.

  The hail pounded Sea Foam’s back. Lady Blackpool didn’t dare go out. There was nothing to do but sit in the shelter and wait out the storm.

  No sooner had she reached that conclusion than Sea Foam fainted. Up ahead, the magic fireballs had stopped.

  “I only hope that I’m not too late,” Lady Blackpool whispered.

  Chapter 14

  THE MUSH ROOM

  We should always encourage those around us to reach their highest potential.

  —NIGHTWING

  “The master returns! The master returns!”

  BEN TWISTED AND FLOATED through a dark and loathsome dream. He kept his eyes closed as Nightwing flew, for the trip was jarring and made Ben’s stomach turn.

  He came awake once to find that the bat had climbed above the storm. Down below him, lightning popped and flashed beneath the black and boiling clouds, while overhead, the stars loomed so close that they threatened to burn him.

  Ben could hear the bat muttering as he flew, reciting poetry beneath his breath, his voice alternately hissing and then booming.

  But see, amid the mimic rout

  A crawling shape intrude!

  A blood-red thing that writhes from out

  The scenic solitude!

  It writhes!—it writhes!—with mortal pangs

  The mimes become its food

  And seraphs sob at vermin fangs

  In human gore imbued.

  Out—out are the lights—out all!

  And, over each quivering form,

  The curtain, a funeral pall,

  Comes down with the rush of a storm,

  While the angels, all pallid and wan,

  Uprising, unveiling, affirm

  That the play is the tragedy, “Man,”

  And its hero the Conqueror Worm.

  Nightwing dipped beneath the clouds again, and in the distance, Ben glimpsed the sea surrounding a rugged jut of land. There was a statue atop the jut, a strange one unlike anything Ben had ever seen. It was an Egyptian god, a jackal, holding a huge brazier above its head—a saucer that at some time far in the past had been filled with fire. Suddenly, Ben realized what the strange statue was—a lighthouse, here at the end of the world.

  But then Ben must have passed from a dream into a nightmare, for the bat dove steeply past the statue, down among trees that were bent and twisted into shapes that were so grotesque that they no longer looked like trees. Knotholes gaped like screaming mouths, and Ben felt sure that he saw pain-filled eyes hidden behind the leaves. Ben found himself clinging to the bat in terror, more afraid of the woods than of his vile master. Vines and creepers clung to the demented trees, but these were no ordinary vines. Ben saw lengths of them coil around tree limbs like serpents or crawl upon the ground.

  Ben smelled death below. Indeed, strange fungi grew in huge colonies, giving a deathly green glow, and by their quavering light, he spotted an abandoned car surrounded by the grotesque woods. Thorn bushes circled the car, raking the air with thorns as long as daggers.

  A strange cry rose up from the broken land, a cry that seemed to be neither human nor animal. Ben looked down and saw a raven with the sharp-nosed face of an evil old man.

  The monstrous raven cried, “The master returns! The master returns!”

  Other shouts rose from the woods. They might have been cheers of greeting or cries of lament.

  Nightwing dove under the trees into a dark grotto where all was shadow. Enormous spiders, as luminous as fireflies, had built nests here, and as the spiders suddenly fluoresced, their webs lit up like gauzy ropes of light.

  The bat flapped into a dank cave where hot pools bubbled among rocks that looked strangely like animals trying to flee.

  Then Nightwing rose up, flying through a haze over a vast chamber. The lightning spiders were everywhere in here, covering the ceiling so that it shone with luminous webs. And on the floor of the cavern were monstrosities—scorpion-like creatures as big as rats, opossums with heads that sprouted bony armor, toads with eyes that glowed as red as coals. Giant evil-looking worms that buzzed their tails like rattlesnakes and watched Nightwing as if hoping that he’d drop a meal among them.

  The cavern reeked of decay. And as Nightwing swooped low, the horrid creatures shouted in unison, “Master returns! Master! Master!”

  Nightwing flew up to a rock where an enormous serpent lay, a snake that looked as cruel as a cobra. Its skin glowed sullenly, and upon it was painted the most amazing scene—a child whose world seemed to be melting as he cried in horror.

  “Welcome, Master,” the snake hissed, rising up to look down on the bat.

  “Good evening, Fanglorious,” Nightwing said. “I see that you molted while I was gone. How do you like the new skin? Edvard Munch’s The Scream, I think it’s called.”

  “It’s much better,” the snake said. “I was getting so tired of that grinning face of Alfred E. Neuman.”

  “Well, it does suit you,” Nightwing told the snake.

  All the while as they spoke, the monsters in the cave kept chanting, “Master! Master! Master!”

  The bat set Ben on the ground and strode around him, as if anxiously inspecting a new toy.

  “Hey, that’s not Darwin,” Fanglorious said.

  “No,” Nightwing hissed. “It’s not. It’s something better.” The bat addressed Ben. “Now, my little friend, it is time for a test of your powers. Don’t fail me. You know what happens to insects that fail me.”

  The bat surveyed his cavern and shouted to his minions, “Release the hummers.”

  Suddenly, a pair of spiders parted their webs, and a humming filled the air. Ben glanced up to see a dozen hummingbirds come swooping from a hole. They darted around the room, first veering, then pausing in midair, ethereal creatures, their emerald-green feathers making them shine like gems come to life.

  “Die,” Nightwing shouted.

  Instantly, the hummingbirds seemed to explode, leaving nothing but feathers drifting in the air. From the horrid mob of creatures on the floor came evil cackling, and the monsters rushed to feed on the remains of the fallen hummingbirds.

  Ben gaped in horror. He had never imagined that the bat might use his magical powers for anything so terrible.

  Nightwing sighed in satisfaction. “Very nice. Now, we shall put the mush room to good use!”

  “Bring forth some prisoners.”

  There was movement among the mass of grotesque bodies below, a seething as creatures moved aside, and from a pair of holes came two creatures. One of them was a mourning dove, as white as snow. The other was a crab. The dove crept forward timidly, eyeing the monsters around it. The crab scuttled sideways toward them, waving its claws in the air as if to ward off any attack.

  “Welcome,” Nightwing called down to the prisoners. “Welcome to the Dark Arena. Here in my cavern, we have a saying, ‘Extinction is the destiny of the weak.’ And tonight, for our amusement, someone is going to become extinct!”

  Guffaws of laughter rose from the mob of monsters, along with cheers of “Hooray!” The crab looked up at the dove, his eyestalks waving as he studied his foe. The crab was huge and his claws were massive, while his carapace kept him safely armored.

  For its part, the dove just ducked his head and peered around with eyes as black as marbles.

  “Hey,” Ben said. “That’s not fair. There’s no way that a dove can beat a crab!”

  “Fair?” Nightwing asked. “You want fair? Well, all right then, let’s make it fair.”

  From the crowd of monsters, a chant began to arise. “Mush them. Mush them. Mush them.”

  And with a wave o
f his clawed wing, Nightwing used his vast powers to make the dove and the crab slide toward one another. Both frightened prisoners tried to pull away, but they were shoved together as if by invisible hands, and in a moment, they pressed against one another firmly.

  The dove cried out in pain and the crab wriggled its claws desperately, and all of the denizens of the cave kept shouting, “Mush them. Mush them.”

  Then the most horrible thing happened. The two creatures seemed to melt into one another, forming a strange and loathsome creature.

  What stood below was a horror—a bird with red wings all covered with a crablike carapace. Where the joint of the wings should have been, claws curled out like hooks. Its head displayed armor plates with strange horns. Its chest had segments of armor on it too, and the crab-dove scurried around, his six bony feet clacking on the rocks.

  “Hooray!” the monsters all cheered as they looked upon this newly formed horror.

  The crab-dove looked at itself in shock, and Nightwing cried out, “Oh, don’t be so alarmed. Your disfigurement serves a higher purpose. If you fight well, you will live, and I might even reward you by creating more monsters of the same design to fight under your command in my army. Now bring in this week’s champion,” Nightwing cried with glee, and the seething mass of monsters moved aside as some evil beast came slithering among them. Ben gulped as it came into view—a sharp-toothed eel, gasping in the air. It had hundreds of powerful little rubbery legs and armor plates running the length of its back. Ben realized with disgust that the eel had been mushed with a centipede.

  Cheers arose as the two combatants began to circle one another, each searching for an opening. The crab-dove looked terrified and kept trying to run, but it didn’t seem to know whether it should inch sideways or rush forward, so it tripped over its new feet.

  The eelipede responded by whipping its tail around, bashing the helpless creature against some rocks.

  Ben gazed down in horror at what was happening and realized that it was like some evil game of Pokémon.

  No, he thought. It’s more like a cockfight or a dogfight.

  But then someone in the crowd shouted to the eelipede, “Use your poison attack!” And Ben realized that yes, it was exactly like Pokémon.

  The eelipede lunged and grabbed the crab-dove, lifting it high in the air and hurling it down with a sickly crunch.

  There was brief moment of utter silence when the only sound to be heard was the crash of waves upon rock, and then the monsters broke into a wild cheer.

  Nightwing drew his huge ears back and raised his wings to cover them protectively while the cavern shook with cheers and applause.

  “Good times, eh?” Nightwing shouted to Ben. “I’ve barely scratched the surface of your power. Oh, we’re going to have gobs of fun. Gobs of it!”

  Chapter 15

  DOONBARRA

  Trouble foreseen is trouble averted.

  —BUSHMASTER

  He jumped onto a pizza and pried some pineapple out of the hardened cheese.

  “GOBS OF FUN,” someone was saying in Amber’s dream. “Gobs of it.” But in the dream, there were cries of pain and death, followed by the roars and shouts of a monstrous applause. Amber awoke with a gasp.

  The night was cold and foggy. The lights of Fat Jim’s Pizza were low. Only a couple of neon signs in the window still shined. Amber got to her feet and shivered. She felt different somehow—weaker, more vulnerable. She remembered about Ben and a strange dream that she had. She’d been trying to change Ben into a human and then . . .

  She peered around. The pet shop mice had fallen asleep on a pizza, huddling together for warmth. They lay there, fast asleep, as if they were pizza toppings ordered by a cat.

  Amber thought that she spotted Ben lying asleep with his helmet on, holding his spear like a fallen warrior, with his little grappling hook and ropes thrown over his shoulder.

  Only it isn’t Ben, Amber realized. It’s Bushmaster. She recognized the vole by his grizzled fur and short tail.

  Amber suddenly realized that no one was keeping watch. She cast her eyes about and saw something under a bush—a blackness, as if a deeper shadow. A creature stood on its rear feet, watching her.

  A ferret! she thought, gulping in fear. It must have followed me from the pet shop.

  Suddenly, the creature bounded toward her.

  Amber wished that she had Ben’s spear and held her paw out, waiting for it to leap into her fingers. But all that happened was that she felt a slight dizziness and a rush of fatigue.

  Suddenly the creature bounded into the air and literally flew toward her, landing scant inches away.

  “G’day,” the creature said, bending down over her. “You’ve turned into quite the wizard.”

  Amber finally recognized the creature—a sugar glider. The strange little fellow had come into the pet shop just this past week. He was a shy animal that only came out at night. He could fly like a squirrel but was more closely related to an opossum.

  He said in his strange accent, “Spare a bit of tucker for a weary old critter on his walkabout?”

  “Food, you mean?” Amber asked. “You want some pizza?”

  The sugar glider hopped away and began eating before she could offer him any. He jumped onto a pizza and pried some pineapple out of the hardened cheese. “Hey, this looks like good stuff! Too bad they don’t have a few wood beetles on it too.”

  “I know you,” Amber said, “from the pet shop!”

  “Nah,” the sugar glider said. “I’m not from no pet shop. I’m from Down Under. Name’s Doonbarra.”

  “Under where?” Amber asked.

  “Tasmania,” Doonbarra said. He stood, with a rapt gleam in his eye. “Now there’s a place for you. Rolling hills covered with blue gum trees, the wallabies leaping for joy in fields of kangaroo grass, the wild cockatoos rising up in clouds to cover the sky. Now that’s real country. Don’t know how you folks can bear living around here.”

  “Your home sounds nice,” Amber agreed. Amber wasn’t sure, but she imagined that Doonbarra was big enough and strong enough to give even a cat a good fight. Doonbarra had a deep, gravelly voice, a big voice for such a small creature. Well, small compared with a Doberman. Compared with a mouse, Doonbarra was a giant. And he had strong claws with big sharp nails to match his voice.

  “Tell you what,” Doonbarra said, leaping forward so that he could stare in her eye. “You cast a spell to take me home, and I’ll show you around.”

  Amber looked at the sugar glider’s desperate face and realized that that’s why he had been following her. He was desperate to get home. “I’d be happy to take you,” Amber admitted. “But I don’t even know where Tasmania is. And even if I did, I’m not sure if I could use magic to get there.”

  “Ah, pooh!” Doonbarra said. “Wizards can do anything. Why, I knew this platypus back home, a lovely girl, really. She used to lay these magic eggs that were just incredible! You could make a wish, crack one open, and out would pop the most amazing things—bits of fresh honeycomb or the scent of a rose or a cow’s moo.”

  Amber got up and looked around as Doonbarra rambled on about magical platypuses and wizardly wombats.

  Amber nuzzled Bushmaster awake. “Where’s Ben?” she asked.

  “Gone,” Bushmaster said. As he explained how Ben had been taken, Doonbarra hopped over and listened with keen interest.

  Amber didn’t remember anything after she’d tried to turn Ben into a human. Now her head spun as Bushmaster explained what a bat was—a mouse that flew at night, hunting insects—and told how the one had stolen Ben away by turning him into a noxious little bloodsucking tick.

  “Ben got turned into a tick?” she exclaimed. It seemed too bizarre to be true.

  And it’s all my fault, she thought. If only I had turned Ben back into a human, he wouldn’t have needed to make a bargain with some evil bat.

  “Ben is in trouble,” Bushmaster said. “My gut tells me that he shouldn’t have trusted that bat.
I’ve heard rumors. Nightwing is his name, an evil sorcerer. He has a fortress near the ocean at a place called Shrew Hill, and it’s filled with evil minions.”

  “Oh, them evil sorcerers can be trouble,” Doonbarra agreed with a wise nod. “We had this bandicoot down at Mole Creek. Believe you me, he caused no small stir. A tree branch fell and nearly killed him, so he went to war with the trees. Gathered up an army of termites to help him. Oh, he had minions. Millions of mealymouthed, menacing minions.”

  Amber shivered in fear. She asked Bushmaster, “Are you sure this bat was Nightwing?”

  “As soon as he was done with his old familiar, Nightwing just gobbled him down,” Bushmaster said. “There’s only one bat in these parts that is that evil.”

  “Eating your accomplices—” Doonbarra agreed in shock, “why that’s . . . that’s poor form!”

  “Did you see which way Nightwing went?” Amber asked.

  Bushmaster shook his head. “I couldn’t see clearly in the dark and the hail, with that bat flapping around back and forth so madly, but I think that he finally went west.”

  Amber nodded. “I feel horrible having let Ben down. But now he’s gone, and I have no idea how to find him.”

  “Oh, that’s easy,” Doonbarra said. “You want to find him, all you’ve got to do is find the nearest newt. Look into his eyes, and they’ll show you where Ben is.”

  “What?” Amber asked.

  “Don’t even need a spell. Just do them a favor, and they’ll use their own magic to show you what you want,” Doonbarra said. “Learned it from an aborigine up by Cradle Mountain.”

  Amber’s mouth fell open in surprise. Here was someone who knew about magic. “But even if I did find Ben, what can I do for him?”

  “Can’t help you with that,” Doonbarra said. “I don’t know the first thing about how to pry a tick off of an evil sorcerer. Though I do seem to remember something about rubbing alcohol. Or was it matches?”