A team of white stallions with flaming manes whinnied as they galloped overhead. Pulling what? A gold cart with a dude dressed in a white chiton that reminded Gwen of the Greeks they'd studied in sixth grade. She blinked. I really need to wake up now.
“Greetings, young ones,” the driver called as he reined the horses downward.
Gwen stood back when they landed. The pale steeds snorted and pawed at the ground while their burning manes dimmed to a sunset glow.
“Apollo!” Alex and Bartholomew cried rushing up to greet him, hugging him each in turn.
Gwen crossed her arms and shook her head. Okay, this dream is getting too weird. The hero and Mr. Clean are buddies with a sun god? Right. How do I come up with these things?
Apollo turned to her and bowed. “Greetings, Gwendolyn Obranovich, friend of the Deliverers, skateboarding enthusiast, and child of strength.”
Gwen ignored him. She was not about to get into a conversation with a dream.
“Earth to Gwen. Hello.” Alex waved a hand in front of her face.
“Leave me alone so I can wake up.”
“We told you. This isn't a dream. It's real.”
She shook her head. It couldn't be. Gwen was not the wish-upon-a-star type kid. She was logical. You work out … you get stronger. You practice goofy foot-grinds … you learn them. You take your vitamins … you stay healthy.
She'd learned a long time ago that wishing for magical things didn't work. It didn't keep her parents from getting divorced. It didn't bring her mother home from Paris.
“Young one, your belief or disbelief does not change the way of things. We are in need and must make haste. Come.” Apollo gestured toward the chariot.
Gwen stared unbelieving at this guy, if you could call him that. He didn't have skin. Instead, he was stone like those sculptures at Bartholomew's mansion. His head was covered in a tight cap of soft curls, and his body had nice muscle tone.
Must work out, she thought. If marble men do that. His nose was straight, and his jaw was strong with white, perfectly-aligned teeth. Gwen ran a tongue over a mouthful of braces—for a moment reminded of how crooked hers were. Oh, this dream was freaky weird.
Shrugging, she took her place next to Bartholomew. If she was gonna be in crazyland, she might as well have fun.
Bartholomew gave her a knowing smile like a kindergarten teacher getting a five-year-old to play nicely. “Hold on. It might be a little bumpy.”
What did he know? He couldn't even skateboard.
She had no idea.
Chapter 17
Bartholomew noticed his crème-colored jacket was torn and had large splotches of dirt on it. He shrugged, knowing it wouldn't matter. Stains and tears didn't stay on when you left Artania. He'd return home as clean as he'd been that morning. He was more concerned about Gwen. Why was she here?
She wasn't an artist.
He glanced down at the quilt-like landscape, marveling once again at the magic of this strange place. The living paintings and sculptures constantly changed like weather patterns rearranging the sky. One moment, the heavens were dark and thick oil paintings. The next, they became light and airy colored chalk. But the sky didn't look like different pieces of paper pasted next to each other. Not at all. Each change edged in soft clouds was so gradual that it all fit together perfectly.
He remembered how Alex had tried to get him to relax by holding out a handful of cotton cloud when they'd journeyed into Artania the year before. It didn't work. Bartholomew had shied away, wanting nothing to do with this inexplicable place.
So much changed in those a few short days. He'd really begun to feel powerful, but why didn't that feeling stay?
Apollo jerked the reins to the side. The glowing stallions reared their heads and began their descent. Now he could see an ancient building floating in a cradle of clouds.
“Mount Olympus.” Bartholomew pointed. “Home of the gods.”
Apollo lifted a strong chin at the Greek structure. “Home.”
The rectangular building below was made of white stone with tall marble columns supporting a triangular roof. An assortment of Greek gods milled about and waved at them. As they drew close, there was a flash of light, and all the gods on the fascia disappeared.
Gwen jumped back and crossed her arms over her chest, making skinny muscles bulge.
“Don't worry.” Alex gave her a gentle punch in the arm. “Stuff like that happens all the time around here. You'll get used to it.”
Bartholomew nodded. He wished he could come up with reassuring words like his friend. Alex, always the hero, was always able to come up with a plan and never looked afraid. Bartholomew was glad to have him at his side.
Descending through the clouds, the stallions reared their heads once more and glided to a landing in front of the Parthenon. Apollo hopped down from the chariot and went around to the lead horse.
The steed snickered softly as Apollo unhitched it and rubbed his nose against its velvety muzzle. Next, he ran a hand over its fiery mane, snuffing out the flames with his caresses. He patted it on the rump before repeating the process with all six stallions. When the last white horse had trotted off toward a distant stable, he turned to Gwen. “Come. It is time to meet my family,” he said leading them into the Greek temple.
The space between the Doric columns supporting the building made Bartholomew think of doorways that could lead to anywhere. He only had to choose which way to go.
Here, he could sculpt animals that came alive or paint a magic spell to free trapped pharaohs. It helped him to forget his own prison of obsessive cleanliness.
“Dudes,” Gwen said, her green eyes darting nervously. “You said you'd try to get me out of here.”
“We'll ask, okay? Don't worry,” Alex said.
“It's perfectly safe.” Bartholomew cleared his throat and added in a lower voice. “Here, at least.”
Gwen opened her mouth as if she were about to argue but seemed to decide against it and clamped it shut again. Wrinkling her freckled nose rabbit-like, she trudged after Apollo, tennis shoes slapping against the marble floor.
Inside, a bearded god sat on a wooden throne carved with female sphinxes fanning him with their wings. Flanking him were the gods and goddesses who had disappeared from the building. Each wore a different colored chiton draped over his and her shoulders and nodded reverently as Apollo and the trailing kids entered the room.
“Greetings Deliverers,” the bearded god said.
Bartholomew wanted to rush up and hug him. The summer before, when he'd had his birthday party at the Yacht Club, this man had surfed the waves and shook Bartholomew's hand. That vision had inspired Bartholomew to his greatest sculpture yet. Then, on his first trip into Artania, he'd nearly fainted when he discovered that the kind surfer was in fact Zeus, king of the gods.
Apollo pointed to a row of stools facing the stony assemblage. “Sit, young ones. Be comfortable.”
As Bartholomew lowered himself onto a seat, he glanced aside to see if Gwen was all right. He couldn't tell since she was staring straight ahead, ignoring Alex who kept trying to wink reassuringly at her.
Apollo took his place next to his father, and Zeus raised his scepter waiting for the room to quiet.
“We thank the Deliverers, for venturing once again into our land.” His deep and noble voice warmed Bartholomew to the core. “As you know the first battle may have been won, but the war is not yet over.”
“The Thinker said we'd have more missions,” Bartholomew said.
The beautiful crowned woman next to Zeus paused from petting the peacock in her lap and spoke. “The second task awaits your skills.”
“Ahh, but I am remiss in my duties,” Zeus said. “Let me introduce my wife. This is Hera, queen of the gods, mother to Mars, god of war.”
An armor-clad being two chairs down stood and bowed.
“She is also mother of Vulcan, the smith-god.”
At the other end of the row, a man with a hammer in one hand
pounded the anvil at his feet. A loud clang filled the air.
Bartholomew loved reading the Greek myths. He could relate to the gods and had often thought how he was most like Vulcan. Bartholomew worked in his studio below the ground of Santa Barbara like Vulcan worked at his burning forge inside of Mount Etna.
“You've met my son Hermes before. Remember the messenger god who gave you the key for your first entry?” Zeus asked.
When the god in winged sandals stood and bowed, Hera's face immediately clouded over, and she glared at Zeus. Bartholomew knew that Hera had a reputation for being jealous. But it was deserved. Zeus was known as a womanizer who had all kinds of children with other ladies. Hermes was only one of them.
“Yes, well, there are many Olympians here.” Hera cleared her throat. “And time is of the essence.”
Bartholomew counted at least fifteen gods and goddesses around her and agreed it would take too long to introduce them all. His eyes fell upon the sculpted Athena, goddess of wisdom. She touched her breastplate and tipped her helmet at them. Next to her stood Poseidon, his crown of pearls catching the light. He smiled and raised his triton in salute. It sure would have been fascinating to hear their stories.
“So what's up?” Alex asked.
“If you don't mind my saying, I believe there has been a mistake. Our friend…” Bartholomew's voice trailed off, and he turned to Alex.
“Gwen isn't an artist,” Alex said, picking up Bartholomew's train of thought. “Somebody messed up. She's not supposed to be here.”
Exchanging a glance with Zeus, Hera set her peacock down and stood. Her sky-blue gown rustled softly as she glided to Gwen. The goddess bent down and took Gwen's face in her hands.
“Don't touch me,” Gwen snapped, brushing her hands away.
Undaunted, Hera folded her painted hands in front of her gown and spoke in an even voice. “Child, believe it or not, you have a destiny, just as your friends do. You may not be a Deliverer, but you have strengths that will be needed.” She gave one of Gwen's red pigtails a gentle tug and returned to her throne.
Gwen's face was so pale that even her freckles blanched. But this wasn't the ashen face of fear. It was the white-hot face of anger. “I don't care. Send me home. Now!”
Bartholomew looked at Gwen's raised fist and groaned. Here we go again.
Chapter 18
“Yep,” she told them. “Now I'll wake up from this weird dream and find Dad sleeping right up the hall.” Gwen tapped her foot and waited. One second went by. Two. Four. Those gods kept staring at her. Jeesh! Take a picture, why don't you?
Okay talking didn't wake her up. Why not try some action? Gwen got up from her chair and faced Zeus. “Hello. Didn't you hear me? I said, send me home.”
Zeus smiled and pointed his long scepter with an eagle on top at her. “I cannot.”
“Can't or won't?”
“I did not open the doorway. Our leader did.”
“Then tell him I want to go home.”
“It does not work in such a manner.” Hera stroked the peacock in her lap. “The doorway cannot open again until the task is complete.”
“No!” Gwen dashed to the empty stool next to Alex and lifted it over her head. “If you don't send me home you'll be sorry.”
Why weren't they acting scared? They kept sitting there like they were watching a movie. Fine! She threw the chair on the marble floor, and it broke into a dozen pieces.
Gwen blinked repeatedly, but no matter how many times she opened her eyes, she was still in that weird room on Mount Olympus.
She picked up one of the broken sticks and raised it. Ready to strike Zeus, she pulled her arm back, but suddenly she couldn't move. Gwen spun around. “Alex! Let go!”
“Mellow out. Just chill.”
Gwen tried to jerk away, but Alex held fast. She was tempted to kick him. This wasn't Alex, anyhow. It was another nightmare character. Then she looked into those soft brown eyes and couldn't hurt him. Even a dream Alex was her friend. Gwen released her grip, and the stick clattered on the floor. “Why can't I wake up?” she whispered in his ear.
“We've tried to tell you. This isn't a dream. It's a real world.”
“And it's in terrible trouble.” Bartholomew came to stand next to Alex. “Needing our help.”
“You?” Gwen raised her eyebrows. “You can't even skateboard.”
“But he's an artist … and that's what they need.”
Bartholomew nodded.
Could it be true? Gwen's glanced from one face to the other. Could she really be awake right now? If she were surrounded by art, wouldn't she be attacked soon? Like in those nightmares? She cocked her head, waiting for everything to turn into a horror movie—a place where every nice face morphed into monstrous sharks or Cyclops.
“Fear not, human.” Hera laid a hand on her arm. “You are among friends.”
Gwen didn't know what to believe, but it seemed she had no choice. “Okay,” she said slowly. “What's the plan?”
“The Renaissance nation is in peril,” Zeus said. “You must go there.”
“Rena- what?” Gwen asked.
“The Renaissance. You know … that time in Europe when art, writing, and technology grew so much?” Bartholomew asked.
“No.” Gwen looked to Alex.
He shrugged. “Bartholomew's the bookworm. Not me.”
“It started in the fourteen hundreds and lasted a couple of centuries. Western civilization's most famous art comes out of those times. The David. The Mona Lisa. Things like that.”
“Interesting you should mention her,” said Hera. “For it is the Smiling One who needs your help.”
“What?” Alex cried. “The Mona Lisa is here!”
“But of course.”
Alex's mouth was open, and he was wagging his head back and forth. It seemed even Mr. Hero could be rattled.
“We think she's still alive.” Zeus draped an arm over his wife's shoulder. “But we do not know for sure. She disappeared three days ago.”
“She was in the fortress.” Hera nodded. “We thought she was safe. There were so many guarding her, but on the eve of the equinox she vanished.”
“Why were you guarding her in the first place?” Bartholomew asked.
“There had been attempts to kidnap her,” Hera replied.
“Shadow Swine,” Alex spat.
“Possibly. Or it could be those who align themselves with Sickhert's army,” Zeus said.
Gwen felt like she was watching a ping-pong match where the ball kept turning invisible. One minute, she thought she was following the conversation but the next, she had no idea what the heck they were talking about. Shadow Swine? Sickhert's army? Renaissance nation? This place was full on jumbling.
Bartholomew gave her a look that said he understood. Had Mr. Clean felt this way when he'd come here before? Or was he just happy to escape that neat-freak mother of his?
“How can it be?” Bartholomew asked, turning to Hera. “I thought there were just two sides … Sickhert's and yours.”
“Some creations have trouble living in our world,” The goddess explained. “They desire more and thus become spies for Lord Sickhert, hoping to someday transform into Mudlarks.”
“Crazy,” Alex said, shaking his curly head.
“Crazed with power,” Apollo argued. “As it has always been in both our worlds. Those with such desires have long done irrational things to gain them.”
Gwen thought about her mom. Off in Europe to get her own kind of power, a super model who was so famous she was known by only her first name.
“I want to be a star again,” Mom had said before abandoning her family two years before. “Everyone will know Rochelle.”
Gwen supposed it was happening. From the runways of Paris to the catwalks of Milan, Mom modeled the latest designs. In ads for everything from perfume to makeup, Rochelle posed with her ever more famous pout.
Under her bed, Gwen kept a hidden scrapbook of magazine clippings featuring Mom in al
l kinds of poses. She didn't know why she cut them out. She hated those kinds of magazines, anyhow. Makeup? Hairdos? Fancy clothes? Yuck! But somehow, she felt closer to Mom when she pasted those photos into her book. Even closer than when Mom had been home.
“The Deliverers will need the strength of the gods to rescue Mona Lisa,” Zeus said. “You will need the trickery of Hermes, the light of Apollo, and the love of Venus.”
“With the forging powers of Vulcan and the war attributes of Mars, you will have powerful allies,” Hera added.
Zeus nodded. “My wife and I will watch over you from our respective thrones. However, be ever diligent.”
“For if you fail, the Renaissance nation will be pulled below,” Hera said. “The land of art's rebirth will become nothing but white shadow.”
“You can count on us,” Alex assured them. “You know that.”
Gwen had no idea what they were talking about, but she did get that the stakes were high. If they messed up, this land called Renaissance nation could crumble away.
Maybe she was still dreaming—but a battle? It might be cool.
Chapter 19
From Apollo's chariot, Alex went over the last hour in his mind. He still didn't understand why Gwen was there. What he did know was that he now had two people to watch over, and it made him really nervous.
Staring off into the clouds, Alex ran his fingers across the scalloped detailing of the gold railing. The cool surface reminded him of a snake. He shivered.
No fear. Alex thought clenching his jaw. Focus.
“Florence,” Apollo said jerking the chariot's reins to the right. “The cradle of our rebirth.”
Below them brick-colored tile roofs cast shadows over cobblestone streets. Alex could see people. Okay, not exactly people. Actually, they were tapestries, sketches, and paintings, ut to him, they were as human and anyone he'd ever met. Some even more so.
A long river snaked its way through the medieval town. In the center, a stony bridge spanned the water, topped with what looked like toy apartments. They didn't look like they were attached very well, and Alex wondered how these buildings kept from falling into the river.
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