Tara Duncan and the Forbidden Book

by HRH Princess Sophie Audouin-Mamikonian

  Though he was scared to death, Cal finally cracked. “So, you’re planning to marry that young gnome?”

  The king looked at him wearily. “Yes, of course. We are engaged.”

  “I see . . . If I were you, I’d seriously consider the ‘running away’ option.”

  “I have loved her ever since I was old enough to tell the difference between boys and girls,” Buglul said with a helpless shrug. “And she is right. I should have found another way. What I did was perfectly contemptible. I behaved like our enemy. For me, the end justified the means. I am sorry.”

  “Yeah, we got that,” remarked Manitou sarcastically. “I think you told her at least a thousand times in the Throne Room. All right, can we get a move on here? You have a girlfriend to get back to, and Cal is carrying some undesirables around that we’d like to help him get rid of.”

  As they walked, Tara was thinking. She had the annoying feeling that she was missing something. Something that Cal had told them. Something important. Rats! I just can’t think of it!

  Also, she was feeling a bit overwhelmed. Fafnir, Cal, the mysterious killer who was trying to get rid of her, Magister, the Hunter . . . too many events and too much pressure were weighing on her. She had the unpleasant feeling of somehow being manipulated. Someone was burying her under these problems, to keep her from having time to think. Her brain was working at top speed, but it came up with solutions too late. She sighed, feeling a major headache coming on.

  Which didn’t improve when they reached Salterens.

  The gnome embassy was cooled by an air-conditioning spell, but outside, the city felt like an oven on its self-clean setting. The sun beat down like a hammer on a glittering anvil. The buildings were all a blinding white, and the spellbinders and their familiars quickly activated the ocular protection spell provided by the gnomes at the embassy. It turned their eyes completely black and filtered the light. That way, they could begin their search without going half blind.

  The Salterians were large, two-legged felines with flowing golden manes. Their amber eyes glowed under their hoods, and they seem to view each passerby as a potential prey. Elaborate white camelin robes protected them from the sun. Spellbinders were shaded by discs floating overhead. Nonspells used parasols.

  Tara and her friends rode giant slugs like the one that attacked her in Lancovit. Their thick hides made an unpleasant screeching as they slid over the sand-strewn cobbled streets.

  Tul Tultul told them where the Salterian merchant’s shop was located, but they also tried their luck in other stores along the way. The feline merchants treated them suspiciously when they explained they were looking for the antidote to a t’sil infestation. In Salterens, the only people interested in getting rid of t’sil worms were runaway salt mine slaves.

  To overcome their reluctance, Glul Buglul displayed his crown, after which the merchants became much more cooperative.

  The problem was, they didn’t have any antidote. Not a shadow of a drop.

  After more than two hours of vainly walking and searching, they finally reached the store of the merchant that the gnome had told them about. And gasped in dismay.

  The place was closed.

  A sign—which Manitou was able to make out because he knew some Salterian—read: “I am traveling in the deep desert. I will return in three days. For information or complaints, see the central administration.” Deeply concerned, the dog shook his head. They turned around and headed for Sala’s central administration, which was housed in a large white building they’d passed a few minutes earlier.

  Like all bureaucracy headquarters, it was three times as big as the palace. The Salterians were ruled not by a king, but by a tribal chief called the Great Cacha. His vizier Iznogud greeted the friends suspiciously.

  Unlike his fellow Salterians, who looked like a sleek mix of lion and leopard, Iznogud was a fat slob whose tangled mane and stained clothes testified to a distinct aversion to cleanliness. He was accompanied by his secretary, Satir, who had a profile like a knife.

  A sharp one.

  Ambition burned in Satir’s amber eyes, and the way he watched Iznogud’s every move suggested that the vizier would do well to avoid dark hallways and poorly lit staircases.

  “Welcome, King Buglul,” said Iznogud, sprawled in an armchair. “To what do we owe the honor of your presence in our beautiful capital?”

  Satir remained standing behind him, watching the visitors closely.

  “I want to buy some t’sil antidote from you,” answered the gnome king. “This young spellbinder has been infected and the worms will become active in less than four hours. He has done Smallcountry invaluable service, and I owe it to him to save his life.”

  The fat Salterian scratched his head with a claw and yawned, revealing impressive fangs.

  “I’d be delighted to sell you the antidote,” he said amicably. “Problem is, I don’t know where to find any. Infecting slaves with t’sil is going out of fashion. Too expensive. Even with the antidote, half the time the worms develop anyway, and we lose a good worker needlessly.”

  Cal glared at the gnome king, who was writhing in embarrassment.

  “We’ve bought much more efficient anti-escape spells,” continued the Salterian. “So we don’t need to stock the antidote anymore. Look around town; one of our merchants must have some left over. Otherwise you’ll have to go into the deep desert to get some. But even with sand slugs, it would take you a day and a half. I’m very sorry. Your friend’s going to die.”

  Tara didn’t much like the Salterians to begin with. Slavery was a monstrous practice, and OtherWorld’s inhabitants didn’t seem especially anxious to stop it. So the Salterian’s casual condemnation of Cal made her act rashly.

  “Making slaves of people is bad enough,” she spat. “Infecting them with deadly worms to make sure they don’t escape is even more monstrous. What kind of people are you?”

  Satir’s beautiful amber eyes narrowed, and he hissed like an angry tomcat.

  “Insulting the vizier could cost you dearly, young lady,” he snarled. “We aren’t in the habit of discussing with humans what we can and can’t do. One more word, and you’ll wind up in our mines, where you can feed your fine speeches to the members of your chain gang.”

  Tara opened her mouth, but Manitou spoke first, which caught the two cats by surprise.

  “I am High Wizard Manitou Duncan of Lancovit,” he declared, “and I officially demand the unrestricted assistance due to high wizards. Under the Treaty of 5042 signed among the peoples of OtherWorld, you are obligated to help us in our search.”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk!” exclaimed a surprised Satir. “A talking dog—amazing! Who claims to be a high wizard, which I don’t believe for a second.”

  Iznogud was studying Cal when he abruptly adopted his hunting vision. The boy’s neck snapped into sharp focus; everything was a blur. What he saw startled him. Hmm, just as I thought.

  “Come here, young spellbinder,” he ordered, silencing Satir.

  Cal approached, uncomfortable at being so close to the big cat’s fangs. Iznogud seized him with his large paw and shoved his mass of black hair away from his neck.

  “I have good news and bad news,” he growled. “Which would you like first?”

  “I hate this,” said Manitou with a sigh. “But go ahead and give us the good news first.”

  Iznogud smiled, revealing an impressive, if slightly yellowed, set of teeth.

  “Your friend was bitten by a golden t’sil,” he explained. “When it paralyzed him, its stinger made this small golden mark in his flesh.”

  With a claw, he pointed to a tiny spot on Cal’s neck.

  “So, the good news is that no other t’sil will bite your friend. That mark protects him. The bad news is that golden t’sil are the most virulent of the worms. There’s no antidote against them!”

  “But the merchant said . . .” stammered the blue gnome, his heart in his mouth.

  “What the merchant told you was non
sense. Either because he didn’t know, or he didn’t care. Golden t’sil are never used on slaves. We only use them in cases of vengeance, or when we’re executing someone and want to make sure they don’t survive. So I’m very sorry, but there’s nothing we can do for you.

  “Oh, one more thing. Golden t’sil reproduce faster than other parasite worms. So you probably don’t have more than a few minutes to live, young man. And if you’d kindly go die somewhere else, I’d appreciate it. This place is enough of a mess as it is.”

  Before they could protest, he signaled the guards to escort them out.

  Tara was so furious she felt like blowing up the place—a project the living stone approved enthusiastically.

  After considering the idea for a few seconds and seeing her hands start to glow from the rush of magic, Tara decided to calm down before she lost all control of her power.

  And destroyed the building.

  Not to mention the city and part of the continent.

  Sparrow had tears in her eyes, and she wasn’t alone. “Oh, Cal, what are we going to do?”

  Cal didn’t answer. He was pale and his eyes were empty.

  “We’re gonna turn this town upside down and find the antidote!” shouted Fafnir. She’d kept quiet during the exchange, and it had taken all her restraint not to sink her axe into the arrogant Salterian’s head.

  “Fafnir’s right,” said Fabrice, who’d been feeling terribly guilty since the incident with Barune. “We’ll split up into groups and use our crystal balls to communicate. That way we can cover more ground.”

  Though she was weeping, Tara again had the momentary thought that she was overlooking something.

  Cal pulled himself together and said, “No, we aren’t. I want to go back to Lancovit. I want to be with my mother and father when I die.”

  His voice broke on the last word, and Tara thought her own heart would break. Robin put an affectionate arm around her.

  “But you—” Fabrice protested.

  “Fabrice, I only have a few minutes to live,” said Cal with dignity. “And stop feeling bad. You and Barune aren’t to blame. This is my fate, that’s all. Let’s go now. I don’t have much time left.”

  With heavy hearts, they followed him out. The walk to the embassy cheated them of time they no longer had. They rematerialized directly in the Living Castle. Cal appeared in his real identity, having decided there was no point in disguising himself. Shyblossomonthebankofaclearstream, the tall one-eyed steward, sensed that something terrible was happening and gestured to them to step out of the Transfer Circle. The guards raised their spears. Seeing the group’s look of desperation led them not to ask any questions. Cal radiated so much maturity and sober dignity that they instinctively saluted.

  “We need to see Master Chem,” said Manitou quickly. “Is he here?”

  “Yes, Master Duncan,” answered the steward. “He’s in his office, recovering from his concussion. The shaman advised him not to use any portals for the time being.”

  “Shoot,” murmured the dog. “I’d forgotten that Tara knocked him out. Well, let’s go. We don’t have a second to lose.”

  “Can you also alert my parents?” asked Cal. “Tell them that I’ve been hurt and don’t have long to live. I want them here so they can say goodbye to me.”

  The Cyclops was very surprised, because the young thief looked fit as a fiddle. But he agreed without arguing.

  As they hesitated at the entrance to Master Chem’s office-cave, the little stone dragon guard challenged them.

  “Stop right there!” he roared. “Identify yourselves, or get lost!”

  “Wow! He doesn’t seem in a very good mood,” whispered Fabrice.

  “Now, now, is that any way to greet visitors?” the stone unicorn, Chem’s other office guard, said kindly. “Just because thieves broke into the office is no reason for you to be rude to everybody.”

  The little dragon sniffed contemptuously without answering. They gave him their identities and he crossed through the wall to alert Master Chem.

  The roar that could be heard through said wall made them tremble. “By my pile of gold! Get those wretches in here right away!”

  The stone dragon came back looking very pleased with himself.

  “You may go in,” he announced. “I think my master is quite eager to see you.”

  Cal was so wrapped up in his troubles that he was the only one among them who didn’t dread the confrontation. The others were feeling shaky around the knees and had a heart rate much too high for comfort.

  When the stone wall disappeared they could see the dragon stretched out on a big pile of gold and jewels. From the flames he was spouting, he seemed furious.

  Chem opened his great jaws to bellow at them, but Cal was faster.

  “I’ve been bitten by a golden t’sil,” he said. “If you don’t have the antidote or a cure for me in the next few minutes, I’m going to . . . I’m going to die.”

  His voice broke and he staggered.

  The astonished dragon closed his jaws with a loud snap. Then he got up, cast a spell, and shape-shifted back into old Master Chem.

  “Show me,” he ordered, all thought of punishment forgotten.

  Cal lifted his hair to show the t’sil’s mark. Chem quizzed him about the circumstances of the infection and the time that had passed since then. They saw the old wizard go pale when he realized how many days Cal had been carrying the t’sil eggs.

  “We have to isolate you,” he said quickly. “As soon as the t’sil emerge from your body, they’ll jump onto the nearest thing that moves. I’m very sorry, but we don’t have any choice.”

  Before Cal could protest he cast a spell, enveloping the boy in a plastic bubble that let air, light, and sound through, but not matter.

  “Chem!” protested Manitou. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

  The dragon turned on him furiously.

  “If you hadn’t decided to go off to save the world all by yourselves, then yes, I could’ve saved him!” he thundered, as the Lab backed away. “But with The Forbidden Book stolen, I don’t have the spell I need to destroy the t’sil without killing Cal!”

  “The Forbidden Book?” cried Tara. “We have it! It’s in Smallcountry!”

  The dragon wasted no time on questions.

  “So get a move on!” he roared. “Why are you still here? Bring me that book right away!”

  Tara grabbed the gnome king by the collar and rushed out of the office so fast she almost hit the wall. The castle, which didn’t like people running in its hallways because it tickled, quivered with indignation, but Tara raced along, ignoring Buglul’s demand to be put down. Gallant flew behind her at top speed.

  She was gasping when she reached the Transfer Portal Room, where a majestic matron with two giggling, fidgety babies was waiting for the portal to be available. Tara didn’t mess around. Ignoring the matron and the Cyclops’s outraged cries she shoved them aside, took their place in the middle of the room, and screamed, “Smallcountry!”

  The moment she reached the land of the blue gnomes, she restored Gallant to his normal size and leaped on his back. They reached the Throne Room in minutes. Before Tara could toss him off, the gnome king slipped down from the pegasus and ordered his arachnes to give him The Forbidden Book. Then he jumped onto Gallant’s back. The magnificent stallion beat all speed records racing back to the portal. Once at the Living Castle they flew directly from the Portal Room to Chem’s office.

  When they entered, they were greeted by a terrible scene.

  Under his father, mother, the dragon, and his friends’ horrified eyes, Cal was rolling on the ground, tortured by the itching of the worms that were eating him alive.

  CHAPTER 11

  THE LIMBO JUDGE

  During the transfer from Smallcountry, The Forbidden Book almost seemed to struggle in Tara’s grasp. She quickly handed it to Master Chem, praying that they weren’t too late. Touching the book as little as possible, the old wizard set it on hi
s desk and started turning pages at top speed.

  Suddenly Manitou’s voice broke through Cal’s groaning. “There’s something I don’t understand. They should have come out long ago.”

  Cal’s mother and father, eyes wide and faces wet with tears, stared at him in dismay.

  “I mean the t’sil worms,” he explained. “It usually takes them just a few seconds to emerge from their host’s body. And here . . . nothing!”

  “Of course!” Tara’s yell made them all jump. “They aren’t going to come out! That’s the thing I wasn’t able to remember!”

  She turned feverishly to the gnome king.

  “That merchant of yours—he told you that t’sil never infect dead bodies, right?”

  Buglul blinked in surprise, then answered: “Er, that is right. If the heart of the infected organism is not beating, the eggs die immediately for lack of oxygen.”

  “And that’s exactly what happened to us!” she exulted. “We died! Grandpa, after the Inanimus and the Destructus hit us, you said it took Master Chem four minutes to get back to his office and that he was just barely able to save us, right?”

  “Right,” said Manitou, who was beginning to understand. “But your hearts . . . your hearts hadn’t been beating since Robin and Fafnir carried you out of the Book Room.”

  “That was the thing that was always in the back of my mind!” said Tara. “The eggs couldn’t survive. The itching Cal is feeling now is probably caused by his body getting rid of them.”

  “Good grief, couldn’t you have thought of this sooner?” cried Fabrice, who had to sit down because his legs were shaking so hard. “My own heart is going to fail if I get another scare like that.”

  Robin, Sparrow, and Fafnir burst out laughing, soon followed by everyone else. They had come so close to disaster that the laughter had a slightly hysterical edge, and they pounded each other on the back in congratulations. The friendly tap that Fafnir gave Fabrice practically knocked his lungs out. After that, he kept a safe distance from her for the rest of the celebration.

  Cal, who was still being driven crazy by the itching, finally opened an eye. He felt tense and a bit annoyed.