The Endora Trilogy (The Complete Series)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “Why do I have to guard her?”

  “Because she won’t shut up!” he said. “Belthasar can’t stand listening to her while he’s interrogating the other prisoners. Neither can I! He wants her here for safe keeping.”

  Zrugga exhaled disgustedly through his clenched teeth as he eyed Molly. “You get in there and keep quiet, little worm. I’ve had a good day so far and you’re not going to ruin it! Understand?”

  Molly smirked. “Such a charming demeanor. But don’t worry. You won’t hear a peep out of me,” she promised, walking into the cool shadows of the cave. “Like that’ll happen,” she whispered to herself a moment later.

  Darkness surrounded her as she took a few more steps inside. Five hours had passed since the ambush at Three Frogs. Ulric, Garrin and Collus valiantly fended off the trolls as Molly swept by on her horse. When she saw Christopher run to the north on Ulric’s command, Molly was pulled off her steed by a troll who had sneaked up from behind. She screamed as she fell, slightly bruising her shoulder. Fennic cheered from his perch on top of Three Frogs when the troll captured Molly. At the same time, a small host of reinforcements stationed at the base of the mountain had arrived and the battle was quickly over. She along with Ulric, Garrin and Collus were rounded up and sent to the caves to be interrogated.

  Molly sighed, wondering how Christopher and her friends were faring. She had opened her mouth and flung one too many wisecracks at Belthasar earlier, finally being banished to this cave to await her fate. Maybe Christopher was right, she thought. Maybe she should think before she spoke at times. Perhaps carefully reflecting on her options instead of bursting into dramatics at the drop of a hat might make it easier to get out of a tight spot. Molly wondered if this was one of those times. Suddenly, a cool draft of air brushed over the back of her neck.

  She looked up. The current of air wasn’t flowing in from the cave entrance several yards away but from the blackness above. When it stopped, Molly wondered if there might be an opening near the top. Slowly a plan of escape started to take shape in her mind. She unbuttoned her cloak and reached inside one of the pockets of her blue jeans, retrieving the penlight she had won at the carnival last summer. She clicked it on and a bright, ice blue beam of light shot up to the ceiling.

  “Wow!” she whispered, examining a clump of mini stalactites directly above, thin and curled like a bunch of arthritic fingers.

  As Molly aimed the beam of light across the stony roof, a second larger bunch of stalactites was visible deeper inside the cave, looking as if someone had fastened a bizarre piece of abstract art to the ceiling. The dirty milky-colored mineral strands twisted in several directions, some curved and others coiled, and most partially hollowed out along their sides. Another draft swept against Molly’s eyelashes, though she couldn’t see any holes in the rock above. She guessed there must be a series of small fissures extending throughout the roof to the outside, allowing the wind to find its way inside. Molly concluded that the constant and chaotic gusts had prevented the stalactites from properly forming straight up and down. She’d explain her theory to Christopher providing she could free herself from her current confinement.

  Molly then took a deep breath as her eyes widened in panic. A deep growling sound suddenly saturated the air, reverberating off the cave walls and reaching into the depths of her heart and lungs like an icy hand. She lowered the penlight, wondering if she had disturbed a giant bear at the end of its winter slumber.

  “Hello?” Molly whispered, taking a step backward.

  She aimed the light in several places to pinpoint the origin of the noise. It gradually changed, no longer a growl but instead a series of deep sluggish breaths. Molly gathered her nerve and moved toward the center of the cave. She pointed the penlight in various spots until the light beam landed on a dark lump lying on the floor just ahead.

  “Way too small for an adult bear. Though I wouldn’t rule out a wolf or a tiger,” Molly said to herself with a faint laugh, hoping to boost her courage. Her voice echoed loudly off the walls though she spoke in nearly a whisper.

  A few more cautious steps forward brought her to within an arm’s length of the object lying curled up and wrapped snuggly in a cloak. She examined her find more closely with the light.

  “Definitely a person,” she said with a sigh of relief, noticing a pair of boots sticking out at the bottom. Several fingers curled around a fold in the cloak near the top.

  However, the unusually loud breathing that continued to overwhelm the cave caused Molly to think that some strange being with an enormous lung capacity lay before her. She aimed the light into the air and noticed that the second larger bunch of twisted stalactites hung directly above. She curiously massaged her chin, intrigued by the cave’s odd acoustics. Molly took a step back, pointed the light at the breathing heap and gently prodded it with the toe of her boot.

  “Wake up,” she softly said, “whoever you are.”

  The cloaked pile stirred. The breathing stopped.

  “Rise and shine,” Molly added in a braver tone, her voice ricocheting off the walls. “It’s the middle of the afternoon. You can’t–” Molly yelped as a hand suddenly grabbed her by the ankle.

  “Who’s there?” a startled voice cried. The figure rose up and the cloak dropped off its shoulders. Molly pointed the light on the man’s face as he sat on the cold ground. He released his grip on her ankle and shaded his eyes “Too bright! Too bright! Now I’m seeing spots.” She smiled apologetically and lowered the light.

  “Well, hello there, Artemas,” she said, squatting next to him. She placed a hand on the magician’s shoulder, happy to see him alive and well. “It seems like weeks have passed since I saw you.” She recalled when Artemas departed the museum basement under the wicked influence of Belthasar, though it had been only a half day ago.

  “Quit making all that racket!” Zrugga bellowed as he marched into the cave, his club held high in one hand and the dagger in the other. Molly extinguished the penlight as she and Artemas jumped up and stepped farther back into the cave. “I don’t want to hear any more screams or loud talk, you hear?”

  “We were just having a private conversation. And I didn’t scream,” Molly said defiantly. “It was just a slight–outburst.”

  “Not from where I was sitting!” Zrugga replied with a scowl. “Now I like it nice and quiet when I’m on guard duty. I’m busy enough and don’t need you two complicating my job. So silence it up or I’ll silence it up for you! Understand?”

  “Perfectly,” Artemas said, stepping in front of Molly to shield her from the troll.

  “That’s the right answer,” he muttered before trudging out of the cave.

  “I didn’t scream,” Molly whispered a few moments later as she and Artemas sat on the cold ground.

  “No you didn’t,” he replied with a grin. “And I see you’ve brought some light along. A handy invention, that pen of yours.”

  “Yes,” Molly said, somewhat distracted. She turned the penlight back on and aimed it at the ceiling directly above them.

  “What are you looking for, Molly? A way out?”

  “Perhaps.” She noted that the portion of the ceiling above them was simply made of rock now that she and Artemas had stepped farther back into the cave. The mass of misshapen stalactites was hanging just a few yards ahead. “Notice something peculiar about our voices now, Artemas?”

  The magician considered her question. “They sound perfectly normal.”

  “Exactly! But when you were sleeping under that twisted bunch of stalactites, your breathing sounded as loud as a race car.”

  “I was very tired.”

  “Maybe not that loud, but it was quite noticeable. Now that I think about it, my voice seemed to magnify when I spoke to you from over there, too. That must be why Zrugga heard us.” She stood up. “Let me try something.”

  “What are you doing?” Artemas asked, wrapping his cloak tightly about him to ward off a chill.

  Molly stood directly under
the stalactites with her back to Artemas and whispered. “Coconut cream pie with a side of sardines.”

  Artemas crinkled his face. “Though I’m not familiar with all the cuisine from your world, I must say that that combination sounds absolutely disgusting.”

  Molly sat down next to the magician. “So you heard me clearly?”

  “Pie and sardines–quite clearly.”

  “And I whispered that phase extremely softly. Zrugga definitely would have heard it if I had spoken normally.”

  “I suppose,” Artemas replied, rubbing his forehead. “But what is the point of your experiment?”

  Molly frowned. “Headache still bothering you?” The magician nodded. “Unfortunately I don’t have any aspirin with me. And sleeping on cold rock can’t help much either.”

  “Not really. But it’ll pass,” Artemas said, waving a finger at the ceiling. “Tell me more about your idea and those twisty things.”

  “Not much more to say,” Molly said, folding her arms. “The stalactites seem to magnify sound when you stand under them, turning this place into an echo chamber. Don’t know what good it’ll do us, but I’ll mull it over for a bit.” She giggled. “Almost sounding like Christopher. I’d better be careful.”

  “Where is he?” Artemas asked. “And by the way, how did you get here?”

  “Christopher and I followed you and Belthasar through the timedoor after you fled the museum. We met up with Ulric shortly after and the search began. Garrin and Collus, two of his soldiers, went with us. Luckily you were clever enough to leave us those two notes and the rock clue. How did you do that, Artemas?”

  Artemas stretched his arms to loosen a knot in his back. “Notes? Rock clues? What are you talking about?”

  “Forgotten already?” she joked. But when she noticed the blank expression on the magician’s face, her amusement evaporated. “Don’t you remember building the model of Three Frogs near Willow Lake? And Henry Droon said you gave him a note in the middle of the night at the Inn of the Twelve Horses. Also, the first note you sent to Ulric said that–” Molly twirled a finger around a lock of her hair as Artemas looked on with a vacant gaze. “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you, Artemas.”

  “I’m afraid not, Molly,” he said, his face tightening. “Oh, this blasted headache!”

  “How can that be?” she asked, feeling as if he had denied that two plus two equals four. “When we confronted Belthasar at Three Frogs, he admitted he didn’t know how we had tracked him down, believing there was a network of spies following his every move. That just leaves you as the only logical explanation.”

  Artemas shrugged. “Sometimes logic isn’t very–logical.”

  Molly looked at him askance, wondering for an instant if the spirit of Belthasar was still inside him trying to pull off another deception. She shook her head, concluding that that was impossible.

  “Maybe the headaches are affecting your memory, Artemas. But the point is that you’re safe now.” Molly glanced at the cave opening, a dot of cloudy gray light punctuating the surrounding blackness. “If only I could find a way out,” she said, trying to suppress a yawn. She was unable to keep her eyes open as a long string of sleepless hours finally caught up with her. She leaned against the cave wall to take a brief rest, and as uncomfortable as it was, she promptly fell into a deep sleep.

  Molly opened her eyes to total darkness and a sore back. She stood up and stretched, hearing a soft steady breathing nearby. She assumed that Artemas had fallen asleep again. She found her penlight lying on the cave floor and clicked it on. Artemas apparently turned it off when she had dozed off. Molly glanced at the cave entrance and saw a flicker of light in the deepening gloom outdoors.

  “How long have I slept?” she said to herself.

  “About four hours,” Artemas softly replied. “Not long enough, but you needed the rest. I took another quick slumber myself.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Just past nightfall. And way past dinnertime,” he said with a chuckle.

  “I’ll see what I can do about that,” she muttered, making her way to the entrance.

  “Molly!”

  “It’ll be all right, Artemas.”

  Molly poked her head through the opening into the cool night air. Zrugga was sitting against a rock with his arms folded, muttering to himself. A single torch wedged between two large stones provided the only light. The shadows of murky night settled upon the landscape. Molly could barely discern the silhouette of Three Frogs a half mile away, cloaked in dusky twilight.

  “How about some dinner!” Molly demanded.

  Zrugga jumped up with his dagger in hand. “Get back in there and quit disturbing me, little rat! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “You’re quite the poet. And you’ll probably need to tell me at least a half dozen times before it sinks in,” she replied. “But enough chit chat. Are we going to get anything to eat in this lovely establishment?”

  Zrugga grabbed the torch and marched directly at Molly, the firelight bouncing off his bloodshot eyes and sunken cheeks. “You might get something to eat after I get something to eat!” he snarled, placing the dagger close to Molly’s face. “Since you don’t see any food around here, chances aren’t good that you’ll be supping any time soon!”

  Molly flinched as she stood face to face with such hideous peril, knowing instantly that a sarcastic comment or some splashy dramatics would only land her in a heap of trouble. This troll dripped with a seething hatred that Molly felt in her very bones. To engineer a meal or an escape, she would have to cultivate another approach.

  “I guess we can wait,” she gently replied as she stepped backward into the cave. She spun around and ran to Artemas, sitting next to him. “That is one miserable troll. Way crabbier than most–and that takes some doing!”

  “He’s unhappy with his current situation, sitting on cold rock with little food and lots of boredom,” Artemas guessed. “Belthasar’s promises of riches and victory are looking doubtful to him right now.”

  “He plans to build a kingdom right here. Belthasaria he calls it,” Molly said. “Could he be any more conceited?”

  “Belthasar told me of his intentions after his spirit left me and overtook Fennic. Then he banished me to this place,” Artemas said with a sigh.

  “This land is part of Endora,” Molly said. “I don’t think King Rupert will allow Belthasar to establish any kind of foothold here.”

  “I assure you, my dear, that he won’t.”

  “Belthasar in control of any kingdom is a scary thought. But what’s even scarier is another Belthasar.” Molly glanced at the magician with heartfelt concern. “He wants to create another of himself using your magic spell. Maybe he would retain some of your magic abilities if he did so. Is that possible, Artemas?”

  “Anything is possible, Molly. Belthasar tried to tap into my innermost thoughts and learn the secrets of the magic arts. And I resisted as best I could, but…” Artemas tugged uneasily at the folds of his cloak. “A few strands of my knowledge may have been revealed to him by his constant prying.”

  “May have?”

  “Most likely. But none of it really concerns him yet since all he desires is that one spell to create another living thing–another of him.”

  Molly took a deep breath, composing herself before she asked her next question. She stared at the ground as she spoke. “Artemas, did Belthasar get any part of that spell?”

  Artemas looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “Well, I’ll put it this way–he didn’t get the most important part of the spell. He didn’t get the last word.”

  “Oh dear,” Molly said. Suddenly her body felt cold and clammy as she dug her nails into the ground. If Belthasar learned most of that magical spell from Artemas’ thoughts, how much longer would it take him to obtain the last word if given another chance? She sat up straight and grabbed hold of Artemas’ arm.

  “What is it, Molly? You seem as frightened as a mouse.”r />
  “I just realized something! You may have had the strength to resist Belthasar prying into your thoughts, but he already had access to Christopher’s and mine.” Her haunted eyes gazed helplessly at the magician. “He already knows the last word to the spell because my brother and I both heard you say it. Once Belthasar realizes that–”

  “–then he’ll be able to create a lovely red rose!” Artemas said with a chuckle.

  “Huh?”

  “Put your mind at ease, Molly. The last word of the spell that you and Christopher heard only applies to that particular spell. Corénifórsegro. That was the crucial word I used to create the rose from the tiny pile of pine needles in your backyard,” Artemas reminded her. “It will be of no use to Belthasar in recreating another of himself. An entirely different word is the key to that spell–and I will not reveal it to anyone.”

  “Thank goodness for that!” she said. “Still, it is only one word he needs to complete the spell,” she added, her mind not completely at ease.

  Artemas flashed a reassuring smile. “Fear not, my friend. Belthasar has a long way to go before I come close to giving up that piece of information!”

  Molly wanted to feel encouraged but realized that if Belthasar’s spirit inhabited the magician once again, he would stop at nothing to get the final piece of the magic puzzle. He would attack Artemas’ mind as if chipping away at a stone wall until it eventually collapsed. Then all would be revealed–and all would be lost. She couldn’t allow Belthasar to get another chance.

  “We have to escape!” Molly said. “Belthasar will be back to try again. It’s only a matter of time. We have to overpower that troll.”

  “But he’s well armed and we’re not.”

  “I’ll admit that’s a minor flaw in my plan,” she said. Then she turned to Artemas as a wide grin crept across her face. “Wait a minute! We’re overlooking the obvious. Why don’t you use your magic?”

  “I have no potions to create a sleeping tonic if that’s what you mean, Molly.”

  “Who needs potions? Can’t you cast a spell on that cantankerous troll? Turn him into a lawn chair or an ice cream sundae. Anything!”