And he meant it. Even though he didn’t even really know where he was, he would find a way. He would find Dark Isle. He would save his friends. No matter what.
Apparently, Rumpelstiltskin saw something in Billy’s face that made him believe his words. The old man thought for a long while, then finally said, “There may be a way. But,” he added with a grimace, “I don’t think you’ll like it.”
Looking at the expression on Terry’s face, Billy had no doubt that the old man was right. He wasn’t going to like it, whatever “it” was.
But he had no other choice.
CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH
In Which Billy is given a Plan, and travels the Earth…
When Billy heard the old man’s idea, his response was short and to the point. “What?!” he screamed. “Are you crazy?”
“Not exactly,” was all Rumpelstiltskin could manage. “At least, I don’t think so. But then,” he added, “I don’t know any crazy people who think they are crazy, so me not thinking I’m crazy doesn’t mean that I’m not really crazy, does it?”
Billy tried to follow the convolutions of Rumpelstiltskin’s sentence, got halfway through it, got lost, started over, got lost again, and finally decided to give the whole thing up as a bad job and go back to his original question. “What?” he asked again, though slightly less loudly this time.
“I know it doesn’t sound very nice, but I really think it’s the only way,” said the old man.
Billy didn’t like it. In the whole history of bad ideas, he supposed this had to be near the top.
“Attack a zombie?” Billy asked, hoping without much hope that he had heard the old man incorrectly.
“No, no, not attack a zombie,” said Rumpelstiltskin with an exasperated tone. He looked away from Billy for a moment, yelling, “Hey, don’t put those forks that way! They all have to point east! East, I tell you!” The rock Fizzles he spoke to rapidly began reorganizing a pile of forks that went nearly to the ceiling.
Rumpelstiltskin looked back at Billy. “I never said to attack a zombie. I think doing that would be a terrible idea. Terrible, like the invention of dirt.” The old man shuddered at the mere thought of such stuff. “I said you should just shake hands with one.”
“Okay,” said Billy slowly. “So I just walk up to the nearest zombie that I find, say hi, ask him his name, introduce myself, and shake hands. Maybe ask if we can go to a movie or something, or if he wants to come over to my place to play video games.”
“You have video games at your house?” asked Rumpelstiltskin. “Lucky!”
“No, I don’t have any video games!” yelled Billy. Prince, still curled on his arm, came suddenly awake and hissed at Billy, clearly letting his friend know that he was trying to sleep and would appreciate a bit of quiet. “I don’t have any video games,” Billy continued in a softer voice. “I just—”
“Well, if you don’t have any video games,” interrupted Rumpelstiltskin, “why would you bother asking a zombie to play with you? Besides,” he added with a roll of his eyes, “you’ll be unconscious the second you touch it. Can’t play video games when you’re passed out, can you?” He rolled his eyes again, as though frustrated that he had been put in charge of a kid who clearly had a lower than normal IQ.
“I know I’ll be unconscious,” Billy half-snarled. His mother’s words about being respectful to elders kept coming back to him, but somehow he felt it difficult to concentrate on that during any conversations with Rumpelstiltskin. He took a deep breath, composing himself, then continued, speaking slowly and clearly. “Try to understand. I don’t want to be unconscious. I think unconsciousness would not help me much. I think it would mostly leave me helpless. I think that would be bad.”
“I agree with everything you said,” said Rumpelstiltskin. His brow wrinkled. “At least, I think I did. What was the middle part again? Right after you said ‘I.’”
Billy growled, the strange sound coming unbidden from his throat. Rumpelstiltskin looked surprised at the sound. He felt his stomach. “Was that you making that noise, or me?”
Billy let the growl turn into a scream of frustration. “Help me! Please!” he shouted. Then, because he suspected that continuing to talk to Rumpelstiltskin would just result in there being two insane people in here—as opposed to just one—he started to look for a way out of the room. He’d be better off on his own, he decided.
“Whatcha lookin’ for?” asked Rumpelstiltskin.
“A way out,” replied Billy. He started walking in a random direction, trying to move away from Mrs. Russet’s crazy husband. He kept a lookout for a door or an elevator or some other method—magical or otherwise—of exiting this place.
“Wait, wait!” shouted Rumpelstiltskin, hobbling after Billy. “If that’s all you need, I can help you with it, no problem!” Billy waited for a moment, looking at the old man with a combination of exasperation and hope.
Rumpelstiltskin fumbled in the folds of his cloak, almost falling over several times as he did so, his two canes clutched in one of his hands while the other went in and out of huge pockets, searching for something. Finally, he said, “Ah-ha!” and pulled out a sponge.
And then he promptly threw the sponge at Billy.
Billy, stunned, didn’t move a muscle. The sponge bounced off his head, landing on the floor with a wet “splooge” sound. Billy blinked rapidly. He suddenly couldn’t think straight. It felt as though the sponge had been the last overload that finally blew his brain into crackling bits of malfunctioning machinery.
He looked down at the sponge. It seemed to sway back and forth in front of him, whirling around like some kind of insane ballet dancer who had had one too many caffeinated drinks.
Billy blinked and frowned. What had Rumpelstiltskin done to him? The old man came close, and Billy saw with some surprise that the old man now appeared to be much taller, and much younger. Merely old, instead of ancient. Rumpelstiltskin still held his canes, but they were at his sides, as though he didn’t need them.
Rumpelstiltskin leaned down and picked the sponge off the floor, putting it wetly back into his robes. Then, in a strong voice completely unlike what he had sounded like only a moment before, Rumpelstiltskin said, “Sorry about that. But sometimes it takes magic to make us understand things.”
Billy stood transfixed. The man in front of him was still the same Rumpelstiltskin that Billy had been speaking to, but he was at the same time a completely different person. As Billy watched, Rumpelstiltskin’s image seemed to flicker. For a moment, Billy saw him as he had first seen him: bent and feeble. Then he saw the young, strong version of the man for a second. Then he saw both of them at once, like a pair of photographs that had faded into one another.
“We have to move quickly. The spell won’t last long,” said Rumpelstiltskin. “And I can only muster the strength to do this once in a great while.”
“What are you doing, Rumpelstiltskin?” asked Billy.
The old man who was two men at once looked at him sharply. “Call me Terry,” he said. Terry waved one of his canes, and Billy felt something move behind him. He glanced around, and saw that a stone chair had erupted from the ground at his back. Then he felt a strong hand on his chest as Terry pushed him into the chair.
This younger, more focused, and suddenly very intense version of the man Billy had been talking to looked at Billy closely. “I don’t have time to explain,” he said quickly. “But I need you to understand something. My wife believes that you are the Messenger, the one who will destroy the world of the Powers as we know it, and who will herald the return of the White King.” Terry put a hand on Billy’s arm. “I don’t know you well enough to know of myself whether you are the Messenger or not,” continued Terry in that suddenly strong voice. “But I have faith my wife is right. And you have to have faith, too, Billy. Believe in yourself. You have powers that no one save the White King himself can understand. And you have friends, something that no Power can take from you, not even the Power of Death itself.�
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With that, Terry stood straight, holding his hand over his heart as he recited:
“Through fires of fate and storms that save
Through winter’s gate and water’s grave
Shall come the One, once lost, now found
Seen by the Son whose love abounds.
A sword, a spear, and armor strong
A shield to wear, and dagger long
To fell the Dark and bring the Light
To call the spark that ends the night.
And through it all, one twist of fate:
A child whose call will seem too late
But though the Dark seems once to win
The child will spark the light again.”
The hairs on Billy’s neck and arms stood up straight as Terry spoke the strange poem. It was as though the words were electric, burning themselves into Billy’s mind. Somehow, though he didn’t understand much of them, he felt comforted. He felt as though the writer had written the words for him and him alone; a message sent through time and space, to find him now, at this moment, when he most needed courage.
The stone chair below Billy grew suddenly warm, as though it, too, had felt itself buoyed up by the verses.
Billy looked at Terry. The man still stood tall, but as Billy watched, he started to wither and bend. Terry grimaced. “I can’t hold on much longer, boy,” he said, and Billy heard the tremor of age return to the Power’s voice. But Terry then straightened again, as though forcing himself to remain young and strong for just a moment longer. “You are the Messenger,” he told Billy again. “You speak for the White King. Speak your Message, and you will prevail.”
Then, just as suddenly as he had come, the hale and hearty version of Terry disappeared, leaving behind the tiny, hunched man who tottered on his canes. Rumpelstiltskin looked around as though confused, then seemed to notice Billy for the first time.
“Ah!” he said happily. “You’re all ready then?”
“No, I—” began Billy.
“Good!” said Rumpelstiltskin. He laughed. “Remember, don’t get off the chair, or you’ll end up buried.”
Then, before Billy could say anything else, Rumpelstiltskin waved his canes like a pair of conductor’s batons. As soon as he did, the stone chair leapt downward, dragging Billy with it as it plunged into the earth. Billy shut his eyes automatically, then opened them a second later. Then closed them again so as to avoid being violently sick.
What made him feel so instantly queasy was the sight of dirt, rock, mud, and the various other things that made up the earth. All of it. The entire planet. Billy understood that, in the same way that through the magical spell called Cresting, a Power of Fire could travel through the flames of the earth, so now he was experiencing travel as Brown Powers did it: through the earth itself. He knew Rumpelstiltskin/Terry was a Brown Power—clearly shown by his robe and by the fact that all his Fizzles were made of rock—and he knew also that Rumpelstiltskin—or Terry—was doing this to him now.
He could see the different layers of the earth flashing by at tremendous speeds as he whipped through the planet. Before, when Cresting, he had felt light and ethereal, like a flame. This was a different feeling. Traveling by the Element of Earth was something that had great weight and strength. The millions of tons that made up the planet all seemed to press in on Billy, falling to rest upon his head, shoulders, and lap. The weight was crushing, petrifying.
And yet, Billy found that he could stand it. He was one with Earth, and so he both felt of its great weight, and also partook of its tremendous strength. He was like a mountain, its very mass making it vast and strong. He was like a cliff, steep and impregnable. For a moment, Billy wished he could face every bully he had ever known. He felt invincible, eternal. He was Earth, and Earth would never fade.
All around him, he began to make out tiny details of his path through the Earthessence. He saw plain rocks and pebbles, and dirt and mud. He also saw beautiful geodes: great purple, red, and orange crystals the size of redwoods, sitting in silent wisdom in caverns untouched by human hands. The crystals glowed with inner power, the Earthessence pulsing through them like a living thing.
Billy knew that any geologist who saw such things would have wept at their sheer beauty and magnitude. But for him, bonded now to the earth as he traveled, it was like viewing a part of his own body. He watched as crystal caverns came and went, he saw the plates upon which the continents floated shifting restlessly in their beds, he felt raw diamonds the size of cars pass by and through him. And it was all a part of who he now was.
Then, suddenly, the granite chair upon which he sat lurched to one side. Billy was brought back to himself as he suddenly realized what was really happening to him: Terry had hatched a crazy plan to get Billy to Dark Isle, and the first part of it had been set in motion.
There was a great rushing noise, the sound of an earthquake, the cacophony of a landslide, and Billy felt himself emerging from the depths of the earth. He felt himself moving toward the outward crust of the planet. There were no more crystal caves now, no more diamonds, no more of the deep and secret things of the earth. Now there was only stone, and rock, and dirt.
Then, with a final whoosh, Billy found himself outside. He was still sitting on the chair, but he was no longer inside the earth. Indeed, now it seemed as though he had gone to the opposite extreme: he was sitting on top of the highest peak on the highest mountain he had ever heard of.
Billy’s breath was taken away by the sight, and he was utterly transfixed by the raw, unspoiled view of what seemed to be the entire world set out below him. It was so beautiful that Billy hardly noticed that it was so cold his breath was freezing in his lungs, or that there was hardly enough air to sustain him for more than a few moments.
He suddenly understood what drove men and women to climb mountains, to swim under icebergs, to drive themselves to the limits of human existence. He felt the exuberance of being among a select few who had ever seen a beautiful scene of nature, untouched by humanity, innocent and unspoiled as Eden must have been.
A fizzling, sizzling noise drew his attention away from the sweeping vista before him. As it had every time he left Powers Island, Billy’s name tag disappeared with a puff of smoke. Billy felt strangely naked without it, as though he had suddenly lost a bit of himself. Whether this meant he was becoming a Power, or merely that he was finally getting comfortable with the idea that Powers actually existed, he couldn’t tell. But it was with some sadness that he watched the “Billy” badge disappear.
His sadness didn’t last long, however, as less than a second later Billy’s chair jerked again. Once more he felt himself drawn deep into the ground, below the slowly undulating masses of stone that held all of civilization upon them, and that contained the remnants of all civilizations that had gone before. More crystals, more diamonds, more stones and rocks and caverns and great stony halls passed before Billy’s eyes.
Then, looming ahead of him, he saw a sudden dark spot, like a place where there was no earth, no water, no air, no fire, no life, no death, no nothing. Only void. And Billy realized that this must be the place that separated Powers Island from the rest of reality, the place that kept it secret from prying eyes, and changed the flow of time so that an hour on Powers Island would be as but a twinkling of an eye in the real world.
He passed through the void, like a man trying to jump over the Grand Canyon, his chair of stone the only thing keeping him grounded in any kind of reality. Billy felt like, had he not been sitting on that chair, he would have puffed out of existence like a candle flame and simply ceased to exist.
But then he landed, once more finding himself surrounded by the Earthessence, once more traveling through rarefied halls of beauty and perfect symmetry as he traveled the earth’s lengths. And soon he once more heard the whooshing noise, the cascade of sound that signified the end of a trip through Earth. He gripped the edge of his chair, willing it to keep on going, to keep on traveling. He knew where it was heade
d, and it was not someplace he wanted to be.
Unfortunately, Billy was not in charge of where the stone chair would take him. And so it was that he found himself coming up through the earth, which parted like liquid before him, then slammed shut behind him as he traveled upward. The rushing noise all around him grew and grew until Billy felt sure that the earth itself was about to crack. And then, just at the moment when he felt he couldn’t bear it any more, the instant he felt himself going mad with the enormity of his travels, all was silent.
Billy looked around.
He didn’t have much time to take in his surroundings, because an instant after he arrived, he found himself sprawled on the floor as the stone chair withdrew into the ground again, leaving him behind and alone.
Or rather, not alone. Because Billy was surrounded.
Even though he knew where he had been headed, because Rumpelstiltskin had told him, he was still disheartened. Part of him had hoped—perhaps foolishly—that Rumpelstiltskin would have changed his mind and sent Billy somewhere else. Somewhere slightly more pleasant, like the inside of an ant hill or directly in the path of a major earthquake.
But no, true to his word Rumpelstiltskin had sent Billy exactly where he didn’t want to be: to a place where he was surrounded by zombies, to a place where a Darksider could show up at any moment, to a location where he was closer to Wolfen and his evil army than he cared to be.
He was back in the Accounting Room.
Little appeared to have changed. The place was still so full of zombies that any movement was highly restricted. As before, the zombies were packed so tightly it was like being in the center of a can of undead sardines. As before, the only gaps in the solid mass of rotten bodies were three paths that led to the three cases that held the three Counters.
Billy stood in one of the paths. His badge was gone, and per the rules of Powers Island, he had returned to the Accounting Room to be Counted and Determined. No one, he knew, could get onto the island without coming here first. And so the zombies waited to pick off any Dawnwalker who might appear in a vain hope that Powers Island would be a place of refuge in the war that had so suddenly broken out in their midst.
Billy: Messenger of Powers Page 31
