The Kung Fu Cleaner squeaked, clearly saying something along the lines of “Don’t worry about it.”
Rumpelstiltskin then said, “A battle, eh?” again. Then he cocked his head to one side and said, “Didn’t someone just say that?”
“You did,” said Billy in a tired, frustrated voice.
“Who is this?” asked Tempus, who had been following all this with confusion on his face.
“It’s—” Billy began, but that was as far as he got before he heard a loud, wordless scream. He whirled to see Rumpelstiltskin hopping up and down in rage.
“Look at this!” hollered the wrinkled old man. “Look at what they’re doing!” He whirled on Billy. “Are you responsible for this?” he demanded.
Billy had no idea what Rumpelstiltskin was blathering on about. But he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “The Darksiders did it,” he said.
“The Darksiders?” said Rumpelstiltskin. “The Darksiders did it?” His eyes narrowed. “I might have known,” he growled.
“What are you talking about?” asked Tempus, the old man clearly tired of being left in the dark by what was going on.
“What am I talking about?” said Rumpelstiltskin. “What am I talking about?” He waved his arms, taking in the whole of Powers Island. “Who is going to clean up this mess?” he screamed.
Then he turned, and to Billy’s surprise, he grabbed the Kung Fu Cleaner off his shoulder and hurled it off the mountain with all his might. “Go get ’em!” yelled Rumpelstiltskin.
Billy buried his face in his hands. Perfect, he thought. The Dawnwalkers are all but conquered, Wolfen is at the brink of winning it all, and what do we have left on our side? One crazy ex-Councilor with his attack Fizzle.
Then, he heard Tempus say, “Oh my.” The words were soft, but Billy heard the surprise in them. “Oh my,” said the Gray Power once more, and Billy looked up.
As soon as he did, his jaw dropped open like he had suddenly lost all control over the muscles in his face.
The Fizzle had hit the ground running, and gone immediately for the nearest Darksider, the one who had been menacing the Dawnwalker kids that Billy had seen earlier. The Fizzle threw itself onto the Dark Power’s body with a tiny attack cry, pummeling the man with a variety of karate kicks using every single one of its many legs. Billy saw immediately, however, that the Darksider was merely annoyed by this. A single tiny Fizzle wasn’t going to hurt him, or even slow him down.
But then the Darksider’s face paled. Because even though a single tiny Fizzle wouldn’t slow him down, a million of them was quite another matter.
Billy couldn’t help but grin as the entirety of Powers Island seemed to come alive all at once. Literally hundreds of thousands of the Kung Fu Cleaners erupted out of the rock and dirt of the island, coating it like ants on an anthill. Each of them was motionless for a moment. Then Rumpelstiltskin said quietly, “Well, my children, what are you waiting for?” He smiled a tight, thin smile, and for a moment Billy almost thought he could see Terry struggling to appear from within the old man. Then Rumpelstiltskin nodded at his army. “Let’s clean up this place,” he said.
With that, the tiny Fizzles swarmed over the Darksiders. And suddenly, the battle that had been all but over was in full swing once again. The Kung Fu Cleaners were devastating in their attack, overrunning the Darksiders in a matter of seconds. Nor were they threatened by the zombies, Billy could see: the granite creatures knocked over the zombies as fast as they ran over anything else, the Kung Fu Cleaners apparently impervious to the paralyzing touch of the undead warriors.
The Darksiders immediately found themselves between the Kung Fu Cleaners on one side and the most elite of the Dawnwalkers’ remaining fighters on the other, a tight vise that allowed little room for maneuvering or attack. Billy saw the rock giants that the Death’s Head Moths had converted to skeletal servants of the Dark swing their huge bone clubs, and a thousand Kung Fu Cleaners were shattered into oblivion, disintegrating into dust under the force of their blows. But for each Fizzle that fell, a hundred more took its place.
The battle was joined again, and as Billy watched, he started believing that maybe—just maybe—they might win after all.
He looked at Rumpelstiltskin. The old man winced in pain each time one of his Fizzles fell, but he was clearly determined to stop the cause of the mess that had been made of the previously beautiful island. Billy remembered that the destruction of a Fizzle caused pain to its master as well, and wondered how long Rumpelstiltskin would be able to withstand the attack. He suspected not long, and worried that if something wasn’t done to turn the tide of the battle overwhelmingly in the Dawnwalkers’ favor, it might still be lost.
Beside him, he heard a groan, and turned in time to see Tempus fall to the ground. The old man was exhausted, worn out by his years and by the Herculean work he had done with Billy. He was not a Councilor, Billy knew, not one of the great Powers like Mrs. Russet or Fulgora. So his flight with Billy had clearly taken its toll, and weakened him to the point of collapse.
Billy looked back at the battles that raged below. He saw Fulgora, following a horde of Kung Fu Cleaners and followed herself by a trio of her red warriors, all four of the fighters astride their beasts of flame. But then he saw as, one by one, her entourage was picked off. Then Fulgora herself was taken down as a zombie lurched into her steed. The lion Fizzle flamed out of existence under the zombie’s deadly touch, and then the dust and movement of the battle obscured Fulgora from Billy’s view.
Billy felt a sinking in his stomach. The Kung Fu Cleaners might make all the difference. But the battle was still far from victory. And his friends were suffering.
But what can I do? he thought to himself. But nothing was coming. Again, he felt like a rather poor Messenger, if that was indeed what he was. What use was it to be special in any way, if your specialness couldn’t help your friends?
I’m the Messenger, he thought, knowing that he was trying to coax himself into confidence as much as anything else. So what can I do? What can the Messenger do?
Beside him, he heard Rumpelstiltskin gasp with pain. The old man fell to his knees for a moment, and Billy could sense the rock Fizzles stumble when their master did. At the same time, he also saw another group of Dawnwalkers below fall to the ground as they were touched by the zombies.
Then he became aware that Rumpelstiltskin was murmuring; saying something under his breath:
“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.”
It was the Prophecy of the Messenger. It was, if Mrs. Russet was correct, the Prophecy of Billy. Rumpelstiltskin repeated it two more times, and Billy got the sense that the crazy old man was trying to tell him something. Then the frail Brown Power giggled and added,
“There was once a messenger true
Who both came and went through the blue.
He used a big blade,
And the dead were waylaid,
And he felt like he’d soon have to poo.”
Then he looked at Billy and said one more thing: “The Diamond Dais cracked, didn’t it. The shard came up, eh?” Once again, Billy almost saw Terry in Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes.
And suddenly, Billy knew where he was needed. He didn’t know what he had to do there, but he knew where he had to go.
“Rumpelstiltskin,” he said, “I need to get into the tower.”
The old man smiled, though his smile was weak, and grew weaker as
his Fizzles were attacked and destroyed by the thousands. “You know,” said the old man quietly, “I think you may be right.”
He clicked his fingers, and the granite seat that could travel the earth rose up beneath Billy. Billy sat on it, and in an instant was deep inside the ground. The trip this time was a short one, however, and so within seconds he found himself in the cloistered confines of the Accounting Room.
After the cacophony of battle, the sheer wall of sound that had assailed him through these last hours, the silence of the room was almost deafening. Billy stood from the chair, which sank into the floor at his feet and disappeared, leaving Billy on his own.
The room was empty, save the Counters in their cases.
Billy marched right past them, going to the elevator banks and thumbing the “Up” button. There was an almost immediate “ding,” but none of the elevators opened. “Sorry,” said the voice of one of them. “You have to get a badge and be Counted and Determined before continuing into the island.”
Billy looked at the elevators grimly. “Open,” he said quietly.
And one of the elevators opened. Billy stepped in. “How did you do that?” asked the elevator. Then, without waiting for a response, it said, “Doesn’t matter. I’m not taking you anywhere. It’s the rules.”
Billy laughed, and was surprised to hear that the laugh was not the squeaky giggle he tended to make when he was nervous or afraid. It was a deep, confident chuckle. “You will take me where I wish,” he said. “Take me to the top of the tower. Now,” he added.
And with a surprised swish, the doors closed and the elevator began to rise. “How are you doing this? You’re breaking the rules of the island,” said the elevator, half-heard awe in its voice.
“I am the Messenger of the White King,” said Billy simply. “And none shall stop me from delivering my Message.” Again, as he had a few times before, he felt like he was being lead, guided by some unseen hand on the road he had to follow, the path that would lead him to his foreordained fate.
The elevator rose silently, and Billy started to feel anxious again. When speaking to the elevator, he had felt almost like he was someone else, someone strong and confident. But now he was feeling like plain Billy again, small and weak.
The doors opened. “Top of the tower,” said the elevator in a hushed voice. Then, in a tone that bordered on reverence, it added, “My Lord.”
Billy stepped out of the elevator, which as always disappeared behind him, and had a moment to take stock of what was going on around him. It wasn’t good.
Darksiders were everywhere, their unconscious forms bearing silent witness that Billy’s friends had taken their toll on them. But he knew—as he had known all along—that the fight had never really been in doubt. Not with the forces that had been brought to bear against his friends. He looked around for them, and was almost dismayed to find them, so horrible were their situations.
Ivy was on her knees, screaming and weeping. Billy could hear her saying something about “her friend Sally,” and knew she was deep in the Dread, deep in some memory of fear and terror. His heart broke a little to hear it, and broke still more when he realized that Mrs. Black was standing over the Green Power, laughing as she repeatedly threw invisible spells of fear and Death at Ivy, each one bringing a new round of screams.
Billy also saw with horror that Prince—or what was left of him after the Death’s Head Moth had had its way—was with Mrs. Black, curled at her feet. Every so often the skeletal snake would whip out and bite Ivy, and Billy could see that where the creature of Death bit her, Ivy’s skin grew black and rotted.
Close by them, Cameron Black was standing near Vester. Vester was trying diligently to cast some kind of spell, but it was clear that he had been worn out in the fracas, and all he could manage was a few weak sparks. Cameron laughed cruelly, and threw a spell at Vester. But apparently the fireman had learned a few tricks from Fulgora, for just as Billy had seen her done, Vester conjured up a shield of flame. The shield was smaller than Fulgora’s had been, but it was enough to do the trick. Cameron’s spell bounced back and hit him in the forehead, dropping him to the ground instantly.
Cameron was back on his feet almost as fast as he had fallen, but he was bleeding from a cut on his face. He snarled, and cast another spell at Vester, and this one got through, knocking the fireman down with a yell. Mrs. Black looked over from her malicious toying with Ivy at that moment, and apparently saw that her boy had been injured, because she screamed, “You will not touch him—or anyone else—again!”
She gestured, and Billy saw a Death’s Head Moth—that creature of nightmare and pain, flit over and land on Vester before the fireman could get away. Vester shrieked, the sound high-pitched and surprising coming from the strong young man.
“Not quickly, my pet,” said Mrs. Black. “Not quickly, for we wish him to feel it. To feel it coming and feel it being beyond his power to stop.”
Sure enough, Billy saw the transformation from living flesh to dead lacework of bone happening slowly this time. The moth had landed on Vester’s right arm, and the spell of death moved agonizingly up the fireman’s fingers, then to his hand, and then his arm. Billy’s friend shouted and writhed with the pain, but there was nothing that could be done to stop the spell.
But worst of all this was what Billy saw next.
Wolfen was standing over Mrs. Russet. Billy almost cried out, because he was so shocked to see his teacher’s appearance. She was bruised and disheveled, her clothing in tatters. She raised her crystal scepter, and sharp arrowheads of dark rock hurtled out at Wolfen. But the Dark Master only laughed and batted them away contemptuously. He, too, had a Death’s Head Moth nearby him. “What shall it be, Lumilla?” he asked with a nasty chuckle. “Oblivion? Or an eternity as a servant of the Dark?”
Mrs. Russet’s only answer was another sweep of her scepter, another swarming storm of arrows. Again, Wolfen laughed. He looked at Eva Black, who now had her hand around Cameron’s shoulders, the two of them laughing as well as they watched Vester’s arm slowly turn to bone.
“My queen,” Wolfen shouted, and Eva turned to regard him with those horrible dark eyes of hers. The scarab broach on her shoulder was moving, Billy could see, its feelers twitching around like it was sampling the death in the air, and loving it.
“Yes?” she said, clearly anxious to get back to her sport with Vester and Ivy.
“Shall we turn her, or destroy her?” asked Wolfen.
Eva opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, Billy found himself stepping forward, and heard himself say, “You shall do neither.”
All movement from the three Darksiders stopped. They turned toward Billy.
“Billy, don’t,” said Mrs. Russet, but Mrs. Black threw a spell at her and the Brown Councilor started gasping, her breath stolen by Eva’s spell.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the irritating and powerless Mr. Jones,” said Mrs. Black. She looked at Wolfen, who smiled a predatory smile at her. “I must admit,” she said, and the Death’s Head Moth that had been crawling on Vester’s arm now took off and swooped toward Billy, “it will be a pleasure to hear you scream as I have heard your friends.”
“Wait,” said Cameron suddenly. “Don’t hurt him.”
Mrs. Black looked at her son in surprise, and Billy himself felt more than a little shocked. The shock dissipated, however, when Cameron said, “I want to hurt him.”
Mrs. Black smiled. “My boy,” she said proudly, and then looked at Wolfen. “They grow up so fast, don’t they?” She nodded at Cameron. “Have fun,” she said with an evil wink.
Cameron didn’t have to be told twice. He rushed at Billy instantly, hurling spells with deadly rapidity as he ran. Billy ducked and dodged, feeling the spells whip by him with trails of cool fear. One of them glanced off his head, dazing him for a moment, but then he was off and running, zigzagging as he went, trying to avoid Cameron’s raging onslaught.
Billy heard Cameron yelling, and looked b
ack to see that the bigger boy was quickly gaining on him. Cameron smiled at him—the smile of victory already achieved—and again threw something at Billy. This time, Billy thought he could see a skull flying toward him, its eye sockets burning with a purple light. The fearful object hit him square in the back, and he could feel the indigo fire that had burned in the skull’s eyes spread to his shirt. He cried out in pain, feeling his back blister and his muscles clench in agony, but kept going.
At last, Billy was at the Diamond Dais. He couldn’t think what else to do, the pain in his back pushing out most of his thoughts. Cameron was still laughing behind him, the bigger boy clearly sensing Billy’s imminent defeat, knowing that the end was near.
Billy clambered up onto the podium, then stood and turned to face Cameron. The bully was only a few feet away now. Wolfen and Mrs. Black were close behind him, walking arm in arm and watching the bully’s performance with ghastly glee. Billy glanced over their shoulders. He saw Ivy crying, the Dread sure to permanently take her to oblivion at any moment. He saw Vester, the bones of the Death’s Head’s spell still creeping up his right arm with the inevitability of Death itself. He saw Mrs. Russet, still unable to breathe, the life slowly ebbing from her as he watched.
Then he looked back at Cameron as the boy leapt lightly up to the Diamond Dais. “Mom?” called the young Black Power.
“Yes, dear?” answered Mrs. Black, her tone of voice light and happy, like they were discussing the best decorations for a birthday cake.
“I’d like to try the Dread,” said Cameron.
“Well, do you think you’re ready?” asked his mother.
Cameron grinned, and nodded. He smiled at Billy, who backed up until he found his back pressed against the shard at the center of the Diamond Dais. Nowhere else to go.
“Oh,” answered Cameron, “I’m ready all right.”
“Well, do it right,” said Wolfen. “No half-jobs. We want him to suffer, and we want him to die.”
“No, not die,” said Eva Black. The two Death’s Head Moths that still flitted above her and Wolfen started moving towards Billy. “We want him to suffer, and then we want him to become an eternal servant of Death in the midst of it. So that he walks the earth forever, and suffers for eternity.”
Billy: Messenger of Powers Page 48
