The Last Guardian

by Eoin Colfer

  He said, Kiss Foaly. Those exact words?

  No, said Holly, thinking back. He kissed me, and said, Give him that from me.

  The centaur grinned, then cackled, then dragged her across the lab.

  We need to get your forehead under an electron microscope, he said.

  Holly explained their interpretation of Artemis’s plan to Butler as they walked toward the Berserker Gate. Foaly trotted ahead, muttering calculations to himself and keeping an eye out for early-bird humans.

  “The chrysalis was what Opal used to grow a clone of herself. It was turned over to Foaly, who was supposed to destroy it.”

  “But he didn’t,” guessed Butler.

  “No. And Artemis knew that from hacking into LEP recycling records.”

  “So, Artemis wanted Foaly to grow a clone? Even an old soldier like me knows that you need DNA for that…”

  Holly tapped her forehead. “That’s why he kissed me. There was enough DNA in the saliva for Foaly to grow an army, but it seemed like a natural trace to the airport scanners.”

  “A genius to the end,” said Butler. He frowned. “But aren’t clones poor, dumb creatures? Nopal could barely stay alive.”

  Foaly stopped at the lip of the crater to explain. “Yes, they are, because they don’t have a soul. This is where the magic comes in. When the first Berserker lock was closed, all fairy spirits within the magic circle were released from their bodies, but Artemis may have had enough human in him, and enough sheer willpower, to remain in this realm, even after his physical body died. His spirit could be a free-floating, ectoplasmic, ethereal organism right now.”

  Butler almost stumbled over his own feet. “Are you saying Artemis is a ghost?” He turned to Holly for a straight answer. “Is he actually saying that Artemis is a ghost?”

  Holly steered the hover trolley down the incline. “The Berserkers were ghosts for ten thousand years. That’s how the spell worked. If they lasted that long, it’s possible that Artemis held on for six months.”

  “Possible?” said Butler. “That’s all we’ve got?”

  Foaly pointed to a spot near the tower. “Possible is being optimistic. I would say barely conceivable would be a better bet.”

  Holly undid the clips of a refrigerated container on top of the hover trolley. “Yes, well the barely conceivable is Artemis Fowl’s specialty.”

  Butler heaved off the lid, and what he saw inside took his breath away, even though he had been expecting it. Artemis’s clone lay inside a transparent tent, breath fogging the plastic.

  “Artemis,” he said. “It’s him exactly.”

  “I had to play with the hothousing,” said Foaly, unhooking the clone from its life support systems. “And I didn’t have access to my own lab, so he has six toes on his left foot now, but it’s close enough for a backstreet job. I never thought I’d say it, but Opal Koboi made good tech.”

  “It’s…He’s fifteen now, right?”

  Foaly ducked behind a twist of nutrient pipes to hide his face. “Actually, the timing got away from me a little, so he’s a little older. But don’t worry, I gave him a total makeover. Skin shrink, bone scrape, marrow injections—I even lubed his brain. Believe me, his own mother wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

  He rubbed his hands and changed the subject. “Now, to work. Show me where Artemis died.”

  “Down there,” said Holly, pointing. “By the…”

  She had been about to say tower, but her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the incredible roses that grew in thick curved bands, emanating from the exact point where Artemis had collapsed.

  The Fowl Estate roses were something of a sensation, blooming as they did in a perfect spiral at the foot of the round tower, where no roses had been planted. Their unusual burnished orange petals made them visible from the other garden plots, and Juliet had been assigned the task of ensuring that none of the villagers helped themselves to as much as a single stem.

  Because of recent little people rumors, the garden workers had taken to calling the flowers fairy roses, which was a better name for them than even they suspected.

  Butler carried the enclosed clone in his arms, and he was suddenly reminded of a night years ago when he had carried someone else through a field, watching the tall grass swish in Artemis’s wake.

  Except, that time I was carrying Holly.

  Foaly interrupted his thought. “Butler, you must place the body in the roses. At the center of the spiral. Without life support we only have minutes before degeneration begins.”

  Butler laid the clone gently inside the spiral, on a soft patch where there were no thorns to pierce it.

  Holly knelt to open the tent’s zipper. She pulled the flaps apart, and inside lay Artemis’s new body in a hospital gown, its breath coming in short gasps, sweat sheening its forehead.

  Foaly moved quickly around the clone, straightening its limbs, tilting its head back to clear the airways.

  “These roses,” he said, “they are a sign. There’s magical residue here. I would bet this formation is pretty much the same shape as Bruin Fadda’s original rune.”

  “You’re pinning your hopes on a flowerbed sprouting in the meadow?”

  “No, of course not, Butler. Bruin Fadda’s magic was powerful, and someone with Artemis’s willpower could easily last a few months.”

  Butler held his own skull. “What if this doesn’t work, Holly? What if I let Artemis die?”

  Holly turned quickly and saw that Butler was emotionally stretched. He had been hiding behind denial for half a year and would blame himself forever if Artemis didn’t come back.

  If this does not work, Butler may never recover, she realized.

  “It will work!” she said. “Now, less talk and more resurrecting. How long do we have, Foaly?”

  “The clone can survive for perhaps fifteen minutes away from the life support.”

  Butler knew that the time for objections was past. He would do whatever was necessary to give this plan a chance to succeed.

  “Very well, Holly,” he said, standing to attention. “What should I do?”

  Holly squatted three feet from the clone, fingers wrapped around rose stems, oblivious to the thorns piercing her skin. “It is all done now. Either he appears, or we have lost him forever.”

  I think we will have lost something of ourselves, too, thought Butler.

  They waited, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. Birds sang, the hedgerow bustled, and the sound of a tractor engine drifted to them across the fields. Holly squatted and fretted, dragging flowers out by their roots. While she worried, Butler’s gaze rested on the clone’s face and he recalled times past spent with his principal.

  There never was anyone like Artemis Fowl, he thought. Though he didn’t make my job any easier with all his shenanigans. Butler smiled. Artemis always had my back, even though he could barely reach it.

  “Holly,” he said, gently. “He’s not coming…”

  Then the wind changed, and suddenly Butler could smell the roses. Holly stumbled forward to her feet.

  “Something’s happening. I think something is happening.”

  The breeze scooped a few rose petals from the flowers and sent them spinning skyward. More and more petals broke free as the wind seemed to curve along the orange spiral, quickly stripping each flower. The petals rose like butterflies, flitting and shimmering, filling the sky, blocking the sun.

  “Artemis!” Butler called. “Come to my voice.”

  Has he done it? Is this Artemis Fowl’s greatest moment?

  The petals swirled with a noise like a chorus of sighs and then suddenly dropped like stones. The clone had not moved.

  Holly moved forward slowly, as though learning to use her legs, then dropped to her knees, clasping the clone’s hand.

  “Artemis,” she said, the word like a prayer. “Artemis, please.”

  Still nothing. Not even breath now.

  Butler had no time for his usual impeccable manne
rs and moved Holly aside. “Sorry, Captain. This is my area of expertise.”

  He knelt over the pale clone and, with his palm, searched for a heartbeat. There was none.

  Butler tilted the clone’s head back, pinched its nose, and breathed life deep into its lungs.

  He felt a weak heartbeat under his hand.

  Butler fell backward. “Holly. I think…I think it worked.”

  Holly crawled through the carpet of petals.

  “Artemis,” she said urgently. “Artemis, come back to us.”

  Two more breaths passed, then several rapid jerky ones, then Artemis’s eyes opened. Both a startling blue. The eyes were initially wide with shock, then fluttered like the wings of a jarred moth.

  “Be calm,” said Holly. “You are safe now.”

  Artemis frowned, trying to focus. It was clear that his faculties had not totally returned, and he did not yet remember the people leaning over him.

  “Stay back,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

  Holly took his hand. “We do know you, Artemis. And you know us. Try to remember.”

  Artemis did try, concentrating until some of the clouds lifted.

  “Y…you,” he said hesitantly. “You are my friends?”

  Holly wept with sheer relief. “Yes,” she said. “We are your friends. Now we need to get you inside, before the locals arrive and see the recently deceased heir being escorted by fairies.”

  Butler helped Artemis to his feet, on which he was obviously unsteady.

  “Oh, go on, then,” said Foaly, offering his broad back. “Just this once.”

  Butler lifted Artemis onto the centaur’s back and steadied him with a huge hand.

  “You had me worried, Arty,” he said. “And your parents are devastated. Wait until they see you.”

  As they walked across the fields, Holly pointed out areas of shared experience, hoping to jog the teen’s memory.

  “Tell me,” Artemis said, his voice still weak. “How do I know you?”

  And so Holly began her story: “It all started in Ho Chi Minh City one summer. It was sweltering by anyone’s standards. Needless to say, Artemis Fowl would not have been willing to put up with such discomfort if something extremely important had not been at stake. Important to the plan.…”