The Magical Flight of Dodie Rue

by F. C. Shaw

  Dodie turned Phoenix around to go back for Raz.

  Raz ran, his arms flailing in panic, his feet sinking in the sand. The scorpion closed in on him. Dodie raced for him.

  Click-click! The pinchers caught its prey.

  Raz screamed as the scorpion clamped him in its pinchers and burrowed down into the sand.

  Binni covered his eyes, but Dodie watched as the scorpion and the alchemist disappeared into the earth.

  “The desert swallowed him up,” whispered Dodie. He turned to Binni. “It’s over. He’s gone. You okay?”

  Binni dropped his shaky hands from his eyes, and panted. “He was gonna kill me. He got what he deserved. But he was the only family I had.”

  Dodie put an arm around his friend. “No, he wasn’t. You’ve got us.”

  Binni managed a small smile. “Thanks. Let’s go save our brother then.”

  Dodie and Binni raced back to Turah, not stopping until they landed on the Rue’s roof. They hurried into the house. Zalla was stirring a bowl of thick dark liquid, and Zinnia was sitting with Taj’s head propped in her lap. Gamal and Nadar hovered nearby. The air smelled foul.

  “I have it,” panted Dodie, holding up the vial of blood. “It’s not too late?”

  Zalla took the vial from him and tapped the scarlet drops into the bowl he was mixing. “It’s ready.” He poured the potion into a smaller cup and brought it to Taj. “Open his mouth,” he told Dodie.

  Dodie moved his brother’s lips apart.

  Zalla carefully poured the scarlet potion down Taj’s throat, just a little at a time. “Keep his head propped so he doesn’t choke.”

  Zinnia tilted Taj’s head up a little more. Zalla poured the last of the potion into Taj’s mouth and stood back. Dodie closed his brother’s mouth and stared anxiously at his pale face.

  “Why’s it not working?” Gamal hollered from the corner.

  “Give it a minute,” whispered Zalla.

  Gradually, the color came back to Taj’s face.

  “He’s looking better!” exclaimed Binni.

  Zinnia gently laid Taj’s head back down and stood over by her father to watch.

  Dodie knelt by his brother, waiting, barely breathing. “Come on,” he whispered.

  Taj’s eyelids fluttered open, and he coughed. He looked at Dodie and gave a weak smile.

  Dodie laid his head on his brother’s chest, and heard a strong heart beat and steady breathing. Gamal and Nadar fell on Taj, not bothering to hold back tears. They helped Taj sit up a little on his bed.

  “He will be weak until he gets nourishment,” Zalla told them. “I’ll prepare a tonic and a hearty broth for him.”

  He and Zinnia left the room to prepare the tonic and broth in the kitchen. Binni followed after them.

  “What happened?” Taj asked in a hoarse voice.

  “Your little brother just saved your life,” said Nadar.

  Taj looked at Dodie with a grin. “How’d you do that, Dodes?”

  Dodie beamed. “I won the Grand Flyer.”

  Chapter 18

  After Taj drank the tonic and broth that Zalla and Zinnia prepared for him, he felt strong enough to hear all about Dodie’s adventures. Everyone gathered around Taj’s bed to listen to Dodie and Zinnia’s recount of the Grand Flyer. They were good story-tellers, painting rich descriptions of the scenery and building suspense at the dangerous moments of their journey. Nadar was thrilled that Dodie had heeded his map of secrets, and Zalla beamed at his daughter for her courage in racing against the boys. Taj never expressed any resentment over not racing, and instead swelled with pride over his little brother for doing so.

  Their story ended on a sad note when they considered Binni who was now without his only relative; although knowing about Binni’s abuse at home did not make them sorry that Raz was gone. While Binni was still feeling confused and hurt by his uncle, he was thrilled to sign on as Zalla’s apprentice. Not only did Binni gain a kind master, but he also had his dreams fulfilled of learning alchemy.

  At first Zalla considered taking Zinnia and Binni to live in the Capital where he held a prominent position on Magistrate Obenido’s counsel. But Zinnia wouldn’t hear of it. She wanted to live in Turah, and Dodie knew it was because of him. Zalla and Zinnia moved into Raz’s shop with Binni. Zalla found all his books and tools and ingredients that Raz had stolen from him in addition to all Raz’s equipment.

  Magistrate Oxard hosted a celebration for Dodie at which Axel joined as the only other racer from Turah, for Atallah was still being held in the Capital. Axel had fully recovered from being poisoned and eagerly listened to Dodie tell him about the parts of the race he had missed.

  Atallah was eventually released, but refused to return to Turah. His parents moved away and joined him at the Capital where the larger population made it easy to hide their shame. Dodie and Zinnia joked that her wish for his banishment had come true after all.

  Before leaving Turah, Lord Hadi stopped by Rue’s Rug Emporium. He did not hold his head nearly as high, and his large nose didn’t look as prominent, for his whole demeanor had changed. He slapped a sheet of parchment on the counter. The paper was the written loan agreement both men had signed twelve years ago.

  “We have a wager to settle,” said Hadi in a low voice.

  “We do,” answered Gamal as he held out his half of the winged amulet.

  When both men placed their wings on the counter, the two wings united, glowed blue, then disappeared with a poof. Next the loan agreement magically ignited and burned into oblivion. Hadi frowned, and Gamal grinned.

  Lord Hadi turned to leave when he spotted Dodie. “By all rights you shouldn’t have won.” His face was stoic, and for a moment Dodie wasn’t sure what he would say or do next. Hadi grunted. “The universe makes strange calls. Who are we to argue with it?” He walked out of the emporium.

  A few days later, race officials from the Capital arrived in Turah and delivered Dodie’s winnings to Rue’s Rug Emporium. They brought in a small heavy chest and handed over a gilded key. Dodie unlocked the chest to find it full of more gold coins than he had ever seen at one time before.

  Taj whooped and ran his hands through the money. “I feel like a sultan!”

  “Dad, this is for the shop. For us.” Dodie pushed the chest down the counter to his father.

  Gamal didn’t reply, and when he looked up there were tears in his eyes. He didn’t say anything to Dodie, but for the first time in a long while, he looked at his son without glassy eyes. And that was enough.

  Nadar insisted that Dodie keep Phoenix as his own carpet now that he was a racer.

  “We really took to each other,” Dodie told his grandfather as they sat on the roof stargazing.

  “I figured you would,” croaked Nadar.

  “She did things that other carpets don’t normally do.”

  Nadar nodded his balding head. “Magic.”

  “I love flying, Grandpapa,” said Dodie. “And I feel like a Rue now.”

  “You’ve always been a Rue. Flying a carpet was never meant to define you, and it shouldn’t. There are more valuable things that make you who you are.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, you did a very noble thing by wishing for Zinnia’s father. You did it to save Taj of course, but I think you did it also for her.”

  “I did.”

  Nadar nodded.

  Dodie was quiet a minute before asking, “You never told me what you wished for from your last race.”

  Nadar smiled. “When I raced in my last Grand Flyer and won, Taj was a few years old. Your parents wanted more children, but your mother couldn’t conceive again.” He looked down at his grandson. “So I wished for you.”

  Dodie swallowed.

  “To my great sadness, that wish came with an unforeseen price, and your mother left us when you were
born.” Nadar rested a wrinkled hand on top of Dodie’s head. “I always told you that you were special.”

  Dodie did not say anything as a shooting star streaked overhead.

  “So tell me again about the Grand Renegade,” he said after a few moments.

  Nadar chuckled. “Only racers who’ve come in first, second, and third in the Grand Flyers can compete. It usually takes place the year following the Grand Flyer. I expect you’ll get an invitation within the month.”

  “Really?” Dodie exclaimed, his heartbeat quickening. “Should I do it?”

  “You should consider it.”

  “Is it more dangerous? Are there different rules? What’s the grand prize?”

  Nadar chuckled again. “Don’t worry, I will tell you all about it some other time. Right now, I want to hear another story. Tell me more about your Grand Flyer.”

  “So you’ll give me proper flying lessons?” Dodie asked as he chased his brother up to the roof.

  “You don’t need flying lessons,” Taj called back as he bounded up the stairs two at a time. “You won the Grand Flyer!”

  “But I had help,” argued Dodie. “From Phoenix, from Grandpapa’s map, from Zinnia. My flying isn’t that great. I could improve some skills.”

  “Yeah, you could,” said Zinnia as she landed Amethyst on their roof patio. With a grin, she hopped off her rug. “Your threading is weak.”

  “Hey!” Dodie frowned. “You said it wasn’t bad!”

  Zinnia giggled. “I was being nice. Actually we both could use some threading lessons. I haven’t figured it out yet either.”

  “Alright,” consented Taj as he mounted Sand Surfer. “Lesson one: Threading. Now pay attention or you’ll both be kicked out of Taj’s Flying Academy.”

  Dodie rolled his eyes and Zinnia giggled again. They climbed onto their racer rugs and followed Taj down into the alley behind the emporium. Taj gave good instructions and helped them with their form. By the end of the hour, Dodie and Zinnia were able to thread the alley wall. They returned to the roof for a little breather before practicing more. Taj entertained them with some fancy flying maneuvers.

  “I got an invitation to race in the Grand Renegade,” said Dodie as he plopped down on a straw mat. He absent-mindedly fiddled with the good luck charm strung around his neck.

  Zinnia sat down. “Are you gonna do it?”

  “I don’t know.” Dodie watched Taj do an upside-down loop in the air. “It’s supposed to be more intense than the Grand Flyer. I only raced the Grand Flyer for Taj. What would I be racing the Renegade for?”

  “For yourself,” said Zinnia. “I think with some training from Taj you could do it.”

  Dodie looked at her. “Really?”

  Zinnia smiled and her eyes looked fondly at him. “If you do it, you have to promise me something.”

  Dodie’s heartbeat quickened, as usually happened when he was around her. “Anything.”

  “Promise you’ll come back alive,” she said, her pretty face looking solemn.

  They locked eyes for a moment, and Dodie felt lost in the fire in her eyes.

  She cleared her throat and said in a lighter tone, “I don’t wanna have to beat a bunch of boys again and win the Grand Flyer to wish you back to me.”

  Dodie grinned. “Yeah, I like your hair growing out. You shouldn’t have to cut it again.”

  Zinnia blushed slightly as she tucked a strand behind one ear.

  Taj skidded to a landing next to them. “Lesson two—”

  “Will you coach me for the Grand Renegade?” Dodie interrupted.

  Taj gave a lop-sided smile. “If you split the prize with me fifty-fifty.”

  “Thirty-seventy,” Zinnia piped up as she crossed her arms.

  Taj chuckled. “What are you, his manager? Forty-sixty.”

  Dodie stuck out his hand. “Deal.”

  Taj pulled Dodie into an affectionate headlock. “Let’s get started!”

  If you love

  The Magical Flight of Dodie Rue,

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  An Invitation

  The letter arrived by courier during breakfast.

  “Go on, Rollie, read it aloud to us.” Mrs. Wilson, his mother, nudged his shoulder.

  Rollie stared at the letter in his hand, his brown eyes wide with excitement.

  “Who would send him mail?” Edward, an older brother, snorted.

  “I don’t even get mail and I have a girlfriend,” Stewart, Edward’s twin, added.

  “Maybe that’s it!” Edward exclaimed, grinning his lopsided smile. “Got a secret girlfriend, Rollie? I’ll bet it’s Cecily Brighton!”

  “I wish I’d get a letter,” Lucille, a younger sister, pouted.

  “Me too!” Daphne, her twin, chimed.

  “Find a boyfriend and you’ll get mail,” Edward quipped.

  Stewart slapped a high-five with his twin. The two teens snickered and elbowed each other.

  “Stop it, boys. Let Rollie read it aloud,” Mrs. Wilson scolded as she brushed Rollie’s sandy-blond hair with her fingers.

  Rollie cleared a dry throat unnecessarily. In a high voice common to boys of eleven years, Rollie read the letter aloud. When he was finished, the entire Wilson family started talking at once with high-handed opinions, as was their custom.

  “Whoever heard of the Sherlock Academy?”

  “Why Tuesday?”

  “It’s the first of the month.”

  “I want a letter!”

  “Me too!”

  “Get a boyfriend.”

  Amidst all the banter around the breakfast table, Rollie sat silently regarding his hash browns, the only food he ever ate for breakfast. His middle fluttered with butterflies. He felt that flutter when he was excited, like on his birthday, on Christmas day, on the first day of school, and when solving a mystery. Most children his age became very hyper when they felt this flutter in their middles. Perhaps they nagged their parents to no end, or galloped around the house squealing, or did something really naughty like peek at their presents. But in the Wilson household, there was never a need for Rollie to behave this way. Everyone else was louder or more hyper, which, oddly enough, calmed him. Such was the case at the breakfast table laden with pancakes, eggs, and hash browns.

  Rollie folded the letter and tucked it in his brown trouser pocket. As he tuned out everyone’s comments, he noticed the usual absence of one family member’s opinion. He threw a sideways glance at his great-aunt Eileen, who sat primly sipping her tea and holding her tongue. She was thin and of average height, though she always appeared taller because of her upright posture and her tendency to look down her nose at people. She kept her gray hair in a bun atop her head, which also added to her height. Her gray eyes never missed a thing, and the wrinkles on her pale face made her look wise, which she was.

  He picked up his fork and poked his hash browns. He scooped up a bit, brought it to his nose, and sniffed. Nope, no use eating at a time like this. Whenever he felt that flutter, his appetite vanished until the excitement resolved. Maybe it was good he got that flutter only three times a year, otherwise he might be even skinnier than he already was.

  Rap-rap-rap!

  Mr. Wilson rapped his knuckles on the table to get everyone’s attention. “Enough, enough! I will lay out the facts and there will be no more talk of this until Tuesday.”

  Mr. Wilson taught mathematics at the local Regent’s College and loved facts as much as he hated speculation. He embodied the role of a professor in his tweed suit, perched spectacles, and straight-combed hair. “Fact: this letter is addressed to Rollie, so it follows that it’s no one else’s business.” He turned a warning eye at Lucille and Daphne who were uncommonly nosey for seven-year-olds. “Fact: the orientation
will answer all our questions. Fact: the orientation is not until Tuesday, so there is nothing we can do until Tuesday. Conclusion: this conversation is summed.”

  Mr. Wilson stood from the table and marched out of the dining room, his morning paper tucked under his arm.

  Mrs. Wilson also stood, and smoothed her blue print dress. “Edward, Stewart, don’t be late today or you just might get fired. Girls, you have dance lessons at nine. Auntie Ei, if you have any errands, I can drive—”

  “No thank you, Eloise.” Auntie Ei rose briskly to her feet and swept away quickly despite her eighty-odd years.

  “Rollie, your violin lesson is cancelled today. Mrs. Trindle is feeling under the weather.” She smoothed his sandy-blond hair and shooed him on his way.

  Rollie smiled as the family dispersed. He cared less for violin lessons now than when he first begged his mother for them. He had wanted to play the violin for the sole purpose of mimicking Sherlock Holmes, and enjoyed it to some extent. But he disliked Mrs. Trindle because she smelled stale and flicked the underside of his wrists to “improve the posture,” so she said. No violin lesson meant no other plans for the whole day, which spelled freedom until suppertime.

  Rollie raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time, pulling himself up by the polished banister. At the end of the hall on the second floor, he mounted twelve more stairs leading to the top of the house. He flew into his watchtower-like bedroom. Being the middle child with no twin did have its advantages: his own bedroom. Though it was the smallest bedroom in the large house, he did not complain, for the house was a gift from Auntie Ei.

  Auntie Ei was a lady of property. Long ago, she had passed down the Wilson manor to Rollie’s father as an early inheritance on the condition that she would live with them. This meant a crotchety addition to the family and a small room for Rollie. No one understood the reason she chose to live with the family since she was annoyed by all of them—all of them except Rollie. She had a keen interest in him, and a degree of affection for him. When he was old enough to read she had given him his first Sherlock Holmes book, which had planted the thrill of being a detective in Rollie. Despite her partiality toward him she had not been able to secure him a proper bedroom in the house.