Ravenspell Book 1: Of Mice and Magic (12 page)

There was a whoosh, a mighty explosion. Fire and smoke issued from the back of the pet shop, and the door blew across the little parking lot.

Ratzilla stalked through the smoke, cruel and unstoppable.

He peered at all of the pet shop mice, his horrible eyes looking three directions at once. But it was very hard to see through all of those tentacles waving around its mouth. “Come,” the creature shouted. “You cannot escape me!”

Amber saw Ben and a pair of pet shop mice crouching by the wall, just beside where the door had been. Ben grasped his spear and hopped toward the monster in a mighty leap, but Ratzilla whirled, caught Ben in all eight tentacles, and hurled him thirty feet through the air.

“Help!” Ben called.

“Leave us alone,” Amber cried. And suddenly Ratzilla went hurtling through the air, blasting up like a firework and shooting into the stratosphere in a gorgeous display of scintillating purple sparks.

Amber had no idea where he went. She looked up, and he was just flying, flying, up toward the black clouds.

“And I wish you’d stay gone forever,” she added.

Suddenly there was a flash as three bolts of lightning struck from three separate points on the horizon, streaking all across the sky to converge on the purple lights. For a moment, Amber went blind from the display, and then the heavens grumbled, growling with displeasure.

Ben plopped on the ground beside Amber and shook the stars out of his head. All of the mice began to cheer, and they converged on Amber, shouting, “Amber the Cat Killer. Amber the Brave!”

Their voices were a distant roaring in her ears. Amber peered up at the sky, and her eyes filled with tears. Her heart was nearly breaking.

“It’s time,” she told Ben. “It’s time for me to turn you back into a human.”

Ben looked up at her in surprise, unable to find his voice.

“But—” he began to say.

“No buts,” Amber said, her decision final. “You’ve kept your part of the bargain and did it heroically. You helped free the mice of the world, and now its time to receive your reward.”

“But, I didn’t,” Ben said. “I can’t tell a lie. I
didn’t
keep my part of the bargain.”

Amber looked at him, unsure of what she was hearing. “What do you mean you didn’t keep your part of the bargain?”

“I mean that I didn’t help free the mice of the world,” Ben said. “I helped free the mice from your pet shop, but that’s just one pet shop. There are thousands and thousands of pet shops in the world, with millions of mice in them that still need to be freed! Even if we found a pet shop a day and freed all of the mice in it, we’d never get the job done. I’ve been thinking. You mice breed so fast, that no matter what we do, more mice will be born to cages than we can possibly free!”

Amber’s mind did a little flip. She thought about that.
How big is the world?
she wondered. She really had no idea. Ben was telling her that it was far more vast than she had ever imagined. Could anyone possibly free all of the mice in it, unlock all of the cages?

And why was Ben telling her this? Then she understood. “Thank you, Ben, for being honest. That’s noble of you. It’s easy to be honest when there is nothing at stake, but it’s far more difficult to tell the truth when it could cost you dearly. Nevertheless, we made a deal. In my mind, I wanted your help in freeing the mice from the pet shop where I was born—nothing more. And so I free you.”

Amber raised her paws in a magical gesture that just felt natural and was about to turn Ben back into a human when he stopped her. “Wait!” he said. “I want to say good-bye to Bushmaster.”

He turned to look through the crowd of mice that surrounded him and Amber. “Bushmaster,” he called. “Bushmaster?”

But the vole was nowhere in sight.

Ben hopped away from the group, worry suddenly growing in his voice. Amber recalled the strange creature that had been following her through the pet shop. A kitten? A ferret?

“Bushmaster, where are you?” She wished that she could see him, and suddenly the door that had blown off of the pet shop earlier erupted into the air, flying hundreds of feet, then fluttered back to earth like a leaf blowing in a strong wind.

Beneath it lay Bushmaster, crushed. “Help!” Ben called, rushing to the vole. Amber was right behind him, hopping over weeds in the parking lot. There was little light in the sky, only the dim lights thrown by a single streetlamp. So it wasn’t until Amber drew close that she could see how badly Bushmaster was hurt. Dark blood pooled from his nose and ears, and Bushmaster was trembling, his tiny feet and paws kicking uselessly. His eyes stared upward, but he seemed to see nothing.

“He’s dying,” Ben cried. He turned to Amber, huge tears welling up in his eyes. “Save him.”

But Amber looked at the vole, and she knew that it was useless. Bushmaster wasn’t dying, he was already dead. He must have been behind the door when Ratzilla blew it off of its hinges.

“He’s already gone, I think,” Amber said.

“Then bring him back,” Ben said. “Bring him back from the dead.”

The very thought startled Amber. Could she really do that with her powers? How vast were they?

“I wish I knew if he were alive,” Amber said.

Suddenly, she could hear the little vole’s heart beating in a flurry, but slowing. And she could see into him, as if his body were made of glass. And there at the center, deep, deep inside, she saw light—a tiny ember—throbbing and struggling to stay lit.

“Please,” Ben said. “Heal him now. Even if it takes all of your power. Just do it!”

Amber looked up at Ben and realized the sacrifice he was offering to make, and her heart nearly broke at the thought. A noble mouse indeed!

And Amber shouted, “Bushmaster the vole, I wish that you were alive and well.”

Bushmaster kicked his feet wildly, and Amber could see the tiny light in him, ready to go out. The vole twisted his head to the side, and there was a cracking noise. His skull, which had seemed a bit lopsided, popped back into shape. There was movement beneath him, and the fur at his belly suddenly seemed to zip closed.

He kept kicking, moaning in pain, and then suddenly leaped onto his feet and looked around groggily. His eyes brightened, and Amber could see into him perfectly. He flashed inside, and became a living light.

“I saw Him!” Bushmaster cried. “I saw Him! In the Endless Meadow!”

“Saw who?” Ben asked.

“The Great Master of Field and Fen, the Maker.”

He suddenly spun toward Ben. “You should have seen it. There was darkness and a mist and a hole that led toward a great light. And when I got there, I saw wild peas growing in a riot and sunflowers as tall as trees and fields that smelled so sweet that you wanted to even eat the dirt. And there were no hawks in the sky or weasels in the holes. I saw mice and voles rushing about, playing in the open, totally free of fear. And then He came to me, in a great light, and . . . and . . .” Bushmaster turned to Ben and said, “and He told me, ‘Your work is not yet finished. But be true and great shall be your reward.’ And then I found myself being pulled backward, and I didn’t want to leave, but before I knew it, I was back here.”

Ben leaped forward, threw his arms around Bushmaster, and began to weep. “I’m so happy that you’re alive,” he said.

The mice all began to cheer again, leaping for joy, and Amber just watched them all sadly, letting Ben have a moment to say good-bye, until one of the younger female mice said. “Whew, I’m glad that’s over. Now what is there to eat around here?”

With that, Amber suddenly realized that she was hungry too. It had been a long day, and she was ready for a bite of food and some sleep.

Ben looked around the weed-choked parking lot for something a mouse might eat. Then he seemed to get an idea and smiled over at the young girl. “You hungry?” he asked. “What’s your favorite food?”

“Mouse pellets.”

“We won’t find any mouse pellets outside the pet shop. Is there anything that you don’t like to eat?”

“Mouse pellets,” the young girl said.

Ben looked at her strangely, and Amber said, “She’s never eaten anything
but
mouse pellets.”

“You should try some root mold,” Bushmaster offered. “Now that’s good eatin’!”

“What do you like?” the young girl asked. She was twisting side to side, and Amber suddenly realized that the girl had a crush on Ben. It was easy to see why. He was handsome, daring. He’d fought a cat and set her free. But the mouse, Peablossom was her name, was much too young for Ben.

“I like pizza,” Ben said. “Ham with pineapple, and root beer to drink.”

“Oh,” Peablossom said in a daze. “Let’s have that!”

Ben started to laugh and then looked over at Amber, as if asking permission.

Chapter 12

THE STORM

On some days, you can lick a gator; on other days, the gator gobbles you for dinner.

—RUFUS FLYCATCHER

It looked like a dragon, winging its way toward him, ghostly and purple.

BEN AND THE PET SHOP MICE celebrated their good fortune at Fat Jim’s Pizza. It had been an easy matter for Ben to lead the mice there, only a couple of blocks from the pet shop, and then have Amber
wish
that the folks inside would deliver a few pizzas and some root beer. Fat Jim brought the food out himself in something of a daze. He bowed and scraped and presented the meal, thanking the mice profusely for their business, seemingly unaware that he was talking to rodents.

The pizzas were steaming hot, fresh from the oven. Ham and pineapple, pepperoni and cheese, one with everything, and one—specially ordered just for Bushmaster—was the Vegetarian’s Ambrosia. The root beer had been delivered in huge glass goblets with plenty of straws and napkins.

The mice sniffed at the pizza, and Ben was satisfied to hear their little stomachs grumbling. Bushmaster gingerly crept up to the edge of his pizza, reached down with a paw, and scooped up a glob of mozzarella cheese. “Hey,” he said with delight after downing a bite, “it’s got
mold
in it!”

“Yeah,” Ben said. “It’s moldy milk. We humans call it cheese.”

“Wow,” Bushmaster cried. “This is really good!” Then he raced over the hot pizza on tiptoe, crying “Ouch, ooh, aah!” as he stepped, and began scooping up bits of artichoke heart, sun-dried tomato, mushrooms, and other delicacies.

Then the mice began scrambling all over the pizzas, while others were trying to get to the root beer. Amber wished a fork up against one of the goblets. It was great fun to watch Bushmaster climb to the edge, do a double somersault, belly flop into the goblet, and then sink to the bottom and peer out with big eyes like a goldfish before he climbed out. Soon, all of the mice were taking turns.

Ben filled himself up on ham and pineapple pizza. It was like heaven. His own pizza. It looked like it was as large as a flying saucer, and it was half as tall as him.

He was nibbling contentedly, watching the newly freed pet shop mice have the time of their lives, when Amber came over to him.

“Thank you,” she said. “I owe you an apology.”

“For what?” Ben asked.

“For thinking badly of you,” Amber said. “I was afraid that you’d break our bargain, or run away. But more than that, I realize now that I should never have forced you to make a deal like that. It’s not your fault that other humans imprison mice.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. “I’m sorry too, Amber. I shouldn’t have tried to feed you to that lizard, no matter what my dad said.”

Amber whispered, “That was a brave thing that you did, letting me heal Bushmaster.”

“I had to,” Ben said. “He’s my friend.”

“Are you always so good to your friends?” Amber said.

“I don’t know,” Ben said. “I don’t have many. I used to have a friend, Christian. But he moved away.” Ben found that his throat grew tight as he talked about Christian. He had never told anyone what he was about to tell Amber now. “His dad told me that he got a job at a penguin cannery in the Antarctic, and so they had to move. But I know that that’s not true. Some kids at school said that they heard that Christian got sick and went into the hospital. He had cancer. I think that he died there, because if he was still alive, he would have sent me an e-mail, or called on the phone to talk, or—or—something.”

Amber leaned forward, stroked Ben’s fur with her paws. It was kind of nice, but Ben suddenly realized that he was being petted by a girl.

“What are you doing?” he asked, backing away.

“Preening you,” Amber said.

“What for?”

“It keeps the cooties off.”

“Oh,” Ben said. Then he let her preen him for a moment. He felt overwhelmed with sadness. He missed Christian.

Overhead, the heavens grumbled, and hail started to fall from the sky. It rained down, and the shiny pebbles, like boulders, bounced all over the pavement. The mice peered at the spectacle in awe as lightning flashed from hill to hill.

But the protective umbrellas at Fat Jim’s Pizza just shook in the high wind and let the hail bounce off. The mice were well protected. Only a few drops of hail bounced around on the table.

“Are you ready,” Amber asked, “to be human again?”

Ben nodded but added, “Amber, when you turn me back into a human, I don’t think I’ll be able to understand mouse talk anymore. But I want you to know that you’re welcome in my house anytime. In fact, I was thinking that maybe you and the other pet shop mice could come live in my backyard. That way, I could bring you food and stuff.”

Amber smiled gratefully, stopped her preening, and gave him a hug. “I’d like that,” she said. She seemed to think for a moment, and then she asked, “Ben, do you still think I’m ugly? Like a what-do-you-call-it, a parasitic worm?”

“No,” Ben said. “I think that you’re the prettiest mouse I’ve ever seen.”

Then, with her eyes full of tears, she said, “Ben Ravenspell, I wish that you were human again.”

Ben felt the pain hit him as his bones began to grow under his skin. He suddenly ballooned to the size of a dog, and his tail felt as if it were being sucked up inside him. His nose was pulling in too, and he stared at his paw as it began to transform into a hand.

Then something strange happened. Amber cried in pain and staggered away from Ben, falling to the top of the table.

And Ben began to shrink back down to mouse size. Then he blew up again like a puffer fish, his tail growing back. It was as if his skin were bubbling tar, rising one moment, shrinking the next. One moment his hand was as big as a human’s, but with every tiny hair and detail just like a mouse’s; then the next he was shrinking down.

“What’s wrong?” Ben cried. “Are you out of power?”

But when he looked at Amber, he saw that she was in no condition to answer. She was lying on the ground, apparently having fainted, tossing and turning and crying in pain.

“Amber,” Ben cried, as he tried crawling toward her.

And suddenly he was a mouse, nothing more than a mouse. But Amber was still trembling, unconscious, and twisting in pain.

The heavens rumbled, as if with thunder, and Ben heard a single word. “Behold,” the heavens said. Ben looked up. Lightning flashed across the sky, and far above, Ben saw a huge cloud light up. It looked like a dragon, winging its way toward him, ghostly and purple. “Behold your weakness!”

But as he peered up, he saw that it was no dragon. It was a bat, an enormous bat wide enough to swallow the world.

It roared as it dove toward him, and all of the pet shop mice screamed and leaped off of the table. Only Ben stood over the fallen Amber. He grabbed his spear and held steady.

But the mighty dragon shape began to diminish, growing smaller as it neared until finally the bat Nightwing plopped onto the table and stood over Amber’s fallen body.

“Put that away,” he said, with a wave of his clawlike wing, and Ben’s spear went flying from his hand.

Nightwing stared down at Amber in triumph. The mouse was groaning in pain, twisting. “The fool,” he hissed. “What she doesn’t know about magic will get her killed.”

He whirled and looked at Ben. Ben saw the fat tick, Darwin, clinging to the bat’s neck.

“What’s wrong with her?” Ben asked. “Did she run out of magic?”

“No,” the bat said. “She tried to cast a spell that was a lie. And that can never be done.” He looked Ben in the eye and said, “For you see, a magic spell must be born from your innermost desires. It is a wish, given power and force. And when you try to cast a spell that is a lie, one that conflicts with your innermost desires—” the bat aimed a wing at the dazed and wounded mouse, “that is what happens. The magic force turns against you.”

Ben worried for Amber, but then he began to understand. “Are you telling me that Amber
can’t
turn me back into a human?”

The ugly bat nodded, shook a bit of water and hail off of his wings. “Never. She has grown to like you too much. And so she will want to keep you.”

Ben suddenly felt sick with shock. Amber cried out, as if in pain, and Ben saw something odd. There was a light around her, like a pale red fog, that seemed to be leaking from her body. Indeed, as he looked down, he could see tiny bits of fiery light seeming to seep from every pore.

“What? What’s happening?” Ben asked.

“It’s her shayde,” Nightwing said. “The magic will leach it out of her and tear her apart, just as her conflicting desires are tearing her apart.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do to save her?”

“Save her?” Nightwing said. “Why would you want to? If you save her, she will hold you captive.”

“But, I don’t want her to die,” Ben said.

Amber shrieked in torment, and Ben could see the mist bleeding from her, rising up, turning into a strangely ghostlike mouse shape that looked up toward the sky as if seeking refuge in a distant meadow.

“Her spirit longs for release,” Nightwing said. “Let her go.”

“
You
can do something,” Ben suggested. “You said that you know some magic.”

“Perhaps,” Nightwing said. “I could save her—for a price.” He hesitated, as if thinking what he might want. “How about this? You will serve me. You will become my familiar for a month, and at the end of that time, if your service has pleased me well, I will turn you back into a human.”

“Hey,” Darwin said, pulling his proboscis from the bat’s shoulder. “I thought I was your familiar.”

Ben thought about the offer. What did Nightwing mean,
If your service has pleased me well?
What were the responsibilities of a familiar? Didn’t he just have to sit there and let the bat drain the magic from him? What could Ben possibly do that would displease the bat? Ben was afraid to make such a deal, but he didn’t really see any other choice. And he had to do it now, before Amber died.

“Quickly, now,” Nightwing urged Ben. “She’s nearly dead already.”

“Okay,” Ben said. “I’ll do it.”

“Wait a minute,” Darwin told the bat. “You can’t be serious about taking this kid on. He doesn’t know the first thing about being a familiar. Besides, you can only have one familiar at a time. Where does that leave me?”

Nightwing looked down at the tick and gave him an evil smile that showed his rapacious teeth.

Then the bat leaped toward Amber and inhaled a deep breath. The red glowing fog was sucked into his nostrils. And as it entered the bat’s chest, Amber cried out one last time and then went still. She lay in a stupor, unmoving, perhaps even dead, her lips parted as if in pain.

The bat leaned forward, blew toward Amber, and the red haze left his lungs, forming a mist in the air, much like the mist that comes from a warm body on a cold morning.

But this mist moved like something alive, inserting itself between Amber’s lips. It bubbled and boiled, shrinking back into her. And when it was gone, she took a deep breath, and lay there, sleeping.

“She’ll awaken in time,” Nightwing said. The bat turned its glittering black eyes toward Ben. “Now, what shall I do with you? I need a familiar that I can carry.” He seemed to think a moment and then smiled cruelly. “Ah, I know.”

Without notice, Ben felt a sharp twinge in his side, and suddenly two pairs of extra legs came ripping through his chest. They were monstrous, crablike things as pale as flesh. He had half a dozen segments in each leg, and as he flexed his newfound muscles, the things curled inward. He stared in shock as both his arms and legs began to lose their form, becoming like the other four legs, and then Ben was shrinking, shrinking.

In half an instant, he stared up at the bat, which now did indeed look as large as a dragon.

Ben had turned into a tick.

“Come,” Nightwing said, raising one wing up. “Come to me, and I will protect you.”

“What have you done to me?” Ben cried.

“Come, taste my blood,” Nightwing said. “You will feed from me, even as I feed off of your power.”

“But, I don’t want to be a tick,” Ben cried. “I don’t want to drink your blood.”

“Nonsense,” Nightwing said. “In time, you’ll learn to crave it, just as Darwin does now. He wasn’t always a tick, you know. He started out life as a dung beetle.”

“Dung,” Darwin wailed, as if the very word caused an uncontrollable craving. “Ah . . . what I would do for just one little ball of dung.”

Ben stood, his many feet rooted to the table, and looked about. Amber was a giant compared with him now, something the size of an elephant. Pizza crumbs that the mice had dropped looked as big as boulders. Indeed, a single ball of hail that had bounced to the table was large enough that it could have crushed him.

Slowly, Ben made his way to the bat. He couldn’t figure out how to crawl with so many feet.

Eight legs,
he realized,
and all of them are shaking so badly that I can hardly stand.

So Ben crawled. He got down on his hands and feet and just let his extra legs dangle uselessly as he crawled to his new master.