Tara Duncan and the Spellbinders (44 page)

Angelica immediately flopped down next to the stone. What? There was a way to get out of this hell and no one had told her? “What are you all waiting for?” she yelped. “Let's go! Come on, quick!”

Manitou said, “For some reason, I can't work magic in my present shape, but you can have the benefit of my advice. Robin, you'll start by polishing the stone very, very gently, so the Bloodgraves don't locate us. And show Tara each step of the polishing, so she understands exactly how it works; that way, she'll be able to use it more easily.”

“I'll do as you say,” said Robin, looking at the dog and smiling. “Forgive my candor, but I find it very hard to remember that you're a highly experienced spellbinder.”

“If I were a truly experienced spellbinder I wouldn't have gotten myself trapped in the body of a dog,” he grumbled. “But when it comes to crystal balls, I've polished hundreds of them in my life. So go ahead.”

Robin took a deep breath and announced: “All right, I'm starting. While I'm polishing the stone, you must all concentrate on surrounding it with the magic in your minds. Above all, don't relax your focus; the crystal has to remain intact. I'm starting now. Tara, would you follow me, please?”

It was a magical moment. But when Tara melded her mind with Robin's, she got a big surprise: she didn't realize that she would be literally entering his mind. It was very different from what she'd expected. Especially since he made no effort to hide his thoughts. She was curious, and after a momentary hesitation, she snooped around a little and came across a thought that gave her pause. Oops! He thinks I'm pretty!

“I'm sorry, that thought got away from me,” he said bashfully, while mentally blushing—quite an accomplishment, if you think about it. “Let's concentrate, please. I'm going to focus.”

It wasn't easy, because Robin couldn't help thinking about lots of other things. About his friendship with Cal and Fabrice; his affection for Sparrow and his surprise at learning that she was a descendent of the Beast; and his fear of being recaptured. He also thought about his father and his mother a lot. And then his thoughts circled back to Tara and how much he admired her courage, her deliciously analytical mind, her beautiful deep blue eyes . . .

Oh my! Tara thought with alarm on stumbling across that train of thought. I have to concentrate on the crystal ball and especially not on what Robin thinks about me—even if I find it really sweet.

Suddenly their task was very clear. She could feel Robin's magic take hold of the stone and very gently begin to shape it. He used his power like a scalpel. Very delicate cuts on the stone's edges chipped off tiny pieces that fell onto the blanket. Then he mentally filed the rough spots and polished the crystal. He was very careful. There were many cracks in the heart of the stone, and any clumsiness would cause it to break. Tara could also perceive the others' magic—Fabrice, Cal, and Sparrow's warmth along with Angelica's chill—surrounding the stone like a soft, strong hand to keep it from shattering.

Robin patiently demonstrated all the stages to Tara, who repeated them. When Robin went over an edge and polished it, he made it transparent. When Tara followed behind him, her magic made it luminous. And when they had finally finished—and heaved a big sigh of relief—the crystal ball glowed like a little lighthouse illuminating the night.

“Wow!” cried Sparrow ecstatically. “That's the most beautiful crystal I've ever seen! Incredible, how brightly it glows!”

But Robin was worried. “It's full of cracks, and the smallest bump could break it, in spite of all of our precautions. We should try to contact the wizard right away.”

“Which of you is going to call Chem?” asked Manitou.

“I think there's no question that Tara's gift is the most powerful,” said Robin thoughtfully. “What do you think?”

“Yes, that's a good choice.”

“Is this gonna require a lot of energy?” asked Tara, who was stretching and grimacing. “Because I'm exhausted—just wasted.”

“I thought you had the most powerful gift of all of us,” sneered Angelica. “So show us what you can do, instead of complaining.”

Tara ignored the tall girl and looked at Robin.

“I'm tired too,” he said, working to loosen his tight shoulders. “We can rest for a few moments, but not too long. I'm also worried about the Mud Eaters. I don't know what they're up to, but I'll feel better after we've talked with Master Chem.”

Tara nodded. Her magic might again escape her control if she was too tired. To avoid a catastrophe she had to relax before continuing. So she calmly stood up, took a piece of bread and cheese, and went to sit near Gallant, who was cropping the sparse grass.

“What the heck is she doing?” screeched Angelica. “I want to go home! Now!”

“Let the poor girl rest,” ordered Manitou. “That exercise took a lot of effort from all of you. Get something to eat and rest for a while. We'll make contact later. Angelica, you have to understand that if we try now, and our first attempt fails because we're tired, we won't be able to try again for several hours. So we may as well give ourselves the best chance of success. Though I don't like having to wait any more than you do.”

Remembering just in time that the black Labrador was an old spellbinder, Angelica restrained her urge to kick him.

A sudden din startled them. The Mud Eaters were screaming.

“Children! Come, danger, danger! Children, leave island, danger, danger! No sleep on island, come here, now! We not hurt children. Take back to great Master, nice Master, beautiful Master. Children come now!”

“Oh, brother,” Fabrice said. “What do they want with us now?”

“They want us to surrender,” said Fafnir, who was trying to get the vile taste of the black rose infusion out of her mouth by eating a few shriveled berries. “So they're trying to scare us. Pay no attention. That was a trick my great-great-grandfather stopped using ten centuries ago.”

“But what if there really was a danger, or something evil on the island and night fell, what could we do?” asked Angelica frantically. “We don't even know what we're up against!”

“You know, you humans really worry a lot,” mocked the dwarf. “What about this, what about that? Why don't you just take life as it comes? It's much simpler. Let yourself go, and appreciate what you're given.”

Then she started spinning like a top, her arms outstretched and a big smile on her lips.

“Hey there,” said Cal, looking at her carefully. “Just what exactly was in that infusion of yours?”

Unsteady on her feet, the dwarf shrugged, then tripped and wound up sitting on the ground. “Just something to make me understand that life is beautiful and I'm happy to be here with you under this splendid starry vault with thousands of luminous and mysterious suns. With beloved and courteous friends who were prepared to sacrifice their lives so I could escape. You know what? I love you!”

“She's completely drunk,” whispered Manitou as he watched Fafnir struggling to her feet to recite more poetry to the stars.

“She said the brew would make her magic disappear,” said Cal.

“She didn't mention any side effects.”

“Well, this is certainly a surprise!” the dog exclaimed. “Can you cut me a few of those black roses? I'd like to do some experiments when we get home—if the stupid dog leaves me in control, that is. Fafnir's reactions are very intriguing.”

“I'll try and cut you a couple, but I'm not making any promises,” said Fabrice, looking dubiously at the formidable thorns. “Do you think she'll be sick?”

“Oh, it takes more than a few plants to bring down a dwarf. They're the toughest beings I've ever seen. Don't worry. She'll have such a headache tomorrow she might feel like some blacksmith is using her head for an anvil, but that's all.”

Having finished her poetic offerings, Fafnir now launched into a dwarfish war song.

The valiant clan of the Fireforrrge

Went off to war for the one they adorrre:

The beautiful blacksmith Betaniiir

Taken by a dragoness far from heeere.

“Think she'll keep this up for long?” Cal screamed to Sparrow, plugging his ears.

For ransom she requires gold and jewwwels,

But for payment, she'll die a death most cruuuel.

“I don't know,” Sparrow shouted back. “All I know is that there are many thousands of dwarf songs. She could actually sing for a year without stopping.”

For the dwarfs are off to find a dragon to slaaay

They'll bleed her, and roast her, her body they'll flaaay.

“I'll have surrendered to the Mud Eaters long before that!” moaned Fabrice, who was desperately trying to protect himself against the incredible sounds rising from the dwarf 's powerful throat.

Mercilessly, my brothers, off we go to warrr,

To hunt down the enemy we all abhorrr.

Terrified by the war songs, the Mud Eaters retreated, and within a few seconds had all run away from the shores. In the water, glurps and snakes fled to the far edges of the swamp. Even the black rosebushes were quivering, pulling at their roots in an attempt to escape the vocal hurricane.

Hands on her ears, Tara laughed. “Well, it's effective, anyway!” she cried to Fabrice. “We can list it under ‘Secret Weapons.'”

The dwarf paused and then cried: “And now for the chorus!

Take the hammers and the laaances,

Sing the songs, and dance the daaances,

And victory will keep us waaarm,

For we the dwarves fear no haaarm!

“And now the next part!”

But when Betanir, courageously took the field,

She made that fiery dragon's yield.

With her hammer she struck with skiiill,

She cut her throat, she went for the kiiill.

The vile serpent was taken dowwwn

And Betanir was safe and souuund.

With priceless treasures she went off in gloryyyy

Trumpeting her triumph and telling her storyyy.

She shared the gold and silver with those of her claaan,

The price the dragon paid for the war she begaaaan.

Betanir became the queen of the dwaaarves

Their beloved queen forevermooore!

Fafnir signaled to them to sing, and resumed, rocking back and forth to the song's rhythm: “And now for the chorus!”

Take the hammers and the laaancees,

Sing the songs, and dance the daaances,

And victory will keep us waaarm,

For we dwarves fear no haaarm!

When Fafnir stopped, a great silence fell on the swamp. The dwarf staggered for a moment, grinning broadly, and suddenly collapsed in a heap. She was so dense that she hit the ground with a and the island seemed to tremble under the shock.

“Yikes! She may have hurt herself,” said Cal. “Give me a hand. We'll put her on a blanket.”

Sparrow shape-shifted so she could help move the dwarf, and they stretched her out comfortably. They watched her with concern, but were soon reassured by her noisy snoring.

“All right, now that the concert is over, I think I better try to reach the wizard before something else happens,” said Tara, laughing.

“Man, I didn't know dwarves sang like that,” said Fabrice, whose ears were still ringing.

“It's best if you don't,” said Sparrow. “When you hear their songs it usually means they're on the warpath and are attacking. So you understand why they don't have many fans on OtherWorld.”

“Oh, I get it,” he said. “First they flatten their opponents by singing, then just finish them off. Not a bad tactic!”

“Great-grandfather, do you know what I have to do?” Tara asked the dog, who was taking his paws off his ears.

“First of all, please call me Pops, or Grandpa, or Manitou. ‘Greatgrandfather' is a bit long, and it makes me feel old whenever I hear you say it. Second, stuff some cotton in my ears the next time Fafnir decides to launch another song cycle. And third, sit in front of the crystal ball, say the number you want to call, and think intensely of the person you want to communicate with. That's all there is to it. You can start talking as soon as their image appears.”

“Uh-oh! The number!” Tara's face scrunched up in panic. “My mind's gone blank, I don't remember the number!”

She racked her brains, but it was for naught. She couldn't remember even a single digit! She felt like weeping. I mean really, what an idiot!

Tara started pacing, muttering, “004? No, that's not it . . . 005, 003, no . . . I can't believe that I don't remember . . . 008?”

“Maybe we could hypnotize her,” suggested Fabrice as he watched his friend walk back and forth.

“No, with her gift that's too dangerous. She could kill us all just protecting herself.”

“Yeah, well, we should probably avoid that. Maybe she could recite a list of numbers and finally remember the right ones. That's how I remember telephone numbers on Earth. Tara, did you use a mnemonic trick to memorize the number?”

“No, I just learned it by heart,” she moaned, now in a complete panic. “But my mind's gone blank. And I left the piece of paper that Master Chem wrote it down on back in Travia.”

At this point, Cal spoke up, “I didn't plan to tell you about this, but now I don't have any choice. Here's your paper!”

He pulled out a very wrinkled little piece of paper with the following in the dragon wizard's handwriting: 007 700 350
Chemnashaovirodaintrachivu
.

“Yes! That's it!” shrieked Tara. “But how come you have it? I don't understand.”

“I'm the baby in a very big family,” explained Cal with dignity. “And when I say the baby, I mean it. All my brothers and sisters are much bigger than me, and especially much stronger. If you're a baby, the only way to get by is to keep yourself very well informed. And the high wizard's unlisted number is a very valuable piece of information.”