“Thank you.” Erec was not sure how much he was acting, and how much he truly felt appreciative. “I am honored to serve you, master.” He bowed his head.
“Excellent. Now, let’s hear the reports on the battle preparations.”
A heavily decorated general with bushy gray eyebrows and whiskers stood. “Sire. Events are progressing as planned. Our army has tripled, and we continue to add Spirit Warriors and monsters into our reserves, waiting to be called into action. We are gearing up for the attack. And, I’m pleased to say, more good news has surfaced—Tarvos has managed to activate his Golem warriors. I have no idea how he did it, but he found a Master Shem. The deal you offered to release him from captivity if he used his military for you is a go. His Golems will decimate Otherness, and then Upper Earth, once you are ready to unleash them.”
Erec’s heart stopped. This was why Tarvos needed the Master Shem? And Erec had been the one to hand it to him?
What a fool he had been. If only he had thought things through. There might have been another way for him to rescue Trevor. He had not even bothered to find out what Tarvos’s plan was. But then again the Fates had told him it was the only way to save his brother. . . .
A man in a long white lab coat stood and dusted himself off. His hair fluffed out in all directions, and his wire glasses were as thick as soda bottles. “May I speak, your specialness?”
“Yes, Swerdley. I’m looking forward to your research. Please go ahead.”
Swerdley bowed multiple times, upon the last of which he hit his head against the wooden table. “Oops! Um . . . sorry there. Anyhoo, I’ve perfected the mind-control concoction, Your Princeliness. And I’ve created five delicious flavors for it. Bubble gum, watermelon, fried snake, raspberry, and chocolate. So many treats we can make with this—and feed it to all the people!” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Nobody will be able to resist its flavors. And once they eat, they will be yours to command forever!”
Erec’s stomach dropped. Baskania was now planning to mind-control people all over the place by feeding them magic-injected foods? That was disgusting!
Baskania rubbed his hands together. “Wonderful news. Everything is coming together now.” He turned to Erec. “I do believe I have you to thank for most of it—especially getting my scepter back for me.”
Erec felt sick. Baskania owed him even more than that, down to handing Tarvos the Master Shem. “Thank you, master.”
Baskania took a sip of tea. Erec noticed that he did not eat much. “I have decided what you can give to the Furies for me, in exchange for the scepter. There is something I have that they would want. The Furies can do anything—almost. But they, too, have their limits.” He pulled out a thick book bound in black leather. “This will give them the power to do more. It is an ancient spell book. Nothing fancy. Many of its incantations are for things so simple that Washington here could do them.” He gestured to President Inkle, who blushed uncomfortably.
“But there are a few special spells in this book. One of them will be of great interest to the Furies.”
Everyone at the table leaned forward in their seats, anticipating
what kind of spell the Shadow Prince might be referring to. But instead of explaining, he simply handed Erec the book and said, “Page four hundred twenty-two.”
“Thank you.” Erec rested the book on his lap, under a napkin. What could page four hundred twenty-two offer that the Furies could not already achieve? Erec was dying to find out.
“Woo-hoo-hoo!” Spartacus danced above the table. “I can’t wait to get a load of that one! Good job, Erec. Hey, do you think I should dump one of those thick, pink drinks on Baskania’s head? That would be a lot of fun. . . .”
Erec glared at the ghost and shook his head. He was in no mood for Spartacus’s jokes now. Baskania looked at him with interest. “I wish I could read your mind, boy. Tell me what you are thinking.”
Erec gulped. Darn that Spartacus! “I was just wondering what I’m going to do if the Furies tell me that the spell book isn’t enough to trade for the scepter.”
“I see. That is possible, I suppose, although I can’t imagine what else they could want. . . .” He thought a moment, finger to his lips. Then a smile crossed his face. “I know. The Furies like to collect souls. How about if I give them a few spares? You’ll bring fifty spirits with you from the Hinternom, and we’ll let the Furies enjoy them.”
Erec was horrified. Make more spirits lose their souls like he had? Erec knew how horrible it was to go through, how doomed each of those spirits would feel. “Actually I think the book will be fine. Let’s wait on those spirits and see.”
“I don’t want to wait.” Baskania slapped his hand on the table. “Never second-guess me again, Erec. I will have the souls prepared for you next week when you go.”
“Good one.” Spartacus slapped Erec on the back at Rosco’s house. “You’ve created fifty more specters, with just a few words to Baskania.”
“Don’t remind me. I feel awful about it,” Erec said. “But I won’t let that happen to those spirits. I’m the one who will be bringing them to see the Furies. I just won’t tell the Furies that the souls are for them.”
Rosco looked around in the air, wondering where Spartacus was. “The Furies aren’t dumb, Erec. Just because it’s not as easy for them to read your mind in Alsatia doesn’t mean they won’t figure things out.”
Erec had not thought of what he would say to the Furies when he went back—or even how he would get there. He didn’t want to lose his life entering Alsatia. Maybe he’d fake that he went to see them, make up something. Of course, one of these days he would have to find a way to really visit them, when he was ready to release the souls.
Rosco took the book out of Erec’s hands and laughed. “This is perfect. Of course Baskania wants to give this book to the Furies—he hates the thing. It reminds him of the one spell inside that I can do and he can’t. Drives him crazy.”
“You can do a spell that Baskania can’t?” Erec was intrigued. “What is it?”
“It’s the same one that the Furies can’t do. Look on page four hundred twenty-two.”
Erec flipped open the heavy, leather-bound book. Handwritten script embellished the yellowed and fraying pages. Some of the spells looked simple, such as splitting logs in two and burning twigs. Others were interesting, like conjuring spirits and persuading people to do things.
“This looks a little easy for Baskania,” Erec said.
“Most of it is. He’s a collector, though. And he’s compulsive about it—every time he finds a spell book he makes sure that he can do everything inside of it. If not, then he learns the next trick quickly, so nobody has anything on him. Imagine—hundreds of years of constant learning. It’s truly amazing.”
Spartacus shoved a vase aside on a table and sat next to it, making Rosco jump. “Tell Rosco it sounds like he still looks up to the guy.”
Erec repeated what Spartacus said, and Rosco nodded. “Of course I do. Nobody has dedicated themselves more to the study of magic than that sorcerer. He was born with a gift, and he didn’t waste one shred of it. Of course, how he went about things was terrible. He’s become completely corrupted. But there is no overlooking the eons he spent building his power and skills.”
Erec found page four hundred twenty-two. On it, a detailed method was described about how to stop time. It involved mental preparation and an incantation. Erec remembered when Rosco had stopped time to save Erec from some snakelike police officers. He had probably also done it when he escaped from Balthazar Ugry. “Baskania can’t do this?”
“Nope.” A pleased smile spread over Rosco’s face.
“So you’re more talented than he is?”
“Not really.” Rosco laughed. “This would be simple for the Shadow Prince normally. But it turns out that the Substance won’t let him do it. The guy can get away with almost anything, but the Substance seems to have drawn a line in the sand with him there.”
“Wow. I didn’t know that the Substance was able to make decisions. Can it think by itself?”
“It seems so. People who are able to communicate with it—absorbent people—can actually ask it to do things for them.”
“That’s true. I’ve asked the Substance to tear apart and open up to make holes or cut a Substance Web open.”
“Well, there you go. It knows what is going on. And for whatever reason, the Substance won’t allow Baskania to stop time. Probably it realizes what havoc he’d create with that power.”
“And the Furies can’t stop time either? I thought they knew everything.”
“Pretty much everything. Most things are simple to them. But they cannot stop time on their own, like their sisters, the Fates, can. It is
possible that if they learn this incantation they could do it, though. The Furies have never had a need for incantations. But why should this work for a human and not someone as powerful as them? They don’t even know they’re missing this.”
Everyone thought about what the Furies might do if they could stop time. Would they wipe out their sisters—the three Fates—completely?
Rosco walked into the kitchen to get a drink while Erec flipped through the book. “Look at this.” He pointed to a page while Spartacus looked over his shoulder. “A body-morphing spell. How cool is that?”
The scrawled ink at the top of the page read:
Body Morphing—unlimited
You can change your form into anything you can imagine. Have you ever wanted to see life through the eyes of an orangutan? Be a fly on the wall during a conversation? Or maybe just spend some time recuperating as a stately oak tree on top of a hill? This simple incantation will let you be all you ever wanted to be. Many enjoy revisiting a second childhood or becoming exquisitely beautiful. Others take to the trail as a wild horse or soar over the wilderness in the form of an eagle.
The beauty of this spell is that it can be temporary or permanent, and you can change multiple times. But be careful! It is possible to die when you are in the form of any of these objects. If you become a worm, and you are stepped on, your death will be permanent. But
injuries, while they will last in your altered state, will not carry over into your human form. Be careful what you choose to become!
Warning: Morphing into an inanimate object is possible, but will be irreversible.
“Is this true? . . . I could become anything at all?”
“It sounds like it.” Spartacus pointed. “It says ‘unlimited.’”
Erec grinned. “I’ve got it, then! I can use the spell to become a spirit. That way I’ll be able to get in and out of Alsatia without dying on Mercy’s Spike.”
“Brilliant!” Spartacus jumped onto Rosco’s table lamp and danced a jig. “I thought I was going to have to go there alone.”
“I’ll just learn this spell and change myself back and forth. Let’s see if I can do it.”
The lower part of the page read:
The following incantation should be memorized, and can be performed silently, in one’s thoughts. After it is recited, simply think of whatever thing you want to become. Before you know it, you will see life in a whole new way!
ASARDEN HOLLOTO BEELTEN BOND
MEELIFRYING SOLBOTTO NACHTRHAND SORD
TIMLIN STARCHETSU NAGRATHWAY TIMRAND
WESTFAIL TIM LUM BEETRAND SORDV
To reverse the spell, simply recite the word “Nuiay”
At the bottom of the page were a number of provisos and explanations. This seemed perfect. “I’m going to try it out, and see if I can do it. What should I try to turn into?”
Spartacus shrugged. “I’ve always liked spiders. I guess it doesn’t matter what you become since you can reverse it right away anyway.”
“As long as I don’t turn into a worm and get stepped on. No worms. And no inanimate objects.” Erec hoped that he could pronounce the words correctly. “All I have to remember is how to reverse this, in case I can’t read the spelling in my next form. That word is hard to say—would you call that ‘nee-way’?”
“I suppose. It would be amazing if this works.”
Erec took a breath and read from the book,
“Asarden holloto beelten bond, Meelifrying solbotto nachtrhand sord, Timlin starchetsu nagrathway timrand, Westfail tim lum beetrand sord.”
A strange feeling filled the core of his body, as if something deep inside had melted and was bubbling like lava. What did he want to become again? Spartacus mentioned a
spider
. . . .
The ceiling above Erec shot toward the sky, and the room around him grew to massive proportions. Even Spartacus was huge now, bending onto his knee and searching for Erec on the floor. A strange feeling filled him, like a kind of a deep itch that was everywhere all at once. Could he move still? He tested an arm, but it didn’t go in the right direction anymore.
When he looked down at himself, he jumped. Huge hairy steel-like legs shot out in all directions. They seemed hinged, as if he was a robotic contraption of some kind. He tried to walk. At first he fell onto his face—which was oddly attached to his back. But in a moment he got the hang of it. All of his extensions moved at once to transport him around.
So, this was what it was like to be a spider? Would he be able to spin a web? It was amazing how different spiders looked up close, from
the right size. He was pretty fascinating. Erec would have to be careful never to step on one again. . . .
Spartacus tapped the ground in front of him with an enormous finger—one that could crush him in a heartbeat—and panic raced through Erec’s small frame. Even though he knew that Spartacus would not hurt him, he could not stop himself from running in the other direction.
“It’s okay, little buddy! I’m your old friend, Spartacus!”
Heavy footsteps fell, one after the other, heading in Erec’s direction. A huge voice boomed, “Erec? Where did you go? I made us some snacks.”
It was Rosco, and he was heading straight toward where Erec stood, exposed, in the middle of the floor.
“Wait!” Spartacus shouted at Rosco, forgetting that he could not be heard. “Don’t step on that spider!”
Rosco stopped a foot away from Erec and glanced around the room. Electric fear raced through Erec’s limbs, and he ran as fast as he could. Rosco noticed him then. “Darn spiders.” He raised a foot and aimed at Erec.