P.S.: This chapter will probably be longer than any other I’ve created so far, so you may want to take care of any possible distractions. Disconnect all your phones in case one of them might ring. And take down the door bell (force may be necessary in this case). In fact, you might as well just have them demolish your house, in case a potential fire should interrupt your reading.
P.S.2: Sorry about all those missing exclamation points from chapters previous. I'm stuck using WordPerfect on this computer, the title of which is an inherent lie, since regular Word more perfectly refrains from listing every single punctuation as a spelling mistake.
It was a really, really hot day. Even Fate was having trouble enduring the sweltering heat of a Hawaiian noon.
When she had decided to take a nice, relaxing nap in the sun, she had not counted on the 100+ degree weather to be such a drag, and had to contort nearby umbrellas with her hands to cast more shade on her towel (fortunately, other beachgoers were frozen in time, unable to do anything about it).
She mulled the martini in her hand as she mulled the predicament in her head, gazing at the waves of the once-roiling ocean she’d ceased unfeelingly. No matter how fervently she assessed the last two days it always came down to the same question in the end: Why had Tempis refused to talk to her yesterday?
Tempis had always been Fate’s favorite sister, and vice versa; for as long as she could remember they had been on the best of terms. In fact, it was Tempis who donated her mastery of time to her little sister when she’d grown sage enough to learn how to, a feat the other sisters still haven’t learned to do. Tempis taught Fate everything she knew: archery, poetry and music, bartending, even weaving (which she’d incorporated into her profession”the subtle and meticulous tapestry that is destiny).
So she was going to Pele, her second favorite sister, for advice. Pele had always been the partier of the bunch; with a flair for the unexpected and a gift for dancing, she practically existed for the nightlife. Even better, she knew about a hundred million great jokes, a fully-stocked and well-loaded arsenal of clever quips and comebacks, often getting the whole bar or dance club to shoot alcohol out their noses and laugh hysterically for hours. It was from Pele that Fate got her great sense of humor.
Which reminded her…
Fate snapped her fingers and time unfroze. Hapless Hawaiians shook out of their temporal prison, eyes darting wildly for the cause of the mangling of their umbrellas. She savored a cheap laugh and snapped her fingers again, taking another sip of her martini and looking across the ocean.
There it was: Pele’s lair. Towering over the calmed waves, it claimed the volcano it was situated on as its own, bonding with the flaming-hot face of the smoldering mountain almost symbiotically. Together they created a living, breathing cauldron of stone and flame- Mauna Loa. Of course, the Muggles couldn’t see it, but Fate had come to Pele’s hut on dozens of occasions. Most of the time, she came for pleasure. Today it was strictly business.
Fate jetted across the frozen water and, ascending the steep mountainside, reached the entrance to Pele’s house and rapped on the wooden chamber door. Usually the large timber hut was scorching hot to the touch, but today it was almost lukewarm compared to the heat outside.
Until, that is, the door suddenly caught on fire.
“What the…” Fate knocked again. A brilliant red eye appeared through the looking glass at the center of the burning wood.
“Leave at once,” called out a husky voice from beyond the blazing effigy.
“P-Pele, it’s me! It’s Fate!” she said, shocked. “Don’t you recognize me?!”
The flames redoubled their intensity and the cliff-face rattled as the mighty mountain made its anger known to all, causing Fate to topple to the floor. Fate looked up at the door in disbelief, then in renewed terror as Pele’s head emerged from the peephole and looked down at her cowering form.
“Leave at once,” said Pele again, the ashy smoke billowing out of her eyes doing nothing to mask the terrifying streaks of anger on her face.
Tempis had rejected her with cold indifference; Pele looked as if she could not stand the very sight of her. Fate, shaken to the very core, departed immediately. What the hell was going on!?
Pele only let the flames subside when she was absolutely sure Fate was gone. She hated having to scare off her favorite little sister, but it was the surest way to keep her out of harm’s way. Out of trouble.
Sighing, she stepped back from the looking-glass and attended her Seerswell, giving a quick glance at the miniature contract beside it.
Heh, thought Pele. “Trouble.” More like “that bastard.”
She had tried bombarding the contract with her hottest beams of lava, sending it to melt at the center of the earth, and even firing it into the sun, but nothing seemed to be able to tarnish it in the slightest. This, of course, frustrated her to no end. There was only one thing left to do.
The Seerswell’s waters swelled at her presence, but no image would begin to appear in its dirty depths until she uttered the password.
Pele lowered her sensuous lips to the shallow rectangular pan, almost touching the dun-water roiling within when she whispered, “Katmandu.”
Apparently content, the dun-water inside the shallow basin undulated, forming an image.
“The Savant! Show yourself!”
The Savant’s head rippled into sight, clearly surprised and not a little drunk.
“Fate?” slurred the head, confused. Di’n’ I tell you t’ c’mere n’ massage my feet an hour ago?
Pele huffed, and the water in the Seerswell threatened to boil and evaporate. “I’m Pele, you idiot!”
“Pele!” he gushed. “How could I *hic* forget you?”
“Hurry up, author-man!” called a voice in the distance. “Vance and Lance brought two more kegs!”
The reflection of the head in the divining well turned to look in the voice’s direction, yelling “Ish it Canadian beer?!”
“Afraid so, but hey, beer is beer! Ooo, that sounds lyrical, I ought to make a riddle out of it…”
“Wanna come to this party, Fate…”
“Pele!”
“Sorry, Fele. Wanna *hic* come to this party? It’s on a… what’s this thing *hic* called again Cavekeeper? A sat-ur-ite.”
“A satellite?”
“Yesh. We’re havin’ a splendid time, you should, you should come.”
“What, and have you trick me again?! Don’t you dare even think of commanding me there! I just want to know what you did to Tempis!”
“What’s that, Felempis? You didn’t enjoy our little dance?” It seemed that even when he was utterly smashed, The Savant could still be a prick.
Pele bit her lip. How she would like to scorch that stupid grin right off his face… and the rest of his face with it. Even two weeks after the fact she still couldn’t get over how easily she’d been duped into signing the contract.
The face of a drunken old codger appeared at The Savant’s shoulder. “Who’s that?”
“I’ll be his worst nightmare if he doesn’t tell me where Tempis is!”
The Savant reeled and massaged his temple with his free hand as The Cavekeeper handed him a frothy mug of Canada’s finest. “Whoa, babe, calm down and say that slowly…”
“Tempis? Isn’t she that chick you were braggin’ about?” queried The Cavekeeper. “And what’s with this doodad you’re lookin’ through anyway? Why, back in my day, we used to take rebellious young tykes like you by the hair and lash them good, what with their ‘spraypaint’ and their ‘bifocal lenses’ and their ‘clean water systems’ and their ‘progress!’ The ungrateful little snobs!”
“My bragging was nothing compared to hers,” countered the author cheerily. “For claiming to be the oldest being on the Earth and having complete control over time, she sure was easily fooled.” The Savant took a giant swig. “I got her to sign the contract in no time. I’ll be grabbing Gaea by the reins next.”
“You won’t!”
“Don’t flatter yourself, honeybuns. There’sh nothing you can do to shtop me.”
“How did you get her to sign the measure!?” Cavekeeper, eyeing the fiery glare of the head in the water, had to shout over the din of the sasquatches telling riotous tales of their shenanigans to an adoring audience of party guests. “She’s a biter!”
“First I ‘accidentally’ spilled soot all over the floor”you’ll remember this was, this was right after Aesopbot blew up”and she stepped in it. She said she was used to ash and slow-danced with me. I got her to sign her name with footsteps.”
“And the floor was a giant contract?”
“She was too drunk to notice.” The Savant belched. “I shrunk the contract and *hic* gave it to her. Why do you need to know where Tempis ish anyway?”
“Fate’s frozen time down here. You must be too high up to notice.” In more ways than one, she noted bitterly.
“Oh really? Well, don’t worry sweety, we’ll fix that right up! Oh Racecar!”
The author’s eternal lapdog, Racecar, was barely visible serving drinks to the guests behind the two heads. “Yes, mastersire?”
“Summon Tempis!” The Savant returned his attention to the head in the water. “As you’re about to witness, time may last forever, but binding magical contracts are even more forever.”
Racecar pulled out of his robe a gigantic trombone and blew into it as loud as he could. Instantly Tempis appeared beside him, kneeling in forced reverence.
“Cavekeeper, adjust the Seerswell. Make sure she can see this.”
The Savant walked up to her sister’s prostate form. Tempis was the eldest sister, but one wouldn’t have been able to tell, for she was the fairest of them all. Besides being clad from neck to toe in form-fitting armor and having two pairs of swords strapped to her back, she had all the appearance and mannerisms of an innocent fourteen-year-old girl. (In fact, she bore an almost uncanny resemblance to Ginny Weasley, only her hair was longer and lighter and she had no freckles.)
“Normalize the”thank you, you can put the trombone down now”normalize the”I said put it down! Normalize the flow of”Racecar!
“Normalize the flow of time!” Racecar blew into the trombone triumphantly. The author shook his head.
“Ugh… what he said.”
It was as if an invisible current ran up her arm and made her hand shoot into the air. Unwillingly, almost instantly, her fingers snapped of their own accord. She grimaced.
“There. Everything should be better now.”
The image of two sasquatch brothers running around the corridors of the space station filled Pele’s tearing eyes for nary a second. They were blissfully unaware of what was going on. Racecar, dismissing Tempis with but a musical note, dropped the trombone and gave chase.
“Just out of curiosity, why didn’t you just ask Fate to normalize time?
“Clause DXII: You cannot inform anyone I haven’t got to yet of my plans.”
“But I’ve already gotten to Fate.”
“What!?”
“Yesh. In fact, she was the first one. Back then I forgot to put in that helpful little clause,” The Savant hiccupped, “but I’ve wised up.”
“Uh, author-man? Oh hi Pele,” said the face of a sasquatch as it entered her line of vision. “There’s this group of aliens, they say they’ve been meaning to talk to you all night.”
“Ah Jeez, don’t tell me they’re here for…”
“Socks!”
“Great, not you again! If I told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times! The next shipment’s coming tomorrow!”
“But you said… Our people are waiting for their fuel!” said the extraterrestrial ambassador, flagella flailing wildly.
“I’m sorry, but we just can’t churn out socks that quickly! I’m very sorry that your economy and transportation depend on it, and that without a readily available supply of socks your entire society collapses. But between you guys and Dumbledore I’ve been sending massive orders of socks faster than I like to think is possible! Listen, I can refer you to this Dark Lord, he’s worked wonders for… Ah Jeez, is this thing still on?”
The light of the Seerswell abated, its waters receding to a murky black once more. Time was flowing again, and the volcano had quit shaking. Pele could not help her sisters. She could do nothing to ameliorate the situation in any way. But the Earth was still revolving around the sun, and Hawaii was intact. All she could do was wait… and watch.
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It was a very, very cold night. Even Tekkulat, who had endured the bitter sting of an Arctic waterfall for two weeks and become leader of Nihoth when he was sixteen, was having trouble keeping warm on his throne. Of course, the wintry glow of the ice crystal in his hand would make even the most hardened Eskimo shift uncomfortably. Fortunately for him, he would soon get to move around and exercise his muscles. For in the distance he could make out two figures coming down the barren slope of Motm’s Mountain.
“Behold! They return bearing a gift for their king!” Tekkulat stood up from his icy throne and pointed at several of his subjects commandingly. “You, you, go fetch a pedestal. Dewpo, kindle the cauldron! You, you, and you, go assist Imta and Sakkuit in bringing Motm’s spoils down the mountain!”
Yes, it was good to be king. You got to own all the cool magical artifacts passed down the royal line, to loaf around and have servants feed you in the comfort of your bed, and, best of all, to have a special spot reserved for you in the halls of the Great Walrus God after you died. No one ever questioned your authority and carried out your commands quickly and diligently; for them there was little to no doubt that Tekkulat was ordained by the Great Walrus to rule their sacred mountain range.
And why would they doubt my place on the throne? Tekkulat asked himself, twiddling the amulet in his fingers and narrowing his eyes. I can use magic.
Indeed, it was their ability to use magic that had cemented Tekkulat’s family’s sense of divine right. None of the other Nihoth tribe Indians had ever displayed such power, though he had discovered that there were indeed others who wielded this power. This is why he chose to ally himself with the strongest wizard of all time.
All to have it explode in my face. Literally. Still clutching the amulet, Tekkulat brought it up to the large gash on his forehead and let loose a full blast of icy wind. The chirurgeons that inhabited Mt. Motm around seven hundred years ago had created a rather peculiar branch of holistics”the patient was to constantly inflict pain unto his wound in order to remind him or herself that it could always be worse. Of course, being a wizard, and a king at that, Tekkulat hardly ever had to treat his own wounds. But the battle had been brutal. In fact, he reminded himself reluctantly, he’d almost died.
The four Eskimos he had sent up Motm’s mountain were slowly approaching the snowy hill. Tekkulat was glad for the distraction; if he squinted, he could almost make out what they were lugging. It was big… rectangular… clear…
“Leader!”
The contents of a big black kettle sloshed onto the frozen ground.
“Very good, Dewpo. Everything’s almost in order.”
“Then the ceremony will be held tonight, leader?”
Tekkulat smiled and looked to the sky. “It certainly looks so.”
“Shall I alert the others?” whispered Dewpo into his liege’s parka, his eyes darting from the tense faces of the people seated cross-legged before the throne to the luminous streaks of light marring the stars.
“No need, no need,” assured Tekkulat, waving his hand. “They can see the brilliance of tonight’s aurora as well as I. It seems as if Kocha wasn’t such an old kook after all. Pity her death was so… violent.”
Dewpo winced. He remembered the trauma of his grandmother’s prophecy like it was yesterday. Writhing and raving in her deathbed like the Day of Judgment had come… Then again, she must have seen visions that looked an awful lot like doomsday…
“What was it she said before she died?” nudged Tekkulat, always with that triumphant smirk about him. “Tell me again.”
Dewpo gulped and with considerable effort relived that horrible day. “The tribe of Nihoth will under a dark (and equally stupid) influence suffer a great tragedy, and the great mountain will fall and ‘be fouled.’ But one night strands of colored light in the sky will appear, unraveling only when the scales of karma are balanced once again. Stars’ light will shine on Nihoth, and the mountain will be reclaimed. All wrongs will be set right.”
“Well I imagine when she said it was a whole lot more dramatic. But that’s okay, you got the gist of it.”
“Y-yes, leader.”
“Who knew that crazy old hag was a Seer?” Tekkulat asked himself, treating his scar with another searing glacial ray. “The battle”a great tragedy.”
Whatever was being hauled over to the gathering was now making an audible scraping sound, alerting everyone to look back at the ruins of Mt. Motm.
“The great mountain will fall and ‘be fouled.’ Motm is probably gone for good.”
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
“Ah, but we shall talk later!” Though he was now in a state of excited expectation, Tekkulat still needed to rub his hands together to keep warm, for it was getting colder and colder as the scouts approached... and it did not take long to see why.
“Great Walrus,” exclaimed one of the tribesmen, getting up and pointing, “It’s a giant block of ice!”
“Don’t be silly!” scoffed Tekkulat from behind the wafting vapors of the cauldron. “We see ice every waking moment, why would they bring such a thing back down from the moun--”
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Thud. The rectangular block of ice cast a sheen so bright it was practically blinding.
“There… there are… there’s treasure in there, right?”
“Doesn’t look like it, leader,” panted Imta. “Just some furry--”
“You mean to tell me that Motm had nothing in his hut”or indeed, his entire mountain”to steal?”
“No, leader, only this,” assured another of the scouts, “but if your Highness would just take a moment to--”
“I don’t believe this!” cut in the irate king. “All these years we’ve been waiting for that old man to finally drop dead, and you mean to tell me that his entire mountain yielded nothing of any value? Unbelievable!”
Tekkulat upturned his cauldron in rage, and its acidy contents spilled on the permafrost, quickly snaking towards the gigantic cube of ice. Tekkulat had been planning to use the potion he’d brewed to transmute some of Motm’s belongings. But as the smoke of the newly-collapsed cauldron cleared, he could see that there was something inside the block… something much more valuable than anything Tekkulat could have hoped for.
The creature within rattled and shook as the acid began to eat its way through the centuries-old slab of rime. It was a furry, formidable-looking giant with pure white fur, uncommonly big with a huge mallet tied to its tail and what looked like a slab of beef half-chewed in its mouth. Tekkulat was almost afraid to come face to face with it, but in all likelihood it was close to death anyway.
What happened next, however, dashed Tekkulat’s preconceived notions. The block of ice exploded, its former captive unconsciously bounding forward from the broken shards. It quickly commenced to make a show of sloppily eating the outsize slab of meat in its mouth, relishing it heartily as drool dribbled down its jaw and froze within seconds. The villagers around it gasped and fled from the spectacle; it was only then that the creature opened its eyes to survey its new surroundings.
“A yeti?” pondered Tekkulat, his robes billowing as he began to circle the beast, examining it intently. The beast let the steak fall to the floor and turned to gaze at the frantic denizens running quickly and swiftly from the dangerous animal (the Nihoth had learned long ago that screaming and agonizing only informed nearby predators of their whereabouts). Not quite the effect he’s desired”nor, come to think of it, the place he’d wanted to do it in…
“Ah yes.” Tekkulat’s eyes un-narrowed. “A yeti. Of course.”
The creature scratched its head, as if struggling to figure out where he was, or, possibly, what he was doing there in the first place.
“Name youself!” commanded the stately autocrat abruptly, a wand shooting up his sleeve into his waiting hand.
“Where am I?” demanded the yeti gruffly.
“I said name yourself!”
The spell bounced right off of the yeti’s coarse of coat of fur, shooting into the sky. It shrugged the jinx off like it was nothing, its temper flaring to legendary heights.
“WHERE AM I?” The floor shook as the hammer it held aloft with its long slender tail came crashing to the earth.
A quick but potent shield charm saved him. Huge chunks of ice hurtled with deadly speed in every direction.
“No… could it be?” he huffed, pressing his hands against his protective bubble to wipe away the frost. But he had no time to think; a second potentially lethal fusillade came his way, forcing him to duck into the very ice.
“I am Wesktholt!” it screeched proudly and repeatedly, leaping into the air and pummeling the ice under which Tekkulat hid with each iteration. “I am Wesktholt!”
Tekkulat gasped in amazement”so it was Motm that had sealed Wesktholt away over fifteen hundred years ago?! He couldn’t have possibly been THAT old!
“I AM WESKTHOLT!”
The king rolled away just in time. He had to do something fast; his spell was fading and he didn’t look forward to the prospect of becoming stuck underground for eternity.
“I am Wesktholt! Greatest of Plunderers! Worst of Despots! Future ruler of your pathetic world! I am the FOURTH SCOURGE!!!”
Cracks ran further down the sheet of ice above him; as Tekkulat narrowly avoided a burst of falling debris, he decided he had no choice but to sink back up to the surface.
“I know who you are, Wesktholt, and I can tell you where you are!”
Wesktholt looked back at him, mallet brandished threateningly.
“This is Nihoth, the land of my people! For centuries we have lived in these mountains, successfully protecting our sacred homeland from every intruder under the providence of the Great Walrus!”
The mighty albino turned to faced him. “I’ve never heard of Nihoth. I thought I’d destroyed all of the mountain civilizations!”
“In the Himalayas, maybe, but you’re not in Babylon anymore.”
“How did you…?”
“I know everything about you, big man,” said Tekkulat, and Wesktholt was forced to move his head lower and lower to meet the Eskimo’s eyes. “Well, everything you can learn from a book anyway. Actually, come to think of it, I’d like to get to know you personally”don’t worry, big man, I’ll get it. Accio!”
Wesktholt’s steak shot into Tekkulat’s grip. It had become hard as steel.
“I was terrorizing a town square in Constantinople, chewing that steak real scary-like”I’d skeletonized someone’s cow beforehand, if I recall correctly”and all of a sudden this old guy behind me gets real pissed. Next thing I know…” Wesktholt scratched his head. “I’m here.”
“That must’ve been Motm… perhaps someone had rejected him? Well anyway, you should know that you’ve been frozen for what looks like the better part of two millennia, and your hopes of world conquest are basically totally obliterated.”
“What! The whole world knows and fears me! I destroyed single-handedly six of the seven Wonders of the World! I conquered, subdued and razed to the ground every society that dared oppose me!”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, big man,” he sympathized, “but you’re forgotten. History’s covered up your exploits, explaining away the carnage you wreaked with lie after lie.” Tekkulat stirred up an evil little glint in his eyes. “Your name no longer commands any fear. But I can change that!”
“How?”
“There is something you and I both want,” he replied, conjuring a rope as he spoke and magically binding it around the hole of the steak. “Or rather, different things that will come of the same means. You want destruction and glory. I simply want to do what’s best for my people. Here.”
Wesktholt took up the rope and swung it a few times; he rather liked the idea of his new weapon.
Tekkulat’s toothy grin mirrored that of the yeti. “If you accept my proposal, then we will attain what we need.”
“I haven’t heard your proposal yet.”
“Ah, already so eager to achieve your former glory? Then let’s not waste time babbling on and on.” Tekkulat looked up to the sky, the wavering streaks of color that had so tenaciously hung onto it all but dissipating that very moment. “Kill the centaur named Magorian. Afterwards bring his corpse to me.”
“And what do I get in return?” asked Wesktholt greedily. “Sorry, but I’ll be needing some material goods to… er… motivate me.”
“Tell you what. Take this.”
Tekkulat placed his amulet of ice into the giant monkey’s hand.
“With it you’ll be able to instantly freeze things. Think of it as a little advance payment.”
Wesktholt gripped the talisman hard and gave him a shifty look. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“Dear me, accusations already! I was willing to kill a nice old lady who exhibited just a trace of magical power in order to ensure my place on the throne! Surely you can relate to that?”
The barbarian seemed appeased by this statement. “And should I get bored on the way there?”
Tekkulat flicked his wand and a cordless radio spun into existence, a warbling female voice issuing from it immediately.
“We’re partial to Cher around these parts,” said Tekkulat unabashedly. The radio was made to revolve around the yeti’s head.
“Ooo, nice to see how much magic’s evolved since I’ve been gone!” echoed the big ape cheerily. “Well, time to fly!”
“Wait, I didn’t tell you where he… oh great.”
Wesktholt had already leapt into the horizon and out of sight.
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“Ah, isn’t this nice?”
“Mmm,” said a slightly sleepy Sinistra, gazing at the beautiful sunrise on the back of her favorite centaur. She was surprised at how quickly Magorian had broken in his sea legs.
Overall, the forecast for the weekend was excellent. It was perfectly cloudless, the waves were stable, and Ganglia was fixing them a nice breakfast. (Magorian had assured her beforehand that the bear could make a mean Greek omelet.)
“No seagulls in sight!” exulted Magorian triumphantly. “I knew I picked the right place!”
“Yeah, who knew the Third Sea was so… serene?” Sinistra yawned. “I mean, I’ve never even heard of the Third Sea…”
“Nohead Peglegs told me all about it! You see, there are sev--”
“Who?”
“Nohead Peglegs! Greatest pirate of the seven seas?”
“Not ringing any bells.”
Just then, a bell rang.
“Ah, breakfast is ready! Come on, let’s go get a bite!”
“OkaaaaaAAAAAAY!” Paige held on for dear life as her steed galloped with all speed and crashed through the kitchen door without warning. Fortunately, this only gave poor Ganglia eight simultaneous heart attacks (as opposed to the normal fifty), for just then a thunderous crash rocked the boat, canceling out a load of other cardiac arrests.
Eggs, bacon and milk sprayed all over the cabin of Dumbledore’s ship.
“I. Hate. Damage control!” screamed Magorian, galloping back out of the kitchen to survey the damage and damage the damage even more. Sinistra followed him, wand at the ready.
“Are you bien, mi amigo?” A man with a flamenco suit and a vibrant orange-and-black sombrero helped his huge luchador friend up with a spell as snazzy as his tuxedo. “Lucky this boat was here, really.”
Dolc murmured its assent, climbing swiftly back on its enormous feet.
“What’s this?” said Magorian, smiling broadly. “My adventure senses are tingling!”
“Que?” said Zefir, unaware they were being watched. “Oh, look, it is a centaur!”
“Centaur, centaur.”
“What do you think, Dolc? Should we ask it for directions?”
“I’ll be happy to point you in the right direction, boys!” replied Magorian with all the eagerness of a local psychologist after a devastating and traumatizing plane crash. “Just as soon as you fix the huge dent you made in our ship, that is.”
“Reparo Totalus. Really, Dolc, that’s the second vehicle you’ve partially destroyed in under fifteen minutes!”
“That’s an interesting friend you’ve got there,” said the centaur, examining Dolc’s hulking form.
“I don’t suppose you know any centaurs named ‘Magorian,’ do you?” asked Zefir.
“You’re speaking to him,” said Sinistra.
“Oh, is that so? Well in that case we shall have to kill you,” said the Spaniard debonairly, not missing a beat. “Dolc!”
“Dolc pockmark feeble centaur with imprints of fist!” he bellowed, charging at the Magorian with all the force of someone who was really forceful. The half-giant was uncommonly articulate, in part due to the fact that he was also half-Gothmage.
“Protego!” The giant’s blow was blocked just in time by Sinistra; the Leotards of Deflection were still badly burnt and in need of mending.
“Whoa, guys, surely we can settle this peacefully?” said Magorian, protected by her momentary force field.
Every motion Zefir made to disable the charm was blocked in kind by Sinistra.
“Dolc send centaur to see maker! Dolc want test laws of entropy on face!” The giant continued to bang on the shield.
“I’ll get you yet, pretty! The beautiful complexion of your skin will soon be matted with blood!”
“Are you trying to kill me or to flirt with me!?”
“A little of both,” taunted Zefir, expertly dodging one of her jinxes with his prodigious agility and rebounding yet another with a carefully-timed counterspell. “This is horseplay, my dear; perhaps, if you hand over the centaur, we can call off this silly squabble and perhaps enjoy a moonlit stroll on the beach together?”
“Why do you want him anyway?” she asked, jumping back to avoid a heat ray and nearly toppling over the rail of the boat into the sea.
“Not me, chica”the boss.”
“Assassins!” she yelled derisively. “Who would want Magorian’s head, and why?” Even in the heat of battle Sinistra couldn’t help but pause to analyze the situation.
“What are you talking about!?” snorted the centaur, rolling his eyes. “Who wouldn’t want my head? It’s so ruggedly handsome and manly. It would make a great addition to any home. Put it on the mantelpiece. Stick it on a Christmas Tree. Hang it by the oven.” Magorian ran his hand through his hair and let out what he thought was a sexy neigh. “I’ve an absolutely irresistible head.”
“Dolc want reconstruct your body with knuckles!” The shield showed no signs of strain under Dolc’s heavy wailing. “Dolc need mop floor with spine!”
“You’ve good taste, my friend. My gentle yet sturdy backbone can double as a fixture to hang coats on!”
Zefir had no trouble pirouetting to avoid another of Sinistra’s attacks. “I could do this all day, you know.”
“As can I!” Sinistra gesticulated fiercely with her wand and sent the ship’s steering wheel spinning in a graceful arc towards Zefir’s neck.
“I don’t think so, dama. Oh Dolc!” The mariachi mage clicked his castanets and gave his liege a new order. “Be so kind as to show this little lady the door.”
He did as he was told, having tired of fruitlessly bashing the force field. Instantly he lunged forward, intending to smash Sinistra’s head against the door of the cabin. Ganglia jumped in the way just in time, latching onto the lumbering giant’s hand like something that latches onto things really well. It was a little known fact that in Ganglia’s slobber dwelled a particularly hostile strain of flesh-eating bacteria, (perhaps because the author had never disclosed it before).
“Oh, and that was such an expertly articulated hand too,” mourned Magorian as his Dolc’s hand fell off in chunks. “Exquisite detail, beautiful craftsmanship! Would have fetched at least eighty Galleons in the Knockturn underground!”
“Do not get so cocky yet, friend!” Zefir whipped the sombrero off his head and a dozen swinging blades appeared at its rim. The steering wheel coming directly at him didn’t stand a chance.
Dolc’s hand had regenerated fully. Magorian, as unfazed as he was by the giant’s uncanny ability to instantly heal as he was by the visible crack forming on his shield, put two fingers to his lips and whistled loudly.
Everyone stopped dead in their tracks.
“Good,” said the chieftain, contented. “Now let’s all try to settle this like adults.”
Magorian paused. No one raised an objection.
“Excellent! Now, see that spire out there in the middle of the ocean?”
They all looked in the direction Magorian indicated, Ganglia running up to the edge of the boat to get a better view.
“Kinda looks like an iceberg, only made of rock?”
“I see it,” said Zefir.
“It’s a pretty spire, isn’t it?”
“Yes……..” contributed Sinistra, not sure where he was going with this.
There was another long pause.
“Well, anyway,” said Magorian finally, “let’s eat. I’m starving.”
Even the bear groaned--its master couldn’t maintain a train of thought for more than four seconds.
“How about this? Me and Dolc against you and the lady. A two-on-two fight to the death…” Zefir removed his castanets and humbly set his sombrero on the floor. “…Without weapons.”
“On one condition. I get to use Ganglia instead of Sinistra.”
“What!?”
“Somebody needs to steer the ship.”
“Why me?”
“Because Ganglia doesn’t have any thumbs. Besides, he’s a better at fighting in close quarters than any mage.”
Sinistra huffed and spirited towards the front of the boat, fashioning a new steering wheel where the first one was. “I’ll steer us towards the spire. You can fight there!”
“Have I seen that spire before?” Zefir asked himself, squinting at the peculiar formation of rock jutting out of the surface of the sea. But before he knew it, he was already assuming a defensive stance on the “landberg;” after all, centaurs had a distinct advantage on higher ground.
“Ready…”
Dolc beat its chest, prepping its enormous body for combat.
“Set…”
Sinistra wiped the sweat off her face and clutched the megaphone to her again, safe on the hull of the yacht.
“Go!”
A monstrous serpent burst out of the water and coiled up its spire, spraying the intruders with a violently purple electric mist.
“What the…?” Zefir deflected the spray with a baton that he’d hidden under his sleeve. Magorian took the brunt of the fog with no ill effect; his central nervous system had developed an immunity to every kind of disturbance, so he shrugged it off like nothing. The flesh torn off by the lightning regenerated quickly in Dolc, and Ganglia was agile enough to evade the 40,000-volt fog altogether and land on the boat with Sinistra.
“What is that thing?” she yelled.
“Halt!” boomed a voice louder than hers from just over the horizon. “Cease at once, Falenanguilla!”
The serpent, whose name was apparently “Falenanguilla,” ducked back into the ocean reluctantly, and the strange mist disappeared. A flying Hummer swerved to a stop above them, and a man in a white lab coat popped out the sunroof.
“What do you think you’re doing on Falenanguilla’s nest? Come to steal some o’ his eggs, ya stinkin’ poachers? I’ll show you lot what’s what, you--”
But another, more familiar voice was fighting for the megaphone, yanking it from under the lab technician and speaking into it from inside the car.
“Do not be alarmed, citizens! Dr. Kicker is a bit out of it today, but rest assured there were no eggs to snatch and that the spire is not private property!”
“What are you talkin’ about, you little…”
“They’re visitors. Quit scaring off potential investors!”
“They’re gonna steal Falen’s eggs!”
“It hasn’t laid any yet, you old coot!”
Magorian and company simply stared in bewilderment as the fight between the scientist and whatever was in the car escalated beyond words.
“I’ll have you know that it laid two just yesterday!”
“You liar, you were up watching that Golden Girls marathon all day!”
“It’s an hilarious show! I can’t help loving those girls and the antics they get up to!”
At this the voice in the Hummer levitated out of the sunroof to accost the scientist eye-to-eye. It was the most bizarre thing the chieftain had ever seen in his life: a floating brain with an anchor tied to its medulla.
Zefir gasped in astonishment. Everything finally clicked into place. “No… it can’t be!”
“What is it?” asked Magorian, trotting down and patting him on the shoulder.
“Is this… the Third Sea?”
“The one and only.”
“Dolc! We’re following those two to the museum!” If this meant anything deeper to Dolc, he sure didn’t show it.
“Wait, what going on? What’s this about a museum?”
“Nothing that concerns you, centaur. This target is much more valuable than the prize on your head.”
The argument between the scientist and the floating brain-anchor had since subsided, and Dr. Kicker was examining one of the trespassers from his Hummer. “Mac, haven’t we seen that thing before? The one over there… it looks like a cross between a Gothmage and a giant!”
“Do you recall ever splicing the two?” replied Mac, the megaphone hooked to its anchor.
“Vaguely.”
“Then fly down there and find out!”
“I wouldn’t wanna intrude…”
“You hypocrite,” huffed the brain exasperatedly, “weren’t you just screaming your head off about ‘intruders?’”
“That ain’t hypocrisy! That’s reaffirmin’ my dislike of bleedin’ intruders!”
“Whatever, just park the car on the frickin’ boat and get your inquisitive ass over to that stupid spire!”
Sinistra’s yacht rocked as the Hummer thudded onto the ship. Magorian, Zefir and Dolc each climbed back onto the boat in an unspecified way that you shouldn’t really worry about right now.
“Excuse me, sir, but who the hell are you?”
“My card.”
“Eh?” Sinistra felt a business card form in her hands.
Curator of Fab Lab # 11
Head Mageneticist of International Waters
[Sanctioned by the Ministry of Magic. No, really.]
“Mageneticist?”
“Magic geneticists. They use a combination of magic and science to mesh multiple organisms into living creatures of their own design. This is where I must have stolen Dolc all those years ago… I was only twelve years old, so I don’t remember much about the break-in. Back then my raids were mostly a rush,” said Zefir to no one in particular.
“I thought I’d seen that thing before!” said Dr. Kicker, slamming his car door behind him from which Mac had only just slipped through without getting fatally crushed.
“So Dolc came from your laboratory?” said Magorian.
“Uh…” D.R. suddenly stopped, his haste to reach his old specimen having seemingly evaporated. “There is no laboratory. It’s just a museum. The most boring museum in the world. The only exhibits are of goldfish. Really boring goldfish.”
“Shut up, Kicker, you’re not fooling anyone,” said Mac, gazing at Magorian from behind the technician’s shoulder.
“How can I possibly not be fooling them? Why would they wanna know where the laboratory was if they already knew everything about it?”
“No one’s going to invest in a museum of ‘really boring goldfish,’ Kicker, we’ve been over this a thousand times!”
“But I need to disguise the true identity of the laboratory, or else everyone will know I’m a phony!”
Magorian and the rest were again forced to stare back and forth as Kicker and “Mac” spouted off biting remarks increasingly loudly.
“Uh, guys, not for nothing, but shouldn’t we do, like, something?” aired Magorian.
“What do you mean?” said Sinistra.
“Well, I don’t know if you noticed, but that giant serpent-things’s back.” The centaur pointed over the quarreling pair and, sure enough, there it was, poised to strike. “And also, the boat is sinking.” Magorian trotted in place, and a thin of film of water spritzed to the beat of his hooves.
“The Hummer must be weighing down that side of the boat!” said Sinistra, pulling out her well-worn wand. “I’ll have to levitate it into the water!”
“This hybrid must be another experiment!” shouted Zefir. “Yes, I can see it clearly, it’s a cross between a moth and an eel! Worry not, there is a method to kill such beasts!”
Kicker stopped screaming about how Golden Girls was indeed a legitimate documentary replete with allegory and social commentary, leaving the floating brain to moan on and on about the debt they were accumulating to thin air. For if there was thing that could make the cussing old scientist leave mid-argument, it was the threat of a grumpy sea serpent mangling his car and getting the leather seats all wet and salty.
The monster recoiled as a barrage of Conjuctivis Curses flared in its eyes. The serpent’s mouth opened to unleash another jet of ionic fog when...
“STOP!!!”
Everyone ceased what they were doing immediately. Even Ganglia and Dolc stopped playing cards on the deck of the boat.
“Listen, I think if we all just settled down and talked things through, we come to some sort of conceivable compromise here. I’ll take my hummer off the boat if you promise not to inquire any further about the laboratory. I mean museum. Of goldfish. In fact, it’d be just swell if you lot just left and never came back. Deal?”
Then everyone laughed, piled into his Hummer, and drove off, zooming happily away.
“What just happened?”
“I believe they all just piled into you Hummer and drove off,” said Mac. “Zooming happily away. I didn’t even get a chance to tell him who I was!”
“Well, they’ll obviously find out in the next chapter. Man the steering wheel, Mac... we’re going after them!”
“But how, the car’s too fast--”
D.R. gave a resounding whistle, and the serpent coiled around the boat in obeisance, heaving it along with its massive body.
“That’s how,” he smirked. The seabreeze lifted D.R.’s shaggy hair from his eyes, and he could see his base of operations drifting amidst the rolling waves.
I should get out more often, he surmised, enjoying the feel of the boat as it rocked back and forth..
--------------------*---------------------
“Uh... what just happened?” asked Sinistra tentatively.
“It looks as if we all spontaneously decided to steal the car at the same time,” replied Zefir, who was cramped even in the magically-enhanced interior of the SUV due to his companion’s massive bulk. “Where are we“no, Dolc, we can’t play blackjack right now“where are we go“yes, even if the bear taught you how to shuffle. And how did he even manage it so fast? The entire thing was mentioned in about eight words... yes, we can play later. Now, where are you taking us?”
“I’m taking you guys to that freaky scientist’s lab,” said Magorian, (who was overjoyed to be able to drive, since the interior of the Hummer allowed his horse-half some wiggle room). “It’s where you want to go, isn’t it?”
“You’d do that for us? We tried to kill you.”
“I’m sure you had your reasons,” he shrugged. “Besides, I want to see what it’s like in there. Bet it’s more interesting than goldfish.”
“There it is!” Sinitra pointed to her left, and everyone looked through the window.
“What, the cloud?” said Magorian.
“No, not the cloud, look down!”
“What, the cloud beneath it?”
“Look at the tower!”
“Under the cloud?”
“Yes, under the cloud.”
“But there’s only a cloud under the cloud.”
“No! Underneath the cloud that’s under the first cloud! It’s a giant freaking tower, how can you miss it? Big sign that reads ‘Fab Lab 11?’”
“Oh, that tower! Why didn’t you say so the first time?”
Sinistra just clapped her hand to her face and shook her head. A hatch opened at the apex of the strange building. Magorian shifted gears, and down they went...