The Call (13 page)

A REALLY, REALLY LONG TIME AGO…

G
rimluk left the island continent after the death of Miladew.

He had failed to kill the princess. And so long as she lived, her mother, the Pale Queen, must live as well. She at least was bound for all eternity. Or three thousand years. Whichever came first.

Well, it turned out that three thousand years was not eternity.

He remembered it all still.

His body had rotted. His powers had faded. But he still remembered Gelidberry. And the baby. He even remembered the cows. And he remembered Miladew, murdered by Princess Ereskigal.

Of the long, long walk to his final home, the lightless cave where he had remained ever since, he remembered only a little.

Grimluk no longer remembered the spot. He could not have found his hiding place on a map.

But he remembered those he had loved.

And now, with evil once more rising from its foul World Below pit, he would strive with all his power to take his revenge and do all he could to guide the new Magnificent Twelve to ultimate victory.

Then, and only then, could Grimluk allow himself the peace of death….

I
t was many hours before the ambulance came and took a battered and injured Karri away to the hospital in Alice Springs.

At the hospital Mack's broken nose was bandaged. And the strange sunburn that Stefan and Jarrah had suffered despite being in the lee of the overturned buggy was covered with salves.

Karri would be in hospital (as they say in Australia) for at least two weeks. Jarrah promised she would call
her father and go with him to somewhere safe.

But once outside the hospital room, Jarrah looked at Mack and said, “Okay, where to?”

“What do you mean?” Mack asked. “You're going off with your dad.”

“Like fun, I am,” Jarrah said. “We're the Magnificent Twelve, right? I only see two of us, plus Stefan.” Actually, she didn't see Stefan just then because he was in the men's room.

“Jarrah, we almost got killed. And I don't think we're done with her. Or the Nafia or the Tong Elves or the Skirrit or—”

“No, we're not done,” Jarrah said grimly. “Not by a long shot. So I'll ask again: where to?”

Mack took a deep, shaky breath. He missed home. He missed his parents. He felt terribly alone in some ways, but at the same time he was beginning to see himself as part of a history that stretched a long way back—maybe for eternity. Or at least three thousand years.

And there was the fact that he didn't want to live in a world dominated by Risky. Or her mother.

Well, he thought (wrongly as it turns out), at least Risky's done for.

“I don't know where we go next,” Mack admitted.

Which was when Stefan strode up. “Yo. Dude. In the men's room toilet, there's a call for you.”

 

Princess Ereskigal took some time to rebuild herself after the burning. It was unpleasant and time-consuming. It was hungry work, too. She called for and ate two of the Tong Elves. After all, if they had done their job…

She had suffered one death. In all her long, long life, Risky had never suffered a death. She still had eleven lives left, but eleven, as even the ancients knew, was not as big a number as twelve.

Hanging over all her thoughts was the realization that she would have to go to her mother and explain that she had failed.

There were times when Risky really didn't get along all that well with her mother. It wasn't easy being the chief spawn of the Breeder of Monsters. Sometimes Risky envied girls who were the daughters of the Mother of Cheerleaders or the Mother of Pop Stars.

Living up to all those high expectations, having to be the perfect, distilled essence of evil? Sometimes
Risky just wanted to be a normal girl.

No, not really. Are you kidding? What, and ride a bike to school every day? Learn algebra? Date middle-school boys? Please.

Once Ereskigal had put her beautiful self back together, she summoned her personal flying craft, climbed aboard, and headed for the closest portal to her mother's underground lair and prison.

Before she got there, she knew she'd better have a plan. The Pale Queen, her mother, was not sentimental. She, too, sometimes ate those who had failed her.

Risky looked at her reflection in the black glass as she raced through the stratosphere at supersonic speeds and thought, I could hardly blame her; I would be a tasty snack.

Mack. He was the key. Take him out of the game now, before he could rally any more of the twelve. A simple killing now. Or war later, with consequences that no one could foresee.

“I missed you once, Mack of the Magnificent Twelve,” Risky vowed. “The next time you'll be my dinner.”

 

The Golem was sent home from school with a message for Mack's parents. The message was from Mack's school adviser, Mr. Reed.

The message read:

The note was puzzling to the Golem as it seemed to indicate there was something wrong with relocating various body parts. And he was very concerned about this transferring thing. Mack would almost certainly be upset to find himself enrolled in a different school.

This was not something he felt he could manage on his own. He needed Mack's advice if he was going to avoid trouble.

Which was why Mack received a text message that read:

Fortunately for Mack's peace of mind, he did not get this text before climbing on the flight to China.

 

The flight from Sydney to Shanghai was long. And since even a quick glance at a map will show you that
there's quite a bit of ocean between Australia and China, you know that Mack spent most of the flight gripping the armrest, sweating, and muttering under his breath like a crazy person.

Stefan spent the time thinking about…okay, he didn't really think about anything. He played the video games in the seat back. Then he watched movies. And at one point he socked Mack in the jaw, but only because Mack's panicky weeping was causing a little boy across the aisle to start crying, too.

Jarrah cried a little as well, but for different reasons. Her mother and father had not wanted her to go. And having now seen just a little of the evils ahead, Jarrah wasn't so sure she wanted to go, either.

But that's the thing about saving the world: when the call comes, you pretty much have to answer.

At least you do if you're one of the Magnificent Twelve.

Jacket art © 2010 by David McClellan

Logo by Jason Cook

Jacket design by Amy Ryan