The Magical Flight of Dodie Rue (3 page)

That evening they were to attend the Magistrate's Banquet, a special dinner for all the Grand Flyer racers, their families, and sponsors from all five of the competing villages. Everyone dressed in their best clothes and came groomed and smelling of jasmine. The dinner was held in Magistrate Oxard's inner courtyard, a spacious patio laid with turquoise tiles and containing a shallow pool displaying a gorgeous glass mosaic beneath the water. A generous spread of breads, meats, fruits, and wines kept the company full as they mingled around. When the Rues arrived, Taj was immediately whisked away by a large group of sponsors and girls with not-so-secret crushes on him. Dodie spotted the other four racers from Turah:
Atallah, Randi the baker's son, Axel the carpenter, and Bae the Magistrate's nephew. There were also plenty of other people Dodie did not recognize, for they were from the other villages.

A small crowd gathered around Nadar, both to pay their homage to the racing legend and to glean tips about winning the Grand Flyer. He generously shared stories with them and signed autographs. Gamal took a few carpet orders from customers. Dodie hung back, unsure of what to do or who to talk to. He avoided Atallah and the other racers, and figured he'd stay away from Taj, too. He didn't want to be that annoying little brother clinging to Taj.

“Is your brother seeing anyone?” a voice behind him asked.

Dodie spun around to face a slender girl wearing too much rouge on her cheeks. “What?”

“Seeing anyone!” she huffed impatiently. “Does he have a girlfriend?”

“Uh, I don't think so.”

“Really! Tell him Salarah thinks he's cute and I want to go out with him and I'm dying to ride on a racer rug and I would totally love for him to take me on a ride especially at night under the stars and—”

“Actually he does have a girlfriend,” Dodie lied quickly.

“What!” screeched Salarah. “How could he? I'm in love with him and I know—”

“Sorry.” Dodie dodged away from her. He was relieved to spot Binni splashing his hand in the pool.

“Hey! You here with your uncle?” he asked Binni.

“Yeah, he almost didn't let me come though.”

“How come?” Dodie noticed several fresh bruises running up Binni's arm.

Binni hastily pulled his sleeve down and dried his hand on his lap. “Cuz I got mad at him for sponsoring Atallah.”

Dodie's eyes widened. “He told us he's sponsoring Taj!”

“He changed his mind,” Binni said. “I'm not happy about it either. I told him Atallah's a bully, but my uncle wouldn't listen to me. Said Atallah's a good bet.”

“What about Taj?” Dodie pointed to his older brother who was signing a girl's wrist cuff. “He's sure to win!”

“He said he knew something about Taj that made him go with Atallah.”

“What? What does he know?” Dodie felt his insides squirm thinking about Taj's prophecy.

“He didn't tell me,” Binni shrugged. “Hey, I finished that new potion. You should try it out tomorrow.”

“No offense, Bin, but I'm a little scared of your potions.”

Binni looked slightly hurt. “I'm sorry about giving you the runs—”

“And boils! Don't forget that one. Oh, and there was that one potion that turned my pee blue!” Dodie couldn't help laughing at this.

Binni joined him in his laughter. “Sorry! I'm positive this new one won't have any side effects. I tested it on Jinx.”

Dodie rolled his eyes. “You forget I'm not a pet tortoise.”

The rest of the evening Dodie and Binni talked about the Grand Flyer and their village's five racers. They did their best to avoid Atallah, who followed Taj around and ended up getting two more sponsors by doing so.

The Magistrate made a welcoming speech that was long and boring, and included lots of clichés about unity among the villages and good sportsmanship among the racers, all of which nobody believed in. To prove this a fist fight broke out between Axel the carpenter and a surly racer named Nye from the village Alsta. The guests cleared out of their way, and several sponsors even made quick bets on the fist fight. Magistrate Oxard called for order and repeated a line from his speech about peace and goodwill, but nobody heeded it. Eventually the two racers fought their way out to the street.

The Seer attended the banquet as an honored guest, and while she was not technically on duty, she couldn't help making curt predictions over people. She was still hidden behind her thick veils, which made her look like a ghostly shadow among the living.

“Your cow will get loose tonight,” she threw out in passing to a man stuffing bread into his mouth. To another, “She doesn't love you anymore. And you! Yes, you: look under your bed for your missing sandal. Madam, stop lying about your age or a curse will befall you,” and so on.

She came up beside Dodie, causing him to jump in alarm. “Rue boy, you must not doubt your prophecy.”

Dodie swallowed his bite of lamb. “Yes, madam. But when will—”

“Soon enough. In the meantime, eat up.”

Dodie did not have to be told twice to eat more. He went back to the banquet table for several helpings, for he wanted to feel positively stuffed. It had been far too long since he'd had a full belly, and he figured it would be a long time until that happened again. His grandfather's seasoned water wasn't cutting it. He noticed both his father and brother going back for seconds and thirds also.

The Magistrate closed the banquet with a little memorial to his son Petra who had perished in the last Grand Flyer five years ago. Oxard lit a candle, called for a moment of silence, then prayed for the safety and good fortune of all the racers.

It was well past midnight when the Rues finally headed home. Dodie perched on the edge of Nadar's flying carpet. Taj rattled on about his evening as a celebrity, and about the girl Salarah who gave him a kiss.

“You don't look too good,” Dodie pointed out.

Taj rubbed his belly. “I think I ate something that didn't agree with me.”

“Probably just nerves,” Nadar assured him. “Though you do look pale.”

When they got home, Taj went right upstairs and collapsed on his bed. He gave a groan as Dodie entered the room.

“You okay?” he asked.

Taj whimpered. “I really wanna throw up. Think I'll feel better if I do.”

“I never feel better when I do,” mumbled Dodie as he slipped off his sandals.

Taj moaned and rolled over. In a few minutes he was asleep.

Dodie yawned and soon drifted off. What seemed like minutes later, he was awakened by a gagging noise.

“Taj?” he called in the darkness.

More gagging and choking.

Dodie lit the overhanging brass lamp. Taj was shaking, and making gagging noises. Foam bubbled from his open mouth.

“Dad!” Dodie screamed. “Grandpapa! Quick! It's Taj!”

Gamal rushed into the room, followed silently by Nadar on his carpet. Gamal gripped his son to try to steady him.

“Taj! Can you hear me?” Gamal got right in his son's face.

Taj gave one last cough, then fell still, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Dodie! Get the alchemist,
fast
!”

Dodie bolted downstairs, unlocked the back door, and dodged down the alley. The full moon cast silver beams that lit his way as he skidded around dark corners and ran through the deserted streets. He arrived at the alchemist's shop and banged on the door.

“Raz! Sir! Wake up! Binni!” he yelled, beating the door.

A light turned on upstairs. A few minutes later the door opened. Both Binni and his uncle gaped at him.

“Dodie Rue? What is it?” Raz inquired in a groggy voice.

“Taj,” Dodie panted, leaning against the door jam. “Choking .
 . .
gagging
. . .
he fainted.”

“Let me grab my kit.” Raz dashed inside.

“He's sick?” asked Binni.

Dodie gulped air. “He ate something bad.”

“Let's go.” Raz reappeared, carrying a square basket with a handle, and followed the boys back to the Rue house.

Dodie led the way up to the third floor where Taj lay unconscious. Raz knelt beside the boy and examined him. Dodie lingered back, not wanting to get in the way or see Taj lying there like a corpse. Everyone watched Raz, waiting for a diagnosis. With a grave face, he turned to Gamal.

“He's still alive,” he confirmed.

“He's sick?” Gamal asked, his calloused hands still gripping his son's arms.

“He's been poisoned.”

Chapter 3

“
Poisoned?
”

“By who?”

“By a competitor, perhaps.”

“‘S there an antidote?”

Raz stood up from kneeling at the bedside. “Give me a few minutes to thoroughly examine him. I have a suspicion which poison was used, but I need to confirm it before I make a diagnosis. If you would all please leave the room.” He held out his hand toward the bedroom door.

“Out,” Gamal ushered everyone out of the room.

“He'll get better, right?” Dodie asked no one in particular.

“Has to!” Gamal said, tugging on his beard.

“My uncle'll know what to do,” Binni said with confidence. “He'll give him a strong antidote. He's the alchemist, after all.”

Dodie bit his tongue from arguing that point with his best friend—the village referred to Raz as the alchemist, but in reality he was more of a physician and pharmacist than a worker of wonders. Everyone knew it was his ambition to someday be a certified alchemist, but he never had enough money to go to the Capital and enroll in formal training. He too had taken a loan from Hadi to purchase his shop and equipment and was paying a steep debt.

Oddly enough, though, a few months earlier, Raz had suddenly started doing remarkable things with potions and elements. Raz gave no explanation for his sudden powers, and no one questioned him since the village benefited from his new knowledge (except for the palm trees, of course). Around that time he demanded the title of Turah's Alchemist, and no one argued.

Raz appeared in the doorway, rubbing his sharp chin that sported a trim black beard.

“Poison?” Gamal rushed to him, his family at his heels.

“It was poison, a very rare and deadly poison called Devil's Kiss,” Raz paused, gripping Gamal's shoulder. “It's a wonder anyone was able to get a hold of it. I myself don't carry it in my shop.”

“You can prescribe an antidote, yes?” asked Nadar.

Raz's face looked pained. “The only one who knows the antidote to Devil's Kiss is Zalla the Great. And we all know he's—”

“Dead,” finished Gamal, rubbing his eyes.

“Who was Zalla the Great?” Dodie asked Binni out of the side of his mouth.

“The most powerful alchemist of our time,” whispered Binni. “The desert swallowed up him and all his work over a year ago.”

“What do you mean
swallowed
?”

Binni shook his head, his eyes wide with mystery.

“There is no other antidote,” Raz was saying.

Gamal's creases in his forehead deepened. “So .
 . .
”

“The poison will take its fatal effect on Taj in the next seven days. He will die if he does not get the antidote.”

Gamal stared.

Nadar choked.

Binni cursed.

And Dodie vomited. He grabbed the closet thing, an empty pitcher, and threw up most of the feast he had eaten earlier at the party .
 . .

. . . Where someone had poisoned Taj .
 . .

. . . Where someone had wanted to kill his brother.

“No antidote?” Gamal looked utterly shocked, as if someone had just told him that carpets don't fly.

Raz gripped Gamal's shoulder. “Listen, I will exhaust all my resources and search for the antidote. I will do everything in my power to save your son. But I must be clear, it will take a miracle.”

“Then there's still a chance,” Nadar spoke up from his floating carpet. “I've witnessed enough miracles in my day to know they can happen.”

Raz smiled slightly. “Yes, sir.” Turning to his nephew, he said quietly, “Come, Binni, we have work to do.”

Binni gave Dodie a parting wave and left with his uncle.

Without a word, Gamal went back into the boys' room to sit with Taj.

Nadar turned to Dodie. “Pray for a miracle.”

Dodie lingered in the doorway, but did not enter the room. After seeing Taj still lying unconscious, he climbed upstairs to the roof. The silver moon was heading west as the early hours of dawn arrived. Dodie lay on a straw mat and gazed up at the stars fading in the brightening sky. He sent a prayer up for Taj.

But his heart wasn't in it.

He knew his grandfather had witnessed many miracles—he had heard of them in his stories. But Nadar had been an extraordinary person; champion of every Grand Flyer and every Grand Renegade he had ever raced in. He had earned the right to believe in miracles.

Dodie had no reason to believe in miracles, for he hadn't witnessed any—not even the small miracle of being cured of his flying fear. He was not a champion of anything.

But right now none of that mattered. Taj was dying. By the end of the week, his brother would be dead. Only a miracle could save him.

Dodie started to think about Taj being gone, but his imagination couldn't stretch that far. Taj had always been there for Dodie and had always made Dodie feel like he mattered, especially when their father didn't seem to even notice Dodie's existence.

Dodie wiped his eyes. He prayed with all his might for a miracle. He wished with all his might for Taj's life to be spared. But again he knew it was no good. He had nothing to wish on, no one to grant his wish—

Dodie sat up.

An idea shot through his brain. There might be one way to have his wish granted, but it seemed impossible.

But the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was the only way to save Taj. And only he could do it.

The problem was he
couldn't
do it.

It was physically impossible.

Unless .
 . .

Dodie ran downstairs, out of the house, and down the street. He arrived at the alchemist's house once again out of breath. This time he didn't bang on the door; instead he went down a tight alley to the side of the house. He picked up a few pebbles and threw them up at an open window on the second floor.

“Ouch!” Binni popped his head out the window and looked down.

Dodie waved. “I need your help!” he said in a loud whisper.

“Whaddaya need?” asked Binni.

“That new potion you made for me.”

Binni's face lit up in the blue darkness. “You want it now? Sure! It's all ready and I'm sure there aren't any side effects on this one .
 . .
”

Dodie could hear Binni's voice trail off as his friend disappeared into the heart of his house. A minute later Binni joined him outside in the alley. He held up a small glass vial. Even in the gloom, Dodie could see the bright pink hue of the potion. He noticed a new cut on Binni's lip. He appreciated the trouble Binni went through to find him a remedy.

“This is one dose, but I can make more,” said Binni as he handed the vial off. “It will last about twelve hours.”

Dodie pulled out the cork stopper, gave Binni one last quizzical look, then threw back his head and downed the potion. It was quite bitter. He stared at Binni.

“Should I feel different?” he asked.

“Probably not—except when you're flying a carpet!” Binni said gleefully.

“There's only one way to know.” Dodie took off running back home.

“Let me know if it works!” Binni called after him.

Dodie ran back to the emporium, and lit a lamp. In the back room behind the green drape he found his family's Caravaner. He grabbed it under his arm and dragged it to the street. The eastern sky was already lightening. He held his hand over the rolled carpet and whispered, “
Dune Cruiser
.”

The Caravaner, a fifteen foot runner rug of gray and yellow, unrolled. Dodie climbed aboard, tucked his knees under him, and took a deep breath. The carpet started gliding a few feet above the ground. Dodie held on tight and waited for a queasy feeling to set in, but it didn't. He coaxed a little more speed from
Dune Cruiser
. He still felt fine. He decided to take a chance and gain some altitude.
Dune Cruiser
was not a racer rug, so could only rise about twenty feet, but typically that was high enough to get Dodie's stomach churning. This time he didn't feel the slightest flutter. He was growing braver by the minute.

He took a sharp turn, he dropped suddenly, he rose quickly. He felt fine—more than fine, he felt great! He felt free.

Dawn was breaking, the sky turning from deep blue to soft rose. Doors were opening, voices were greeting, and animals were stirring. Dodie drove
Dune Cruiser
back to his home. He hopped off, waited for the runner rug to roll up, then dragged it back inside and leaned it in a back corner of the shop. He bounded upstairs.

He found his father sitting by the window and staring out of it vacantly. His grandfather was boiling water for tea. Dodie felt his insides wiggling, but not from carpet flying.

“I know how we can save Taj,” he swallowed. “We can wish for his life.”

Nadar looked fondly at him. “If only, my grandson.”

“It's the only way!”

“And how do we go about doing that?” Nadar asked, his gray eyes glimmering with hope.

“I'll race in the Grand Flyer and win the wish.” Dodie's insides continued to wiggle. “I'll wish for Taj's life. It's the only way.”

Gamal finally looked away from the window and over at his son.

“It's the only way,” Nadar croaked, a smile playing on his lips.

Gamal stood up. “You can't fly.”

“Binni gave me a special potion for my fear and it works, Dad! I just tested it on
Dune Cruiser
. I've been helping Taj practice for months. I've heard all of Grandpapa's stories. I think I can do this!”

“We've already paid for Taj to race,” added Nadar. “What have we got to lose?”

“A whole lot if I don't win,” Dodie insisted. “I have to save Taj. Besides, Dad, there's your wager with Hadi, too. I have to save our business.”

Gamal stroked his beard and his eyes got that glassy look as his brain started calculating. “You gots one day to get ready.” He started to pace and check things off his fingers. “Haircut, racing gear, maps—by the gods!” He smacked his forehead. “A rug! We have any racers left?”

“We sold them all,” Dodie felt himself deflating. “And I can't ride Taj's unless he passes ownership to me. He's not even conscious right now!”

Nadar glided over to Dodie. “You need a rug that knows the race, and has enough magic to fly itself when you don't know how.” He paused, his eyes sparkling. “You need
Phoenix.
”

“Really, Grandpapa?” Dodie smiled.

“Yes!” Gamal thundered out of the room. A minute later he thundered back carrying a rolled up carpet under his arm. He gently set the carpet down, something of reverence in his touch. With a nod at Dodie, he whispered, “Go on.”

“Wait, I must pass ownership to you.” Nadar glided over to Dodie, grabbed his hand, and pressed it on the rolled up racer rug. “I hereby give
Phoenix
to you, Dodie Rue.”

Dodie swallowed. With his hand over the carpet, he whispered, “
Phoenix
.”

With lightning speed and a cloud of dust, the magic carpet unrolled, causing everyone to jump back. It was woven with the colors of fire: burning red, vibrant orange, and brilliant blue, creating a flame pattern that was outlined in gold. The carpet stood perfectly still, suspended in the air about a foot off the ground. It stretched flat, as if invisible hands were pulling it taut.

Nadar smiled, his eyes glistening with tears. “She's yours, Dodie.”

Dodie rested one knee on the carpet and found it steady. He pulled his other knee on and leaned low. He gripped the gold braided loops at the top, and fixed his eyes on the window. He had barely finished thinking the command to the carpet when
Phoenix
shot out the open window.