Chapter 8: Curly-teeth

Hillary sat down on the grass and cradled the open book in her lap.  She read the new words to the others.

Aghasta rules her space in time.
Find the chime.

She is a key that has no lock.
Set the clock.

Crystal eye with ruby light.
On solstice night.

Trapped by promises she keeps.
When she sleeps.

Untangled love will free them both.
Release her oath.

Hillary twisted to look at the wizards and her brother who read over her shoulder. “Does this make sense to any of you?”

“I think whoever wrote it would flunk Mrs. Autry’s literature class,” Windslow answered.

Hillary brushed Haggerwolf’s beard aside when he leaned so far over that his long whiskers dangled on her shoulder.  “Here,” she said, handing him the book.

“Hm…” Haggerwolf said as he studied the words.  “I’d bet that crimson wings refer to Aghasta’s horse. It has wings and flies.”

“Cool,” Windslow said.  “A pink Pegasus.”

“Its name is Allemande,” Larkstone said and pushed close to Haggerwolf.  “Who is Pegasus?”

“Never mind my brother,” Hillary said. She stood and brushed small bits of grass off her jeans.  “Can you decipher anything else?”

“She does rule her domain,” Fernbark said.  “I don’t know about the lock and key. She does have a silver wand with a bloodstone cameo on it.  According to lore, Gristle-tooth gave her a crystal that forms the cameo’s eye.”

“Really?” Hillary said and raised an eyebrow.  “That’s interesting. A gift from Gristle-tooth?  That must to have something to do with love and promises.”

“Why do girls always think stuff like that?” Windslow asked in the middle of a yawn. “Hey look,” he said when a slight breeze lifted the edge of the next page.  “Give me the book.  I think more writing just appeared.”

Hillary pushed past her brother, nearly knocking him off balance when she grabbed the book back from Haggerwolf.

Windslow was about to complain, but another yawn stopped him.

“This is different,” Hillary said. “I mean, in a different style.” She raised her hand to her mouth and gave her own yawn.

“Read it out loud so the rest of us can hear it,” Windslow said. His next yawn was long and slow.  His eyes watered and he had to blink them.  “I think it’s almost dream-slip time,” he said and sat down.

“I know,” Hillary said. She sank down next to her brother, yawned, and read the words.

Summer Storm and Mountain Breeze
Are the lures for them to seize.

Wizard’s skill must seal the vow
An heir to Fistlock will know how.

Dreadmoor is the final place
Hurry, for it’s Time you race.

“Fistlock!” everyone said at once when Hillary read his name.

“What’s he got to do with it?” Haggerwolf asked. “Let me see that.”

Hillary held the book up for the old wizard, but wouldn’t let him take it out of her hands.  “There’s more about love,” she said and closed the book.  “We know Windslow and I are the Summer Storm and Mountain Breeze.  The rest of it is more cryptic than the other page. Windslow and I will study it back home.  I think we’re about to go there.  At least Windslow is.”

She looked over at her brother and watched his eyes flutter and close. Larkstone grabbed him, took the crutches, and eased Windslow to the ground. Windslow’s form turned transparent and wavered for only a few seconds before it disappeared.  Hillary closed her eyes.  She heard Haggerwolf’s voice fade away as she began her own dream-slip home.

#

Jimmy held his breath and closed his eyes when the pink fog stretched down for him.  When he felt ready to burst, he opened one eye to take a peek. He didn’t want to breathe in the fog and worried that he wouldn’t have a choice. His forehead wrinkled and his cheeks puffed as he strained. Molly punched him.  With a cough, he blew out the air he held and sucked in hard.

“Hey!” he yelled at her after taking his breath.

“You face turn funny like-a fog color when you not breathe.” Molly stood in front of him and puffed out her cheeks, mimicking Jimmy. 

“Well, how was I supposed to know if breathing that fog would hurt me or not? I was just being careful.”

“Not a good time-a be careful,” Molly said, leaning sideways to look past Jimmy. She shifted the book sized brass clock to her other hand and pointed as Jimmy turned around. “It good time-a be afraid, though.”

Jimmy realized that either the surroundings had changed again, or Molly and he had moved somehow. They stood near the edge of a field.  Far into the distance stretched giant, chest-high broccoli.  Its dark blue-green leaves and floret’s had the look of a raised pebbly carpet.

“I hate broccoli,” Jimmy said as he looked at the mass of green.  “But, I’m not afraid of it.”

“It not the broccoli,” Molly said and raised her arm higher as she continued pointing. “It her. It Aghasta.”

When Jimmy looked off in the distance above the field, he saw what Molly pointed at.

A pale-red horse flew toward them.  With each long powerful beat, its wings shimmered in the sun, their bottom feathers colored like the inside of a pink seashell. Aghasta’s elbows stuck out from her sides and moved up and down in time to the beating wings. With the same rhythm, she kicked the flanks of her horse to urge it on.

“Hey, it’s an adult.  Maybe she can help us.”

“She not adult. She monster,” Molly said and grabbed Jimmy’s hand.  “She not come to make veg-able salad.  She after us.”

Even with Molly pulling him by the hand toward the broccoli, Jimmy couldn’t take his eyes off Aghasta.  Dressed in violet and light purple, her satiny gown flowed out behind her. Her long hair looked like the silver downy tuffs inside milkweed pods.

“Under here,” Molly yelled as she tugged at his hand.

Jimmy resisted her pull and watched as horse and rider neared.  He snapped out of his trance when Aghasta’s horse curled back its lips and whinnied.  The sharp pointed teeth looked more suited to eating flesh than vegetables.

Molly yanked his hand again, nearly pulling him off balance as he ducked under the green stalks. Together they scrambled on hands and knees with Jimmy keeping close behind Molly as she twisted and weaved through the thick broccoli stalks. 

Behind him, Jimmy heard a sizzle. He crawled faster, bumping into Molly just before the smell of boiled broccoli filled the air.  Chancing a glance backward he saw a withered plant, smoking earth, and a hole in the vegetable canopy.

“Geeze, what did that?” He asked.

Molly kept crawling as she answered. “She got silver wand, like wizard.  Big woo-doo eye on wand make magic red light. It very bad thing.  Light turn into time-mist sometime.  This fix her,” Molly said and stopped. “But then we not have clock anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Jimmy asked. He watched as Molly sat cross-legged in front of him. She opened the glass front on the clock and adjusted the hands to 3:21.  “Whoops,” she said and changed the time to 1:10. “I almost set it for us.  There.  Now it ready for Aghasta.”  Molly stood and threw hard.  Her motion made her fall on top of Jimmy.

“Are you crazy?” Jimmy asked as Molly pushed herself off of him. “Do you think you’re going to stop Aghasta by hitting her with a clock?”

“Nope,” Molly answered and grabbed Jimmy’s hand again.  “Time-mist go around you if you got clock right.  This time we go with mist and she stay same place.  I pretty smart girl.”

“I hate this dream,” Jimmy mumbled as the time-mist formed around them.  This time its color pulsed pale blue as it approached. This time Jimmy didn’t bother holding his breath.  He did hold tight to Molly’s hand as the fog closed around them.

 #

At first the fog swirled slowly. As the speed increased, Jimmy closed his eyes, feeling a bit dizzy. He heard the wind rush past his ears, blowing with a steady but increasing push. He almost yelled when either the wind lifted him up, or the ground disappeared. He wasn’t sure which.  Not wanting Molly to think he was worried, he kept his mouth clenched tightly shut and cautiously relaxed the tight grip he had on her hand.

“This-a fun part!” he heard Molly yell over the screeching wind. “Whoopee!”

Jimmy eased one eye open for a peek. The wind lessened to a breeze, but the fog still cradled them.  Molly floated on her back beside him and moved her legs like she was doing the frog kick in some invisible pool of water. He opened his other eye and was about to shout to her when the fog abruptly disappeared and dropped them both to the ground with a solid thud.

“Now where are we?” Jimmy asked as he stood and dusted himself off. “It’s some sort of forest.”

Trees, with trunks as narrow as Jimmy’s waist, towered over them. The two-tone, brown bark twisted as it rose, making the trunks look like chestnut tinted candy canes. Dark, violet colored leaves wove tightly together, barely letting any sunlight through.  The lower branches stretched out bare, like dried weathered fingers on bony hands, waiting to catch anything that fell from above.  When Jimmy took a step, dried leaves crunched under his foot and drew attention to the silence.

“This not-a place I wanna be,” Molly said.  “But it better than broccoli place. This Aghasta land.  She like purple stuff and make all-a leaves look like this. Her fortress someplace around here.”

“Finally,” Jimmy said and yawned.

“You crazy?” Molly asked and spun around to look at him.  “This not a good thing.  Time-mist not come here much.  Now only way out is from inside Aghasta place.”

“No. Not that,” Jimmy said and yawned again. “I’m getting really tired.  Maybe this weird dream is finally ending.”

“This not a dream. You mess up your dream-slip.  We need-a hide before you fall asleep.  We need-a…  Oh, oh.  We need-a run!” Molly yelled and grabbed Jimmy’s hand again.  “It pack of curly-teeth.”

“Pack of what?” Jimmy asked as he ran with Molly.

“Curly-teeth.  Like big turtle. Run fast!”

Jimmy tried to glance back, but couldn’t chance a long enough look without risking a fall.  He had to let go of Molly’s hand when she jumped over a log. 

“Maybe that slow them down,” she called back at him.

Jimmy jumped the log and stopped long enough for a good look.  Not far behind, he saw what looked like six large tortoises.  Three feet across, they moved quickly on thick legs with rubbery green skin that held them more than a foot off the ground.  He saw why Molly called them curly-teeth. Each tortoise had a pair of slender tusks that curled sideways from its beaked mouth.  The pack grunted and snorted like pigs as they pushed aside brush.  Stopping to sniff the air, the leader rose up on its hind legs.  Jimmy watched its nostrils flair as it swung its long neck and large head back and forth.

“This our only chance!” Molly yelled.

Jimmy looked for her but couldn’t see the small girl.  Fifty yards ahead through the trees, he did see a tall moss-covered stone wall that nearly reached the tree-tops.

“Up here,” Molly called.

Jimmy looked up and saw Molly in the lower branches of a tree to his left. “Climb!” she yelled at him.

“Wouldn’t the wall be better?” he hollered back after taking another glance at the pack of curly-teeth.

“You not run that fast,” she said.  “They do.   Climb now before dream-slip take you.”

Jimmy still didn’t understand, but knew he didn’t want to chance a close encounter with the tortoises. He had to jump to catch the lowest branch.  He paused to yawn, before pulling himself up and over the branch.  Steadying himself against the trunk, he reached and grabbed a higher branch and pulled.

“This a good spot, up here,” Molly said and stretched her hand down to help Jimmy with the last climb.  “Lean back against tree and put feet in branch fork. I tie you in with my belt.”

“This whole thing is bizarre,” Jimmy said, but did as Molly instructed.  He watched her unwrap the cloth sash that twisted around her waist.  “I’m done with this dream.”

“You not done,” Molly said and looped her belt around both Jimmy and the tree.  “You dream-slip back to place where you go asleep.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes.  “Boys!” she huffed.

Jimmy looked down at the curly-teeth and yawned. They circled the tree. The largest tortoise began scraping his tusks against the trunk. The motion made a rasping sound and shook the tree as finger-sized chips of wood flaked away.   Worried, he looked at Molly.  She said something he didn’t hear.  He saw her lips move, but her image, the forest, and the curly-teeth faded.

#

Fistlock had spent the afternoon trying different approaches in dealing with Bitterbrun.  He had argued, pleaded, pouted, threatened to hold his breath until he turned blue, and everything else he could think of until he finally gave up. The only thing he hadn’t tried was cooperating.  Now it looked like he might not have any choice.

“Where did you get the mimic-boots?” Fistlock asked, the tone of his voice more scolding than questioning. “You aren’t thinking of using Army to make them work, are you?” Fistlock squirmed in the corner, but the manila ropes around his wrists and ankles refused to loosen. Bitterbrun stood in front of him, dangling two pairs of black and white, zebra-striped boots by their laces.

Bitterbrun smiled and sat on the floor in front of his captive. “I have lots of treasures. They’re all magic. After you killed Panderflip and promoted me to his position, I started collecting things and hiding them here.  The boots are from your secret storeroom.  You didn’t keep it secret very well,” he said and pulled off his own boots.

“I didn’t kill Panderflip,” Fistlock said.  “I took him to Earth with me and turned him into a shadow wraith. Magic works strange there and he keeps changing back and forth between shadow and normal.  Well, nearly normal.  He gave himself a new name. He calls himself Angstrom now.   He’s very happy working for me there.”

Bitterbrun scowled for a moment.  After chewing on his lip he smiled and relaxed his face. “I bet he’d be happy if he knew I caught you.” Nodding to himself he leaned forward and pulled off one of Fistlock’s bunny slippers.  “Maybe I could get him to be my assistant on Earth. You could work for him when you dream-slip back.”

“Whooh—hee, hee, ha.” Fistlock jerked his feet when Bitterbrun pulled off the other slipper. “Stop that!”

“Oh, a bit ticklish, are you?” Bitterbrun asked. He ran his finger across the bottom of Fistlock’s foot.

“No! Ha, hee, hee, ho...  Stop. STOP!”  When Bitterbrun did stop, Fistlock was happy to cooperate and shoved first one foot and then the other into the mimic-boots. He sighed and rested his head against the wall as Bitterbrun pulled on the matching set.

Sniffing the air, Army waddled in from another room and moved straight to the treat of black ants mashed into a ball that Bitterbrun held in his hand. “First help daddy,” Bitterbrun said and tapped his finger against his boots. “This pair too.” With one hand he held the treat closer to Army. With his other hand he tapped Fistlock’s boots.

Army quit reaching for the treat and pointed her nose the general direction of both pair of boots.  She huffed, and then puffed.  The air shimmered from her release of magic.

A small dimple of wood, pressed outward from the wall next to Fistlock’s knees.  The wood creaked and groaned.  Fistlock had to straighten his legs to get them out of the way when the dimple stretched outward, sprouted two small leaves and began growing. “You idiot!” Fistlock hollered and scooted sideways.

The branch kept growing, sprouting side limbs and more leaves.  Army waddled away, retreating to another room.  Bitterbrun ducked when the branch grew past his head, pushed over the table and pressed up against the opposite wall.

“You can’t throw magic at things that way,” Fistlock said.  “You’re lucky that nothing else happened.”

“You’re… You’re… You’re lucky I need you,” Bitterbrun said.  “Or I’d have Army turn you into a… a… Well, something.  Something you wouldn’t like.” He pulled his knife, pushed away a slender shoot that was still sprouting leaves, and leaned forward.

Fistlock flinched, and held his breath.  He released it when the shiny blade cut through the ropes binding his legs.

“Come on,” Bitterbrun said and helped Fistlock to his feet. “You’re going to pack supplies for our trip to Dreadmoor.  I’ll show you where my storeroom is. It’s in another tree.  Now let’s see if these things work. Shoes on!” He shouted.

Bitterbrun turned around, ducked under the tangle of new branches, and walked toward the steps leading up out of his tree home.

In time and pace with Bitterbrun’s shoes, Fistlock’s shoes marched. The boots turned him around to face the wall and kicked against it with each step, leaving black scuff marks.  The motion knocked Fistlock’s knees against the wood with each step, and made him bang his forehead twice.

 “Wait! Stop,” Fistlock called.

Bitterbrun stopped and turned around. As he turned, so did Fistlock.

“You’ve got me pointed the wrong way,” Fistlock complained and rubbed his knees.

“Stop trying to trick me,” Bitterbrun said. “You’re pointed toward the door.  We’re wasting time.” He turned and marched. Fistlock turned and thumped into the wall again with each useless step.

“Stop!” Fistlock hollered again. “Don’t turn around. Just turn your head!”

Bitterbrun twisted his head and looked back. “Oh,” he said, turned around, and walked toward Fistlock.

Fistlock turned and walked toward Bitterbrun. Both men nearly bumped heads before Bitterbrun stopped to avoid the collision.

“You’ve got to--”

Bitterbrun interrupted him.  “I know what to do. I don’t need you telling me. I’m the boss now. Not you!”  He scowled at Fistlock for only a second before looking down at the boots. Their toes nearly touched.  Bitterbrun raised one foot. Fistlock’s boot rose.  Bitterbrun stomped and Fistlock stomped.

Scrunching up his face, Bitterbrun studied the boots again. When the wrinkles across his brow faded, he smiled and looked at Fistlock.  “Watch this,” he said.

Fistlock rolled his eyes.

Bitterbrun crouched down, jumped up and twisted, spun in the air, and landed facing the door.

Fistlock jumped, turned to face the wall and landed.  He banged against it again when Bitterbrun began walking. “Bitterbrun!” he yelled. Before he could say anything else, the boots turned him around, moved him forward three paces, and stopped him nose-to-nose with his ex-chamberlain.

“Bitterbrun,” Fistlock said through gritted teeth.  “You need to switch the boots off, turn around and then start them up with a time delay.”

“I know that,” Bitterbrun said and took a step backward to put some space between him and his old master.  “Boots off,” he said and then made a face at Fistlock.  Bitterbrun turned around, watching over his shoulder to make sure Fistlock didn’t move. Satisfied, he walked head three paces and stopped.  He looked forward, ducked under a branch and took one more step. “Come, Army,” he called and waited until his pet fluttered to his shoulder and settled. “Boots on,” he commanded, walked two paces to the stairway and headed up.

Fistlock’s boots marched him forward but his timing was off when he reached the low hung branch. Its bark snagged the waistband of his jogging pants, nearly yanking them down.  Still bent over, Fistlock quit struggling when he heard his pants rip. The boots didn’t wait and walked him forward. Halfway up the steps, Fistlock’s feet refused to lift, sending him sprawling.  From outside the tree home, he heard Bitterbrun yell.

“My forest! My home!  What’s happened?”

Fistlock grumbled to himself as he moved up the remaining steps, walking on his knees, his feet held up.  When he reached the doorway he looked outside.

Instead of forest, he saw grassland, and patches of scrub-brush that covered gently rolling hills.  Looking upward he saw what was left of Bitterbrun’s tree.  The thick trunk ended five feet above the doorway, and withered to a point the size of Fistlock’s thumb. The tree looked like a giant stub of those pencil things on Earth that Angstrom used at school. Peering around the tree he saw the last wisps of pink and blue fog fade.  It revealed a pile of rubble a quarter mile away that Fistlock knew was the remains of his own home, Crystal Mountain.  Both men stared silently until Fistlock broke the silence.

“At least Army’s magic saved us from the time-mist,” he said softly.  “But I doubt she’ll be able to save us from Gristle-tooth.”