Steven Fisher - [Merryvale 02] - Seeking Sarah (retail) (pdf)

Seeking Sarah The Second Adventure in the Merryvale Series

by Steven Fisher

ISBN: 0-7443-0309-5 Copyright 2000 by Steven Fisher All Rights Reserved Published by SynergEbooks www.SynergEbooks.com

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It started with that idiot horse. A horse who licked my whole face with a really gross tongue, then stuck his nose next to my head and gave an ear-splitting whinny! Sitting beneath a pine tree and reading a book, I was minding my own business when he deafened me as effectively as if he’d whacked me up alongside the head with a board. At that point in time, I could have cared less about horses. In fact, I never thought of them at all, other than as giant poop factories, but there was no way I could ignore this horse. That seemed to be what the animal had in mind because it walked out from behind the tree and looked me over with a smug glint in its eyes as if I were the inferior creature and not it. “Pet food!” I yelled to scare it away. “Hay burner! Fleabag! Glue factory!” Because he’d stunned my hearing, my voice sounded a million miles away. It cocked a brown eye at me in amusement. As far as I was a judge of horseflesh, it appeared to be a stallion and an exceptionally fine one although I certainly wasn’t going to tell him that. His coat was a sleek jet black and the tail was held proudly aloft. It was a horse that seemed both uncommonly large and uncommonly elegant.

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“You’re a thoroughbred,” I said as my hearing began to return. “You’ve escaped from the race track. Well, I’m not going to take you back so don’t worry about it. Just go away.” The horse sniffed as if insulted. "First of all, I am not a mere thoroughbred. I am a Morethanthoroughlybred. Second, I’ve come to take you back, not other way around.” I stared at the horse in astonishment, only because it spoke but for reasons I couldn’t fathom, a talking horse seemed a perfectly normal event to me. “Me? Take me back where?” I asked when I recovered my wits. “To where you’ve always wanted to go, Lorelei.” “Where’s that?” I asked. “And how did you know my name?” “To wherever it is that I happen to be,” the horse said with an arrogant toss of its head. "Why in the world would I want to be anywhere that you were?” “Because,” it said with complete assurance, “I am Godolphin, and wherever I stand is, without a doubt, the most interesting and exciting place in the world.” “Or the universe,” it added. “Oh, I’m sure that’s true,” I said in the most acid tone I

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could manage while thinking, Exactly like some boys at school, he's full of himself and hot air. This thought startled me because I couldn't remember the name of the school or of any of the boys in it. It was all too maddening so I settled for glaring at the stallion as a grave expression settled on his handsome but obnoxious face. “Well, what are you so serious about?” I demanded. “Did you realize all of a sudden how ridiculous you are?” Godolphin snorted. “I am never ridiculous. another reason you should come with me.”

There is

“That’s funny. I can’t think of a single one.” “Sarah.” “Sarah who?” I asked, annoyed at this horse’s habit of speaking in riddles. “Your best friend.” “I don’t have a best friend named Sarah." “She’s lost." “Well, I’m very sorry about that,” I said, "but I don’t know her.” Godolphin lowered his head, stared intently at me and asked, “You don’t remember her?” “Why should I?”

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The stallion muttered half to himself and half to me, “It’s already gone too far.” “I’ll agree with that statement.,” I said. “I’m sitting here peacefully, reading my book when I’m interrupted by a talking horse—which is impossible, of course—who's got a big head and a rude manner. It’s not in the nature of things to go this way.” I swear the stallion smiled as he said, “Sometimes, the nature of things is not what is seems. “What do you mean?” He nodded at the dog-eared volume lying in my lap. “What are you reading?” “Schopenhauer. See?” “What’s the book about?” “What do you mean, what is it about?” “Tell me what it means,” he said. To my astonishment, I drew a blank. I didn’t have a clue as to what was on the pages. “I thought so,” Godolphin said. “There's something terribly amiss here. Twelve-year-old girls don’t read German philosophers like Arthur Schopenhauer. Nobody else does, either. German philosophers are, by nature, unreadable. Plus, he hated women; therefore, young girls don’t read books by men who dislike females. Finally, and this is most important, Schopenhauer was a pessimist. Do you know what that means?”

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“Of course,” I said. “It’s someone who believes things will always go wrong instead of right.” “Good answer. In Schopenhauer’s case, however, it doesn’t go far enough. He believed that the world is fundamentally evil. Do you believe that, Lorelei?” “No, evil things happen, but the world itself isn’t evil. Life is good. At least, I think it is.” I wasn’t so sure at the moment - about anything. “How long have I been sitting under this tree? And where am I?” Godolphin looked satisfied. “Those are questions you should be asking. As to how long you’ve been here, the answer is too long, much too long. Events have been moving without you. As to where you are, well, the answer is miles from home. Six hundred to be exact. You’re in the Black Hills sitting beneath a lodgepole pine on a place called Harney Peak.” “Where’s home?” I asked. It was Godolphin’s turn for astonishment. “Worse than I thought! Worse, worse, and worse.” “Why do you say that?” He turned a grave eye on me. “Everyone who has a home always remembers it. Always.” “Then why don’t I?” The stallion took a deep breath as if reluctant to tell me.

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“Do you remember anything?” he asked. “No,” I said. “And stop stalling. Whatever it is, it can’t be all that bad.” Godolphin laughed. We’ll need it.”

“There’s spirit in you, yet.

Good.

“Stop stalling,” I said again. “There is a man…” he began, stopped and then started again. “A man. That’s the only way I can describe him, although he’s more than a man - and less, much less. Like Schopenhauer, he believes that the world is fundamentally evil, but there’s a big difference between Schopenhauer and Quashnik.” “That’s his name - Quashnik?” I asked. "What a stupid name!" “Don’t interrupt,” the stallion said. story out.”

“I need to get this

I ignored his order and asked, “What’s the difference between the two?” “Schopenhauer believed the world is fundamentally evil, but he was not happy about it. Quashnik not only believes the world is fundamentally evil, but believes it isn’t evil enough! He’s delighted at the prospect of helping things head in that direction.” “Is he one of those people who wants the world to come to an end?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t going to be asked to head off some final catastrophe. I was pretty sure I

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wouldn’t be up to preventing the end of the world. “No,” he said. “Why would he want that? It would spoil his fun. No, he wants the world to go on forever - on his terms. If he gets his way, it would be torture without end for all of us. In fact, he’s already started the process.” I looked around. Everything seemed pretty normal, and I told Godolphin so. “Quashnik is not your run-of-the-mill villain,” he said. “He’s subtle, and he has a sense of humor. You’ve already seen it.” “I have? Where?” “That book,” he said. “For most people, reading German philosophers for five minutes is a form of exquisite torture. If I hadn’t come along, you could have been reading Schopenhauer for the rest of eternity or at least until Quashnik thought up something worse.” I read a couple of lines in the book - really read them and saw what the stallion meant. I struggled through this sentence: “Every will is a will towards something, has an object, and end of its willing; what then is the final end, or towards what is that will striving that is exhibited to us as the being-in-itself of the world?” “Good grief!” I said, then when I thought about reading that stuff for all eternity, I said it with considerably more feeling. “Good grief!” “See?” Godolphin said. “Although he looks like a simple hired hand – he was hired to help out around the stables – think of Quashnik as an evil magician with an unlimited

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bag of tricks. He can torture you big, or he can torture you small, or he can do both at the same time.” “But why does he want to do this?” The stallion’s head drooped. “That may be the worst thing of all, Lorelei. He has no reason for doing it. He simply does it. He’s amoral.” “What’s that?” “He’s a person who has no sense of right or wrong. Absolutely none. He hasn’t got a clue about principles or moral or rules of civilized behavior. There's one thing you can count on with Quashnik - sooner or later, he will try to hurt you.” I shuddered. “He sounds awful.” “He is,” Godolphin said. “But don’t conjure up any ideas about some foul, slavering beast intent on tearing you limb to limb. Quashnik is smooth, he’s slick, and, worst of all, he can be whatever you want him to be until it's too late for you to do anything about it.” “Then, how will I know him if I see him?” I asked. “You won’t. You can’t trust appearances where he’s concerned, but you can trust your instincts. If the hair rises on the back of your neck, that’s a sign of Quashnik. If your stomach tightens like a fist, that’s a sign of him. The most definite sign is this: if someone touches you, and you get an unbearable urge to wash the slickness from your hands, that’s Quashnik without a doubt.” I shivered and stood up to move about and generate some

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warmth while I said, “You haven’t told me one thing. What am I supposed to do about all this?” “Find Sarah. That’s the first step.” “She’s my best friend, you said?” “That’s right.” I shook my head. “I still don’t remember her.” “Your memory will come back.” “I hope so. Where will I find her?” “With Quashnik.” A thrill of fear ran through me. “Where do I find him?” “Merryvale.” “What’s Merryvale?” I asked. “What and who - that’s what you should be asking,” Godolphin said. “What are you talking about?” I said, irritated at the whole conversation. Nothing made sense, and everything was a riddle. “Can’t you ever speak plainly?” “Merryvale is two things,” he said with a sigh that indicated he felt his patience was being severely tested. “Merryvale is a land, and Merryvale is a person.” Godolphin thought for a moment, then frowned. “It’s so difficult to explain to earth-bound people.”

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“Earth-bound? I suppose Merryvale lives in outer space or some other weird place.” “Oh, good grief, nothing so mundane as that,” the stallion said. “Space is fixed in the same spot, just as the earth and the planets are all fixed in their orbits. Merryvale is wherever it wants to be because Merryvale carries her own country with her.” I tried a joke. “She must get tired.” “A wheezer,” the horse complained. “What’s a wheezer?” I asked. “A joke so old it wheezes. You just told one.” “I didn’t think it was that bad.” “I know,” Godolphin said. “That’s a good indication of the trouble. The joke wasn’t nearly bad enough, but never mind that. The point is, wherever Merryvale is, that’s where Merryvale is.” “Oh, that makes a lot of sense!” I said, still annoyed he hadn’t laughed at my joke. “Be quiet!” he ordered. “The land of Merryvale is full of magnificent creatures like me who have adventure for the three main meals and danger for snacks. We don’t live any longer than anyone else but Merryvale the person lets us live ten lives at once so we feel immortal, and there’s “ “Ten lives?” I shouted. “Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone

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gets only one life, except for cats, and they only get nine.. And, even if it were possible, how could you live so many lives simultaneously? It’d be utterly maddening.” “Not as bad as having a conversation with you,” the stallion said, plainly put out at my interruption. “As to the cats, where do you think they got the idea? That’s right, from Merryvale.” “Why didn’t they get ten?” I said to poke a hole in his cocksure attitude. “They know their place,” he said. “It wouldn’t do for them to have as many lives as a horse or a human being.” “I suppose horses get more lives than a person?”. “Some do,” he admitted. “Of course. How many do you get - a hundred?” Insulted , he raised his head high and shook his mane vigorously. “Oh no, far more than that.” “More! How many more?” “I’m not sure, to tell the truth,” the stallion answered. “The last time I counted, dinosaurs bellowed in the swamps.” “Horse, you’re probably as big a liar as a dinosaur. How old are you supposed to be, anyway? He thought about it for a moment, then said simply, “Older than the earth, but younger than the universe.”

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I didn’t even want to think about such nonsense so I returned to the idea of simultaneous lives. “I still say it’s impossible to live several lives at once. How can it be done?” “Oh, that’s easy,” he said. “Except for your original life, you don’t live a whole life at once. You live half a life, the best half usually. That gives you a very long half-life so you feel like you’re living forever. Then, you live each one slightly out of phase with the other.” “But how do you move from one life to another?” “Nothing to it once Merryvale shows you how.” “How do you know when you’re going to…?” “Die?” he said. “Oh, after a while, nothing phases you. You can’t move into other lives. They drop away like leaves off a tree. That’s when you know your time is close.” Godolphin was a magnificent fibber, but he had style for a horse, I had to admit that. “I still think one life is enough for anybody,” I said, not willing to let him know that the Merryvale place/person sounded more interesting all the time. “It is enough for anybody,” Godolphin said. “But we are not just anybody. We are the inhabitants of Merryvale. And I am the principal inhabitant - behind Merryvale herself, of course.” “I can only hope that she’s not as arrogant as you are,” I

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said. I had the feeling that the word pompous had been invented for this huge stallion and could not help trying to puncture his enormous ego. His reply showed that my efforts were futile. “Oh, she’s twice as arrogant as I am,” the horse said. “Maybe three times. But then, she’s Merryvale with eyes of warm frost and hair of molten ice and eyebrows of coal black. Merryvale is… Merryvale. There’s no other way to describe her.” “You sound like you’re in love with her.". “Nonsense, the world is in love with me!” Godolphin said, then added, “Of course, if I were to love a mere human, Merryvale would be the one. She comes close to reaching my unmeetable standards.” “Oh, puke!” I said. The horse grimaced, then said, “You may just do that, you know.” “What do you mean?” “If you want to go to Merryvale, there’s only one way.” “And what’s that?” I asked. “You have to fly. Are you afraid of flying? Do you get airsick?.” "No," I answered. "At least, I don't think so. I don't really remember, but if I do get sick, I'll just use a barf bag." "Oh, please," Godolphin said in disgust. "I do not carry

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such things." "What are you talking about? You're not an air – oh, no, don't tell me. You can fly." "Of course." “What kind of silly land is this that you can only get to it on a flying horse?” “It’s a very particular land,” Godolphin said. “Very particular, like me. Flying horses are the preferred mode of transportation. Unicorns are a close second. Then, griffins. Those with little imagination may arrive on a hippo. On occasion, Ford Fairmonts are allowed on a hardship basis. That’s how you arrived the first time, you know. Merryvale may be arrogant, but she is merciful.” “I did what?” “Arrived in a Ford Fairmont with your Dad and Sarah,” the horse said. “A most tacky arrival, I must say, but allowances must be made for the ignorant.” “You’re so kind,” I said as sarcastically as possible. “You’re welcome.” The stallion was most infuriating. when he was being insulted!

He didn’t even know

“Well?” he asked. “Well, what?” “If we’re going to Merryvale, you have to hop on.”

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“Hop up on what?” “Don’t be a stupid little girl,” he said. “On my back. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re ready. You’re wearing riding boots and breeches.” I looked down, and that's exactly what I was wearing which meant that I must ride horses. I studied Godolphin carefully. I had heard somewhere that you should never go off alone with strangers, but nothing had been said about strange horses who could talk your ear off. The rules definitely seemed bent here, and there was a strange thrill running up and down my spine as if I had to see what there would be to see on the back of this horse. But I was scared at the same time. It didn’t seem right. I didn’t like horses. At least, I didn't like this particular stallion, but girls are supposed to like horses. It was all too confusing. Then I looked down at the book of Schopenhauer, and it was decided. Nothing could be worse than reading a book of German philosophy. I was going with Godolphin! There was only one problem. The horse looked ten feet tall. How was I going to get up there? The stallion solved the problem for me. He bent his enormous head and fastened his teeth into my riding breeches. Then he flipped me over his head and onto his back. “Oooof!” I said as I landed hard. “Did you have to do it that way?”

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“When you ride Godolphin, you mount the way I choose,” he said in his all-too-familiar conceited tone. “Because there are few who do ride me.” “Oooh, I’m really honored, I’m sure,” I said. “You should be,” he said, unperturbed by my sarcasm. “Are you ready?” “Are you sure this is the only way to - whooooooooooa!” The stallion didn’t wait for my answer. He launched himself into the air, and we sped skyward toward, I assumed, Merryvale which was both a person and a place, and I was getting there by a winged, talking horse which didn't exist. It was all very confusing, so there was nothing left to do but trust Godolphin.

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Chapter 2 I don’t know how fast we were going. Faster than time itself, I suspected. That’s because when I looked down from the stallion’s back I saw the earth far below, but not one earth – several earths overlapping each other like coins arranged carefully upon a starry table. It was eerily quiet, no wind rushing past us at all. I leaned forward and asked Godolphin the obvious question. “W-where are we?” “When, not where, that’s the proper question,” the horse said. “Well, when are we?” “Oh, half past now and well on our way to then, that’s when we are,” he responded while nodding his head downward and asking, “What do you see?” “I see 23 earths.” “Notice anything unusual?” “I’d say 23 earths is pretty unusual!” Godolphin snorted with impatience. one, that’s our destination.”

“Look at the last

“It’s a different color!' I exclaimed. “The seas are all vomit green and the land is a liver brown and the clouds

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are fever red! It makes me sick just to look at it.” “It's Quashnik's work,” Godolphin said. “He hates earth tones. That’s his idea of a joke.” “The man is evil!” “Infinitely,” the stallion agreed, then broke into a gallop toward the last earth. Behind us, Godolphin left a trail like a comet, a beautiful silver streak across the black pages of time. The streak disappeared as soon as we hit the clouds. They swirled about us, a red mist of madness that dripped blood instead of moisture. Dread voices gibbered from upsidedown faces that parted the fog with bony fingers to leer at us. I hugged Godolphin’s neck and closed my eyes. “There’s worse to come,” he shouted over the buffeting wind, “and it’s real, remember that. It’s not your imagination.” “I’m scared, Godolphin!” “You should be,” he answered. “But you’re strong and smart and the most stubborn girl I’ve ever met - more stubborn than a certain pony I could name.” “What pony?” “Never mind. him.”

If this all works out, you’ll remember

“Well, I’m not stubborn,” I said.

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The stallion snorted. “You’re so stubborn, it takes a team of mules to change your mind.” “I am not stubborn!” I insisted. He ignored me and said, “You can get through this. In fact, you may be the only one. Just remember what Merryvale taught you!” “But, that’s just it, I can’t remember what she told me!” I said. “I can’t remember anything anybody has told me.” “Confidence is the key, that’s what she taught you! Confidence is the key!” “Confidence in what?” “Yourself, of course!” The wind shrieked at us. Or was it the voices? I wasn’t sure, but as we plunged downward, I sweating and freezing at the same time, and my stomach was doing its best to crawl out of my mouth. I wanted to leap off Godolphin and yet couldn’t let go, so I did the only thing I could think of to do. I repeated the words the stallion had told me. “Confidence is the key, confidence is the key, confidence is the key!” I shouted. With each repetition, I felt a bit better. We broke out of the bloody clouds, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, Godolphin lurched and swerved so violently I was almost thrown off.

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“What in the world is the matter with you?” I said crossly. “Well?” I demanded when he didn’t answer. “Behind!” was the only answer he could manage as he bolted across the sky. I turned and looked behind. Directly at death.

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Chapter 3

Death is not always just one thing. Sometimes, death is a pack. Behind us, giant hyenas flew, their eyes shining with lust for the kill. Insane giggling reached my ears. “Hyenas can’t fly!” I said, shouting the obvious to Godolphin. “These are Quashnik’s animals. They’re different, more evidence of his twisted sense of humor.” The pack slavered across the sky, creating an obscene rain that dripped from their panting jaws toward the liverbrown earth. “I don’t see anything funny about them!” I cried. “He made them to fly and re-named them Highenas, ” Godolphin said, “H-i-g-h-e-n-a-s. They’re like hyenas in every other respect, though. When they smell blood, they come scavenging.” “But we’re not bleeding,” I pointed out. “Look ahead, Lorelei!” A frantic horse galloped-flew ahead of us. It was finelyboned, and I guessed it was a mare. Red streamed down its rear flank, and drops of blood scattered on the wind. The horse’s rider had both hands clenched in the mane and was urging the mare on to greater speed. “Who’s that?” I shouted.

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“Temperament Patty.” “Temperament Patty? girl?”

What kind of name is that for a

“I’m talking about the mare,” Godolphin said. “The name fits. She’s a Badlybred.” “I don’t know much about horses, but I never heard of that breed.” “Few people like to hear about them,” the stallion said. “I'll bet Godolphin slashed her so the blood would draw the Highenas. That'd be his idea of sport. Now stop asking questions so I can concentrate on what I’m doing. Hang on!” With that remark, Godolphin put on a burst of speed that took him beyond a gallop. We looped upwards and then back down right behind the pack. I expected him to blow right through the Highenas, scattering them across the sky. Instead, he studied the situation for a split second, then lifted and dived down on the leader. The Highena sensed the threat and turned its shaggy-filthy head to meet us, but it was too late. Godolphin kicked out a leg as he swooped past. The leader screamed and tumbled downward, its back broken. The rest of the pack milled about in confusion, and the stallion added to it by sweeping through their ranks and nipping at flanks with bared teeth. The Highenas broke and ran. Godolphin hovered as we watched them disappear into bloody red clouds. “Hyenas -both the regular kind and Quashnik’s - are

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matriarchies,” the stallion said. “Do you know what that means?” “I’m not stupid, you know,” I answered. “It means the females rule the pack, not males.” “Right,” he said. “That’s why I went after the leader. Take her out, and the pack doesn’t know what to do.” I shivered at the thought of what would have happened if those animals had caught up with us. “They won’t be back will they?” “Not soon, anyway. Once the leader is gone, it takes them a while to get organized and select a new one.” “I hope they never get organized,” I said. “I don’t An aggrieved voice interrupted me. “And I certainly hope you don’t take so long next time.” Next to us was the white, blue-eyed mare and sitting on her was a blonde, blue-eyed girl. The mare had a bloody slash mark on her side, but the wound didn't seem to have any effect on her haughty attitude. Godolphin snorted. “I suppose you would have taken that pack on by yourself if I hadn’t showed up in time.” “Of course,” the mare said with a theatrical shake of her head. “Well, you were headed in the wrong Temperament Patty,” the stallion pointed out.

direction,

The mare sniffed, but didn’t say anything, and I

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suppressed a giggle. I liked her even though she didn’t seem very grateful to Godolphin. Her rider burst out, “He let us go! Quashnik let us go. Or that’s what I thought at first, but it was just for sport. He said his Highenas needed the exercise. Then, he slashed Patty and set the pack on us. Thank goodness she’s fast.” A bewildered look crossed the girl's face, and she added, “I didn’t know I could ride so well. In fact, I don’t remember riding horses at all.” I bent to whisper to Godolphin, “Who is she? Do I know her?” At the sound of my voice, the girl looked at me for the first time. “Who’s she?” she asked the stallion. “Who are you? And who am I riding?” Godolphin sighed and said to Temperament Patty, “She doesn’t remember, either?” The mare shook her mane to confirm what he'd said. “This is terrible.” “I agree,” Godolphin said. “That’s why we need to remedy the situation. Let’s start with the basics. You are Lorelei, and you are Sarah. You are best friends. We came here not only to save Sarah, but to work together to retrieve your memories. Quashnik stole them and locked them away somewhere.” “How can you steal memories?” I asked. “They aren’t real.”

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“On the contrary,” the stallion said. “Without your memories, you’re nothing. And, in this case it’s worse than that.” “What could be worse than Sarah and me being nothing?” I asked. “All of us being nothing.” “Explain yourself,” Sarah demanded. “He stole your memories because it was the surest way to get to Merryvale. Then, he let you go when Merryvale came to save you, and he captured her. Your memories aren’t important.” “Well, thanks a lot,” I said. “Your memories aren’t important,” he repeated with emphasis, “because they aren’t big enough for his purposes.” “He wanted Merryvale’s memories,” Temperament Patty confirmed. “That’s right,” Godolphin said. “Merryvale’s memories span every dimension known to men and women and even those known to horses. They span space and time. They span - well, never mind. For all practical purposes, she remembers everything. “So, what does that mean?” Sarah asked. “It means that Quashnik wants to make her memories his and his alone. Then, the giant Quashnik memory will suck

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all other memories in - everybody’s - and never let them go.” “How will he do that?” I asked. “Does he have some sort of machine?” “He doesn’t need one,” Godolphin said. “All he needs is the coldness of his heart. It’s like a neutron star, a black hole, with gravity so heavy nothing can escape. Merryvale’s only weakness is children, and he knows it. If he keeps tricking boys and girls and stealing your memories, she has to surrender eventually. She can’t stand seeing children hurt.” “What happens when all memories are gone?” I asked. “We remember only what Quashnik wants us to remember. We no longer have our own lives. We experience only what he wants us to experience. “ “Is that so bad?” I asked, already afraid of the answer I would get. Godolphin snorted and said, “Think of it, girl! Suppose he gets it into his head that it would be amusing to put the memory of one of his Highenas into your head - or, worse, the entire pack?” I shuddered at the thought of it. “Then he tells you that Sarah is a gazelle and your natural prey. You’d end up attacking your best friend - and eating her, if you could.” “That’s enough!” I cried. “I don’t want to hear anymore!”

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“I should think not,” Temperament Patty said. “But how do we stop Quashnik, that’s the question that needs answering.” “Exactly,” agreed the stallion. “First, we must find him and quickly. We can’t do anything until we confront him. We - we – “ “What wrong?” I asked as Godolphin faltered. “It - it may be too late,” he said after a moment. He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of bad thoughts. “Is it happening already?” Temperament Patty asked, nuzzling his neck as if to give him comfort. “Yes,” he said with an effort. “A memory just flashed through my mind.” “A memory of what?” I asked. “Of another horse.” “That’s not so bad, is it?” “It was…the memory of a horse, a thoroughbred racing horse, With a broken leg. A horse that could run no more and about to be put down by a human.” “Oh, no!” Sarah and I cried at the same time. “The memory was bad enough,” Godolphin said, “but it tells us something worse.” “What?” I asked.

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“Two things. Merryvale is weakening. And Quashnik knows we’re coming and will do anything to stop us.” “We’d better get going then,” Sarah said. “Yes,” the stallion agreed, “but there’s something we all have to agree on before we start.” “What’s that?” I asked. “We just got a sample of what Quashnik can do. As we get closer, he’ll be stronger. He’ll do his best to take over one of us – or all of us, if he can. Whoever manages to stay out of his control has to do what needs to be done.” “What do you mean?” Sarah asked. “I mean, nothing must stop us from getting to Quashnik, not even friends who aren't friends any more.” We were silent for a moment, then I said, “I can’t hurt anyone, especially friends.” “I hope you don’t have to,” Godolphin said. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, either, but, remember, if Quashnik succeeds, the world will be a place of unending pain for all of us. Just keep that in mind. And one other thing.” “What’s that?” I asked. “Keep confidence in yourself. That’s the key, remember. Keep confidence, and you’ll do the right thing.” It was a simple rule, but somehow hearing it made me feel better. It obviously made Sarah feel better too. She straightened in her saddle and smiled at me.

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“I don’t remember you,” she said, “but I know we’re supposed to be best friends. And I think that’d be a very good idea in our situation, anyway. I’m willing to act as a best friend, if you are.” “It feels right,” I said. “In fact, it’s the only thing that feel right in all this madness. Let’s go find Quashnik.” Without even thinking about it, I dug my heels in Godolphin’s sides and urged him into a gallop. Sarah did the same to Temperament Patty, and we rode back in the direction from which the Quashnik’s Highenas had come. My best friend and I laughed as our hair fanned out on the wind, but beneath it all, I was worried. The stallion had not complained when I put my heels into his flanks, and I already knew that was not normal for Godolphin. He was a horse who went where he wanted when he wanted. What if Quashnik was already inside his head, using memories to turn him into a plow horse – a horse that could not fly? I looked earthward and held my breath. It would be a long drop if Godolphin forgot how to fly It’s always the small things that kill you. Someone had told me that once. I couldn’t remember who it was, but as we flew west, skimming above orange trees with purple leaves, we found out that the statement was true. The sun, a garish chartreuse, was in our eyes so we didn’t see them at first. Even then, they appeared to be nothing more than a gray cloud hanging above a hill, but soon we could see that the cloud was behaving oddly. It was

30

moving up and toward us. “What is it?” I asked Godolphin. He was puzzled as I was at first, then he reared upward, nearly throwing me off. “Another one of Quashnik’s bad jokes!” he shouted.“It’s a swarm of grasshoppers.” “Locusts, I suppose, with an l-o-w,” I said. “You’re catching on,” the stallion said. “Let’s get out of here.” It was too late. The swarm hit us like a hailstorm. It felt like someone was throwing rocks at my entire body. “Godolphin!” I shouted. “I can’t hang on. I can’t -“ “You have to!” I heard him yell above the spattering of Lowcusts. “You have to!” It was too late. The swarm coalesced into a chitinous fist. Then it exploded in my face, and I fell toward Quashnik’s dreaded earth.

31

Chapter 4

A distant, peculiar voice woke me up. Since I hadn’t expected to wake up at all after falling off Godolphin, it was a pleasure to hear anything. At first. Then, I heard the nonsense it was saying. “Listen, would you like to go out with me? I’m really a pretty nice guy when you get to know me.” I lay on my back with my eyes closed, that much I knew. I also knew every muscle in my body hurt, so I wasn’t in much of a shape to go anywhere and yet here was this idiot boy who wanted me to go on a date with him! I opened my eyes to give him a piece of my mind and found I couldn’t say a thing. It wasn’t a boy bending over me. It was a palm. A tree was talking to me! “Hi,” it said. “You haven’t answered my question yet, you know. Would you like to go out with me?” The tree shook its leaves, making it look like a tall, spiny feather duster. “I’m pretty good-looking, aren’t I?” I sat up and held my throbbing head while trying to come up with an answer for the palm. “Ugh!” was all I could manage. Misunderstanding me, the tree reared up, rattling its dry leaves. It sounded like the clashing of knives. “Ugly! I am not ugly! What kind of a thing is that to say to someone

32

who saved your life!” “I didn’t say you were ugly,” I said. “I said ‘Ugh.’ I was talking about how I feel. What do you mean, you saved my life?” “Exactly that,” the tree said. “When you fell off that horse, I caught you.” “Thank you,” I said. The palm waved a frond in dismissal. “Oh, it was nothing, nothing at all. I’m quite good at catching girls, you know. I have lots of dates.” “I’m sure,” I said, “but what happened to the others that were with me?” “Oh, who knows? I wasn’t interested in them. They’re gone, that’s the best I can tell you.” I couldn’t help it. I burst into tears. “But they’re my friends, and I need to help them!” “Who cares?” came the unsympathetic reply. “Would you like to go out with me?” “Uh, isn’t that kind of strange? I mean, you’re a tree, and I’m a human,” I pointed out. The date palm huffed, “Prejudiced, huh? You stick to your own kind, I suppose?” “That’s it,” I said. “I only date boys. Actually, I’m not even dating, yet, if you want to know the truth. I’m only 12 years old.”

33

The tree cocked a frond at me. “Too young? It’s hard to tell with you soft-skins. All humans look alike to me.” “Talk about prejudice,” I said. The palm shrugged. “If the species fits, wear it.” “That doesn’t make any sense.” “It’s not my job to make sense,” it said and seemed to think that its answer was quite sensible. “Where am I?” I asked, trying to change the subject. “In the middle of the Thickest,” the tree said. “The thicket?” “No, no, the Thickest.” “What a dumb name,” I said, looking around. “It looks like a forest to me.” “Oh, it is,” the palm agreed. “It’s simply the thickest around, that’s all. You can’t get out. There’s no way out. None. Zip. Not a chance. It's hopeless unless you’re impossibly stubborn, which you - as plain as day - are not.” The tree paused to catch its breath, then added, “So why don’t you go out on a date with me? There’s nothing else for you to do, you know.” “You’re the only thing that’s impossible around here,” I said. My head hurt, and I felt faint. I reached out to

34

steady myself on a tree. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the date palm said. “Oh, shut up,” I said, cross at his blathering about dates. “Suit yourself,” it said with a sniff. I put my hand against the tree and nothing happened. I gave him a “I-told-you-so” look. “They can’t be trusted,” the palm tree responded “Who can’t be trusted?” I asked. “Eucalyptus.” “What’s that?” “My, we are ignorant of trees, aren’t we?” the date palm said. “You probably know it by a more common name.” “What’s that?” “The gum tree.” “Oh, no!” “Oh, yes,” the palm tree said with a smirk. I tried to pull my hand away from the gum tree’s trunk and got nowhere. It was stuck to another of Quashnik's jokes—the bark was made of sticky gum. “What are you going to do now?” the palm inquired in a sweetly nasty voice.

35

That tone made me lose my temper. “I’m going to do what you always do with gum!” I shouted. “I’m going to chew it!” The date palm raised two fronds as if they were eyebrows. “The whole tree? This I have to see. Indeed, I do. This I have to see.” “Oh, shut up!” I said again, trying to think. It was hard to do. The crazy palm ignored my command and shouted his news to the Thickest. “Hey, we got a soft-skin here who’s going to eat an entire gum tree! Look at this, would you? Cannibal! Cannibal!” Stuck fast, I could only watch as trees began to march toward me. One of them was about 30 feet high and had glossy, leathery leaves that played a song I recognized as “Foggy Mountain Breakdown.” “Let me guess,” I said. “It’s a Banjo tree.” “Banjo Fig,” the fig corrected in a voice heavy with country twang. “Are you the cannibal?” “I’m not a cannibal,” I said. “I’m a girl. A human.” “Same thing,” a bush said with a sneer. It had needles and smelled like a juniper. “No, it’s not,” I said. “Don’t contradict me!” the juniper said. “You are a human; therefore, you are a cannibal. It’s a fact. It’s

36

proven. It’s true. Ipso ficus. Ergo sumac. Quid pro quince.” “I suppose you’re always right,” I said. “Don’t question me!” it snapped. “George is a prickly juniper,” the date palm offered in explanation. “You can’t win. In fact, you can’t win anywhere here, don’t you know that? Like Prickly says, it’s a fact. It’s proven. It’s true.” My head whirled. “Will you people please just shut up and let me think!” I pleaded. “We’re not people!” the prickly juniper said. “Don’t you ever dare call us people! The gall!” It was a madhouse! I shut my eyes and repeated what Godolphin had told me, “Confidence is the key, confidence is the key, confidence is the key!” Then, it struck me. Of course, the Thickest was a madhouse because it was Quashnik’s forest. Strangely enough, that thought calmed me. I didn’t like where I was, but now I knew exactly what I faced. I studied the gum tree. It stretched its elastic bark up into lips with a smirking smile. I ignored it and concentrated on the problem - how do you get rid of gum? You could freeze it, but I had nothing to freeze it with. I could try scraping it off, but I knew that didn’t work in my world and probably wouldn’t work in Quashnik’s. I

37

thought and thought, then decided I’d asked the wrong question. It wasn’t “How do you get rid of gum?” The question was, “What can’t gum resist?” It couldn’t resist hair, but I wasn’t about to offer it mine. I’d be stuck forever. Gum is addicted to the underside of chairs and tables, but I didn’t have either of those. Then, I looked down at my feet. Shoes, of course! Gum can’t resist shoes, especially running shoes like the ones I was wearing. They have soles with lots of deep tracks that make it impossible to get gum out. I knew the eucalyptus wouldn’t be able to resist. I pulled a shoe off with my free hand, then held it close to the tree so it could get a sniff, then pulled it away as if I were teasing a dog with a treat. The gum tree quivered, but refused to let my hand loose. I held the shoe closer. The tree quivered again. “It won’t work, you know,” the eucalyptus said. “I can get the shoe without letting you go.” But it spoke in a reedy, yearning voice that told me it was having trouble holding back. I pushed the shoe closer. The tree groaned and said, “I can’t help it! I just can’t resist sole food!” It bent toward the shoe. I pulled hard at the same time and spun away. My hand was free! The gum tree gurgled with pleasure as it wrapped a couple of branches around my running shoe.

38

“Now to get out of here,” I whispered to myself. “There is no way out of here,” a tree said and burst into tears. “A weeping fig,” I said. “Yes!” it wailed. I was getting the hang of it - of Quashnik’s mind, that is. That’s all these trees were - figments of his imagination. No, not figments, that wasn’t the right term. More like fragments of his imagination. Scattered, crazy fragments. And dangerous, I reminded myself as a different tree approached me. It was coniferous, but its branches bent down toward the ground like a weeping willow. “We haven’t been good hosts,” it said in an oily, resinous voice. “You must be hot and thirsty. May I offer you a drink? It swept aside its branches and showed a sticky liquid bleeding down its trunk. I was thirsty, but I didn’t accept the offer because I couldn’t recognize the type of tree it was. “Go ahead!” it urged. “It’ll take care of your thirst immediately. I made it myself.” I stopped trying to remember its name and made myself think like Quashnik. It took a moment, then I realized there would only be one kind of drink that he would offer me from one of his twisted trees. Hemlock. Poison.

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“No thank you,” I said politely, trying not to give away the fact that I’d recognized the tree’s deadly offering. “You’d refuse our hospitality?” the hemlock said in hurt tones. “I’m not thirsty.” “You’d refuse our hospitality?” it asked again, this time in a threatening voice. “Yes,” I said. “I don’t think so,” the hemlock said. “I have to go,” I said, backing away. “I have to find my friends. They need my help.” The date palm spoke up again. “Oh no, they don’t.” “What do you mean?” “They’re dead.” I refused to believe him and shouted, “No, they’re not!” “Oh yes, they are,” the palm said. “I have it on the best of authority.” “What authority?” “The grapevine, of course.” Tears started. I wiped them away and asked, “How did they die?”

40

The hemlock smirked. “They accepted our hospitality, unlike someone else I could name. Would you care to join them?” I stared at all the trees that surrounded me. A powerful, irresistible wave of sadness swept over me. The hemlock offered its deadly drink again. It would be so easy, so easy to give up. Without friends, the journey would be impossible. That's it, I decided. It's time to give up all useless effort. The world can go on without me. There will always be another girl who can do the job. I bent to the hemlock. The tree poured the bitter liquid into my cupped hands. I stood up and nodded to the approving trees, then bowed my head to drink the welcome poison. Silver wings flashed between the hemlock and me and knocked my hands apart violently. The poison sprayed upward, glittering in Quashnik’s odd sunlight. I was not happy. I wanted that hemlock! Now, I would have to start all over again. I opened my mouth to give the bird a piece of my mind. Only to discover, as it settled into the grass, that it wasn’t a bird. It was a horse! Or a pony. I wasn’t sure. It had the golden mane and color of a Palamino, but it also had short, stubby legs and a

41

fat…barrel. I was pretty sure that was the right term for its stomach and sides. The pony looked like a beer barrel that could walk. The wings were the odd part. They were silver and filigreed and delicate as a remembered kiss. I frowned at that thought. Quashnik would never imagine anything like this animal; therefore, it didn’t belong. “What is wrong with you?” I asked. The pony blinked its liquid brown eyes at me. “You were about to drink a very deadly poison.” “Well, of course, I was,” I said. “When you’re feeling very sad and hopeless, what’s a better cure than hemlock?” “It’s a permanent cure, Lorelei. In other words, it’s no cure at all. Quashnik’s trying to kill you.” “That sounds reasonable to me,” I said. The pony walked closer and looked closely into my eyes. It was very annoying. “What’s my name?” he asked. “How should I know?” “Yeah, how should she know?” the prickly juniper said. The pony glared at the juniper, then kicked it halfway across the clearing. “Stupid bush” he muttered, then turned back to me and

42

repeated his question. “What’s my name?” “Percival,” I said to get rid of him. I had no idea as to what his name was. “That’s not it. Try again.” “Little Lord Fauntleroy.” “Very funny, Lorelei. Try again.” I was getting very irritated and told him so. “I don’t want to try again. I don’t care what your name is. I only want to be left alone.” “That’s right,” the date palm said. “She only wants to be left alone.” He made a signal, and two very tall, threatening palms entered the clearing. “And we have the Royal Palm Guard here to see that she is left alone.” The pony snorted at this threat, then trotted over to the palms and challenged them, “You’re going to keep me from taking the girl out of here?” “That’s right,” the palms rumbled in unison. “Oh, really?” the pony said. “Do you know how I got here?” The royal palms looked at the date palm for an answer. “Stop wasting our time,” the date palm said. “You got

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here by flying, of course.” “Wrong,” the pony said. “I only flew the last few feet.” “Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” the date palm said, stifling a sarcastic yawn. “I got here on my appetite,” the pony said. “Huh?” “I ate my way here. I ate every plant, shrub, and blade of grass that got in my way.” The pony eyed the Royal Palms. “Now I’m beginning to get hungry for something big. Really big.” The two guard palms began to perspire. “In fact, I’ve worked up one heck of an appetite,” he said, then lunged forward, yelling, “and I want something right now!” The sweaty palms screamed and crashed away into the forest. “That wasn’t very nice,” I said. The pony trotted back to me. “It wasn’t intended to be, Lorelei. Now, back to business – what’s my name?” I stamped my foot in frustration. “Can’t you think of anything else to say? I told you, I don’t know your name. I’ve never known your name, and I will never know your name!”

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The pony cocked its head. “You won’t try?” “No!” He gave a sigh and said half to himself, “Okay, it’s time for something drastic.” “Like leaving?” I suggested. “No, Lorelei, not that. This.” Without warning, he turned and flicked his tail across my face. It felt like my head had been knocked ten feet to the left. Then he flicked his tail again, and it felt like it’d been knocked twenty feet to the right. He hit me harder with each stroke, flogging me like some pirate with a cat-onine-tails. I held my hands up to ward off the blows and shouted, “Stop it, you stupid animal, just stop it!” “What’s

my

name?”

he

persisted

in

asking.

“I don’t know!” “What’s my name?” “Fred!” He rapped me again. “George!” And again.

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“Uh, uh, uh!” I sputtered. “Macaroni!” “That’s closer,” the pony said. “Spaghetti!” I was hit in the face again. “Not so close,” he said. “Rigatoni... Lasagna…Vermicelli… Noodles !” “That’s it!” he cried. “It is? Which one?” “The last one.” “Noodles?” “Yes. Now, this is important. How do you spell it?” he asked. What do you mean, how do I spell it?” “Just that. How do you spell it?” “Like everyone else,” I said. “N-o-o-d-e-l-s.” “That’s the right answer!” the pony said. “Of course, it is.” “It’s the right answer because it’s the wrong spelling,” he said.

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“What?” “My name,” he explained. “It’s not spelled correctly. Never has been.” “Well, so what?” “If you don’t know me, then how did you know how to spell my name in that particular way?” I started to tell him, then realized I didn’t know the answer. I studied the pony more closely. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t place it. “I don’t know,” I said. “But I’m still not sure who you are.” “I’m a schooling pony, the smartest of all ponies and horses because I never stop learning,” Noodels said. “And you learned on me.” “Learned what?” “How to ride, how to jump.” “I did?” I thought about it, trying to summon memories. Summer days and blue ribbons flashed vaguely through my mind, but remembering was painful like I was swimming against a powerful ocean tide. “I think I …maybe...I’m not sure,” I said, struggling to find words. “Quashnik is in your mind,” Noodels said. “He’s filling it

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with his thoughts and turning yours to glue. They’re getting stuck inside your mind. You need to fight him.” “With what?” I cried as the pressure increased. “With this!” the pony said, then reared up. Paralyzed, I watched as with great precision, he brought a hoof down on top of my head.

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Chapter 5

I felt sick. I felt hurt. I felt like throwing up. I felt awful! I groaned, not wanting to open my eyes. I tried to recall what had happened to me, then I remembered! That moron of a pony had hit me hard. He could have killed me, and I was going to get him for that! I sat up and regretted it immediately. My brain had turned into a bowling ball that rolled around striking against the sides of my skull. I clapped my hands against my head to keep it from bursting out. “DOES ITHURT, DOES IT doesithurt? ” a voice shouted at me.

hurt,

DOES

ithurt,

“Quiet, please! My head hurts!” I begged the voice and laid back down again. “GET UP, GETup, getupgetup!” the voice urged. “I don’t want to…’ “We haven’t got time for rest, rest, restrest.” “Will you stop repeating everything?” I said. “It’s very annoying.” “I’m not answered.

repeating

anything,

anything,”

the

voice

“You are so!” “No, I’m not!”

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“You are so,” I insisted. ‘‘Not.” That did it. Pain or no pain, I was going to tell this annoyance exactly what I thought of it. I sat up and opened my eyes. “You’re more irritating than that stupid pony - it’s you!” Noodels nodded, shaking his mane. “It is, indeed.” Despite the pain in my head, I stood up and shook a finger at him. “You hit me.” “It was necessary.” “You could have killed me!” “I could have,” he agreed, “but I didn’t. I’m very precise in these matters. I hit you exactly where I wanted to hit you for maximum effect and minimum damage.” I rubbed the top of my head gingerly. “It doesn’t feel like minimum damage to me. Why did you do it, anyway?” “As I told you before, Quashnik was in your mind. There’s only one way to get his thoughts out of your head, and that’s to knock you unconscious. He can’t abide unconsciousness. Then there’s nothing to drive you mad with – like your own thoughts.” “I’m not so sure I like this better,” I said. The pony cocked his head to one side. “Oh, really? Do you remember what you were about to do?”

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“Certainly, I was about to take a nice cool drink.” “Of what?” I wasn’t sure and told him so. “I don’t know. Lemonade or something.” “No,” he said. “You were about to drink hemlock.” My voice squeaked as I asked, “The poison?” “That’s right.” “Nobody in her right mind would do that!” “I couldn’t put it better myself,” the pony said. “You were in a very wrong mind. Or, to put it more accurately, a very wrong mind was in yours.” I sat down hard at the thought of what might have happened and held my body to keep it from trembling too much. Noodels kept watch until I pulled myself back together again. “But how did you find me?” I asked. “Pure luck,” he said. “I happened to be grazing on some very disgusting purple hays when I saw the Lowcusts attack you and the others.” “The others!” I exclaimed. I’d forgotten all about them. “Where are they? Are they all right?”

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“I don’t know,” the pony said. “Lost again, I’m afraid.” I groaned. “What kind of a land is this? People are always getting lost, plants attack you, and everything means something other than what you think it means!” Noodels said, “It’s Quashnik’s land, of course. Or it’s becoming that. When he succeeds, all of us will be condemned to the hell of his memory thefts. Our minds will battle within themselves until they can’t think anymore - then they’ll start all over again, war without end, fought by Quashnik’s ever changing rules.” He paused and looked me directly in the eyes. “That’s a long way of saying that it’s time to go, Lorelei, because there is no time left. We have to find Merryvale and help her. Mount up.” I obeyed, mounted the pony and found my feet nearly dragging on the ground. “You’ve grown,” he said. “Are you sure we can get there in time?” I asked. “You mean, am I strong enough to get us there?” “Well, yes, I guess that’s what I mean.” “I’m no Godolphin,” Noodels said, “but I get the job done. Remember, sometimes it’s an advantage to be small and unspectacular. You tend to be overlooked.” That sounded okay to me. I was sure I didn’t want to be directly in the way of Quashnik’s rage.

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“What about Sarah and Temperament Patty?” I asked. “There’s no time for them now.” “Friends don’t desert friends,” I said. “Your loyalty is admirable,” the pony said. ‘But Quashnik first, then friends; otherwise, there will be no friends.” “Okay,” I said, “but I don’t feel right about it.” “In Quashnik’s land, no one feels right about anything,” Noodels said. “It’s the normal state of affairs.” “Still, it makes me feel very sad, if you want to know the truth. It makes me feel like - OWWWW!” The pony had reached around and nipped my leg. “What did you do that for?” I said as I rubbed the sore spot. “The depression is creeping in again, and I haven’t got time to revive you from another blow to the head,” he said. “Now, concentrate and keep your eyes open. We’re getting out of here.” With that, he trotted across the clearing, pausing to kick the date palm in the trunk, then turned and broke into a full gallop. We lifted quickly into the air, and I was glad to be free of the jungle and its clawing, tearing branches. Until I looked up. Maggot-filled clouds boiled above us. The sky was a rotting carcass.

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Chapter 6

“I can’t do this!” I cried to Noodels as we flew low above the trees. “Those maggots will eat us. We’ll end up like those clouds.” I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being eaten alive by wiggling, crawling white worms. Noodels snorted. “If they eat us, they eat us.” “How can you say that?” “Because there’s nothing else to say,” the pony said. “The worms eat us now, the worms eat us later – unless we get through. You don’t seem to understand, Lorelei.” “Understand what?” “It’s up to us to get through,” Noodels said. “We may be the only ones left who can get the job done.” “We don’t know that for sure.” “No,” the pony agreed. “But what if we are the only ones left? Then it’s our responsibility to find Merryvale and get her away from Quashnik.” I glanced fearfully up at the writhing maggots. “I’ll bet Godolphin is already there. Nobody can beat him.” "Lorelei, he is a great horse with great strength and great beauty and an ego the size of two solar systems. Anyone that proud is a made-to-order victim for someone like Quashnik. Besides, if Godolphin is already there, why are

54

we faced with those disgusting clouds?” I didn’t like to admit it, but he had a point. “We don’t have to fly up into them, do we?” “That depends on Quashnik and you,” the pony said. “Are those maggots one of your worst fears?” “Yes!” “Then we’ll have to fly through them,” he said. “Quashnik will make sure of that. “Just remember, confidence is the key. Confidence in yourself and confidence in me.” "Okay," I said, but I closed my eyes and hugged Noodels tightly as he rose toward the clouds. Confidence or no confidence, I didn’t want to see what was coming. A soft rain spattered against my arms. Surprised, I opened one eye to welcome the unexpected moisture from the clouds and saw instead the white, soft-bodied blotches of legless grubs smashed against my skin. Maggots. A rain of maggots. “Noodels! We can’t—” I tried to yell. I gave up when several grubs crushed themselves against my teeth. I tried desperately not to throw up. I shut my eyes again, tight. The rain of maggots turned into a downpour, but still the pony labored on, stubbornly gaining altitude. I couldn’t understand what he was doing. We had to get out of the storm or die, choked to death on grubs, and he was flying

55

directly into it! I panicked and beat on his neck with my fists to try to get him to stop and dug my heels into his flanks to get him to go faster. He didn’t respond, just bullheadedly kept plowing upward. Burying my face more deeply into his mane, I kept repeating, “Confidence is the key! Confidence is the key! Confidence is the key.” It was the only thing I could do. I hoped that the pony knew what he was doing. If he didn’t, we’d die, drowned in a slimy torrent of maggots. Still we rose. The only sound I could hear was Noodels’ labored breathing and the soft, squishing impact of worms over every inch of my body. Noodels flew forever. He flew out of time and out of mind, and he flew in an endless warm rain of maggots. I held my breath until I could hold it no more, but I refused to open my mouth to let worms in. I'll jump before I let that happen! I vowed to myself and loosened my grip on the pony’s mane. I wished Noodels well. He was a stubborn and confident mount, and he’d done everything he could to help me but enough was enough. I began to dismount. “Keep your seat!” the pony ordered. “And open your eyes, Lorelei.” “I don’t want to,” I said. “It’s disgusting. It’s all disgusting!”

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“Open your eyes!” I did. The downpour was still there, but now it was rain - real, cold, wet, wonderful rain that soaked us completely and washed away the dead bodies of uncounted maggots. We burst out of it and into a rainbow-crossed sky. Above us, the sun shone brightly, sending down its warming rays. I squinted at it, not sure of why its appearance was bothering me. Then, I understood. “It’s the right color!” I shouted. “It’s a golden, wonderful sun.” “For now,” Noodels said. “We’ve temporarily disrupted the flow of Quashnik’s power, but he will not be happy about it.” “Oh, let’s just fly on forever!” I said. “It’s so wonderful to see blue sky and a rainbow and clouds that are clouds.” The urge to leave this earth was overwhelming. Noodels muttered, “Is there no end to his tricks? If he can’t kill you with trouble, then he’ll kill you with happiness.” “What do you mean?” I cried, filled with the most inexplicable and marvelous joy. Noodels brought his head back and nipped me in the leg again, hard. “Owww! You stupid, pig-headed, stubborn, lowlife, ugly,

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short-legged donkey-mule of an excuse for a pony! Why do you keep doing that?” “It’s Quashnik again, Lorelei. He knows what a relief it is to get out of the clouds. He knows the last thing you want to do is face a hail of maggots. He knows you’ll do almost anything to get out of this place.” “He’s right,” I said, feeling the pain from the bite subside and my mind fill with happiness again. “Oh, my,” the pony said with a despondent sigh. “Will this never end?” Then he shook his head violently and bit again – only this time it was his leg. “I can’t let him get to me too,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s time to get going again.” “No!” I cried. “I don’t want to go. I only want the sun and the rainbow and the blue, blue sky.” “No!” Noodels shouted. “We’re going where we have to go.” “Where’s that?” “Back! Back down into those clouds.” I did the only thing I could do. I threw up, then I grabbed the pony’s mane again as he banked and dove down toward clouds writhing with worms. Noodels gathered speed, and the wind ripped at my face. My grip loosened. “Not so fast!” I shrieked at the pony. “I can’t hang on.”

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“You’ll have to,” he yelled. “We have to catch it before it closes.” “Before what closes?” “That,” he said, stretching his neck downward. I leaned to the side to get a better look, and then I saw it. A mad hole in the clouds. A swirling, scabrous tunnel in the form of an enormous, diseased tornado, but it didn’t twist and dance insanely like a tornado. It stayed in one spot, opening and closing like a giant mouth gasping desperately for air. I knew one thing for certain as we dove toward it, and I told Noodels of that certainty. “It wants to swallow usl” “I certainly hope so,” he said. “It’s the only chance we have.” “Are you out of your mind? We’ll die.” “Here, there, what’s the difference? Our only chance is keep going.” “But what is it?” I asked. “A wormhole,” he answered. “Those maggoty clouds came from here. It takes us directly to Quashnik. It’s how he broadcasts his power over the planet, but it’s also the gateway to his diseased mind. Like every weapon, it’s a double-edged sword. It can be used against him as well as by him.”

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My grip slipped again, and I yelled at Noodels, “Slow down, or I’ll fall off!” “I’m not going faster. The wormhole is sucking us in. You have to hang on!” “I can’t! I can’t!” I shouted as a gust tore one hand free. “Lorelei!” Noodels shouted. He whipped his head back and caught my boot as the wind lifted me off his back. I wanted to kiss him for his quick thinking. Then the boot came off.

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Chapter 7

I fell shrieking toward the wormhole. Far ahead of me, Noodels fell also, accelerating faster because of his weight. In a second, he disappeared as the mouth of the wormhole closed upon him. This time I didn’t close my eyes. I couldn’t. The wormhole convulsed as if it had swallowed the pony and was digesting him. He’s being eaten alive! that was the thought that screamed into my head. The wormhole was not a wormhole, but a giant, glistening, naked esophagus that waited for girls and ponies to fall from the sky, and then ate them alive. I flailed my arms and legs about, trying to get away from the beast. If only I could gain a couple of inches, I could miss the wormhole and fall freely into the trees below. I made progress. I moved myself toward the side of the wormhole. As far as I could judge, I would fall a couple of feet clear of the mouth. Then, it would be a clear descent into the forest. I began to have confidence that I would survive. Confidence! The word popped into my head with the clarity and brilliance of a neon sign. I needed to have confidence, all right, but not to fall to the ground. I needed it to dive straight into the wormhole. That was the way – the only way – to Quashnik. If I

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missed the hole, there would be only one result, and I would be of no use to anyone dead. Quashnik was tricking me again! I maneuvered my body around and swam desperately through air that smelled of rotten meat and undigested food. The diseased bodies of dead animals floated up toward me. A cow. A dog. Cats. Then, horses. Godolphin. Noodels. Mares. Stallions. Foals. Hundreds of dead, bloated horses rose out of the mouth of the wormhole. As they passed, every one of them spoke the same message to me. “Useless,” they said from lifeless mouths. “It’s useless, all useless.” “No!” I shouted back at them. “It’s not useless! I’m coming, Quashnik. I’m coming, and you’re scared.” A wave of hot, putrid air blasted upward, trying to push me away. I kept my eyes focused on the center of the convulsive mass and dove through the wind. The mouth began to close. There was nothing I could do to go faster. I could only hope I’d timed my descent right. The mouth closed slowly, teasing me, then snapped shut. My heart sank as fast I was falling. I was going to hit the wormhole and bounce off to my death. There was nothing left to do but close my eyes and say what needed to be said. “Confidence is the key!” I shouted. A second later I hit the mouth, but instead of smashing against a hard surface, I skidded across a slick surface and

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slid straight through into the wormhole ilke a cork popped out of a bottle. It’s slime, I realized. The slime of Quashnik’s mind. It’s dirty. It’s disgusting. And it just saved my life! I opened my eyes to cry out my joy and relief. Instead, I shrieked with terror. The wormhole was gone. So were the maggoty clouds. The sun was out. The sky was blue. I was a thousand feet above the ground and falling fast. Then the strangest thing happened. The fear passed, and I wasn’t scared anymore. Just mad. I was madder than I’d ever been in my whole life. I didn’t care that I’d smack into the ground in a couple of seconds. I sincerely hoped that when I did hit, Quashnik would be in the way. Yet that didn’t sound good enough. It was ridiculous, but as I fell to my death, I began to plot different methods of doing the jerk in. It seemed to be an excellent way of passing what few moments I had left. It even seemed to slow time down so that I had plenty of opportunity to admire the flight of three winged horses streaking down out of the sun. One was a tall, dapple gray Appaloosa, the other a white Arabian with delicate features. The third was – Noodels! Quashnik hadn’t killed him after all. The stubby-legged pony led the others, despite taking two strides to their one. I waved at them and said, “Hi, Noodels! Who are your

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friends?” “You’re falling, Lorelei!” the pony shouted “Of course I am, silly. It seems reasonable, given the situation.” “Well, it’s not. You have to grab on to me if you don’t want do die.” “Oh, who cares?” I said, waving him off. “If I fall on Quashnik, it will be worth it.” “But you’re not going to fall on him! You’re not going to come anywhere near him. He’s in your mind again, trying to convince you that it’s a good thing to fall.” “Oh, no, that couldn’t be right,” I said. “That’s a silly thing to – ” I never got a chance to finish my sentence. Noodels blew by so fast that he sent me into a tumble. I couldn’t tell which way was up, then, with a jarring thump, I was on the pony’s back. The impact knocked my head clear again. “Are you all right?” Noodels asked. I shivered at the thought of what I’d been trying to do – what Quashnik had tried to make me do. “I’m o-o-kay, I think,” I said. “Thank you, Noodels.” “No problem.” “Are they on our side?” I asked, checking the Appaloosa

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and Arabian flanking us. I wasn’t sure of anything, anymore. I’d been chased by Highenas and Lowcusts, talked to trees that wanted to poison me, and flown through maggot-ridden clouds, only to end up falling through a wormhole. The pony laughed. “They are, indeed. Lady is the Quarter Horse, and Bonnie is the Appaloosa. They’re schooling horses like me. Well, almost like me. Lady tends to veer off the gates when jumping and not stay on the subject when talking.” “Humpf,” Lady said. “Nothing could be farther from the truth. It’s just that I’m particular about the gates I want to jump and there aren’t many subjects that can hold my interest for long. Why just the other day, I talked on fortythree subjects in less than an hour and was absolutely fascinating on each one of them. Then –” “And Bonnie,” Noodels interrupted in a loud voice, “lacks concentration; otherwise, she’s a good jumper. Aren’t you, Bonnie?” “What?” she asked, looking distracted. The pony sighed. “Never mind. Faults aside, they have good hearts and know the right thing to do.” “I wish I did,” I said. “What are we going to do, Noodels? Quashnik has me so confused I can’t think straight.” “It’s simple,” he said. “We head down there.” Below us was a ranch. It had a house, two stables, a small track, and two rings, one set up for jumping. There were pickups, horse trailers, and an old railroad car. It looked

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vaguely familiar and comforting, except for one thing. There was a large sign fronting the highway, and it read QUASHNIK’S KEEP. “What’s a keep?” I asked Noodels. “It’s the strongest and securest part of a castle.” “But there is no castle.” “No,” he said, “not in the real sense. Part of it is just Quashnik’s ego. Another part of it is very real. It’s the strongest and securest part of his defenses because Quashnik himself is here.” I shuddered. I couldn’t begin to imagine how ugly the man was after all the torture he’d inflicted upon us. I didn’t want to face him because he might be as hideous as the trees or the maggots, but there was no choice. As we landed in the driveway, a party came out of the stable to meet us. It was Godolphin and Temperament Patty – and Sarah, all alive! And a woman I recognized from Godolphin’s description. A woman with eyes of warm frost and hair of molten ice and eyebrows of coal black. Merryvale! I let out a whoop and jumped to the ground, then came to a sudden stop. There was something wrong. All of them were standing rigid and unmoving as if held by a powerful and invisible force. Their eyes were fixed and staring inward as if looking down into a noisome pit. Sweat poured down faces with

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jaws locked into an unimaginable rictus. There was a struggle going on inside their minds. Out of the shadows of the stable stepped the ugliest man I’d ever seen. Somehow familiar, he was wide as a toad and seemed to squat on the ground although he was standing. He wore a riding costume that was all wrong. The cowboy shirt was three sizes too small. It was green, the same color as his skin. His sharp elbows jutted through holes in the fabric and black bristles of hair stuck out everywhere. He wore tan breeches and black riding boots, but, like the shirt, they were far too small. Boil-ridden knees showed through tears in the breeches, and taloned toes had burst through the leather of the boots. My eyes kept being drawn back to his face. His nose was obscenely broad as if it had been splattered onto his face instead of growing out of it. The scarlet eyes, quick and devious, belonged on a wild boar. Matted hair greased the top of his head. Old bones and bad rags fashioned the ears and the mouth, saliva-flecked at the edges, didn’t bother to hide the leprous, serpent’s tongue that flicked in and out in a quivering motion. He looked down into a pile of old lumber and pulled out a two-by-four. The board had a spike in one end, but it didn’t seem to bother the beast as it tapped the nail into one hand. I gulped. I’d met Quashnik at last.

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Chapter 8

I’d met him - and didn’t know what to do! I couldn’t move my feet. I couldn’t move anything because I was so scared of him. Finally, I moved my mouth. “What now?” I whispered to Noodels. “I can’t fight him. He’s three times my size!” There was no answer. I gave the pony a sharp glance. He had the same fixed stare as the others, and sweat rolled down his face! Lady and Bonnie suffered the same agony. I was alone. Quashnik grinned, lurched toward me.

exposing

yellowed

canines,

and

I still couldn’t move. Behind Quashnik, a figure darted out from the stable door. It was a boy with red hair and green eyes. As he ran toward me, I could see he was dressed in jeans and a blue windbreaker. “Get moving!” he yelled. “Don’t let him get near you!” “I - I - can’t!” “You have to, otherwise he’ll rip you open and feed on your guts. Do you want that?” “No!”

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“Then, let’s go before he gets both of us! Here, give me your hand!” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Noodels straining to move his hoof toward me. It only moved a quarter-inch, but it was enough to trip me. I stumbled and fell, my fingers striking against the boy’s outstretched palm. A feeling burned through me at that touch - the feeling of being totally and awfully wrong. I had an unbearable urge to wash the slickness from my hand. The hair rose on the back of my neck, and my spine tingled. The beast wasn’t Quashnik The boy was! A sneer broke across his face as he looked down on me. The green eyes hardened into shards of cold metal. “You’re the only one left, you know,” he said. “Hardly any challenge at all. One pitiful little girl.” “The beast?” I managed to ask. “Your memory, of course. Don’t you recognize it?” Quashnik snickered. “No, of course not. I took it from you, didn’t I? It used to come into your room when you were five and scare you to death. Your own brain paying you a visit, that’s all it was.” “It’s not real?” I asked. “Not real? Of course, it’s real. You see it, don’t you?” He sighed with crude pleasure. “Memories are such

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wonderful weapons. They come in all shapes and sizes and experiences, and I can use them in any way I want. You’re nothing without your memories.” Quashnik waved a dismissive hand at Sarah and the others. “That’s what they are right now – nothing – because I have all their memories. And you’re next. You are exceptionally stubborn, I’ll give you that. That’s why you’ve lasted so long, but you are now definitely mine.” He stepped back and signaled the beast. “Welcome to a bad memory, Lorelei. It kills the brain and leaves the body to me.” The monster shambled forward, raising the board as it came. I ducked under its swing and ran toward the lumber pile. His weapon reminded me of something and gave me hope. I picked out the biggest board I could find. I ran to Godolphin and whacked him alongside the head as hard as I could. He whinnied at the impact, and I hit him again, crying because I was doing what I swore I would never do to a horse or any other animal Quashnik snickered. “I’ll hit them all for you!” I screamed. “Just keep the beast away from me! Please leave me alone!” I hit Godolphin again. “I like it,” Quashnik said. “It won’t do you any good, but I like it.” “I’ll even hit Noodels,” I shouted. “He’s my favorite.”

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Quashnik shrugged. “Be my guest.” I ducked under the beast’s swing again, ran to Noodels and hit him over the top of his head. Once. Twice. Ten times. I couldn’t stop hitting him. “I love it,” Quashnik said. “Hit him until you can’t hit him anymore.” That was my plan. It was the only chance I had. Noodels had knocked me unconscious to get Quashnik’s thoughts out of my head. There was no way I could knock a horse out, but I hoped I could break the hold on their minds. I continued hitting until Quashnik’s evil chuckle broke off, and I knew he was onto me. I swung one last time as hard as I could. The board broke over Noodels' head. I searched his eyes for signs of recognition. There were none. “Good try,” Quashnik said. “You’re not only stubborn, yet resourceful, but it all came to nothing, didn’t it? You’re still mine. You’re still - WHOAAA!” The despair creeping into me vanished as Godolphin sank his teeth into Quashnik's windbreaker and lifted the "boy" off the ground. He shook Quashnik like a dog shaking a rat. The stallion shook him so hard that he began to blur, and he changed from a boy into a man. Into a snake. Into a wolf. Into a maggot. Into a vulture. Into the beast. His forms were endless it seemed, but Godolphin shook him hard one final time, and, unconscious, Quashnik

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settled into his real form. An ordinary man with limp brown hair and hairless cheeks, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. I was almost disappointed. “I know,” Noodels said,. “It’s always the ordinary ones that are the deadliest because you can’t recognize them coming.” I opened my mouth to speak, and then was knocked flat to the ground. Everyone was, except for Godolphin. I thought there’d been an explosion, but nothing had changed. The stable still stood, and the sky was still blue. Then, I realized what had happened. Memories. A rush of memories, returning to us all, with the force of a bomb. “Sarah! I shouted. “I recognize you. I really know you! And you, Merryvale. And you, Noodels, the bravest of all schooling ponies. I recognize you all!” I ran to Sarah and hugged her, then turned to Merryvale and hugged her even harder. She put her hands on my shoulders and said sternly, “You are so stubborn, it’s exasperating!” Then, she laughed and said, “Don’t ever change! Welcome back to Merryvale.” “But it’s Quashnik’s Merryvale,” I said. “He’s changed

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everything.” “Not for long,” she said. “As you well know, I can do anything, and anything is what I will do. It will all be the same again, which means it will change every day.” I felt a wet nose against my back. “Noodels!” I cried and threw my arms around his neck. “You gave me the idea. I remembered when you knocked me out in the jungle. I just hoped it would work. I’m not that strong.” “Strong enough,” the pony complained. “I have a splitting headache.” “As do I,” Godolphin said through clenched teeth. Quashnik still dangled in the air. “What shall we do with him?” Everyone looked at me. “You’re the one who saved us,” Merryvale said. “You can decide.” “I don’t want that responsibility,” I said. “Can’t we all make the decision?” “Well,” Merryvale said, “we can’t let him get loose again, but I don’t really want to hurt him.” “Me, either,” said Sarah. Everybody nodded their heads in agreement. “Make a decision soon,” Godolphin urged. “My jaw is

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getting tired.” An idea popped into my head, and I asked, “When is Quashnik happiest?” “That’s easy,” Sarah said. “When he thinks he has control of everybody and everything.” “Exactly,” I said. “Let’s give him that memory, then – the memory of all of us under his power. Can you do that, Merryvale? Make him live that memory for the rest of his life?” “Ouch, that’s nasty,” Noodels said, obviously happy with the punishment. “Maybe,” I said. “But he will be happy.” “And he won’t be any danger to us,” Merryvale said. “That’s a good solution, Lorelei.” She turned to the stallion. “Put him down, Godolphin.” The magnificent horse unceremoniously to the ground.

dropped

Quashnik

Merryvale went to him, put her fingers to his temples and closed her eyes. Quashnik went rigid as if fighting the invasion of his mind, then relaxed and slumped to the ground with a smile. Merryvale straightened up and said, “He’ll sleep for a good long while. When he wakes up, he’ll be a happy hired hand who thinks he controls us all.” She looked around at us all and broke into a smile. “Now,

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it’s time for a celebration, I’d say, and what’s the best way to celebrate?” “Go riding!” Sarah and I shouted simultaneously. “That’s right!” she said. “Choose your horses and tack up.” Sarah and I stopped. We looked at each other and knew we were thinking the same thing - which horse to ride. We didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings. Merryvale saw our indecision and took care of it at once. “Since this is such an unusual day, I think we’ll do something different. Instead of tacking up, we’ll do some Roman riding.” Sarah and I cheered. It was great fun to stand barefoot on top of a horse and gallop around the ring. “But we’ll even do the Roman riding a little differently in honor of our victory,” Merryvale added. “Uh - how differently?” I asked. “Flying horses are meant to fly, aren’t they, Lorelei? So, we shall Roman ride in the sky and, if you learn your lessons well, I’ll show you how to leap from horse to horse. That way, every horse gets the honor of having you ride it, and everyone is happy.” “Oh, boy, I don’t know about this,” Sarah said. “Me, either,” I added. “Oh, there’s nothing to it,” Merryvale said. “Just

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remember one rule of thumb, and you’ll be all right.” “What’s the rule of thumb?” I asked. “Don’t leap inside any clouds. They tend to obscure your view, and it's a long way to the ground.” “Clouds?” Sarah yelped. “How high are we going?” Merryvale smiled. “Does it matter? We can’t get any higher than we already are, can we?” There was no disagreeing with that. In a moment, we were standing on the horses and up into the sky. It was fun. It was great fun. It would have been even greater fun if my curiosity hadn’t gotten the better of me. You see, I did leap inside a cloud. But other stories have other times.

The End

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