The Magical Flight of Dodie Rue Page 7

  “Taj was poisoned by Devil’s Kiss. Raz said it’s extremely rare and he doesn’t sell any.”

  “Better keep your eyes and ears open.”

  “You okay to be camp buddies tonight?” Dodie asked Zinnia.

  “Sure,” she replied, sounding sleepy. “Can I trust you not to steal my racer rug or stab me in my sleep?” She said this last part with humor in her voice.

  “You can trust me,” Dodie said sincerely. “Let’s take shifts on guard duty. I’ve got my hour glass. You sleep first. I’ll wake you in two hours.”

  Zinnia rolled over onto her side facing away from Dodie.

  He soon heard her breathing deeply. He knew Zinnia was his competition, and he knew he had to beat her. But in the meantime, he was liking her company, and strongly felt he could trust her. He especially appreciated her sympathy about Taj.

  As the hours crept by, Dodie found his eyelids growing very heavy, and decided to stretch his legs and get his blood circulating again. He paced around a little, keeping Zinnia in his sights. As he paced closer to a nearby campfire, he heard someone coughing violently. Axel was writhing on the ground and gagging. Dodie rushed over to him.

  “Axel! You okay?” Dodie patted him on the back.

  “I . . . can’t . . .” Cough-cough! “. . . breathe . . . get . . .” Cough-cough! “. . . help!” Blood was oozing down his chin.

  Randi and Bae woke up, and huddled around Axel.

  “Hang on!” Dodie dashed for the officials’ yurt. “Help! I need help!”

  Several officials darted out.

  “It’s Axel! He can’t breathe!” Dodie scrambled back to the campsite, the officials right behind him.

  Axel was on his hands and knees, still coughing hoarsely. Randi smacked his back while Bae ran off to fetch water. Oban grabbed Axel’s face in his hands and studied him.

  “Bitter-root poison!” he announced. “I have an antidote in my case!”

  Oban raced off to the yurt and returned with a wooden box. Dodie stood by and watched as the yellow liquid was poured down Axel’s throat. He found himself holding his breath until the antidote started to take effect. Axel’s breathing slowed and soon his coughing subsided.

  “What did you eat?” questioned Oban.

  Axel shook his head. “Only what you gave me.”

  “Did the food ever leave your sight before you ate it?”

  “No, no,” panted Axel. “I took it from you and ate it right away.”

  “And you drank only water from the well?”

  Axel nodded.

  Dodie’s eyes widened. “Axel set down his cup of water for a minute. I thought I saw Nye from Alsta do something behind him. I thought I saw a little glass bottle.”

  “Find Nye from Alsta!”

  Two officials fanned out to find the racer. Bae returned with a cup of water and offered it to Axel, but he pushed the water away. Suddenly they heard excited voices at a campfire on the other side of the yurt. Dodie expected to see the officials return with Nye in shackles, but they came back empty-handed.

  “He was clean,” reported one.

  “Really?” asked Dodie in disbelief. “I’m sure he poisoned Axel.”

  “Perhaps yes, perhaps no. Without evidence, we can’t disqualify him. Best watch out for him.”

  “Will Axel be okay?” Dodie looked down at his kinsman who in the warm firelight looked green.

  Oban shook his head. “Axel is not safe until he passes the poison completely. He must drink the antidote every hour until the poison leaves his body. I’m afraid the race is over for him.”

  Axel groaned, but couldn’t find the strength to argue. Randi and Bae gave him farewell pats on the shoulders. The officials lifted Axel and carried him into their yurt where they would nurse him back to health.

  Dodie ran back to his campsite where he found Zinnia awake.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  Dodie told her about Axel and his suspicion that Nye was the poisoner.

  “You’ve got another suspect, then” said Zinnia. “Nye was at the Magistrate’s feast, right? I wouldn’t put it past him to do something horrible like poison Taj. He’s not to be trusted, believe me.”

  “He’s from your village, right? You know him well?”

  “I wish I didn’t.” Zinnia turned Dodie’s hour glass over. “Your turn to sleep.”

  Dodie laid down and soon fell into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter 8

  “Psst! Wake up.”

  Dodie snapped awake and sat up, blinking around at the dying campfire, his rolled up racer rug, and the masked face peering close to his. Then he remembered where he was.

  “It’s your turn to watch,” Zinnia whispered as she laid her head on her rolled up carpet.

  “Right.” Dodie scooted closer to the low flames, feeling the coldness of impending dawn.

  The sky was changing from black to deep blue, and the stars were losing their vibrancy. The moon was westward bound, and soon the sun would be chasing away all remnants of the night. Dodie would feel better once daylight came, for now that the campfires were dying out, the shadowy lumps of bodies sleeping looked creepy. He had never been a fan of the darkness, and he often had vivid dreams that made him cry out in his sleep. Taj was always there to wake him from his nightmares and remind him he was fine. Taj made him feel safe, but right now Taj was far away, trapped in his own nightmare. Dodie shuddered.

  He passed the next hour refreshing his memory of the Grand Flyer course for the second day. He held the map close to the weak firelight. Today the course would take him northeast across the Dead Lands where the terrain turned from sandy to rocky. Right after the first noon-day pit stop, he would race through a steep canyon called Quillian’s Pass. By the looks of it, getting through the canyon would take up most of the day, then the checkpoint was just on the northern side. Dodie didn’t think it would be too dangerous, but he had already underestimated the course yesterday.

  Next he unrolled his grandfather’s secret map, after making sure no one was awake yet, and checked it for any clues to navigating the day’s course. Sure enough there were a few small sketches of rocks and the canyon, and a few notes scrawled next to them: Abbra-Kadabbra for protection, said one note. Another note said, Refuge Q. Right now these made no sense, but Dodie made a mental note for later. As the eastern sky glowed with rosy light, Oban emerged from the large yurt and headed over to Dodie.

  “Good morning,” he greeted in a whisper, his face beaming with excitement again. He handed the boy a clay bowl of yogurt sprinkled with cinnamon, a cup of steaming coffee, and a wedge of pita bread. “You have permission to take off as soon as you’re ready. Dawn is nearly upon us. Good luck!”

  Dodie used the pita bread like a spoon to eat the yogurt. He washed down the bread with the coffee, which warmed and energized him. He tied on his sandals, pulled on his head mask, secured his waist pouch behind him, and picked up Phoenix. He stood for a moment over Zinnia, watching her sleep, then bent down and nudged her softly.

  She grunted and rolled over.

  “I have to take off,” Dodie whispered. “You gonna be okay?”

  “Fine.” Zinnia sounded a little grumpy.

  “Maybe I’ll see you at the pit stop. Good luck.” Dodie carried his rug on his shoulder and picked his way around the other racers who were stirring.

  At the edge of the camp, he mounted his carpet. He could see better now that the sky was lightening, and he checked his compass to be sure he was heading in a northeast direction. Lastly, he rummaged around behind him in his waist pouch and found a small vial of Binni’s bright pink potion. He wanted to take the dose as late as possible so it would last as long as possible that day. If he took it too early before sunrise it might not last until sunset. The other racers were now awake, stretching and yawning and eating their breakfast. He had
to leave now if he wanted to make the most of his head start. He uncorked the vial, and choked down the bitter potion, which bubbled as it slid down his throat. He tossed the empty vial into the sand, and gripped the braided loops on his carpet.

  With barely a thought, he shot off into the pink sky. He shivered slightly in the cool morning air, and guided Phoenix lower to where the air was not quite so fresh. Soon the checkpoint was too tiny to see, and vast desert engulfed his vision. The sun rose, and Dodie wondered who would be first behind him. It wouldn’t be Axel, that much he knew.

  He was sure Nye had poisoned Axel’s water, and wondered if he had any connection to Taj’s poisoning. Maybe over the next two days Dodie would be able to discover the perpetrator. How great would it be to not only return to Turah the victor of the Grand Flyer and the savior of his family, but also the discoverer of the culprit?! Whatever happened, he prayed justice would be served.

  Dodie felt exhilarated, partly from the beautiful blue sky, vibrant reddish dunes, and crisp air washing over him as he flew. But mainly he felt exhilarated by the desire—no, the need—to win this race.

  With no one else nearby, he enjoyed his early morning flight, and experimented with different moves on Phoenix. He practiced a few nose dives and quick pull ups to avoid hitting the ground. He swooped from side to side, and zig-zagged. Although there were no walls in his path to practice on, he went through the motions of threading. He was able to keep his balance and bring Phoenix almost completely sideways. He knew it was much trickier to fly this way inches from a wall without snagging on it, but he felt more confident knowing he could get into a threading position. It also helped that no one was around to watch him.

  By late morning, the landscape had changed from sandy desert to rocky terrain as he entered the Dead Lands. Here and there columns of red rock spiked up from the ground, and boulders as large as houses defended the earth. Dodie had to watch his flight path more carefully, for a few times he narrowly missed running into a tall rock column or outcrop. As the morning wore on, the temperature rose. The sun’s heat radiated off the rocky terrain. There was still no sign of any racers, and Dodie was feeling good . . .

  . . . Until he sighted something strange below him. Carved into the side of a rocky hill was what looked like the front of an ancient temple. The face of the rock was smooth and ornately decorated with molding and scroll work. A small open doorway stood at the foot of the hill. This rocky hill with its carved face stood directly on the race course.

  Dodie slowed as he neared it, for he had a feeling of foreboding. He remembered the sketch of a rock on his grandfather’s map and wondered if this was it. Halting and hovering in mid-air, he fished out the secret map to check it again. The sketch of the rock was labeled merely Tomb with the note Abbra-Kadabbra for protection.

  Stuffing the map away in his waist pouch, Dodie continued on toward the tomb. The wind was gustier, and Dodie had to hold on tightly as he started to slowly pass over the rocky hill with its tomb.

  “Help! Please, someone help me!” a voice rang out from the boulders below.

  Dodie pulled up quickly and searched below him. He spied the figure of a man standing outside the tomb, waving his arms madly up at him.

  Squinting against the wind, Dodie studied the figure, and to his astonishment recognized him as Petra, Magistrate Oxard’s son who had raced and disappeared in the Grand Flyer five years ago. Dodie could recognize him from his shaved head and the serpent tattoo on his forearm. He was surprised that Petra didn’t look a day older from when he raced five years ago, and he had somehow managed to keep his head shaved in the desert.

  “Help! I need your help! Please!” Petra screamed up to him.

  Everyone assumed Petra had died in the race, and his family had held burial services for him back in Turah. Had he been hiding out in the tomb all these years? Dodie dove down.

  Petra stopped waving as Dodie neared him. He wore a smile that was not entirely friendly. Dodie wasn’t quite sure what was amiss, but his spine tingled at the sight of the missing racer. He kept his distance a few feet above Petra’s shiny head.

  “We thought you were dead,” said Dodie, unsure how to greet someone who everyone thought was, well, dead.

  Petra’s face twitched peculiarly, and Dodie wondered if living alone in the desert for five years hadn’t addled his mind a bit.

  “No, no, I’m quite alive,” Petra said with a raspy voice, this time flashing a grin that was borderline sinister-looking.

  Dodie gained another foot of height. Petra flinched.

  “You should return home,” Dodie told him.

  “I have no carpet, or I would have long ago. Let me ride with you.”

  Dodie shook his head. “Sorry, I’m racing.”

  Petra’s glassy eyes lit up with a glimmer. “So there will be more racers coming by here after you?” He licked his bottom lip quickly.

  “Yeah, I’m the first one.” Dodie was feeling down right uneasy now. “I must go.” He started to sail away.

  “No! Wait!” Petra screamed in desperation.

  Dodie jerked to a stop, caught off-guard by the anguish in Petra’s voice.

  Petra was on his knees. “At least take a letter for me to my family so they’ll know I’m alive and where I am. Please!”

  Reluctantly, Dodie swooped over to Petra. The young man’s eyes locked onto Dodie and his face hardened.

  “Where’s your letter?” asked Dodie, a few feet away.

  Petra reached inside his tunic and held out a small scroll of paper. “Come closer.”

  Slowly, Dodie drifted nearer to him and reached out his hand to take the scroll.

  The scroll evaporated into air. Quick as a flash, Petra clasped an iron grip around Dodie’s wrist.

  “Petra!” Dodie stopped short.

  It wasn’t Petra.

  First the eyes changed from glassy brown to glowing red. Starting with the feet, the human body was transforming in a swirl of dark mist that reeked of death. The long muscular legs lost their leggings and became gray bony limbs. Next, the torso shriveled into a rib cage. The whole body lost its clothing and muscle, and was reduced to a skeletal frame with sagging gray hide. The face was the worst part. The ears grew pointed ends, the nose curled out into a hook, and the mouth growled with yellow, razor-sharp teeth.

  Dodie stared in shock, unable to pull his wrist free, unable to will his carpet to flee, unable to even scream.

  “Thank ye, thank ye for stopping, kind sir,

  You’ve given a ghoul a meal, as it were.

  No fuss, no quarrel, is the best way to go,

  I feast quickly to help ease your woe.”

  The ghoul spoke in a raspy voice, his breath rotten with decay. He started to tow Dodie, still kneeling on Phoenix, toward the open tomb. He hunched to one side and limped, wheezing heavily as if from great exertion.

  Dodie mastered his senses, and pulled his arm hard. Despite his weak appearance, the creature held tightly.

  “Let me go!” shouted Dodie, starting to panic as the ghoul dragged him and Phoenix closer to the tomb.

  The ghoul did not turn around as he replied,

  “My grip is a shackle you cannot break,

  I have no heart for you to wake,

  There is no way to raise alarm,

  For I am magical and cannot be harmed.”

  Dodie was pulled through the dark doorway. Blackness enveloped him and he could see nothing in the tomb except for the ghoul’s glowing red eyes that glared at him hungrily. Dodie pulled and pulled, but could not break free. The ghoul inhaled a long deep draft of air. Dodie felt lightheaded. A force in the core of his being was pulling toward the ghoul like a magnet.

  He also felt pain. Sharp pain. It was as if his insides were being sucked out of him. His good luck charm also seared his skin beneath his tunic. Dodie was on the verge of black
ing out. He felt helpless, hopeless. How could he escape this dark magic?

  Magic! Of course!

  Suddenly, Dodie knew what to do, if only he could muster the strength to do it.

  The ghoul inhaled. Dodie’s life escaped him.

  “Abbra-kadabbra!” Dodie screamed with all his might.

  There was a flash of silver light, then an unearthly ear-splitting shriek, then Dodie was free from the ghoul’s grasp and inhaling pull. He shot out of the tomb and up into the safety of the sky. Panting, he stopped Phoenix in midair. He sprawled on his back, taking in deep breaths and rubbing his chest where he had felt his insides being ripped from him. Then he peered over the edge of his carpet. Down below outside the tomb’s entrance, the ghoul had reclaimed the form of Petra and was waving, but not at him. Dodie followed the ghoul’s gaze, and spotted flying dots on the horizon. The other racers were catching up.

  Most of the racers ignored the disguised ghoul who was frantically trying to get their attention. One racer, on a burgundy rug, swooped down for a closer look. This time the ghoul wasted no time on conversation. He leaped up and sprang onto the racer’s back, all the while transforming back into his ghoulish form. The racer screamed in terror, trying to fight off the predator on his back. They disappeared into the tomb.

  Dodie shuttered as he searched the sky for Zinnia. Suddenly, a figure ran out of the tomb. It was the racer who had just been attacked.

  “I escaped!” the racer yelled, running away from the tomb. “Help!”

  Before Dodie could respond, another racer flying a teal rug dove down to rescue his kinsman.

  “What the—” Dodie watched the supposed victim turn into the ghoul and attack the new racer on the teal rug.

  “That’s what ghouls do,” Zinnia shouted as she raced up alongside Dodie. “They take the form of their last victim to lure more victims. They feed on human souls.”

  “So Petra was his last victim,” mumbled Dodie.

  “You didn’t stop for him, did you?”

  “Well, I . . . uh . . .”

  “You did?” Zinnia’s eyes widened behind her mask. “How did you escape? No one can escape a ghoul!”