Josh and the Magic Vial (30 page)

“I'll know in a minute,” he said. “That was some ride!”

“Not a very ceremonious ending,” Millie complained.

She looked back to see where they had come from. “My God!” she cried. They were at the foot of a huge granite wall, bigger than anything she had ever imagined. It curved away in both directions but the curvature was so subtle you hardly noticed it. Looking up, Millie gasped. The sky in Syde was an immense vault of stone.

“Jeez!” Ian joined her.

“Wow!” Millie agreed.

For a minute they stood gaping like a couple of tourists. A tug at her sleeve startled Millie.

“Look!” Ian said, pointing back toward the tunnel entrance.

The opening was closing, drawn together like a healing wound.

“Great!” Millie groaned. “Now we're never going to get out of here. We're trapped.”

Ian nodded grimly. “We better get moving,” he said.

“Where to?”

He shrugged. Neither of them had the slightest idea which direction might be the “right” one, but both knew instinctively that away from the wall was probably best. “Come on,” Ian said, scrambling up an embankment. At the top, he signalled her to stop, and they lay on their stomachs peering out from the tall grass beside a dirt road.

“What do you think?' Ian said, poking his head out to reconnoitre. “It must lead somewhere.”

“I suppose,” Millie agreed.

They had no choice, and the sooner they got moving, the better, but she remained concealed. “I'm afraid,” she admitted.

Ian stood and stepped onto the road. “Only a fool wouldn't be Mil, and you're no fool,” he said grinning.

Swallowing hard, Millie stood up too. “Do you suppose we're ever going to get out of here?” she wondered.

He shrugged. “I don't even know where ‘here' is. But I know who I'm with, and I know why we're here, and I guess that will have to do for now.”

Millie blushed, remembering what she'd thought of Ian before she knew him. She'd learned that intelligence wasn't something found in books and that you shouldn't decide who your friends are by the way they dressed.

“Ready?” he asked.

She smirked. Without a word, she skipped down the road.

“We're off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of Oz . . . ” she sang out.

Endorathlil feared she had made a terrible mistake. She had never dreamed — not in her worst scenario — that she would lose her psychic connection with Millie and Ian. But that is exactly what had happened. She thought they would end up hovering between dimensions — in a place where they would have a sense of Syde and where they might be able to communicate with Josh telepathically. However, as soon as they plummeted out of the here and now, she knew the spell was much stronger than she had anticipated. “Come back!” she cried recognizing the danger . . . but too late. They were gone and the portal to their conscious minds seemed to have sealed shut.

“Easy,” she steadied herself. “They know what to do. You must guide them back.”

She'd pieced together snippets of conversation to figure out they'd fallen down some kind of chute and landed in a bramble patch. After that, communications had shut down.

Endorathlil meditated, calming the nervous energy that distracted her. She breathed in and out slowly, evenly, concentrating her thoughts with every breath. She couldn't make direct contact with the children, but she might be able to sense where they were in the psychic fog. “Road,” she muttered. “Guard house.” These things she sensed vaguely, like blips on a radar screen. The children were making their way down a dirt road, through rolling countryside. Endorathlil picked up impressions of cattle, sheep, gardens and orchards.

“Children!” she called out, although she knew they would receive only a feeble impression of her thoughts. “You don't find paradise at the bottom of a mine shaft! Remember where you are.”

55

A
t least Josh seemed happy. Mr. And Mrs. Dempster took hope wherever they could, and it cheered them somewhat to see their son laughing and smiling, even from the depths of a coma. The doctors had determined that no viral or bacterial infection was causing his illness, so Josh could have visitors now.

“He'll come around,” Mrs. Dempster affirmed.

Frank prayed. He hoped Josh's change of attitude might be a positive sign. Part of him doubted, however. He didn't speak of this to his wife because he couldn't bear to dampen her spirits, but he sensed surrender in Josh's mumbled conversations. At first their son had struggled against this Vortigen character; now he seemed to be trying things on — almost as if he was getting comfortable with the notion of staying wherever he was.

What did that mean?

“Who is the Vortigen, son?” he asked when they were alone.

“Why can't you come back to us?”

Josh sometimes sniffed at the air when the Dempsters spoke to him the way a dog might try to pick up a scent. But their words never got through. Not directly. “Bad reception,” Mr.

Dempster thought. Like trying to use a cell phone from the basement parkade of a big building. You couldn't raise anything but static and occasional garbled sounds.

“You have to keep trying,” he told himself. “You can't give up.”

Josh tried to ignore it but he had to admit he liked all the attention. The royal guard beat their shields and shouted triumphantly as he descended the palace steps and climbed into the waiting Carriage of State. A porter closed the door and the magnificent coach rolled forward, preceded by the clatter of six white horses. Soldiers lined the route through the Highland of Ormor, thumping their shields and cheering the procession. As they wound down the steep embankment into The Habitations, throngs lined every street. Spectators hung out windows and climbed lampposts. They threw flowers, caps and confetti, creating a blizzard of adulation.

“Why?” Josh asked, astounded and overwhelmed.

“Because they know you better than you know yourself, My Lord,” Athelrod explained.

“You imagine I have ordered this show of affection, don't you?” Vortigen said.

He hadn't thought of that, but Josh seized on this explanation. “Yes,” he said. “You must have.”

“Look at them,” Vortigen challenged.

Josh glanced from face to face in the multitude. What he saw was true jubilation. Men shouted praises, women blew kisses, children danced and sang. They did love him!

“This is not an enforced fervour,” Vortigen was saying. “These are not slaves who rattle their chains under threat of the lash; these are citizens of Syde who are joyously greeting their human lord. You are the fulfillment of their dream as well as mine, Josh Dempster. They adore you.”

“But why?” Josh cried. “They don't even know me!”

“Don't know you! Why the witch Endorathlil knew you the moment she set eyes on you. I recognized you in an instant. And everyone in this multitude knows who you are. You may choose to deny it yourself, but the whole world greets you as The One and calls on you to fulfill the promise of Syde.”

“What promise?” Josh said bitterly.

“Once we have a human representative on the Double Throne, our connection with Outworld will be complete. We shall be able to influence world events without the intervention of witches and warlocks. An era of peace and prosperity shall begin in your former world, and you shall be the cause of it. And our influence shall not end there. Earth shall be an example through the galaxies. A thousand warring planets shall lay down their arms once the example is set on earth.”

Josh frowned.

“What troubles you, My Lord?” Athelrod said from the opposite seat.

“If peace is what you are all about, why are there so many soldiers in Syde?”

The tutor and the prince exchanged a quick, knowing glance, then Athelrod smiled. “Why, they are for show — purely ceremonial. Do you think we are going to contest the nuclear arsenals of your former world with swords and shields? That would be folly. Our victory will be worked with a subtle influence, and you shall be the channel through which that psychic power flows.”

“What are you saying? That I'm going to rule on earth.”

“No,” Athelrod answered. “At least not directly. But your word, or rather the commandments of Syde passed through you, shall become an irresistible idea amongst the leaders of Outworld. The transformation will take place by degrees, unmarked by the vast majority of Outworldeans. Once the psychic evolution is complete, then the true source of power shall be revealed.”

“A silent coup?” Josh mused.

“Not at all!” Vortigen laughed. “Rather, an idea whose time has come — a unifying idea that will put an end to the pillaging and murder of war. The citizens of Outworld will cheer as enthusiastically as these citizens of Syde once the New Order has been established. They will toss their caps and throw flowers too, and shout the name Josh Dempster through the streets of their cities.”

“Hail! Hail! Hail the heir!” the crowd thundered.

Peace. Unity. Prosperity. Weren't those the things every leader who ever stepped up to a podium stood for? Could he — Josh Dempster — really be part of a psychic revolution that would make those words something more than empty promises? Josh slumped back in his seat, giddy and slightly nauseous. If that transformation was to take place on earth, it must first take place in him, and now he felt the molecules of his being responding to this demand, driven by Vortigen's words and the battering adulation of the crowd.

Josh moaned, torn between two worlds.

“Hail! Hail! Hail to the heir!” the crowd thundered remorselessly. Their chant reverberated like a drumbeat through the echoing cavern of Syde. But something was missing. Josh tilted his head and listened to the booming waves of adulation. What was it? “Music!” he cried at last. Amid all the fanfare, not a note had been played. In fact, he hadn't heard any music since he had entered Syde.

“Is something troubling you, My Lord?” Athelrod asked.

“Why is there no music?” Josh wanted to know. “Syde has poets and storytellers, sculptors and painters, actors, chefs, and all kinds of artisans, but I haven't seen a single musician or heard a single voice raised in song. Why not? In Outworld parades are always led by marching bands. Any big celebration is set to music.”

Athelrod smiled indulgently. “The answer is quite simple, Master Dempster:music is not pleasing to Lord Vortigen, and he has banned it from the realm.”

“Banned it!”

“On pain of banishment, yes.”

“But that's crazy!” Josh sputtered. “How can a world exist without music?”

The tutor gestured, taking in the plaza with a sweep of his arm. “These people do not seem deprived to me. They are joyful, are they not? They seem perfectly happy expressing themselves without the sort of mewling and braying that is known as music in Outworld.”

“Braying!” Josh shouted. “Are you saying music will be banned wherever Vortigen's rule is established?”

Athelrod coughed nervously, then looked away when a sudden surge of chanting overwhelmed their conversation.

56

A
t first Millie and Ian had tramped alone down the dusty road, but before long a trickle of fellow pilgrims joined them, then a steady stream, making its way toward a substantial town that loomed in the distance.

“There must be something going on,” Millie whispered.

Although they were curious, they dared not ask any of the Sydeans the reason for the crowd. They overheard bits of conversation. The town was apparently called The Habitations, and they were making their way through the region of Tilth. The escarpment beyond the town led to the Highland of Ormor, and the Emerald Palace. That, apparently, was Vortigen's home.

At last they entered the suburbs, and were immediately bogged down in a jostling throng. Onlookers packed both sides of the street, citizens hung out their windows, they clung to the lampposts, and looked down from rooftops.

“I wonder what's up?” Millie said.

“Looks like some kind of parade,” Ian replied, drawing a disdainful look. “Well, you asked!”

“I can see for myself there's some sort of parade happening, Ian. What I want to know is what it's about.”

“Well, there's only one way to find out,” Ian said, gesturing toward a white haired gentleman, whose red face was framed by a neatly trimmed beard.

“Shh!” Millie hissed, grabbing Ian's arm and pulling him away.

Too late.

“Excuse me for bothering you, sir,” Ian said, “but can you tell us what's the occasion?”

“Eh?” the old fellow grunted, surprised. “Haven't you heard?”

“No. We haven't.”

“Well where in the dickens have you been? Down a mineshaft or something? Goodness gracious boy, Vortigen himself is expected any moment now.”

Millie and Ian exchanged a startled glance.

“Him and his whole palace guard from what I can gather. Didn't think there was a soul in all Syde who hadn't heard. Why, even a few of the poor blighters from Ardu have been allowed to come, although many of them would rather swing a pick than celebrate Vortigen's great news.”

“Great news?” Ian inquired, earning a kick on the shin from Millie.

Their guide eyed them suspiciously. “You must be new to Syde friends,” he probed.

“Yes,” Millie confessed. “Brand new, actually. Just arrived.”

“From Outworld, you mean?”

“Yes.”

He stroked his beard studying them. “And you've been given the freedom of citizens already?”

“Well, thank you very much,” Millie, yanked Ian away. “But we have to be going now.”

“That was a brilliant move!” she scolded as they pushed into the crowd. “From the look on his face, I'd guess he's already blabbing about us to the authorities. If they didn't know about us already, they soon will.”