The Serpent's Ring (Relics of Mysticus) (4 page)

“Argh!” Evan shouted, and with that, the car fell back down, producing a startling jolt.

“Ouch!” Claire yelped and swatted at her brother. “Why did you drop us?”

“Am I the only one here who finds it the tiniest bit odd that we were flying in a Model T?” shouted Evan.

Claire placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “Evan, yes, it is strange. But if we don’t get over it, then according to Dunkle, everything we care about will soon be covered in water. I’m not any happier than you are, but I’m trying to deal with it and so should you.”

Evan took another second to collect himself before sitting upright and taking hold of the front seat. “I think this will work better if I’m behind the wheel,” he said, jumping over. He looked at Dunkle, who nodded slightly.

“Ready?” Dunkle asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” said Evan, his bare white knuckles clutching the wheel.

Again, he filled his lungs with air and concentrated. To his surprise, the car lifted and hovered in place.

“Now, forward,” instructed Dunkle.

“Wicked,” said Evan as air blew through his hair and whispered into his ears.

“Be very careful; you must continue to concentrate and don’t look down,” said Dunkle.

Evan hadn’t considered looking down. But now that Dunkle mentioned it, he just couldn’t resist. Evan peeked over the car door, and the Model T fell!

“Concentrate! Don’t lose your focus!” shouted Claire.

The car froze in place. Evan tried not to peek over the side, as they were floating really high. The wind kicked up, and Dunkle clamped together his tiny brown vest, shielding his reptilianlike skin.

“Um, Dunkle, this is sort of intense. I’m trying to keep calm. Which direction should I steer the car?” Evan inquired, guiding the car between interwoven glass tunnels.

Dunkle stretched his mangled-looking arm eastward. “Fly this car in a straight line, that way.” Evan did as the imp instructed and carefully rotated their flying automobile. “You might want to go a little faster.”

“Hold on, this might get dicey,” Evan said and pushed their levitating car toward the Great Lake.

Evan felt as if he had stepped inside a brilliantly colored kaleidoscope. He shivered as he passed a few mist-laden gateways. Up ahead, a tropical-looking island rested on billowing clouds. Crystal columns stretched high above the fog. Enormous palm trees swayed back and forth, and a waterfall rushed down a high, glass rock formation and over the side of the cloud. Water droplets trickled down.

The imp shoved his arm in front of Evan’s nose and said, “Aim north-east—that way.”

“Do you mind moving your arm? Actually, if you could scoot far away—that’s it, a little farther.” Evan realized, however, that Dunkle didn’t smell quite so bad now. He leaned toward the imp and sniffed. Odd, Dunkle smelled like a tree, a nicely scented pine.

“Don’t look so surprised,” began Dunkle. “I smell bad only when I am angry or upset or nervous. Normally, I smell like this. All imps take on the odor from the tree under which they were born.” The imp must have been really happy, because the entire area smelled like a Christmas-tree lot.

“There, there! Put the car down on the sand,” Dunkle said and closed his eyes. He then made a high piercing sound, forcing Evan and Claire to grab their ears. The imp swayed from side to side, continuing to screech for at least a minute. It was difficult to concentrate with that ear-perforating noise, but Evan managed to land safely.

“Please, don’t ever do that again,” Evan barked, sticking his finger in his ear, but he still couldn’t stop the ringing.

“Evan, the sand looks like tiny pearls!” Claire shouted. “Dunkle, is it safe to touch?”

“Of course it’s safe,” said Dunkle, leaping over the car door.

Dunkle became a swift blur, his speed undeterminable. With a stick in hand, he tumbled over and across the shimmering sand, making scratches and pushing sand piles around here and there, little sparks flying up in the air. Evan and Claire watched in amusement. The little imp flipped and rolled around, splattering bits of pearlescent sand.

“There,” said Dunkle, standing back to admire his work.

“What were you doing?” Claire asked.

“You will soon see,” Dunkle sang.

“Dunkle, Dunkle!” a second gurgling voice came from some purple bushes.

“Barfel!” Dunkle squealed, scurrying over to meet the other imp. Not that Evan was very familiar with imps, but an imp is what it looked like. This imp’s skin was different than Dunkle’s. It was predominantly burnt-orange with darker brown splotches. He too had a bushy mohawk trailing over his head, but instead of being green, like Dunkle’s, it was red.

The two imps spoke a language consisting of gulps and gurgles. Every so often, Dunkle would motion toward Evan and Claire. After awhile, the orange imp’s face started to sag.

“The sound I made earlier was a call to my dear friend, Barfel,” explained Dunkle. “This is Barfel. And please pronounce it correctly,
BAR-fell
.”

“Dunkle, why is he here?” Evan questioned. Then, he said quietly to Claire, “The last thing we need is another stinky imp.” At which Claire chuckled.

“Ah-hum,” Dunkle interrupted. “Barfel is going to help us. We will need all the friends we can get. And for the record, his personal aroma is from the tree under which he was born: cedar.”

Chapter Five

SAIL OVER SAND

THE TWO IMPS SCAMPERED OVER and around the large drawing in the sand. Dunkle and Barfel discussed their sketch as if it were a great work of art. Both nodded their heads and made various modifications, and occasionally, Barfel would clap. They ran here and there, grabbing random objects and piling them up in the center of the sketch: driftwood, old rope, they even took Evan’s prize baseball cap. After a minute of this, they turned toward Claire. Dunkle and Barfel made a few more garbled sounds and approached her.

“Make the boat, make the boat!” exclaimed Barfel, bouncing up and down.

“Dunkle is right. You do smell like cedar,” said Evan.

“Ah-hem,” sounded Dunkle. “Claire, your brother was not the only person in Dr. Irving’s lab. If you recall, you were there, too. And the last time the Serpent’s Ring was activated, there were two powers given. One was the power to move objects with the mind: Evan claimed that power. The other was the ability to manipulate matter.”

“Really, I can manipulate matter? Please explain,” said Claire.

“I believe the second power—transfiguration—was given to you, Claire. You should be able to change an object’s form from one thing to another,” Dunkle answered.

“So, if I wanted to, I could turn my sandals into boots?” Claire asked, and Dunkle nodded.

“Try it, try it!” Barfel chimed. “Sandals into boots!”

“Please, just focus on making a boat,” said Dunkle. “You two can play with fashion later.”

“After all that has happened, I guess I’ll believe anything,” said Claire, sounding rather adult in her wisdom. “What do you suggest I do?”

“We need to travel to Asgard by boat,” said Dunkle. “We must use the materials at hand. As you may or may not know, when heated, sand turns into glass. Imagine melting down sand and then molding it into a boat. Now, you will also need to stretch the fabric from Evan’s cap into a sail, and use these old ropes to tether it. The drawing Barfel and I sketched can be used as a guide. Clearly, it is an outline of a ship.”

“What about that stick, over there?” Evan asked.

“Leave it as is; we’ll need it for firewood,” said Dunkle.

“Go on, go on!” Barfel cheered, in a distracting sort of way.

For a second time, Claire looked at her brother. It appeared as if she were saying “Help me!” with her eyes. Evan didn’t know how to help her, so he shrugged his shoulders and motioned toward the imps’ sketch.

“All right, if Evan can fly a car, I can make a boat. I’ll need some serious therapy after all of this,” whispered Claire as she approached the imps’ drawing. “Oh, now I see it. It’s a rough outline of a ship. Okay, here goes nothing.”

She stared down, and suddenly, Evan felt a slight tremor beneath his sneakers. The sand shifted, and in a giant swoop, tiny grains flew into the air. A thick cloud swirled and whirled. From the beach, a mound of pearlescent sand began to take form. Claire’s arms slowly rose and fell, like those of a music conductor, and with each fluid movement, grains of sand molded into the walls of a ship: a Viking ship.

Another blast of sand and a dragon formed into the bow. Its scales etched along the ship’s sides. A mast shot up, and once extended, unrolled into a sail that stretched the ship’s width. The canvas was navy blue, and an image of Jormundgand, the sea serpent, was stitched with the yellow thread from the “M” off Evan’s hat.

“Too cool!” Evan gaped at the marvel arising. “But in all due respect, it doesn’t feel right to have the M from my hat turned into a serpent. The least you could do is change the serpent into a giant M, for Michigan.”

“For the first time, Little Brother, I’ll have to agree with you,” said Claire. She wove her hand through the air as if she were writing with a pencil. The threading from the serpent unraveled and was replaced swiftly by an enormous yellow M.

“Much better,” said Evan.

Claire sank to the ground and tossed her hair forward. She knelt down with her arms slumped, gasping for air. This was typical behavior for Evan’s sister, who always was a bit dramatic. He wondered how long she would remain in her bowed position. Another second passed, and Evan gave her a round of applause.

“Great job, Sis!” Evan cheered. “Encore, encore!”

“Funny, Evan,” said Claire, and after lifting her head, she sat back to admire her work. “Whoa.”

“Very nicely done,” said Dunkle. “Remember, you can change only the
form
of an object. You will not be able to change wood into metal. Wood stays wood. You can only mold it into another shape. Understand?”

“I think so,” said Claire, but she didn’t really sound very certain.

The imps circled the outside of the glass ship, tapping along its bow and stern. They both scuttled onto the vessel, making scratching sounds as they scampered.

“All teasing aside, it’s really cool. I like the fact you made it a Viking ship. Nice,” said Evan, placing his hand on Claire’s shoulder.

“Who knew, right?” said Claire.

The vessel was practically invisible, as it was totally clear. Evan knocked on its side and was shocked to feel its strength. He looked up the high glass wall.

“How are we supposed to climb up there?” said Evan, still appraising Claire’s handiwork.

A few feet away, sand started to shift. Up from a small cloud, a thin string of melted glass appeared. It wove and danced in the air, forming into a set of stairs. It coiled around a few times before stretching up to the side of the ship.

Evan looked over at his sister and stared in wonderment. “Impressive,” he said before ascending.

Slowly, she lifted herself and followed him.

“This is the most awesome thing I’ve ever seen!” declared Evan, running across the deck. After slipping a little, he added, “And slick.”

They would travel in style, no denying it. As Evan’s excitement heightened, he almost forgot they were going to face a giant sea serpent and an angry sea god.

“Now what?” Claire asked Dunkle. “I mean, how exactly are we going to move this ship into the lake?”

Dunkle looked at Evan.

“I’ve got this one, Sis. Just leave it to me,” said Evan brashly. He strode over to the ship’s bow and looked down. They were still on land, quite far from the water. “I know I can do this.”

After taking in a deep breath, he imagined edging forward. And just like that, the ship moved. First, it sliced over sand, making a deep impression behind, and then tiny waves started to lap its bow. Before long, their ship cut through the yellow-orange water, moving rather swiftly.

“We can see through the ship’s bottom,” Evan exclaimed. “Whoa, Claire, the water’s orange.”

“It’s beautiful. Dunkle, why is the water orange?” Claire asked.

“The water is clear,” Dunkle explained. “The ground underneath is fluorescent and its color shines up to the surface.”

“Cool,” said Evan before looking up. “Which way are we heading?”

“Set our course north. We still need to slip through the lavender tunnel, leading us to Asgard,” said Dunkle.

“Tunnel?” said Claire. “I thought we were going to sail through a puff of mist. What sort of tunnel are you talking about?”

“A tunnel made of glass,” said Dunkle. “The tunnel is harmless; I can assure you of that.”

“Just call me Captain Evan,” said Evan, rushing back. “All I need now is my cap.”

Claire knelt down, and to Evan’s amazement, slid her hand right through the deck as if it were soft butter. Then, she molded the doughlike blob into a Viking helmet.

“Way cool,” Evan announced. “But that’s not going to work for me.”

Barfel snapped, “I’ll wear it! I’ll wear it!”

Claire smiled and then waved her hand. Blue stitching unraveled from the sail. It floated in front of Evan and was woven miraculously into a pirate hat.