monsters, super beings, or evil gods. Hard to say which one for sure. The bell
rang, and the class picked up their belongings. Bailey Renee slipped the journal.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR “Belphegor took for himself an abominable body, a twisting of bull and of man. Unto his likeness, the dwarves fashioned golden idols and stone idols. They honored him with wicked prayers and sacrifices which angered almighty Adonai.” –The Book of the Ancients
When Mr. Cooperson, Bailey Renee’s English teacher, gave the class the last ten minutes to free-read, she pulled out the worn leather journal she’d taken from Lauren’s room. She’d not remembered it being inscribed with The Book of Things to Come, but she never paid much attention to Lauren’s and Oliver’s game. Nothing more immature or childish than video games. The scripting language Oliver designed interested her, though. He’d showed it to her once, and it made her head spin. She had no idea how he handled so many variables simultaneously, and how they worked together to solve minor bug issues. A self-correcting scripting language seemed like something more out of science-fiction than reality. Bailey paid only enough attention to the story, the part Lauren made, to ridicule it. Now, she wanted to flip through the yellowing pages and find out what fantasies played through her sister’s mind. With a little luck, she might even stumble across some clue, some small revelatory detail to balance the equation, and find out what happened to the missing kids—some thread to tie the game to the disappearances. Of course, that’d be about as likely as her winning the lottery. But if such a thread existed, she would find it. She opened the journal, skimmed through the first few pages. Only a few pages had been written in. Not like Lauren at all. Lauren filled entire journals in a matter of weeks. In fact, over the years she’d been working on the game with Oliver, she’d filled forty-two journals with information and sketches about the game. They all sat on shelves in her room, conveniently numbered for easy reference.
So this must be the most recent. But why did it look so old? The thin, yellow pages crinkled under the slightest touch. Thick ink formed words on pages like dried leaves. She handled the journal with the utmost care and respect, terrified it might crumble to ash in her hands. Too many words she didn’t understand made the text hard to follow—Vicmorn, Indigo, Lakia, Jaurru, Ullwen. They all sounded like names, and all were capitalized, so she assumed they were characters. Context demystified other strange words. Fangands fit the description of werewolves. Ogres became Beresus. And she understood what Abomination meant, but the usage of it differed here. Instead of something hated, Lauren used it as a description of a race of monsters, super beings, or evil gods. Hard to say which one for sure. The bell rang, and the class picked up their belongings. Bailey Renee slipped the journal carefully into her bag. She replaced her textbook and notebook on the shelf in their proper places, then headed to the stairs on the other side of the hall, toward the chemistry lab. Sarah Skeleton would be upstairs. Premature guilt twinged in her stomach. Bailey almost pitied prissy little Sarah. The prim little model wouldn’t stand a chance against Bailey Renee. One punch, she told herself. Make it quick. In and out. Students crowded the stairs. She made her way to the wall side and slipped past the mass of people filtering down, a salmon spawning. At the computer lab, she set her bag down, nodded to Mrs. Diaz, then went back out to the hall in time to see Sarah Skeleton walking up in all her vanity. Her freshly curled long blonde hair fell around her face and shoulders. She’d applied her make-up with computer precision. She looked like someone cut her face out of a magazine and pasted it on her neck.
Bailey wanted to break Sarah’s perfect little nose. She tightened her fist. Fingernails pressed into her palm. But Sarah’s trademark smugness hid behind a reddened face. Not from blush, but sadness. Her puffy eyes, dark with purple eye-shadow and eyeliner, gave her away. Sarah Skeleton had been crying. Amazingly, she walked right up to Bailey and threw her stickish arms around her. “I’m so sorry about Lauren,” Sarah said. Her voice shook. Sarah’s hair tickled Bailey’s ear. Bailey had no idea what to do. Instinctively, she put her arms around Sarah, but pulled them back quickly. She pushed Sarah back and stared hard at her. “What are you talking about?” Sarah’s narrow eyebrows scrunched up toward the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry,” she said again. Bailey should be angry still. She tried to conjure up the rage that boiled in her minutes earlier, but it vanished. The hollowness of shared suffering took its place. Genuine sorrow softened Sarah’s face. But Bailey wouldn’t give up easily, wouldn’t let Sarah off the hook. “What do you care?” Sarah put her hand on her chest. “I always admired Lauren. I never really told her, but I did.” “Stop,” Bailey said, her voice hardly above a whisper. “I saw your text.” “What text?” Students squeezed passed them. They frowned at Bailey, dropped their eyes to avoid the awkward, piteous eye-contact. For once, instead of Lauren being Bailey’s sister, people saw her
as Lauren’s sister—the missing girl’s sister. These students, her former friends, no longer recognized Bailey as anything other than a Lauren’s walking MISSING poster. Her hot anger returned, and she clenched her fist, ready to punch Sarah harder than she’d punched anything before. She took a deep breath, wrinkled her nose, and said, “If I was as fat as you, I’d kill myself.” Sarah shook her head. “Wasn’t me.” “Don’t lie to me! I saw it! It came from your phone!” “I didn’t send it. Kevin did.” Her face contorted into equal parts fear and anguish. Bailey exhaled slowly. “Your boyfriend?” “Not anymore. I totally broke up with him when I saw the text. I tried to unsend it, but it already went out. She’d already read it.” Bailey Renee didn’t want to believe her. But Sarah’s face was every bit as red and blotchy as Bailey’s. “You liked Lauren?” She sounded more surprised than she hoped. Sarah crossed her arms and tugged at the straps of her back pack. “I don’t know. I guess so. We were lab partners first semester. Do you remember?” Bailey Renee nodded. Oliver was absent that day, so Lauren picked Sarah for some inexplicable reason. “Anyway, we talked a little bit, and she seemed really nice. She was super quiet, but nice.” Bailey Renee unclenched her fist. She dragged the sleeve of her sweater over her cheeks. She wanted to tell Sarah not to talk about Lauren in the past tense, but she didn’t want to fight that battle now. Instead, she said, “She is nice.”
***
Erica stood over Lauren’s slender shoulder. “So what’s it say?” Lauren turned the stick around in her hands, brought her nose closer to the staff, squinted to better see it in the flickering light of the flames following the walls of Margwar. How did the dwarfs see anything in this place? “It’s hard to make out, but the words are getting clearer. It says something about nests, I think. And it says abomination, which doesn’t sound good.” Aiden flicked his wrist and instantly the short gold blade erupted in flames. He held it over by Oliver’s staff. “Better?” He put his gauntleted hand on her shoulder. Lauren smiled. “Much,” she said. His cold armor contrasted with his warm touch. She heard Ullwen bristle. “Why is she able to read it, and you are unable, Vicmorn?” Ullwen asked. “I made the language,” Lauren said. “I used to write letters to Oliver in dwarvish and elfish.” Her cheeks heated, and not from the flames of Aiden’s sword. “I don’t remember those,” Oliver said. Lauren took Aiden’s hand in hers and rotated it enough to better illuminate the grooved letters. “Never gave them to you. A little too nerdy, even for me.” “It’s not too nerdy. My dad was big into fantasy,” Aiden said quickly. “I’m really glad you’re okay. Have I told you that?” “About a million times,” Erica sighed. “Seriously, put the romance on hold and let’s grab the book and get somewhere with sunslight.” Lauren reviewed the letters. “And neither shall the nests from above nor the abomination from below conquer them.”
Oliver moved closer behind Lauren and glanced over her other shoulder, the shoulder Aiden’s hand rested on. “You can read that?” “Look girlie, that’s all great information and everything, but does it say anything about a book and a place to find the book? That would actually be a lot better than something about some bird’s nests or whatever.” Ullwen grabbed one of the arrows he’d retrieved before entering Margwar. He dipped the tip in the trough of kerosene, knocked it on his bow. He leaned back slightly, aimed the tip toward the ceiling, and let it fly. The flaming arrow arched toward the ceiling nearly fifty feet up. The nests did not belong to birds, or to bats. Thick black slimy strings twisted together into thousands of hammocks. As the arrow flew past them, they jiggled. The near silent city ignited in tongue clicks and squeaks of alternating pitches. “Are you freaking kidding me?” Erica mumbled. “So those are the nests from above. What’s the abomination from below?” Their eyes all went to the center, bottom-most level where the dwarvish palace stood. “It’s as good a place to start as any,” Oliver said. “But let’s go through the tunnels. If Nar’esh start dropping from here, we’ll never stop fighting them.” Ullwen had already dipped the torches in the kerosene. “Lead on, good Monk.”
***
Oliver took a torch and gestured toward an octagonal building nearby. “That should lead us to the Winding Roads. Think of them like freeways. They circle Margwar’s outer perimeter and spiral down in opposite directions. Each level has two access points to the Winding Roads” A quick rush of air pressed his back. Nar’esh, must be. He spun quickly, dropping to a knee and sweeping with his leg. The torch snapped around, illuminated a Nar’esh stumbling backward. It covered its face and shrieked, then clicked its tongue. Three more clacks and thumps, like metal and meat hitting the floor. “Go fast,” he said. Erica and Sparky dashed through the door. Aiden rushed Lauren in immediately after her, taking the hand and head of a bold Nar’esh pressing in on Lauren. Ullwen loosed arrows, embedding them in Nar’esh stomachs and chests, eyes and shoulders. Oliver twisted his staff, swatted outstretched Nar’esh hands away. Their thin arms cracked under the force of the Rognak wood. He ducked through the door and slammed it shut. Nar’esh immediately threw themselves against the door. It swung open, and Oliver leapt out of the way in time to avoid the door swinging open. He brought his staff around, sweeping the reaching arms from away from him. Behind him, a statue of a minotaur trembled on a pedestal. He took the golden idol and threw it toward the Nar’esh pouring through the door. Aiden stood near the door, severing appendages with quick flicks of his flaming sword. Lauren snapped, and tiny bursts of hot sparks exploded in front of the mass. Startled, the Nar’esh stumbled back through the door. Ullwen put his shoulder into the door and slammed it shut. Erica kicked a bar down, which clicked into a holder on the opposite side of the door, barring more Nar’esh from entering.
Aiden polished off the few remaining Nar’esh and slipped the sword back in its scabbard. “Everyone okay?” Breathless, they nodded. Oliver leaned on his staff and eyed the décor of the room. The statue he’d used to drive the Nar’esh back wasn’t alone. Several, fashioned from gold or from stone, from bronze or from silver, portrayed the same minotaur with eyes stitched shut. It held the same stave. Atop the stave, a grizzly ornate human skull rested. “What is that thing?” Erica asked. “I’d say a minotaur,” Lauren said. “An abomination,” Ullwen said. “The dwarves turned their hearts from Adonai and to this, whatever it is.” “They worshiped this thing?” Aiden asked. “Sure looks like it,” Oliver said. His heart broke. So much time had gone into the crafting of such idols, so much craftsmanship and care. They were works of art, but the artists’ heart had been in the wrong place. How could they turn from their creator to such an atrocity, from something as beautiful as Adonai, to something as twisted as a man-bull. “Why’d they want to worship something so ugly?” Erica sneered, eyeing a four-foot tall statue. “Power,” Ullwen said. “They felt as if Adonai had turned His back on them. This abomination must have promised them power, a return to prominence in Alrujah.” The sadness in Oliver’s heart turned slowly, transformed into irritation, to a righteous anger. The dwarves were a long-lived people, a people of patience. How could they turn their backs on Adonai? How could they be so impatient? He curled his lip, knocked the standing idols on their faces. “Smash them,” he said.
