The Seven Swords (6 page)

10 - IN WHICH QWON ENJOYS PRISON LIFE—NOT!

Being a prisoner sucked.

After Qwon hit Shallot and Shallot disappeared, Qwon paced around the portico like a tiger in a cage. Since they wanted Dred to believe that she hated Shallot, Qwon liberally cursed the fairy. She punched her fist, whisked her staff through the air, and grunted. She also cursed Dred, since he had put her in there. And even Artie now and then, since he hadn't been able to stop Dred from kidnapping her in the first place.

After a while, she plopped down in the grass with her back to the birdbath and glowered at Dred's door, trying not to blink. Even though she and Shallot had a plan, she really couldn't believe all this was happening. Eventually she fell asleep and didn't wake until dawn.

Qwon had rolled onto her side in the night and was curled up like a cat as the sky turned from deep blue to gray. The birds outside the Castel began to greet the morning, and as she listened, Qwon shed a few quiet, genuine tears.

What is this Otherworld Place? And when will I get back home?

If only Qwon knew that at that exact moment Artie was back in Shadyside asking similar questions. This was the day that Merlin would materialize in the Kingfisher's backyard, but it hadn't happened yet, and all Artie could think about was when he'd be able to resume the quest to rescue his friend.

She clutched her stomach as a pang shot through it. She was hungry.

So, so hungry.

 

About an hour later a tiny door next to Dred's large door slid open, and two bowls and two cups were pushed onto the walkway.

Food!

Qwon ran to it as quickly as she could. Her mind raced as she thought of cereal and eggs and bacon and pancakes and muffins and burgers and pizza and fried chicken, even a veggie burger or tofu or plain rice, and, and, and . . .

Gruel. White, pasty gruel peppered with little, hard-backed weevils.

And no spoon.

Qwon sat cross-legged in front of the “food.”

“Not much of a gourmet, are you, Dred?”

No answer came.

Qwon picked up the cup and found lukewarm water. She drank it all in three gulps.

She put the bowl in her lap and stared into it. She picked a dozen weevils out of one section and skimmed some of the porridge off the top with her fingers.

It didn't taste like anything, which, Qwon figured, was a lot better than it tasting like total crap.

Qwon continued removing the bugs and scooping up the food until it was gone. She was so hungry she even licked the bowl.

It wasn't a good meal, but it was filling.

She put the bowl back in front of the door and considered eating Shallot's too, but didn't.

After breakfast Qwon resigned herself to another day of pacing around. In the late morning a squall passed through, and Qwon tried to get clean, but it was no use. She was covered in grime and filth, and it wasn't going to come off with a little bit of rain and no soap.

Still, the water felt good.

As the day went on, she felt angrier and angrier. She yelled things like, “Shallot, where are you?” and, “Don't be a chicken!” and, “If you don't show up, then I'm going to eat your food, you dumb fairy!” and, “You stink!”

At one point an invisible Shallot whispered into her ear, “I already ate.”

“What—how?” was all Qwon could manage. She went back to the door and saw that the second cup and bowl were empty and the little pile of weevils that Qwon had made was also gone. “You ate the bugs? Ew.” This elicited a faint chuckle from behind Dred's door. She started pacing again and said to the unseen fairy, “So in addition to being rude, smelly, and mean, you're also a disgusting bug eater! Figures.”

At which point a still-invisible Shallot smacked Qwon hard in the back of the head.

“Ugh!” Qwon blurted, rubbing her head and realizing that she actually did hate her fellow prisoner a tiny bit. “Coward!” she barked, brandishing her staff. Then she turned to Dred's door and said, “Can you believe that? What a sneak!”

No sound came from Dred's door this time, but Qwon had a strong feeling that he was still there, watching and waiting. For what, she wasn't sure.

 

The following morning Qwon was up before the sun. She went to Dred's door and sat in front of it. No food had come the night before, and hunger again twisted her stomach into knots. She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulled them to her chest, and waited for the little slot to open.

When it did, Qwon said, “Hey, Dred, can I have a spoon?”

No answer came. Just the bowls and cups, pushed out by a stick.

Qwon grabbed the stick. “I know you're there. C'mon, just a tiny spoon? Can't hurt, right? I mean, it's not like I can dig my way out of here.”

Still nothing. Dred yanked the stick hard, pulling it from Qwon's grip. The little door slid shut with a bang.

Qwon crossed her arms and huffed. “Thanks a lot. You know, if it were the other way around, I would totally give you a spoon. Just a wooden spoon! I'm sure your crazy mom wouldn't like it, but who cares?”

Nothing.

“The silent treatment, huh? Suit yourself. But if you give me a spoon, I promise I won't share it with that darned fairy.” Qwon paused for effect and said quietly, “Man, what a jerk she turned out to be.”

Still nothing. She picked up the cup and took a few sips of water.

“You ever eat this stuff you're slinging, Dred?” she asked. “'Cause it's pretty awful. You should try it, just so you know what your prisoners are dealing with. Maybe it would make you, like, a better kidnapper or whatever.”

Qwon picked up the bowl, stretched out her legs, and set it in her lap. She began to eat. At least it was warm. “Hey, Dred, you know what the best thing about it is? The bugs. They're really awesome. Thanks so much,” she said sarcastically.

Qwon thought she heard something through the door. It might have been a giggle.

“Seriously, though. What I wouldn't give for a real home-cooked meal. Shoot, I'd even take a Happy Meal from Mickey D's. You Otherworld people eat hamburgers or lobster rolls or hot dogs? You ever drink a Coke? Or an orange soda? I might give up a big toe for an orange soda.”

Qwon picked the weevils out of her food and made another pile as she spoke. It occurred to her that maybe she
should
eat the bugs, as a source of protein, but she wasn't ready to go that far yet.

She took another bite and spoke with her mouth full. “I wonder if the fairy thinks about food as much as I do,” she said. “Who knows. She actually
likes
the bugs, so she's probably happy.”

Qwon put down the bowl and had some more water.

“What's with that fairy, anyway? First she fights me, then she figures maybe we're pals, then she calls me something very unladylike that I'd rather not repeat, and then she disappears. Okay, so I hit her. Twice. But still. Why won't she talk to me? I mean, what's the point of being imprisoned with someone if you refuse to talk to them? I understand why
you
wouldn't want to talk to me, but why not her?”

She leaned closer to the door hoping to hear another laugh, or
anything
, but nothing came. How was she going to get through to him?

“So hey—since you're from this Otherworld place, does that make you some kind of fairy too?”

A loud thump came from the other side of the door, like maybe he'd fallen out of his chair.

Bingo.

She pretended not to hear it.

“Yeah, you must be. I mean, your mom looked human enough, but she did have a purple eye. That's not normal. And you wear that helmet all the time, so you must be hideously messed up in the face. Maybe you're like a troll fairy or something. Maybe your mouth is on your forehead and you don't have any eyes and you have a big ponytail growing out of the middle of your face.” She paused. “Whatever you are, you can't be as pretty as Shallot. I mean, she may be a jerk, but she is beautiful, you have to admit, even with that weird, lanky body and those teeth of hers.”

Qwon thought she heard Smash yelp from behind the door.

She smiled wryly to herself.

“Oh, hey, one more thing before I head out and enjoy this lovely day—thanks for the staff. I mean it. I don't know why you gave it to me but, for what it's worth, I'll never forget that you did. But then, I'll also never forget that you kidnapped and drugged me and locked me up in here, so you still owe me. Just saying.”

Qwon stood and walked away from the door, leaving Dred to ponder her words
.

 

She woke the next morning, shaking, at the very same time Artie and his knights were preparing to leave for Sweden. It was cold. Way colder than the night before. Qwon stood and started running in place, trying to get her blood flowing. The sun rose, and again she heard the riot of morning birdsong beyond the Castel's walls.

Finally the air began to warm.

At breakfast time Qwon went to the door and sat in front of it.

“Blankets, Dred, blankets,” she said quietly. “Tell your dumb mom that if she wants me to live until she can catch Artie, I'm going to need blankets.”

No answer. She waited.

Finally the slot slid open and the bowls and cups were pushed out.

Qwon looked over. The water in one of the cups was steaming! She grabbed the cup and laced her fingers around it. She blew on the water, and hot vapor coated her face. She took a sip, and it warmed her from the inside out.

It had a slight, minty aftertaste.

“Thanks, Dred,” she said.

Then she noticed that one of the bowls of gruel was bug-free. She picked it up and held it to her face. It smelled different. It smelled sweet!

She dipped a couple fingers in and took a mouthful. It wasn't just sweet, it was salty too. Amazing!

Qwon forced herself to eat slowly. Food had never tasted so good.

When she was done, she let the bowl fall into her lap and closed her eyes. She drank her tea. “Dred, that was the best meal of my life. Seriously. I still basically hate you, but not as much.”

She put her bowl back in front of the slot. And that's when she noticed a short wooden spoon. A little note was tied to it. She picked up the spoon. The note read, “Don't let her know you have it.”

Qwon smiled and tucked the spoon into her shirt. No way was she going to share it with Shallot. Not until the fairy apologized for smacking her the day before, anyway.

A short while later, as Qwon paced the yard, it occurred to her that maybe it wasn't Shallot who Dred meant in his note. He could have meant Morgaine.

Qwon bit her bottom lip, suppressing a smile. If that was true, then maybe—just maybe—their plan was beginning to work.

11 - IN WHICH ARTIE PLAYS A LITTLE
LET'S MAKE A DEAL
!

As Qwon, far off in
Fenland, tucked the spoon into her shirt, Artie, Kay, and Erik swung uneasily in the snare in Sweden. Their captor, Sami, had just demanded that Artie tell him how he'd healed himself, but Artie said authoritatively, “The only way I tell you about my leg is if you let us out of here.”

“I don't think so,” Sami said.

“Think again,” Kay said from the top of the trap. “If you let us go now, Artie won't hurt you.”

A resonant belly laugh rose from deep within Sami. As he wiped tears from his eyes, he looked at Artie and said, “
You
hurt
me
?”

Artie just nodded while Kay said, “Heck yeah, dude!”

“Let me show you something,” Sami said, turning from his catch. He sauntered over to a gigantic tree stump. “You see this?”

“Yeah,” Artie said.

“What do you think it weighs?”

“I dunno. A couple thousand pounds?”

“Probably. Watch.”

Sami bent and hugged the stump. His arms didn't even make it halfway around, but it didn't matter. He stood with hardly any effort, lifting the stump as if he were picking up a bag of leaves, and walked it closer to his tools. He set it down with a
thump
and disappeared.

“So? Big whoop,” Artie yelled after him. “You should see some of the things I can do!” No response came. It was kind of a bluff, anyway. Without Excalibur, Artie wasn't sure
what
he could do.

Erik asked in a whisper, “How
are
you healing yourself, Artie?”

“Excalibur's scabbard!” Artie hissed.

“Wow,” Erik said. “That's pretty cool.”

“You want to know what's not cool, Erik? You bum-rushing this guy's camp and getting us caught in this net,” Kay said, still upset.

Erik sighed. “Sorry, guys. But seeing that sword kind of messed me up. I guess that means it's really mine, huh?”

“Sh!” Artie said. “Don't say anything else, either of you. I have a plan. Also, can you move your knee, Erik? It's really digging into my shoulder.” Erik tried but just made it worse. “Ow! Never mind.”

“Not much fun being caught in a snare, is it?” Sami boasted as he waltzed into Artie's field of vision carrying the largest, sharpest-looking ax Artie had ever seen.

“Nice ax. I've got a friend who'd like that,” he said, thinking of Bercilak. “Maybe one day I'll bring him here so he can take it from you.”

“Ha!” Sami chortled. Then he walked over to the huge stump, raised the ax over his head, and brought it down with a deafening
smack.

“What was that?” Kay demanded.

“Nothing,” Artie said as he looked at what the woodsman had done. The stump was cleanly split in two. “You're quite the show-off, Sami,” Artie said. “Let me ask you something—how long have you lived here?”

“My whole life. I am Sami—it's not just my name but my people. We go back thousands of years, back to the ancient world. The world of magic.”

Artie believed it. This guy was like some Otherworld missing link. “Is that why you're so strong?” Artie asked. “Because of magic?”

“I am strong because of my people. Plus, I eat a lot of protein. And I
am
a woodsman,” Sami said with a wink.

Artie winked back. “Tell me, Sami the magic strongman, do you get a lot of visitors?”

“Well, no.”

“Then don't you think it's a little strange that now you've got three American kids caught in a net?”

“I guess,” Sami said, shrugging.

“Not the sharpest knife in the drawer, is he?” asked Kay.

“No, he's smart, Kay.” Artie hoped a little flattery might help. “He just doesn't know what to do with us. Do you, Sami?”

“Ha! There's where you're wrong, boy.” He walked back to the sharpening stone and picked up the long knife he'd been working on earlier. He moved to the stag and whispered some words to it. With his free hand he stroked its head between the horns. Artie could see the animal's breath quicken. It was scared.

The edge of the woodsman's knife threw off a glint of light. A few more coppery leaves fell from the beech tree.

“You ever go hunting, Artie?” Sami asked, saying Artie's name for the first time.

“Only for dragons,” Artie answered as his stomach started to turn.

Sami shot Artie a dubious glance and said, “One thing you learn when hunting is that it's important to do certain things quickly.” And then, without hesitation, Sami moved the knife into place and opened the deer's throat. “I don't know who you are or how you got here or why you're carrying the kinds of weapons you are,” Sami said, moving closer to them. “All I know is that you are going to tell me how you did that thing with your leg, one way or another.”

“You don't know who you're messing with,” Artie said, sticking to his guns.

“Ha! I don't really care.”

With that, Sami cut Artie across the forearm. The blade was so sharp that it hardly hurt. Some blood dripped out, but in an instant the wound sealed and any trace of it faded away.

Sami jumped back. “You're a witch!”

“That's right,” Artie said, his mind racing.

Sami looked at his knife and back at Artie. Then, just to make sure, he quickly sliced Artie again.

Artie wasn't ready for this one. “Hey!” he yelped. This cut was deeper and painful, and blood gushed momentarily before the wound shut itself.

Sami was quiet for a moment and then he said, “You're from the magic world, aren't you?”

“Maybe,” Artie said. “But enough about me. Why don't you tell me about the sword.”

“What sword? I'm a woodsman. I have axes and knives, not swords.”

“You have that sword over there,” Artie said. “The one in the tree.”

“Ha! That's not a sword, it's a branch. It's been stuck there for as long as I can remember and a lot longer than that, I'll tell you what.”

“Are you saying that
you
can't pull that sword out of the tree?” Artie asked doubtfully.

“No, I can't,” Sami huffed. This was obviously a sore point with the woodsman.

“So you've tried?”

“A hundred times. A thousand. It won't budge. I've tried cutting down the tree, burning it, poisoning it. I've tried heating the blade, oiling it, freezing it. It's no use. That tree has a lot of magic, and the sword even more.”

“Well,
we
have enough magic to get it out.”

“You lie.”

“I don't,” Artie said with conviction. “And I'll tell you something else. We're not alone. We brought friends.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are two more of us near the river outside the forest. One of them is an archer—a very good archer. They'll come looking for us if we don't return soon. When they do, our archer will shoot you before you even see him.”

“You're bluffing.”

“I'm not.”

“Well, these are my woods. No one can sneak up on my camp.”

“That's a chance you can choose to take, of course. Or, you can let us go and I'll
give
you the thing that heals me. Then, if you happen to get run through the neck with a giant hunting arrow, you'll probably be all right, although I have to tell you I've never put it to that kind of a test.”

The woodsman said, “So you're not a witch? It's something you carry that does this magic to you?”

“Exactamundo.”

“And you would just give it to me?”

“Yep, in exchange for our freedom.” Artie paused for effect before saying, “But . . .”

“I knew it,” Sami said, rolling his eyes. “There's always a
but
.”

“But—if one of us can pull the sword from the tree, then you have to return my healing thing and let us go. If you do, then I promise you won't get hurt.”

Sami flashed a big smile. There wasn't a man alive—let alone a child—who could pull the sword from the ancient tree. He spit in one of his palms and rubbed his hands together. “All right. You have a deal.”

He swiped his knife at the rope that held the net. Artie, Kay, and Erik fell to the ground in a painful crash. They stood and untangled themselves from the webbing, their bodies sore.

But not so sore that Kay wasn't going to try to kill Sami!

Less than ten feet separated them, and she erased this distance in a flash, Cleomede leading the way. She didn't want this guy to get Artie's scabbard, and she wasn't at all happy about being trapped.

But just as Cleomede's blade was about to run through Sami's barrel chest, he clapped his hands around it. The sound echoed into the boreal canopy. The sword, and Kay behind it, came to a screeching halt.

Holding the blade flat between his leathery hands, Sami leaned to one side and twisted Cleomede out of Kay's grip. She cried out as her wrists turned. Sami took the sword and tucked it under one of his arms.

“Kay!” Artie exclaimed angrily.

As she rubbed her wrists, she said, “What? You know I don't let bullies get away with being jerks.”

Artie looked at Sami. “I'm sorry about my sister. She's pretty hotheaded.”

“I understand,” Sami said, eyeing Kay with a look of bemusement.

“You have no idea,” Erik said. “I've watched her beat up boys twice her weight!”

“Thank you, Erik,” Kay said as if Artie wasn't being appreciative enough. She turned to Sami. “When we get the sword in the tree, then you have to give me my sword back too, all right?”

Sami gave her a nod. “Sure—all I care about is the healing talisman.”

“Right,” Artie said. He unbuckled the leather straps crisscrossing his chest and lifted the empty scabbard over his head. Then he held it out with both hands, offering it to Sami.

Sami inspected the scabbard and asked, “Where's the blade that goes with this?”

“I lost it,” Artie said curtly.

“That's fitting. You're going to lose this too,” Sami said. “How does it work?”

“You just wear it, you freak,” Kay said wearily.

Sami gave Artie a questioning look as he strapped it on and then placed the blade of his knife along the back of his forearm. He pressed down and drew it across his flesh.

Sami barely winced as blood instantly coursed around his arm, and then just as quickly stopped. Sami dropped the knife and wiped the blood away. With widened eyes, he searched for the cut.

But it was gone.

“Wow!” Erik said, also having witnessed the scabbard's healing power for the first time.

Artie shrugged. “See? Nothing to it.”

“Amazing,” Sami said.

Artie stepped forward. “I've kept my side of the bargain. Will you keep yours?”

“Of course. I am a man of my word,” Sami said, leading them to the tree.

As they got closer to Gram, they saw that the sword was buried nearly to the hilt in the thick trunk. It looked to be in pretty bad shape. The exposed part was weatherworn and rusted and covered in several layers of calcified muck and splotchy lichens.

Sami slapped the hilt and it didn't move. Then he grabbed it in both hands and pulled on it as hard as he could, even going so far as to plant both feet on the trunk so he could push away from it like someone rappelling down a rock face.

It didn't budge.

“Give it your best shot,” Sami said, stepping aside.

Artie looked at Kay and Kay looked at Erik and Erik looked at the ground.

“Kay, why don't you try first?” Artie suggested

Kay shot her brother a look. “What, me?”

“Yes, you.” Artie liked the idea of working up to Erik's big moment.

“Fine,” Kay said.

Kay went to the sword and pulled at it halfheartedly, making a very fake grunting sound. As she stepped away she mumbled, “Yep, it sure is stuck.”

Sami laughed quietly.

“Great; thanks for trying, Kay. Way to put your back into it,” Artie said sarcastically. “My turn.”

“Have at it.”

Artie stepped up to Gram and took it with both hands. Before he pulled, he thought about Cleomede and how it had been stuck in the stone and how he, Artie Kingfisher, had freed it. He started to pull. He pulled harder and harder. He got up on the tree like Sami had and pulled with all his might. Finally he stopped and took a deep breath. He looked at the sword. Nothing.

Artie walked to Erik and put a hand on his shoulder. “You can do this,” Artie quietly insisted.

Erik looked at Artie nervously. His eyes asked,
But what if I can't?
Artie squeezed Erik's shoulder and smiled.

“Go on,” Artie said.

“All right,” Erik whispered.

He marched to the tree. There was no way. Still, he reached out and wrapped his hand around the hilt, closed his eyes, and pulled.

And nothing happened.

“Ha! I told you,” Sami exclaimed.

“Try again; use both hands!” Artie suggested, his heart pounding.

Erik did. And then his body started to jitter. This grew to a shake. This amplified to a vibration that made the edges of Erik's body blur. The energy coursed through the hilt, to the blade, and into the tree. In a matter of seconds, every branch and leaf began to tremble and flutter. For an instant Erik was joined to the tree and vice versa, the sword their conduit.

Then he stepped back and twisted his shoulders, and with him came the legendary dragon slayer Gram. The part of the blade that had been embedded in the tree was bright and silver and sharp. He stepped away from Barnstokk and uttered a proclamation in Swedish that he didn't even understand. It was like the sword was speaking through him.

Artie beamed and Kay yelped, “Woo-hoo!” while Sami fell to his knees and bleated, “I can't— How?”