Wild Magic (20 page)

Dumm!
Unbelievably, Jakob thudded down beside the boulder, bruised but not broken. He stretched out his hand and placed it on the stone. Silently thanked it for not bashing his brains out.

But the Beast was still there. Coming in for the kill now, down on all fours, hackles raised, feet carefully placed, stalking forward, fangs bared, savagely growling, eyes unblinking.

Jakob shrank back against the boulder and prayed for a miracle.

Then he felt something. A tremor, deep within the boulder. A ripple that grew stronger and stronger, till the earth itself seemed to be moving. Jakob fell backward.
The boulder had moved.
And when he turned to see why, he discovered it wasn't a boulder at all.

It was a huge, angry ogre.

CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN

Even the Beast stopped advancing when it saw the size of the ogre. The Beast was big, but the ogre was enormous: twice as tall and six times heavier. But it was a creature of very little brain. The eyes that peered out from its craggy face showed neither cunning nor reason. The lumbering body moved in response to the most basic needs and moods: sleep, hunger, thirst, and anger. Unwittingly, Jakob had interrupted one and sparked another. The ogre was tired and angry to be woken.

The ogre sniffed the air and shifted its great bulk. Jakob scuttled away to hide in the bushes, but the ogre had seen him. It began a slow march toward him.
Dum! Dum! Dum! Dum!
The earth shook with each massive footfall.
Dum! Dum! Dum! Dum!
The great gray hands were flexing, the fat fingers wriggling like vipers.
Dum! Dum! Dum! Dum!
Jakob frantically looked for somewhere else to hide. There was a tree he could climb—but the Beast was standing beside it.

The Beast was snarling, shifting, unsure what to do. Like the ogre, it danced to a simple tune. It had just one thought in its head:
Bite the boy
. But it couldn't do it. The ogre was in the way. It had to be stopped.

With a great roar, the Beast sprang through the air and landed on the ogre's back. Its claws dug into the soft flesh of the shoulders. Its fangs seized the fatty neck. Its back feet kicked, viciously shredding the skin like paper.

The ogre bellowed and shook itself, trying to dislodge the Beast. When that didn't work, its mighty hands reached up, grabbed the Beast by its shaggy mane, and pulled. The Beast was thrown completely over the ogre's head. It somersaulted in the air and hit the earth with a sickening thud.

It didn't get up.

With the Beast gone, the ogre turned its attention back to Jakob—who suddenly realized that the ogre couldn't see very well. The creature was sniffing—
hhff-huh-hhff-huh-hhff-huh-hhff—
trying to locate him. And yes, it was huge and heavy and immensely strong, but it was also slow and clumsy. Jakob had quick wits and fast legs—and his staff, if he could remember where he had left it.

Inside the oak!

Jakob sprinted across the glade and reached into the broken oak. He seized the staff, pointed it straight at the lumbering ogre, closed his eyes, and pictured a burst of pure energy. A spear of silver that could fly through the night and pierce the monster's stony heart.

And that is exactly what happened. The staff shuddered in his hand as the energy was released, shooting across the glade like a meteor. Night was banished; the darkness exploded into light as the beam hit its target. And when Jakob opened his eyes, he saw the ogre had gone. Just—
gone
. It had completely disappeared.

Unfortunately, the Beast was still there. It hadn't been killed; it had simply been winded. And as Jakob stepped out from the safety of the tree, it rose unsteadily to its feet.

Jakob saw it coming, but there was nothing he could do. He felt weak and wobbly. All his strength had gone into the staff to deliver the deadly blow. He needed time to recover. Not long—a few minutes— but that was too much to hope for. As soon as the Beast found its bearings, it would attack. Despair fell upon Jakob like a sackful of spiders. Marianna couldn't help him. He couldn't help himself. He was doomed.

And then his father arrived.

CHAPTER
FORTY-EIGHT

Jakob couldn't believe what he was seeing. It had to be a dream, a hallucination, another trick of the forest. But whatever it was, Moller was there. He stumbled out of the trees and paused, swaying on his feet, looking around.

It was such a familiar sight, Jakob thought they could almost be in Hamelin again. One of them drunk and looking for a fight. The other watching, deeply ashamed and desperate.

But Moller wasn't drunk. Not this time. He was exhausted. He had walked all through the night and on through the day, trying to find Marianna. He had had no food and very little water. He had found the forest and been drawn into it. Night had come, he had heard the commotion and followed it. Now he had stumbled into the middle of a nightmare. The Beast was alive but Marianna was dead and Jakob was about to join her.

The Beast began to run, bounding across the glade toward Jakob. Moller saw it coming and felt fury rise within him. He hurled himself between the Beast and his boy: “NO-O-O-O-O!”

But the cry was ripped from his body. The Beast swiped Moller with a killing paw and he was cut like a peach. A five-claw wound, deep and deadly, from chest to belly.

“NO-O-O-O-O!” echoed Jakob. He saw Moller fall to the floor, spinning like a wind-torn leaf. Saw the Beast hurtling toward him again. His fingers curled tighter around his staff. He pointed it at the Beast, knowing it wouldn't save him—
couldn't
save him—but it might do something.

And it
did
do something. The globe started to glow and an enormous bubble appeared around him—a shining, iridescent sphere, just like the ones the Piper had made in Hamelin. Jakob knew it wouldn't last long. He didn't have the strength to hold it forever. But while it lasted, the Beast couldn't harm him.

The Beast skidded to a halt and stared at Jakob through the shimmer of the sphere. Jakob could feel the heat from its breath. Smell the blood on its tongue. See the madness in its eyes. But there was something else too. Something lurking
behind
the eyes. A spirit, a force, a will that wasn't entirely bestial.

Jakob was intrigued. What was it? He had to know.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, and soon he was leaving his body. Through the sphere he went, like a berry seed blown on the wind. Into a nostril . . . up the nose . . . into the skull . . . into the mind of the Beast.

Jakob looked out through the Beast's eyes and saw himself, protected by the bubble. He could feel the Beast's emotions: frustration, anger, confusion. There was patience too. Pure animal patience—a willingness to wait until the magic disappeared.

But Jakob sensed something more. Somewhere inside this hunter's mind—trapped, hidden, held hostage—there was a light. It was dim, no brighter than the flame on a dying candle, but it was there.
The Piper
.

Jakob traveled through the Beast's body, down to its hot, beating heart. There he found the light and entered it. Oh! It was like falling into a bottomless pool. He was overwhelmed by emotions, thoughts, and memories. He was swimming through hopes and desires. He could see everything. Understand everything.

He knew how it felt to be the Beast, hunting and killing, gorging on blood and still wanting more. He knew how it felt to be the Piper, enduring the shame and self-loathing.

He felt the burden of the curse. Saw the rise and fall of hope over the centuries. A rumor of rats and it grew like corn—and ripened to gold—only to be cut down in another bleak harvest.

And Jakob learned where he fitted in this messy, sorry saga. He knew why the Piper had come to Hamelin Town. What he had been looking for. What he needed.

It was time to leave. Jakob had had enough of this broken battleground of a body, with its dark dungeon of a heart. So he left the Beast, floated through the sphere, and safely returned to his own body. And when his fingers regripped the staff, he made a discovery. While he had been away, his power had renewed itself, many times over. He was saved. He had more than enough power to kill the Beast.

Jakob took a deep breath and readied himself. He moved the staff till it was pointing directly at the Beast's heart. He closed his eyes—and knew he couldn't do it.

The Beast wasn't evil. The Piper wasn't evil. They were just trapped inside bodies they didn't want. Jakob could understand that. He would remember his twisted legs and curved back till the day he died. But he would also remember how it felt to get a new body. He had felt free. Weightless. Incredibly happy.

He wasn't happy now. Marianna was dead. His father was dead. He had nothing left to live for. So why was he about to kill the Beast? Why take a life to save his own when he didn't really want it? It made no sense. It would be better to give his life to someone who
did
want it. Someone who needed it. Someone who had waited centuries to have it.

Jakob looked into the eyes of the Beast and nodded. Drew himself up to his full height. Closed his eyes—and burst the protective bubble.

CHAPTER
FORTY-NINE

Marianna opened her eyes and saw nothing but stars. She frowned and a jagged pain stabbed her between the eyes.
Stars? Ah, it's the sky
, she thought.
I'm lying on my back. Why am I . . . oh! Jakob!

She sat up. The glade was bathed in moonlight. There was the oak. And there was the Beast. He was—

“NO-O-O-O-O-O!”

The Beast dropped Jakob at the sound of her cry, but she was too late. The Beast had already bitten him.

Marianna stumbled toward them, wondering why the Beast didn't run away. It just stood there, swaying on its feet, its mouth wet with blood. Then its legs buckled and it collapsed, hitting the ground with a terrible
thump
.

But Marianna paid the Beast no attention. She fell to her knees and cradled Jakob in her arms. Rocked him back and forth like he was a baby again.

“Jakob!” she moaned. “Jakob!”

“Is that you, Mari?”

“Jakob?” Marianna couldn't believe it. Her brother's eyes were opening.

He smiled faintly. “I thought . . . you were dead, Mari.”

“No,” said Marianna. “Just knocked out cold. But you . . .” She couldn't bear to go on.

Jakob reached for her arm and patted it reassuringly. “I . . . don't think I'm . . . dying,” he said. “I think I'll be . . . better soon.” He opened his eyes wider and managed to focus on her face. Then he remembered. “Papa! You must help him, Mari.”

“Papa? Is he here?”

Jakob nodded. “Over there.”

Marianna laid Jakob carefully down and looked around. She saw a body. “Papa?” She stumbled toward it. “
Papa!
”

Moller was wet with blood. He was so badly hurt, Marianna didn't dare move him. She knelt and eased his shirt open. The wound was appalling. Five long scratches, desperately deep. Marianna turned her face away and put her hand on his forehead. She stroked the damp hair away from his face. He looked old. So old. Tears pricked her eyes.