Clash of the Worlds

“Spit us into the attic, Fat Jagger!” Eleanor screamed, tears pouring down her face now.

She knew Fat Jagger was dying. Her only hope of saving him was if her plan worked. But the problem was, now that they were actually here, she was less convinced than ever that it actually would. It was a long shot, and she knew it.

Fat Jagger gently poked a hole into the peaked roof of Kristoff House with his massive index finger. He bent forward slightly and spat the contents of his mouth into the attic. Then he slumped backwards into a cross-legged sitting position like a small child getting ready for story time, exhausted and breathing heavily and barely able to keep his eyes open. But he had done it; he’d finally saved the Walkers.

Fat Jagger smiled triumphantly, breathed his last breath, and then slumped forward on to the driveway, his face crushing a police cruiser like it was made of paper.

The three Walker children and the Storm King spilled into the empty attic of Kristoff House, sloshing inside a tidal wave of warm and smelly Fat Jagger spit. They slid across the wooden floor like freshly caught fish being dumped on to a dock.

Eleanor climbed to her feet, slipped a few times, and then rushed over to the attic window. She watched in horror as Fat Jagger slumped over on to the driveway.

“He’s dead!” Eleanor screamed. “They killed Fat Jagger!”

Guilt and grief ripped into her heart, as she realised that his death was on her hands. She was the one who insisted that they summon Fat Jagger that night. It was her idea to bring him to the surface. He had been safe and sound inside the bay, and now he was dead, and it was all her fault.

Her plan was mostly forgotten now, washed away by an overwhelming sense of sorrow. Eleanor fell to her knees and sobbed, crying harder than she had since she was two years old.

She looked over at Cordelia for support, but saw that her sister was just as distraught by the death of their friend as she was. Brendan, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content.

He was chewing on a pigeon.

“Brendan, get that out of your mouth,” Cordelia commanded.

Zombie Brendan looked up, opened his mouth, and the pigeon escaped, flying away through the hole in the roof.

Eleanor probably would have stayed there crying, unable to move, right up until the moment the National Guard soldiers (who were currently breaking down the front door) rushed upstairs to find them. But her sister’s chilling scream brought Eleanor rushing back to reality.

Eleanor spun around to find herself face to face with the Storm King. Not a decomposing zombie version, but a very much alive Storm King. He rose up towards the ceiling, arms spread on either side of his body. His face was restored back to the ugly, sagging lump of grey that it had been on the day he died.

He grinned at her sickeningly. His teeth, yellow and crooked, gleamed in the morning sun that now streamed into the attic through the massive hole in the roof above him.

“Hello, my dear,” he said. “Brendan’s appearance certainly has changed. I actually prefer this new look. Ugliness creates fear in others. Fear creates power. My … shall we say, unique face has certainly opened many doors for me.”

Instead of screaming in terror the way Cordelia had, or even backing away from the monster in front of her, Eleanor, amazingly, smiled.

“It worked,” she said triumphantly. “My plan actually worked!”

Cordelia climbed to her feet, ready to tackle the Storm King before he could harm her sister. But now she stood there gaping at the smiling face of her younger sister. Of course! Cordelia wanted to kick herself for not thinking of it.

With the many rifts opening up between the book world and real world, some of the magic the Kristoff House possessed in the book world had crossed over. In the book world, skeletons brought into the attic came back to life. And the Storm King’s body had pretty much been nothing but a skeleton covered in scraps of withered flesh.

Eleanor was a genius!

“We need your help!” Cordelia said to the Storm King, as the sounds of National Guard troops breaking down the front door reverberated through the floors below them.

The Storm King spun around, his eyes wide.

“I know precisely what is going on,” he said, the usual menace in his voice surprisingly muted. “It’s my magic. Since my rather untimely death, it has weakened. My book world and the real world are colliding. I never should have created it to begin with – there were better places to hide that wretched Book of Doom and Desire. Perhaps back where we found it in the first place …”

“We don’t have time for this,” Cordelia pleaded. “We all make mistakes, we get it. But now how do we fix it?”

“Fat Jagger is dead,” Eleanor added, pointing across the attic. “Brendan’s a zombie and he bit Deal, so she’s about three minutes from joining him! Can we undo it all somehow? Please …”

Her plea came out as a whimper as her newfound confidence began to wane. After all, it was entirely conceivable that the Storm King would offer no answers. The death of Fat Jagger, Brendan’s new hunger for flesh, Cordelia’s eventual turning, all of the destruction Fat Jagger had accidentally caused trying to get them here … it was more than Eleanor could bear to think about.

“I can save them,” the Storm King said, almost as if reading her mind. “We can save all of them. We can seal off the two worlds from each other for ever, and undo all of the damage that’s been caused. There is a magical fail-safe that I created when I made the book world. I always leave a way out, a way to undo the effects of any spells or magical constructs. That’s the first rule of the Lorekeepers. No magic should ever be permanent.”

As he spoke, he floated over to Brendan’s body and easily hoisted him on to his shoulder, belying the appearance of his withered old frame. Draped across the Storm King’s shoulder, Brendan tried to gnaw at the old man’s back, his teeth clacking together viciously.

They heard the National Guard troops in the hallway below them, searching the rooms on the second floor of the house. It would only be a matter of minutes before they discovered the attic.

The Storm King carried Brendan over to the far side of the room, just past the folded-up attic stairs. He pressed his hand against the wall and muttered several words under his breath.

“In nomine Domini rex aperto tempestas.”

A section of the wall suddenly vanished, opening a doorway into the secret passages that existed within Kristoff House. The Storm King turned back to face Cordelia and Eleanor. His eyes blazed as if they were on fire, the intensity causing both of the Walker sisters to look away.

“Follow me,” he said and then disappeared inside the dark passageway with Brendan still slung over his shoulder.

Eleanor and Cordelia met each other’s stare before they cautiously followed the Storm King. As she entered the passageway, Cordelia looked down at her right arm. The skin up to her elbow was turning a pale shade of green and already decaying. A growing headache pulsated at the back of her skull, making it increasingly difficult to focus on anything.

She clearly didn’t have much longer.

The Storm King spoke quickly as he lead them through a maze of passageways lit by an eerie green glow.

“We don’t have much time,” he said. “If we don’t get to the chamber soon, you and your brother will spend the rest of eternity as undead monsters. We need to get you three back into my books as soon as possible.”

“Your books?” Cordelia said. “We have to go back?”

“Yes,” the Storm King hissed, as he sped up through the interminably endless stone passages.

“But why?”

“There are three enchanted items hidden inside the book world, items called Worldkeepers.”

“What are Worldkeepers?” Eleanor asked.

“Merely objects,” the Storm King said. “But objects that, when used together, act as a key between the two worlds. They must be retrieved and brought to my brother, Eugene, in Tinz. He can help you get them to the Door of Ways. If all three Worldkeepers pass through the Door of Ways at the exact same time, then they will act as a locking mechanism, permanently sealing off the worlds from each other.”

“Wait, did you say your brother Eugene?” Cordelia asked.

She never knew he had a brother. Surely he must be dead by now, in any case – only magic had kept Denver alive so much longer than he should have been.

“Yes, my brother has been in Tinz for decades now,” the Storm King said. “There isn’t time to explain further, but once you retrieve the Worldkeepers, you must bring them to Eugene. He will help you from there.”

“Why can’t you just come with us?” Eleanor asked.

“I can no longer go back,” he said. “The same forces that trapped Dahlia inside the book world are keeping me out. It almost certainly has something to do with my death. Now enough jibber-jabber, we need to move!”

Eleanor and Cordelia glanced at each other, but didn’t have time to question him further. They suddenly realised that they had entered a small chamber. Neither of them remembered going through any doorway, and the room appeared to be sealed off on all sides.

“How did we get in here?” Cordelia asked as she looked around the small room.

Denver Kristoff gave no response and uttered another low spell as several torches around the room ignited with flickering blue flames that almost looked like liquid. The chamber was the size of a large bedroom. Its walls seemed to be made of stone, in spite of supposedly existing within an old, wooden Victorian house. Bookshelves made of polished bone lined the walls, stacked two deep with old leather-bound tomes that looked far more ancient than Denver’s rotting face. A small desk sat along the centre wall, and this too was made of bones. But not just any bones, the entire desk appeared to have been constructed entirely from human skulls, the tops of dozens of craniums creating a surprisingly smooth surface.

“Eeewww,” Eleanor said, shuddering.

“So … grotesque,” Cordelia muttered.

“Not really,” the Storm King said. “These are the heads of my old fraternity brothers. It always brings a tear to my eye when I see the grinning skulls of Winston, Charles, Xavier … and of course Henry, with that endearing gap in his front teeth … Oh dear. Can’t get emotional. There’s work to be done!”

The Storm King flopped Brendan down on to the desk with surprisingly little care. Brendan groaned and gnashed his teeth.

“Be careful!” Cordelia said.

“He’s already dead, my girl! A few more bruises won’t do any harm – you can already see right through his torso!” the Storm King barked at her, his eyes still blazing.

Cordelia shrank back, not wanting to upset him further. Somehow this old, demented madman had become their only hope.

The Storm King grabbed the lower jaw of one of the skeletons that made up the desk. He pulled it down and a small drawer made entirely of mandibles slid open near the base of the desk.

“Take this,” the Storm King said, spinning around.

He handed Cordelia a thin book. It was the size of a small novel, but was bound in some sort of strange light brown leather that felt rough and brittle. It had a surprisingly unsettling texture that she couldn’t quite identify – but strongly suspected might be dried human skin. The cover of the book had a few words etched on to it by hand in a dark brown ink that looked suspiciously like dried blood: Denver Kristoff’s Journal of Magic and Technology.

“It’s all explained inside,” the Storm King said. “Every bit of my magic, every invention I created is documented within these pages. This will help you find the three Worldkeepers and bring them through the Door of Ways. It won’t be easy. But if you are successful, it will undo all the damage that has been inflicted here, today. Do you understand?”

Cordelia nodded. She was scared, nervous, and full of questions. Eleanor looked at Brendan’s dying body and nodded as well. She hated the idea of trusting the Storm King, but they had little choice at this point.

“You mustn’t let Dahlia get her hands on the Journal or the Worldkeepers,” the Storm King continued. “She will be there, lurking somewhere, full of tricks. She may not even appear as herself, so be extremely careful whom you trust. She doesn’t know where the Worldkeepers are, but no doubt she can sense their power and could use them for great harm. If she gets her hands on any of the three Worldkeepers first, all will be lost. So guard them, and the Journal, with your lives. And stay away from Dahlia.”

“Trust me, we don’t wanna go anywhere near that horrible creature,” Eleanor said.

Cordelia nodded. Brendan offered a few grunts and snapped his teeth with a low groan.

“Watch your tongue,” the Storm King snapped defensively. “She’s done many dreadful things, but she’s still my daughter, my own flesh and blood.”

“The old Dahlia is gone,” Cordelia countered. “All that’s left is the Wind Witch, the twisted, soulless monster that killed you and then laughed about it! How can you forget that?”

“You’re not a parent,” the Storm King said, tears forming at the corners of his saggy and yellow eyelids. “You can’t understand. Dahlia wasn’t always like this. She once was a gentle soul, so kind, so full of life. She loved nature and wildlife. At least once a month, she would come home carrying a pigeon or a robin, with a broken wing or foot, in the pocket of her favourite yellow dress. And she would nurse the poor creatures back to health. No matter how many times her mother told Dahlia to stop bringing home the birds, she never listened. Dahlia always did have a mind of her own, but she was generous and thoughtful; she always found and admired the beauty of this world – and the beauty in other living creatures.”

“Big deal!” Cordelia shouted. “That’s nothing compared to the pain and grief she’s caused so many people.”

“I know she’s become a monster,” the Storm King said. “But I believe that what was initially in her heart, in her soul, is still there somewhere. I know that little girl isn’t completely dead. But enough of this. I’m starting to sound like a sentimental old fool. And it’s time the three of you got back into the book world one last time.”

Cordelia exchanged a glance with Eleanor. They never thought they would have to go back there. The other two times, they had all barely escaped with their lives. And even the seemingly good things that happened in the book world only brought them more misery in their real lives. Going back was actually the last thing in the world either of them wanted to do – aside from maybe planting a kiss on the Storm King’s withered old mug.

But they both knew they had no choice now. And so they slowly nodded, Eleanor fighting tears at the reality of having to go back. Cordelia clenched her jaw and told herself that she would do anything, anything to save Brendan and Fat Jagger and the rest of her family.

The Storm King grinned at them as he recited a spell.

Suddenly the chamber was spinning. It was spinning so fast that Cordelia could no longer make out the skull desk or bone bookshelves. She couldn’t make out the faces of the Storm King or Eleanor, or Brendan’s body crumpled on the desk. She couldn’t see anything but the blurred streaks of blue flames and concrete walls.

Then it all faded away into darkness, and there were books all around her, books spinning with her, closing around her like some sort of coffin. They collided with her body and then stuck, as if coated in superglue.

More books piled on, emerging from the blackness around her. The books seemed to morph themselves into her skin, becoming a part of her.

Cordelia screamed out in pain, but no sounds came out. Sound didn’t exist any more, there were only books and pain and spinning in the dark. It was far worse than her two previous trips into Denver’s book world. It was excruciating. But she could not even scream as she no longer had a mouth.

He had tricked them! Cordelia was sure of it. They had just willingly followed the Storm King to their own deaths.

Just as this horrible realisation hit her, she was swallowed up completely by the darkness.

The first thing Cordelia became aware of was light – light so bright that it seemed to pour right through her closed eyelids. She covered her face with her hands … and then grinned.

“Check it out, Eleanor!” Cordelia yelled excitedly, finally opening her eyes. “My hand’s healed!”

They were still in the Kristoff House attic. Except the gaping hole in the ceiling was no longer there. Sunlight streamed in through the attic windows. It was quiet except for the chirping songs of several birds outside.

“Deal, we made it,” Eleanor said, rushing over to hug her older sister. Then she stopped short. “Where’s Bren?”

They both spun around and looked across the attic. In the corner, Brendan was still tied up and rolling around trying to free himself.

“Why am I tied up with shoelaces?” he asked, spitting out a few pigeon feathers. “And how did we get back to Kristoff House?”

Cordelia marched up to Brendan and pointed an angry finger in his face.

“First of all, I want an apology,” Cordelia commanded.

“For what?”

“You bit me!”

“Why would I do that?” Brendan asked.

“You became a zombie! Don’t you remember?”

“Actually, no, I don’t,” Brendan said, suddenly fascinated. “But that is so cool! Did my eyes get all white and weird? Did my skin turn green? Was I really scary? Did I growl a lot?”

“Who cares! You wanted to eat us!”

Brendan gagged.

“OK, that’s pretty gross,” he said.

Eleanor rushed over and gave her big brother a hug.

“I’m just happy you’re not green any more,” she said. “It was really disgusting.”

As Eleanor helped Brendan untie his feet, Cordelia explained what had happened after the zombie bite. When she told him about being shot three times in the chest by an attack helicopter, Brendan pumped his fist in the air.

“No way! People at school are going to freak when they hear about this,” Brendan said. “So where are we, anyway? Transylvania? A volcano? What awful book did we end up in this time?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but instead ran to the nearest window to see for himself. Based on past experiences, he was nervous about what he would find. Seconds later, he spun around with a huge smile on his face.

“Guys, come check this out,” Brendan said. “We totally scored. There are no forests teeming with savage warriors, giant insects, battling colossi and bloodthirsty wolves; no Roman colosseums filled with lions and gladiators, nothing scary at all!”

Eleanor and Cordelia shared the same thought as they sprang to their feet and rushed over to the window: it was too good to be true!

But this time was totally different. As Cordelia and Eleanor peered outside, they both saw the same things: an open and vast prairie under a bright blue sky. The flat fields of grass and golden stalks of wild oats and weeds, spotted with patches of yellow and blue and purple wildflowers seemed to stretch out before them for ever. They’d never seen such a vast stretch of flat, grassy prairie before.

“Crazy, right?” Brendan said behind them. “I’m starting to wonder if Denver ever wrote a knockoff version of the Little House on the Prairie or something.”

Cordelia tore herself away from the window.

“Denver never wrote about anything remotely pleasant,” Cordelia said. “We’d better go downstairs and see what nasty things are lurking behind that beautiful landscape.”

“So, you’d better tell me what happened after I turned into a zombie,” Brendan said, leading the way back down the attic stairs. “Why are we back in the book world anyway?”

Cordelia remembered that Brendan had been out of commission during almost their entire ordeal. He didn’t know that the Storm King had come back to life, or about their mission to find the three Worldkeepers, or any of it. So she explained what had transpired while he was a zombie as they continued down towards the foyer of Kristoff House.

“But the Storm King said we could save Fat Jagger?” Brendan asked, as they arrived in the living room. “That by finding these Worldkeepers and bringing them through the Door of Ways … we would be able to undo all of the terrible havoc the book world caused to the real world? And, um, you know, also undo the zombie apocalypse that I accidentally started?”

“Yeah, that’s what he said,” Cordelia answered, sounding unsure. “Supposedly everything we need to know is in here.”

She held up Denver Kristoff’s Journal of Magic and Technology. Brendan reached out for it, but his sister pulled it back reflexively. She had already sort of assigned herself the role of official researcher and leader of the mission – she was the best at that stuff. That’s the way it normally played out, anyway, even for smaller things like simply ordering pizzas for them all when their parents were out of town. She always took charge, and they never seemed to mind.

Instead of protesting, Brendan sighed. “What makes you think we can trust the Storm King?” he asked warily. “That old sack of donkey poop hasn’t exactly been helpful ever before.”

“I don’t know that we can fully trust him,” Cordelia said. “But we didn’t have much choice. We still don’t, especially now that we’re back here.”

“He said we could save Fat Jagger!” Eleanor chimed in.

“I really don’t think Denver ever wanted the two worlds to coexist,” Cordelia added. “Why would he? It would only result in a lot of destruction, especially for his beloved characters, his creations.”

Brendan wasn’t really sure he fully believed that argument. But even if the Storm King was lying, being here seemed to be a lot better than back in that mess at the moment. He had technically died in the real world, after all.

“Well, let’s go outside and see where we are,” he said, taking a deep breath as he reached for the front door.

But just before his hand touched the knob, someone pounded the other side of the door so violently, it almost sounded like gunshots. Brendan flinched, his eyes wide.

“We know you’re in there!” a voice shouted from the front porch as a fist pounded on the door again. “Now come on out or we’re gonna start shooting!”

The three Walker children exchanged frightened glances, unsure of what to do.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” Cordelia muttered.

The sound of guns cocking just outside the front door pushed Cordelia into action. She crept forward and gently pulled back the curtain.

Standing on the front porch were three men wearing cowboy hats and shiny gold badges. Two of the men had flannel shirts and held Winchester rifles. The man in the centre wore a huge overcoat made of grey fur and held a Colt revolver with a smooth pearl handle in his right hand.