The Scientist's Apprentice: Part Eleven

     The blue Ogrin glanced to his left, at the orange Wocky at his side. Marlo was biting her lip and rubbing her fingers together, as if debating whether or not she should attack. Even Parlan was rolling up the sleeves of his pajamas. Darren wished he could cast magic; he hated being the only one in the room who was truly powerless.

     "Now that we are all gathered here," Sir Hartwick announced grandly, holding his hands out as if he were on stage, "it is time for you, Sir Rickshaw, to tell me the ingredients for the time travel spell."

     Darren licked his lips. "What are you going to do once I tell you? This doesn't look like it's going to end peacefully."

     The grey Gelert's eyes narrowed. "I don't know how peaceful I can be considering you keep stalling." He snapped his fingers, and all of the apprentices shifted their bodies so that one arm was extended: a sorcerer's fighting stance. "Don't think I won't have them attack you—"

     Suddenly Marlo moved. The orange Wocky darted forward towards the nearest apprentice, a brown Poogle, reaching for his throat. The Poogle flinched back as he attempted to summon a flame, but she batted his spell away with a flick of her left wrist. Her right hand, meanwhile, grasped the fragile chain of his pendant, and she pulled.

     The chain snapped and the pendant fell to the floor with a ting.

     Immediately the Poogle's eyes faded from red to brown, and he blinked a few times in confusion, turning his head wildly. "Wha-what?"

     "Help me!" Marlo shouted at Darren and Parlan, but before either of them could move, Sir Hartwick began chanting in a language the Ogrin couldn't understand, full of harsh syllables and spoken with an odd sort of rhythm. And a second later, the possessed apprentices joined in. They waved their outstretched arms in unison, chanting the ancient words of a spell.

     The air suddenly grew cold, as if all the warmth had been syphoned out of the room. And then an invisible force pressed down on all four of them, forcing them all backwards until their backs were pressed up against the supply closet.

     Vapors condensed before their eyes, and the air thickened, fogging over until they realized, too late, that they were now trapped behind a giant wall of ice. It was thick and smoking, white vapors curling off of its surface and into the basement air as ghostly tendrils.

     "O... kay," Darren said, staring up at the wall that blocked them from Sir Hartwick and his army of possessed sorcerers. "Now we're doubly trapped." He glanced over at the brown Poogle who had now joined them; he was blinking confusedly and rubbing his eyes. "Marlo," Darren ask, "why'd you free him?"

     Marlo rolled her eyes. "Three sorcerers are better than two. I would have freed more of them, but then Hartwick decided to summon a giant block of ice." She leaned down to look the Poogle in the face. "Hey, Bennie." She snapped her fingers. "Are you all right?"

     "Er... yeah, maybe." He kept blinking, staring at Marlo as if he didn't quite recognize her. "Are you... a girl?"

     Marlo was saved from making a sharp retort by the booming sound of Hartwick's voice.

     "This game is growing tiresome," Hartwick said. "Tell me the ingredients now or you all will die."

     Darren's eyes widened at the threat, but Parlan just shook his head. "We need to break out," the silver Shoyru mumbled, conjuring a flame in his palm.

     Bennie and Marlo exchanged looks and conjured flames of their own. Bennie's burned bright purple; Marlo's were dark blue.

     "If we throw them together," Marlo whispered, her eyes on the white wall, "we can burn a hole through this thing. And then we just head up the stairs and run into the woods."

     "I don't exactly know what's going on, but considering how crazy Sir Hartwick sounds right now, I'm on board," Bennie mumbled. The brown Poogle cracked his neck. "Let's do this."

     Darren watched as, in unison, the three sorcerer apprentices shot flames at a singular point on the wall of ice. The wall began to smoke, white vapors pouring off like thick curling fog, but their fire was extinguished with a loud hiss. The wall remained untouched.

     The three sorcerers stepped back, coughing into the crooks of their elbows. "What... is this stuff?" Parlan asked, hacking on the air. "Why won't it melt?"

     They could hear Hartwick laughing from the other side of the opaque ice. "It won't work," he shouted; through the thick pane of ice, his voice sounded distorted and muffled. "The more you attempt to melt it, the quicker you seal your own fate."

     "What is he talking about?" Marlo asked, turning to Darren. For the first time, Darren thought that the orange Wocky looked somewhat frightened. "It's ice. It should just melt."

     Darren stared at the wall for a moment, and then took a hesitant step forward. He held out his hand and touched the wall briefly with his finger. It was extremely cold and stung, almost like a burn. He jerked his hand back and glanced up and down the wall again, watching the vapors more closely. Finally, after wafting the fog towards his nose and taking a deep breath, he shook his head. "This isn't regular ice. This is dry ice."

     Three sets of eyes stared at him blankly.

     "Er..." The blue Ogrin struggled for a simplistic explanation. "Dry ice is the solid form of carbon dioxide... one of the gases you exhale. It's particularly good at putting out fires. And, well, if we don't get out of here... the carbon dioxide that is released into the air could causes us to... asphyxiate..."

     Marlo cursed. "Then we need to blast out of here."

     "With what?" Parlan asked, staring at the wall. "It's going to require some strong magic."

     Marlo bit the inside of her cheek. Her eyes were surveying the giant wall of dry ice. "Fyre should do it."

     Darren shook his head. "I already said that fire won't wor—"

     "Fyre with a Y," Bennie explained, his eyes growing wide. "But we couldn't even work that spell in class with all thirty of us casting it! It got out of control—"

     "It's the only solution."

     Parlan shook his head. "It's too dangerous."

     "It's the only solution!" Marlo repeated. "It's powerful enough to blast us out of here, and then it'll distract the apprentices so we can sneak out."

     "I don't like this plan," Parlan said, wringing his hands.

     "Well we don't have a choice. And we don't have a lot of time." She dug into the lining of her cape, fishing around the inner pockets. "Anyone have chalk? I left my bag with all my things out on the front porch."

     Parlan pointed. "The supply closet is behind you. There's always chalk in there."

     "Thank Thyora," she said, wheeling around, swinging the door open, and disappearing into its dark depths. But when she emerged a few seconds later, she didn't just have several pieces of chalk. She was also carrying a blank artist canvas.

     "Hartwick keeps canvases in the closet," she said in shock, staring at the edges of the frame with wide eyes.

     Bennie nodded. "Yeah, I knew about them. I've been sorta... stealing them to paint."

     Marlo looked up at him and her jaw dropped. "You've been wasting these things? Don't you know how expensive they are?"

     "It's just canvas—"

     "They're made from cotton that's been spun by Qasalan mystics," she said, tapping the small golden signature on the side of the frame. "These aren't just any type of canvas. They're enchanted. You can trap people by drawing their likeness on them."

     Parlan shook his head fiercely. "That's an old wives tale. Bennie told me it's just a rumor around here—"

     "Bennie is wrong," Marlo said solidly. "I've read about these things, and they definitely are real." She thrust the canvas at the brown Poogle, who took it awkwardly in his hands.

     "Why are you giving this to me?"

     "Because I have a new plan. While Parlan and I cast the Fyre spell, you're going to draw a portrait of Sir Hartwick."

     Bennie's mouth fluttered for a moment, trying to form words, but he shut it mutely when Marlo shoved a nub of coal into his hands. "Once the wall is down, start drawing," she said. "It needs to look just like him, or it isn't going to work."

     Bennie nodded, staring at the canvas with a look of disbelief.

     Marlo crouched to the ground, starting the rune, and Parlan hovered over her anxiously. The air was extremely cold from the dry ice wall, and Parlan wrapped his arms across his chest, shivering.

     Parlan swallowed. I'm in over my head right now, he thought. He still couldn't help but feel that he was just a silver Shoyru from the Angleton Isles who dreamt of becoming a sorcerer. Although he could cast simple spells, he was nowhere near Marlo's level of expertise. And the Fyre spell was dangerous.

     What if I hurt myself? he thought, staring at his hands. Or if I hurt someone else? Like Bennie, or Darren, or Marlo?

     He glanced down at the orange Wocky as she finished the rune with a final swish of her wrist. She stood up, brushed her long blond hair out of her face, and locked eyes with Parlan. She was ready.

     Parlan wasn't so sure he was.

     "The rune is done," Marlo said, drawing everyone's eyes towards her. "We're going to do this now. Bennie, as soon as the wall shatters and you get a good look at Hartwick's face, start drawing him. Make it as realistic as possible because we only have one shot. And Darren, try to yank amulets off as many of the apprentices as you can. The less people under Hartwick's spell, the better. Parlan and I will try to control the Fyre, but there is no guarantee we can keep it up for long." She did a good job of keeping her voice from shaking, but Parlan could see it in her eyes: she was as scared as he was.

     Everyone nodded. Bennie took a moment to shake Marlo's hand. As they gripped one another fiercely, Darren went over to Parlan and wrapped the Shoyru in a hug.

     "You can do this," the scientist mumbled into his ear. His voice was quaking slightly.

     Parlan swallowed. "I hope so."

     When Darren let go, Parlan saw that Marlo was looking at him, holding out her hands. He took them both, trying his best not to let her feel that he was trembling.

     "Ready?" she asked.

     "Ready," he lied.

     They breathed in together, and then began to chant. "Halla chev sai lagrim lassu fae. Halla chev sai lagrim lassu fae..."

     Parlan could feel the magic in his veins stir, and Marlo's hands squeezed his in reassurance. Their voices wound together, an interwoven melody and harmony that sent the air into vibrations.

     He looked up just as the air above them began to shimmer and condense, darkening until floating above their heads was a great rope of dark red flames.

     He continued chanting, feeling the strain of the spell feeding on his strength. His forehead beaded with sweat. He looked across at Marlo, and although she too was still chanting, he could almost hear her voice in his head: Now!

     In unison, they sent the Fyre towards the thick wall of dry ice. The wall shattered, sending chunks of opaque ice in all directions and releasing the Fyre into the basement.

     Although the apprentices were possessed, the sight of Fyre seemed to shake them from their outright obedience. Someone yelled. A few turned to flee, darting up the stairs in a frantic clump.

     "STOP!" Hartwick commanded, sending a wave of power over the apprentices. The pendants hummed loudly, and the apprentices stopped running. The grey Gelert then pointed at Marlo and Parlan. "Stop them!"

     The hoard of apprentices rushed forward, but together the Wocky and Shoryu sent the Fyre towards them; the dark flames scattered the apprentices in several directions.

     Out of the corner of his eye, Parlan could see Darren skirting along the outskirts of the apprentices, doing his best to stay invisible. Suddenly, the blue Ogrin lunged at a red Nimmo and yanked the pendant off his neck. Thomas! Parlan thought gleefully, recognizing his roommate. He's free—!

     Suddenly the Fyre lurched, and Marlo's eyes locked onto his. They were losing control. The Fyre splayed outwards, twisting and swerving in random directions as they struggled to regain control.

     "You idiots!" Hartwick shouted, his eyes sharp and angry. He held out his hands, trying to calm the Fyre with his powers. "You're going to kill us all!"

     Parlan kept chanting, but it was quickly apparent that his words had no say over the Fyre. "I've lost control!" he admitted, letting go of Marlo's hands.

     She cut off mid-chant. "Me too. We need to run now."

     They darted off into the crowd. Most of the apprentices were now helping Hartwick calm down the crazed Fyre, but others lunged at Marlo and Parlan as they passed, trying to stop them from escaping. Marlo sent a few licks of flame their way, but Parlan found that he could not even summon the whisper of a flame; the Fyre spell had used too much energy. He couldn't cast.

     His whole body felt weak, actually. He was having a hard time keeping up with the much more agile Marlo, and his legs were beginning to feel numb. I just need to get to the staircase--

     Suddenly, Parlan was grabbed him from behind. Before he could even yelp, a hand pressed over his mouth, stifling his words.

     Terrified, he looked up into the eyes of Sir Hartwick. "Parlan," the sorcerer said, digging his nails into Parlan's arm. Parlan could feel the painful sting of magic trickling into his skin, a burning sensation that set every nerve on fire; he had never felt so afraid. "Tell me the ingredients now, or my face will be the last thing you ever see."

     The pain was so intense that Parlan's mouth almost seemed to get away from him. "A bottle of pickled eyeballs," he babbled, shrieking in pain. "A jar of—"

     Someone slammed into them suddenly, sending both Parlan and Hartwick down to the floor. There was a scuffle for a few moments—limbs were flailing, bolts of magic were being shot—but when Parlan finally caught his bearings, he saw that Darren and Thomas had managed to pin the grey Gelert to the floor.

     "Get off of me!" Hartwick shouted, attempting to summon a ball of fire in his hand. "I will blast you all to smithereens—"

     "Not today!" Bennie shouted, stepping forward and holding out the canvas. On its surface was a rough sketch that was undeniably Sir Hartwick, down to the crazed look in his eyes.

     Sir Hartwick struggled against his captors, viciously trying to free himself, but Darren and Thomas held him tight. "No. You can't do that. You can't."

     "Yes we can," Marlo said, grabbing the canvas from Bennie and shouting a string of harsh syllables. The coal markings on the canvas began to glow gold. "Goodbye, Sir Hartwick."

     The sorcerer screamed as the light from the canvas intensified, filling the entire basement with a golden glow. Then there was a brighter, more intense flash of light, and his shouts cut off, leaving just a dim echo in the basement that eventually dissipated into silence.

     When the light finally faded away, Hartwick was no long on the floor. Instead, there was a fully colored portrait of Sir Hartwick glaring at them from the canvas in Marlo's hands.

To be continued...