The Whirlwind, page 1
part #3 of Imager Chronicles Series
The Whirlwind
Bill Myers
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Illustration
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Untitled
The Signal
Series Titles
Other Books By Bill Myers
Dedication
Imager Chronicles
Copyright © 1991, 1992, 2003, and 2015 by Bill Myers
Formerly titled Journeys to Fayrah and Bloodstone Chronicles
Cover Design: Jun Ares
Illustrations: Clint Hansen
Published by Amaris Media International, Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author.
ISBN-13: 978-0692744864
ISBN-10: 069274486X
For Nicole,
daughter, friend . . . and gift.
Chapter 1
Whispers
“Don’t be a frettin’,
You’re makin’ this fearsome.
It’s probably good news
And He wants us to hear some.”
Aristophenix’s poetry was just as bad as ever. But Listro Q and Samson barely noticed their friend’s awful rhymes. Instead, they were busy wondering why the Weaver had summoned them down to the Halls of Tapestry . . . and why he had called in the middle of the night.
“Doubt it, do I,” Listro Q said, shaking his head. “At night this time of, Weaver calls us not for good news.”
Samson, the half dragonfly, half ladybug, agreed in his usual high-pitched chatter.
Aristophenix took a deep breath and sighed. In his heart, the roly-poly creature also knew. Whatever information the Weaver had to share would not be good.
Their footsteps echoed as they entered another huge hall. In many ways each hall was like a giant museum. But instead of boring paintings or half-naked statues, these halls held tapestries. Tapestries that shimmered and sparkled with threads of light. Brilliant, breathtaking light. Light that came from the Center. Light that came from Imager.
Creatures from every dimension visited here to admire Imager’s handiwork. Because each of these tapestries, each of these masterpieces, was actually an individual’s life. Every joy, every heartache, every success, and every failure of a person’s existence could be found in his or her own tapestry of glowing threads. Threads that were woven with infinite care to Imager’s precise designs by none other than . . . the Weaver.
The three Fayrahnians rounded the corner and spotted the old man at the far end of the hall. He was peering into a magnifying glass, carefully studying one of three tapestries that hung before him.
“It’s good of you to come, yes, it is,” he called without looking up.
The trio said nothing as they approached. They were too busy staring at the tapestries before him, too busy trying to recognize them.
“Do you know them?” the Weaver asked, still not looking up.
Aristophenix took a guess.
“They’re our three little buddies,
From the Upside-Down Kingdom,
Who are startin’ to taste
And see imager’s dominion.”
The Weaver cringed. He’d obviously forgotten about Aristophenix’s poetry. “Your friends will be tasting and seeing a lot more of Imager than you think, yes, they will,” he said. Lowering his magnifying glass, he pointed to a dazzling pattern of light in each of the three tapestries, a pattern so brilliant that it hurt the eyes to see. “According to these threads, all three children will have an opportunity to be re-Breathed.”
Aristophenix, Listro Q, and Samson exchanged looks. This was wonderful news. To be re-Breathed by Imager was an Upside Downer’s greatest honor.
But the Weaver wasn’t finished. “Unfortunately, the evil Bobok and the Illusionist also know the special weave of these tapestries. And they’ll do anything in their power to destroy the children before they step into the Whirlwind, before they’re re-Breathed.”
“Then help them must we,” Listro Q said as he reached into a pocket for his trusty Cross-Dimensionalizer. “At once we’ll there go and—”
“No.” The Weaver cut him off. “To be re-Breathed is something the children must choose on their own, yes, it is. It must be of their own free will.”
“But,” Aristophenix protested, “if Bobok and the Illusionist are gonna—”
“Their plan is most evil. If you interfere before the correct time, you will not only destroy the children, you will destroy yourselves.”
The statement surprised everyone. Finally Listro Q spoke, “But friends of ours, are they. Help should we.”
“That is why I summoned you here,” the Weaver explained. “You may watch their tapestries, you may even examine their threads. But until I give permission, you must not, you will not, interfere.”
All three started to protest until the old man raised his hands. It was a simple gesture, but one that commanded instant respect. After all, he was the Weaver.
“I know this will be painful for you, yes, I do.” His voice grew softer. “But they have much to learn. You must trust me on this . . . you must trust Imager. If you interfere before their time, you will destroy everything.”
The three Fayrahnians looked at one another. What could they say? When he was right, he was right. And one thing about the Weaver . . . he was always right.
Back home, back in the Upside-Down Kingdom, Nathan and Denise arrived at Grandpa’s Secondhand Shop. They pushed open the door, and the little bell gave a jingle as they stepped inside.
“And a good afternoon to the both of you.” Grandpa smiled as they entered.
“Hey, Grandpa,” Nathan said.
“Hi,” Denise chirped.
“Listen, would you be doin’ me a favor?” the old man asked. “Would you be lookin’ after the shop a few minutes while I’m away?”
“Sure,” Nathan said. “Where you headed?”
“I’ve got to be makin’ a delivery over at the Burton’s. You sure you won’t be mindin’?”
“No problem.”
The old man grinned and tousled the boy’s red hair as he headed for the door. Nathan grinned back.
So did Denise. Nine months ago it would have been like pulling teeth to get Nathan to do anything for anybody. But that was nine months ago . . . before the Bloodstone, before their trips to Fayrah and its accompanying kingdoms. Now, things were changing—not all at once, but a little bit, day by day.
Grandpa had barely left before Joshua, Nathan’s older brother, stormed into the shop. Josh was everybody’s friend . . . super smart, super athletic, and most of all, super popular. He worked hard at these things (especially the popularity part), and that’s what bugged Denise the most. Because, although they’d been friends since childhood, he was everything she was not. Instead of super smart, super athletic, or super popular, she was . . . well, she was just Denise Wolff, the all-school oddball.
“Stupid,” Josh grumbled as he dumped his books onto the counter. He ripped the campaign button off his shirt and flung it across the store. “It’s just not fair!”
Denise and Nathan traded looks. Anger and temper tantrums were their specialties, not Josh’s. As the oldest of the three, he was always the wisest, the more “mature.” So what was he doing acting like them?
“Why should I lose that stupid election?” he demanded of no one in particular. “Just because I’m honest? It’s not fair!”
Denise knew she shouldn’t try to reason with him, not when he was like this. Unfortunately, she never liked to let a good argument slip away. “Maybe if you’d have promised good times and no homework like that other guy, maybe you’d have won.”
“But he was lying!” Josh said. “He can’t deliver those promises!”
“He can’t?” It was Denise’s turn to feel depressed. She had just started middle school and there seemed to be a lot more homework.
Josh shook his head. “As student body president, do you think he can really replace algebra with video games?”
“I was just hoping he’d drop science,” she mumbled.
Josh gave her a look. Science was his favorite subject, and she knew it.
Denise shrugged and hopped onto the stool behind the counter.
“Life’s not fair,” he repeated. “You guys know how hard I campaigned—how hard we all campaigned.”
Denise did know. The past few weeks she’d done all she could do to help him win—she made posters, passed out campaign buttons, and threatened to beat up kids who wouldn’t wear those campaign buttons. (Denise had a little problem with her temper.) But there was that other thing bothering her, and she figured now was as good a time as any to bring it up. “If you ask me,” she sighed, “you’re way too competitive and concerned with popularity, anyways.”
Josh turned on her. “There’s nothing wrong with trying to be the best.”
“Sure, but you make it like a lifetime career.”
“What am I supposed to do—not care what anybody thinks . . . like other losers I know?”< br />
Denise turned to him, her mouth dropping open. Being mean wasn’t like Josh at all.
Seeing her look, he immediately softened. “Hey, 1 wasn’t talking about you.”
She glanced away. That was another reason they were such good friends. Because even when he was a pain, like now, he was always kind to her. She gave another shrug. “Maybe I am a loser. And maybe life isn’t fair.” Then turning back to him she added, “But you . . . you’re way too wrapped up in having to win.”
Josh started to answer but couldn’t. She had him and he knew it.
“I don’t know about any of that,” Nathan said as he limped back from the pop machine. “But you’re right about one thing . . . Life isn’t fair.” He tossed them both a can of soda.
Denise caught hers and nodded. If anyone knew about life being unfair it was Nathan. Ever since she could remember he’d had that limp, that pain in his hip that no operation could cure. Sure, during their last visit to Fayrah the Weaver had promised that it would make him a better person, but that didn’t exactly make things for him any easier . . . or fair.
She opened her can and immediately slurped up the foam that bubbled over the top.
“He’s right, you know,” Josh said, popping open his own can. “I mean, with everything we’ve learned about Imager, that’s the one thing I still can’t buy.”
“What’s that?” Denise asked, fighting back a belch. (She’d noticed her world-famous belches weren’t quite as popular with Josh as they used to be).
He answered, “I mean, we all know about his love and stuff— what a good guy he is and everything, but . . . I don’t know.”
“Don’t know what?” Denise persisted.
“It just seems that if Imager is so good, why doesn’t he make life more fair?”
Denise looked on, waiting for more.
“If he’s so just and everything, why does he let unfair things happen—instead of giving us what we really deserve?”
A brief silence settled over the group. It was true, Denise and the guys had learned lots about Imager from their past journeys. But it was also true that life really wasn’t fair. Why? If Imager was in charge, why wasn’t there more justice in the world? Why didn’t people get what they deserved?
Denise coughed slightly and cleared her throat. “I suppose if we really want to find out . . . I mean, there is a way.”
“You mean contacting Aristophenix,” Nathan said.
“Think we’re ready for another trip?” Josh asked.
Denise glanced out the window. “Not tonight. There won’t be a full moon for a few more days.”
Josh nodded. “Besides, the Bloodstone’s at home in my room. I’m still running some tests on it.”
“Maybe when you’re done?” Denise suggested.
“Sounds good to me,” Nathan said.
“Me, too,” Josh agreed. “Should be in about a week . . . ”
But it would be much sooner than that. For in the darkest threads of each of their tapestries, the faint sound of hoof beats could be heard. Hoof beats that grew louder by the second. Hoof beats that would soon enter the Upside-Down Kingdom.
The truth of the matter is, the Illusionist had not enjoyed turning herself into a horse. She took even less pleasure in the evil Bobok riding atop her back. But what’s the most sinister queen in twenty-three dimensions to do? Take a shortcut through the Center? Travel right through Imager’s home? Of course not. She had her pride. Besides, there was the minor detail of being vaporized if she got too close to Imager’s presence. Not a bad ending for the creature up there on her back, but an ending she’d prefer to avoid.
No, the best course was the one they had chosen. To take the long way around—to travel from dimension to dimension, slowly making their way toward their target—toward Imager’s beloved Upside-Down Kingdom.
“Dear heart?” the Illusionist panted as she turned her head to speak to the ice-blue orb on her back. For three thousand epochs these two creatures had fought over the disputed border between their kingdoms—back when they had kingdoms—back before the Upside Downers had destroyed them. And for three thousand epochs the two had hated each other almost as much as they hated Imager.
Almost, but not quite.
“No talking, my lady,” Bobok ordered. “Save your energy so we may travel faster. We haven’t much time!”
The Illusionist bore down harder. Her legs and hoofs ached from the effort. It was obvious Bobok loved his position of power over her. But that was okay. The tables would soon turn. After all, she could transform herself into any being she wished, while Bobok would always remain Bobok. When they arrived at the Upside-Down Kingdom, he would have to wear the disguise she had prepared for him. And that would bring her pleasure. Immense pleasure.
Again she turned her head. “How much longer, dear heart?” she gasped. “You have the maps . . . how much longer before we arrive?”
“Soon,” Bobok chortled, “very, very soon.”
Chapter 2
Deception
The Bunsen burner Josh borrowed from school had been roaring away for twenty minutes in his bedroom. And still, the Bloodstone did not melt. Stranger still, it wasn’t even hot. The metal ring it rested on glowed bright red with heat, but the stone wasn’t even warm. In fact, it still felt cool to the touch. Amazing. No matter how many experiments Josh ran on it, the Bloodstone never changed. It remained exactly the same.
The past few hours had been good for Josh. Because of his love for science, the experiments had completely taken his mind off losing the election. In fact, he felt more relaxed than he had in weeks—that is, until he heard the hoof beats behind him. There’s something about hoof beats in your bedroom in the middle of the night that can set a person on edge.
Josh leaped from his chair and spun around. But before he completed his turn, the hoof beats changed to . . . footsteps. And, instead of a horse, there stood before him a type of coach . . . but a very beautiful coach—complete with sweats, tied-back hair, and, of course, the ever popular stopwatch and whistle.
She held a leash in her hand that was attached to a living ice ball on a choke chain. The creature appeared to be some sort of pet, and not a very happy one.
It took more than a moment for Josh to find his voice. “Who . . . who are you?” he finally said. “Where did you come from?”
“Why, from Fayrah, of course.” The coach grinned.
“But I, we didn’t signal you.” Josh threw a quick glance back at the stone. “The only way to signal you is by putting the Bloodstone in the light of a full moon. And it’s not a full moon so how could—”
“Dear heart”—the coach smiled sweetly—“didn’t they tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“That you have graduated from such crude devices.” She gave the Bloodstone an uneasy glance. For a crude device it seemed to make her a bit nervous.
Josh frowned. “What about Aristophenix?” he asked. “What about Listro Q and Samson?”
“They have served their purposes well and send their best.”
“You’ve talked to them?”
“Of course. But Imager has now placed you in my care. That is, if you count me worthy of such an honor.” She gave a slight bow and waited.
Still suspicious, Josh asked, “What is your name?”
“Oh, gracious, my name is of little importance when compared to your—”
“Just so I know,” he interrupted. “I mean, if I want to call you something, what would I call you?”
“Well . . . ” She thought for a moment. “If you must call me something, I suppose ‘Your Highness’ is appropriate.”
Her ice pet coughed slightly.
“You are a queen?” Josh asked in surprise.
“Of course. Only royalty is fit to train royalty.”
“Royalty?” Josh exclaimed. “Who else around here is royalty?”
“Why, you are. I’ve been sent here to train you.”
Again her pet coughed. Apparently his master was holding his choke chain a bit too tight.
Josh looked down at the creature, his frown deepening. “And your little friend there. No offense, but he kinda looks like the thing Nathan described—the one who kidnapped him to Keygarp.”
