Read Online The Call by Michael Grant - Free Book Online Page B

interrupts our deliberations?”
    The man in mismatched armor jerked a thumb at Grimluk. “This bumpkin—”
    â€œI’m a fleer and a former horse leader, not a bumpkin,” Grimluk interrupted.
    â€œThis fleer, then, claims to have seen Princess Ereskigal.”
    Seven sets of eyes, totaling eleven eyes in all (since the woman had but one eye, and one of the men had none), stared at him.
    Grimluk gave a brief account of his encounter with the stunning redhead in the forest.
    â€œThis is bad, Drupe,” one of the men said to the woman.
    â€œHow far distant?” the witch Drupe asked Grimluk.
    â€œTwo days’ walk,” Grimluk said.
    â€œSlow and ambling walk?” one of the wizards asked.
    â€œQuick and anxious walking,” Grimluk said.
    â€œOnce again,” the eldest of the wizards said, “I renew my call for the creation of a standardized set of measurements.”
    â€œNoted,” Drupe said wearily. She took a deep breath and stood up from her chair. She adjusted the patch over her missing eye and stretched a little, like someone who has been sitting too long. “The enemy approaches. Our forces are not ready. We have only eleven of the twelve. Once again we must withdraw, run away from the Dread Foe.”
    â€œAhem,” the man in the mismatched armor said.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œThis one here, the bumpkin, says he has the enlightened puissance . And he is of age.”
    Grimluk had been trying his best to sidle back toward the door. He winced as the witch Drupe turned her blazing eye on him.
    â€œDoes he indeed?”
    â€œI…um…You know, when I said I had the…the…the engorged parlance, I didn’t exactly know…” He ran out of words at that point. This was not the way he thought it would be. It was normal to exaggerate ona job application, but this had turned suddenly very serious.
    The witch came to him. Only then did Grimluk notice that one of her legs was as thick as a tree trunk, gray and leathery, ending in stubby yellow nails.
    He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the leg.
    â€œIt’s an elephant leg,” Drupe said. She shrugged. “It was a spell gone wrong. I’m working on it.”
    Grimluk swallowed hard.
    â€œI will give you the simplest of Vargran spells, bumpkin.”
    â€œOkay.”
    â€œSpeak the words as I say them. But as you speak, bumpkin, banish fear from your mind.” She waved one hand before his face as though she was pulling away a curtain. “Banish fear and feel instead the blood of your ancestors back through all the generations. Reach back to forgotten time. Summon to you the powers of unyielding earth, drowning water, exhilarating air, and searing, flesh-consuming fire!”
    Grimluk didn’t want to do any of those things, but it was as if the witch’s words were worms eating their way into his very soul. As though her words were withinhim and no longer without. As though his blood truly did flow with all the strength of his ancestors, all the powers of the world itself.
    â€œGather to yourself the fearsome wolf and the great eagle, the poison snake and the bludgeoning boar, and speak, speak !”
    Her face was right in his, her breath on him, her heat warming his body.
    Then she opened her hand. And in her palm lay a butterfly. It had been crushed, its wings broken.
    â€œSpeak these words, bumpkin: Halk-ma erdetrad (sniff) gool! Halk-ma! Halk-ma! ”
    So Grimluk said the words. He shouted them with all the conviction he could muster.
    The butterfly stirred! Its wings moved feebly.
    And slowly, slowly, it rose into the air.
    Alive!
    And then it fell to the floor. Dead again.
    â€œGood enough,” Drupe said. She grinned at the amazed wizards. “Good enough.”

Twelve
    T he giant bug arm oozed green-black blood from the stump. It wasn’t heavy. It felt like something made out of brittle plastic, the way plastic gets if you