Eeeee! A shrill cry pierced the air.
Eric whirled around. “The Hakoth-Mal. Up there. Near the base of the spire! Give me back my stone, you creepy thing!”
A second later, the creature streaked down from the temple and landed on the ground. In a flash — klish-ang! — its claws were out.
“Children, stay back,” cried Ortha. Grabbing a stick, she leaped to the top of a tumbled stone. “There’s a time for peace, and a time to fight back! Hee-yah!”
The monkey queen sprang at the creature, making her own green blur in the air. The wolf tripped before it had a chance to swing its claws.
“Find Jabbo! Take Sparr’s gem from him!” Ortha said, driving the wingwolf off with her stick — clack! clonk! clang!
Woot and Twee followed her, swatting the creature with their own sticks, leaping away into the jungle after their queen.
“Ortha, wait! We’ll help you!” Keeah called.
But Max held her arm. “No, Princess, look — the stone face — it’s moving!”
As the children stood in front of it — vrrrrt! — the stones trembled and suddenly flew aside.
Eric tried to brace himself. “Wait … no!”
He fell forward into the darkness.
Neal, Julie, Max, and Keeah tumbled after him — sliding, sliding, sliding — until they slammed down on a cold stone floor.
And there he was, sitting on a magnificent jeweled throne.
Jabbo the dragon.
Jabbo the powerful.
Jabbo the king.
The room was different from Eric’s dream. It wasn’t so dim.
Torch light glinted against the silvery walls. Long tapestries hung from the ceiling. And the big throne was set high against the back wall of the room.
But Jabbo had changed even more.
Gone was the smudged apron with the fruit stains. Now he wore a long red cape trimmed in gold, giant boots studded with silver buttons, and an even larger gold crown on his knobby head.
But most important, Jabbo had a big sword.
In the handle was the blue gem, glowing fiercely.
“So, you survived Jabbo’s little fire, did you?” the dragon asked.
No one said a word. They were all staring at the sword.
“Yes, the Eye of the Viper,” said the dragon, rising from his throne. “Jabbo put it in the sword, because soon there will be a big old battle in Droon. Jabbo against all of you!” Swish-swish!
“The Eye of the Viper is dangerous,” said Keeah. “Not even Galen knows its full power. You need to give it up. You can’t control it.”
Jabbo smiled. “But I’m dressed to take over.”
“Ha!” said Neal. “It looks like you already did take over — the Halloween costume store!”
“Silence!” cried Jabbo. “You must give the new king of Droon your respect! Or I shall use the Eye on you!”
He wagged his sword at them.
Eric looked around. The walls to the right and left were the same silver as his dream stone. But the back wall of the room was curved and gray. It was the trunk of the great tree.
A liquid was drip-drip-dripping down from the branches above and filling a small fountain near where Jabbo had set his throne.
The water — if it was water — seemed to gleam and flash even in the torchlight.
“We know some of the words the Eye is telling you,” said Keeah. “They do pretty bad things. The Hakoth-Mal serve Lord Sparr … not you. It is Sparr who holds the Eye’s twin — the other jewel.”
“Humph!” Jabbo snarled. “For years, all I did was take flour, water, salt, butter, roll it out, add fruit, bake until golden brown. Well, I don’t want to be a simple pie maker anymore. I want to be — the big pie!”
He whirled on his heels, grabbed a golden goblet from the throne, dipped it into the fountain, and drank.
When he did, he suddenly began to glow as silver as the walls of the room. He twitched. He jerked. “Oh! Another dream going out! Eeeek! Arrgh! Wooo! And Jabbo takes over another dream in Droon!”
He slumped back into his throne.
Keeah gasped, then nudged Eric. “The water? Is that how Jabbo’s getting into our dreams?”
Eric looked down. Cracks in the floor stones told him there was another room below them.
“Maybe,” he whispered. “We need to get down there somehow. Down to the roots.”
“If only Ortha was here,” said Keeah. “She could help us get down there.”
Neal raised his hand. “Um, Jabbo, can I ask why your cape is so long?”
The dragon grinned. “You’ll find out soon enough why my cape is so long. It all has to do with Jabbo’s gem —”
Julie shook her head. “But it’s Sparr’s gem. The Hakoth-Mal hunts down his enemies. What happens if Sparr comes back? You’ll be his enemy, too.”
A look of fear crossed the little dragon’s face. Then he trembled. “You’re trying to trick Jabbo — oh! No, no! When I get angry — it happens!”
“What happens?” asked Eric.
Suddenly, the jewel began to glow in the sword. In an instant, blue light flashed up Jabbo’s hand and covered him completely. “This,” he cried out, “this — is why my cape is so long — ohhhhh!”
All at once, the little dragon began to grow. His head and body grew to twice their size. The spikes on his back became long and sharp. And his jaws, opening wide, suddenly shot out a powerful stream of fire. Ka-whooom!
“Yikes!” cried Max. “Let’s get out of here!”
“Way ahead of you!” shouted Julie. “Exit, this way!” She jumped to a round opening in the wall and into a narrow passage leading up.
Neal and Max raced after her.
Eric glanced through the cracks in the floor at the room below, but Keeah pulled him with her. “Come on!”
Whoom! Whoo-hoom! Jabbo’s blasts of fire grew as he himself grew. He bounded up the passage after the children, his fire spraying them as he chased them up and out of the temple.
“Over here!” Keeah shouted, leaping behind a tumbled wall with Eric. Julie jumped over, landing right next to them.
Neal and Max skittered across the clearing inches ahead of Jabbo, but Neal tripped. When he did, the last few monkey biscuits fell out of his pocket and scattered across the ground.
Jabbo, now huge and angry, sent a burst of fire at the tumbling biscuits — whoomf!
The little squares flamed and turned black, filling the air with the smell of burned dough.
“My biscuits!” Neal yelled, even as Julie and Max dragged him to safety behind the wall.
The giant dragon stopped thrashing around. He lowered the sword to his side and stared at the tiny black squares smoking on the ground.
“Biscuits?” he asked softly. “Burned to a crisp?”
“Bangledorn monkey biscuits,” said Neal peeking out from behind-the wall. “I was saving them….”
The dragon groaned. “Jabbo — Jabbo! What have you done?! You never burn things!”
Instantly, the blue glow vanished into the sword. Then, right before their eyes, Jabbo began to shrink. The spikes down his back softened to little nubs. His fire-breathing jaws shortened to a stubby green snout.
In moments, Jabbo was his old, small size again, huddled in the pile of his long capes.
Trembling, he began to sniffle.
Max tugged Keeah’s sleeve. “Is this a trick? Or is Jabbo really … crying?”
Cautiously, Keeah stepped out from behind the wall. “Jabbo, are you all right?”
“I never burn things!” said the little dragon, his chest heaving. “I never would have done any of this, if it hadn’t been for this silly jewel —”
Clank! He tossed the sword to the ground. “All I really want in Droon is … a good oven.”
Julie blinked, then glanced at Keeah and Eric. “An oven? To bake things in?”
“Yes!” said Jabbo, lifting his face up. “One that doesn’t overbake the bottoms of my pies. One that will give me a nice, flaky crust
—” His eyes grew large. “It’s all in the crust, you know. Jabbo dreams of flaky crusts. Well, he used to dream, before all of this. And good fruit. Ripe berries —”
“Gizzleberries are the best!” said Max, stepping slowly over to the little dragon.
“Gizzleberries?” asked the pie maker, wiping his scaly cheeks. “Jabbo never heard of those.”
“They’re in season now in Droon,” said Max. “Purple and fat and juicy!”
“Ohhh! They sound wonderful!” said Jabbo, letting his crown slip off and clatter to the ground. “It’s too much! Stealing all these silly dreams, and yes — nightmares, too! It brought me so much power! And at first, I thought being supreme king of everything would be fun. But all I really want is to bake….”
“You don’t have to take over Droon for that,” said Eric.
Jabbo’s eyes brightened. “No, I don’t, do I?”
“Not at all,” said Keeah. “And you won’t need the gem, either.” She picked up the sword. With one quick move, she popped the gem out of the handle.
Jabbo looked up. “Good. I won’t hear that evil voice whispering in my ear anymore.”
“Sparr’s voice, no doubt,” said Max. He scurried over, taking a small gold box from a pouch on his belt, and clicked it open.
Keeah placed the gem in the box and snapped the lid shut. “Let Sparr talk to himself in there!”
Julie grinned. “That’s that, then —”
“Except for one thing,” said Jabbo, removing his old smudged apron from a pocket in his cape and tying it on. “We still have him to worry about!”
He pointed up into the branches of the huge tree. There, high above them all, was a shape.
The shape of an armed warrior with wings.
Eeeeee! It shrieked at them, holding up a clawed hand. In it was a small round stone.
“He must have outwitted Ortha,” said Keeah.
“Oh, yeah?” Eric shouted. “Well, this time, things will be different. This time — the hunter becomes the hunted! Get ready, wolfy, because we’re coming after you!”
Eeeee! The wingwolf’s cry echoed over the temple as if the air were being ripped in half.
“I’ll get you!” said Eric, bounding up the tree.
Julie, Neal, Keeah, and Max all grabbed thick sticks and shot up right behind him.
The creature sprang from branch to branch as the children charged up. It flashed its clawed hands across the air, shrieking again.
“If only we could fly like him,” said Julie, “then it would be even.”
“We’ll still beat him,” said Neal. “Well, we’d better!”
As Eric clambered up from one branch to another, he heard the dream voice again, but this time it wasn’t in his head. It seemed to come from somewhere outside him.
Somewhere very close.
The one who strikes the wolf at noon, shall earn a secret wish in Droon.
Eric looked up through the haze. The sun was just behind the clouds. It was nearly noon.
“I’ll do it,” he whispered. “I’ll be the hero!”
But even as he pulled himself up, the wingwolf dived at him. The glittering flash of its claws sent Eric reeling back against the thick trunk.
The creature slashed the bark.
Ahhhh! came a whispered cry. Eric! Eric!
“Oh, my gosh!” he gasped. “The tree —”
“Eric, watch out!” cried Keeah, pulling herself to a large branch below him.
The wingwolf’s black wings hummed as it dived again. Eeeee!
“We’ll get him from below!” said Keeah.
“And I’ll get him from here!” said Neal, creeping along the branch above, his stick ready.
Keeah and Julie darted out to the end of a thick branch, bounced on it once, twice, three times, then leaped up next to Eric.
The creature swiveled around to them. Its wolvish eyes burned like flame.
“Down, boy!” cried Neal. “Leave them alone!” He whacked his stick across the wolf’s back — clang-ang-ang! Neal’s arm quivered. “M-m-man! Even his-s-s armor-r-r has armor!”
“He’s coming again!” shouted Max. He scrambled up the trunk and let loose a spray of sticky spider silk at the creature.
Swish! Swish! The wingwolf slashed the silken trap to nothing.
“He broke right through,” said Neal. “Abandon ship! I mean, abandon tree —”
Suddenly, there was a swift cracking sound, and — whoosh! — a single brown nut came crashing up through the leaves and smacked the wingwolf in the head.
“Gaaaakkkk!” The creature staggered.
Neal blinked. “Where did that nut come from?”
The answer was a call from below.
“O — lee — lee! O — lee — lee!”
“What?” said Julie. “Could it be? It’s Ortha!”
“This is the hour of the Bangledorn monkeys!” echoed the familiar voice. “Good-bye, Wingwolf! This is when we take our forest back! Monkeys, help our friends!”
Eric punched the air. “Yes! Reinforcements!”
In a flash, the tree was alive with hundreds of green shapes. Twee and Woot scampered up, carrying a bundle of woven vines between them.
Woot’s red-sashed friends were tossing up the nuts, and Twee’s purple-scarfed friends were batting them at the wingwolf with their sticks. All the monkeys were working together.
Bonk! Clonk! “Gaaaakkkk!”
“Hey, it looks like baseball’s now the official game of Bangledorn Forest!” said Julie.
“Blast some home runs, you guys,” said Eric.
And they did. Crack! Whoosh! Blonk!
The wingwolf was pummeled with nut after flying nut. It didn’t know which way to turn.
“We’ve been practicing!” squealed one monkey. “Thank you, Neal!”
“And now for the winning play!” said Twee. He and Woot scampered up to the highest branches. They unrolled a giant net made of vines.
“Everyone take hold!” said Ortha. “Ready? One, two, three, now —”
With Neal, Julie, and Keeah on one side, and Twee, Woot, and Max on the other, they threw the viney net. As the wingwolf whirred its wings to fly up — flump! — it was caught.
Tugging the ends of the net, the monkeys closed it tightly around the creature.
The creature made another high-pitched gargling noise — “gaaaakkkk!” — and writhed and wiggled in its trap of vines.
Max spun a thick web of spider silk and wove it around the vine net. “Just to be sure!” he said.
Eric glared at the wingwolf, its eyes still burning brightly. “Now, give me that stone!”
He forced the creature’s claws open, took his silvery dream stone back, and clasped it in his own hand once more.
“Yes! It’s mine again!” Laughing, Eric turned to his friends. “It’s just like you guys said —”
He didn’t finish. Snarling and shrieking, the wingwolf thrust out its claws again. Shwee —
The claw flew past Eric and swiped Julie’s hand. “Oww!” she said.
The scratch turned red instantly.
“I’ll get him!” said Eric. “I’ll strike the wolf at noon!”
But the creature slashed at him next, pushing him off balance. In an instant, Julie struck the Hakoth-Mal with her stick. The wolf howled and went silent.
Eric gasped. As he clutched for a limb to hold him, his eyes glanced up.
It was brightest right overhead.
It was the very moment of noon.
“Julie!” he said, slipping backward. “It’s not me … it’s … you!”
That was the last thing he said.
Before he fell off the tree.
“Eric!” cried Keeah.
He tried to grasp branches as he fell, but he plummeted too quickly.
Then, at the very instant he thought he would be thrown against the temple stones, he heard that voice again. That faraway voice.
Eric …
A sudden wind, like a warm breath
, blew upward from the silver temple and slowed his fall.
“What —” Gasping in amazement, Eric floated down between the spire’s stones, which one by one seemed to part as he fell.
He landed gently on his feet in a giant stone room at the very bottom level of the temple.
The room was filled with the music of water, gurgling down to a pool at the roots of the giant tree.
Welcome …
The word echoed for what seemed like hours.
“The tree,” he whispered finally. “This is where the dreams come from. The voice is here … but … whose voice … is it?”
He stepped closer, then stopped.
Even in the dim light, he saw the answer.
Clutched between the thick roots, entwined with them, as if the roots themselves were the fingers of a giant hand, was a long glass box.
Eric felt his heart slow.
Lying in the box was the figure of a woman. She wore a long white gown and a golden crown upon her head. Her face was old and pale, but magically seemed as fresh as the apple blossoms on the trees in his yard.
Somehow Eric knew who it was.
It was her, the mother of Galen and Urik. The mother of Lord Sparr, too. The mother who had been lost so long ago. He had found her.
“Zara,” he said. Her name sounded in the room like a feather falling softly to the ground.
For five centuries I have dreamed of Droon.
Her voice swam in his head like a song he knew he had never heard, but which sounded strangely familiar.
“You send dreams to lots of people,” he said. “Even to me and my friends. Why?”
So that the wonder of Droon will not die.
“But why to me?” he said. “I goof up. I make all kinds of mistakes. Dumb mistakes. I’m not that special. I’m just … me.”
To Eric, the sound that followed was like a song or a laugh or both.
Long ago you could have hidden from our struggles. Closed the door to Droon.
He shook his head. “I couldn’t do that. Ever.”
And that is why you are … one of us.
His heart quickened. “But what does that mean?”
Look around!
Eric looked up at the high walls of the room. On every one, shining in the light of the pool, were small round stones just like his. They, too, were carved with symbols — names — in the old language of Droon. Thin glistening lines connected one stone to another to another in a giant web.