The Traitor of Belltroll

  “It keeps saying my blood smells like the last one who came this way,” Albert said as everyone settled on their Pegasi. “It keeps saying I’m evil!”

  “Maybe he just means another Balance Keeper,” Leroy said. “That could be a clue. The traitor has to be a Balance Keeper.”

  “But he isn’t saying that about any of you,” Albert said, and it was true. The Pegasus didn’t have an issue with anyone else. Just Albert.

  Its eyes! the Pegasus whinnied. Its eyes were horrible!

  “Whose eyes?” Albert asked. His head was reeling. He was confused, but this had to mean something. He tried to ask the Pegasus, but it was beyond consoling. It galloped away, screaming about bad blood, and took off into the air. Albert was forced to join Hoyt on Spyro’s back.

  “I promise, Albert,” Hoyt said. “I’m not going to screw it up this time.” He looked over at the nervous Pegasus as it disappeared into the sky. “It’s probably just a crazy old horse anyhow. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  But Albert didn’t agree. Hoyt hadn’t heard the fear in the wild horse’s words.

  If Albert had the same blood as someone who had been here, the Pegasus had to be talking about someone in his family. The one who came before couldn’t be Professor Flynn, because he hadn’t come here in ages. Pap had never trained for Belltroll. It certainly wasn’t Albert’s mom, because she wasn’t a Balance Keeper, and had never been to the Core. Hadn’t Pap mentioned that his father had been a Balance Keeper too? Could the Pegasus be remembering a great-grandparent of Albert’s who wasn’t all good?

  Albert was called out of his thoughts by Leroy shouting commands telling everyone where to hold on to the mane and how to stay balanced on the Pegasi’s backs. Albert awkwardly wrapped his arms around Hoyt’s middle so he wouldn’t fall off.

  He tried to be excited and pay attention to Leroy’s words.

  But he couldn’t focus.

  The traitor had been here, recently. The horse was terrified of Albert because it thought they shared the same blood. And if Albert and this person, whoever they were, smelled similar . . .

  How was that even possible?

  And after that, Albert wondered . . . why me?

  CHAPTER 17

  Troll Mountain

  The flight was exhilarating.

  Spyro’s great, feathery wings beat against the wind with a whoosh, whoosh, and as Spyro rose higher and higher, all of Belltroll spread out below like a living map.

  Despite the setbacks, Albert knew at once that this was his favorite Realm of them all. It was beautiful and so full of life.

  Or so Albert thought, until he saw the cracks.

  They were everywhere, like scars on the surface of Belltroll. The Pegasi swooped closer to the mountains, rising near the tops. The jagged cracks started at the mountain range, cutting through the pasture, zigzagging across the wooded area, all the way into the Ring of Emerald and beyond.

  When Albert was younger, he’d dropped his mom’s favorite vase. It didn’t shatter right away, but cracks like tiny strikes of lightning appeared, until eventually it fell to pieces.

  Belltroll was going to do exactly that, and Albert finally understood what Professor Bigglesby meant by the words splitting point.

  If they didn’t solve the Imbalance in time, Belltroll would shatter. Its chaos would travel to the other two Realms, throwing off the Balance of all three. Eventually, it would hit the surface world, and who knows what would happen after that.

  “I see the Bells!” Hoyt shouted, above the howling of the wind and the whooshing of Spyro’s great black wings.

  Albert leaned past Hoyt’s shoulder to get a better look.

  They were closing in on the peak of the left mountain, the smallest of the three. That strange, double-pronged peak caught his eye. The Bell hung in the center of the gap between the prongs, dangling in midair. It glowed in the daylight.

  Even from here, Albert could sense the magic in it.

  The Bell looked golden from a distance, and the shape was eerily similar to the Liberty Bell. Though it rocked slightly back and forth in the wind, Albert couldn’t hear a sound.

  “Do you hear it ringing?” Hoyt shouted. “Maybe it’s not working at all!”

  Albert remembered the small lesson they’d had on Belltroll in Professor Bigglesby’s classroom. The Bells of Belltroll chimed at a frequency that only the Trolls could hear. But maybe that wasn’t working, either. Maybe that was why the Trolls were still asleep.

  They needed to get a closer look.

  Albert shouted directions to Spyro. The Pegasus suddenly swooped lower, and Albert felt like he was on a roller coaster.

  They circled the mountaintop twice.

  Leroy passed by, his white Pegasus a blur as he screamed, “YEEEEEHAW, BROS!”

  Birdie followed, laughing, her arms in the air like she was completely and totally fearless.

  “They’re nuts!” Hoyt shouted as Spyro spread his wings out, catching the wind so that they came to a sudden stop. With each powerful beat of his wings, Spyro kept them afloat just beside the Bell.

  Up this close, the Bells were massive.

  As Hydra gathered around the left mountain, their Pegasi hovering in midair, Albert had the sudden mental image of the Bell falling on him and crushing his bones to nothing but dust. He shivered as the wind raged around them.

  Albert leaned as far out toward the Bell as he dared so he could search for clues. From far away, even with the little bit of magic Albert had sensed, the Bell seemed simply that: a bell. Nothing spectacular, just a giant golden bell, one that Albert thought was likely to ring a sad, mournful tone.

  But here?

  The magic was intense.

  “Troll symbols,” Birdie said, pointing at the Bell.

  The golden surface was covered in them, so many symbols that they all seemed to blur together into one giant pattern.

  “I wonder what it all means,” Albert said.

  If only there was a Tile symbol for reading the Troll language. But Albert knew that some types of magic weren’t strong enough to harness the powers of others.

  Spyro got close enough that Albert was able to reach out and touch the Bell. He skimmed his fingertips across the cool, slick surface. This Bell was ancient. That much he could tell, and it wasn’t the symbols or the way the gold was muted in some places, like an old, used penny, that told Albert that.

  This was more of a feeling, the kind that hushed the breath in his lungs. The kind that made Albert want to whisper his words instead of speak them.

  The gap that the Bell hovered in was only wide enough for one Pegasus to pass through at a time, with their wings slightly tucked. Albert and Hoyt went first on Spyro.

  They flew slowly past the Bell, searching for any clue that the Traitor had been here.

  “It’s just hanging here,” Hoyt said. “Sometimes, the magic in these Realms blows my mind.”

  “I can’t find anything that looks abnormal,” Albert said.

  The front of the Bell had nothing out of place. Not a crack, nor a stray hair from a previous observer.

  “See anything, Leroy?” Albert yelled over his shoulder, as Spyro moved out of the way so Leroy’s Pegasus could get close.

  Leroy’s Pegasus was younger, and its wings weren’t as steady as Spyro’s. He wasn’t able to get a close enough look before the horse had to pull away and soar into the sky, where it could fully spread its wings.

  Birdie didn’t have much luck either. “You guys look one more time!”

  Spyro flew them back through the small gap, and Albert leaned past Hoyt to get a closer look at the backside of the Bell.

  And there it was.

  The second clue.

  It was just barely there at first glance, but from the right angle, it was obvious. A large fingerprint, human-sized, but too big for any Balance Keeper Albert’s age.

  “Hoyt, look!” Albert shouted. “You see it too, right?”

  Hoyt leaned out, squinting his
eyes. “Looks like we found our clue.”

  Minutes later, Leroy and Birdie had both gotten a look at the fingerprint. All three Pegasi clustered together in the sky, just outside the gap beside the Bell.

  “It’s exactly zero point eight inches,” Leroy said. “The average human fingerprint is . . . about half an inch.”

  “So you’re saying the traitor isn’t human?” Hoyt asked with a gasp.

  “No way, bro,” Leroy chuckled. “I’m saying the traitor is a large human. But not actually giant like Professor Asante. Her fingers are larger than this. Someone big. But not too big. An adult, for sure.”

  “So what are we supposed to do?” Birdie asked, running her hands through her horse’s mane. “Just walk around the Core and demand that we measure everybody’s fingerprint?”

  “We don’t even know what finger it is!” Hoyt said.

  They were right. It wasn’t much.

  But it was something. And that was more than they’d had all day.

  It was then that a thought registered in Albert’s mind. If someone left a fingerprint on the Bell, it meant they’d had to touch it.

  But what for?

  He felt like a caged dog. If only he could fly, and get a little more space . . .

  He practically smacked himself on the forehead.

  “Stay here,” Albert told Hoyt.

  “What do you mean stay here?” Hoyt asked, his eyes widening. “It’s not like there’s anywhere else I can go!”

  Albert laughed, and with a quick but focused thought of the Float symbol, he slipped sideways off Spyro’s back.

  Birdie gasped. “Albert! What are you doing?”

  “Investigating,” Albert said.

  It was freaky, floating this high off the ground, and he knew he didn’t have the strength to focus on the symbol for long. But Albert slowly thought of moving forward and his Tile responded. It was as if an invisible hand was pulling him toward the Bell.

  He could just feel it, that something more important was close.

  He allowed himself to drop a few feet, on instinct, until he was floating just beneath the Bell. He looked up into its belly.

  It looked like there was a hook at the very top of the inside of the Bell, where something should have been attached, but the Bell was as hollow as the Troll Tree.

  “Isn’t there supposed to be something inside here?” Albert shouted. His voice rang back to him.

  “What’s he saying?” Leroy asked from above.

  “It’s hard to tell when you can’t hear!” Birdie said back.

  “If he falls . . .” Hoyt’s voice trailed off.

  Albert could feel his concentration slipping, so with one final shove against his mind, Albert floated himself back up to Spyro. The Pegasus slipped effortlessly below him, and Albert sunk against Hoyt, feeling like he weighed a million pounds.

  “What did you see?” Birdie asked.

  “It’s empty,” Albert said when his mind cleared. “Isn’t there supposed to be something inside of the Bell? You know, like . . .”

  “The striker!” Leroy shouted, so suddenly that his Pegasus jumped a little, and Leroy had to grab hold of its mane to keep from tumbling overboard.

  “The striker, dudes!” Leroy said again. He snapped his fingers, like he’d just remembered the details to a forgotten dream. “Every bell has one. It’s the little arm that makes the bell ring!”

  Birdie tilted her head, the way Farnsworth did when Albert told him to roll over. Not that he ever had rolled over on command.

  Leroy explained further. “You know, it’s like something has to hit the bell, to cause the vibration that makes the sound? This bell is empty.”

  “There’s a hook, where it looks like the striker should be hanging!” Albert added.

  “Without it,” Hoyt said, catching on, “the Bell can’t ring. Which means the Trolls can’t wake up.”

  “Which means they can’t go and turn the wheel inside the mountain,” Birdie added with a little gasp.

  “And then they can’t help crank Troll Mountain out of the ground! That’s what’s causing the quakes!” Albert exclaimed. “So all we have to do is put the striker back in!”

  Leroy nodded. “Assuming we’re correct, of course. But . . . dudes. If we’re right, then we’ve just discovered the reason for our Imbalance.”

  “And the Means to Restore Balance,” Birdie added.

  They all had huge grins lighting up their faces. This was it, the answer they’d been looking for.

  Albert almost laughed at how easy it had been.

  Then he remembered Calderon.

  Their first term, they’d gone into the Realm of Calderon to search high and low to find the Means to Restore Balance. It was a trio of silver eggs, nestled deep in the trunk of the Tree of Cinder.

  It had been difficult to find the Means with a Realm as large as Calderon. And they’d had weeks to solve that Imbalance, only doing so on the final day, at the final moment.

  They had four days left in Belltroll after today.

  “We don’t have enough time,” Albert said as he held up his Counter. “And besides, we’ve already been searching the Realm. Even if we weren’t looking for it, we would have seen a striker this size, hiding somewhere.”

  “We’ll keep looking,” Birdie said, the determination like a fire blazing in her eyes. “We’ll find what we need, Albert. We always do.”

  “But should we be looking for one striker or three?” Hoyt asked. “Are we assuming the other two bells are fine? Shouldn’t we check those too?”

  It was a smart idea, and soon, the Balance Keepers were soaring to opposite peaks to see if the other two bells were missing their strikers.

  Birdie and Leroy went to the far right mountain, while Albert and Hoyt went to Troll Mountain itself.

  Albert had a sinking feeling he knew what they’d all find.

  That didn’t make it any better, though, when he and Hoyt discovered their striker was missing.

  That didn’t make it any easier when Birdie and Leroy found the very same thing.

  “We should go home,” Albert said when they all met back up. The Pegasi were starting to get jumpy, as if they could sense the negative energy from the news of three missing strikers. “We’ll talk to Professor Bigglesby and report what we’ve found. Maybe he’ll be able to give us some sort of direction.”

  It was nearly dark when the Pegasus herd dropped them off at the entrance to the Core. Albert’s legs were sore from their earlier hiking as he dismounted. He was relieved they hadn’t had to cross back through the Realm on foot.

  Mints tomorrow, Spyro said, and Albert nodded his promise. The Pegasus flapped his wings and soared into the sky like a dark rocket, his mane and tail shimmering like stars.

  “I’m so desperate for a big, greasy cheeseburger,” Leroy said as they walked back up the hill, heading for the tunnel that led to the Core. “Every time I think about Lake Hall, it sort of feels like I lost a comrade in war.”

  “I just want to take a shower,” Birdie said.

  Hoyt was already unstrapping all his safety gear, ready to be back for the evening.

  They were almost to the tunnel when Albert saw something gold and shimmering.

  “Stop!” he shouted.

  It was sitting right at the entrance to the tunnel, as if someone had set it down and forgotten it.

  “Is that . . .” Birdie’s voice trailed off as Albert rushed forward.

  “A striker,” he said.

  It was just sitting there, all by itself, a golden striker the length of Albert’s arm. He was about to stoop down and pick it up when Leroy clamped a hand onto Albert’s shoulder.

  “There’s a note,” he said. “Albert . . . I don’t like this at all.”

  Leroy was right. A small piece of rolled parchment was tied to the striker.

  “I don’t think you should touch it,” Birdie said. Her voice shook, and she actually didn’t complain when Hoyt leaned over her shoulder to get a bet
ter look.

  “What if it’s, I dunno, poisoned or something?” Hoyt said.

  The wind whistled past, the only sound to be heard across the entire Realm.

  Albert didn’t know what to do. But they couldn’t just stand here. One of the strikers was here right in front of them, exactly what they needed.

  “I have to see what the note says,” Albert said, his voice strangely calm. He quickly bent down and untied the twine. The note tumbled to the grass and unfurled in the wind.

  There were only five words. Five simple words, scribbled in jet-black ink.

  A gift, for Albert Flynn.

  Albert hardly heard his teammates as they questioned him and argued with one another in hushed voices. He barely felt his feet moving as they headed back down the dark tunnel to the Core.

  The striker was tucked safely in Albert’s pack, and he had the strange sensation that he was literally carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  A gift, for Albert Flynn.

  He forced himself to keep walking, keep moving. He was a Balance Keeper. He was a Flynn, and he could do this.

  Except . . . could he do this? Being a Flynn used to be a good thing. But today, it seemed that to be a Flynn was to be responsible for all that was wrong in the world. Albert kept walking, but it was like with each step, the striker on his back got heavier and heavier. He didn’t know how much longer he could bear it.

  Birdie put a hand on Albert’s shoulder as they arrived at the door to the Core. There was just enough light here that they could see one another in shades of black and gray.

  “We’ll keep it quiet,” Leroy said. “We’ll call a meeting with your dad. If we don’t know who to trust . . .”

  “No,” Albert said. The only word he’d spoken since finding the striker. “I want the entire Core in the Pit. I want to see their faces when I show them the striker and the note. I want to see how they all react.”

  “Albert, you’ll scare everyone if you do that,” Birdie said. “Think of the First Termers.”

  “I don’t care about scaring them!” Albert barked out, wheeling to face her, as heat surged through him. “This striker is on my back! This note was addressed to me! The traitor wants me dead, Birdie.” Albert turned away from them, suddenly furious with the world, with himself, with everything. His next words were only a whisper. “The traitor wants my Tile, and they don’t care who they have to hurt to get it.”