The Invisible Tower Read online

  OTHERWORLD CHRONICLES

  The INVISIBLE

  TOWER

  NILS JOHNSON-SHELTON

  DEDICATION

  FOR MY FAMILY

  CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  PROLOGUE

  1 IN WHICH WE HEAR OF THE DRAGON SLAYER’S DUMB LUCK

  2 HOW ARTIE IS CONTACTED BY HIS HUMBLE SERVANT

  3 IN WHICH ARTIE MEETS AN OLD, CRAZY TATTOOED DUDE

  4 IN WHICH WE LEARN THAT ARTIE IS A PERFECTLY REGULAR AND LOVELY SON

  5 IN WHICH ARTIE RETURNS TO HIS HUMBLE SERVANT

  6 HOW ARTIE AND THUMB VISIT THE SWORD IN THE STONE

  7 IN WHICH MERLIN DROPS SOME SCIENCE

  8 ON MEETING BERCILAK THE GREEN

  9 IN WHICH KING ARTIE AND SIR KAY ENGAGE IN SOME SWORDPLAY!

  10 ON MEETING THE VORPAL BUNNY AND VICTOR X. LANCE

  11 IN WHICH THE PARTY ENJOYS A QUIET LITTLE PADDLE ON THE LAKE

  12 IN WHICH ARTIE ACQUAINTS HIMSELF WITH THE FIREBRAND EXCALIBUR

  13 HOW THE STORM WAS LIKE A GIANT BLINDLY STAMPING HIS FEET ACROSS THE COUNTRYSIDE

  14 IN WHICH THE PARTY LEARNS OF THEIR NEXT QUEST

  15 IN WHICH MERLIN VEILS THE BADDEST SWORD EVER FORGED, PLUS A COUPLE OTHER LITTLE THINGS

  16 AT THE COURT-IN-EXILE

  17 CONCERNING THE FONT OF SYLVAN

  18 IN WHICH THE PARTY TAKES A WALK THROUGH THE WOODS

  19 IN WHICH ARTIE IS GRANTED A FAVOR IN RETURN

  20 HOW THE PARTY CAME TO THE LIBRARY OF SYLVAN

  21 IN WHICH THE PARTY DISCOVERS THE EYES!

  22 IN WHICH THE KNIGHTS ESCAPE FROM THE GREAT LIBRARY OF SYLVAN

  23 HOW THE PARTY DISCOVERS THAT THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE A WIZARD’S HOME

  24 IN WHICH THE MOSSMAN COMETH

  25 IN WHICH ARTIE WONDERS, WHAT THE HECK IS A FONT, ANYWAY?

  26 HOW THE PARTY RETURNED TO THE OTHERWORLD AGAIN

  27 IN WHICH THE TRIO ENTERS THE CAVE OF TIBERIUS

  28 HOW THE GREAT GREEN DRAGON SENT THE KNIGHTS TO THE ARENA

  29 IN WHICH ARTIE AND KAY ARE TESTED ONE MORE FREAKING TIME

  30 ON LORD NUMINAE OF SYLVAN, AND HOW TO RIDE A DRAGON

  31 IN WHICH THE KEYSTONE IS REVEALED

  32 IN WHICH THE KINGFISHERS TRY TO RETURN TO NORMAL LIFE

  INTERLUDE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CREDITS

  COPYRIGHT

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

  PROLOGUE

  Long ago an old man—a wizard in fact—was imprisoned in an invisible tower. It was built by strong magic above a snaking brown river and rolling green hills, and it shut the world away from the wizard. From this tower he could see nothing but the interior walls of his prison.

  For many years he was so angry that he could do nothing but seethe at his absent, far-off jailers. But then, after much time, his anger flagged, and he realized that while he was unable to go out into the world, he could will parts of the world to come to him. And so he summoned men, women, and children; beasts, insects, and plants; stone, soil, and sand. For nearly a thousand years all of these suffered as he attempted to extract from them a means to escape, which was pointless. Escape was impossible.

  But then he began to hear of a people landing in great-sailed wooden ships on faraway shores. These newcomers were outcasts and vagabonds and ministers from lands called England and France and Nederland, among others. The world that he had once inhabited was returning, and a plan took root in the wizard’s mind. It would require dedication, cunning, and a lot of luck, but if it worked it would provide him with his freedom.

  Once free, his gray, ancient eyes would behold the world again. Once free, his great power would be reborn.

  Once free, he would set right all that had gone wrong so long, long ago.

  1

  IN WHICH WE HEAR OF THE DRAGON SLAYER’S DUMB LUCK

  Arthur “Artie” Kingfisher—twelve, rail thin, and not nearly tan enough for a kid in late July—had just finished slaying Caladirth, a female green dragon with sharpened rubies for teeth and curved golden spikes for horns. One of the horns lay shattered on the ground like a splintered broom handle. Artie thought it was a pretty clever weak spot. Seriously, everyone in the Otherworld knew that dragon horns were always best avoided.

  The beast lay at Artie’s feet, orange blood draining from her broken horn. Her cave felt suddenly empty, which was remarkable considering it contained a dead ten-ton dragon, three huge black dragon eggs, and a trove of sparkling treasure that would hardly fit in Artie’s empty shoulder bags. He had a lot of work to do.

  Artie fell to the ground and examined his double-edged ax, which was named Qwon, for battle damage. It was a little nicked but nothing that couldn’t be fixed by the town smithy. He let out a long breath. He felt satisfied. And totally pooped. There wouldn’t be any new quests for a while.

  He closed his eyes and took stock of himself. He was all in one piece and sweating a little, even though the air around him was very cool. The only sounds were his breath, the small kerplunks of dripping water, and the crackling torchlight. After the excitement of battle, he suddenly felt very alone.

  But then his neck tingled familiarly, like it was being tickled with a handful of feathers.

  Artie always knew when his sister got within a dozen or so feet of him, and at that moment Kay was creeping into their subterranean cave, trying to get Artie. An image of her jelled in Artie’s mind: her long red hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing cargo pants and that blue T-shirt with a garden gnome doing karate on it. He could see, without looking at all, that she thought she had a real chance at finally scaring him.

  This was predictable. Artie knew that she knew that he knew that she’d be trying to frighten the cookies out of him. They’d spent the better part of their childhood playing this game, and it had yet to work.

  They always knew.

  “Ha! Gotcha!” Kay blurted as she pushed him hard but playfully in the back, knocking the 3-D virtual reality goggles off his face. Artie gasped, and Kay was shocked to see that Artie was sweating. She asked, “Wait—did I really just get you?”

  He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and smiled. “Of course not. I felt you about thirty seconds ago.” He took the Xbox controller and paused Otherworld, the game he’d been obsessed with since he’d gotten it for his birthday in April.

  “‘I felt you about thirty seconds ago,’” Kay goofily mimicked. “Whatever, Chico. I got you good.”

  “Nope.”

  “Whatever.”

  Kay, already thirteen and a ridiculous six feet tall, with limbs like those of a praying mantis, cruised past Artie into the game room. “Whatcha up to?” she wondered.

  The video game that Artie had been playing inside his goggles was duplicated on the flat screen bolted to the wall. Seeing the fallen dragon bleeding from her golden horn, Kay yelped, “Artie! You did it?” She leaned closer to the TV. “Holy cow! You did!” She wheeled around and beamed at Artie with her fantastically unusual eyes, one being sky-blue, the other being clover-green. “How’d you figure out how to kill her? How? How?” She grabbed Artie by the shoulders and gave him a little hug.

  Artie and Kay were as close as a twelve-year-old boy and his thirteen-year-old sister could be—especially since for some reason they’d always shared identical-twin-level ESP, which was even weirder considering that Artie was adopted. Artie was happy that Kay was giving him some props. Usually it was the other way around. Kay was no slouch when it came to gaming—or anything else for that matter. She wasn’t as good as Artie at Otherworld, but she was so good at Call of Duty and Fallout that she’d already won about five grand playing in tourna
ments. Artie was certain that she would notch yet another win the following week when their dad, Kynder, took them to a huge tournament Kay was set to compete in.

  Artie put the controller and the goggles on the floor and kicked his feet in front of him. He took a sip of Mountain Dew from an unlabeled plastic bottle and told her how he’d done it.

  Basically, after a lot of tries he got lucky. There was a nook high on the eastern wall of the cave that he’d maneuvered his mage-warrior, Nitwit the Gray, into. The dragon knew Nitwit was there but she wouldn’t attack because in the nook were the three black dragon eggs. Essentially, Artie was using them as shields—she wouldn’t dare sacrifice her unborn hellions just to down Nitwit. The dragon didn’t like this and she made a big dance in front of the nook, wagging her head back and forth and slapping her tail on the ground, but Artie wasn’t scared. He was, however, very frustrated because, no matter what, he just could not kill the thing. He decided to try another fireball. It was the strongest spell he had.

  However, due to some clumsy button pushing, he cast Find Item, which revealed the nearest and most powerful magic item that was not in the caster’s possession. Caladirth’s horns were immediately haloed in a red glow. Artie said to Kay, “At first I thought that if I could kill her, a sword made out of her horns would be pretty sweet, but then it came to me. It was, like, an inspiration or whatever. Just to double-check, I cast Find Item again, and sure enough, her horns glowed red again. So I flipped to hand-to-hand, targeted her horns, and went to work with Qwon. As soon as I got a direct hit, she screamed and fell over. And that was it.”

  Kay stared and shook her head. “Wow. The horns. Who’da thunk it?” She grabbed the soda from Artie and drank three big gulps. She shrugged and said, “You’ll have to let the Dr Pepper heads on the boards know about that.” Artie could never figure out why, but to Kay Dr Pepper heads meant “geeks.”

  “C’mon, Sis, you know I hate the game forums.”

  “Yeah, yeah, ‘gaming purist’ and all that. Never go to walk-through sites. Whatever, Artie. You deserve the kudos. Go show off a little!”

  Easy for her to say. Artie loved his sister, but the fact remained that he wasn’t her. While she was a supergamer, crazy, fast runner, ex–Little-League all-star, straight-A student, who could also dance—in other words supercool—he was a pretty good gamer, wispy, lightweight punchingbag bully target, and straight-B-minus student, who never danced and was only somewhat cool on account of his supercool sister.

  But the main reason Artie didn’t like getting recognition was because of Frankie Finkelstein. Years of bearing the brunt of Frankie Finkelstein’s anger issues had taught Artie that a low profile was best. Even a medium-low profile provided ample opportunities for Finkelstein to punch, kick, headlock, noogie, push, and swear at Artie.

  All of which sucked big-time.

  However, as these things ran through Artie’s mind, he realized his sister was probably right. He’d slain Caladirth, for crying out loud! Why not gloat a little?

  Artie looked at Kay and said, “Yeah, okay. I think I will.”

  “Great!” she chirped. “But not yet, Chico. First you and me have to help Kynder in the yard.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  So Artie and Kay made their way up the stairs and into the kitchen. Artie recapped his Mountain Dew and stashed it in the back of the refrigerator. Kynder didn’t approve of soda pop in general and especially hated Mountain Dew, swearing up and down that “it will literally turn you into a drug addict,” even though it hadn’t yet and Artie had been drinking it for three years (okay—and six cavities). Then they went into the backyard to the little vegetable garden that, after his kids, was Kynder’s pride and joy.

  Kynder was also tall and thin and redheaded. Both of his eyes were hazel. He wore a nicely groomed mustache that gave his very-straight nose the look of an upside-down T, and on his nose rested a pair of large, squarish glasses that might—might—have been cool in 1980. He still wore his ridiculously short running shorts from his morning jog but had replaced his sneakers with a pair of green wellies that must have been boiling, since it was nearly ninety degrees outside.

  Yes, Kynder was a Dr Pepper head, too. A modest, pseudowealthy, semiretired geek, and his kids loved him.

  “Hey, guys, done practicing?” Amazingly, this was what playing video games was called in the Kingfisher house.

  “Yeah. Hotshot over here finally killed Caladirth.”

  “No kidding? That’s great, Arthur! You’ve been working on that since the day Qwon kissed you on the cheek, huh?”

  This was how the last day of sixth grade would forever be known in the Kingfisher house, and Kay and Kynder had been ribbing Artie about it ever since. Artie had no idea how Kynder knew that Qwon—not the virtual battle-ax, but the schoolmate who it was named after—had kissed him, but he did.

  “Nice going on that one too, Slick,” quipped Kay.

  “Oh, shut up, both of you,” Artie moaned. He plunked down by the tomatoes and began weeding, wondering what would come next in that crazy game he loved so much.

  2

  HOW ARTIE IS CONTACTED BY HIS HUMBLE SERVANT

  Artie, Kay, and Kynder lived in a yellow clapboard house on Castleman Street in Shadyside, Pennsylvania, about four miles east of downtown Pittsburgh. Both Kay and Artie had been calling their dad by his first name since they were around eight years old. That’s when Artie learned he was adopted, and while Kynder was the only father he’d ever known, he stopped calling him Pop and started calling him Kynder. Within a few months Kay was doing it too. Kynder thought it was a funny quirk and liked it, so he never insisted on being called Pop, or Dad, or anything else.

  Kay’s mom had left them when Kay was three and Artie two, and Artie had lived with them since he was exactly one year and three days old. Kynder rarely spoke about Kay’s mom, and never talked about why she left. Artie didn’t even know her name, and Kay never bothered to share it with him. When it came to her mom, Kay never shared anything with Artie. Hey, all kids have secrets, right? Even sisters like Kay?

  That night after dinner Artie logged onto Otherworld’s game forums to share a little secret of his own. He started a new thread called “killed Caladirth w/o walkthrough” and waited. Within minutes there were over a dozen posts patting Artie on the back. He read all of them proudly. Artie thought that this was what it must feel like to be Kay.

  Most of the posts were from registered members, but some were anonymous, and some of these were trolling. One of the trolls called Artie a wimp on account of him choosing to play the mage-warrior class. Apparently that guy had it in for mage-warriors. Artie could not have cared less. The heck with trolls.

  Artie was about to log off and go to his room when the board live-updated with a post titled “Arthur’s Easter Egg.” Curious, he double-clicked it. It read:

  Arthur, you need to find your Easter egg tonight. Look in the most obvious place. —MrT

  Everyone who’s really played video games knows what an a joke, that’s hidden in the game, kind of like, well, an Easter egg. As hard as Easter eggs could be to find—usually you had to look them up on the internet to have any chance of uncovering them—they were there for everyone. How could it be that Arthur had his own Easter egg in Otherworld?

  Also strange was that MrT’s post was private—only Artie could read it.

  Artie clicked the reply button on MrT’s entry and simply wrote, “Huh?!” and clicked Post.

  Within twenty seconds came the reply:

  Arthur, it has begun. Find your egg. It is with Caladirth. You must do this. I have already said more than I should. Go to your egg, and to your destiny. —MrT

  What the heck was this guy talking about? Artie had a destiny? In a video game? This was too weird to ignore.

  Artie logged off and ran down to the game room. He turned on the TV and picked up the controller and unpaused the game. The soundtrack played over the stereo system as he moved Nitwit the Gray from one end of Calad
irth’s lair to the other, looking for something out of the ordinary. He didn’t see anything. He sifted through the pile of treasure. It was a good haul, and it got him excited to continue playing, but nothing about it stood out.

  “Look in the most obvious place,” the post had said. The most obvious place … the most obvious place…

  The eggs!

  Artie guided Nitwit to the dragon’s three large, stone-black eggs. Nitwit picked one up—nothing strange—and put it back. He picked another one up and turned it over. On the bottom it said, “Break me.”

  Artie shook his head and made Nitwit throw the egg to the floor. It exploded in a sparkling orange haze. There was no dead dragoling or gooey egg white—only dust.

  But then the dust settled, and there, cradled along the inside curve of a large piece of shell, was a note.

  Nitwit picked it up and went into the Inspect Item mode.

  Artie was overcome with nervousness.

  The note read, “Arthur. In one week’s time you will come to me at the IT. You are special, Arthur, and I have need of your service and power. I have been waiting so long for you. Your humble servant, M.”

  Wait. He was special? And he had a servant? A humble one?

  What?

  Artie stood rooted to the rug for two minutes. He felt a little woozy. The controller slipped from his grip and when it hit the floor, Artie came to. He read the note again. What was going on? Artie was suddenly scared, like Finkelstein was bearing down on him with a baseball bat and no lunch money.