Crisanta Knight: The Lost King

CHAPTER 2 THE TEMPLE OF MALBONA-2

I turned through the time settings on the Hole Tracker to see what lay ahead. Another set of portals would open thirty minutes from now. And twenty minutes after that there would be three more. We definitely had time to check on our Neverland friends.

I powered off the Hole Tracker and flipped open the Mark Two again.

“Ormé,” I said, speaking the name of our friend, the fearsome leader of the Gwenivere Brigade. The compact buzzed but no one answered.

“Maybe she’s busy,” Blue suggested.

The buzzing stopped. Someone had answered the call, but the screen remained black.

“Ormé?”

I heard some rustling sounds, some shushings, and some . . . hissing?

Ormé’s face suddenly filled the looking glass. Her copper-colored hair was frazzled. Her eyes looked scared, but her face was tough and her words were intense. “Crisa. Where are you?”

“Uh, we’re in Neverland,” I replied.

“Do you have Excalibur?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good. Get to the Temple of Malbona as fast as you can. We need your help. We’re trapped by the—”

The call went dead.

“Ormé?” I repeated. This time she didn’t answer and eventually I had to shut the compact.

“The Temple of Malbona,” SJ said. “I know that name.” She plunged her hand inside her magic potions sack and pulled out a map of Neverland. She unrolled it and pointed to a spot. “There,” she said. “The Temple of Malbona. It is in the jungle on the western part of the island.”

“I remember the name too; I helped make that map,” I said. “The temple is supposed to be some sort of underground ruin. We’ll need help finding it though. That jungle is pretty thick and our map isn’t exact or complete. We could get lost, especially going on foot.”

“Then I guess we’ll need directions.” Blue nodded behind me toward where the pier stretched up the beach to the port town. “So much for keeping a low profile.”

“That’s not our style anyway,” I said.

Asking for directions in Neverland was not an easy task. The local residents were pretty anti-kid because of the ongoing feud between the pirates and the Lost Boys and Girls. We did know of one man who’d helped us in the past though.

My friends and I kicked open the doors of Once Upon a Tavern and strut into the pub like we owned the place. Unlike the first time we’d come into the bar—timid and curious—we marched in with purpose and confidence. Any adult who dared look us in the eye was met with the stone glare of three girls who’d seen and done more than they could ever imagine.

The manager who’d assisted us last time looked up from the counter. He was so startled that he accidentally missed the glass he’d been aiming for and ale from the beverage gun in his hands sprayed onto the bar.

“Chawkovsky,” I barked as we strode over to him.

He stored the beverage gun, which had a long hose that connected to a large barrel. “You kids must have a death wish to be back here so soon,” he said in a hushed tone as he wiped up the counter with a dirty dishrag. “Half the men in here are pirate regulars who likely remember your faces and would turn you over to Hook in an instant.” He tilted his chin at a couple of guys wearing bandanas who were eyeing us over their menus. “The captain’s offered a heck of a reward for your heads—the going rate is a fifth of his total booty.”

“That’s all?” Blue scoffed. “I’m insulted.”

“We are not afraid of Hook,” SJ said. “We need to get to the Temple of Malbona and we could use some assistance finding it.”

“That forsaken snake pit?” Chawkovsky huffed. “It’s not far—about ten miles into the jungle. I don’t know the specifics. Only men with greed that outweighs good sense go there.”

“You think there’s anyone in here that might be willing to take us?” I asked, looking around at the crowded bar full of people clearly watching us and pretending not to.

“Possibly,” Chawkovsky hedged.

“Okay then.” I turned to my friends. “Since we have their attention, might as well make use of it.”

I hopped up on a barstool and then stood on the counter.

“Listen up!” Every pair of eyes in the tavern fell on me. “My name is Crisanta Knight. I know you are all aware of some big price that Hook has on our heads. Well, I’m about to make you a better offer.”

I concentrated and the golden glow of my Pure Magic brilliantly lit up my hands. Several men fell out of their chairs. I held up one of my energy-consumed palms.

“This is Pure Magic,” I announced. “I have the power to give life to anyone and anything. Whoever takes us to the Temple of Malbona as fast as they can will be indebted one favor from me.”

“Aye, and what if we just kill ye and take yer magic for ourselves?” asked an elderly pirate with a bald head and black vest, standing up and thrusting his sword at me.

“Yeah,” several other pirates echoed, drawing their weapons.

“Well, you could try,” I responded with a shrug. “But . . .”

I shot my gaze down at SJ and Blue. My friends moved so quick I barely had time to blink. Blue fired six throwing knives from her utility belt, which was enchanted to instantly replenish them. The blades pinned three pirates to the wall by their sleeves. SJ pulled out a personally concocted portable potion from her sack and fired it with her slingshot like a marble. The silver potion erupted at the feet of the bald pirate and encased him and the four men at his table in a block of ice.

“Hey!” Chawkovsky protested. “I just lacquered that table.”

“Bill me,” SJ said over her shoulder.

To add flourish to the point, I sent some of my magic into half a dozen bar stools. It was easy—a little focus on a temporary mental command and on my will the stools swiftly contorted together to form a wood-vinyl monster that lumbered next to my friends and I like a giant bodyguard. The sparks of power inside me hummed, happy to be used. I’d been giving the magic a rest since this morning, but now I felt rarin’ and ready to go.

“So . . .” I said, crossing my arms. “Any takers?”

Many of the pirates stumbled back nervously. However, one lean man wearing a muscle tee and a single earring stepped forward. “Come with me. I know the way.” He didn’t say anything else; he simply strode out of the bar into the daylight.

My friends and I exchanged a glance.

Well, all right then.

I leapt off the counter. My barstool creature dissembled as the temporary life I’d given it wore off. Blue trailed after the man who’d volunteered. Her eyes turned Questor Beast green as she walked, but this time I think she was doing it on purpose. It certainly added an extra oomph to the death glare she gave the pirates.

I followed Blue, but paused at the pub door and looked back. SJ was leaning over the counter toward Chawkovsky. “Seriously,” she said. “Bill me. I will gladly cover the damages when we have finished our mission.” She took a sideways glance at the rack where the nozzle of the beverage gun rested. Then she walked toward me.

I held the door open for her, then pivoted back to the tavern patrons. “As you were.”

The last time I’d been in a speeding car, Daniel and I had been zooming in a Toyota 4Runner through the streets of Germany. Driving through the Neverland jungle in a beaten-up Jeep Wrangler wasn’t much safer. It tore through the jungle with no mercy at the hands of our escort.

Our driver—the pirate who’d volunteered his services in Once Upon a Tavern—was actually not a pirate at all. He was a former storyteller.

Storytellers were people from other worlds permitted to visit the Wonderlands by the White Rabbits, who monitored Portalscape Portals and regulated realm-to-realm travel. These storytellers would exchange otherworldly innovations for their time in the Wonderlands. This system of trade had given the magic realms access to different tools and technology over the years, such as electricity, waterproof mascara, and tacos, to name a few. Meanwhile, the storytellers were given the opportunity to study the histories of our magic worlds and their protagonists. Once they did their research, storytellers would return to their worlds and sell the information in the form of stories—books, television shows, films, and so forth.

The pirate at the wheel was a storyteller who came to Neverland to gather information for a script in the works at a company called Paramount Pictures. He’d brought the Jeep in exchange but had fallen in love with the realm and decided to keep the Jeep and settle here. Now he only returned to his world occasionally for gas.

His name was Joe and he seemed to be an adequate escort through the jungle, although for a supposed storyteller, he didn’t say much. Other than occasionally calling out “hold on” to warn of incoming sharp turns, he was silent for most of the ride.

I kept one hand on the door handle and the other on the driver’s seat in front of me. Blue rode shotgun and SJ was beside me. I’d chosen the seat behind Joe because if he double-crossed us, it put me in the best position to attack him.

We came to an abrupt stop, slamming SJ and I forward and back.

“We’re here,” Joe said, throwing open his door. We unbuckled our seatbelts and pursued him into the open.

Our escort had a large machete strapped to his back and a smaller version of the weapon—called a parang—attached to his belt. He’d put on a wide-brimmed hat before we’d taken off; it added a shadow to his face that I didn’t like.

“There,” he said, pointing ahead. “That’s the entrance to the Temple of Malbona.”

My friends and I looked past him. There was a clearing in the thick of the jungle with square tiles set into the soil to create a floor. The clearing was surrounded by crumbling stones, and the tiles themselves had weird designs on them like an ancient language. Most of the markings were faded and everything was covered in vines. At least I thought they were vines. Then some of them moved and I realized they were snakes.

“My advice to you,” Joe said as we walked to the center of the clearing, “is to think wicked thoughts. The Temple of Malbona is supposedly home to many lost riches and treasures. But the monsters and traps that protect it will only give safe passage to those who project true darkness. Malbona is Esperanto for ‘evil.’ Not even your average pirate or thief can get through, as most people, antagonists included, have both light and dark inside them. To channel the level of darkness needed for protection, you would pretty much need to have no soul.”