Lost Empire of Koomba by Tony Abbott
Hob was the clever maker of magical masks the children had first met in the traveling city of Tortu. He always spoke of himself in the third person, as if he were someone else.
“A cure? Poisons?” said Neal. “Aren’t we going to get the Moon Medallion?”
Keeah’s face fell. “That’s gone, too. My mother and father went to retrieve it from Jaffa City, but it had vanished.”
“King Zello is assembling a team to search for it right now,” said Hob. “In the meantime, we’re finding another way to help Eric. With a cure!”
It was only then that Julie and Neal noticed another person in the library. They knew him, too. It was Thog, the giant caretaker of the castle’s books. Normally as tall as a two-story house, Thog sat hunched in front of Galen’s magic mirror. The scene on the mirror showed the old wizard stumbling along a dusty plain until the light faded and he couldn’t be seen.
“When did this happen?” Julie asked.
“Last night, as the moon rose,” said Thog.
So it’s true, thought Julie. I’m not predicting the future. I’m seeing the past. But why? How? What good is seeing what already happened?
“Galen had been strange the past few days,” said Keeah. “You remember when he told us of Anusa’s coming. He knew he would have to leave us. Every wizard has to.”
Keeah was right. This wasn’t the first time Galen had left them. Last time, he had gone willingly. When he returned, he was younger, stronger, refreshed, renewed.
This time seemed different. Julie remembered his face in her vision. Worried. Afraid of something. And what did he mean, “a hundred years”?
“Hold on! Is — this — it?” Max said, pulling an enormous scroll from the workbench. “Hob, quickly, the language!”
The spotted imp jumped to the scroll, scanned its tiny writing, then put one paw on his chin and the other on his head and began scratching with both. “Oh, dear, dear, dear!”
“What is it?” asked Keeah. “Tell us.”
“The poison elixir,” said Hob, “happens to be — are you ready? — fazool.”
Max peered at the scroll. “Not … fazool?”
“Fazool?” said Thog, shaking his head.
“Fazool!” stated Hob.
“Okay, what is fazool?” asked Neal.
“Hush. Don’t say that word!” said Hob.
“But you just said it —” started Neal.
“Never mind that!” Hob scolded. “Fazool is ancient. It is magical. It is rare. It is legendary! It is a green elixir that burns like fire. Worst of all, it is fatal. It kills whomever it touches. Instantly!”
“But Eric is not … you know,” said Julie.
“Exactly!” said Hob. “Which means that a single drop of fazool must have been lost before Eric was poisoned.”
“So we can cure Eric,” said Keeah.
“Except,” said Hob, “that the only cure lies in that single drop!”
“Then we’ll find it,” said Julie.
“Except that no one knows where it is!” said Hob.
“But if we don’t find it, Eric will … you know,” said Neal.
“Except …”
“Hob, please,” said Keeah. “We have only five days, and this is the first one. Tell us, please.”
The imp grumbled. “Very well. Hob will explain. If the elixir lost a drop, it must have happened between the Dark Lands, where it comes from, and the far north, where Eric was wounded.”
“Poison traders!” said Max. He jumped onto the worktable, unrolled a large map, and traced his paws across it. “Their trade routes have crisscrossed the ancient Crimson Desert for centuries….”
Max’s paws came together. He gasped. “Koomba!”
“Koomba?” cried Hob. “The legendary empire in the heart of the Crimson Desert? That is where we shall find our fazool!”
Koomba. At the mention of the word, Julie imagined vast cities shimmering with gold.
“Then let’s go to Koomba,” said Keeah. “We can’t wait a second —”
“But Koomba is no more!” said the imp. “It was devoured by war and sandstorms ages ago. All that remains is an old trading post. This would mean nothing, except that the mysterious Sand Children are said to haunt the area.”
Everyone waited for him to say more.
“And?” asked Keeah.
“The Sand Children and their leader, Empress Mashta,” said Hob, “are mysterious and tiny, but they have one particular habit that could be just what saves Eric Hinkle!”
Everyone waited again.
“And that is?” asked Max.
“They steal!” cried Hob. “They say that in the darkness before each dawn, the Sand Children descend on desert travelers and steal bits and pieces of everything that isn’t tied down. Where they take their bounty is unknown, but Hob knows firsthand about their thievery. Not long ago a pair of masks was stolen from him. If we find the Sand Children, we could very well find the missing drop of fazool — and Hob’s masks!”
“A desert journey,” said Neal. “Cool. Are we going to fly?”
Keeah shook her head. “Pilkas carry within them knowledge of the old trade routes. We’ll ride them quickly but carefully and avoid any beastly encounters.”
Julie nodded. Beasts? Wingwolves!
She ran her fingers over the tingling scratch. It was pinker than before. She had definitely scratched it again in Eric’s apple tree that morning.
“In the meantime,” said Max, “Thog and I will construct a laboratory among these books. If you do find the drop of fazool, we shall quickly work to turn it into a cure!”
Keeah nodded. “The rest of us — to the Crimson Desert!”
“May luck and speed be with you!” called Max from the giant castle gate. “Dawn is but an hour away!”
The band of three children and one imp bade farewell from atop their team of heavily packed pilkas. They galloped due east, toward the rolling red dunes of the Crimson Desert.
No sooner had they left the green plains than the land turned scrubby and sandy.
“We have to be careful here,” said Keeah. “Now that Sparr has joined Gethwing, his Ninns have returned to their evil ways. We may meet some today.”
Lord Sparr was one of several “jewels” in Gethwing’s Crown of Wizards. The others were Prince Ungast and Princess Neffu, Keeah’s evil opposite. Although lately the Ninns had helped the kids, they had followed Sparr in joining Gethwing’s war against Droon.
Once the little caravan passed the abandoned Dust Hills of Panjibarrh, they entered the vast and trackless sea of sand that fringed the Crimson Desert.
Sometimes they galloped along the crests of massive sand dunes. At other times, they hid quietly in the valleys between them while bands of roving beasts and swarms of wingwolves moved overheard.
“Soon, if we are lucky, we shall see the Sand Children,” said Hob. “The little sprites are said to flit around like ghosts. Tales of their masterful thievery abound. They are … legendary!”
Neal laughed. “According to you, everything is legendary. Are we legendary?”
The imp giggled to himself. “Perhaps. Some of us. Only the future will tell.”
The future.
That morning, Julie had had what she thought was a vision. But all she did was predict the past. How useful was that?
She rubbed the back of her hand, and the scratch tingled even more.
Neal laughed. “Hey, I just remembered something. Did you know that you can never go hungry in a desert?”
“Why not?” asked Keeah.
An image of Neal telling the same joke flashed through Julie’s mind. She knew the answer to his riddle. “Because of the sand which is there. Right? The sandwiches there?”
Hob chuckled. “Yes, quite!”
Neal grumbled. “I just heard that riddle yesterday, and you weren’t even with me! How’d you know it already?”
Julie blinked. Neal was right. She hadn’t been with Neal when he’d heard that joke. W
The pilkas rode to the crest of a tall dune, and the breeze changed direction. Warm and scented with a touch of burning wood, it moved over them, rustling their robes and scarves and jingling their tiny saddle bells ever so slightly.
“Well!” exclaimed Hob. “There may or may not be sandwiches, but there is certainly a lot of sand. And, if Hob is correct, it is red!”
The desert before them stretched on for miles and miles. Its dunes were massive and high and as red as the evening sun.
“The Crimson Desert!” whispered Keeah.
“The site of the legendary Koomba,” said Hob. “Now lost forever!”
Lost or not, Julie couldn’t help but picture the towering empire that once stood among the curious red dunes. In her mind, tall domes, fallen over time, resumed their upright shapes. Bridges rose out of the sand, linked to one another as far as the eye could see. Towers coiled themselves up, higher and higher, into the darkening sky.
“Nothing is left,” said Keeah, “but a wasteland of sand.”
No! thought Julie. Is it just my mind playing tricks on me again? I see it all!
But the instant she blinked, her image of old Koomba collapsed under waves of whirling sand, buried beneath centuries of desert, fading into nothing.
Only rolling red dunes remained.
Julie sighed. Koomba was beautiful.
“I see the trading post,” said Neal. “Hurry.”
The little band rode quickly to the foot of an enormous dune that winds had blown into the shape of a star. Just behind it stood a ramshackle little building made of planks from which all but the tiniest flecks of paint had been scoured away.
A battered sign hung on the outside.
KANTINA DU KOOMBA
A canvas canopy, worn ragged by the constant desert wind, hung low over a small front door that flapped on its squeaky hinges.
They heard gruff voices yelling from inside, the clatter of thrown furniture, and the breaking of glass.
“Do you think poison traders are in there right now?” asked Neal.
“Perhaps,” said Hob. “Whatever they trade, they are evil, no doubt. And that is why you shall thank Hob for being so clever. Some travelers pack food. Hob packs … masks!”
He dug his slender paws into the leather bags draped over his saddle and produced three masks. They were exquisitely detailed in bright blue, silver, and yellow.
“They will make you appear as beasts and traders,” he said. “Since Gethwing’s armies frequent this part of the world, you must blend in.” He held out the masks.
“Where’s your mask?” asked Keeah.
Hob smiled. “Hob is an imp. He doesn’t have as much to overcome. Take one!”
Julie took the yellow mask and slipped it on. Moments later, she was tall, very tall, had four arms, a bulbous body, three tails, and a bumpy chin with three points on it.
Neal laughed. “Hey, good-looking!” He took the delicate silver mask and slipped it on. “Will this mask make me into a strong one?”
“Oh, you’ll be strong,” said Hob. “But you won’t be one.”
“What? No!” The moment the mask fell over his face, Neal’s head grew outward and split into two. Then each nose grew straight out and ended in a fuzzy bush of white hair. “I hate my mask! I want the other one —”
“Mine!” said Keeah, snatching the blue mask.
As Keeah slipped it on, Hob grinned. “This mask gives you one tiny foot, five giant ears, and three noses. Or is it three ears, a tiny nose, and one giant foot?”
As it happened, Keeah had three feet, seven ears, and a flat nose the color of mustard. She was also covered with gray fur.
“Yours is so much better,” Neal grumbled. “Why do I always get the mask that doesn’t work right?”
“You do have an odd face,” said Hob.
“I do not!” said Neal.
“Guys,” said Keeah. “Time is wasting. Let’s go in. And remember, we’re beasts and we’re traders. Be tough, okay? Let’s go.”
Taking one last moment to get into character, the four friends growled and grumbled and swaggered their way to the tavern door.
A sudden gust of desert wind blew the children past the creaky door into the room, along with a wave of fine red sand.
“Shut the door!” growled a voice.
“Oh, sorry,” said Julie.
“Don’t be so polite,” whispered Keeah.
Julie grunted in a beast voice. “I mean … shut your own door!”
When their eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, the kids saw that it was filled with Ninns, the chubby red-faced warriors loyal to Lord Sparr. They were filthy after what appeared to be a long journey over the dunes.
“The Ninns are trading now?” whispered Neal.
“Hard times,” said Hob.
A thing with a pudgy blue face, a rug of flat hair, and four eyes set very close together slammed a dented pot on the counter. He filled it with thick brown liquid until it foamed over the sides.
“Sit down and have some glunk!” he ordered.
“Mmm,” said Neal. “Can I maybe have a glass?”
Every Ninn turned to him.
“A dirty glass!” Neal demanded.
“Hrumpf!” growled a loud voice.
The children turned and saw the large red face of a Ninn commander staring at them. In his pointy chin, fiercely arching eyebrows, and glaring eyes, they recognized a warrior who had helped them once upon a time.
“Captain Bludge?” whispered Keeah.
The Ninn narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the princess, who scratched her mustard-colored nose and shook her fur.
“I’m Thumpinius Bludge,” he growled. “How do you know me?”
Julie thought fast. “We all know you, Captain Bludge. By reputation!” she said in as low a voice as she could muster. “You are known among the beasts as a fierce warrior. You are a friend to Gethwing and his dark forces.”
The Ninn seemed to flinch at the mention of Gethwing’s name. “Fierce, yes,” he said. “But no longer captain. Gethwing has put his beasts in command now. We run errands for him. If only Sparr — the real Sparr — were back. But the dragon controls him now.”
When Bludge mentioned the sorcerer, an image of Sparr flickered in Julie’s mind. He was a little boy drawing pictures of birds. His small two-headed pet dog, Kem, was playing at his feet.
Stop it! she thought. This isn’t helping!
“So, have you come to take the nightfox to Gethwing?” Bludge pulled with his hand, and a creature on an iron leash whimpered under his table.
It was a foxlike creature with jet-black fur and silver eyes. It was crouched, ready to pounce, but chains linked its feet together.
“Uh … no,” said Neal. “We’re just passing through.”
“Have more glunk!” shouted the blue-faced thing at the counter.
Neal shrugged and filled up his dirty glass. “I pretend it’s root beer.”
Julie scanned the room. The Ninns muttered among themselves, their eyes downcast. She nudged Keeah. “They’re not happy about doing stuff for Gethwing.”
“Not at all,” whispered the princess.
“So I guess we wait for the Sand Children to appear,” whispered Neal. He kicked a chair out from under a table and plopped down into it, sipping his filthy glass of glunk.
A last glimmer of moonlight edged across the floor as the sky began to brighten. At that moment, the door flew open with a bang, and a giant furry foot entered the room.
It was followed by another, then a third, and finally by a wide, knobby body topped by a head like a lion’s. It was furry all over except for the top, which was shiny.
“Ninns, your captain is here!” the creature grunted, blowing a foul breath into the room. “I — Captain Grunto — am the new ruler of the Ninns in the eastern province of the west country north of the southern border of the Crimson Desert. In other words — of you! Where is the nightfox? Ou
Bludge stood up. “Why? What has the fox done?”
“Never you mind!” grunted the beast leader, the bald spot on his head turning beet red. “Just give me the fox!”
But the moment Bludge tugged the little creature out from under the table, something streaked across the room. A chair next to Bludge toppled to the floor. Then came a clatter of chains. Suddenly — whoosh! — the nightfox was gone, and Bludge was left holding an empty leash!
“Arrgh!” growled Captain Grunto. “Where’s the fox?”
“The Sand Children!” whispered Julie. “Guys, it must be —”
“Hey!” Neal swung around as a tiny figure leaped away from him. Neal’s giant blue turban was in its hands. “Give that back!”
In a flash, the tavern was alive with little shapes dancing and diving from table to floor to ceiling to door and back again.
“My boot!” shouted a Ninn.
“My nose ring!” yelled a second.
“My glunk!” cried the lion-headed beast.
“Yoo-hoo, children!” whispered a voice. “Time to vanish!”
Julie whirled around and saw a tiny red and silver figure holding the tavern window open. A band of silvery shapes leaped out the window, their little arms laden with treasure.
“Help me catch one!” said Julie.
“But how?” asked Neal. “They’re so fast!”
“I’ll nab one!” Keeah leaped past a table at a tiny shape flying across the room. Chuckling, the thing flattened itself and slid over a tabletop, then jumped onto the windowsill and out across the sand.
Keeah reached for it, slipped, and stumbled over a chair. “Big, dumb three feet!” She hit the floor, and her mask tumbled beneath Bludge’s table. In an instant — pling! — she was herself again.
Everyone stared at Keeah.
“Um … hi?” she said.
“A child!” Grunto boomed. “A girl child! A princess girl child! A princess girl child of Droon! Princess Keeah of Droon! Ninns, as your captain, I demand you capture her!”
“Capture us, you mean,” said Neal, whipping off his mask, turning back into himself, and jumping next to Keeah. “Well, I mean, not capture us. We’re the good guys, after all, and we stick together —”