Ravenspell Book 3: Freaky Fly Day

  Illustration © Howard Lyon

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2009 by David Farland

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  First Printing: September 2009

  ISBN-13 978-1-62108-024-4

  For Braiden Norton, Serena Doering, and all of my special fans everywhere!

  Chapter 1

  THE BLACK LOTUS

  Never celebrate the demise of evil;

  for it is when we least expect it that it is most likely to surface in a new form.

  —RUFUS FLYCATCHER

  “Look, we’re on television!” Ben shouted.

  Ben’s mom had just turned on the tube while Ben and two dozen of his mouse friends waited for their pizza to cool. There was Ben on the screen, larger than life, clutching his little spear made from a needle, his helm carved from a walnut shell looking like some spooky skull, his whiskers twitching.

  A newsman said, “And here is the ultimatum given from a mouse who claims he was once human . . .”

  Ben spoke into the camera. “I’m going to teach mice how to use spears and stuff, so that they can protect themselves. There are a lot of mice in pet shops all over the world. They’re being fed to snakes and lizards and stuff, and so me and the other mice are going to come and set them free. If you don’t like that—tough.

  “You know, you could just save us all some trouble. Free the mice in your pet shops. Free the mice, now!”

  For a moment, the picture froze on Ben, and a sign came up beneath him saying Benjamin Ravenspell.

  “Gol,” Ben said. “I’m famous!” He’d been hoping that when his mom turned on the TV, she’d flip on some cartoons, but seeing himself was even better.

  “Oh, Ben,” Amber shouted with glee, “you look sooo handsome!”

  Ben beamed and peered around the house. It felt so strange to be home again after nearly two weeks in the wild.

  Yet in those two weeks, everything in the world had changed. Ben had turned into a mouse, and he’d had adventures that would have made him faint from terror not long ago. He’d faced lizards as big as dinosaurs and kittens that seemed larger than lions. He’d taken a ride through a hailstorm on the back of an insane bat, and had fought off giant Wyoming thunder worms.

  Ben had grown inside, yet it wasn’t just him who had changed. He peered around, wondering at the difference, and suddenly saw it all at once. The whole house was clean—spotless!

  His mother had washed the dishes and mopped the floor. She’d gotten a perm and had brushed her teeth.

  It appeared as if his mom only cleaned the house when she was stressed out. With Ben gone, she’d been filled with nervous energy, and now the house was immaculate!

  Gone was the old Christmas tree in the corner; gone were the dust bunnies; gone were the ants and the cockroaches.

  Only one little ant could be seen, a miserable fellow lumbering over the carpet. As he hunted vainly for food, he sang,

  Life ain’t no fun,

  When you can’t find a crumb!

  I’m just one little guy,

  With ten thousand eyes.

  And them eyes can’t see

  Any food for me.

  So I’ll keep wan-der-un,

  Searchin’ for a crumb.

  In some ways, it didn’t even feel like home anymore, and Ben didn’t feel like Ben. Yet he was relieved to be safe, out of the harsh weather, with a pizza the size of a football field cooling on the table.

  His mom had suddenly become more accepting of mice.

  Last time she’d seen mice in the house, she’d sucked them up with a vacuum cleaner. Now she was catering to their every whim, even if she did look a little freaked out about it.

  She was sitting on a sofa, watching the mice on her couch with an odd smile, sort of twitching from nervousness. Every muscle was rigid.

  Meanwhile, Ben’s dad, Butch, had flopped into his own chair to watch television, lost to the world, as if he were watching a football game. Nothing could faze him.

  The television announcer, a dark-haired woman with a sly smile, said, “We now continue with our coverage of the mouse that shook the world today.” The mice on the couch all cheered. Lady Blackpool, a sorceress shrew, had cast a spell on all of the mice so that they could understand human speech. “World reaction to the news has been swift and in some cases harsh . . .”

  Suddenly the television showed a bearded man with a black robe and a black turban wrapped around his head. “We in Iran are not women to be frightened by mice,” he thundered in a thick Arab accent. “We do not take orders from American vermin. We are ready to fight with Weapons of Mouse Destruction! Down with the infidel America! Down with mice!” He raised a machine gun into the air with one hand and fired off a salvo of bullets.

  The camera switched pictures again, showing a beautiful woman in an evening gown. “Meanwhile, in France, the prime minister has already named an ambassador to the mice of the world and is suing for peace.”

  The beautiful woman held a bottle of champagne in one hand and white cheese in the other. “We are eager to establish diplomatic relationships with the nation of Mouse-adonia,” she said in a kind, educated voice with a hint of an accent that sounded more English than French. “We will gladly offer reparations for past wrongs. In World War II, mice gnawed through the wires of German tanks hiding in our cornfields, disabling them, and so lent us aid in our struggle. We owe our freedom to mice. Perhaps the whole world owes its freedom to mice! Certainly we must return the favor. We here in France look forward to developing strong diplomatic ties to mouse-kind.”

  The anchorwoman reappeared on screen. “Meanwhile, the reaction at home is mixed.” A senator from Arkansas was shown mugging for the camera. “Free the mice? They want civil rights for mice? What if we give them equal rights? Where does it stop? Human rights should just be for humans. Next thing you know, chickens will want to vote, and hamsters will be demanding health care!”

  The television switched pictures once more.

  Harold Shortzenbeggar, the tan and muscular governor of California, was suddenly shown with a crowd of people at his back. “We, the people of California, proudly offer our hand in fellowship to the mice of our state, and hereby immediately grant them all of the rights given to any citizen.

  “From this day forward, it will be illegal to hold a mouse captive, to injure a mouse, or to commit any foul deed against a mouse. All mice are to be freed from pet shops, private homes, and research facilities at once.

  “Mice are our friends. Mice are our brothers. I like mice!” He held up a small white mouse for the cameras.

  The poor mouse of course had no idea what was going on. It squeaked in terror, shouting, “Help! Help! He’s pulling my tail!” but of course the governor didn’t understand mouse.

  Governor Shortzenbeggar turned and set the mouse down in the grass. The camera pulled back to reveal a character in a Mickey Mouse suit behind the governor, waving to the world.

  “Now,” Governor Shortzenbeggar said, “let’s all go to Disneyland!” The crowd clapped and cheered.

  Meanwhile, a bunch of news anchormen shouted
at the governor, “Does this mean that mice will be granted access to public education?” “Will they be eligible to get driver’s licenses?” The governor ignored the questions.

  “And there you have it,” the anchorwoman said. “The governor of California officially freeing the mice!”

  “Hooray!” Ben shouted. Other mice raised their voices and cheered too, but Amber just peered about, her eyes filling with tears of gratitude.

  Not all of the creatures on the couch were mice. Bushmaster the vole and many of his friends from the wild were there, too. Voles look like mice, but unlike mice, which eat just about anything, voles only eat vegetables and seeds. And though they were not mice, and had never been caged like mice, the truth was that they looked so much like mice that they often suffered the same fate—being poisoned by humans or caught in traps.

  The voles cheered and leapt about. Only one other figure among them was silent, the gray-furred shrew, Lady Blackpool, who bent her head in thought.

  “You have done well, Amber,” Lady Blackpool said softly, “and you are to be congratulated. The fame of your deeds has spread far and wide, and you have gone a long way toward reaching your destiny. The humans of the world have already begun freeing the mice that have so long been held captive.

  “I imagine that all across the world, human children are freeing the mice that have been kept as pets for generations.

  “Yet I worry at what you have done.”

  Amber’s ears drew back in alarm, and she stood up, whiskers twitching as if she were trying to catch the scent of some enemy. “What do you mean? What are you worried about?”

  “You have freed many mice,” Lady Blackpool confirmed. “The humans will let them out of their cages. But have you considered what will happen now? Your cousins will be loosed into a world fraught with dangers—cats and snakes, traps and owls. They won’t know where to live, how to protect themselves, or how to feed themselves. I worry for them—the white mice most of all. With their fur color, they won’t be able to hide from predators.”

  “Oh, no!” Amber said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Ben’s elation suddenly faded. He really liked Amber, and he was proud of what they had done in behalf of mice around the world. But now Lady Blackpool had ruined his taste of victory. He felt bad for Amber most of all. She had a good heart, and it wasn’t right to blame her for the fate of all the mice in the world.

  An old pet shop mouse named Barley Beard spoke up. “‘It’s better to die free than to live in captivity!’ At least, that’s what I always say!”

  Lady Blackpool was much smaller than Barley Beard, but she stared at him so pointedly that she seemed to grow. “That is a choice that you might make for yourself, but you should not make it for others.”

  “Oh, what shall I do?” Amber cried, bewildered.

  “There is nothing that you can do now,” Lady Blackpool said. “You’ve squandered your mage dust, and you will be powerless until you’ve gathered more. That was not done wisely, my friend. The first rule of magic is, ‘Always keep some power in reserve.’”

  Ben peered at Amber, who began to tremble as if she would cry. Wizards drew their magical energy from something called “mage dust.” The stuff was invisible, but apparently it was everywhere. As a familiar, Ben attracted mage dust just like a magnet draws iron shavings. Then Amber drew the power from him to cast her spells.

  But with all of their mage dust used up in their last battle, Amber was powerless. She was like a battery that had lost its charge. She couldn’t do anything to help the mice of the world at that moment.

  Amber’s eyes moistened. She was almost in tears. “But . . . Ben asked me to cast that spell, turning that madman into a worm and then a dung beetle.”

  “General Crawley was evil,” Ben shouted. “He was going to blow us all up!”

  Lady Blackpool said softly, “There were other ways to stop him—ways that would have used far less mage dust. Amber, just because a friend asks you to do something does not mean that you should do it. If Ben asked you to stick your tongue on a frozen fire hydrant, would you do so?”

  Amber was a naïve mouse. She had no idea what would happen if she stuck her tongue to a frozen fire hydrant, so she answered bravely, “Yes, if Ben asked me to!”

  Lady Blackpool chuckled. “I suppose that you would, and all too soon you would regret it. Amber, you’re a kind mouse, but there is a saying at our wizard’s school: ‘Kindness that is not tempered by wisdom is often kindness wasted.’”

  “But, what about the mice that I’ve set free?” Amber asked. “How will I save them?”

  Lady Blackpool answered thoughtfully, “Great things have been set in motion, my dear, and the wheels of time roll on. The mice of the world are scattered so far and wide that neither you nor anyone else can protect them. I suppose that there is not much that we can do now. Sometimes we cannot depend on others. Sometimes we must save ourselves or die in the attempt.

  “You have given the mice of the world a great opportunity. Let us hope that they use it wisely, that they band together for their own safety, and that they survive.”

  “You can’t let yourself feel guilty,” Ben told Amber. “Lady Blackpool is right. Some mice are going to be set free, and they might have some bad luck afterward. But it’s better than being fed to some kid’s snakes or lizards. In time, your name will be remembered by all mice everywhere. You’ll be famous forever!”

  “You know,” a young vole named Meadowsweet offered. “I think that pizza has cooled down enough to eat.”

  Another vole, one of Ben’s friends named Bushmaster, reached out with one paw and touched it. “Yessss!” he said, and then he dived onto the pizza.

  The small creatures all shouted, “Hooray,” and followed Bushmaster, some voles racing to eat mushrooms and olives while the mice grabbed paws full of cheese and pepperoni.

  As the small folk all went into a feeding frenzy, the television continued to play. News anchors wondered aloud what kinds of powers Amber might harbor. “She turned a nuclear bomb into fireworks,” one said. “What kind of threat does such a creature pose to the world?”

  “I agree,” another commentator said. “Two hours ago, the United States was the ultimate power on this planet. Now, it appears that a mouse may soon be dictating terms of surrender to our president.”

  Ben wondered at that. Amber didn’t seem to be interested in trying to be queen of the world. But the newsmen did have a point. She was more powerful than he’d ever imagined. Even Amber didn’t seem to have a clue what she might be able to do.

  Yet she didn’t have the energy right now to turn him back into a human. For the next three days, Ben was still vulnerable.

  Ben wandered away from the television, away from the other mice. He heard a congressman saying that perhaps Amber should be arrested on charges of witchcraft, but Ben knew that that was silly. She had power, but it wasn’t evil.

  People don’t know it, Ben thought, but if they wanted to, they could kill Amber right now.

  He clawed his way up the back of the couch, his paws sinking into tiny snags in the fabric, and then leapt up onto the windowsill and stood looking out.

  Silent clouds slid like ghosts beneath a silver moon. All of the houses on his street were dark and empty, with a haunted look.

  A militia had planned on nuking this neighborhood earlier in the day, until Amber saved it. So everyone had left their homes.

  Now it seemed that the people were returning: out on the road, headlights from cars were slashing at the darkness, the lights spilling out onto the roads like milk. A truck pulled up across the street. It was a news truck with a satellite dish on top. Some men got out and a reporter began speaking into a microphone as she pointed at Ben’s house.

  The telephone rang, and Ben’s dad, Butch, picked it up. He listened to someone on the other end for a moment. “An interview on Good Morning America? How much do you pay?” He hesitated then said, “Call back with a better offer!” He s
lammed the phone down.

  We’re going to be famous, Ben thought. He looked down the road at the long line of headlights in the distance. More reporters were coming. Lots more.

  Ben rubbed his paws through his long whiskers and blinked, trembling with nervous energy.

  It won’t be long until I’m human again, he reassured himself. Amber will turn me back into a human soon.

  But he couldn’t bring himself to hope anymore. He was a mouse, and right now it felt as if he might be stuck being a mouse forever, even though he had good reason to hope.

  “Mom,” Ben said, “we need to get out of the house for a couple of days. Amber can’t cast any more spells until we gather some mage dust, and we can’t do that if we’re just sitting here.”

  Ben’s mom peered at him with a frightened look. She obviously didn’t relish the idea of taking a bunch of mice out on a road trip.

  “Where would we go?” Butch asked.

  “I don’t know,” Ben said. “Anywhere, I guess.”

  “How about Disneyland?” Ben’s mom suggested.

  Ben’s heart pounded for joy. He’d always wanted to go there, but his mom had always said that they were too poor.

  “That would cost a lot of money,” Butch said. “Our credit cards are all maxed out.”

  Suddenly a tiny spider came crawling up the back of the couch.

  “Hiya, Ben,” the spider said.

  “Cob!” Ben whispered in surprise. “How are you doing?” Cob was a little spider that lived in Ben’s garage. Ben had met the strange fellow when Ben had first been turned into a mouse. Cob had warned Ben that an evil bat was going to try to stop him from reaching the pet shop to free the mice there. Cob had told how all of the spiders in the area were betting that Ben would never make it to the pet shop alive.

  Ben had seen the flies that Cob won in the bet. There were about a million of them stacked on the floor in Ben’s garage. Ben’s mom was really freaked out about it. Ben’s dad had already asked why his garage was filled five feet deep with dead flies, but Ben had pretended that he didn’t know. He didn’t want to get Cob in trouble.