Hamelin stoop: The Battle of Parthogen 

Chapter 1

Deep Sleep and No Sleep

Where am I? Let me out! Her mind was working, but she couldn’t move, not even to open her eyes. Help! an inner voice yelled, but no sound came from her throat. Only dryness there.

The darkness pushed against her, a heaviness pinning her on her back. Her mind frantically tried to conjure more pictures, but the darkness grew, and the scenes faded. No! she tried to scream, but still nothing came.

Am I in Ventradees? Did I die? Some people go directly there when they die. Her fears smothered her like a heavy cloud, now a massive stone, rolling and tumbling—and certain to crush her. But then an image of a boy took over. He hovered above her. Who’s that? I know him! Our friend from another world. He’s strong, holding back the stone—Hamelin! Where is he? Didn’t he ride off to Ventradees? Is he here? Can he save me?

Underneath the boy was the last thing she saw before her world turned black—the side and belly of a white horse. Oh! It’s the horse that threw me, and Hamelin’s still on it! And then she remembered the last thing she felt, hitting the ground and her neck and head snapping back as everything faded. Hamelin, the horse, and some familiar voices—her sisters? Her father?

The darkness deepened as the sounds and pictures vanished. The pain in the back of her head grew and pounded, and she began to sink.

What’s that? Something cool. It’s like water, maybe wind, on my face. It feels good. Maybe I’m not in Ventradees. Are those voices again? Who’s talking? They’re so far away.

And then the smell of dirt, like a sweaty dog, hit her nose, and the weight of the pitch blackness fell upon her again and a painful sleep took over, until hands—old, rough hands—began pushing and scraping the side of her head. Stop! Leave me alone!

* * *

Layla watched her youngest sister, Sophie, who lay motionless in her bed—unconscious since being thrown from the back of a runaway horse earlier that day. She wouldn’t leave the bedside, even though she had known Sophie in person for only a few days.

Layla had lived in Texas for more than twenty years and just days before had returned to the Land of Gloaming, with the help of several strange creatures, to be reunited with her family. And Hamelin Stoop, the twelve-year-old boy she had known since he was a baby at the Upton County Children’s Home on the other side, had been a central part of it all.

As a four-year-old, she had been carried away from Parthogen on the back of a great white bull and had eventually ended up on a hillside just outside a mysterious cave, part of a passageway from Gloaming to Texas and the children’s home.

But now she was back in this medieval land. Her father, King Carr, was still alive, though her mother, Queen Flora, was dead. At twenty-five, she was the second oldest of four sisters—the oldest, Charissa, was twenty-seven, and Eraina and Sophie were seventeen and fifteen. All four were princesses, though Layla knew little of what that meant. But she knew she had to stay near Sophie, to help as best she could.

Layla leaned over with her head touching Sophie’s side, her hands clutching her sister’s left hand and arm. Darkness filled the tent except for light from a flickering torch just inside the opening. The torch was small, but it added to the July heat and, worse, gave off a rotten-egg smell. Layla tried to stay awake to bathe her sister’s warm face, but exhaustion overcame her and she fell asleep.

Patches of memories began to float through her tired mind—and sounds. Sounds of wind, which conjured up the storm on July 4 after the fireworks display back in Texas at the children’s home. The very night Prince Lars of Periluna showed up and told her she had to come back to the Land of Gloaming…and later the swirling wind when she rushed home from Amy’s house late at night—with all the city lights off—and she could feel the darkness.

And from the darkness red eyes emerged…then a long neck and more heads followed! And she saw the seven-headed snake on the ledge of the cave, the one whose hot breath had burned Mr. Kaley’s arm.

But now, instead of Mr. Kaley yelling in pain, she heard a wheezing groan. The dreamy images fled away, and Layla woke up. It was Sophie. She was gasping, and then came a choking cough, followed moments later by breathing so faint that Layla could hardly detect it.

Layla again rested her head on Sophie’s arm and desperately tried to think of a way to help her sister. She possessed some knowledge of herbs and modern medical practices, but she was no doctor, and what she knew was limited to what she had learned from living on the other side and especially from her job in a pharmacy. Though, strangely enough, she was also beginning to remember some of her grandmother’s old cures. Things she had learned over here before being taken away.

The king’s doctors had their own procedures in mind. They had recommended medieval practices that sounded frightening, and she had pled with her father not to allow such treatments. He was, however, listening more to them than to her.

Layla stayed with Sophie, afraid to leave her and determined to protect her. It grew late. Where was everybody? Gone to bed?

She glanced around the tent. They called it a hospital tent, but this bore no resemblance to any hospital room she had ever seen. In fact, it had been specially constructed for one person, the injured princess Sophia. The tent was larger than most others in the camp, to be sure, but except for some towels and pots filled regularly with fresh water, a few extra chairs for Sophie’s family and closest friends, and the small bed Layla had requested for herself, the space was otherwise empty and plain. And dark.

Noises stirred outside the tent, and Layla lifted her head toward the opening. Who was that? Her sisters? No, those weren’t women’s voices. Then whispered words mixed with the shadows of what looked to be three men approaching the opening. They quickly stepped inside the tent and paused. The doctors. But where was her father? One of the men held what appeared to be a long razor, and another tried to hide other strange instruments beneath his long-sleeved robe—a hammer and a rounded metal spike! Trephining!

They approached Sophie’s bed from the other side, heads down to avoid eye contact with Layla. The leader of the group, clearly the oldest of the three, lifted his face. “Princess Alathea, you’ll have to leave.”

She glanced back toward the opening—still no sign of her father. Surely he wouldn’t allow—

As if reading her mind, the man spoke again. “We have the permission of the king. This must be done.”

Layla stood. She leaned over and kissed her sister, then rubbed the side of her face and squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back.”

She glanced at the old physician but then lowered her eyes to the floor and circled around the end of the bed. She slowly walked toward the opening of the tent, stopped near the torch, and turned around one last time to look at Sophie.

The lead doctor followed her with his eyes as the man with the strange instruments moved to the other side of the bed. The old physician then turned his back to Layla and nodded toward the others.

She remained at the opening for an extra moment and took everything in. Was there nothing to do except watch her little sister suffer such poor treatment and likely die? Where was everyone else? She looked toward Sophie, but now her view was blocked as the practitioners of strange arts huddled around her sister’s bed, bending over her.

She could smell the smoke from the torch as it cast its wavy lights and shadows across the room. She saw one of the physicians hold up a long razor—or was it a scalpel?—and test it with his thumb. For a moment she closed her eyes, but she opened them again, forcing herself to watch.

“I need some more light.” The man with the razor leaned closer.

The light flickered and then grew brighter, and with no plans or thoughts beyond the next instant, Layla grabbed the torch with both hands and yanked it from its holder. Then with screams that shattered the night air, she gathered up her long skirt and ran toward the king’s tent, crying out, “Father, please! Charissa! Eraina! Somebody help!”

* * *

Hamelin Stoop was back at the children’s home. The last thing he had expected when he woke up that morning in the Land of Gloaming was that he would be back in Texas by that night, but here he was, sitting in the dark on his bed at the end of the long boys’ room. He had just spent more than two hours explaining to Mr. and Mrs. Kaley, the house parents at the home, and Mrs. Eastland, their friend and his favorite teacher at the local elementary school, everything that had happened since he left in a flaming chariot almost two weeks ago, until earlier this very evening, when the Great Eagle had brought him back and angrily dumped him at the cave. He was so ashamed that he had sneaked into the Kaleys’ apartment without anyone else seeing him. He hated telling them what had happened that day on the other side of the cave—especially the disaster he caused at the end of it—but he had to.

His mind raced, alternating between shame and anger. Everything was confusing. In the first place, he had no idea what he would say to others about where he had been, but the Kaleys and Mrs. Eastland told him not to worry about that. They had already explained to the workers and other children in the home that he was away visiting Bryan and Layla. Since everyone knew they were friends, though they didn’t know Bryan and Layla were now in Gloaming, no one would ask any hard questions. He hoped they were right, but he didn’t want to think about it. He sighed and placed his gloves of strength and the scabbard that once held the amazing sword—but now contained only the little hammer—in a wooden box at the foot of his bed and crawled under the top sheet.

One of the boys stirred somewhere in the vicinity of Paul’s bed, but then things got quiet again. No matter; he couldn’t sleep. He took out a book that Layla had given him, turned on a small flashlight, and tried to read, but it was no use. Even though he already knew the story, he couldn’t concentrate and finally had to quit after reading the same half paragraph several times. All he could think about was what had happened that very day in the Land of Gloaming, the world on the other side of the cave. It all kept turning endlessly through his head, but more important than what had happened was why.

Everyone over there was excited about the return of Layla, the long missing princess who, along with her brother Bryan, had grown up at the children’s home. Now, after many adventures, she was reunited with her royal family camped just outside the city of Parthogen, and Bryan was also in Gloaming, though no one knew exactly where. Layla’s return only two days ago, however, had already stirred great emotion and big plans. Her three sisters had persuaded their father, King Carr, to present her publicly as a princess, and arrangements for the debut and formal ceremony, to be followed by a great banquet, were underway when Hamelin caused the catastrophe. The grand events would have lasted until late this very night, but the celebrations were no doubt canceled, and it was Hamelin’s fault.

He had saddled and mounted a mysterious horse, an Arabian palomino, and pulled Layla’s youngest sister, Sophie, up behind him, even though there was no bridle. And then for some reason—was it the surprise appearance of the eagle?—the horse bolted and raced away with his two riders. After two sudden starts and stops, Sophie was thrown and struck her head.

He had no chance to dismount and try to help. The horse bolted again, and the eagle flew after them at top speed, snatching Hamelin off the back of the runaway animal. The last thing he saw as the eagle wheeled in the air and flew him away was Sophie lying unconscious on the ground, with her family and others like Lars, Amy, and Fearbane crowding around. He would never forget the shock and fear on their faces as they looked at him and then back to Sophie’s motionless body.

Guilt and pain flooded his head and chest, and he tried not to think any more about what he’d done. But the scenes kept racing through his mind, and his frustration built. It’s not all my fault! What was I supposed to do? Then he remembered that the eagle told him to think. But thinking was hard work. Besides, it was too hot to think!

It was late July, with hardly a breeze coming through the one open window in the boys’ room, and he caught a whiff of something nasty. It smelled like trash, but worse than that. In a home with more than fifty children, plus several workers, a lot of trash accumulated every day, and it was not unusual in the stillness of a hot summer night to smell it—stale and stinky—through an open window. But this was worse. Whatever it was reminded him of burning rubber. Had Mr. Moore burned trash that afternoon? He closed his eyes, but the smell and the darkness combined to remind him of traveling through the cave.

Hamelin sat up on the side of the bed, and anger began to take over his frustration. He had never asked to go over there! He was only eight years old the first time he went, when the eagle practically forced him to follow him through the cave. On that trip, he failed to cross the footbridge, and the eagle grabbed him up from the ground and flew him back. He sure does a lot of grabbing and snatching! Why didn’t he just carry me across?

He had, after all, tried to go back on his own several years later, but the eagle got angry and sent him away, saying he had to be summoned. Why couldn’t he just make up his mind!?

Finally, Hamelin was summoned, and he did lots of great things in the Land of Gloaming, but apparently that wasn’t enough. Just when everything was starting to go well and he wanted to look for his parents, once again in a surprise move the great bird flew him back to the Atrium and through the cave. That was last Christmas.

Who was telling the eagle what to do and ordering all these things? Why couldn’t he just stay over there until he found his parents? His mind then turned back only a few weeks to the first part of July, when SueSue sent Lars to get him and Layla. But Bryan switched places with her at the last second, and she stayed while the three young men flew to Gloaming in a chariot of fire drawn by winged black horses. I did everything I was supposed to do! I helped rescue Layla and then the eagle got mad again and now I’m back here!

But he no sooner thought these things than he admitted to himself they weren’t the full truth. The eagle, who served the Ancient One, took him away from Gloaming and flew him back today because, as the great bird put it, he was out of control. And to top it off, the eagle told him it really wasn’t his horse to ride. And now Sophie… He took a deep breath and tried to do what the great bird said to do, which was think, but it was harder than he expected.

The outside smell and the weight of the darkness both grew stronger, conjuring another scene, partly old and partly new, that now flashed through his mind. He could see himself back in the cave, standing at the edge of the chasm, stuck in place, with one foot forward on the rope bridge as he stared into the bottomless pit. And the smell hit his nose again—hot tar or maybe burning rubber.

He heard in the distance a roll of thunder, unusual for that time of year in West Texas. Then he remembered the surprise rainstorm that July night when he had first gone to the cave a little more than four years ago. Was he being summoned again? Was it already time to go back?

Hamelin quietly rolled out of bed and put on his clothes. He slipped out of the room, down the stairs, and out the front door, making sure the screen door didn’t make its characteristic thwacking noise. He briskly walked north on the road toward the hill where, halfway up, there was a ledge and an opening to a cave that led to another world.