See the Lords of Water—Beyond the waves they leap

See the Lords of Land—Beneath the ground they sleep

See the Lords of Air—Above the clouds they creep

See the Lords of Fire—Around the flames they reap

Water. Land. Air. Fire.Together, the balance of Farworld they keep.

BUNDLED SAFE IN HER underground burrow, with eight fuzzy

babies snuggled against her warm body, the ishkabiddle

woke to a curious rumbling. Her milky white eyes— interested, but

not yet frightened— slid open as she tilted her head, listening. For a

moment the rumbling seemed to be fading away. Then, all at once, it

grew much louder, and bits of dirt crumbled onto the ishkabiddle’s

dappled gray fur. Alarmed, she clawed her way up through the dark,

dusty tunnel she had dug out years earlier, and stopped at the edge of

the opening.

Perched half- in half- out of the burrow entrance, she paused. A

pair of bald pink feelers rose quivering from her fur- covered body.

Cautiously, she slipped out of her hole, and blinked. Somewhere far

off a bird screeched, but that wasn’t what was making the ground

tremble so the tops of the grass shivered to and fro.

From the tips of her feelers the ishkabiddle sent out a cloud of

gray specks— each no bigger than a grain of sand. One by one the

Chapter 1

BONESPLINTER

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specs floated out into the cold night air, buzzing and spinning as theybounced from one blade of grass to another. Had she found any signof a predator, the ishkabiddle would have scurried back into her holequick as two winks. But nothing she discovered was threatening.

For a moment everything was perfectly still and the insects thathad gone silent resumed making their nighttime music. Without anywarning, the ground exploded into the air less than ten feet away,and the ishkabiddle found herself staring into a pair of deadly yel-low eyes. The glistening diamond- shaped head of a huge black snakeswiveled, and its eyes— each bigger than the entire ishkabiddle— fixed on the poor shivering creature. The snake rose out of theground, its scaled body,thick as the trunk of a mature tree,gliding skyward.

The ishkabiddle could not move. Her body paralyzed by fear, thepoor creature could only watch as death slithered to her verydoorstep. The nightmare snake opened its mouth, revealing wickedlyshining fangs. Its tongue flicked out and touched the tip of the ishk-abiddle’s wilting pink feelers.

“Boo!” the snake said, and the ishkabiddle’s muscles turned towater. She dropped into her tunnel and rolled all the way to the bot-tom of her burrow where she hid, trembling, for the rest of the night.

The iskabiddle didn’t see how the snake’s armor- like scales beganto slide and change. She didn’t see how its long body twisted andshortened, or how its head filled out as its mouth and nose shrunk.Above the burrow, the snake disappeared and was replaced by a manin a flowing black cape and hood. The man raised his forked staffand slammed it on the ground with a wicked laugh.

“Lucky for you I’ve already had dinner,” he whispered with darkmirth. “Perhaps I’ll come back for you later.”

But the man had no time for such trivial things now. The three

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moons were almost directly overhead, one a full white face staringwatchfully down from the inky black sky, another an orange three- quarters, and the last a tiny reddish sliver. It was nearly midnight.

Glancing about to be sure no one was watching, the figure stolequickly over a brush- covered hill and stopped at a tall outcroppingof stone. Placing the tip of his staff into an all but invisible moss- lined crevice in the rock, he bowed his head and uttered a quickseries of grunts and hisses. At once the outcropping slid aside reveal-ing a damp downward- sloping tunnel.

The man entered the opening and the rock slammed shutbehind him, turning the tunnel pitch black. He could have lit theway with his staff, but there was no need. He could see perfectly wellin the dark. He followed the passage deep into the earth over slick,wet stone. He had only been summoned here once before and a thrillof excitement ran up his spine as he licked his dry lips, wonderingwhat might be asked of him— and how he might turn it to his advantage.

At last the floor of the passageway leveled out, and the man’skeen eyes spotted a closed door in the distance. He approached thedoor and rapped his staff, once, three times, and once again— theheavy black metal echoing in the close corridor. The door opened,and the stench of rotted meat drifted out. The man tried not to showhis disgust at the foul smell of the figure that stood before him.

“Remove your hood,” said a creature that looked as though ithad only recently pulled itself out of the grave. Though the creature’shead barely came to the man’s waist, its twisted arms and legsappeared too long for its body. From the neck down it could havebeen almost human, but the feather covered head had the sharp beakand wide probing eyes of an owl. Body and head were coated in wetgreen mold.

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The man pulled back the hood of his dark cloak, revealing a nar-row face with thin pale lips and glittering silver eyes. A twisting scar,nearly as thick as a finger, ran from the base of his jaw to just belowthe hairline on his right temple.

“You have come alone?” the owl asked.“Of course,” the man hissed, anxious to get away from the stink.“In a hurry to meet him are you?”All at once the man remembered who this shriveled little crea-

ture worked for, and his calculating eyes flicked from the owl to thedark corridor beyond as he fingered the scar on the side of his face. “Ionly wish to be . . . prompt, so I do not keep the master waiting,”

“Of course,” the owl said, its dark eyes gleaming. “Keeping himwaiting would be unwise.”

The creature stepped aside, and the man walked through thedoorway. As he began to climb the steep staircase, a pair of eight- legged, skin- and- bone dogs appeared out of the darkness, flankinghim at either side. Foam dripped off the twin tongues that dangledfrom their hungry- looking jaws, and their red eyes studied him voraciously.

At the top of the stairs he paused before a long, damp- smellinghallway. The rough stone walls seemed to radiate a cold that sankdeep into his bones. Beside him, the dogs snarled, urging him for-ward with their glowing eyes.

The sides of the hall were lined with hundreds of strange andobscure objects many of which even he didn’t recognize. As he passeda three pronged spear with something like dried blood crusted on itstips, it swiveled as though waiting for a chance to strike. A few stepslater, a pair of spiked balls hanging from a rusty chain rattled at hispassing, and a tiny stone statue with the face of a pig whispered,“Come closer, my pretty.”

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The robed man ignored them all, just as he ignored the manyother doors behind which unknown creatures snarled and moaned.Only when he arrived at an ornate blood- red door at the end of thehallway did he stop. As he reached for the gleaming brass latch, a pairof sharp talons mounted in the center of the door snapped closedonto his hand, and it was only with the strongest resolve that hemanaged not to cry out. But when the claws released their grip, theskin of his hand was unmarked.

Silently, the door swung open and the man stepped through.Inside, the icy cold of the hallway was replaced by an oppressive

heat that brought beads of sweat to his forehead. Sulfur- smellingsmoke swirled in the cathedral- like room, glowing orange from thelight of the sputtering torches. Dimly seen arches along the walls roseinto the darkness far overhead. The man walked to the center of theroom and dropped to one knee, laying his staff crosswise on the floorat his feet.

He bowed his head, and in a voice that trembled only slightlysaid, “Your obedient follower desires to serve.”

“Approach,” said a voice that sounded like the sizzle of hot steelplunged into icy water.

The man rose, and moved forward. He could see only a shortdistance in front of him through the swirling smoke. It wasn’t untilhe reached the curved steps where the smoke cleared away that hecraned his neck to stare up at the two chained red beasts watchinghim hungrily from either side of the stairway.

Summoners. Terrifying creatures of mythic power.Even with bony wings folded against the sides of their red

serpent- like bodies and thick magically- enhanced chains lockedaround their necks, they made the spit in his mouth dry up. Fromthe razor- sharp talons— which were taller than the man— to the

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mouths filled with two rows of spear- like teeth, they towered almostto the ceiling of the room.

Even more fearsome than their physical weapons was theirmagic, the man knew. Stories were told of how they could drive ahuman insane with only a look, call tornadoes out of clear skies,command the ground itself to swallow armies of the living and sum-mon back the dead under the control of dark magic. No one knewfor sure what twisted magic was used to create such terrifying mon-sters. But those who dared speak of them at all, agreed that some-where deep inside the Summoners remained the warped souls ofthose who had once been human, twisted and defiled until nothingcould stand against their dark rage.

That the master had not one, but two Summoners under hiscontrol was a clear demonstration of the power he wielded. Thethought of commanding such force made the man dizzy. And yet hehad to be so very, very careful.

Turning his eyes from the Summoner’s hypnotic gaze, heclimbed the steps and approached the figure that he knew sat hid-den in the shadows. The man gazed intently into the darkness, butnot even his keen eyes could penetrate the gloom surrounding thejeweled throne.

“Master, what is it you desire of me?” he asked, dropping to hisknees. He tried to hide the eagerness in his voice, but he could donothing about the way his heart thumped like a trapped animal inhis chest.

“Thirteen years I have searched,” the voice spoke from the dark-ness. “Armies of creatures at my disposal scoured the mountains andforests. At times I nearly despaired. It wasn’t until I ripped open thedoorway that I finally knew the prize was within my grasp. Andtoday . . . I found it.”

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The man desperately searched his memory. He knew he shouldunderstand what the Master was talking about. But he couldn’t quite. . . Then it came to him, and his throat constricted.

“The child?” he blurted out, unable to hide his surprise. “But Ithought . . .” Unconsciously, the fingers of his right hand reached

toward the scar on his face, but he managed to pull them back.“You thought the child was dead?” the voice questioned

dryly.Everyone assumed the child’s wounds were mortal. But not I. Ivowed to search until I touched the remains with my own hands.Now I discover the child lives and . . . there is not one, but two.”

“Two children?” The man licked his lips, trying to decide whatto make of the unexpected news. How would this play out? Was theMaster giving him another chance to prove himself? To show hecould be trusted with more responsibility?

“A boy and a girl.” The voice in the darkness sounded hungryand the man hungered as well for the rewards the Master could grant— if he succeeded in whatever task was placed before him.

“What do you wish me to do, Master?”The voice was silent for a moment, as though considering the

question. “You failed me once before,” it said at last.From his spot in front of the throne, the man couldn’t keep from

trembling— not in fear, but excitement. One more chance, hethought. Only one more chance to prove I am worthy. This time hisfingers did go to the scar, where they traced the twisting line that dis-figured his face. His thirst for power was so strong he could feel itthrumming in his veins like a beating drum. “I won’t fail you again.Only tell me what I must do.”

“You need not worry yourself with the girl,” the voice said. “Shewill be taken care of shortly. You must go to the world called Earthand take the boy.”

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A withered hand extended out of the darkness, its skin gray andpapery. At the base of its longest finger a gold ring glittered. The manhad never seen the symbol carved into the top of the ring, but he’dheard about it. It showed two creatures locked in mortal battle. Onewas clearly a Summoner. The other he didn’t recognize.

Quickly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to the ring. Theskin beneath the gold band burned his lips with a cold fire, but hedid not pull back. Instead, he imagined what it would be like to wearthat ring on his own finger. He kept his mouth pressed against thewrinkled hand until it retreated into the darkness.

“Once I have him?” the man asked.“Bonesplinter,” the voice said and the man thought he heard the

sound of a tongue rasp across paper- dry lips. “You have been mymost faithful Thrathkin S’Bae for many years. Once you find the boydo as you will with him. Just be sure he is dead when you are fin-ished.”

HURRY UP, YOU LOSERS. The freak’s gonna be here any

minute.” Chet Hawkins hunched outside the entrance to

the second floor dormitory of the Philo T. Justice Boys School in

Cove Valley, Arizona. He peered through the doorway before turning

his beefy red face back toward the small group of boys gathered

around a mop bucket in the dimly lit hallway.

At nearly sixteen— a year older than any of the other boys, and a

full head taller— Chet was the meanest kid in the school and didn’t

mind proving it. He balled up his large freckled fists, and the others

immediately stepped away. “Finish up. And make sure it’s slippery!”

Crowded together around the top of the narrow wooden stair-

case, the boys had been mopping a puddle of soapy, gray water onto

the splintered oak boards of the hall floor.

“Gimme that.” Pete Lampson, a gawky twelve year old with

greasy black hair and a neck like an underfed turkey, yanked the mop

from Squint, the smaller boy standing next to him. He splashed the

Chapter 2

THE FREAK

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mop into the metal bucket, swirled it around and added a final coatto the floor in front of the top step.

Squint tested the boards with the tip of his sneaker. As he ran hisshoe across the wet boards his foot slipped out from under him andhe nearly fell over backwards.

“Clumsy idiot,” Chet said. He sneaked a quick peek into the dor-mitory again, but there was no sign of the freak’s wheelchair. Goodthing, too. This was the third time he’d tried to get the kid alone. Ifthe boys in the hallway messed it up this time, he’d pound them all.

“Get this stuff out of sight.” Chet crossed to the boys in threequick steps, took the mop from Pete and tossed it in Squint’s direction.

“Geez!” Squint howled as the wet mop splashed against the frontof his pant legs. “You didn’t have to get water all over me.”

“Quit being a girl.” Chet grinned, exposing a wide gap betweenhis two front teeth.

Muttering, Squint picked up the mop and carried it across thehall. Beaver, a chubby boy with large front teeth and a blonde crewcut, took the bucket.

“Don’t forget,” Chet whispered. “As soon as the kid comesthrough the door, Pete and I will grab him while you two throw hiswheelchair down the stairs.”

“Then, pow!” Squint said, punching his fist into his palm with anasty giggle.

“Right,” Chet nodded with a wicked grin. “Everybody gets ashot at him. Just make sure I get the first punch.”

“It’s him,” Pete suddenly hissed.Freezing in place, they all strained to hear. From the next room,

came the reek, reek, reek, of a wheelchair badly in need of oil.“Hide.” Chet pushed Beaver and Squint to the right side of the

door and joined Pete on the left.

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Chet listened intently. As the sound of the squeaky wheelchairdrew closer, he rubbed his right fist in the palm of his left hand, darkeyes glittering. Every kid who came to Philo T. Justice— or Pit Juice,as most of the boys called it— got beat up by Chet. It was his littleway of welcoming the greenies into their new school.

Usually he got to them in the first few days after they arrived, butthe new kid had managed to slip away from him twice already. That agreenie had escaped a beating was bad enough. But the fact that thegreenie who escaped was stuck in a wheelchair made Chet furious.

It was like the kid knew just what they were planning for him.Even when they had him trapped, he somehow disappeared. Just twodays earlier, Chet had sworn he’d seen the little freak wheel thatclunky chair of his into the music room. But when Chet scanned thehalls for teachers and followed him inside only a few seconds later, theroom was empty. Chet had looked everywhere— even in the instru-ment closets, although there was no way a wheelchair would have fitin them— but the kid was gone. The whole thing was a little spooky.

Today would be different. The dormitory only had two doors.The one at the back led into the bathroom where Chet had seen thefreak head a few minutes earlier. The second door was the one Chetand his gang were crowded around. To get downstairs, the freakwould have to wheel out this door and take the small, old- fashionedelevator at the end of the hallway. There was no way to get past Chetand his gang without them seeing him.

The plan was to grab the kid as he came out of the dormitory.They’d push his chair down the stairs, give him a major beating, andtell everyone it had been an accident. They’d been mopping the floorwhen the wheels of the kid’s chair slipped in the soapy water and hefell out of his chair. Oops.

See how the baby would get around with his wittle chair broken in

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a dozen pieces, Chet thought. And if the freak gave them any troublethis time, he might go over the stairs right behind it. Not that anyonewould be able to tell. The kid was already a cripple. What differencewould a few broken bones make?

Chet wanted to get in the first punch though. This kid had beenway too lucky, and Chet was itching to get his hands on him.

Reek, reek, reek came the sound of the wheelchair.Almost here, Chet thought. He and Pete leaned forward on the

balls their feet. On the opposite side of the doorway Squint andBeaver did the same, their hands ready to grab the chair at the firstsign of movement.

Reek, reek . . . Just inside the door the squeaking stopped. Chet tilted his head.

Had the kid somehow sensed what was waiting for him again? Itdidn’t matter. One way or the other he was going to get what wascoming to him this time. Chet considered reaching into the roomand just grabbing the kid. But as he was about to plunge through thedoorway, the wheelchair started moving again.

Reek, reek, re—“Now!” Chet shouted as a chipped silver frame and gray rubber

wheels appeared through the door. Squint and Beaver grabbed thesides of the wheelchair, and with a great push, sent it sailing acrossthe soapy hallway and into the stairwell.

For a split second the chair seemed to hang suspended in mid- air. Then gravity took hold, and it went crashing end- over- end downthe rickety steps with a clanging of steel and the thunk, thunk, thunkof rubber against wood.

“Yes!” Squint shouted, swinging his arms and doing a little dancedown the middle of the hallway until he slipped in the water, landedon his rear, and laughed like a lunatic.

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“What’s wrong?” Beaver asked Chet, realizing he and Pete werenot celebrating.

“Isn’t something missing?” Chet asked, his face turning red.Beaver scratched his head for a moment, then his eyes lit up.

“Hey, where’s the kid?”Chet shook his head in amazement, wondering why he hung

around with these brainless wonders. “Obviously the freak hid in thedormitory and pushed his chair through the door.”

The kid thought he was being tricky. But that just meant he wasgoing to get it even worse. Chet leaped through the doorway, handsspread wide.

But the dorm was empty. He dropped to his knees and lookedunder the saggy- mattressed beds lined along both sides of the room.There was nothing but a lot of dust balls. Chet jumped to his feet,and yanked Pete by his skinny arm. “Check the bathroom. He’s gottabe hiding in there.”

Pete sprinted across the dorm, his greasy black hair floppingagainst his forehead. A minute later he came running back, puffingand out of breath. “He ain’t there.”

“That’s impossible,” Chet said, cracking his big red knuckles. Hereturned to the top of the stairs, careful to keep from slipping in themop water. At the bottom of the staircase, the wheelchair lay top-pled on its side. One wheel slowly spun around and around. A bentspoke poked up from it like a broken antenna. But where was the kid?

“What the—” he began. Before he could complete his sentence,something hard cracked against the back of his head. He turned intime to see a mop handle rise high in the air and swing toward himagain. This time the mop caught him squarely on the nose, creatinga flash of purple and yellow light before his eyes.