Peter & Max - Bill Willingham [48]
Then, softly at first, Max began to hear the music. It was Peter somewhere up above him and he was playing a tune on Frost! Was the child insane? Who stops to play a flute when he’s on the run from any number of angry soldiers? Did he want to be caught? The music swelled in volume, and Max’s understanding grew with it. He’d heard the same tales of the ancient flute’s powers that Peter had and realized that Peter was using Frost’s magic to make danger pass him by. That’s why Max was suddenly stuck in place. Amazing! But how could Peter have known how close Max was to overtaking them? I must have made some sound, he thought, given myself away in some small manner.
The music continued, and as it did so Max had an increasing desire to turn and retreat back down the slope and then splash his way back across the stream. But then, before he could act on the growing compulsion, he was frozen in place by a new sound.
“What have you done to me, boy?”
It was a terrifying voice that shook Max to his bones! This was neither Peter nor Bo. It was the voice of something huge and deadly, not in the normal way of fearsome but entirely comprehensible dangers, but deadly in the way the old gods themselves must have used the word.
The creature went on to say more, but Max didn’t make it out, because just at that moment something came crashing down on him from above, striking him with such force that he was sent tumbling down the hillside, not stopping until he lay stunned, half in and half out of the chilling waters of the stream. Somewhere along the way he’d heard high screaming, which might have been his own, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it. A beast of the night didn’t scream — at least not in such a high pitch.
Gradually his senses began to return and Max made out the dim figure of a little girl standing over him, holding a sword to his chest. It was Bo Peep and the sword was his own Frost Taker. That was impossible! Frost Taker would never allow any hand but his to wield it! And yet here was this ridiculous little girl, crying and shaking all the while, but definitely holding the sword towards him.
“Don’t move, soldier,” she sobbed, “or I’ll run you through!”
“I’m no soldier!” Max shouted in return. At the same time he discovered that the spell holding him in place was gone now. Wait, that wasn’t true. On further examination it was still in place, because he realized he couldn’t possibly make himself return up the hill to where Peter was still playing his haunting tune. But that same spell wasn’t keeping him from all movement, and did nothing at all to protect Bo, down here with him in the gully. Max could tell that he was perfectly free to take his sword back and slaughter little Bo Peep with it.
“Either my brother doesn’t actually love you after all,” Max said, “or the magic only works to protect him. Isn’t that hilarious?”
“Max?” Bo said, and there was fear and confusion in her voice.
“Give me my sword back, girl, and I’ll protect you, since Peter seems unable or unwilling to do it.” Max reached out, but Bo took a step back. She still had his sword and its point remained fixed somewhere between his chest and throat.
“You look strange, Max,” she said. “Sort of wild in the eye.”
“Give me my sword, you stupid little witch!” This time Max lunged at Bo, who screamed once and flailed wildly with the blade, catching Max on the base of the thumb. This time it was Max who screamed in pain and rage.
That was too much for Bo. She dropped the sword and ran off once more into the night. Max’s first instinct was to follow her and gut her from neck to belly for cutting him. But then he thought he’d better first find out how deep the cut was. He stood and tried as best he could, in the nearly nonexistent light, to examine his bleeding palm.
And while he did this the music of the flute continued above him, while the forest all