Although Mum’s breakfast was always tasty, today Jacob had completely lost his appetite. He glanced over at Emalynn and noticed that she too had barely touched her food. The morning of the race had come too fast, and he now regretted that he had ever agreed to Emalynn’s ridiculous plan. Just thinking about spending the day in front of thousands of racing fans while they embarrassingly floated their carpets along made his stomach churn. Their only hope, small as it was, centered on the fairy seeds; maybe they could at least improve their piloting skills enough to keep the crowds from laughing too hard. The front door slammed with a bang and he turned to see Mr. Pitts strolling into the dinning room.
“How are my two favorite DCR pilots? All ready for an exciting day of racing?”
They both nodded quietly as Mr. Pitts pulled up a chair next to Loralmel.
“Are you the guardian elf that Mr. Oubladew has been talking about?” asked Mr. Pitts.
“Mr. Pitts,” replied Jacob, “this is Loralmel. I called him out so he could help us get ready for the race. He’s going to use his magic to disguise us as dwarfs for educational purposes.”
“Righteoo dwarfs so you can blend in. Good thinking! It’s a pleasure to meet you Loralmel,” said Mr. Pitts, offering him his hand. “I have to admit that at first when Mr. Oubladew told me about a guardian elf helping Jacob out I thought it sounded a might peculiar. But I checked it all out with Clair, and it turns out that you’re the real deal. Clair simply slipped one by me again.”
“The pleasurantry is mine,” replied Loralmel, as they shook hands.
“So, you eat real food?” asked Mr. Pitts looking down at an empty plate in front of Loralmel.
“Aye a very quality breakfastesy, top of thee linesy!” replied Loralmel, slapping his stomach.
The Lynex looked up displaying a ring of food splattered around his mouth. “They only prepare the best for the greatest,” he added.
“Are you two going to finish off your chow?” questioned Mr. Pitts, as he eyed the apprentices’ full plates. “If not I hate to let such recommended food go to waste.”
Without saying a word Jacob and Emalynn slid their plates toward Mr. Pitts. Taking up a spoon and fork, Mr. Pitts crammed a spoon full of scrambled eggs into his mouth from Jacob’s plate, followed by a fork loaded with fried tators from Emalynn’s plate. “Bwe habe plew geblar ahlea,” he muttered.
“What?” asked Emalynn, stirring her from her brooding despair.
Mr. Pitts chewed hastily and then swallowed. “We’ve got to get there early. All DCR pilots are required to register and be available for autograph signing.”
“Autographs!” exclaimed Jacob, stunned. “This is going to be embarrassing, isn’t it?”
“Aooh, do we have to?” objected Emalynn.
“Yes,” replied Mr. Pitts. “Think of yourselves now as famous DCR pilots.”
“Just pretend you’re me,” said the Lynex, eager to brag. “That will help you feel great and famous at the same time!”
Jacob not liking the forced notoriety rested his elbow on the table and disappointedly leaned his head against his hand, while Emalynn began unhappily sighing. Peevishly they waited for Mr. Pitts to scoff down their breakfasts. After several huge mouthfuls, a few gulps of juice, and some belches, Mr. Pitts finally finished off both plates and then eagerly jumped to his feet, herding everybody into the living room. “Righteoooo Loraaalmeeel,” he excitedly sang, as they stood in the living room crowded together. “I think it’s time to change our two good looking apprentices into their counter selves, grumpy dwarfs.”
“Aye, lightweight dwarfs,” mumbled Loralmel. Slowly he circled around them with his hands clasped together, simultaneously tapping his fingers together. “Have yar decided on yar dwarf names yet? Et would help ta match appeareanzy ta a name,” he asked.
“I don’t know any dwarf names,” replied Emalynn.
Jacob shrugged, also showing his unfamiliarity.
“So we’ll need some first-rate racing names eh,” said Mr. Pitts, as he rested an elbow in his hand and placed a finger on his chin. “Well let me see—Jacob how about we call you Kaerts Yreif after an old legendary DCR champion, and Emalynn we’ll call you Tolip Degniw, after a lovely dwarf lady that I know that has the singing voice of an angel.”
Loralmel faced Emalynn and held out his hand. “Now Emalynn, yar won’t feelyse a thing.”
Without flinching, a green light exploded out of his palm hitting her squarely on the forehead. From the crown of her head a glowing blanket of light spread evenly downward, covering her entire body. Along with her clothes she began to shrink and puff out like a marshmallow, until transforming into a three-foot chubby dwarf. Her snout pointed upwards over chubby round cheeks, and above the bridge of her nose a single thick eyebrow stretched across her forehead.
Jacob tried to stop himself, but he just couldn’t hold it in. “Sing me a song Tolip, sing, sing,” he laughingly teased.
“Oooohhh! Just you wait Jacob Frost! Loralmel make him into a real grump and don’t hold anything back!” exclaimed Emalynn, as she stomped her foot.
Loralmel smiled and then pointed his hand toward Jacob, blasting him with the same green ray. Jacob felt himself shrinking until he reached a foot above Emalynn’s height, and instantly the quiet room broke out in an explosion of roaring laughter.
“You’re a real hoot Jacob,” cried Emalynn with tears beginning to roll onto her chubby cheeks.
“I must say, you out did yourself Loralmel!” exclaimed Mr. Pitts, in between his laughter.
The Lynex held both hands over his mouth snickering through his fingers, “Boy am I glad I am not you, nobody would ever think I am great if I looked like that!”
Jacob looked down and studied his large portly belly. He then held out his new fat stubby arms and studied them, wondering what his face looked like. After finishing off a short burst of giggles Emalynn pulled out a compact from a pocket, looked at herself and moaned in displeasure. With an unhappy face she handed it to Jacob. He held it up with his thick rotund fingers and starred into the small mirror. He was bald on top with pink hair sprouting straight out the sides of his head, and from his huge curved face, massive cheeks hung down over his jaw. Unhappily he blinked his hairless eyelids and stared at the reflection of swollen bags under his eyes.
“You deserve it Jacob. That’s what you get when you laugh at a lady!” exclaimed Emalynn with a vindictive smile.
Without a word, Jacob quietly handed Emalynn back her compact and grumpily folded his arms like an angry dwarf.
“Righteoo, shall we go now,” said Mr. Pitts with his orb in hand.
The apprentice dwarfs grabbed their gear and gathered together with the rest of the group. Circling around Mr. Pitts they all placed their hands on his back, while he stuck the tip of his tongue out the side of his mouth and rapidly punched the orb’s buttons. Instantly the team vanished from the room, reappearing in the middle of a crowd of spectators underneath the overhang of a rocky cliff. Overhead hung a dark blue banner with white bold lettering that read, “DCR Pilots’ Registration.” From above an abrupt annoying voice blasted their ears, and Jacob looked up to see a set of small square black boxes mounted on the sides of a tall pole. He stared at the strange gadgets wondering how they were able to get them to talk.
“THIS WILL BE A VERY VERY TREACHEROUS RACE TODAY,” boomed the boxes. “THE RACERS CREATE THEIR OWN HAZARDS, AS THEY NATURALLY INTERFERE WITH EACH OTHER, INCREASING THE CHANCES OF SERIOUS INJURIES AMONGST EVEN THE MOST EXPERIENCED PILOTS. THAT’S WHY THIS DCR EVENT TODAY IS KNOWN AS THE MOST DANGEROUS RACE IN MODERN DAY SPORTS.”
Mr. Pitts pointed at tables crowded with lines of dwarfs holding racing helmets and carpets. “THAT’S WHERE YOU’LL REGISTER,” he shouted, over the noisy announcer. He then pointed toward a crowd of fans gathered around souvenir stands. “AND THAT’S WHERE WE’LL BE.”
Jacob and Emalynn placed their fingers in their ears to shield out the loud noise, and with their carpets tucked under their elbows and helmets strapped to their belts, they headed towards the registration tables. Loralmel with Mr. Pitts and the Lynex waved goodbye, and merrily walked off toward the souvenir stands.
Abruptly Emalynn tugged on Jacob’s shirtsleeve. “TAKE YOUR FINGERS OUT OF YOUR EAR,” she shouted.
“Sorry, I didn’t quite catch that,” replied Jacob teasingly, “Can you say it louder? I have my fingers in my ear.”
“Oh stop it Jacob! You didn’t forget the fairy seeds, did you?” she asked, raising her voice.
“OH NO!” he cried feeling his pockets with a desperate look, followed by a quick wink.
Instantaneously Emalynn threw her fist forward and slugged Jacob in the arm. “THAT’S NOT FUNNY JACOB!” she shrieked, and angrily turned her head away.
They lined up at the table and Jacob rubbed his sore arm as he regretted his childish prank. The line moved rather quickly and they soon found themselves staring across a table at a rough scruffy dwarf woman with baggy brown pants and a worn leather coat. In her chubby hand she clasped a wide wooden ink stamp.
“Kaerts Yreif,” said Jacob. “Representing the Frosty Mug Tavern.”
“And Tolip Degniw,” said Emalynn. “Also representing the Frosty Mug Tavern.”
“Yer thee two piloots that Mr. Oubladew choose at thee last minute,” she replied gruffly, while looking them carefully over. “He has refused ta eh sponsor piloots en’ thee past, so either yer relatives or yer both top notch piloots.”
“Relatives,” blurted Jacob as Emalynn replied, “Top notch pilots.”
The official wrinkled her brow and shook her head. Then after checking them off her list, she firmly grasped her stamp, leaned forward, and reached over the table briskly swinging her arm. After making two painful thumps to their foreheads, ‘OFFICIAL DCR PILOTS,’ in bold red letters was branded on their brows.
“OUCH!” complained Emalynn, touching her forehead.
Over hearing her high-pitched voice, a pilot lined up behind her mockingly cried, “LOOK EVERYONE! EH WOMAN THAT EH THINKS SHE’ EH PILOOT!”
The lines of pilots noisily erupted with laughter and rude boo’s.
“GO HOME TA YER KITCHEN, YE DAME!” blustered one pilot.
“YER BETTER OFF SWEEPING EH CARPET THAN PILOOTING ONE!” shouted another angry pilot.
“Doon’t ye mind those crude males,” said the official with an annoyed grunt. “We ladies tar all behind ye, enn’ ye hab moore support than ye eh realize. I know it tis not easy being thee first woman piloot eber ter race thee DCR, boot remember, we women tar all very proud enn’ twill be eh cheering ye on!”
Finishing up with the registration table the two apprentices were directed towards the autograph grounds. As they unhurriedly strolled through the crowds, Jacob noticed Emalynn looking distraught as a tear rolled down her chubby check.
“Oh Jacob,” she said, worriedly. “I didn’t realize that I’m the first female pilot! Now I have to do good or I will be an embarrassment for the whole population of dwarf women! What are we going to do? I have to do good in this race!”
“Don’t worry,” he comforted. Not knowing quite what to say. “Have faith in the fairy seeds. We’ll do good and maybe one of us might even win.”
“Oh, I hope you’re right!”
Jacob knew that they had no hope at all, but it felt good anyway saying such nonsense. “Well at least she doesn’t feel as bad for the moment,” he thought, appeasing his own nervousness.
As they approached the autograph section he glanced out over the broad grounds and to his surprise, he gazed at a massive throng of excited fans gathering for autographs. The number was staggering; he didn’t realize there would be so many. The crowds mobbed every cranny of the staging area, searching out autographs from all the different pilots seated behind small wooden tables. But one pilot’s table stood apart from all the others. Set dead center in the wide group of pilots, a large place card read, ‘The Frosty Mug Tavern proudly presents the First Lady Pilot of the National DCR.’ And lined up in front of the empty table stretched a wide column of dwarf women that snaked out across the terrain for several hundred yards. In front of the next table over a place card read, ‘The Frosty Mug Tavern’s run of the mill average guy pilot.’ And in front of that table stood a single elderly lady, patiently waiting for an autograph, ‘good old ‘Mum.’
“OH JACOB!” cried Emalynn. “WHAT HAVE I DONE!”
For Jacob the autograph session seemed to last forever. If Mr. Pitts hadn’t told Mum about the race, he would have remained utterly fan less. Having only one autograph to sign left him with nothing to do except tap his pen on the table and miserably fidget on a hard wooden chair. He wished it would all end soon; he wanted their miserable day over with as quick as possible. He looked over at Emalynn busy signing autographs, and felt content that he at least wasn’t in her shoes. “With all her fans, she’s really going to look like a fool,” he thought. Eventually the announcer’s voice boomed out over the crowd again, “TAKE ONE LAST LOOK AT YOU’RE FAVORITE PILOT, AS HE MAY NOT SURVIVE THE MOST PERILOUS RACE EVER, TODAY’S DCR! ALL RACERS TO YOUR CARPETS, THE AUTOGRAPH SESSION IS NOW OFFICIALLY OVER!”
Glad that he was finally finished, but upset at having to embarrass himself further, Jacob stood up and rubbed his sore rear. He stepped through a crowd of remaining dwarf women towards Emalynn’s table. “How about an autograph Tolip,” he teased, seeing her still hard at work.
“Yea sure,” she mumbled as she finished off the last few autographs, shook her sore hand, and then look up at Jacob with wet cheeks and tears in her eyes. “I hope I never have to sign another autograph as long as I live!” she moaned.
“At least you weren’t bored stiff like me,” said Jacob. “I could have taken a nap under my table and never been missed.”
They gathered their gear and followed the other racers, making their way through the crowds toward the starting line. Jacob couldn’t help but notice women everywhere pointing and staring at Emalynn. As she passed by her excited fans, they screamed out their best words of encouragement.
“SHOW THEM WHAT IT TIS LIKE TA EH COMPETE AGAINST US WOMEN!”
“YA GO GAL!”
“WE LOOVE YA TOLIP!”
“WIN ONE FUR US GIRLS!”
“WE’RE BEHIND YE ALL THEE WAY TOLIP!”
With each acknowledgment Emalynn nervously cringed, and Jacob knew that the pressure was starting to get to her. He wanted to say something to comfort her again, but couldn’t think of anything believable. They were destined for failure and they both knew it. Thoughtfully he kept quite.
The announcer boomed in a sudden shout, “ALL RACERS TO THE CAVES,” and they quickened their pace. With the race about to begin, Jacob removed the puny bag of fairy seeds from his pocket and struggled to untie the thin thread at the top. He next held open his hand and dumped the contents onto his palm. Straining his eyes he could barely make out two tiny slivers.
“Do you think they’ll work on us? They’re so small,” said Emalynn, looking doubtful.
“If they work for fairies then they should work on humans too. I’m sure you’ll feel better after you eat one,” he replied, thoughtfully attempting to calm her.
As Emalynn took her seed, Jacob could see her hand tremble. She gulped it down and her eyes flicked back and forth as her pupils widened. Then in a most unexpectedly manner, she returned a smile. Nervously Jacob downed his seed and instantly he felt a sudden rush of warm blood pushing into his head. His hearing was first to change, as he noticed sounds that he had never heard before. The purr of a slight breeze, a bird fluttering its wings high over head, mingled with the buzz of a far off fly. Hearing bundles of sounds jumbled together should have been a confusing clutter of noise, clouding his perception, but the seed’s magic gave him the distinct ability to distinguish each sound apart from another, and incredibly he could also recognize them all simultaneously. He had never thought it possible to hear the whisper of a breeze before, or the pulsating wings of a bird in flight. Every sound was new and fascinating. While enjoying his new sense, he suddenly became aware that his vision was also growing sharper, as unseen objects came into clear focus. He could now see the smallest detail; a bug on a distant leaf, the complex membranes of each blade of grass, and a flea crawling in a dwarf’s beard. As he sensed about him nature’s most abundant wonders, his entire outlook of the world began to completely transform. Emalynn seemed to be experiencing similar feelings, and she reacted by turning around in circles, staring at every object about her. In awe they looked at each other, both recognizing from afar off deep within the crowds, Mr. Oubladew’s, the Lynex’s, and Mr. Pitts’ voices in conversation.
“I know they doon’t stand eh chance,” said Mr. Oubladew, “but I just eh couldn’t say no, I had ta eh let them race. I eh really hope they’re not too eh disappointed twith themselves after this.”
“Disappointment is a part of life,” said Mr. Pitts. “We’ll just have to make sure we’re there to buoy them up after their big let down.”
“Nobody is as good as me,” added the Lynex, “they just have to realize that!”
“Now I feel like a real racer!” exclaimed Emalynn, as her grin grew wider. “This is going to be fun, isn’t it?”
“Yeah I think so,” replied Jacob, feeling much better himself.
“ALL RACERS MOUNT YOUR CARPETS,” echoed the announcer.
They followed the other racers and headed toward a tall wire meshed fence. Inside they could see racers laying out their carpets and strapping themselves on. They lined up at a guarded gate and after an official carefully examined their stamped foreheads they entered the grounds. Up ahead another official pointed towards a large wooden barrel, and copying the other racers they reached inside to draw out pink envelopes.
Jacob opened his and read the numbers, “Twenty-fifth out of sixty.”
Emalynn smiled and then read her opened envelope. “I beat you again! I drew the twenty-second starting position,” she boasted with a gleam in her eye.
Suddenly a bald grumpy dwarf with large ears rudely shoved a map in front of Jacob’s face. “Take it ye bone head!” he cantankerously exclaimed. “Share it with thee dame! We hab no maps ta eh waste on women!”
With the enchanted fairy seed amplifying his reflexes, Jacob instantly snatched the chart out of the dwarf’s hand and passed it off to Emalynn faster than the natural eye could see. The cranky official scratched his head and began to search the ground for the missing map.
“Take what?” asked Jacob.
“Me map, where’d me map go?” questioned back the official.
“You’re a bonehead,” said Jacob. “Now give me my map!”
From his leather pouch strapped to his side the embarrassed dwarf pulled out another map and humbly handed it to Jacob. Then, before heading off toward the starting line, they both unfolded their maps and smiled back at the surprised dwarf.
“I don’t know anything about navigating,” said Jacob, walking beside Emalynn, “but with this fairy seed’s magic when I read this map, it feels like I’ve already been over this course a thousand times.”
“I know,” agreed Emalynn. “I’m feeling the same way too.”
Within seconds they had memorized every small detail of the course, and were feeling more confident then ever. They folded up their maps and stuffed them into their pockets. Upon reaching the edge of the starting line they discovered a series of black numbers painted on half buried red bricks.
“Those must be our starting positions,” said Emalynn pointing.
Jacob nodded and followed the bricks to the twenty-fifth spot. There he laid out his carpet and fastened his leather strap securely around himself. Next he reached up and flicked the flint to light his dwarf torch. Prepared for flight he concentrated on levitating and his carpet stiffened, lifting him to a five-foot hover identical to other waiting racers.
He could feel the tension in the air as throngs of racing fans pushed tight against the chain-link fence, each trying to get glimpses of their favorite pilots. Looking up he spotted an enormous screen, and similar to the ones on their orbs it magically displayed moving pictures. The massive screen flashed scenes of various locations throughout the racecourse and fans were shown crammed into the nooks of caves, on boats packed tightly against each other the lake, and on rooftops lining the streets of Sentinel Village. At Galgithia Falls’ finish line the crowds were smashed together into one humongous clump. The images drew in closer and views of selected individuals’ excited faces filled the screen. Every spectator seemed to have a bright cheerful smile and a gleam in their eyes, as if looking forward to the start of the race. The moving images then displayed pictures of other similar giant screens, thoughtfully placed throughout the course so that everyone could view the exciting details of the race as events unfolded.
The racers began to bob up and down and a preliminary warning horn sounded. Jacob could feel the excitement among the crowds as the cheering increased. A daring dwarf stepped to the front of the carpets and raised a checkered starting flag. Jacob then heard the announcer shout.
“RACERS TO YOUR MARK. TEN, NINE, EIGHT, SEVEN, SIX, FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE, AND YOUR OFF!”