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It happened so quickly there was nothing Sportacus could do.
One moment, he had been playing with the children, the next, he was lying on the floor, clutching a hand to his chest and trying to breathe through the pain.
His ears were ringing; the noises around him were muffled, like they came through a filter, and he could barely make out that what he was hearing were voices, saying something, but he couldn’t understand. They sounded... worried? Why were they worried?
Sportacus slowly opened his eyes – he hadn’t even realised they’d been closed this whole time – and blinked against the light. Shapes and colours danced in front of him, his vision blurred and distorted.
Sportacus blinked again.
“Spo…”
“Spor…”
“Ca… unc…”
“Cryst…”
The mush of noises and word fragments was incomprehensible. Sportacus opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a groan, followed by a cough.
The fire in his chest, threatening to eat him alive, grew hotter, its flames licking at his insides. There was a hand on his shoulder, shaking him softly, a face right above his, moving lips and tears. He tried to understand what they were saying, but the noise didn’t reach his ears. The world was silent and far too loud at the same time.
Only slowly, one inch at a time, the fog around his mind disappeared, like smoke being blown away by fresh air. The hero squeezed his eyes shut again and tried to sit up, but the pain that shot from his chest down his body and back up made him abandon that idea again.
“Sportacus…”
The hand on his shoulder was carefully, gently, pressing him back down on the ground. It was soft, if somewhat wet, and tickled his arms – grass, Sportacus realised after a few moments of concentrating hard. Why was he lying on grass?
“Sportacus… are you…”
He slowly opened his eyes again. At first his vision was all blurry, but quickly cleared up, his eyes focusing on the face leaning over him. The first thing he consciously recognised was pink hair; only then did he see there were more people, forming a half-circle around him.
Stephanie’s brown eyes were reddened with tears. She looked so sad and worried, it made Sportacus wonder what had happened and how he could fix it.
Then he saw she was holding the case of his crystal in her hand and realised.
Sportacus shot up into a sitting position so quickly Stephanie stumbled backwards in surprise, nearly losing her footing. She was saying something to him, but the ringing in his ears was back, and even without it, her voice would have been drowned out by the mantra of ‘No’ in his head.
Sportacus took a deep, shaky breath, but couldn’t shake off the sense of panic and despair that was rising in his throat.
In her hand, Stephanie was holding the casing in which he usually put his crystal. It was there, protected by the glass, but it was broken, shattered into tiny pieces. And it was screaming, a high-pitched, barely audible noise too high in frequency for human ears to hear. His crystal was damaged, possibly destroyed beyond repair, screaming in pain, and Sportacus considered screaming too.
“Sportacus?” He heard Stephanie’s voice through the chaos in his mind. “Are you alright?”
No, how could he be?
She was literally holding his life in her hands, the very thing that equalled his heart, and it was broken. Broken, damaged, dying, just like Sportacus was.
He wasn’t alright, no. He was a dead man taking his last breaths.
“Yes,” Sportacus said regardless, trying to force his lips to curl up into a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry for worrying you all like this. I’m fine, I promise.”
If they noticed the lack of emotions in his voice, none of the children mentioned it.
The hero carefully got to his feet, gritting his teeth so he wouldn’t cry out in pain. He snatched the crystal from Stephanie’s hand, clutching it to his chest, trying to will it whole again. The normal resonance of its energies reacting to his own was there, yes, but so faint it might as well not have been there at all.
And it wouldn’t stop screaming.
“Are you sure?” Stephanie asked, the worry in her voice making Sportacus feel bad for subjecting her to something like that.
But he didn’t have it in him to care for her right now, not when there was a gaping hole in his chest. “I just need some more sportscandy and I’ll be fine again! Don’t worry about it.”
She didn’t look convinced, but something Trixie did diverted her attention. Sportacus watched them run after the ball and released a long breath. The smile dropped from his face, leaving space for a look of pure panic.
He allowed himself one more moment of listening to the children’s laughter before running off.
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Sportacus had heard the story so often he would have been able to recite it by heart.
He remembered lying on his bed, one of the rare instances he had been able to sit perfectly still, and listening intently to his afi as he told him of the importance of their crystals.
It was what kept them alive, Afi would say. If their crystals ever were destroyed or damaged, they would die.
“You have to take great care of your crystal, tíu. It is the most important and most precious thing you’ll ever possess. Promise me you’ll always protect it from harm.”
“I promise.”
Sportacus squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight off the tears that threatened to spill.
‘I broke my promise, afi. Please forgive me.’
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Trying to fix the crystal with glue was, without a doubt, a desperate idea, but it was the best he could come up with.
It took Sportacus several tries to get the pieces to stick together, which they did for a maximum of ten seconds before falling apart again. Sportacus cursed vigorously and threw the glue stick against the glass of his airship.
He could feel his energy leaving him slowly, similarly to warmth that escaped through cracks in the walls. Every movement was painful, his muscles protesting at the tiniest things, movements he normally could do without any effort. Hell, even breathing hurt.
Sportacus let his head fall on the table and gritted his teeth.
In all of his grandfather’s stories, none of the elves reckless enough to let their crystals be damaged found a solution. All of them, without exception, died, which, admittedly, wasn’t the happy ending a children’s story should have, but had ingrained in Sportacus the lesson that he better be careful with his crystal.
Now the fat was in the fire and he had no idea how to extinguish the flames.
Writing his afi and asking for help was out of the question. For one, he doubted that the old elf would have an idea as to how to fix the mess Sportacus had got himself in, despite all of his wisdoms. Secondly, Sportacus dreaded the idea of having to admit he had failed. He had only been subjected to it a handful of times, but Afi’s disappointed look was one he could do without.
Briefly, he entertained the idea of travelling back home, where, maybe, he could find someone who could fix his crystal or get him a new one. It was unheard of – Sportacus didn’t even know if it was possible – but he was growing desperate and scared, a feeling that settled like ice around his bones and nerves, and squeezed hard.
But even if it was possible, which he sincerely doubted, he’d never make it there in time.
It was a lost cause, as much as having to give up hurt.
Sportacus turned his head to the side and stared at one of the panels, where he kept all of his office supplies; glue, scissors, paper, rulers and rubbers. Above the drawers, on the smooth surface of the wall, he had pinned drawings that the children had sent him. Regarding them, Sportacus smiled, somewhat warmed by the happiness that spread through his body. Most showed him with the children, playing hide-and-seek, growing vegetables or playing soccer. A few depicted Lazytown in general; he could see a drawing of the school, of Stingy’s car, of the Mayor and Ms. Busybody, the treehouse the children had built some time ago, and…
Sportacus frowned and stood up, walking over to the wall and taking the drawing.
He didn’t know why that drawing in particular captured his attention like that; he’d seen it before, of course, remembered who had given it to him, when and where, but looking at it at this moment, an idea came to his mind.
It was a ludicrous idea, undoubtedly. Chasing after a fairy tale, a scary bedtime story, the notion was absurd, a very special kind of despair.
Sportacus carefully folded the drawing and put it into his pocket, grabbed the crystal shards and left.
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Shortly after he had come to Lazytown, he had overheard the children whisper about a monster that supposedly lived somewhere underground, right beneath their very feet.
Apparently, the legend was nearly as old as the town itself.
Deep under the streets, it was said there was a cave, a lair, in which a creature lived hidden in the shadows. The specifics of its reasons for being there and its appearance differed depending on who was telling the story.
According to Trixie, it was a horrible beast which had arm-length teeth from which acid drool dropped on the ground and which enjoyed eating small blond children in particular. The Mayor said his father had always described it as a large bat, while Ms. Busybody claimed it looked humanoid, and Ziggy’s description reminded him of a weird mixture between a dragon, a bird and a butterfly.
No one knew where the legend came from; it was, just like the town hall and the playground, part of Lazytown, intrinsically tied to its citizens and its very being.
Until now, Sportacus had dismissed the story as just that – a story, a tale woven from the imagination of whoever came up with it in the first place. He, after all, had more knowledge about the supernatural than any of Lazytown’s inhabitants, and he’d never heard of anything like it before.
It made his search for an entrance to the creature’s lair even more ridiculous.
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For the first time in Sportacus’ life, he was thankful for his mother’s insistence that he acquire basic knowledge of magic.
He had never been interested in such study, far more fascinated with the strengths and limits of his body, but móðir had all but tied him to the chair and made him listen. His knowledge was rudimentary, at best, but it was enough for him to recognise an illusion when he saw it.
After hours of searching – had he not have had to take a break every hour or so, and had he not have had to hide from the children, it would have taken him far less time – he’d stumbled upon a wall. At first glance, it was just that – a perfectly ordinary wall, looking just like all the others in town.
But it felt different, on a subconscious, instinctual level, intuition more than knowledge.
The elf rocked back and forth on his heels, trying to remember how one went about getting rid of something like that. It had been a while since he last had to dispel an illusion and then, an illusion created for the sake of learning differed from one actually meant to hide something.
He could almost hear his mother say ‘I told you so’.
Sportacus twirled his moustache while thinking. Depending on the kind of illusion, he’d have to use a different incantation. The age of the spell could also make things downright impossible, given he was running low on energy.
Experimentally, he reached out to the wall, expecting to meet solid stone. Instead, his fingers went right through, tingling with the feeling of foreign magic running over his skin.
Sportacus frowned and reached further, sticking his arm through. Could it only be an optical illusion? Somewhere in the back of his mind Sportacus remembered that he used to know how to find out what kind of illusion it was, but he couldn’t remember anymore.
He now could definitely hear Móðir say ‘I told you so’.
It made him pout.
Taking a look around, in case one of the children saw him, Sportacus breathed in and then stepped through the wall.
The magic felt wrong, like an itch right under his skin, almost feeling sentient, lurking, waiting. He shuddered, trying to shake off the feeling and suppressing the urge to turn around and leave again. His hand went up to his chest, where he had put the crystal back into its proper place, brushing the glass that was supposed to protect it.
As much as he wanted to turn around, he had no other choice.
This was his only chance to survive.
Carefully, he walked into the darkness, using his hands and the walls for orientation. While his eyesight was better than a human’s, even he couldn’t see anything in the pitch black around him. All light had been swallowed, by what, he didn’t dare to wonder. The further he walked, the less sure he became. His instincts were screaming alongside the crystal, urging him to leave, leave and never return. He felt like there were eyes everywhere, hidden in the shadows, watching his every move. The air grew heavy and wet, dust settling on his lungs.
Then, after what had felt like hours of walking, having to stop for breath and continuing to walk, the walls to his left and right disappeared. Sportacus paused, confused, turning to one side to find it again, when his hand brushed over something.
He inspected it, having to rely on his sense of touch, and quickly realised it was a torch.
“What was the spell again…,” he murmured, words echoing from the walls.
Just as he remembered and had opened his mouth to say it, a voice came out of nowhere. “Bál.”
The torch in his hand was ignited, the flame shooting so high Sportacus had to dodge or else it would have singed his moustache. He nearly dropped it, frantically searching for the source of the voice.
Helplessly, his eyes roamed the darkness, trying, in vain, to see anything. Even with the fire, the darkness was impenetrable.
“Who is there?” He asked, voice trembling in fear.
The chuckle that came as a response made the hair on the back of Sportacus’ neck stand up. It echoed from the walls, seemingly coming from everywhere, but from nowhere at the same time. It was deep, a rumble, nearly a growl that shook Sportacus to the core. He very much wanted to run, but his muscles wouldn’t cooperate.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that, given how you came into my lair?” The voice said. Through his panic, Sportacus realised it sounded amused.
Automatically, the elf resorted to his manners. The last thing he wanted was to enrage the… thing. “I’m Sportacus,” he said. “I… I need your help.”
There it was again; the chuckle that made Sportacus tremble. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so scared – in fact, he believed he’d never been as terrified as he was now.
“My help? Why would one of the Huldufólk ask for my help?” The voice hummed almost thoughtfully. “Perhaps you need help fixing your crystal?”
Sportacus whipped around as the voice came close, as if whoever – or whatever – was speaking stood right behind him. There was nothing, not even a shadow.
“Am I right, elf?”
Sportacus swallowed. “Y-yes.”
The creature hummed again, the sound making the ground beneath Sportacus’ feet tremble. “Fortunately for you, I can do that.”
“Really?” Sportacus asked, surprised. “You can-“
“Yes,” the voice interrupted him, sounding annoyed. “But it’s far too much work. Far too strenuous and exhausting. So I won’t. Go away.”
Sportacus’ eyes widened. It couldn’t just leave him to die, could it? No, it was his only chance, without its help, he would die… Frantically, Sportacus searched for words, for something to say that would convince the creature to do it, but came up blank. The words left his mouth before he could think about their implication. “I’d give you everything, please!”
The voice now came from in front of him, so close that, without the darkness, Sportacus would have looked the creature right in the eyes. Unless, of course, it was taller than him. Maybe it didn’t have a body to begin with?
“Everything, you say?” It said and a shiver ran down Sportacus’ spine at how gleeful it sounded. It was silent for a moment or two, before it chuckled. “Deal.”
Sportacus opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut immediately upon seeing two eyes emerge from the darkness.
They were grey, with splotches of blue mixed in between, and looked so ordinarily human that Sportacus was shocked. What followed was the outline of a mouth – once again, seemingly human. “Give it to me.”
Sportacus hesitated for a moment. The creature bared its teeth in a snarl. “I don’t have all day, you blue elf, move before I change my mind.”
As quickly as his shaking legs could carry him, Sportacus walked towards the pair of eyes, which not once blinked. Did it even have eyelids? Sportacus couldn’t tell. He removed the crystal from its case and held out his hand. He didn’t know what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t long, spidery fingers coming from the blackness and taking the shards from him. Then the crystal was gone from his sight.
‘What have I done.’
The thought came so strongly and with such impact that it made Sportacus stumble backwards. He had just given his life, his heart, to a being he didn’t know, had handed over elvenkind’s biggest secret to a strange and possibly hostile entity.
‘Afi is going to kill me if I’m not dead by then already.’
Every second that passed made Sportacus only more and more nervous, to the point of tears threatening to spill. He took long, calming breaths, but couldn’t banish the sense of panic from his mind, the utter despair that made him tremble and shake.
Finally, after minutes, maybe hours, he couldn’t tell, the eyes appeared again. “I’ll have you know this was ridiculously difficult and if you ask me to do it again, I’ll shove it down your throat.”
Taken back, Sportacus just nodded and silently held out his hand as the creature offered a repaired crystal to him. Only when it rested in Sportacus’ palm, resonating with his energy as if nothing had ever been wrong, did he realise what just happened.
“Thank you, thank you so much,” he mumbled, hugging the crystal to his chest. It felt different, somewhat, a bit stronger, as if it had been enhanced. There was also the undertone of something foreign, something that hadn’t been there before, reminding him of the aura around him, but he didn’t dwell on it. He put the crystal back in its casing and smiled.
His smile dropped the instance a growl broke the silence. It was animalistic, deep, making every cell in Sportacus’ body tremble. He was frozen, unable to move, his eyes wide in fear. Sportacus’ magic flared up, trying to protect him from whatever was about to happen, but it was brushed away easily, like a fly.
The eyes in front of Sportacus shone brightly.
The creature’s mouth was pulled up in a grin, so wide it probably could have swallowed Sportacus whole.
As it continued growling, the darkness around them was pushed aside, shadowy tendrils that billowed out over the floor. From the empty space, the nothingness, it left behind, a man emerged.
Sportacus looked him over in disbelief, eyes roaming from the black, gelled back hair and pale skin down to a very prominent chin, long limbs and a striped suit until they reached his feet. Or rather, where the feet would be, if his legs didn’t merge into shadows and smoke, becoming one with the darkness around them.
The man continued grinning and reached out, taking hold of Sportacus’ vest and pulling him close with such strength Sportacus couldn’t do anything against it.
They were pressed together, chest-to-chest, forcing Sportacus to look up. The man was looming over him, baring rows of sharp, pointed teeth. He leant in closer, until his mouth was only inches apart from Sportacus’ ear, and whispered.
“You owe me a favour now, Sportacus.”
Suddenly Sportacus was pushed backwards and the darkness closed around him, threatening to suffocate him, flooding down his throat, into his eyes. Everything was black, black and dark and-
Sportacus gasped as he fell on the ground.
He sat up, confused and disoriented, trying to figure out what just happened.
It took him several moments to realise he was back above ground in the middle of Lazytown.