“Practice gong!”
Dorgle shouted the warning from the end of the launching platform. This was Migo’s first time training to be the Gong Ringer, and Dorgle didn’t want anybody to be confused and think that morning had started all over again. (And also he didn’t want anybody to get squashed if Migo missed his target.)
Other Yetis spread the word around the village.
“Practice gong!”
“Practice gong!”
“Practice gong!”
Migo sat in the launch chair where his father had sat that morning. He strapped on his helmet.
“You ready?” Dorgle asked.
“Beyond ready!” Migo replied. “I can’t wait until this is my actual job.”
“You’re about to join a long line of family greats. Erp, Dottard, Aunt BamBam, Grandpa Flathead,” Dorgle listed, and then he got dreamy eyes. “And of course your mom. She could bang a gong like there was no tomorrow.”
Migo nodded. As a tiny Yeti he’d watched his mom launch off the platform many times.
“Wish she was here to teach you,” Dorgle said with a sigh.
“You’re doing great, Dad,” Migo assured him, and it was true. Dorgle had done a wonderful job raising Migo by himself, although the villagers had helped.
Dorgle smiled at him. “Thanks, Son.”
A question popped into Migo’s mind—one he knew he might not get an answer to.
“Dad, when I become Gong Ringer, will I really end up being as short as you?” he asked.
“Yep! I used to be your height,” Dorgle replied.
“And will my head become flat, like yours?” he asked hopefully.
“Absolutely,” Dorgle promised, and he whacked the top of his head.
Dorgle leaned in to his son. “Okay, first—check your wind. It doesn’t take much to blow you off course.”
Migo licked his finger and held it up. He didn’t feel any gusts. “Wind. Check!” he reported.
“Good. Now true your aim,” Dorgle told him. “You’ll mess up big-time if your aim isn’t true.”
Migo held a finger in front of his eye and lined it up with the giant hoop in front of the platform—the aiming circle.
“Aim. Check!”
“Great,” Dorgle said. “Now, this is important. Even though you know it’s gonna hurt, you gotta hit it head-on.”
“Does it really hurt?” Migo asked.
Dorgle nodded. “At first, yes. But then not so much. See?” He picked up a small rock and whacked the top of his head with it. He didn’t flinch.
“Cool,” Migo said.
Dorgle walked back to the paddle wheel. “Say the word, Son.”
Migo squinted ahead. The gong was in his sights. His heart was pounding. He was about to make his first launch!
Dorgle released the lever. Migo sprang forward—and then fell flat on his face.
“Did I mention you gotta keep your feet off the floor?” his dad asked.
Migo groaned. “Nope.”
“Sorry,” Dorgle said.
Migo got back to his feet and back into the seat. His dad cranked the wheel again. This time Migo made sure both of his feet were off the floor.
“Launch!” he cried again.
When he tried again, he flew forward—but his aim was off. He hit the edge of the hoop and fell back onto the platform.
Migo tried again.
“Launch!”
The seat flipped backward, sending Migo tumbling. He climbed into the seat and tried again.
“Launch!”
The seat didn’t fly. Instead it spun around and around and around. . . .
“Launch!”
Migo launched straight up into the air, like a rocket! Dorgle gazed up after him.
“Never seen that happen,” Dorgle remarked.
Migo was sore and pretty beaten up, but his spirit wasn’t broken. He climbed back into the seat and gave his dad one more thumbs-up.
“Launch!”
Dorgle released the lever. Migo sailed through the air, straight through the aiming circle.
“Woo-hoo!” Migo yelled.
“Way to go, Migo!” Dorgle cheered.
What an amazing feeling! Migo thought as the air rippled through his fur. And what an amazing view!
The entire village spread out before him. The shops, the giant statue, the ice pile, the palace, Meechee. . . .
Meechee was standing on the palace steps with her father. It looked like she and the Stonekeeper were talking. Meechee was smiling and seated on top of her pet mammoth, Blossom. But then Meechee looked up, right at Migo. He stared back at her.
He’d had a crush on Meechee ever since they were kids. Meechee was so smart! She’d memorized all the stones before anyone else in school, and she didn’t smile much, but when she did, it could melt the biggest ice chunk, Migo thought. And her hair . . . her hair was the nicest shade of lavender, and she wore it in a long, thick side braid.
She noticed me! he thought happily.
Then he heard his father’s panicked voice from the platform. “Migo, true your aim! True your aim!”
Migo looked away from Meechee—and realized he was off course. But it was too late to fix the problem. He soared over the gong, and over the mountain wall that bordered the village.
Splat! He crashed into the snow.
He stood up and shook the snow off his fur. Dazed, he looked around.
He’d landed in the ice cliffs! The ice cliffs led to the edge of the world . . . and the Great Nothing.
“Uh-oh,” he said, gazing around. “Not supposed to be out here.”
Then he felt the cold wind on his head and realized that his helmet had flown off.
“My helmet? Where’d it go?”
He walked in a circle, trying to locate his missing helmet. Then he heard a buzzing noise coming from the clouds.
“What’s that?” he wondered aloud.
Curious, he walked toward the sound until he came to the edge of the cliff. Clouds floated in the air as far as he could see. This was where the world ended.
The buzzing noise got louder. In the distance a flash of color broke through the clouds.
Migo shielded his eyes with his hand. “Wow. What is that?” he wondered. It looked like a giant bird with wings, but no feathers.
Migo didn’t know it, but he was looking at a small airplane. A trail of smoke poured from the plane’s propellers. And it was heading right for Migo.
Whatever it was, it was about to crash into him!