Billy: Messenger of Powers (73 page)

Billy felt a sharp pang of fear, but only for an instant. In the next, the fear dissipated, replaced by that strange sense of being guided. He felt what had been Billy Jones disappear, or at least recede into somewhere deep within him. And what took its place was something different. Something far older, tied to the very Essence of Power.

“My words are these,” he said, in a voice no longer entirely his own. And Mrs. Black and Wolfen both paused, as though he had stopped them merely with his words. “The Diamond Dais has cracked, the White King’s sword has been found.” As he said this, the Diamond Dais began to glow a deep, forest green, the sign of truth being told upon it. At the same time, Billy held forth the shard that he clutched in his hands, and as he did, bits of it fell away, leaving only a diamond blade and hilt—a perfectly crafted sword hewn without hands from a single diamond.

Billy raised the sword in both hands, high above his head, and now the sword began to burn with an inner light, a fire that was not only brighter than the sun, but seemed to pull the sun down from the heavens itself.

“I am the Messenger,” said Billy. “And my Message is this: the White King comes. The Dark shall give way to Light, and the worlds shall end at my hands.”

And with that, Billy swung the sword downward in a fierce, fiery arc, slamming the blade onto the Diamond Dais.

There was a sound: a pure, bell-tone that was followed immediately by a pulse of energy that had the tip of the sword as its epicenter, and which pulsed outward to flow over Powers Island.

Billy felt the pulse go out, and it was like he was a part of it, as though some portion of him had
become
the energy cast forth by the sword. He could see what it touched, and what happened to those things that it touched.

The ring of energy rode in a white pulse over the top of the tower. It moved slowly at first, then picked up speed. It hit Cameron, then Wolfen and Mrs. Black, knocking the Darksiders to the ground like they were paper dolls in a hurricane. It hit Prince, the snake that had once been Billy’s friend and then turned to a servant of the Darksiders, and as it did the snake turned back to fire. It looked around, and Billy could see a subtle smile on the fire serpent’s face. It looked at Billy, and flicked its forked tongue, and then disappeared in a pleased puff of smoke, its time as a Fizzle done.

And still onward rolled the power that came from the sword, pulsing forward and touching Vester, Ivy, and Mrs. Russet.

Mrs. Russet gasped, suddenly able to breathe. Ivy stopped crying and fell into a deep sleep, the weeping now replaced by a slumbering smile. And the gray-white bone structure that had slowly been replacing Vester’s arm now withered and burned away, leaving only pink flesh behind it.

The ring of energy moved outward, flowing over the river that bisected the top of the tower, touching the dead plants that covered it. And as it did, the river glowed like blown glass, like a flowing diamond of light, and the greenery was restored, the Earthtree claiming the tower once again.

Then the pulse traveled to the edges of the tower and flowed downward, traveling in an electrified ring to the tower’s base and then rippling over the island. Everywhere it touched, the fighting Powers were knocked down. It flowed over the zombies, as well, and as soon as it did the undead beings also fell, their skin transforming from the mottled color that had distinguished them and their eyes returning to the normal, closed eyes of the dead who have found peace at last.

It flowed over all, and where it went, everything changed. The Darksiders fled, terrified by the forces that had been brought to bear against them and the sudden dissipation of the most terrible part of their army. The Dawnwalkers brightened with new hope and a rekindling of the happiness and optimism that had been theirs until the recent weeks.

Wherever the sword’s power flowed, all were touched, all were changed. And wherever it went, all could hear a voice. The voice of a boy who was not a boy. The voice of youth that was tied into the ages.

“The White King comes,” said the Messenger. “And the worlds will end.”

CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH

Billy blinked and looked around. A circle of faces crowded in on him. His friends. Ivy, Vester, Tempus, Mrs. Russet. Even Fulgora was looking down at him, blood running in rivulets from various cuts all over her, but still looking uncharacteristically concerned.

“What happened?” Billy groaned. His head felt like a gorilla had pulled it off his shoulders and played a rousing game of kick-ball with it.

“It’s over,” said Tempus. “It’s over, my boy, and we won!”

His friends helped Billy to his feet, and he saw that he had been laying on the Diamond Dais. The sun was up, and birds were singing in the foliage that now cloaked the tower.

Billy almost tripped getting up, though. He looked down and saw the reason why: the White King’s sword, the sword that had been prophesied as one of the tools that would end the Dark, was at his side. It rested in a golden scabbard that had somehow appeared and attached itself to a bejeweled belt he now wore, only the diamond hilt of the sword visible above it.

Billy looked around. He could see a still form nearby, a dark lump curled in on itself. “Cameron?” he said.

Vester shook his head. “Cameron and his mother skedaddled,” he said. “Along with the rest of the Darksiders—the ones that were still conscious anyway.” He nodded at the still form. “That there is Wolfen. And he’s dead.”

“What?” said Billy, aghast.

Mrs. Russet nodded. “It’s true. And it explains a lot.”

Billy’s head was reeling. “Wolfen is dead?”

Mrs. Russet nodded. “And I think he’s
been
dead for a long, long time.”

Not just Billy, but everyone now looked at the Brown Councilor in surprise. “Remember how he was able to swear fealty to the Council, and swear that he had not broken the terms of his exile, all while the Diamond Dais glowed the green of Truth?” she said.

“That’s right,” said Ivy. “How did he manage to lie like that?”

“I don’t think he
was
lying,” said Mrs. Russet. When the others looked askance at her, she continued, “We know that the Darksiders have developed new powers. Like that insect—”

“The Death’s Head Moth,” interjected Billy.

Mrs. Russet frowned, clearly not appreciating interruptions even when she
wasn’t
giving a lecture in history class. “Is that what it’s called?” she asked. Billy nodded. “Interesting. And do you remember when you first saw it?”

“On Dark Isle, with Mrs. Black,” said Billy with a shudder. He would never forget it.

“With Mrs. Black,” said Mrs. Russet, nodding as though she had known he would say that. “I think that Eva has reached deeper into the Dark than any Power that has gone before. Even beyond Wolfen, it seems, in her evil quest for power. And she
is
powerful, indeed. She raised an army of zombies, she orchestrated this attack. And I believe that she killed Wolfen as part of it…and then raised him up again.”

“But why?” asked Vester. “Why would she do that?”

“Several reasons,” answered Mrs. Russet. “First of all, I think that in stealing his life, she stole something of his essence, his power. And Eva would surely want that, even as a much younger girl. She was always a servant of Death and the Dark, and I never believed that she was acting truly when she—like the other Darksiders—swore to keep the Truce after Wolfen’s first uprising. But more than that,” continued Mrs. Russet in a thoughtful tone, “I think that she always felt betrayed by Wolfen. I think she felt he had abandoned her. And Eva takes those things personally. So I believe she hunted him down, and killed him…and then brought him back as something like a zombie, but more powerful. Smarter, retaining its powers…and totally under her thrall.”

Tempus snapped his fingers. “That was why he could tell us he hadn’t broken the terms of his exile: he hadn’t. And that was why he could swear allegiance to the Council: because if Eva told him to do it, he would have to, and he would have to mean it. But she could then tell him to fight us, and he would flip over in an instant to the other side.”

“But if she hated him,” said Billy, “why would she bring him back? Why not just use her powers to gather the Darksiders and be in charge on her own?”

“Because everyone knew Wolfen, and believed he had the power to control the Darksiders,” said Vester, clearly grasping, as Fulgora would have said, the “tactical implications” of Mrs. Black’s plan. “No one would believe Eva Black could do such a thing. No one would follow her, unless it was
through
him.”

 “Not only that,” continued Mrs. Russet, “but I also think Eva always loved Wolfen. And this way, she could have him. Not the thing he had become—not the vanquished Dark Power who had perhaps come to understand the error of his ways—but as she had always envisioned him, and wished him to be. Not weak, but strong. What she saw as his true self.”

“Then,” Billy said, still looking at Wolfen’s still form, “when the White King’s sword unleashed its power and destroyed the force keeping the zombies alive….”

Mrs. Russet nodded. “It also released Wolfen.” She glanced at the body as well. “May he rest in peace. And may he find mercy in the hereafter.”

“So we’ve won!” shouted Billy.

“Of course we’ve won!” said Tempus with an impatient snort. “I already said that.”

Then, a terrible thought came over Billy. He looked at Tempus. “Tempus, you were knocked out,” he said.

Tempus looked at the others uncomfortably. “I wasn’t knocked out,” he finally said with as much indignation as he could muster. “I was just resting my eyes.”

“Whatever. When you woke up, where was Rumpelstiltskin?” asked Billy. He wanted to make sure the old man who had come to the Dawnwalkers’ rescue was all right.

The company of friends looked uncomfortable. Mrs. Russet, in particular, looked like she was about to cry.

Billy looked at them. “What?” he asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Vester pointed, and Billy noticed that one of his arms—the one that had been touched by the Death’s Head Moth—hung loose and lifeless. It had been made flesh again, but apparently some things that were damaged could not be completely healed, not even by the sword of the White King.

Billy looked where Vester was pointing, and saw Rumpelstiltskin. The old man was cradled in a giant velvety leaf, propped upward so that his face was to the sky. He was terribly gray and wan.

“How is he?” whispered Billy.

No one spoke for a long time. Finally Fulgora, ever the practical—and tactless—one, simply said, “He’s dying.”

“What?” Billy hollered. Then without waiting for a reply he scrambled over the side of the Diamond Dais and ran to where the ancient man was laying.

Rumpelstiltskin
was
dying, he could see at a glance. Billy felt tears start to burn behind his eyes as he took in the shriveled form of the man who had done so much to save them all.

“What happened?” asked Billy as his friends slowly approached.