Circles of Seven (23 page)
Shiloh squinted. “What’s wrong?”
Bonnie gave a slight nod with her head and whispered. “Did you see that guy with the bucket?”
Shiloh lowered her voice. “What about him?”
“Have you ever seen him before?”
“Yeah, but only recently. Why?”
Bonnie wrapped her fingers around Shiloh’s wrist. “I could have sworn he looked at me. I mean, he looked right at me, but only for a second.”
Shiloh’s eyes shifted toward the street, but she didn’t turn her head. She stretched out her words, her lips barely moving. “Okay. . . . That’s different.”
“So what do we do?”
“I have an idea.”
“What?”
Shiloh cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Hey, you! What’s the matter? Never seen a girl with dragon wings before?”
The man jerked his head around, alarm flashing across his face. He dropped the bucket and dashed away, turning onto a side street and out of sight.
Bonnie jumped down the steps, and with a mighty flap, she leaped into the air. Within seconds, she was soaring over the buildings and descending toward the narrow street where the man had disappeared. Dozens of phantom people lined the sidewalk in front of a theatre, apparently waiting for the show to begin. Strangely enough, there were no young children. Every man and woman seemed to be at least eighteen years old, maybe older.
Bonnie pulled up and made another circle, then dove to the street and landed with a trot. The man who had been spying on her was likely posing as one of the moviegoers, but how could she tell which one? She had only caught a glimpse of him. He was wearing black, but so was just about everyone in line.
She hurried to the box office window and stomped on the toes of the first man in line. No reaction. Watching the eyes of the thirty or so people behind him, she methodically tromped on the foot of each male. After eight hefty stomps, a man near the back stepped out and drew a sword. “Back off, Dragon Girl! Just let me go on my way, and I won’t hurt you.”
“Not before I get some answers!” Bonnie crossed her arms over her chest. “Who are you?”
The man snorted. “Oh, you’re a brave one . . . for a girl, that is.”
In a flurry of feet and wings, Bonnie lunged into the air, then cut a tight circle back toward the man. She swooped behind him, snatched his collar, and lifted him high above the road. “Talk fast,” she yelled, “before my grip gets too weak. I’m just a girl, you know.”
The man tried to swing his sword behind him, but to no avail. “Go ahead, Demon Witch!” he shouted. “Drop me! See if I care!”
She glided down and dropped him from about eight feet above the road. He hit the ground feet first and tumbled over, dropping his sword and planting his face in the cobblestones.
Bonnie landed and grabbed his weapon. She leaped on his back and pressed the sword’s tip into his scalp. “Are you ready to talk now? I’m pretty good with a sword . . . for a girl.”
The man raised his hands. “Okay, okay! I get the point! Don’t rub it in.”
“I’m going to let you go, but don’t try anything.” Bonnie released him and flew several feet away. She then rammed the blade into a crease between two stones. “You’re a slayer, aren’t you?”
He brushed off his clothes. “Your brilliance is exceeded only by your arrogance.” He lifted his head and grimaced. “Or your ugliness.”
Bonnie plucked the sword from the street. “Have you ever heard the word ‘impertinence’?”
“Many times, from my master . . . and my mistress.”
She gripped the hilt tightly. “You’re Palin, aren’t you? You look a lot like a picture a friend of mine drew.”
Palin reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. “So you recognize me, do you? They say that dead men tell no tales, but it seems there are no secrets in Hades.”
“Hades?” Bonnie tilted her head. “What are you talking about?”
Palin wiped a smudge from his chin. “I see that you’re ignorant as well as arrogant. Didn’t your brilliant professor tell you that the circles are the seven levels of Hades?”
“He mentioned something about the afterlife, but he never finished.”
Palin rolled his eyes. “Oh . . . I see. He never finished. How convenient.”
Bonnie balled her hand into a fist. “If you’re so smart, what are you doing here?”
“I’m supposed to be here. I’m dead. And I was assigned to keep an eye on a prisoner.”
Bonnie rested the sword on the cobblestones. “Shiloh? Why?”
“The invisible spirits that roam these streets at night take notice of sleeping little girls.” He folded his handkerchief and stuffed it into his pocket. “My mistress takes very good care of Shiloh.”
“Yeah, right. One tiny meal a day that makes her cramp up. I’d hate to see what bad care looks like.”
“If you’re referring to that silly little plant,” Palin spat on the ground, “I was told that Merlin conjured it up the day Shiloh arrived.” A column of black smoke erupted around his feet. “My mistress offered her a royal banquet, but she refused it.” The smoke rose above his head, enveloping his body. “It looks like my mistress has come to take me away, but I’m sure I’ll be back for my guard duty tonight. Cheerio!” The black cloud suddenly dispersed, and Palin was gone.
Bonnie flapped her wings slowly, lifting her feet off the ground. Still carrying the sword, she propelled herself high into the air.
As long as I’m airborne, I’ll take a quick look around. It was pretty dark when I got here. Maybe there’s a way out I couldn’t see before.
She rocketed higher, surveying the land from horizon to horizon. The ground curved sharply, bending until it met a transparent barrier on all sides, as though the whole world was a ball that had been jammed into a glass cylinder. Higher up, the sky seemed to narrow to a tube, but as she flew to investigate, she met thinner air, making it hard to breathe. She beat her wings rapidly and stared at the mirror-like dome surrounding her. The reflection of her upright figure grabbed her gaze. Bonnie’s image was strong and shapely, yet the horrible scales on her face seemed to glow, pulsing in time with her throbbing heart.
Bonnie gasped, but the thin air starved her lungs. She collapsed her wings and dropped, spreading her arms out in free fall. She closed her eyes to chase her reflection from her mind. It was hideous! But she had to shoo it away. It wasn’t real. It was just a perception. It was . . .
A tear squeezed past her eyelid and trickled down her cheek. She sniffed and wiped it away.
Extending her wings again, Bonnie slowed her descent. As she settled on the cobblestones, she pulled to a stop at the statue in the town square. The shadow of her wing covered the poem on the base except for the final two lines. “Contentment holds eternal keys to days of peace that never pass.”
With the sword in hand, Bonnie ran toward the feed store, where Shiloh stood at the top of the porch steps. Suddenly breathless, Bonnie halted a dozen yards short. Her knees buckled. She dropped to her seat and clutched her chest.
Shiloh ran out to the street. “Bonnie! What’s wrong?”
Bonnie took several short breaths before trying to speak. “I think it’s . . . it’s my heart again. Flying must have . . . taken a lot out of me.”
Shiloh pushed her shoulder under Bonnie’s arm. “Come on. Let’s get you out of the wind.”
Bonnie leaned on Shiloh as she hobbled back to the porch. Once there, they both sat cross-legged near the portal. “Let’s just rest,” Shiloh said. “I think you probably scared that creep half to death. He won’t be back for a while.”
Bonnie smiled and folded in her wings. “I guess looking like a dragon is good for something.”
“Well, I think it’s cool. Watching you fly like that was a gas.” Shiloh lowered her head and drew a circle on the dusty porch floor with her finger. “I suppose I spilled the beans about my family. Do you want to hear the whole story?”
Bonnie drew her knees up and grasped them with both arms. “Sure. I love a good story, and it’ll give me time to recover.”
Shiloh scooted close to Bonnie. “I love stories, too, but since there’s no one to tell me any, I just make them up and tell my own. I’ve gotten pretty good at storytelling, if I do say so myself.”
Bonnie lifted her eyebrows. “Really. You’re a good storyteller?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. It just seems like we have so much in common.”
Shiloh’s smile trembled. “If you say so.” She fingered the hem on her borrowed tee shirt and draped it over her bare legs. “Anyway, some of the story isn’t mine. My dad told me the first part, because it happened way before I was born.”
Bonnie pulled her knees closer to her chest and rested her chin on top. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”
Chapter 17
Shiloh wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth, her eyes rolling upward. “It all started about fifteen hundred years ago . . .
Merlin pulled an oar silently through the murky water, sitting low in the dugout canoe. He whispered, “Valcor, if we want to save the king, surprise is our only hope. We must keep our heads and our voices down.”
The crisp air carried the sound of crickets across the water along with the melody of tree leaves rustling in the gentle wind. Merlin gazed at the sky, picking out the stars and drawing the constellation lines. “King Arthur’s chariot,” he whispered. “He guides us to the southern shore.”
At the rear of the boat Valcor patted the ornate hilt of a splendid sword. “We have Excalibur, but I think I would prefer a chariot right now.” He dipped his oar into the moat and pushed against the shallow bottom. “Are we nearing the serpents?”
“Yes,” Merlin said, drawing in his oar. “I hope our momentum will carry us past their nests. Keep your arms well inside, and I will sing.”
Valcor raised the sword. “Shall I summon your audience? I prefer raising a battle hymn for slashing their throats to crooning a lullaby that keeps them tucked in their beds.”
Merlin chuckled. “You have no idea what we’re up against, my friend. And you’re not yet familiar with how to use Excalibur’s power.” The old man rolled up the wet sleeves of his scarlet robe and gripped the edge of the canoe. Beginning with a low hum, he closed his eyes and sang a haunting melody.
Thou servants of the blackest soul,
Asleep in Av’lon’s shallow bowl,
Wake not as skies above thee break
With ripples sounding in our wake.
While sleep enfolds you in your lair,
We pass you by without a care.
So in your dreams protect her doors,
While safely we approach her shores.
The canoe drifted slowly across the grass-coated water, both men staring hard at the black surface.
Valcor whispered, “I thought you were going to say, ‘While praying for your lasting snores.’”
“Shhh!” Merlin scolded.
A tiny splash broke the silence. Merlin spun toward the sound. Valcor raised his sword. The moon reflected on the dark water, tiny waves rippling the white disk.
“A frog,” Valcor whispered.
Merlin nodded, sweat streaming down his cheeks.
The boat slowed to a stop. “Not quite enough,” Merlin whispered. “Two more strokes, and we will pass their nests.” With a surgeon’s care, he slid his paddle into the marsh and pulled against the water. The boat started forward and coasted across the grassy surface. Merlin pulled again, but when he lifted the oar, a scaly tentacle looped around the wood and jerked it into the water. A fanged, gaping mouth shot above the surface and flew toward Merlin.
With a lightning-fast swing of the sword, Valcor severed the snake’s thick neck, and its head landed in Merlin’s lap.
Merlin lunged for Valcor’s oar. “Keep swinging!” He drove the oar into the water and heaved against the muddy bottom.
A second scaly creature wriggled its body over the canoe, then coiled around the entire vessel. As it constricted, the floor of the boat cracked, sending a thin spray of water into the air. Valcor swung the sword down hard, slicing cleanly through the snake’s midsection. Purple blood mixed into the spray, coating Valcor’s shirt.
The bisected creature slid away, separating the front and back of the boat. Merlin balanced on one half and Valcor on the other as the bobbing wreck began to sink. “Run for it!” Merlin shouted, leaping toward shore.
Valcor bounded over the snake’s body and splashed into the moat. More snakes surged across the surface. Sloshing through hip-deep water, Valcor swung Excalibur. Another head lopped off. And another. He spun around and sliced a snake’s throat, making its head flop backwards.
Valcor waded forward until he reached the shallows, then dashed to shore, mud, blood, and water dripping from his clothes.
Merlin sat on the grassy beach with his head bowed over his crossed legs, still clutching an oar. Valcor dropped down next to him, breathing heavily. “So much . . . for our . . . surprise visit.”
Merlin gasped for breath. “If Morgan . . . is not alerted to our presence by now . . . she is a heavy sleeper indeed.”
“Maybe you should sing your magic song to her,” Valcor said, wiping Excalibur’s blade on his sleeve. “It worked so well on the snakes.”
Merlin let out a quiet, “Harumph,” then rapped Valcor on the leg with his oar. “The song is not magic. The melody and rhythm lull the beasts of the earth to sleep. But since this is not an earthly place, I was not sure how effective it would be.” He rose to his feet. “Come. Morgan’s sister, Elaine, often haunts these shores at night. We would be safer with the snakes than in her clutches.”
Valcor stood and sheathed his blade. “I will not feel safe until I leave this place. I know what you promised, but no one has ever returned from the underworld.”
Merlin’s pupils grew, shining like obsidian. “All who enter willingly may leave without cost. Those who come against their will, however, can never depart unless an innocent one perishes in their place.”
“And the king? Will he be able to leave?”
“Yes. He came willingly to be healed, though he is now under Morgan’s spell.” Merlin pulled on Valcor’s arm. “Let us waste no more time.”
The two men stole through the mist, passing under the branches of several apple trees before ascending a steep hill, leaning forward as they dug their feet into the grassy slope. After crossing several terraces, they approached a dark building at the apex. They skulked past twin turrets to a rear entrance of the church-like structure. The short steeple in the center of the roof cast a long shadow over the moss-speckled black door. A thick vine grew along the door’s side, seemingly embedded in the wall and leading up past a window on its meandering climb to the roof.
Merlin reached into his robe’s deep pocket and drew out a small flask. Putting one hand on the vine, he handed the flask to Valcor and whispered, “On my signal, pour this into the crack under the door. When you hear the prism dog slurping it up, return my signal and ascend the vine. By the time you reach the window, I should have it open.”
Valcor nodded and took the flask. Kneeling at the door, he watched Merlin climb the thick vine, hand over hand, his sandals pushing against stony outcrops in the wall. The old man reached the window and swung his body into its recessed opening. When he had settled into a comfortable position, he waved his arm.
Valcor pulled a stopper from the flask and poured a thick liquid under the door. A foul odor, a cross between stale urine and rotting flesh, assaulted him. Pinching his nose, he scooted back and listened. Within seconds a snuffling sound penetrated the wood, then a long, multicolored tongue thrust itself under the door, slurping every drop of liquid.
Valcor jumped to his feet, waved at Merlin, then clambered up the vine. He stretched his leg and planted his foot in the window’s ledge. Taking Merlin’s hand, he swung gracefully into the recess. He grabbed one of the window’s iron bars for balance, and the whole network of rods pulled loose from the frame.
Merlin tightened his grip on Valcor’s hand until he steadied himself. “I applied a corroding agent to the metal,” Merlin whispered. He pushed a stopper into a vial and slipped it into his pocket. “Carry the bars into the room and set them down quietly. The prism dog will sleep, but a sudden noise may arouse him.”
Valcor stepped through the window and winked. “I hope your sleeping spell works better than your song.”
“It is not a spell,” Merlin countered, copying Valcor’s movements. “It is simple chemistry—an herb concentrate and a strong opiate mixed into pork drippings. I know you lack trust in my skills, but I am neither witch nor wizard.”
The two men dropped silently to the floor. Merlin opened his palm. In its center, a fluorescent stone emitted a bluish green glow, giving just enough light to guide them to a bed on the far side of the room.
An uncovered man lay on the bed, girded only in a loincloth. Beads of sweat on his face and chest reflected the eerie light, covering his skin with an illusory green pox. His torso rose and fell in an easy rhythm.
Merlin stooped at the side of the bed and pulled Valcor down beside him. He lowered his voice to a faint whisper. “We are not too late. You will carry the king to the shore, and I will borrow Morgan’s skiff and meet you there. Perhaps the serpents will allow her boat to cross the swamp.”
“The king looks well,” Valcor whispered back. “Why not awaken him and let him walk? It would be much safer.”
“He is not well, and he will not awaken easily. Her food is poison to the living, and she must have somehow tricked him into eating it. Every bite makes him more and more a part of this dark realm. It will take him many days to recover.”
A light flashed, and the severed head of a huge snake rolled up to the bed. Merlin and Valcor jumped to their feet, Valcor with Excalibur drawn.
A torch-bearing woman stormed into the room, her voice booming. “How dare you violate my private residence!”
Merlin squared his shoulders. “When you hold the king hostage, Morgan, you have no rights!”
Valcor charged, his sword ready to swing. Merlin reached out. “Valcor, no!” But it was too late. Morgan waved a dark-sleeved arm, and Valcor flew backwards as though punched in the face by a gargantuan ogre. He slid on the floor, coming to rest at Merlin’s feet.
Morgan thrust her torch into a stone vase and spread out her arms, her face twisting with rage. “Give me one good reason why I should not slay you where you stand.”
Merlin held up his hand. “Wait!” He glanced at the king, still sleeping on the bed, then at Valcor, struggling to get up. Merlin placed his hand on Valcor’s head. “Allow my squire to take the king back to Camelot without hindrance, and I will make sure that Sir Devin acquires Excalibur.”
Morgan’s sneer melted into a smile. With waltzing steps, she glided toward Merlin. “You would give me Excalibur?”
Merlin shook his head. “You know you can receive nothing unless it is given to you by its rightful protector. Arthur would never give you the sword, so Devin will have to use it in your stead. But since he is your obedient doormat, that arrangement should be quite useful to you.”
A new flame burned in Morgan’s eyes. “I am unable to take what I wish only because of the curse your God put on me!”
“I do not control my God,” Merlin shot back. “He controls me.” He helped Valcor to his feet. “Nevertheless, I am able to tell you how to restore your spirit to the world of the living. Will that information ease the pain of not holding the great sword in your own grip?”
Morgan intertwined her fingers at her waist and glided toward King Arthur’s bed. “Why would you risk giving me such information?”
Merlin picked up Excalibur and ran his thumb along the edge of its shining blade. “Ours has been a strange friendship, Morgan. Through the years we could have killed each other countless times.” He pushed the sword into Valcor’s scabbard. “Yet we have always shown mercy.” He lowered his head. “I have long hoped that you would be redeemed, but in your current condition, it can never be so.”
A wry smile crossed Morgan’s face. “So you want to offer me a second chance? A new body and a new life?”
Merlin nodded toward Arthur. “To save the king . . . and to save you.”
Morgan strode to Merlin’s side and stretched her long fingers across his chest. “Your wish is granted. Tell me more.”
Weeks later, two quiet forms, one male and one female, huddled around a flickering candle. A tent draped across three short poles broke the chill wind. They rubbed their fingers in the candle’s fragile warmth, and as each exhaled, the flame trembled. As they sat cross-legged on a threadbare gray blanket, tension creased each worried brow. They glanced from time to time at the tent’s entrance flap and then at each other as snaps of twigs and owl hoots penetrated the silence.
With his hands clenched over his mouth, the man took in a deep breath and whispered between his thumbs. “If he is not here soon, Irene, we have to assume the worst. Valcor is no match for Devin.”
Irene placed a gentle hand on his forearm. “He is no match in battle, Jared, but my brother is wiser by far. Do not give up hope. I would not have arranged this meeting had I thought this a fool’s errand.”
Jared raised his head. “Did you hear that? A nightingale?”
Irene shushed Jared and whispered, “It is the signal.” She pursed her lips and blew a warbling bird whistle.
Within seconds, the tent flap flew open, and a man bustled in, water dripping from his wet sleeves.
Irene grasped the man’s arm. “Valcor! Are you hurt?”
He shook his head, stooping under the low ceiling, panting. “Devin . . . Devin tracked me to the river’s edge, so I swam . . . swam upstream a thousand cubits.” He took a deep breath and continued. “I ran the rest of the way. It will be some time before the dogs pick up the trail again.”
“Still, we must hurry.” Valcor pulled a scroll from his vest and sat beside Jared. “I found the letter.” He rolled it out on the blanket. “And I managed to keep it above water.”
Irene glanced upward and clasped her hands together. “Thank the Maker!”
Valcor wrapped his arms around himself and shivered. “Yes. It is a miracle that I escaped. I guess my bribe wasn’t quite big enough, and the guard tipped Devin off.” He rolled up his wet sleeves and ran his fingers across the parchment, smoothing out the wrinkles. “But this information is worth all the trouble.”
Jared eyed the letter. “It is lengthy. Please give us a summary.”
Valcor gazed at his friend, a former dragon, and his only sister, who was once Hartanna, the next queen of the dragons. He held the letter close to the dancing flame. “It is clear that Devin is now more dangerous than ever.”
“But he failed,” Irene said. “Arthur and Merlin squashed the rebellion.”
“Devin didn’t fail completely. He took Excalibur, and now Merlin has vanished. Who can predict how powerful Devin and Morgan will become?”