Peter and the Shadow Thieves (51 page)

Leonard Aster closed the trunk lid.

The world went black.

The bril iant light was gone. The hum was gone.

Aster could see nothing. He blinked hard, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness.

“Mol y!” he shouted.

“Here, Father!” she cal ed, stumbling forward, also sightless. “I saw Mother!”

“Mol y, you must not come closer!” he said. “You must get away from here.”

“But—”

“I’l get your mother,” shouted Aster. His eyes adjusting now, he saw Louise. She was quite close. If he could get to her quickly, move her behind one of the stones, he might have time to run back to the trunk, open it, and complete the Return. He looked up: the green light column was just above the tops of the trilithons, swaying back and forth as if seeking the trunk.

Aster turned toward his wife. His golden suit, il uminated by the green light column now directly overhead, gleamed like a beacon.

“There!” said Ombra.

The riflemen took aim at the shining figure as it ran toward Louise Aster.

“Now!” said Ombra.

The two guns fired almost as one.

The shining figure went down.

Mol y heard the shots and screamed as she saw her father crumple to the ground.

“Father!” she shouted, stumbling toward the gold-suited figure, now lying facedown on the hard-packed dirt, unmoving. She reached her father and knelt next to him. Gently, she turned him over, and gasped. The front of his golden suit was bathed in blood. It looked black in the eerie green light as it poured from a wound in his chest.

“Oh, no, no,
no,
” she said.

She looked up, desperate. Directly in front of her stood her mother.

“Mother,” Mol y said. “Help me! Father’s hurt!”

Louise Aster said nothing, looking at her daughter with an expression devoid of any emotion, her wan face painted a pale hideous green by the overhead light.

“Mother,” Mol y repeated softly. “
Please.
”

But she saw no concern, no hint of recognition in the empty eyes looking back at her.

And then, in the strange green light, Mol y saw the dark shape of Ombra gliding across the open ground, fol owed by a half dozen men. They were heading directly for the trunk, which lay on the Altar Stone, twenty-five feet from where Mol y knelt by her wounded father. Mol y glanced up; the green column of light lingered overhead, snaking back and forth, though it seemed farther away than before. She knew the eclipse would be over soon, ending any chance of effecting the Return.

Despair fil ed Mol y’s soul. Her father was dying; her mother had become somebody, or some
thing,
that she no longer knew. And now the Others, in the form of the horrid Ombra, were about to gain possession of the starstuff that both her parents had sacrificed so much to safeguard.

Not if I can help it,
Mol y thought, struggling to her feet.

“Get the girl!” groaned Ombra.

Mol y was running now. A few steps and she was almost to the trunk. She reached toward the lid, but suddenly strong hands grabbed her dress, and strong arms yanked her back. A raspy voice spoke close to her ear.

“Hold up there, missy,” said Slank.

Mol y struggled and kicked, but she was no match for Slank’s muscles. He gripped her tighter, pinning her to him.

“No use, missy,” he whispered.

Mol y looked toward the trunk: Ombra and the other men were now standing next to it, the men eyeing it warily, aware of the power it contained. Mol y looked up; the green snake of light was higher stil , clearly receding. It was over. She had failed. The Starcatchers had failed. Slowly, Mol y lowered her eyes.

Hang on….

Mol y caught just a glimpse of a shape swooping low over the tops of the sarsens from the northwest. It was hidden by the tal trilithons now, but Mol y knew what it had to be, moving that fast…

“PETER!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

Every head, including Ombra’s, swiveled to look. And so everyone had an excel ent view as Peter swerved expertly around a massive trilithon support, missing it by a quarter inch at best. Everyone saw it, but nobody had time to react, least of al Peter’s target.

“Hel o, Slank!” shouted Peter, delivering a high-velocity kick to Slank’s head as he shot past.

Roaring in pain and rage, Slank staggered backward, involuntarily freeing Mol y. He reached for his belt and yanked out a pistol, pointing it skyward, aiming it at the hated boy.

Peter turned and began coming back. He was moving fast, but Slank was a good shot. As Peter, who had not yet spotted the pistol, drew close, Slank’s finger tightened on the trigger.

He inhaled. With Peter dead in his sights, he fired.

And as he did, a tiny figure struck his gun hand. Tinker Bel had little mass, and she was stil a bit groggy, not having ful y recovered from her earlier encounter with Karl the bear.

But she was able to hit Slank’s hand with just enough speed to mar his aim.

The bul et whistled past Peter’s head.

“Thanks, Tink!” Peter shouted, swerving into the sky. Slank roared a curse and hurled the pistol after Peter’s fleeting form. One of the riflemen fired at Peter, but also missed.

Peter darted down and again swooped through the trilithon area. Some of the men ran after him.

“Ignore the boy!” groaned Ombra. “The trunk! Get the trunk!”

As Ombra sought to organize the men, Peter circled and flew past Mol y.

“Get your father and mother!” he cal ed. “Get them away from here!”

“Father’s been shot!” shouted Mol y.

“Attend to your mother, then,” said a voice behind her.

Mol y turned. It was George.

“I’l get your father,” he said. He went to Aster’s prone body and, with a grunt, managed to heave the unconscious, bleeding man onto his shoulder. Mol y ran to her mother, took her arm, and began to pul her away from the center of Stonehenge. George fol owed, staggering under Leonard Aster’s weight. Mol y looked back: Peter was stil swooping back and forth over the trilithons.

What is he doing
? Mol y wondered. As she pul ed her mother away, her eyes went back to the trunk.

Ombra, ignoring the flying boy, was directing one of the men to close the latches. The man did so gingerly, not pleased to be touching the trunk. When he was done, Ombra gestured to him and another man.

“Pick it up,” he said. “It cannot harm you now.”

As the men warily reached down to pick up the trunk, Peter swept overhead.

“NOW!” he shouted.

One of the men yel ed and pointed. The others’ eyes fol owed. From behind one of the massive upright trilithon stones emerged the enormous furry mass of Karl.

“Shoot him!” groaned Ombra.

The two riflemen fumbled for their weapons, but Karl, moving with astonishing speed and agility, was upon the men before they had a chance to aim. With a swipe of his enormous paw, he sent the closest of the rifles skidding across the dirt like a twig. Both riflemen turned and ran, one stil clutching his weapon but not daring to stop and try to use it. The other men started to fol ow, but found their path blocked by the forbidding form of Ombra.

“Get the trunk!” growled Ombra. “I wil deal with the animal.”

The men, their eyes on the bear, did not move. Ombra glided forward. Karl kept coming. The green column of light was now above Karl and slightly to his right, casting a shadow to the bear’s left. Ombra swerved toward it.

“Look out!” shouted Peter. But his warning meant nothing to the bear, which, preparing to fight the oncoming dark shape, reared up on its hind legs, an act that only lengthened and exposed its shadow.

Ombra flowed swiftly toward it.

A chiming sound fil ed the air—a sound both Karl and Ombra had heard before. Both knew what it meant; neither had time to do anything about it.

Tink flashed her brightest flash. She was exhausted, and this effort was far weaker than the one she’d managed earlier that evening, the one that had foiled Karl out on the road.

This flash, intended to protect him, was half as bright, if that. But it was enough for now.

Ombra, emitting a screech that made Peter’s skin crawl, flattened into an elongated black teardrop shape and was driven back out of the trilithon area. The other men stumbled after him. Karl roared in blind confusion, lunging this way and that.

“Mister Magil !” shouted Peter urgently. “Get him out of here now!”

Magil , who’d been waiting for Peter’s cal , sprinted out of the darkness and ran to Karl. The big man growled as he approached; Karl immediately dropped to al fours. Magil took a handful of the huge bear’s neck fur and began leading him away from the trilithons. He looked back at Peter, who had landed next to the trunk.

“Be careful, lad,” he said.

“I wil ,” said Peter. “Please find Mol y. She went that way. Her father needs help.”

“Al right,” said Magil . “Good luck.” He turned to go.

“Wait!” said Peter.

Magil looked back.

“Give this to Mol y,” said Peter. He removed the locket from his neck. Peter didn’t know whether there was any starstuff left, or—even if there were—whether it would be enough to heal Leonard Aster, assuming he was stil alive. He threw the locket to Magil , who caught it one-handed, nodded, and was gone.

Peter knelt by the trunk. He looked up: the green snake was stil there, stil searching back and forth. But it was clearly higher now; it was receding. Peter glanced at the moon; the ghostly reddish circle was just a shade lighter. The totality was ending.

Peter reached for the first of the two trunk latches.

“Shoot him!”

The groaning command came from behind him, but from a distance. He opened the first latch.

He winced at the crack of a rifle shot; blinked as a bul et
twanged
off a trilithon stone next to him, rock fragments stinging his face.

“You missed!” came the groaning voice. “Fire again!”

He reached for the second latch.

UNNNH.

Peter did not hear the shot that hit him; only his own grunt as the bul et tore through his left shoulder, hurling him forward onto the trunk. He slid facedown onto the dirt, wondering why he didn’t feel anything.