The Minions of Time (2 page)

Given the choice between crashing full force into a rock or water, Owen would have chosen the obvious. But he had been in these waters before and knew the Kerrol—a slimy, underwater beast that ate anything in its path—lived here. Owen and Watcher had barely escaped its clutches.

The flying beast was losing steam as it passed over the sandy beach. Wobbling and diving, then pulling up, it was like a roller-coaster ride with no rails. Women screamed and men turned white.

The king of the west struggled to gain his footing, and Owen moved closer. “Thank you for helping me back at the castle.”

“Why didn't you use the horse and get away?” the king said as the cage splashed into the water, then shot back into the air.

“I wanted to help you.”

“You fool! Now you'll die with us.”

“Perhaps,” Owen said. “But there may be a way out of this.”

A young girl screamed and pointed at the water, where a long, slithering body passed in an arc.

“Does anyone have jargid skins?” Owen yelled.

“Who do you think you are?” Coat of Arms said. “Get away from the king!”

“Hurry!” Owen said.

“I have a skin,” a maid said, pulling off her hat.

“I do as well,” a man said, tossing one from his back toward Owen, who stuffed them into his shirt and hung on.

With a last gasp, the flyer tried to flap and lift. The force of the wind on the arrow holes in the animal's wings made them stretch, and the creature gave a high-pitched shriek and a mournful cry that echoed off the islands.

“He calls to the Dragon,” Coat of Arms said.

“It is his last call,” the king said.

A wing collapsed in on itself with a sickening crunch, and the creature began a whirling free fall toward the water. The prisoner-filled basket lurched.

“Perhaps the beast will float!” Owen yelled. “Or the bottom of the cage will!”

“Brace yourselves!” the king shouted.

Spiraling, winding, and weaving, the creature's back hit the water first, its wings tucked behind it, a wave engulfing it.

The flyer wobbled in the water, flailing, scratching, and clawing at the cage until it had a firm grip.

“Does anyone have a knife?” Owen said.

“They took our weapons.”

People dangled through the bars, feet and arms in the water, grasping for footing, splashing, sucking in the salty liquid. Owen landed on top of the pile, three deep, and he sprang up, clothes and hair wet, grabbing the cage and hanging on. They were trapped.

The cage tipped left and came to rest on the creature's outstretched wing, floating on the surface as thin as a kite. The people clapped and smiled.

“Try to get the cage tipped over,” the king said. “It will float, and the tide will take us to shore.”

But the flyer gurgled and descended into the dark water, pulling the cage after it.

It is like children to spot something unusual, something askew on the horizon. And while everyone else in the cage was staring into the brackish depths, the young boy who had pointed out the water in the first place stared at Owen. His face was not filled with fear, like everyone else's, but as a child will focus on a flower while others move toward a picnic, this boy seemed enamored with Owen's appearance.

As they plunged beneath the surface, the child could not, of course, hold this stare, for by the way he thrashed and clawed, the fear of being trapped surely overtook him as well. They weren't just sinking; they were also descending at a rapid pace—dragged by something.

Owen held his breath, staring into the murky darkness. The speed threw people back toward him, and he had to move them out of the way to reach the front of the cage, desperately feeling for mangled bars until he could pull himself through.

The descent stopped suddenly. Owen quickly found the top of the cage and grabbed the leather bindings securing the flyer to the hitch. He discovered slack in the leather and pulled with all his might.

Bubbles gushed, and people fought to hold their breath. Owen felt something pass him and instinctively closed his eyes, remembering Mordecai's training. The man had made him catch fish blindfolded, sensing movement in the water with only his hands. “Become part of the world you are in,” he had said. “Immerse yourself in every movement and molecule, and you will discover what you seek.”

They had been underwater more than half a minute when Owen sensed movement to his left. A tail? A decoy? He quickly turned right and held out the leather bands as far as he could, clenching his teeth.

He peeked to find a pair of piercing, reptilian eyes on him. Jagged, sharp teeth lunged, and Owen let go of the bands. He darted down, grabbing onto the cage, now a whirlwind as the Kerrol finally chewed through the bands.

When the cage released, the Kerrol rose slightly in the stirring water. Owen swam underneath and pushed the cage toward the dim light of the surface.

Objects in water are always lighter due to the buoyancy, of course, but raising a cage full of people required more strength than Owen had. Something else was at work here. Someone else.

Owen's lungs were bursting, but he dared not gasp underwater. And if he felt this way, what of the people inside the cage? And the children? Had they already taken the deadly water into their lungs?

When the cage finally broke the surface with a great splash, Owen scrambled atop it, gasping, as heads, lips, and noses popped out through the bars to do the same. He jostled the bobbing cage up as far as he could, but there was only enough room for the people to get their heads out. Were they all there?

“Help the younger ones out!” Coat of Arms said. “At least save them!”

The people gasped and whimpered, splashing. Owen knew this would attract the Kerrol.

“Stay where you are!” Owen said. “I'll get you out!”

But how?

Indecision often makes the difference between life and death. Owen had to act immediately, especially when he espied a small craft in the distance. Owen waved frantically. “Over here! Help!”

But then he felt water swirl beneath him again and had to dive and push the cage up far enough so the people could get air. All the splashing and screaming and choking had attracted their enemy. Owen floated under the cage, waiting, gauging his timing until the last second when the fierce beast appeared.

Owen pushed away, pulling his feet to his chest and just eluding the Kerrol's teeth as its nose slammed the cage bottom. The cage burst free of the water, leaving in its wake a swirling mass of bubbles and brine and seaweed.

Owen surfaced to take a breath and saw the cage a few yards away, the bottom cracked in two, people scurrying to get out, and no Kerrol in sight. Owen's heart sank, knowing the Kerrol would grab them one by one as they tried to swim away.

He dived again, thrashing and screaming to attract the Kerrol. He resurfaced, splashing as violently as he could. The skiff was closer now, and those who could swim struggled toward it. Others held on to the cage, shuddering, whimpering for help.

Suddenly the Kerrol rose between the skiff and the escapees and opened wide, showing its knifelike teeth. Its roar sent shock waves across the water, and the people froze.

But Owen yelled and waved. “Hey, Kerrol, over here! Come on, you overgrown snake! Come and get me!”

The Kerrol turned and narrowed its eyes at Owen, nostrils flared. It dived for the depths, causing a wave to overtake the swimmers.

“Get to that skiff!” Owen yelled as the grateful swimmers screamed their thank-yous and flailed toward the craft.

“Ho there!” came the call of a familiar voice.

“Mordecai?” And as the water swirled and sucked Owen down as if a plug had been pulled from a drain, he cried out, “Get them aboard, Mordecai!”

Foam and froth bubbled while Owen spun as if in a washing machine. The Kerrol was swimming in a circle below, causing the swirl. Owen slid down the funnel with his hand out, like a surfer touching the inside of a wave, unable to slow himself, pulled inexorably downward.

* * *

At the bottom, the Kerrol prepared for his meal, lying in wait as the boy tumbled toward his gaping mouth.

Mordecai helped the soggy people onto his boat. They sputtered and coughed, and some retched over the side, throwing up salt water.

“We must retrieve the king and queen,” a fancily dressed man said, motioning at what was left of the cage.

Three children and a man and a woman dressed in finery clung to it.

“King of what?” Mordecai demanded.

“King of the west, sir,” a woman said. “And we are his servants.”

Mordecai sneered. “He's too close to the whirlpool.”

“You cannot leave them,” the man said.

“You left him. Why don't you go fetch him?”

“But the children,” a woman pleaded. “We can't leave them.”

“If that beast comes back, none of us will survive.” Mordecai gave pieces of wood to the people and commanded them to row. He pulled a coil of vines from under a sack on the other side of the skiff.

With a mighty toss, Mordecai threw the vine near the cage. “Ho there! Grab this!”

The king and queen grabbed the vine, but the children would not follow. No matter what Mordecai or the others said, the three clung to the sinking cage.

Mordecai began to pull the vine, but as he did, the king let go and swam back to the cage. His wife grabbed for him, tugging at his robe, but he tore away and made it to the cage, prying the screaming children's hands from the bars. With the children on his back, he swam to the vine.

“Row!” Mordecai yelled as he pulled at the vine.

The people used the wooden slats to propel the vessel toward the islands.

When Mordecai had pulled the king, queen, and children to within 10 yards of the skiff, he said to the finely dressed man, “Who was that who yelled at me and dived in the water?”

“Just a boy,” the man said. “He came to us shortly before the Dragon burned the castle.”

“The Dragon?” Mordecai said. “And you say he came to you just before . . .”

The king pushed his wife onto the skiff and helped the children up. “He pretended to be someone else to the Dragon. He tried to save us.”

Mordecai's heart quickened as he grasped the man's hand and pulled him aboard. “Describe him to me.”

The world seemed to spin in a different direction. Not a day had gone by that Mordecai hadn't thought of his young friend. Not a day had gone by that he didn't regret letting him go. How had he fared in his quest for the Son? Had he been able to retrieve
The Book of the King
? That he had met the Dragon and lived was a good sign, but now . . .

Mordecai whispered, “The Wormling.” He turned to those paddling and shouted, “Turn us around. Now!”

“You'll kill us all,” the man in the fine coat said, nearly falling overboard. “We're overloaded as it is. Besides, that creature is sure to have—”

Mordecai grabbed the man and knotted his embroidered cloth with a fist. With clenched teeth and eyes that bored into the man, he said, “Do you know who he is? Do you know what he's trying to do? You do not deserve to be helped by someone like the Wormling.”

The other passengers murmured among themselves. It was clear they had heard of the Wormling and perhaps had been told tall tales about him.

“We didn't know, sir,” a child said. “I thought there was something strange about his eyes, but I never dreamed he was the Wormling.”

Mordecai switched the sail to turn the skiff toward the swirling water.

“I command you to turn this boat toward the island,” the queen said. “You are subject to our rule.”

“I am no more your subject than the wind is, madam,” Mordecai said. “If you want to make for the island, start swimming. Otherwise keep your mouth closed.”