Flight

by Jason Lethcoe

  It was an ace of spades with a grinning skull in its center. Scruggs crumpled the card in his meaty fist. It had happened again. The boy had evaded him three times!

  While Scruggs contemplated this unfortunate turn of events, two other Groundlings walked up to him. Both of them appeared human, although they were anything but. They had been watching all that happened on the bank and were eager to gloat over Scruggs’s lack of success.

  Whiplash himself was disguised as a heavyset man wearing an enormous white suit and he towered over the thin, elderly looking Groundlings next to him. In another setting, one might have even mistaken them for kindly grandparents. But Henry and Lilith Asmoday were both ancient and terrible, and, although their bodies looked human, their souls were long gone.

  Henry wore a straw boater and resembled a mortal man in his seventies. He stood with his arm linked with Lilith, an aging woman carrying a silk parasol. Although it was 1921 on Earth, their clothing would have seemed old-fashioned by most people’s standards.

  Lilith’s eyes were covered by dark glasses. They hid the injury that Edward had given her at their last meeting. She hadn’t been wounded in a fight with a Guardian for over three thousand years and was looking forward to making Edward pay!

  Henry had his hands in his pockets as he surveyed the spot where the boat had been just moments before. Squinting after it, he said, “Well, gee Moloc, that didn’t go according to plan, did it? Chances are, the master ain’t going to be pleased. Nope. Not one bit, I reckon.”

  As he finished his statement, Henry flashed a sharp-toothed grin at Scruggs, enjoying his obvious discomfort.

  “Mr. Scruggs, why don’t you just scurry back on home and tell the Jackal that you’re not ready for this assignment? I’m sure he’ll find something else for you to do. Henry and I can handle things here just fine on our own,” Lilith purred at him.

  Scruggs paled. He’d already failed his master twice. He knew what returning empty-handed meant. The last thing he needed was Henry and Lilith running back to the master with news of his failure. He dropped his cigar on the dewy grass and grounded it out with his heel.

  “Rest assured, my friends, I have no intention of returning at this rather inopportune time,” Scruggs drawled. “This is merely an unfortunate setback, not a failedattempt. I willfind the boy.”

  Henry chuckled and set his straw boater back on his head. After brushing at his gray, handlebar moustache with his finger, he replied, “Well, you’d better find him soon, son.” Henry’s pale blue eyes twinkled with malice. “See, the Jackal told us to keep an eye on you. Said that if you couldn’t catch the boy, he’d turn it over to Lil and I to take care of the situation.”

  He eyed Scruggs flabby form and grinned hungrily, exposing rows of pointed teeth.

  “And we’d just love to have you for dinner.”

  Chapter Seven

  HEALING

  “But it was one of the Ten Words of Power!” Tabitha said. Her voice was an urgent whisper. “Even when you were a Guardian, you couldn’t have taught him that. Those words are reserved for high-ranking officers. Where did he learn it?”

  Mr. Spines replied huskily, “I don’t know. But since the boy is destined to become an officer someday, perhaps the greatest there ever was, there could be many mysteries about him.” The spiny man’s eyes narrowed with concern. “But he’s not ready to use such power yet. It could destroy him before he even learns how to fly. He must have training.”

  Mr. Spines and Tabitha were in a back bedroom of the boatman’s shack. Spines was slumped in a hardback chair, almost too weak to move. Edward was lying unconscious on a cot with a kerosene lamp positioned on a nearby table.

  Tabitha looked down at Edward with concern. It had been hours since the attack and Edward didn’t seem to be improving. His face looked even paler than usual and his breathing was shallow.

  “He needs healing. A Song of Restoration should do it,” Mr. Spines suggested quietly.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Tabitha replied sharply. “If I sang it, you’d get the benefits, too.”

  There was a pause. Then Mr. Spines admitted, “It wouldn’t be the same as a full chorus of Guardians singing it, but it would help. But right now, I’m only thinking of the boy. Using that word has weakened him severely. Remember, he’s half mortal. He could go into shock. And we don’t have time to let him heal on his own. That could take days.”

  There was a long pause as Tabitha considered Mr. Spines’s words. Finally, after a long moment, she spoke. “My flute fell out of my pocket during the battle at the river. The song won’t do very much without an instrument.”

  Mr. Spines paused a moment and then replied, “In my pocket you’ll find a wooden sphere. Open it.”

  Tabitha did as she was told, grimacing a little as she reached into the withered man’s grimy little pocket. She removed the smooth, round ball and looked at it closely.

  “I don’t see a latch.”

  Mr. Spines coughed. “Come now, I’d expect a little more out of an apprentice. Sing the word, girl.”

  Tabitha looked annoyed. She clearly didn’t like being lectured by a fallen Guardian. She looked at the smooth, wooden sphere and softly sang the Guardian word for open.

  “Sisma.”

  A crack of white light appeared around the perimeter of the globe. Then it split in two, revealing a small, glowing pebble in its center.

  “Hand it to me,” Spines said quietly.

  Tabitha didn’t argue. She placed the glowing speck in Mr. Spines’s extended hand. The porcupine man stared at it for a moment then raised it to his leathery lips and breathed on it.

  The speck glowed brightly for a moment and then began to grow, gradually twisting and shaping itself into a small, elegantly crafted harp. It was of such exquisite beauty and craftsmanship that Tabitha couldn’t help but be impressed.

  “You made this?” she asked as Mr. Spines handed her the delicate instrument. He nodded.

  “Yes, it was one of the last things I made before I fell. Because the Jackal doesn’t allow his servants to sing Songs of Power, I’ve had to keep it hidden.”

  Tabitha stroked the strings experimentally. A beautiful harmony of sound filled the tiny room. She raised an eyebrow appreciatively. Then she closed her eyes and, after spending a moment plucking out the melody, she began to sing the Song of Restoration.

  The dim light in the boatman’s shack grew brighter. The walls, which had been a weather-beaten gray, suddenly shone as if recently cleaned. Dust and cobwebs dissolved, and the musty shack was filled with the delicious scent of roses.

  But most important were the changes happening to Edward and Mr. Spines. The Song’s effect was the most pronounced on Edward, whose pale face began to glow with health and whose breathing grew regular. Seconds later his eyes fluttered open, just in time to see the effect that the Song of Restoration was having on Mr. Spines.

  The extra quills that had sprouted as a result of his most recent disobedience to the Jackal seemed to melt back into his body. His face, which had been a chalky white color, regained a more normal hue. His tiny hands, which had been bent and twisted, began to straighten. And although the Song could do little to restore him to the Guardian he once was, Edward caught the briefest glimpse of something in his father’s face that he’d never seen before. He saw the shadow of Melchior, and in that moment, he saw someone who looked very much like himself.

  But the illusion faded the instant Tabitha stopped singing, and Mr. Spines looked just as he had when Edward met him for the first time on the train.

  Tabitha was out of breath after singing such a powerful song. She glanced down at Edward as she lowered the harp. “Feeling better?” she asked, not too unkindly.

  Edward nodded. “Th-thanks. That w-was pretty am-amuh-amazing.”

  Tabitha didn’t respond right away, but sniffed imperiously and handed the harp back to Melchior. As she stood up she mentioned, “It was nothing special. It’s a Guardian’s duty t
o help others in need. Besides,” she looked at him meaningfully, “I don’t know how you did it, but you saved my feathers back there. Thank you.”

  Tabitha quickly turned and walked out of the tiny room, leaving Edward alone with his father.

  There was an awkward pause. Edward sat up slowly and stared out the window, trying not to make eye contact with Mr. Spines. His father removed a gold pocket watch and glanced at the time. Neither of them seemed to know what to say.

  Edward finally broke the uncomfortable silence. “W-where’re Artemis and S-Sariel?” he asked in a flat voice. It was the only thing he could think to ask. He’d met Mr. Spines’s apprentices before and didn’t really care to see them again. Because of the Jackal’s Corruption, they’d been transformed from Guardians into a white ermine and flying toad. His main recollection of the two creatures was that they bickered constantly. At least they weren’t here, adding to his frustration.

  “Hiding at my old workshop here in the Woodbine,” Spines replied. “I told them to stay there until I sent for them.”

  Edward continued staring out the window, at a total loss as to what else to say. He knew he needed to work with Mr. Spines to rescue his mother, but he was still very angry at his father, and he wasn’t ready to start making nice.

  I just want to find my mom. That’s all. Then hopefully he’ll leave us alone.

  Edward was relieved when Bridgette opened the door with a concerned expression on her face, interrupting the awkward moment. She looked over at Edward and then at Mr. Spines and blushed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I just heard that you were okay, and I . . . I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll just wait outside,” she said, backing out of the room.

  “N-nuh-no! Yuh-you’re not interrupting anything.” Edward leapt up from the cot and followed Bridgette out of the room.

  Spines noticed Edward’s eagerness to get away. He sighed, running his hand through his head of spiny prickles. His weathered face looked incredibly ancient and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. And as the fallen Guardian gazed after his retreating son, his leathery lips whispered the phrase he’d rehearsed and had tried so often to say.

  “I love you son.”

  Chapter Eight

  THE BOATMAN’S SHACK

  “After you passed out, Tabitha sang a Song of Motivation that helped us pick up speed. We traveled all afternoon to get here, to the boatman’s house,” Bridgette said, filling Edward in on everything he had missed.

  As Bridgette ushered Edward into the main living area of the tiny shack, she glanced up at him shyly. “By the way, that was pretty amazing what you did back there, destroying the Oroboruses before they hit Tabitha. While you were unconscious, Tabitha kept going on and on about it. She didn’t know how you’d done it.”

  Edward was thrilled by Bridgette’s compliment.

  “Oh, w-well I duh-d-don’t r-really know how I did it either,” Edward stuttered. “I was j-just lucky it wuh-worked.”

  His hand reached automatically for his deck of cards he kept in his pocket, seeking the reassuring comfort of the pack. He always did that when he was nervous.

  With a start, he realized they weren’t there.

  “What h-happened to my c-cards?” he asked, looking alarmed.

  Bridgette winced. “I’m sorry, Edward. They fell into the river when you were unconscious,” she said.

  The blood drained from Edward’s face. He’d had the same deck since he was three years old. The day that his mother bought them for him was one of his favorite memories. He had built an elaborate card house right on the floor of an unusual toyshop in Portland. Edward’s mother had been so delighted that she bought him the deck on the spot. Just having the deck with him made him feel more confident, safer.

  Edward looked around, trying to shake his grief over the loss of his cards. He didn’t want Bridgette to know he was upset about losing them. It would probably seem like a silly thing to be sad about to her.

  He cleared his throat, and tried to look like the loss of his cards didn’t bother him. “Whatever,” he said casually, shoving his hands in his pockets. “They were just cards.”

  He focused his attention on his new surroundings, trying his best to look unconcerned. Bridgette stared up at him with a sympathetic expression. In spite of Edward’s best efforts, she could tell the loss had affected him deeply.

  The rickety house reminded Edward of pictures he’d seen of the fishermen’s houses in Cape Cod. Nets and floats were the primary wall decorations, offset by various items that had been found washed up on the banks of the river. Tabitha’s Song of Restoration had had quite an effect on this room, too. Everything was clean and shining in the firelight.

  The boatman was sitting on a comfortable sofa with a steaming mug of hot chocolate in his meaty hand. Tabitha had taken a seat on an old barrel next to him, with her pearly wings folded primly behind her. Bridgette ushered Edward forward and formally introduced him to the boatman.

  “Edward, this is Al,” Bridgette said.

  Edward mumbled, “H-hello,” and shook the man’s outstretched hand. He winced, hating the fact that every time he opened his mouth the words just didn’t come out right.

  “Thank you for rescuing us. If you hadn’t come along when you did, I don’t think we would have made it,” Bridgette chimed in.

  “Not a problem,” he said cheerfully. “Usually I’m just boating the new arrivals to the Woodbine back and forth to the docks, up and down the river, so a little extra excitement was welcome.”

  The boatman glanced over at a small wood-burning stove in the corner of the living room and wiped a calloused hand across his forehead.

  “Is it too hot in here?” he asked. “I could douse the fire a little if you guys are too uncomfortable.”

  “I’m f-fine,” Edward said, trying to be polite. The others in the room agreed. Apparently, the boatman was not used to heating his house for company, because the stocky man kept pulling at his heavy shirt, trying to keep it from sticking to his sweaty belly.

  Edward heard footsteps behind him and noticed that Mr. Spines had joined them, taking a seat slightly behind the rest of the group.

  Ugh, Edward thought. He stood up from his chair and walked over to the living room window.

  The clouds had cleared away. In the star-studded sky, a huge, silver moon shone down on the river, reflecting off its surface. He couldn’t help wondering if they really had escaped Whiplash Scruggs, or if he was still somewhere nearby, tracking them down while he’d been unconscious. He was sure that Scruggs had only been temporarily put off. His insides quivered, dreading another encounter with the horrible Groundling. His fingers twitched, automatically reaching for his pocket, but there was nothing there. No reassuring feeling of the deck he’d always carried.

  “Don’t worry,” Al said, watching Edward with concern. “I made sure to cover all of our tracks from the boat to the house with water from the Lethye.”

  Edward glanced at Al, looking confused. What good would river water do to hide them from Whiplash Scruggs? Wouldn’t the evil Groundling be able to track them down anyway? Al noticed his concerned expression and chuckled.

  “Oh, it’s not ordinary water. Anybody who comes into contact with water from the Lethye loses his or her memory. If Scruggs’s dogs bury their noses in it, it’ll throw ’em right off the scent.” Edward breathed a sigh of relief. Al turned to the others and added, “Sometimes the river’s water is used by the Guardians to help newly arrived mortals who had a really tough life back on Earth. It can reduce their suffering and help them face the future. It’s kind of like resetting the clock, allowing them a fresh start and a way for them to make brand new memories for themselves here in the Woodbine,” Al mentioned.

  Edward listened as he turned his gaze back out the window. It might be nice to erase some of the painful memories of his own past.

  “I hate to be nosy,” Al said hesitantly, “but you folks must have done something pretty incredible to make the Jacka
l mad enough to risk sending his Groundlings into Guardian territory. I’ve never seen that many gathered together in one place so far from his Lair.”

  He forced a smile. “Of course, any enemies of the Jackal are friends of mine. But tell me”—his expression grew serious—“Whiplash Scruggs hasn’t been seen in these parts in ages.” His eyes traveled over to Edward who politely ignored his stare.

  “All I’m saying is that if anybody here has aroused his special interest, well, I think somebody better tell me what’s going on.” He glanced at Tabitha and Mr. Spines and added, “In my experience, whenever Scruggs shows up, someone ends up dead.” The stocky man looked nervous. “And it doesn’t always matter whether they’ve already died once before or not.”

  Chapter Nine

  MISSION

  Bridgette told Al what had happened. When the boatman heard about the quest to rescue Edward’s mother from the Jackal’s Lair, his normally cheerful face grew even more serious.

  “Breaking into the Jackal’s Lair? I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I heard the Jackal’s got some kind of defensive shield that will rip a Guardian’s wings off if they get too close.” He shook his head sadly. “You’re gonna need some kind of serious firepower if you want to break into that place.” Al indicated Edward with a gesture of his thumb. “He looks kind of young. Does he know what he’s getting into?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Edward said, bristling a little. “I can handle it.”

  “He needs training,” Mr. Spines said, ignoring Edward’s comment. He turned to look at Tabitha. “If you and I were to work together to give him the proper instruction, I think he can do it. The boy is special. And as far as gaining entrance to the Lair goes, even the most well fortified door has a keyhole,” Spines grinned, exposing rows of his yellow, crooked teeth. “And I happen to know the one person who can make us a key. Cornelius of the Blue Snails.”