Taylor Davis and the Flame of Findul

by Michelle Isenhoff

  I sucked in the overheated air and stepped into the open.

  Swain turned to me with a cry of surprise that morphed into suspicion. “How did you get in here?”

  I snapped to attention and saluted. In the deepest voice I could muster, I said, “I followed you from the boat, sir, after I escaped the authorities. I await your further orders.” I hoped the soot and the dramatic lighting masked my age.

  His vanity overrode any doubts. “I have accomplished my goals despite the idiocy of your compatriots. Still, you may be of some use to me. Come see what I have done.”

  He didn’t even look at me. His hands held open a sheaf of pages rolled out across a work table. “This is a blueprint of my new forge. I have taken it single-handedly,” he announced with great pride.

  “Very good, sir,” I replied.

  A flash of irritation crossed his face. “You will address me as the Gray Admiral.”

  He was vain and conceited. Perhaps I could use that. “Yes sir, Gray Admiral, sir. No one else could have accomplished it, sir.”

  He scowled then, the planes of his face black and hollow in the ghastly light. It transfigured him into a fiend straight from the pit of Hades. He pounded the table. “They said it could not be done! Others with power far greater than mine dared not attempt such a feat. They put me to the test, unwilling to grant me the authority I desire.” His eyes blazed with rage and madness. “But I have exceeded everyone’s expectations. They cannot deny me now.”

  His face resumed its placid expression. He turned to me. “I have thought of a use for you. You will stand guard while I return victorious to the Pit. Strike down any who enter the metal door.”

  He moved to stand before a panel of buttons and levers—the mechanical heart of the underground chamber—and raised his eyes to the cage. “I thank you, Findul, for the delightful gift of your workshop. It is a prize I have worked many centuries to possess.”

  Findul defied him from high overhead. “You will not get away with this, Swain. Retribution will be swift and certain.”

  Swain spread his hands like a benevolent lord. “Ah, but I have already gotten away with it, you see. You handed it over to me for the sake of one worthless human. So much for your beloved prophecy, eh? The One of Two Names is about to burn in the fire he was supposed to wield, and no other man or angel knows the location of Findul’s forge. Retribution?” he scoffed. “Heaven won’t even know of its loss until it is overrun with the flames of its own destruction!”

  My hand itched to take up my sword, but it could be my tongue was the more powerful weapon. I bowed low. “You are wise and gracious, your excellency, Gray Admiral, sir, to withhold the same judgment from your superiors. Now they must grant you the small command you desire.”

  “Fool!” he shouted. “Do you think I will be satisfied with the pittance they would dole out? I will command legions!”

  “As you should, my liege. I mean only that you are wise in preserving those who could instruct and share your—”

  “You think I need anyone else?” His voice raged. “I, who single-handedly stole the greatest weapon ever created? I, who hold the destiny of the entire Earth—the entire universe—in my hand? Tell me, why should I share power?”

  Would he be vain enough to storm Hades alone? My nose nearly touched my knees. “With such a weapon, none can stand against you, your greatness. You will be deified, Gray Admiral, sir.”

  I could hear the evil in his silky voice. “Yes, I will be deified. I will set myself up as a god, and all life in Heaven and on Earth will bow to me.”

  He pressed a button. Elena screamed as the grappling arm released the cage in which she and the angels were confined. They plummeted to a conveyor belt below and landed with a heavy thud. Then, as I watched in horror, Swain pulled a lever and the belt began to move.

  If ever a plan had backfired...

  I whipped out my sword. I hadn’t relit it—I wasn’t even sure how—but I had run out of time. With a cry of desperation, I drove the blade at my enemy.

  Swain leaped aside, and his laughter iced my spine. “So, you are one of them, are you?” A weapon appeared in his hand faster than I could blink. It was a one-handed blade, smaller than mine but more maneuverable. “Are you sure you wish to defy me? With this sword I once ruled the seven seas. And unlit, yours holds no peril for me.”

  In answer, I drove again, slashing downward from a high guard position. Swain ducked and drove his blade up at my stomach. I only just knocked it away. He swung again and I parried and danced backward beyond the reach of his sword.

  This fight was different than my hacking, confined battle with the assassin in the Archives restroom. The vast cavern gave us space to maneuver, and Swain fought with a finesse I had met only during my spars with Ranofur. But this time my life depended on my skill, and I was seriously outmatched.

  He swung low. I leaped over his blade and bore down on it before he could bring it back around. The loud clash was swallowed by the echoes of the underground chasm.

  Swain rushed again. I scrambled up the side of a bin. Swain leaped after me, and I struck him from above. The glancing blow knocked him free and threw me off balance. I stumbled and went down, tearing the knee of my jeans on the jagged ore. I regained my feet quickly. Below, Swain had disappeared.

  Sweat poured into my eyes. I whipped the bandana from my head and wiped it across my eyes. The control panel was free! I had to stop the conveyor belt. I was preparing to leap over the side when Swain popped up at my feet. I avoided the slashing weapon but sprawled once more across the ore in the bin. As I recovered, Swain cleared the lip of the container.

  A metal ladder hung nearby. I pulled myself to safety seconds before Swain’s sword lopped the bottom three feet off the ladder. I swung onto a narrow catwalk. Swain climbed right behind me, and I raised my sword to finish him.

  At that moment Elena cried out. My concentration was broken. I swung, but my blade hit the ladder, glanced off the metal, and nicked a chunk out of Swain’s ear. The pirate grabbed the side of his head, and I landed a kick that sent him spinning into the bin below.

  I sneaked a peek at my friends. Their cage had traveled the length of the conveyor belt and tipped onto another filled with gravelly ore. This second belt moved at a slower pace but—I hustled across the catwalk to get a better look—it was carrying them directly to the cauldrons on the central island!

  I scurried down another ladder, intent on the panel of levers. I had just gained the step to the control room platform when Swain appeared beside me. I deflected his thrust. He grabbed my jacket with his free arm and flung me to the floor. I rolled, met his down swing, and swiped his feet out from under him. He fell on me, and we grappled in a heap of grasping arms and churning legs. He was heavier and stronger than I. Getting into the open where my speed and agility could play in my favor was my only chance. Here in this death lock, I was dead meat.

  With the combined effort of both arms and both legs, I threw Swain off of me and scrambled through a machine that smashed ore into small bits. Swain followed. I grabbed a handful of broken rocks and clambered up the wall of the adjoining machine. At the top, I paused to fling them down at the admiral one by one. My second missile collided with his head, prompting a sharp curse. He leaped backward into the machine’s moving parts and narrowly missed learning what happens when an immortal man meets a heavy, pounding steel piston. It gave me time to clamber onto a wide ventilation duct.

  The surface of the duct was curved and slippery. One misstep meant death, but a glance revealed that my friends were nearly out of time. The duct ran above the control panel. If I could only get above it and drop down, I could stop the conveyor.

  A thin pipe that anchored the duct to the ceiling blocked my way. As I swung around it, trying not to look at the ground twenty feet below, Swain dropped down from a catwalk above. Our renewed fight became a delicate balancing act.

  He swung. I parried. He swiped at my feet. I leaped, slashed, jumped back. H
e lunged. I met. I slashed. He ducked. The battle raged on, high above the ground.

  Swain had pushed me back to the anchor pipe. I swung behind it. He paused, breathing heavily. His face twisted in an evil smile. “My dear boy,” he said, trying to recapture that cool, suave voice, “did you really think you could best me? I have had this moment planned for four hundred years. You should have joined me when you had the chance.”

  I balanced my sword and did not answer.

  “Heaven was foolish for sending you.” He raised his eyebrows slightly. “I know who you are. Young Davy Jones. The One of Two names.”

  “Why does everyone call me Davy?” I growled and swung with all my might. The blade cleaved through the thin anchor pipe. The duct lurched, throwing us against one other. I shoved Swain and slashed through the anchor again, freeing a five foot section of pipe.

  Elena shouted my name. The cage was only seconds from tumbling into the vats of fire!

  I dropped from the duct and jammed the pipe between two cogs in the conveyor belt. The machinery screeched, but the cage halted with five feet to spare.

  Up close, I noticed the reddish tint of the bars. The cage wasn’t made of iron at all. It was Raybold steel.

  “Taylor, look out!” Elena yelped.

  I leaped and Swain’s blade resounded off the metal rollers. “We’re not finished, boy.” He slashed and hacked with little thought for skill and drove me back with the strength of his rage. The conveyor groaned. Waves of blistering heat rose from the cauldrons below us, but we battled on, trading blows at the lip of death.

  The pace of the fight was taking its toll on both of us. I was weary, fighting on instinct alone. Sweat poured from my body. My blows were weak and sloppy. Only my Schmiel gloves protected my grip from becoming slippery.

  Swain sensed victory. He smiled again, his ghastly face lit from below. “Are you ready to die, boy?” he asked. And he lunged.

  I met the attack, taking the brunt of the blow with my sword hilt. It knocked me sidewise. Suddenly, I was leaning out over the cauldron, my arms spinning, the leather coat cracking from the intensity of the heat.

  As I was about to plunge to my death, a powerful arm reached through the bars of the cage and snatched me back. At the same moment, the pressure of the line snapped the slender pipe. It shot forward, hitting the pirate directly in his chest.

  With a scream of terror, Swain tumbled into Findul’s cauldron of fire.

  Lesson #28

  Happily Ever After Is for Fairy Tales

  The conveyor belt rumbled free, pushing my friends toward their deaths. I dropped onto the bridge spanning the lava flow below. Lunging into the control room, I threw all my weight against the lever. The machine ground to a halt with a shudder. Elena, Mike, and Ranofur collapsed against the bars of their cell, and I melted onto the floor of the control room.

  After a moment Elena reminded me, “Taylor? It’s really hot up here.”

  “Right,” I answered. “Does anyone know where I can find the key?”

  Findul’s powerful voice called down, “You don’t need a key. Dip your sword in a vat of flame and slice through these bars.”

  I could feel the intense heat of the cauldrons from where I stood. I donned a pair of protective coveralls and a face shield and stumbled over the bridge to the island. Climbing a metal stairway that rose beside the closest vat, I plunged my sword over the side. When I drew it back, pinkish-orange flames licked at the blade.

  The Flame of Findul had been relit.

  ***

  Two days later, Elena, Mike, Ranofur, Findul, Nigel, Schmiel, and I presented Davy with the relit weapon. I drew the sword out of its protective new scabbard with a hiss of metal, and the pirate’s eyes danced at the burning flame. “That should make me job some easier,” he grinned, taking the weapon reverently. He still hadn’t been making use of his shower facilities, I noticed as a breath of sea breeze wafted through the valley. “You say you actually bested Swain?” he asked.

  “It was a team effort.” I shrugged, sharing the moment with those standing around me. I sort of wished my dad could have been there, though I knew it wouldn’t have changed anything. Even if he never knew what we had accomplished, it would still be accomplished.

  Elena seemed to read my thoughts. She threw a wink and a smile down at me.

  Nigel cleared his throat. “Fortunately, the secret of Findul’s fire was not compromised. Swain died without the formula. We will be beefing up security around the forge and getting Findul a secretary—” He leveled the firesmith with a stern glare. Findul just grinned and shrugged. “—so this will never happen again.”

  “It couldn’t happen again anyway,” I replied with confidence. “Swain is dead, and none of his cronies know where the forge is. We can finally go home knowing we’re perfectly safe.”

  The glance Nigel and Schmiel exchanged made my heart beat out of sync. “It is safe, isn’t it?” I asked.

  Schmiel laid a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Death is not the end,” he said. “It is only a change. A door to something new.”

  I knew that. I’d been to Heaven. But I didn’t understand his warning or the paleness that crept over Elena’s features.

  “You have stopped Swain for now. But in doing so, you have sent him directly to those who would make use of his talents.” He paused, looking each of us in the eye. “We fear that in death, Swain may become even stronger than he was in life.”

  I gulped, and the sense of safety and accomplishment I’d been basking in wafted away on the breeze. “You’re saying our job isn’t done.”

  Nigel nodded. “That is why we asked Findul to make this.” From a scabbard at his waist he drew a sword that looked mighty familiar. “It is the sister to the Flame of Findul.”

  I took it from his hand and hefted it. It was as much like Davy’s sword as two weapons could be, down to the burning edge of pinkish-orange flame.

  I looked around at Elena, at Mike, and at Ranofur. Elena’s lip had already curled up at the corners. I thought of Jennifer, of Shaun, of a normal life in Jersey. That life still called to me, but I had learned the most important lesson of all: evil never sleeps. And in such a world, we have to be vigilant. We have to stand up for what’s right. It was a choice I already made every day. The stakes were just higher now.

  I stepped back into the circle of my teammates. Lifting my chin, I met Nigel’s eyes.

  “Game on.”

  END OF FLAME OF FINDUL

  Continue reading for a sneak preview of the second book in the Taylor Davis series.

  Clash of Kingdoms

  Michelle Isenhoff

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  Sneak Preview

  Lesson #1

  When a Good Man Goes Ape, Start Journaling

  “Davis! You are so dead!”

  That isn’t my favorite greeting, especially in the murky moments before dawn which some twisted board member of the Zander National Academy thought would be a fine time to begin the school day. I’d trained myself to function on autopilot well into second hour. At the moment, my head still felt stuffed with hazy dreams. I seriously needed a Mountain Dew.

  “Taylor Davis, I’m talking to you.”

  I faced my pursuer and was disheartened to find a ticked off 6’4” Titan warrior looming over me. He jabbed a sausage finger into my chest. “You didn’t pay your toll.”

  My benumbed brain tried to take in the accusation. During my ten months in the Dominican Republic, Damian Martinez had never spoken a word to me. As he was captain of every sports team the school offered, and as I had less coordination than a medicated squid, we didn’t move in the same circles. Little did I see then the far-reaching effects of our first conversation.

  I blinked at Da
mian in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  He pressed his face close to mine. Most of the girls fawned over his classic Latino features, but today they were anything but pretty. “I mean, chico, this is my door. And the sidewalk leading to it is my sidewalk. If you want to use them, you have to pay my toll.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Up to that point, the whole exchange had taken place in Spanish, which over the course of the year had slowly become less complex than binary code. But this I blurted in my native English. “Aren’t you a little old to be stealing milk money?”

  The giant’s face darkened, and he lifted me off the ground by my neck. “Habla español, idiota.”

  I switched back to Spanish. “Why do I have to pay a toll? No one else is forking out dough, you big baboon.”

  I wouldn’t recommend repeating those words to anyone who is dangling you a foot off the ground. My face suddenly felt like it had collided with a cement wall at forty miles per hour. I found myself sliding across the tile floor and coming to rest in the corner of the hallway.

  “You hit me!” I rubbed my jaw in disbelief. Damian had always seemed a level-headed sort of guy. He was even dating my friend, Elena, who couldn’t shut off the infatuation spigot whenever she talked about him. “I can’t believe you hit me!”

  “I’ll do a lot worse than that!” A handful of spectators scrambled out of the way as he lunged for me. I dove behind a bench outside the high school office. The secretary never even looked up. I hoped word of my death in front of the wide, newly installed security window didn’t leak out to the city’s more violent criminal element.

  Two of Damian’s buddies yanked him off me before he smeared any more of my blood across the hallway tiles. “What’s wrong with you today, Martinez?” they asked, exchanging a look of befuddlement. “You didn’t even pull this kind of stunt in primary school.”