The Minions of Time

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  Someone moved past the torch, and shadows danced on the wall.

  Constance pulled the chain with all her might, and it was then that she realized the humming was coming from above. She gave another tug, straining with every ounce of strength, and the elevator began to ascend.

  Something small flew past her and she swatted at it, but the chain began to slip from her other hand. She grabbed with both hands again, and something buzzed near her ear. But she had to keep pulling. The floor began to crack. Just as she feared she would fall through, an arm grabbed her from below.

  Constance screamed as she flew out of the cage, and it crashed to the ground.

  Owen could tell Erol and Mordecai were happy to see him and Watcher, though he had to convince them not to shoot at the transport flyer. When they had moved to a safe place in a wooded area with the clan and those they had enlisted (quite a throng), Petunia landed with Machree. Several of the women tended to the huge bird.

  “More warriors are coming from the mountain,” Owen said. “My friend Connor is leading them, and the Scribe and Burden are with them.”

  Mordecai said, “Then we will wage war soon.”

  “Not until I return from a final journey to the Highlands,” Owen said.

  “What for?” Mordecai said. “We need you here. The Book of the King says the Son shall—”

  “We will follow the book to the letter,” Owen said, glancing at Watcher. “But I must go to the Highlands.”

  A screech in the sky made them look up to see that Petunia and Grandpa had taken flight again. They dipped their wings and shrank into the shadows underneath trees.

  “Don’t worry about them,” Owen said. “These two are loyal to the King now.”

  Erol shuddered. “It’s not them I’m worried about. The demon flyers are on the move. They’re heading north toward the mountain.”

  “Why didn’t you warn us?” Owen asked Watcher.

  She lowered her head. “I didn’t sense it.”

  Owen stared at her, wondering what had happened. Instead of confronting her, he said, “I must hurry. Be on your guard. Under no circumstances should you go to battle without me.”

  “You want to be here to see the slaughter?” Mordecai said, smiling.

  “I want to be here to celebrate the victory for the King.”

  He ran for Grandpa, and Watcher followed. The beast seemed reluctant to come out from the safety of the trees. “You have nothing to fear from me,” Owen said.

  “He fears what is in the air,” Watcher said.

  “As well he should, but as the book says, ‘Those who live for the King shall cast out fear and live free from it. It no longer has dominion over us when we follow him.’”

  “Let me go with you as far as the White Mountain. I can bring the transport flyer back here.”

  It was too dangerous, and Owen needed her here. But the look in her eyes let him know it was no use to say no.

  They flew on the back of Grandpa, low to the trees and with clouds blocking them from the view of the demon flyers.

  “They’re delivering gemstones,” Owen said. “It’s part of the Dragon’s plan, which makes it even more important for us to hurry.”

  Below them marched the warriors from Yodom.

  “Watcher!” Owen called out. “Land near them on the way back and tell them where to meet Erol and Mordecai’s group!”

  Farther up the mountain and through the pass it became much colder, and Grandpa had a hard time staying aloft. Watcher wasn’t talking and seemed distant.

  Owen had Grandpa land and said he would go the rest of the way on foot. “Watcher, return for Humphrey,” he said. “And do everything you can to help expand the army, but make sure Connor doesn’t take things into his own hands before I return.” He paused. “Is there something on your mind?”

  Watcher’s big eyes glistened and her lower lip twitched. “I can’t help you anymore,” she said, sobbing. “My powers are gone. I have betrayed you, my people, and worst of all, the King himself.”

  Owen lifted her head. “What happened?”

  Watcher closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I lied to Machree to get him to help, and that has made all the difference.”

  Owen knelt before her and hugged her neck. “Watcher, I could never have a greater friend. I wouldn’t even be alive if not for you.”

  “But I have let you down, right when you needed me most.”

  Owen pursed his lips. “If only I had my sword.”

  “Your sword could not undo my wrong, could not bring back my powers. I might as well surrender to the Dragon now.”

  “Don’t say that. You know The Book of the King states, ‘When the Son comes, he will make everything new again. The old will pass away, and the original order will be restored.’”

  “But what does that mean for me? I’m of no use.”

  “Your powers have protected us,” Owen said. “But it is who you are that is most important. Your true heart of repentance pleases me most and the King.”

  “I’ll never see the Son,” she said. “He would not want to know such a one as me.”

  Owen smiled. “I assure you, friend, he wants to see you very much.”

  “Have you found him?” she said, gasping.

  “Many things I have not been able to tell you, things I have discovered. I will explain when I return.”

  “With the Son?”

  Owen paused. “When I return, you will see the Son.”

  A screech from above sent shivers through Watcher’s body, and Owen loosed her. “I must go.” He took Mucker from her back and tucked him inside his shirt. “Do not despair. You will be forgiven and your powers restored. Trust me.”

  Constance struggled against the man who pulled her from the elevator, her feet barely touching the ground. “Let me go!”

  “You don’t understand,” the man said, his voice scratchy and cold. “You have released the minions before their time.”

  “I what?” she said.

  When they reached the turn, the man bent to pick up the torch, and the flame illuminated his face. An eye drooped, and scars ran from his head down his face and neck, leaving a hideous mess of fire-ravaged skin and bone. Wisps of hair were threaded over an otherwise bare, shiny skull.

  Constance couldn’t even breathe, let alone cry out. Why had she slipped out of her home and come to the bookstore?

  The man held the torch close and looked her over. “Have you been stung?”

  Her mouth moved, but she couldn’t utter a sound.

  “Did they bite you?”

  She shook her head.

  “What were you looking for down here?” the man said.

  She looked back at the elevator cage, in pieces on the ground. He pulled her through the opening and back into the channel.

  “I was in the bookstore,” she managed, “and someone came in. I merely wanted to get away.”

  “Why were you there?” the man said, his voice like gravel.

  “Looking for a friend,” Constance said. “You wouldn’t know him.”

  The yellow flame dancing beside him cast an eerie glow but allowed Constance to look past the shocking face and see into his eyes. They were set deep and dark, but they had the look of knowledge and wisdom—and love.

  “You’re him,” she said, “aren’t you? The man who—”

  A noise startled her, and they both turned. A scream and buzz filled the air, and off came the man’s coat. He threw it over her. “On the ground! Quickly!”

  Shrouded, Constance could only imagine what was happening. The torch whooshed, and she pictured the man swinging it like a baseball bat, fending off whatever was attacking. Bees? Some sort of creature that lived only in this underworld?

  The man grunted and struggled, and Constance lifted the coat enough to peek. The winged creatures easily evaded the torch and swarmed him, then moved away.

  One was finally knocked to the ground by a mighty swing, and in the sparkling light Constance examined it.
The wings were thick like leather and ribbed like a snake’s back. It had a series of short legs underneath with sticky spines protruding, and when it finally righted itself and stood, it looked directly at Constance. The pupils grew smaller, and it opened its mouth in a scream or a call.

  Constance screamed at its protruding jagged teeth—the incisors much longer with something black dripping from them. Its tiny, forked tongue snaked out between the lower teeth. It darted underneath the coat before she could slam it onto the floor.

  Then the rest of the hissing and flapping creatures swarmed her.

  “Are you all right?” the man yelled.

  “I think one of them flew under here with me.”

  “Don’t move.” He wrapped the coat around her and picked her up, running like a much younger man. After a few turns, the man lifted the coat from her face and held the torch close, his eyes filled with alarm.

  She turned to see on her shoulder a winged creature, baring its fangs before sinking its teeth into her skin.

  Owen found the passage where he had led Connor and the others out of the White Mountain. When he and Mucker reached the end, Owen scraped away some of the dirt. “See, it’s not rock, just dirt from the explosion. Can you get us inside?”

  Mucker pulled back, as if to say, “Hey, it’s me you’re talking to.”

  “The explosion sealed the Dragon’s workers inside, but he’ll be back. He wants to destroy this world—I’ve read it in the book.”

  Mucker’s face grew grave, and he lifted his eyes as if to say, “What are we waiting for?”

  Owen pulled out The Book of the King and turned to a passage from the section called Triumph.

  “Happy are those who help the weak. The King will deliver them in times of distress.

  The King cares for and preserves his faithful ones. He will help them enter into the promise he has given.

  When your enemy lies in wait, when he is ready to devour, and when he gathers his forces to slay the chosen one, do not be afraid, for greater is the King than any enemy or any insult he can muster.

  Rejoice and be glad and wait for the deliverance of the King.”

  Owen was so engrossed in the words of the book that he was surprised to look up and see how big Mucker had become, chewing through the passage with abandon. The air became tinged with an acrid smell, and Owen felt liquid running across Mucker’s back and sides.

  When Mucker finally broke through to the other side, Owen found the bodies of two who had followed them into the tunnels. The explosion he and Connor had rigged here had sealed the escape, but Owen was surprised to see most of the rooms where his friends had toiled were still intact.

  Owen instructed Mucker to rechannel the liquid into the tunnel he had dug so it could seep through the loose earth. When Mucker was done, there was not a trace of the flammable liquid, save in the Great Hall.

  Remembering what had happened here filled Owen with thanksgiving. Had he never come here, he wouldn’t have known where to find the portal to the Highlands, wouldn’t have been able to save Connor and the others, and wouldn’t have discovered the meaning of the prophecy:

  Before the Great War shall come a time that shall seem like the end, for the Wormling will be consumed with fire from above and the enemy will rule for a short time in the Lowlands. Do not fear when the White Mountain is laid low, for this will not be the end. It will signal only the coming of the Son, the rightful heir to the throne.

  Owen led Mucker into the Great Hall, where he had faced the neodim. “There’s something here I must show you,” Owen said. “And we must be quick about our task.”

  The Dragon flew like a missile with RHM by his side. He didn’t care that all the gemstones were not in place, that this outsider had thwarted his plan, or that when he came upon the scene it was likely his ultimate hope would not be accomplished. All he cared about now was that he would be rid of this pesky outsider who stuck in his craw like a bone in his throat.

  “Are you sure he is there?” the Dragon hissed as he soared.

  “Demon flyers report seeing him fly in on one of the transport flyers, and that Watcher of his was with him as well.”

  “Unable to sense like she used to.” The Dragon laughed, a rattle in his throat. It was always like this just before an attack. He coughed and sputtered and drew juices from within, amassing an enormous amount so that when he struck, molten fire would melt his enemies where they stood.

  The Dragon pressed on, gaining speed, tightening his talons on something beneath him, something not even RHM knew he held. The surprise to his victim would be doubled when the silver sword hurtled down at him along with the belch of fire.

  A demon flyer approached and fell into formation with them. “All the stones are there, Your Majesty. At least all we’ve gathered.”

  “Good,” the Dragon said. “Leave the gems at the entrance, where they will do the most damage.”

  “How is that, Your Highness?”

  The Dragon rolled his eyes. How could he explain the magic of the stones or that he had gleaned this from The Book of the King itself? The destruction of the Lowlands would come from the gems and the fire and the leveling of the mountain. “Be gone and prepare your followers for an assault on the forces of the Wormling. Those not killed by the blast shall be killed the conventional way.”

  The demon flyer left, and before them rose the white-capped mountain. The Dragon descended below the clouds and tested his fire on treetops with a simple snort. He was in fine fire indeed.

  But he was no farther than the approach to the putrid town of Yodom when a demon flyer came out of nowhere, screeching. “He’s there, sire! We saw him at the entrance to the mountain high above! He’s mocking you, saying you are not powerful enough to destroy him.”

  The eyes of the Dragon turned crimson, and he shot into the air at earsplitting speed. Above the clouds, the Sword of the Wormling glistened silver and gold.

  “Stay back!” the Dragon called to RHM and the demon flyers. “The Wormling is mine!”

  When Owen had first come to the White Mountain, he had seen a dead man frozen in the ice below the mouth of the cave that led into the belly of even more pain and struggle and death. He had found workers so fatigued they could barely walk. The mountain was a beauty from a distance, but up close it proved the downfall of many, and that is exactly why Owen had come here. This place would signal the death of the Wormling. Forever.

  Owen made his way through the webs and over the gemstones at the mouth of the mountain. These stones could actually help, he thought, as he hollered insults he knew the demon flyers would hear. When the sky began to cloud and darkness covered the setting sun and the orange and gold on the horizon, Owen knew the old Dragon was on his way to see not just the end of him but also the end of the whole plan of the King.

  But there were things the Dragon did not know—could not know—from The Book of the King, no matter how much he had read. The book speaks to the pure in heart and reveals to those dedicated to the Sovereign things normal readers cannot understand, certainly not those whose hearts are as prickly and stony as the Dragon’s.

  Owen took a deep breath and yelled, “There is a reason the Dragon is usually alone in his lair and must call for a meeting of his council if he wants company: no one can stand the smell of him! He is a pimple on the face of this world, and the King will expunge him from it one day!”

  The last thing Owen wanted was for the Dragon to see the liquid cascading out of the mountain from the back side or for the Dragon to enter through the soft earth Mucker had overturned. The demon flyers screeched and retreated, but it wasn’t until he saw the smoky trail below and heard the echoes of wing flaps that he knew his plan had worked.

  He stood on a pile of gemstones and shouted to the heavens, “There is no King but the true King! Though mountains may rise and fall, though foes come against him, he will be exalted above every living thing. Let the rocks cry out. Let the trees tell of his glory!”

  This spee
ch, of course, was meant not just to strengthen Owen’s heart or displease the Dragon but also as a signal to a friend below.

  Clouds roiled and rose like smoke from a furnace.

  “Now, let the evil one be thrown down! Though he makes his bed in the depths of the ocean or on the top of the highest mountain, he can never escape the awful day of the King!”

  As the white clouds churned, Owen watched, mesmerized by the Dragon’s rise. A small voice inside him—his own or Watcher’s?—told him it was time, but he lingered.

  “Those who oppose the King,” he was whispering now, “shall see their end come quickly.”

  Owen moved too close to the edge and knocked a gemstone loose, sending it ticking its way down the pile, skittering right and left until it reached the hardened snow. It rolled and bounced into the thin air, and just as it was engulfed in the boiling clouds that inched ever closer, a pair of red eyes appeared and a mouth held the gemstone between razor-sharp teeth.

  Owen’s heart seemed to stop for a second as the Dragon spit out the stone and belched fire that melted the snow near the mouth of the cave.

  Owen dived back over the pile of stones and slid through the opening just as the fire engulfed the cave’s mouth. The tunnel warmed so much that the webs melted and Owen slipped through unstopped. However, his plan that the Dragon be slowed by the gems was dashed when the huge beast burst into the cave and sent a wave of stones cascading.

  Surely the narrow walls of the tunnel would slow him. Not even the neodim could get through many of these. However, the Dragon simply expanded his body so that the walls exploded around him.

  “It is the King’s pleasure to use the weak things of the world to amaze the strong!” Owen shouted as he slipped and slid down the tunnel, propelled by the surge of rocks and dirt. He came to a bend and a smaller opening ahead that he had crafted with Mucker—a shortcut that dropped straight to the Great Hall. Owen yelled into the darkness, “The King chose the insignificant and those considered nothing so he could dethrone those who think they are something!”