Maybe Second Team? It’s a stretch, but I can’t resist the flicker of hope. I scan more names. No.
First Team? Scan again. No, of course not.
I try to stand up tall and cling to any remaining dignity when I turn away. It’s a ten second walk to get around the boathouse and then I’ll be free from these rowers. I tried last year. I tried again. This is the end of it. Who cares? I never thought I’d be a rower. Never really wanted to be.
I’m five steps away, composure in check, when Samantha sees me. Our eyes are actually looking at each other. We’re only a few feet away. I’m suddenly as hot as Mercury before the sun. Then she smiles and it’s like a solar flare reaching out to me and melting every element of my being.
“Hey Paul,” she says. “How’d you do?”
She knows my name! She wants to know how I did!
But I didn’t make the team. I can’t bear to say it. Composure disappears. The dam bursts. Tears blind my eyes and leave me only one viable option: Flee. Scram. Escape. I run away from Samantha, the boathouse, and the rowers as far and as fast as I can.
11
“GET UP,” Marcus says, shaking me. “Time to go.”
The campfire has burned down to ashes. The sky is ash gray. Everything feels burnt up, except the memory from last night. It is planted in my mind like a tumor, making me feel as weak as I did on the dock by Lake Michigan. The boys were stronger. The girls were out of reach. Just like in the Red Tower.
Seymour holds out a handful of berries. “Here, eat these. I found them by the river. They’ll give you some energy. Marcus searched for more rabbits but didn’t see anything. We have enough salted pork to get us through another day or two, but then we’ll need to get back to the tower. Marcus says we should make it to the ridge up there and back before it’s dark again. He says we should leave now.”
I nod, yawning, and reach for the berries.
Seymour laughs. “You all right, sleepy head? Remember, we’ve got to find a dragon’s tooth. They don’t just fall from the sky.”
“Right. I’m fine.” The last thing I want to do is hunt dragons, but we don’t have much choice. We can’t go back to the tower empty-handed, and we can’t stay out here long with so little food.
I pick up my pack and we start the trek up the slope to where we saw the dragon fly. Marcus filled our canteens from the river, so my pack is heavy. Seymour was right, the berries give me some energy, but I still feel burdened by the vision in the fire. I’m powerless to do anything about it now.
Marcus is quiet as usual while we hike, while Seymour chats happily. He is at the front of the group, followed by me, then Marcus. We’d started with Marcus in the front, but he was too fast for Seymour. The only way to stay together is to let Seymour go first, but we can’t stop him talking and slowing us down. At some point he gets to a topic that actually grabs my interest.
“...like that dragon, yesterday,” he says. “I figure it must be the same kind of dragon as Behemoth. Maybe it even is Behemoth. You know, the giant creature below the tower. And it—”
“How would it get out?” I ask.
“Who knows, man? Maybe there’s a cave or tunnel or something. I still have no clue why there’s a dragon here in the first place. I mean, you guys have memories of earth, right? Dragons were in fairytales. There were no real dragons. Komodo dragons, sure. But flying, fire-breathing creatures? Nope, don’t exist. So whoever makes this place with five towers decides to create a dragon. Why? And what are the odds it would actually eat us? I mean, Behemoth talks, so maybe we can just strike up a conversation. I figure...”
“Seymour,” I interrupt. “You think somebody made this place?”
He looks back at me, a wide smile on his face, probably glad one of us actually responded to him. “Sure, why not? If God made Earth, then he must have made this place, too.”
“Ever heard of the Big Bang?” I ask.
“Um, nope.” Seymour laughs.
“Okay...” I glance back at Marcus. His blank stare makes me think he’s never heard of the Big Bang either. Neither he nor Seymour has wanted to talk about the past. But it seems like a good time to ask. If one of us doesn’t make it back, we could help each other remember the past. The pleasant parts, at least.
“I used to study science,” I say. “I was a doctor in the 21st century. I did brain surgery. What about you guys?”
“Whoa, the 21st century?” Seymour keeps his eyes on the path ahead as he talks, his breathing heavy. “In my time people kind of doubted the world would make it that long. I lived in Germany. My last memory so far was in 1939. It wasn’t good. But like I said, I was a chef. And a great one!”
“You were German?” I find this hard to believe. My few memories of Germany involve cars made with quiet precision, which is basically the opposite of Seymour.
“No, Austrian,” he says, “but after school I moved to Germany. Better market for a chef. And, truth be told, I followed a young woman named Frau Manziarly. Boy, could she cook. I was smitten. Never caught her as far as I know. But along the way I learned to make the best weinerschnitzel. Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a kitchen and the right ingredients!”
For some reason I can’t remember anything about Germany’s history. It must have been taught to me. Maybe it is one of those areas of memory still behind the clouds, waiting to be revealed. Some things seem better kept in the dark—like Samantha Jones and not making the rowing team, like whatever cut off Seymour’s memories in 1939. I ask him, “Why did people in your time doubt the world would make it?”
“There was a big war,” he says. “I was only thirty years old. I cooked for a German leader in Berlin and he...well, I’m not sure I want to talk about it, okay?”
“I understand,” I say, too embarrassed to say a word about what I saw in the flames. I look back to Marcus, who has been so quiet that I almost forgot he was there. “How about you?” I ask. “When did you live?”
He eyes me steadily. “Second century, Rome.”
“Rome! Wow!” Seymour says up ahead, between breaths. “That must have been amazing. Tell us more. What did you do? Ever see the Roman Colosseum?”
“I fought there,” Marcus says bluntly.
“Really?” Seymour asks. “What was it like? Did you have to fight lions or bears. Did you do that? Did you...survive?”
Marcus doesn’t answer. I glance back. His gaze is distant, off to the side.
“You okay?” I ask.
He looks at me and nods half-heartedly. “I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”
We fall silent after that.
The mountainside grows steeper as we continue our climb. When we stop for a rest and a drink of water, the Red Tower looks like a jagged peak in the distance, across the valley. I wipe sweat from my forehead and see reddish dust on my hand. We must be covered in it.
“Want to camp here?” Seymour asks, as he takes a bite of bacon. “I’m beat.”
“No.” Marcus shakes his head. “We have to keep going.”
“Why? What’s the rush?”
Marcus eyes Seymour reaching for another bite. “Not enough food.”
“Or water,” I add. I point to the tower across the valley. “It will take us a long time to get back.”
“If we ever do...” Marcus says.
“Come on, guys!” Seymour smiles. “Lighten up. We’ve known all along we’re probably just going to be eaten, right?” He drops another piece of salted pork into his mouth and rubs his large stomach. “Might as well enjoy our last moments. Maybe fatten up a little for the dragon. Speaking for myself, I’ll make a fine treat. And then I’ll pop back into the tower and start over. So what’s there to worry about?”
“I’m not going to lose my memories,” I say.
“Me neither.” Marcus stands and stretches, then slides his sinewy arms through the straps of his bag. “Let’s get moving.”
“Hey, wait.” Seymour rushes to gather his things, but Marcus has already started climb
ing up the mountainside again. “Fine, fine, I’m coming.”
I wait and take the rear guard as Seymour hurries to catch up with Marcus. The climb grows more and more difficult, with no trace of a path left. We resort to scrambling over and around and between giant reddish boulders. A few times I have to slow down to help Seymour, as he can’t fit through the narrow crevices where Marcus leads. Marcus doesn’t say a word. He ventures ahead but usually stays within sight.
I’m helping to lift Seymour up and over a large rock when Marcus rushes back to us.
“Quick, follow me,” he says. “I found a lair.”
12
MARCUS LEADS SEYMOUR and me up to the ridgeline. We crouch behind a boulder and peek around at the dark opening of a cave. It is a hundred feet away, at the peak of the ridge’s steep slope.
“I saw the dragon fly out of there,” Marcus whispers, his gaze still fixed on the cave. “The lair should be empty now.”
“Should be?” Seymour asks. “What if there are babies in there? Or eggs?” His scared voice is so close that I can feel his breath on my ear. It smells like bacon.
“We’ll move fast,” Marcus answers.
“Not me,” Seymour says. “You know how parents protect their babies. Didn’t you ever learn about mama bears and their cubs? Don’t ever mess with bear cubs. Well, what if dragons are like that? We might get inside, find a tooth, and then the dragon will come and breathe fire into the cave and we’ll get roasted and—”
“Shhh.” Marcus turns back with a finger over his lips.
“What?” Seymour asks. “Did you hear something?”
“No, I’ve just heard enough from you.” Marcus looks to me. “Any chance you could use your power? Maybe grab a tooth and make it drift over to us?”
“If there was a tooth sitting out in the open,” I say doubtfully, “but I’d have to see it to move it.”
“So sneak a little closer,” Seymour says. “Marcus is right. You’re the one who has the best chance. We don’t have any powers. Other than finding berries and cooking and...”
Marcus clasps Seymour’s shoulder, firmly. “I said that’s enough from you. Stay quiet.” He turns to me again. “It wouldn’t be fair to make you risk it by yourself. Any ideas?”
I look along the ridge to the lair’s opening. It is set into the cliff at an angle that wouldn’t allow anyone inside to see anything coming. It could be very deep. “One of us will need to be a lookout,” I say. “That way if the dragon is coming, there can be a warning. The others should go to the lair, but maybe one stays at the mouth of the cave, and the third goes in. That way we can communicate.”
“I like it,” Marcus says.
“But what if another dragon is in there? Or there are hatched babies? They’re called hatchlings, right?”
“I said that’s enough,” Marcus demands. He turns to me and a slight grin tugs at the edges of his lips. “Let’s give Piggy the lead job.”
I laugh, but shake my head again. “We can draw straws. It’s the only fair way. Besides, if a dragon comes, we’re probably all getting eaten.”
Marcus doesn’t hesitate. He leans down to the ground and plucks up a handful of dead-looking grass. He plucks out three pieces and breaks them into different sizes. Then he holds them up and mixes them around in his hand, so Seymour and I can both see.
“Shortest straw takes the lead,” he says. “Middle straw in the middle. Long straw is the lookout. Deal?”
“Deal,” I say.
“Okay, fine,” Seymour says, “but—”
Marcus holds up his hand. “You first, Piggy.”
Seymour sighs and reaches out. He slowly runs his fingers over the three strands of grass, then pulls one. “Seems pretty long,” he says, relieved.
I take my strand next. Once I pull it out, I hold it up to Seymour’s. Mine is longer.
“Oh no,” Seymour says, his pink cheeks gone white.
Marcus reaches over with the one remaining piece of grass and holds it up against ours. His is the longest of all.
“Oh no. Oh...” Seymour breathes out heavily, shakes his head, then starts rummaging in his bag. He pulls out a strip of bacon. “Well, like I said, eat, drink, and be merry, for today we die.”
Marcus insists that we move into action. The dragon could come back any time. He finds a position just beside the ledge that leads into the cave. He can’t see far inside from there, but he has an unimpeded view of the valley, which lies completely still. Not even a bird is in sight.
Seymour and I move as quietly as possible toward the mouth of the cave. The smell is overpowering, like a pack of wet dogs. The opening is a narrow crevice, twice my height, but so thin that I can almost reach both sides when I hold my arms out. This means the dragon can’t fly into the lair, but I can’t see very far inside. Maybe it gets bigger beyond the opening. I stand to the side to let Seymour pass.
To his credit, Seymour doesn’t whine or hesitate as he moves past me, deeper into the cave. I look from him to the ledge outside, where Marcus is keeping watch, and back. Seymour turns a corner and I can no longer see him. But a few moments later, I hear him.
“Whooaaa.” He sounds amazed.
I can’t see anything, but it doesn’t sound like he’s found a dragon. “What is it?”
“Gold.” His head appears around the corner. “Cipher, you gotta see this. It’s a pile of gold and jewels, stacked taller than I am. Come on.”
I glance to Marcus, who is staring out over the mountains. He probably can’t hear Seymour from this distance, but I could hear him if he shouted. I turn to Seymour again, shaking my head. “We don’t need gold! Just look for a tooth,” I say. “Hurry!”
“Okay, fine.” Seymour ducks out of sight again.
A minute passes without a noise or a hint of action. My foot is tapping impatiently. Surely I would hear him if something bad happened. Maybe he’s just searching deeper in the cave. Or maybe he’s filling his pockets and his bag with gold. Either way, it can’t be good.
“Get out!” Marcus shouts. He’s on the ledge, pointing to the distance. Our eyes meet. “It’s coming. Get out, now!”
I shout the message into the cave: “Seymour! Get out! Dragon’s coming!”
No sound comes from inside. When I glance back to Marcus, he’s nowhere to be seen. I don’t know how much time I have, but I can’t just leave Seymour in the cave alone.
I rush in and turn the corner. Before me is an immense cavern, with a pile of treasure just like Seymour said. A beam of light from a tiny crack in the ceiling shines down, making the gold glitter. Seymour stands beside it, stuffing gold into his bag.
“Seymour!” I shout.
He turns to me with a huge smile. He holds up a long, sharp tooth.
“Come on, leave it!” I say. “The dragon!”
His smile flees, but it’s too late for us to run. A rush of wind makes me stagger forward. Claws scrape against rock. The walls shake. Then a head comes around the corner. Yellow eyes. Black irises. Just like the creature under the tower. Behemoth. Its mouth opens, showing teeth like swords. It lets out a deep growl as it coils back, as if ready to breathe fire.
But a sound outside makes it turn. The sound is faint but clear: Marcus shouting. He must be trying to help us, to divert the dragon’s attention.
The dragon backs out of the tight crevice.
This time I don’t wait for Seymour, but charge out of the cave and onto the ledge as the dragon takes off, soaring down the mountain. Below I see Marcus sprinting down the slope in huge bounds, hollering loudly as he goes. The dragon swoops right at him.
I summon the air. I form it like a long lasso and snap it around the dragon’s neck. It is flying so fast that when the rope of air is pulled tight, it yanks me forward onto the rocky ground, flat on my chest. But I manage to hold on, and when I stagger to my knees, the dragon has stopped, sitting on its haunches on the mountainside, staring back at me. Marcus, just past it, looks up at me in shock.
Metal
clinks by my side. It’s Seymour.
“Is it...?” he begins to ask, but the dragon roars and silences him. It snaps back its neck and unleashes a blast of fire, fast as lightning, streaking toward Marcus. The fire pours over him and through him for several breaths.
When the fire stops, Marcus is still standing there. He falls to his knees and looks down at his hands, as if he can’t believe that he hasn’t been roasted.
The dragon has turned. It faces us. In a flash it breathes out another blast of fire, this time right at Seymour and me. I channel the air into a shield in front of us, holding it as tight as I can. The fire slams into the shield, bending it for a moment and then snapping it, like a lion charging through a spider web.
The blaze hits me with amazing force and heat. My vision blurs and shifts, like I’ve just dunked my head into the Blue Tower’s Sieve.
I’m sitting at a bar. The surface is copper, almost the same color as the drink in my hand. Music steadily thumps, adding a rhythm to the den of conversation around me. Through a large window I can see the city of Toronto outside, blanketed in snow. Fires burn silently in sleek gas fireplaces. It’s so warm in here.
A red-haired woman sits beside me. It’s Samantha Jones, from the last memory. She wears a slim black suit and stylish glasses. She’s only more stunning in her 30s.
“And I really liked when you told us that part about the mind,” she’s saying, smiling a perfect smile at me. “Your mantra before any surgery. What exactly is it again?”
“Respect the mind,” I say.
“Yes! It’s perfect.”
“It’s not just for me,” I say. “I couldn’t do my work without nurses like you.”
Again she smiles. It’s the same smile she gave Johnny, the shirtless stud Johnny, on that dock in Chicago. She says that doctors like me inspired her to go into nursing. She says she really hopes she’ll get a chance to work beside me. Half of my mind listens to her. The other half remembers my wife at home. Toronto’s not far, I’d told her. This is one of the biggest conferences of the year. They’ve offered me a keynote speech. I’ll be back by Sunday morning. She had not been happy about it. Why do you need another keynote? she’d asked. You’ll miss his game. Again. That was true. I’d missed a lot of my son’s games. But it was six-year-old soccer. No big deal.
The Red Tower (The Five Towers Book 2) Page 6