“I don’t know! Zoë!” Joy grabbed her head and started crying.
Siggy pulled out his knife and stabbed the frozen, snow-covered ground repeatedly, howling in frustration. “Why can’t we ever fight something I can hurt!”
“Maybe a god could help,” suggested Lucky. “Or some really, really big dragon.”
Rachel turned back to Zoë. Again and again, her mind ran over the list of things she could do, none of which were helpful under this circumstance. She began to wonder if she should call William and ask him to send a team from O.I. after all. Surely, Zoë would be better off frozen in the stuff Blackie had invented than—
“Zoë!” Joy screamed again. “Somebody! Help her!”
There had to be someone who could help! But who? Nobody from Earth knew what to do. She would wait another minute. If they could not think of something better, she would call William over the bracelet.
“Jariel!” Rachel shouted. “Help us!”
She heard no answering caw.
Her whole body began to shake.
“Somebody,” she screamed at the sky. “Zeus? Athena? Won’t someone help us?”
“Isis? Osiris? Hermes?” Joy shouted. “Isn’t anyone out there?”
“Thor?” cried Rachel.
“Amaterasu!” cried Joy.
“King Arthur!” shouted Sigfried.
He lunged at Zoë and tried to wrestle her contorting body, to keep her limbs from moving. With horrible popping-sounds accompanying her every movement, the paralyzed girl picked him up and threw him. He landed on his back across a snow-covered stump. There was a painful cracking noise.
Terror gripped Rachel.
Throwing her head back, she screamed the name of the only other supernatural being who had helped her in the past.
“Leander!”
Chapter Fifteen:
This Time I Come as a Lion
A tiny lion padded around the corner of Roanoke Hall. Only, with each step, he grew larger. First he was the size of a small dog.
Step.
Then, he was as big as a fox. Step. Then he was the size of Wulfgang’s wolverine. Step. Then he was as big as Valerie’s elkhound. He paused and tossed his bright mane. His eyes were huge and golden and wise.
Step.
Then he was as big as a wolf. Step. Then he was the size of a deer. Step. Then he was as large as a bear.
Step.
Rachel glanced over her shoulder toward her friends. To her wonder, they were entirely motionless. Siggy lay upon a stump, his face contorted in agony. His hand grabbed his back, as if reaching for the source of the pain. Joy’s arms were raised in supplication. Even Zoë, now collapsed upon the ground, was still and silent. And they were not simply holding still. The hair on their head and the wrinkles of their clothing were not moving either. Snow swept off the ground by Lucky’s tail hung motionless in the air. Even the biting wind had died away.
The Lion came inexorably forward. He was now as big as a Clydesdale.
Caw!
A giant red-eyed Raven flew out of the trees and landed between the Lion and Zoë. It hopped around, pecking twice at the ground. Then it transformed into an eight-foot-tall man with huge black wings. He was shirtless, even in the snow, with black pants and bare feet. Reaching up, he plucked the golden hoop from over his head and held it in his hand.
His eyes were red as blood.
“You are not welcome here,” the Raven spoke hoarsely.
“Where I am called, I come,” said the Lion.
“Who called you?”
The Lion turned his huge golden head until his gaze rested upon Rachel. The Raven, scowling, turned as well.
“Ah.” The Raven stopped scowling. “It is you.”
“Have I…” Rachel swallowed, feeling very small. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No, Rachel Griffin.” A slight smile touched the perfect lips of the winged man. “You have done something very, very right.”
He cupped his black wings, like a bird of prey catching an updraft. Immediately, his body was drawn upward and away, dwindling as he receded, until a huge black Raven flew off into the distance cawing.
Time started again. The bit of tossed snow plopped to the ground. Siggy groaned and rubbed his back. Joy shouted out the names of more gods and then froze, staring at the Lion with her jaw hanging open. Zoë, who lay sprawled across the snow, began to twitch and moan. The wind picked up, blowing little balls of ice across the white expanse and causing evergreen branches to sway.
Where Rachel stood, however, the air remained as calm and balmy as an April day. It was as if she stood in a tiny oasis of spring amidst the wastelands of winter.
Step.
The Lion was now the size of an elephant. Joy screamed. Siggy tried to scramble backwards but stopped, gasping in pain. Lucky rushed forward and stood between them, his mouth open, ready to breathe fire to protect his boy.
“Who is that?” cried Joy.
“Lion god, I guess,” Lucky opened his mouth wider, preparing to strike.
“Did we call it?” Joy cried. “Oh, I hope it’s not Sekhmet! Did I call her by mistake?”
Sigfried lunged to his feet, even though he could not straighten his spine. He was bent double with obvious pain. Yet, he staggered forward, supporting his back with one hand. His other hand held his knife, threatening the elephant-sized Lion.
“I won’t let you hurt her!”
The Lion’s eyes twinkled with kind amusement, but his voice was rich and regal. “I come that she may have life and that she may have it more abundantly.”
Joy took a trembling step back, staring up at the massive beast. “C-can you help her?”
“I can,” replied the Lion.
Joy’s face lit up.
“Don’t you two recognize him?” Rachel cried joyfully. “This is the Comfort Lion.”
“Wait, you mean the one that lives in your room? Kitten’s familiar?” Joy stared at Rachel as if she were crazy. “Griffin, that one’s tiny. In case you haven’t noticed, this one is huge!”
“He’s quite the same,” Rachel laughed with delight. “Just bigger.”
Only, he did not look the same. The golden hair of his mane rippled like living flames. Its edges seemed to stretch out into the vast distance. Those lights caught in it—Rachel peered closer, awed—were they stars?
The Lion opened his mouth and breathed, the misty plume spreading outward, enveloping them all. Like morning frost vanishing from a window in the sunlight, the feeling of panic that had held Rachel in its grip since she first became aware of the shadow around Zoë, melted away. She could breathe freely again.
“Huh?” Siggy said suddenly.
Straightening up, he rolled his shoulders to the left and then to the right. A huge grin spread across his face.
“Hey, my back stopped hurting! Ace!”
Throwing his hands in the air and whooping, he shook his hips back and forth to emphasize his freedom of motion.
The Lion strode past Sigfried and Lucky. He raised his huge paw and pressed down on Zoë’s chest. Her body spasmed. She began to cough. Her head jerked forward, and she vomited up a black mist. The dark writhing cloud hung in mid-air, two red eyes glaring from it. Again, the terrible sense of wrongness, of something twisted and rotten began to creep over Rachel.
“I know you,” it rasped. “Your shape does not deceive me. You are the Lamb Who Was Slain. I fear you not.” It cackled. “Who would fear a lamb?”
The Lion growled, a tremendously ominous sound. All the students took a step back, even Rachel, who swallowed nervously. The demon, too, shrank away. It did not seem as menacing as it once had. The sense of wrongness was fading.
The Lion spoke with a voice that rang like a thousand trumpets. “Little fiend, bring this message to your fellow denizens in the fiery pit: Our Father is beautiful in his mercy and terrible in his justice. Tell them that I said: Last time, I came as a lamb and went meekly to my slaughter. This time, I come as a Lion
.”
Then, it roared.
The sound was earthshaking. It shook Rachel to her very bones. And yet, somehow, the roar seemed more real than the world around her, more real than the cold and the stumps and the snow. Hearing it, she felt as if she were about to wake from a dream and remember her real life, a life far more glorious than this present nightmare.
Silence fell. This strange sensation slowly faded. The snowy field surrounded by the castle wall on one side and hemlock forests on the other, with the Watch Tower overlooking it in the distance, again seemed like the only reality. When Rachel thought back, she could remember the roar, and she could remember what she had experienced, but the strange feeling, as if she were about to wake to a better place, was not repeated.
From the writhing cloud of darkness came a wail both horrible and petrifying. Raising one great paw, the Lion swatted. A single moan issued from the air, and the darkness fled away.
• • •
Lowering his head, the Lion nudged Zoë with his moist, pink triangle of a nose. His great rough tongue licked her face. Zoë’s body trembled. Then her chest heaved with indrawn breath, and she sat up, blinking. Rachel, Joy, Siggy, and Lucky all cheered.
Joy squealed into her calling card. “It’s okay, princess! Zoë’s all right!”
Zoë moved to a sitting position. She did not seem injured, despite the demon’s treatment of her paralyzed body. She gazed thoughtfully up at the great Lion, who stood over her. His mane rippled like golden fire, reminding Rachel of the glorious light that had blazed around the branches of the Roanoke Tree.
“I know you,” Zoë whispered hoarsely. “I read about you in a book, though you had a different name.”
The Lion’s great head nodded. “In the place you came from, there are many stories about me. The one of which you speak is a favorite of mine. It was partially to honor my servant Jack that I chose this form.”
“You can take other shapes?” asked Joy.
“I can,” said the Lion. “But if I came in another, those who know me would still recognize me.”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” said Joy.
The Lion regarded her with calm wisdom. “Do you not? If I came in the shape of a bear,”—the Lion was gone, and in its place stood a huge golden bear with thick shaggy fur and gleaming claws. It towered over the students in the midst of the snowy field—“those who recognize me would cry: Lo, there goes the Lion of Judah in the shape of a bear. Or if I came in the shape of a hart,”—the bear vanished. In its place stood an enormous stag of dark golden hue with huge branching antlers of ivory. It looked so fierce and so regal that Rachel felt like crying, though she could not have said why—“they who know me would say: Lo, here is the Lion of Judah in the shape of a hart.”
“And Kitten?” Zoë pressed. “Is she also from that book?”
The Lion shook his great head. “She appears in a different story, though she, too, bears a new nickname—her former one having been painted with the taint of iniquity.” At it spoke those last words, the Lion growled again, a dangerous, menacing sound.
“What does it all mean?” Rachel cried. “Tell us more!”
“I cannot.” There was sorrow in his voice and compassion. “The time for that is not yet.”
“But…why not?” cried Rachel. “Why can’t anyone just tell us what is going on?”
The Lion padded toward her and lowered his enormous head until his mouth was beside her ear. His breath was warm and sweet, like the first flowers of spring, newly washed with fresh rain.
“Child, we are behind enemy lines.” His voice was powerful yet soft. “We must be patient.”
“Behind enemy lines?” mouthed Rachel.
The Lion nodded, “But, fear not. A time will come in the end when you shall know all.”
“Know all?” whispered Rachel, her eyes as large as lanterns.
Without another word, the Lion turned and began walking back the way he had come. With each step, he grew smaller, just as he had grown larger during his approach.
“Wait!” Sigfried ran forward.
Sprinting until he was in front of the beast, who was now merely the size of a large dog, Siggy knelt and laid his knife at the Lion’s feet. The girls were too far away to hear Sigfried’s words, but his expression was unusually serious. Rachel longed to know what the boy and the Lion said to each other, but Zoë was rising to her feet.
“What am I doing here?” Zoë said. “Griffin? O’Keefe? What happened to Nastasia?”
“You’re all right! You’re all right!” Joy grabbed Zoë and hugged her and then danced her in a circle. “I’m so glad! I’m so glad!”
Rachel joined them in their dance, her heart light with relief. The worldly burdens that had oppressed her for months felt light, as if they were far away. She could feel that they would return. Now, however, she felt carefree, as if the yoke she had carried was suddenly as light as snowflakes.
Over the calling card clutched in Joy’s hand, Nastasia’s voice called, “Is she well? Are you sure? Should I bring the dean or a proctor anyway?”
“No!” Joy shouted back. “She’s fine. All taken care of.”
The three girls held hands and danced in a circle.
Nastasia came zooming around the corner. She hopped off the bristleless and politely returned it to Rachel.
“I am glad to see that you are well, Miss Forrest.” The princess inclined her head toward Zoë. “I was…quite concerned upon your behalf.”
“Sorry to have worried you,” Zoë shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Most glad to hear it.” The princess’s smile was like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. She seemed tremendously relieved.
Zoë looked around. “How did we get here? I thought we were on another world. No. We had left that place and were coming home, right? What happened next?” Glancing down, Zoë suddenly gasped. “My feather! It’s gone!”
They all looked at her hair. Both the short, pixy-cut part and her long, slender forelock braid were the same dark auburn as her eyebrows and eyelashes. The mottled feather that usually stuck out of the braid was gone.
“Was it important?” asked Joy.
Zoë made a little sad noise in her throat. “Not in the grand scheme of things.”
“We can find you another one.” The princess spoke firmly, giving Zoë a kindly pat on the shoulder. “Just let me know what kind of feather you want, and I am sure my father can commission someone to find one for you.”
“That one was the last thing my mother gave me before she died,” Zoë said flatly.
“Oh.” The princess wilted.
“I’m so sorry,” whispered Rachel.
“Yeah, so am I,” muttered Zoë.
“Any idea where the feather might be?” asked Joy. “Do you remember what happened while you were lost?”
Zoë was quiet for a moment. Her shoulders twitched, as if she were shivering. “I remember I was holding the princess’s hand, and then everything was dark. We were on a silver path. Then, something yanked on me, and I was falling. Then I remember waking up with a whale of a Lion breathing on me.”
“Lion?” Nastasia asked. She looked across the snowy field to where Sigfried and the dog-sized Lion were speaking intently together. Sigfried was on his feet again.
“That’s Kitten’s Lion,” said Rachel.
The princess blinked. “He looks so big. Why is he here?”
“Big?” snorted Zoë. “You should have seen him a few minutes ago.”
“He kicked the demon out of Zoë,” said Rachel proudly.
“He truly is the Comfort Lion,” laughed Joy.
Nastasia’s eyes narrowed. “I spoke to him when I came back without Zoë, as I must admit,” she paused briefly, “I felt in some need of comfort. All his advice was military in nature. Something about ‘did I expect that, as a general, I would never lose any men?’ I did not find it comforting in the least.”
“Our general, the princess!” exclaimed Joy
.
Rachel, however, frowned, disappointed to hear that the princess had not found comfort in the Lion’s counsel.
“I am not sure I trust that lion,” Nastasia said calmly.
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “On what grounds?”
“He has not made his loyalties known. I am not convinced that he has the interests of Magical Australia at heart,” said the princess. She turned to the other girls. “It is growing cold. Shall we go in? It is almost lunch time, I believe.”
As the other three girls began to walk around Roanoke Hall towards the warmth of the dining room, Rachel paused and looked over at the Lion, who stood regally before Sigfried. She remembered the peace it had brought. With a shiver, she remembered when he had roared.
Softly, she repeated an idea that she had first voiced the day she met her Elf: “Whatever side he is on, that’s the side I want to join.”
Chapter Sixteen:
The Mysteries of Roanoke Island
After lunch, the remaining students gathered in the theater in Dare Hall to watch a magic lantern show. The theater was a cavernous chamber with red velvet chairs, the bottoms of which folded up to allow people to file through the aisles. A curtain of gold velvet hid the stage. In front of the curtain hung a huge white screen. Next to it sat a chair.
The narrator for the event was Rachel’s language tutor, Hieronymus Tuck, a heavyset man with brown hair and beard. He walked ponderously onto the stage, his customary green and black robes swishing about his legs. With him were his two tiny children, a boy and a girl of about two and four respectively. Mr. Tuck crossed the stage to the seat beside the screen. For every step he took, the little ones took three running steps to keep up with their giant of a father. They gazed up at him with such adoring looks that Rachel had no doubt why Mr. Tuck had allowed them to accompany him.
“Good afternoon, all,” Mr. Tuck rumbled, upon reaching the side of the screen. The enchantments woven into the theater amplified his voice. Behind him, his children climbed into the chair that had, presumably, been meant for him. “And welcome to our yearly Thanksgiving Day magic lantern extravaganza. In honor of this holiday, celebrating one group of persecuted settlers who came to the shores of America, we shall present the story of a different group of persecuted settlers, one whose journey touches more closely upon all of you than does that of the Pilgrims. Even if the Pilgrims are responsible, albeit indirectly, for the delicious, delicious tradition we shall enact later this afternoon of stuffing ourselves on turkey and pumpkin pie.
The Awful Truth About Forgetting (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 4) Page 17