He didn’t wait for a response before turning and strolling off at a measured pace across the meadow to a well-manicured trail. The entire grotto was lush with green. A wide variety of trees grew in intervals that were almost naturally wild, yet provided each particular tree with just enough space for it to receive ample light.
The trail passed into another clearing. Raised garden beds interspersed with gravel walkways ran perpendicular to the path. The rich, black soil was mulched with pine needles and leaves. No crops were growing at the moment, but it was early in the year.
The trail intersected another just under the next stand of trees. Chen walked like a man of practiced patience—a man who had come to accept that all things happen in their time, regardless of desire.
“I like this place,” Homer said.
“Me too. It’s so peaceful and secluded.”
“It smells good, too.”
Ben smiled gently, and then more broadly as they rounded a corner and found a simple house built in a sheltered corner of the grotto. It was clean and well cared for. Plants were poking out of the soil in a dozen boxes and pots, their flowers not yet in bloom but making ready to fill the space with color.
Off to the side was a large table with benches on either side. A roof on six posts stood overhead. A pile of neatly stacked garden pots, boxes and tools was off to one side and an outdoor hearth burned with a low fire against the cliff wall.
“Please sit,” Chen said, motioning to the table as he made his way to the fire. After checking his kettle and nodding to himself with genuine delight, he retrieved a tray of cups and brought them to the table, very deliberately placing one cup before each of his guests before returning to the fire for the kettle.
He poured hot spicy tea, admonishing each of them to refrain from drinking with a look that quickly turned from stern to mirthful, as if he were privy to a cosmic joke that they could only guess at. After all of the tea was poured and Chen took his place at the table, he lifted his cup. When everyone had followed suit he bowed solemnly.
“May this tea nourish our bodies as the light nourishes our souls,” he whispered. Then he took a sip, savoring the moment as if it was the sole focus of his entire being.
Ben sipped the tea and felt the warmth wash into him. Sweetness and spice danced on his palate and he couldn’t help but smile at the delight of it.
“This is wonderful,” Imogen said.
“Thank you, my dear,” Chen said with a humble bow. “It’s my own special recipe. Enjoy. I will prepare dinner, and then we can talk.”
Chen went to a nearby barrel and pulled a string of still wiggling trout from the water. He took them to a small table next to the fire and cleaned them, seasoning them each before laying them on the coals to cook in their own scales. It wasn’t long before he brought a platter of fish to the table.
He didn’t offer any other fare, but Ben felt like it was a feast. The trout was done to perfection, cooked in its own natural oils. Chen seemed to take an equal measure of joy from the delicate fish and from his guests’ appreciation of his cooking. After the meal, he cleared the table and poured everyone another cup of tea, then he sat down and nodded to Cyril.
What followed was a careful recounting of everything that had happened since Enzo had taken Imogen’s baby. Cyril told most of the story, occasionally stopping to clarify a point or to defer to one of his companions for a more full explanation when it was warranted. Chen listened attentively, his complete focus never wavering for an instant.
Cyril showed respect to Chen in the way a student respects a master—the way Ben respected his grandfather. He puzzled at the relationship the two men had. It was a deep and trusting friendship … the kind of trust that can only be earned through shared hardship. Once again, Ben found himself wondering about his grandfather’s past.
Once the telling of the story culminated with their arrival at the grotto, Chen nodded soberly and fell silent. After several moments, he went to the fire for the tea kettle, filling each of their cups again without a word.
Ben scanned his companions’ faces. All of them were waiting for Chen to speak, some more patiently than others … all save Frank. He looked afraid, uncharacteristically unconfident. Usually when he met new people, he was the very picture of charm, putting on a mask of humor and self-assurance that Ben had often wished he could match. But here, now, he was afraid. It seemed odd, given that Ben felt safer in this grotto than he had since Enzo had arrived with his henchmen at their shop.
“What do you think of Chen?” he asked Homer.
“His soul is clear white,” Homer said, as if the meaning of such a statement was self-evident.
Before Ben could question his dog further, Chen sighed deeply, smiling to himself sadly.
“You are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish, though I suspect you will not tarry.” He turned to Ben and held him with his very old and wise eyes. “You have done well besting the stalker in your dream, but you are still in danger.”
Hound tensed.
“I thought it was gone,” Ben said, alarm in his voice.
Chen shook his head. “It remains, awaiting a moment of weakness when it can strike without warning.”
Ben closed his eyes, fear rekindling in his belly and washing away all sense of safety.
“You are wise to fear this enemy,” Chen said. “It is not of this world. It lusts after form and life—two things that it can only find in the body of another. Fortunately, I can send it back to the dark place from whence it came, if you are willing.”
Ben and Hound nodded in unison.
Chen nodded approvingly. “You will feel pain, possibly even great pain, but it must be endured if you are to be free of this taint.”
“Whatever you got to do,” Hound said. “I can take it.”
“I trust that you can,” Chen said. “For tonight, I will give you each a tonic that will help you sleep without interference.”
“Thank you,” Ben said. “I could really use a good night’s sleep.”
“And you shall have it,” Chen said, coming to his feet. “Please, enjoy the tea and the fire. I must gather a few things from the grotto.” He strolled away into the trees, picking up a small basket along the way.
Chapter 15
Ben couldn’t help but smile as he watched the man vanish into the growing darkness.
“I like him.”
“I thought you would,” Cyril said.
“Why haven’t we ever visited him before?”
“He values his solitude,” Cyril said. “I didn’t want to disturb him.”
“But you seem like such old friends.”
“We are. He’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had.”
“I remember him,” Imogen said quietly. “I must have been very young, but he seems familiar somehow.”
Cyril took his daughter’s hand. “He held you the day that you were born. He was around a lot for the first few years of your life. You two were fast friends before you could even speak.”
“Why would anyone want to live out here all alone?” Frank muttered.
“His work,” Cyril said.
“What work?” Frank asked, looking around incredulously.
Cyril just shook his head sadly. “I don’t think I could explain it to you if I tried. Besides, it’s not my place to speak of it.”
“He said that I have my mother’s eyes,” Ben said.
Cyril nodded sadly, his eyes becoming distant.
“How did she die?” Ben asked.
Imogen looked down at the table.
Cyril closed his eyes, and slowly shook his head.
“Perhaps another time,” he said softly, swallowing hard and walking away from the table.
Frank looked at Imogen. “Do you know?” he asked.
She winced, nodding tightly.
“And you haven’t told us?” he pressed.
“I swore not to,” she whispered. “I’m sorry … I just can’t. It’s not my place.”
Frank snorted. “Yeah, there’s a lot of that going around today.” He left the table muttering under his breath.
Ben remained silent, pondering the possible reasons his grandfather might have for keeping such information from him and Frank. Try as he might, it just didn’t make sense, and yet, he knew instinctively that there was a reason, and a good one. Cyril wouldn’t withhold such intimate details of their lives without cause.
As the light of day faded, Cyril returned to the sheltered table and lit his lantern. Chen returned a few moments later, his basket partially filled with a variety of different plants. He retrieved a cooking pot from his one-room house and went to work at the fire, brewing a temporary antidote to the stalker’s taint.
As Chen worked, Cyril looked around, a hint of alarm ghosting across his face.
“Where’s your brother?” he asked Ben.
“He got mad and wandered off.”
Cyril started to get up, but Chen stopped him with a wave of his hand.
“The boy can do little harm,” he said, stripping the leaves from a stem and dropping them into the pot. “Give him time to work through his frustration.”
Cyril nodded reluctantly as he sat back down.
“Where will we go from here?” Ben asked his grandfather.
Cyril hesitated for a moment. Ben suspected that he was deciding how much to reveal rather than considering their prospects. Ben waited. He didn’t like being kept in the dark any more than Frank did, but he trusted his grandfather without question. Part of that trust was accepting his careful control of information.
Finally, Cyril said, “We’ll head west along the Red Blanket. It’ll take us to old Highway 62. From there we’ll go south to Shady Cove and then we’ll go west through the forest.”
“Why not just take the highway into Rogue City?” Imogen asked. “Wouldn’t that be faster?”
“It would, but it would also be far more dangerous,” Cyril said. “The Dragon Guard know we went north. It’s a good bet they’ll be looking for us to come back into town along the highway.”
“So we circle around to the old interstate and approach from the west,” John said.
Cyril nodded. “That’s our best chance of getting into town without being spotted.”
“Do you have a plan to get my baby back?” Imogen asked.
“I have a few ideas, but I won’t know for sure until we get closer. We need to know where your son is being held before we can devise a plan.”
She nodded tightly, tension and fear etched into her face.
Ben reached across the table and took her hand, offering a reassuring squeeze. She tried to smile.
“The tonic will take a few minutes to brew,” Chen said, returning to the table. “Tomorrow, I will prepare the cure for your unnatural affliction. You will both be incapacitated for at least a day, most likely two.”
“Don’t much like the sound of that,” Hound said.
“You will like the reality of it much less, I fear,” Chen said. “But it is the only way within my knowledge to defeat your enemy.”
“How does that work, anyway?” Hound said. “The thing just scratched me. How can it invade my dreams and take over my body from a scratch?”
“A stalker requires a host to exist in this world,” Chen said. “When it injured you, it left behind a remnant of its dark essence. Had the wolf lived, the stalker would still cling to that host, but now the only link it has to this world resides within the two of you.”
“I think I liked it better when it was flesh and blood,” Hound said. “I can shoot a wolf.”
Ben nodded agreement. It was a terrifying prospect to face an enemy that had power without form, though it had also led him to a greater understanding of his own mind and will—not insignificant achievements.
“Magic is often insidious,” Chen said. “Particularly magic that calls on beings from realms other than our own.” He returned to the simmering pot and poured the liquid into two cups, handing one to Ben and the other to Hound.
Both looked at the contents dubiously.
“Smells terrible,” Hound said.
“It will taste even worse, but it will help you sleep without dreaming,” Chen said, motioning for them to drink.
Ben nearly gagged. It was an awful, bitter-tasting brew, but he managed to choke it down.
Hound drained his cup in a gulp and then looked at it like he was considering taking revenge on it. But then he shrugged to himself and said, “I’ve had rotgut that tasted worse.”
“You two should go to bed,” Chen said. “It won’t be long before sleep claims you.”
Ben felt a wave of relaxation flow over him a moment later.
“I see what you mean,” he said, going to his pack and retrieving his bedroll. He laid his head on the pillow, and just a few moments later woke to the sound of singing birds and a pale blue sky. After stretching and rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he got up and went to the table, willing the fogginess from his mind.
“Wow, I slept hard.”
Hound sat up with a start, looking around briefly before he lay back down.
“I don’t even remember falling asleep,” he said, covering his eyes with his forearm.
“Me neither,” Ben said, smiling his thanks to Chen.
Everyone else was already up and eating breakfast.
Chen served Ben and Hound bowls of oatmeal with nuts and berries along with cups of his wonderful spicy tea. Ben felt his grogginess lift as he ate.
“Mind if I go for a walk?” he asked when he had finished his breakfast.
“Of course not,” Chen said. “Just don’t attempt to leave the grotto without assistance. The wards are unforgiving.”
“More magic that nobody will tell us about, huh?” Frank said.
“I just told you about it,” Chen said matter-of-factly.
Ben left the table with Homer at his heels. The air was crisp and invigorating. The sky was clear and blue and serene. He walked for a few minutes before he came to a natural spring that bubbled up out of the ground into a shallow pool before running off toward the cliff. He idly wondered how it got out of the grotto, but dismissed the thought as he knelt down and splashed the frigid water on his face, gasping from the shock of it.
Fully awake and alert, he sat down in the plush grass and cleared his mind, settling into the comfort of his meditation quickly and easily. Far from being a distraction, the gentle burbling of the spring and the song of the birds lulled him into a state of non-thought that left him feeling calm and centered. After a time, he returned to outward awareness and found Chen seated nearby, sitting in the exact same position. The old man opened his eyes and smiled with an expression of knowing, as if he understood exactly how profoundly rewarding meditation was.
“Your grandfather has taught you well,” he said.
Ben nodded. “He’s always been there for me—always giving his knowledge freely and generously.” Ben hesitated. “And yet, there are things he won’t tell me.” It wasn’t a question, but he held Chen’s gaze as if it were.
Chen didn’t flinch or waver. “Do you doubt his intentions?”
“No,” Ben said, shaking he head. “Never.”
“Do you doubt his wisdom?”
Ben frowned, shaking his head again.
Chen smiled knowingly, rising and patting Ben on the shoulder in passing, leaving him to think about his many questions.
“Some things are better left unknown,” Homer said.
“Do you know what my grandfather is hiding from us?”
Homer didn’t answer, instead rolling over and wiggling into the grass, grumbling with pleasure.
“Easy for you to say,” Ben muttered, coming to his feet and leaving his dog to happily rub his back against the ground. Homer kept growling and snorting as Ben walked away chuckling.
When he returned to the house, he found Chen and Cyril sipping tea and talking in low tones. Everyone else was absent.
“Ah, there you are,
” Cyril said, motioning for him to take a seat at the table. Ben obeyed without a word. Cyril pursed his lips, sighing resignedly as he regarded his grandson.
“I know you have questions. The truth is, you deserve answers … and I fear that I’ll have little choice but to provide them all too soon. For now, I ask that you be patient. And know that I trust you. I’ve kept things from you to protect you, not because I don’t believe that I can confide in you.”
“That’s what frightens me,” Ben said. “Over the past few days, you’ve shown a side of yourself that I always suspected was there, but could never be certain of. Now … well, I’m not sure I want to know.”
“What’s coming will test you in ways you can’t imagine,” Cyril said. “No matter what happens, know that I believe in you. I always have.”
Ben thought he saw a twinge of guilt in his grandfather’s eyes, yet one more unsettling piece of evidence that the world he once knew had come to an end. Worse, Ben had a sinking sense that Cyril had some expectation of him. Of all the ways that he could fail in life, he was most afraid of disappointing his grandfather. He only hoped that he was adequate to whatever would be asked of him—but he feared that he wasn’t. He fell silent, carefully considering his next words.
“You’ve trained me how to fight … how to kill. You’ve trained me how to focus my mind, how to bring my will to bear on a single thought. You didn’t do this by accident or on a whim. You’ve been preparing me for something my whole life.”
Cyril looked down and took Ben’s hand without a word. A few moments passed before a silent tear fell to the table. Ben felt a jolt of adrenaline in his stomach.
“I’m so sorry,” Cyril whispered. “I wish I hadn’t failed. I wish I could have found another way.”
Just then, Frank and Rufus came out of the forest, heading for the table.
Cyril sniffed and wiped his face as he turned away, composing himself quickly.
“Ah, good,” Chen said, drawing their attention. “Now that both of you are here, I’m ready to begin whenever you are.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that,” Hound said, with a crooked smile. “So how’s this going to work?” He took a seat at the table and folded his hands as if he meant to give Chen his undivided attention.
The Dragon's Egg (Dragonfall Book 1) Page 15