Oracle--Mutant Wood

by C. W. Trisef

  A few moments later, Lye rose to his knees, looking much refreshed. He pulled a flask from his robe’s inside chest pocket and shook it. It was empty. He needed two hands to unscrew the top, so he set down his cane.

  Jaret rubbed his eyes to make sure he had seen correctly. Yes, Lye had set down his cane. Now was his chance.

  Like a hungry crocodile sneaking up on a drinking wildebeest, Captain Cooper set out on his mission to humble the great Lord Lye. Jaret kept a constant eye on him as he crept closer and closer. When Lye finished filling his flask, Jaret thought his opportunity had ended, but thankfully Lye pulled out a second empty flask and began refilling it, too. The cane stood alone, still laid aside.

  The fountain was an ideal place for snooping, as the noise of falling water muffled the sound of Jaret’s footsteps. Knowing this time was precious, he tried to hurry, struggling to do so in a quiet manner, especially as the water began to get deeper. He breathed a sigh of relief when Lye brought out a third empty flask. Jaret was getting lucky.

  His heart pounding in his chest, Jaret extended his shaky arm and prepared to slide the cane away from Lye’s side. He was just a few feet away, however, when Lye did something different. After filling his third flask, he apparently couldn’t help himself and began guzzling its contents. With Lye’s head cocked upward, this was the perfect opportunity to seize the cane, but the commander was distracted by what was happening to Lye. The long, white hair of his head and beard was shrinking and returning to its original, darker color. His sharp, elongated fingernails were receding. His wrinkly, saggy skin was becoming firmer. His bones were sticking out less and less.

  It was true: Lye was becoming younger. Before Jaret’s very eyes, the evil lord was shedding years by the second, turning back the clock on his frail body. By the time he had drunk the flask dry, Lye had returned to an age in his thirties, his hair short and black, his hands young and strong.

  Still staring from behind, Jaret was mesmerized by what he had just witnessed. When Lye returned the flask to the miraculous water to refill it again, Jaret shook off his amazement and reached for the cane. It was now or never.

  His hand sweaty, Jaret slid his quivering fingertips into the rippling water. As soon as he made contact with the cane, however, it did something that he was not prepared for. It released a powerful current that sizzled in the water, emitting the flash of a spark and the sound of a pop.

  Jaret knew he was in trouble.

  Before Lye could even turn around, Jaret shoved him face-first into the water and threw his wet robes on top of him. Then he grabbed the cane despite the slight shock and ran for his life. He charged through the shallow water, throwing stealth to the wind. All that mattered now was to get back to the elevator before Lye.

  Jaret sprinted out of the fountain area and dove into the safety of the rocks. He scrambled from boulder to boulder, trying to keep low without sacrificing speed. His own adrenaline was carrying him now, still in disbelief that he had stolen the cane.

  Jaret’s spirits were soaring high when suddenly his left leg went completely dead. He crashed onto the ground, making sure to keep a firm grip on the cane. He tried to get back on his feet, but his left leg refused. He shifted all his weight to his right leg and began to hop along, when, a moment later, that leg also fell limp. With his left hand still clutching the cane, he used his right arm to drag himself along the ground, but he quickly lost control there, too. He refused to relinquish the cane, resorting to his left arm’s elbow to inch further until he at last became immobile. He cried out in frustration, well aware this was no coincidence. He had seen Lye restrain his enemies numerous times by commanding the water molecules in their own bodies. The evil lord was nearby.

  Jaret was shaking from trying with all his might to override the power that had seized control of his body. Then he heard footsteps. They were unhurried footsteps. The image of a man appeared several yards in front of him. Against his will, Jaret’s fingers began to be peeled away from the cane until it rolled out of his grasp.

  “Curse you, Lye!” Jaret shouted, his face in the dirt, frustrated beyond all reason to not be able to move.

  “You foiled my plans once before,” Lye sneered, his younger voice sounding oddly familiar. “I will not let you do so again.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jaret angrily asked.

  Just then, Lye borrowed a scoopful of water from a nearby pool and formed it into a life-sized raindrop. He lifted Jaret off the ground and enclosed him in it, just as he had done a few years earlier, this time keeping his head out to allow conversation.

  “Look familiar?” Lye cackled, keeping Jaret’s back turned away from him.

  A scene flashed before Jaret’s eyes. He had been in this situation before, stuck in a watery cage, but previously it had been on a burning ship during a hurricane in the middle of the ocean. And he had been clutching a curious sphere.

  “You brainwashed me!” Jaret yelled.

  “Yes,” Lye grinned. “And it looks like I might have to do it again.”

  “And why is that?” Jaret wondered.

  To answer his question, Lye slowly began to spin Jaret around until the friends-turned-foes were face-to-face. Then, for the first time, Jaret saw who Lye was in his younger days.

  Shocked beyond all reason, Jaret gasped and stuttered, “You’re…you’re…”

  But before Jaret could speak the name, Lye forced his newest prisoner’s head into the water and laughed maniacally.

  CHAPTER 7

  GOING OUT ON A LIMB

  “Has anyone seen Mr. Coy?” Ret asked as he roamed the Keep.

  “I think he’s out back,” someone shouted in reply, “in the aviary.”

  “Okay, I’ll check there,” Ret said on his way out the backdoor.

  Whether Mr. Coy was there or not, something was definitely going on in the aviary. Even from across the yard, Ret could hear the birds chirping wildly. Feathers were flying out the door, and cages were crashing to the floor. When Ret cautiously peeked inside, he saw Mr. Coy scrambling on his hands and knees, frantically trying to catch a cat.

  Ret stood just outside the door and laughed to himself. Then, with a screeching yowl, the cat came flying past him through the air.

  “And stay out, you lousy fur ball!” Mr. Coy scolded the feline. The meddlesome cat glanced back, licked its paw a few times, and then trotted away.

  “Oh, hello, Ret,” Coy came to the door. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “Sir, you’re covered in cat hair,” Ret pointed out.

  “And feathers,” he added, blowing one off his forehead.

  “Did someone leave the door open again?” Ret guessed.

  “I’m afraid so,” Coy responded, then whispered, “Don’t tell Stone.”

  “Any word from Jaret?” Ret wondered. It was a question that had been on everyone’s mind ever since Mr. Coy informed Pauline of her husband’s desire to steal Lye’s cane.

  “Still nothing,” Coy said heavily as he shut the door to the aviary. “I think it’s safe to assume he’s in trouble.”

  “Should we go and rescue him?” Ret asked as they headed across the lawn.

  Coy considered the idea for a moment before concluding, somewhat unwillingly, “No, it’s just too uncertain.”

  “But you went to Waters Deep not too long ago specifically to find Jaret…” Ret tried to persuade him.

  “True, but that was when Jaret was on Lye’s good side,” Coy said.

  “So you don’t want to help him?”

  “Of course I want to help him, Ret,” Coy returned, “but I’m unsure of the best way to do so at the moment. Let me think about it some more. Besides, who knows if Jaret is even still alive?”

  Though valid, the possibility of Jaret being dead didn’t sit well with Ret. In fact, he didn’t even want to entertain the idea, so he changed the subject: “Are you almost done clearing out the Manor?”

  “Getting there,” said Coy with a tired sigh.

&nb
sp; Ret decided to ask the question that he had been wanting to ask Mr. Coy all along: “How would you like to take a break and come with me to Russia?”

  “Oh, you’re going to Russia, are you?” Coy chuckled. “And how are you going to get there, I wonder?”

  “Well, if you won’t take me, then I was thinking of asking Lionel...”

  Coy stopped in his tracks. “Lionel?” he repeated with disgust.

  Ret shook his head, knowing he had said the magic word.

  “Well played,” Coy capitulated. Then with a defeated smile, “When do we leave?”

  Ret grinned to know the dynamic duo would soon be off on another adventure.

  There was at least one disadvantage to bypassing Lionel for their travel needs: it meant they would have to run the risk of getting stopped or detained (or arrested) as they moved about the globe. Of course, it was a risk that Mr. Coy was more than willing to take if it meant they didn’t have to rely on Lionel. Besides, Mr. Coy had an idea.

  The plan was to sneak aboard a cargo plane that was headed to Moscow. Mr. Coy asked one of his students—“Jessica will do fine”—to play the role of an innocent traveler who was heading to—“oh, I don’t know, Chattanooga.” That destination wasn’t important; what mattered was that Jessica got her two suitcases (in which Mr. Coy and Ret were hiding) onto the conveyor belt and into the behind-the-scenes realm of airport baggage. Although it took every last ounce of strength to lift her way-over-the-weight-limit luggage onto the platform, she paid the extra fee and watched until each suitcase had been successfully conveyed away. Then she tore up her boarding pass and went home.

  After a few moments, Ret unzipped his suitcase from the inside just enough to take a look around. They were in the belly of the airport now, still undetected as their causeway joined the general body of tagged bags, which was a literal sea of suitcases. Ret glanced ahead to make sure Mr. Coy was still in front of him, and although all of the luggage was starting to look the same, he knew Mr. Coy’s had a distinguishing feature: a large sticker slapped on the side that read Have you ever—Ben Coy? Yep, they were still side by side.

  Ret knew it was his job to make sure they got through the security screening without any trouble. Through the unzipped crack in his suitcase, he kept an eye out for the computer tomography scanner, the hollow tube through which the bags were flowing. Switching his vision into energy mode, he watched as each bag was bombarded by X-rays that the computer then used to create a tomogram, which detailed the mass and density of certain objects within each bag. While most bags passed without a problem, Ret saw one throw up a red flag, though when it was examined, the object in question was nothing but a tennis racket.

  When it was Mr. Coy’s turn to be inspected, Ret concentrated on the X-rays that were being emitted from the CT scanner. He bent them around Mr. Coy’s body, partly so that they wouldn’t harm him but mostly so that they wouldn’t be slowed down by his mass and density, which were much higher than, say, a pair of pants. When the X-rays were processed, Mr. Coy’s tomogram passed with flying colors. Ret followed the same procedure when it was his turn, and he safely exited the scanner.

  Where the conveyor belt ended, a steep chute began, consisting of many horizontal metal rods that spun as baggage slid down them. Ret held on as his suitcase took the plunge, bracing for impact at the end of the ride. As soon as he collided into Mr. Coy’s bag, he heard him pass gas.

  “Gross!” Ret quietly laughed.

  “You made me!” came Coy’s excuse. A few seconds later, Ret heard him say “Whew!” followed by a gasp for fresh air.

  The next order of business was for the two stowaways to finagle their way aboard the correct flight. They had already found out ahead of time (and planned accordingly) that a cargo plane would be leaving for Moscow that same afternoon, and its freight proved easy to find since it consisted of mostly crates and boxes.

  “Do you see it?” Coy asked from within his suitcase.

  “Yeah,” Ret told him softly after eying the right load. “Hang on.”

  Since their suitcases were the durable plastic kind, Ret was able to use his power over earth and all its minerals to gently nudge the two of them off the luggage carousel and onto the ground. Then he stood each of them upright and manipulated their little wheels to carry them in the right direction, praying none of the baggage personnel would interfere with what looked like two runaway suitcases.

  As soon as the cargo was loaded and the hatch closed, Ret and Mr. Coy unzipped their suitcases and spilled out.

  “Finally,” Coy said, stretching his legs.

  “You said it,” Ret cracked his back.

  “I can’t believe that actually worked,” Coy marveled. “Thanks to you, of course.”

  It was a long flight to Moscow, one that would have been called a red-eye had it been scheduled for passengers, but it provided ample time for Ret and Mr. Coy to figure out their next move.

  “So what’s your plan after we arrive in Russia?” Mr. Coy asked.

  “I’m not sure yet,” Ret admitted, biting into an apple. “I’m hoping my scar will tell us once we get there.”

  “Where’d you get the apple?” Mr. Coy asked, suddenly hungry.

  “There’s a bunch in this crate over here,” said Ret. “Want one?”

  “Sure.” Coy caught the fruit and, after taking a bite, said, “Well, if we have any time to spare, there’s someone in Moscow I’ve been meaning to visit.”

  “Who?” Ret wanted to know.

  Coy took another bite and nonchalantly said, “The president.”

  “What?” Ret choked. “That’s crazy!”

  “Yes, but what’s even crazier is I think he is Ivan’s brother,” Coy explained.

  “What makes you think that?” Ret inquired.

  “When Helen and I first met Ivan in the streets of downtown Moscow several years ago,” Coy recalled, “he told us his last name was Topramenov. Now, while Romanov is a very common surname in Russia, Topramenov is pretty unusual. To be honest, we figured he made it up because he was a little tipsy and because Helen and I were both eating a cup of Top Ramen noodles at the time. Still, he always insisted that was his name.”

  “Wait,” Ret deduced. “Wasn’t Topramenov the name of the president who attended the meeting at Waters Deep as a hologram?”

  “Yes, it was. You see, Ivan was a member of the Russian royal family and, as the oldest child, had a promising future ahead of him—that is, until it became clear he had a lisp. His parents tried everything they could think of to fix his speech problems, but nothing helped. They called it an embarrassment. People made fun of him—they called him Ivan the Unintelligible. He was considered a shame to the royal family. Eventually, he ran away and fell into deep despair. Like so many others, he turned to alcohol. He was contemplating suicide when Helen and I found him.”

  As heartbreaking as Ivan’s story was, Ret never tired of hearing it because, in the end, it was a story of redemption.

  “But what if they’re not brothers?” Ret imagined. “Or what if the president gets mad at you when you tell him Ivan is dead?”

  “It’s worth a try,” Coy shrugged his shoulders. “If you have a better idea, I’m all ears.”

  When Mr. Coy ate an apple, he ate the whole thing. All that remained was the stem and a few seeds, which he handed back to Ret while saying, “Here’s your apple back.” Then he propped his head against his suitcase and tried to get some rest.

  Ret placed the stem and seeds on a box beside him, right by the core that remained of his own apple. Although it took a while, he eventually got comfortable enough to doze off.

  Not much later, however, Ret was jolted back into consciousness. The flight was experiencing turbulence. At one point, his apple core fell from its place and landed in his lap. Half asleep, Ret picked it up and put it back.

  A few moments later, there was another shake, and the apple again rolled into his lap. He retrieved it and was about to return it when he realized he wasn�
��t holding just a core but a whole apple. Confused, he looked around for the core, but it was nowhere to be seen. Then he glanced at Mr. Coy to see if this was another one of his jokes, but he was fast asleep.

  Another bout of turbulence dislodged the stem and seeds of Mr. Coy’s eaten apple. Ret grabbed the stem and cradled it in the palm of his right hand. The fifth scar gave off a faint pulse. Ret pinched the stem between his thumb and index finger and held it out. He concentrated on the scar and let its energy flow through his fingers and into the stem. Then, as if his arm were a tree branch, the stem began to regrow its fruit. The apple started out small and green, then grew larger until it was fully developed, ripe and ready to eat.

  Ever curious, Ret set the apple aside and took up one of the seeds. It hadn’t been in his hand very long before it started to sprout. What began as a root and a shoot grew very rapidly into a sapling of a swelling caliper. Soon, Ret was forced to let go as a full-blown tree emerged, its branches knocking over boxes as it stretched toward the ceiling. When one of its roots slithered underneath Mr. Coy, he was aroused from sleep.

  Like Jack and his beanstalk, Coy rubbed his bulging eyes and asked, “Is this a dream?”

  “No, it’s a tree,” Ret remarked.

  “You—you did this?”

  “Sure did,” Ret said with pride. The tree was now beginning to blossom.

  “Well, now we know what the next element is,” Coy concluded, admiring the fruit that was fast appearing.

  “What, apples?” Ret kidded.

  “Something like that,” said Coy as a ripe one fell on his head.

  Fortunately, Ret figured out how to reverse the growth process before the plane landed in Moscow. By the time the cargo hold burst open, Ret shoved the tree back into its tiny seed, and he and Mr. Coy zipped themselves back into their suitcases. They joined the rest of the load on the journey to the sorting yard, where they easily slipped away unnoticed.