by S. G. Rogers
“Only wizards can transport with a cuff.”
“If you say so,” he said. “It doesn't always work. I mean, that's how I got captured.”
“You must try. After we’re safe, I’ll help you find your father.”
“I don't know if I can transport anyone else with me, Kira. And even if I could, it might violate some 'prime directive' or something.”
Kira’s shoulders slumped. “Then you’ve sentenced me to death. I’ll die or be killed before I submit to that...that…”
The booming voices of cygards could be heard as they approached the dungeon cell. Jon exchanged a glance with Kira. The fear in her violet eyes grabbed him by the throat. He had no choice. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll give it a shot.”
The iron bar slid back outside the dungeon door, and the rattling of an iron key ring frayed their nerves.
“Hurry!” Kira cried.
Jon wrapped his fingers around Kira's wrist. “Giving up isn’t an option, Ophelia. Let's do it.”
As the heavy wooden door squeaked open, Jon and Kira disappeared.
Chapter Ten
Efysian of the Wolf Clan
A ginger cat darted through the open dungeon door, escaping into the passageway beyond. Warlord Mandral shoved gawking cygards to one side as he rushed forward. He paused midstride when he discovered the dungeon was empty. The Wolf Clan wizard Efysian brushed past, his practiced nose recognizing the stench of ozone. “A wizard just left this place and took your bride with him,” he observed.
Efysian's pale yellow eyes stood out in sharp contrast to the utter black of his long, straight hair. His skin, also pale, was barely lined. He wore a black robe around his shoulders and a slouchy black wizard's hat embroidered with golden runes. Radiating elegance and power, he traced the runes on his transporter cuff with his forefinger, in deep thought. Cygards crowded the doorway, awaiting the warlord’s orders.
“Search the castle. The prisoners can't have gone far,” Mandral said.
The cygards clattered off.
“Searching the castle will do no good. The wizard transported out by cuff,” Efysian said.
“I don’t understand. There are no wizards his age,” Mandral replied.
“How young was he?”
“The age of transition, no older.”
“An apprentice?” Efysian said, taken aback. “How intriguing.”
“The reason I summoned you was because of his Dragon Clan ring.”
“His what?” Efysian's words cut through the air like a cygard bullwhip.
“At first I thought he might have stolen the ring and cuff from one of the old families. But the artifacts were inseparable, and therefore—”
“Therefore belonged to the boy by right,” Efysian said, through clenched jaws.
“He said his name was Jon Hansen. You know him?”
“A loose end. He is...insignificant,” Efysian replied, even as a muscle in his face tightened. “I'll return Kira to you, Mandral, for a price.”
“What about the boy?”
“Leave him to me. Jon Hansen is not worth your trouble, I assure you.”
“Kira is surpassingly beautiful,” Mandral said. “He seemed quite taken with her. I’m certain you will find her with him.”
“The boy couldn't help but rescue a lady in distress. Dragon Clan wizards are always so disgustingly noble,” Efysian sneered.
He reached down to pick up the dead newtic at his feet. As he crushed it in the palm of his hand, the yellow eyes of his Wolf Clan ring gleamed.
****
Kira and Jon transported into the woods next to the Mandral Village marketplace. Jon pumped his fist in elation. “It worked!” he cried.
When Kira threw her arms around him, he was pleasantly surprised.
“Thank you!” she exclaimed. “I’m in your debt, Jon Hansen of the Dragon Clan.”
Feeling somewhat awkward, he patted her on the back. “It's okay. I didn’t want to hang around Mandral’s dungeon, either.”
“We’ll begin at once to find your father.”
“I'd like to, but I can't right now. I have to go home before I'm missed. Actually, I've got to get ready for school soon. I'm starting Pacific High the day after tomorrow.”
“Where is Pacific-eye?” Kira asked.
“Pacific High is in a place called California.”
“I’m not familiar with California Territory,” she said, confused. “It must be very far away.”
“It is,” he said, unsure how much he should tell her. “What about you? Can you go home?”
Kira's expression grew wistful. “I cannot. Even if I were welcome, Mandral will look for me there first.”
“Where will you go?”
“I’m a Nomad. I’m not without friends.”
“Well…good luck, Kira Szul. See you around,” he said.
His eyes felt grainy and he stifled a yawn. Jon focused on Ophelia and concentrated on transporting home.
****
Efysian materialized on an outcropping of rock near the top of a mountain. His jet-black hair was streaked with white and his skin was now almost as craggy as the boulders on each side of him. His hand shook as he brushed aside ivy creepers, revealing the rock underneath. The wizard stepped through the solid surface and disappeared, emerging into a dark tunnel on the other side.
The Wolf Clan ring on Efysian's hand burst into light and illuminated the passageway down into the mountain. Somewhere in the thick blackness a low growling began. When the animal drew closer, the growling gave way to barking. A huge wolf jumped into the circle of light cast by Efysian's ring. Its lips drew back over his shark-like teeth and saliva splashed to the floor as if from a faucet. The wolf poised to strike, but Efysian seemed unconcerned.
“Not now, Conundrum. I'm very tired.”
Pausing to gather his strength, the wizard pulled a brace of dead fowl from his sleeve and threw it in the air. The enormous wolf snapped at the food and began to gulp. Efysian chuckled and continued his ever more painful trek down the tunnel. The corridor came to a dead end, but a second passageway branched off on each side. The left-hand passage appeared empty at first, but as Efysian passed by, a white mist gathered. A beautiful, dark-haired nymph appeared out of the mist, wrapped in gossamer fabric.
“Efysian!” she cried. Her lilting, sultry voice floated toward him. “Come and play.”
“Lialia, leave me be.”
The nymph's blue eyes peeked out from under long, black eyelashes. She pouted her full red lips and tossed her hair just before she vaporized back into the mist. Efysian ignored her and continued to hobble straight ahead. The yellow eyes on his ring glowed, and when his hand made contact with the rock, it slipped through as if the wall didn't exist. Then the rest of Efysian disappeared into the rock face completely.
The wizard emerged into a glowing cavern. Although the surface was actually made up of pale, pastel colors, the walls seemed almost white. Stalactites and stalagmites intersected the chamber like so many carnivorous fangs. Streaked with minerals reflecting red and black, the formations appeared to be dripping with blood.
Efysian wove his way through the rocky fingers toward the source of light, laboring to catch his breath. When he reached the shining column of bluish-white energy stretching from floor to ceiling, he laid his palms on it. The brilliancy of the light dimmed, while at the same time the color returned to Efysian's hair. His skin became smooth again and his posture straightened. The wizard had hobbled into the cave an old man, but was now a man in his prime.
Efysian stepped back, flexing his hands with ease. In the center of the throbbing swirl of light, the outline of someone else became visible—a man who wore a baseball cap and aviator jacket. The man stood still, unmoving, his eyes closed as if in death.
“Greggoran, you've surprised me,” Efysian said. “I should have guessed you had a son, but I won't let him spoil our arrangement, I assure you. I’ll find him and harness his magic exactly as I've harnessed yours. Wh
en that happens, nothing can prevent me from sweeping every warlord under my feet. Yden will be mine.”
Conundrum burst through the rock wall and into the chamber. He bounded over to his master, feathers trailing from his muzzle. Standing on his hind legs, he rested his massive paws on Efysian's shoulders. The Wolf Clan crest decorating his collar shone in the light. Efysian patted Conundrum’s head with affection. He clapped his hands and the wolf leaped over to settle down in his den, couched in the mouth of a huge, severed dragon's head.
Behind Efysian, the column of light flickered for a moment. The wizard’s eyes snapped back to Greg Hansen's face, but his countenance remained serene. Efysian relaxed. All was well, and he had plans to make.
****
With dawn breaking, Jon materialized in his room. He stashed Ophelia and the transporter cuff into his sock tin for safekeeping. He stripped off his Yden clothes, stuffed them under his mattress, and fell into bed. A scant few hours later, his mother woke him to get ready for church.
Jon felt as if he'd been trampled by a herd of wooly goats. When he glanced in the bathroom mirror, he was shocked to discover his arms were covered with bruises. A rope burn marked his neck and he saw a raised welt on his cheek where Mandral had hit him. His shower took longer than usual because he had to scrub off so much grime.
A long-sleeve shirt hid the bruises, but nothing would hide the injuries to his face. Jon had no idea how he was going to explain the welt to his mother, not to mention the slight tan he'd managed to get overnight.
“I thought I heard you up very early this morning, Jon,” Mrs. Hansen said, when he came into the kitchen for breakfast. “It sounded like you’d knocked something over.”
Jon winced as he realized she’d heard the sound of his return.
“Yeah, when I went to the bathroom I tripped in the dark,” he mumbled.
Mrs. Hansen handed him a plate of toast. Her eyes darted to his cheek. “What in the world did you do to yourself!”
“It's my fault,” Sela said, dashing into the kitchen. “I thought I saw a spider. Jon heard me scream and came into my room. I accidentally whacked him with my shoe.”
“Sela, you need to be more careful,” Mrs. Hansen admonished. “Look at your poor brother!”
“Geez, I'm sorry Jon,” Sela said.
“That's okay,” he replied, bewildered.
While Mrs. Hansen was busy in the pantry, Sela pulled his note out from her pocket and gave it a tap. Jon had forgotten all about the note he’d slipped under her door last night, but in retrospect it had been a good idea. In gratitude, he let Sela have the last piece of bacon. It seemed the least he could do.
After church, Sela peppered him with questions. Although he filled her in on what he'd learned, she was disappointed he hadn't found out more about their father.
“This isn’t going to be easy, Sela, but I won't give up. I'll go back to Yden as soon as I can,” Jon promised.
But with school looming in two days, he wasn't exactly sure when that would be.
****
Mrs. Hansen took Jon and Sela over to Chaz's house the next afternoon for a Labor Day barbecue. Lots of Chaz's friends were there, including Lynn Beck. Her eyes lit up when Jon walked in, and she made a special effort to come over to greet him. For once, Jon was able to carry on a conversation with a pretty girl, even though he couldn't help but notice Sela making faces at him nearby. Maybe if he could talk to someone as gorgeous as Kira Szul, he could talk to anyone.
When Chaz saw Jon’s injuries, he assumed he’d been in another fight. Sela's spider story didn't seem to convince him, but then Lynn beckoned to Chaz from the kitchen and Jon was off the hook. Seeing Chaz and Lynn together, Jon had the sad feeling he'd be seeing a lot less of his uncle from now on. Mrs. Hansen noticed his wistful expression.
“I like Lynn, don't you?” she whispered to him.
“Yes, but...”
“What?”
Jon gave his mother a crooked grin. “I kind of got used to having Chaz around.”
Mrs. Hansen hugged him. “Me, too.”
****
Tuesday morning was chaotic as Sela and Jon prepared for their first day of school. Jon dressed in khakis and a short-sleeve polo shirt, but he had to throw on a cardigan to hide the bruises on his arms. Fortunately, the welt on his cheek had faded somewhat overnight, and his tan helped minimize the discoloration.
Jon drove the Jeep to school in good spirits. His ride might not be a Lexus or anything, but he was proud of it. Ophelia was safely tucked in his pocket, and as soon as Jon set the parking brake and killed the engine, he slipped her onto his finger. The ring seemed to give him moral support. It was too bad he had to hide her every day before his mother got home.
Even though it was his first morning in a new school and he was feeling a little awkward, he seemed to fit in. The workload was manageable and his new classmates were friendly enough. His stomach lifted into his throat when he entered world history and saw Brett sitting next to the window. His first impulse was to saunter over and say hello, but then his newfound confidence deflated like a popped newtic. The girl probably wouldn't remember him and he'd make an idiot out of himself. So Jon slunk to the back of the class instead.
To his dismay, Fred Spencer dashed into the classroom an instant before the bell rang and slid into the empty seat next to Brett. Jon groaned inwardly. Fred was the absolutely last person he’d expected to see. How had the oaf ended up at Pacific High, and why was Jon so cursed?
When class began, the history teacher, Mr. Dace, droned on and on about the curriculum, policies, and procedures. After fifteen minutes, Jon started to tune out. He opened his binder and lost himself in a detailed drawing of a dragon.
“We're going to end our semester with a field trip to the Tri-County Museum,” Mr. Dace said.
The classroom erupted with excited chatter.
“Many of you will see this as a chance to goof off,” Mr. Dace continued. “But you will be writing a term paper on one of the exhibits.”
Mr. Dace strolled up and down the aisles as he spoke. He paused at Jon’s shoulder just as he was drawing a beautiful plume of smoke rising from the nostril of a dragon. Unfortunately, Jon was oblivious to the teacher’s presence.
“Doodling dragons is no way to get through life, Mr. Hansen,” Mr. Dace said.
Jon’s head snapped up. The entire class was watching, including Brett and Fred. Brett's expression was unreadable, but Fred was licking his chops as if he couldn't wait to eat him for lunch. Jon hoped his face wouldn’t explode from the blood rushing to his cheeks.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
His classmates snickered. Mr. Dace went on to pass out the syllabus and first assignment. After the lunch bell rang, Jon felt like slinking off somewhere and melting into a hole. His book bag was jammed under his desk, and he bent to retrieve it. When he straightened up, he was startled to see Brett waiting for him.
“Hi,” she said. “You probably don't remember me, but we met at the mall.”
“Oh, yes, I do.” He attempted to sound casual. “Nice to see you.”
She examined his drawing. “That's a great dragon. Maybe you could draw one for me sometime?”
“Anytime.” Anytime at all, he thought.
“See ya,” she said.
Brett left the classroom with her friends. Jon stuffed his binder into his book bag, hoping to catch up. Unfortunately, Fred Spencer had other ideas. An equally beefy kid named Lee joined him to block Jon’s path.
“Well, if it isn’t Boo Hoo Hansen. How’re ya doing, Dragon Breath?” Fred drawled.
Fred and Lee fell on each other, laughing at Fred's wit.
“Hey, Fred. I'm surprised to see you here. Guess you got expelled, huh?”
Fred's jaw jutted out. “I was recruited for the Pacific High football team, geek.”
“Congrats. I hope they have a football team at continuation school, because that's your next stop,” Jon said.
Fred lunged at J
on, but Lee held him back. “Not here, dude,” Lee said.
Although Fred still outweighed him, after Jon’s summer growth spurt they were standing nearly eye to eye. Fred must have noticed, because he backed off. Jon pushed past.
“See you around,” Jon said.
“Count on it,” Fred snarled.
In the cafeteria, Jon surveyed the crowd for a place to sit and someone to eat with, but it was as if everyone had known each other since preschool or something. Discouraged, he took his tray to an empty table.
A few moments later, Brett plopped her tray down next to his. “Hey, new guy. Welcome to Poison Palace.”