The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume
Page 93
In the next moment, Tom was lifting Geoffrey to his feet, shouting and shaking him up.
“Geoffrey! Geoffrey, lad, we have to go!” Tom was pleading with him. Geoffrey still looked dazed and weak from his wounds, but they had already begun to heal completely.
“Yes, yes all right,” said Geoffrey, looping an arm over Tom’s shoulders and mumbling to himself. He was confused, trying to remember what had happened just before Tom came along. Picking through his aching brain, he ran alongside Tom and away from the square and out of sight of the Bureau and the Metal Man. Cold rain sprinkling their soggy heads, Molly, Tom, Geoffrey and Chera scampered for Hutch’s Wharf, wiping dirt, dust, blood and grease from their faces, picking up each other as they staggered and limped, sharing words of encouragement every time they began to doubt they would make it.
The Bureau closed in on the last of the Ghosts so quickly not all of them could retreat. Many of them had gotten away, but only because a few brave souls had stayed behind. Huddled up shoulder-to-shoulder behind the collapsed wall the Metal Man had punctured, veteran magesmiths, hooded members of the local cults and even some Helvetian warriors made their last stand. Among them was Gabriel Vasquez. As his fellows trembled and closed their eyes, needing every ounce of their courage each time they stood to face the muskets and cast a spell, Gabriel rallied them on, reminding them of what they fought for and more importantly, who they fought for. As he did, he turned and saw his daughter, hand-in-hand with the man she loved, running for the sea, her cinnamon hair flying like the tail of some bird of Paradise. Gabriel did not hear the rumble of gunfire, and he did not hear the crackle erupting in the hollow of the Metal Man’s arm. When the wall came down in a hail of fire and steel, Gabriel heard only the whisper of the gentle rain, and the last thing he saw was life shining in the eyes of a brown-eyed angel as she turned to look back at him one last time.
V
Lore
Before sunrise on November 8, 1791, Molly Bishop gave birth to a daughter, baby Amelia, in a little house hidden in Sidmouth, on the southwest coast of England. Many of the Helvetian refugees in London came to Sidmouth on The Roatán Butterfly and the Lucia’s Heart with the rest of us, the day the Ghosts attacked the square outside the Old Bailey during Thomas Crowe’s trial. Several of their women stayed up all night caring for Molly during her labor, and only after the sun rose did they allow Thomas or anyone else into her bedroom. Thomas was as exuberant and loving a father as anyone has ever seen, his enthusiasm rivaling even his beautiful wife’s. In no time he’d asked me to help him build a little rocking cradle for Amelia, in which she slept while we stayed in Sidmouth.
Thomas also asked me to help him deconstruct his saber, Brother, and Molly’s pistol, La Flor, outside behind the house. We disassembled La Flor first, breaking the magic seals that allowed the gun to operate as a soul well. The moment we did, a fantastic light burst forth from it and flew away like a startled dove. While wearing enchanted gloves of my own making, Thomas then pulled the bloodstone from Brother while I held the blade still. After getting the little stone out, without wasting a moment, he crushed it in his hand. As he released the handful of crimson dust, a marvelous light jumped into the air and flew off into the distance, just as with La Flor. A great deal of raw vitality escaped the stone as well, and to wondrous effect—the landscape around the house became lively, vibrant and overgrown. To this day I do not know what Thomas did with the rest of the saber.
Because of Molly’s condition and the turmoil in London, we all lived in the little village for several months, enjoying our peace and freedom while the Crowe child grew healthy and strong enough to make the voyage across the sea. I should explain it was the Vanilles who had instructed us to go to that place, for they had family there and a number of Ghosts maintained safe places for hiding, far from London. Chera Rocha spent many weeks with us as well, always around Molly and the baby, but after a while, she decided it was time for her to go. Like the rest of us, her personal journey was not over, and she had someone to find. Thomas gave her the Lucia’s Heart and wished her luck and happiness before she sailed away forever.
I, too, had someone to find. When Thomas and Molly finally pulled up their wild roots and boarded The Roatán Butterfly along with many Helvetian refugees, it was my regrettable burden to explain to them that I could not go with them. I had long since been able to remember what had happened to me in London, and a man named Decius O’Delle had taken something precious from me. To honor the sacrifice made by Matsuda Ine, I decided my next purpose in life was to find the man responsible for her death and to reclaim the last gift that she gave me. When I returned to London, I joined the Ghosts’ resistance party, and in 1803 I was captured and imprisoned for the duration of the civil war in England. Only after many decades was I freed again by the efforts of the Ghosts.
So much time has passed since I last saw Thomas and Molly. By now I should be an aging man, but I am not. Thomas Crowe once told me people die only when they have nothing left to live for. However, today I’m sure he would say something a sight more experienced, such as, “When people cease to live with purpose, they cease to live.”
I wonder, who will read these passages inked by my hand, many lifetimes after I am gone? What will I have accomplished by the time the Octopus comes calling and I leave only my words in this world as I depart for the next? And then I think about the nature of this story. In truth, stories do not have beginnings or endings. There is always a chapter after, and a chapter before; something must always be left to want illumination or discovery. Stories are like the lives they describe—beginning whether we’re ready and always ending before we have entirely finished our business. I will not shut these pages and call this story to a close, because I know they will open again. After all, there has only ever been one, true story, and that is the story of everything we have come to know and everything we have yet to uncover.
It is Patriot’s Day today, the day the Ghosts claimed a final victory over the Bureau of Immortal Affairs after a long and costly battle for London, nearly forty-three years in the making. As I sit at this desk, in the home of Quincy Vanille, son of Remy Vanille, I realize how fortunate I was to have known Thomas Crowe and Molly Bishop, and to witness the fruits of lives lived with purpose. I think of the great journey ahead and of the years I will count as I go in search of the man to whom I’ve chosen to bind my destiny. I do not know where to begin, how far I will travel, or how long I will search. Luckily, I have forever.
Geoffrey Mylus,
February 13, 1834
About the Author
Chad T. Douglas was born in Wilkesboro, North Carolina in 1989. As a sophomore attending the University of Florida, Douglas published A Pirate’s Charm, the first novel of the Lore trilogy. One year later, he released his second novel, East and Eight, and in 2011 he completed his trilogy with the release of The Old World. Around that time, Douglas became a staff writer for the McGuire Center for Lepidoptera and Biodiversity at the Florida Museum of Natural History. When he wasn’t working on his novels, Douglas traveled with and wrote for the McGuire Center. Since 2010, he has visited Honduras, Kenya, Ecuador, the Galapagos Islands and Mexico as a travel writer. Douglas’s most recent novel, Earthshine, is the first installment of a science fiction series.
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