“Okay…come and end it,” Peter taunted.
The Inspector’s face scrunched into a look of anger and spite. Seconds later, he called out to his co-assassin above him using inhuman sounds.
Greta screamed and fainted at the ghastly sight of the Inspector transforming himself back into the heavily armored assassin he was.
The cloaked assassin dropped from the sky and landed heavily onto the bridge a few feet from the mob.
“What are they? They’re hideous!” Mr. Jennings cried from the crowd. No adult had the courage to step forward and help the children after both Viktor and the policeman were tossed off the bridge and into the air by the nine-foot beasts.
Peter calmly lifted the glass ball from his backpack that he’d received from Jacob and raised it up to the moonlight. It immediately absorbed a beam of white light that started to glow luminous colors.
The ball shone its effect on the forest, first with bright greens, and then purples and reds – each color a dazzling and beautiful spectacle. When the colorful light rested on ocean blue, Peter smashed the crystal ball inside the narrow gap on the bridge that separated the children from their assassins.
One of the assassins snickered at Peter’s seemingly feeble effort to keep them at bay.
Breathing heavily, the foul assassins traipsed near the gap to reach the boys.
“It is too late for their return,” growled the armored assassin, lifting his massive axe from his back. “His Majesty forbids it.”
The axe-wielding assassin stood at the edge of the bridge’s gap, causing pieces of gravel to fall below. Taking one step over the gap, the armored assassin hovered for a split second. “Prepare to perish, little sorcerer,” it said. Just then a loud noise rose up beneath it.
“After you. I insist,” teased Peter, as an enormous waterfall unleashed onto the assassin, shooting upward from the gap. The heavy showers soared toward the stars, surpassing the height of the magic oak tree and stalling the armored assassin in the middle of it. It was trapped.
“Into the tree!” Peter commanded.
Benjamin, Sebastian and Tommy looked on in disbelief as the tree’s roots morphed into a large doorframe with steps leading into it. The doorway took the shape of a mouth, revealing nothing but blackness inside it. Jagged teeth formed around its doorframe, ready to close and lock out any trespasser.
“It is pointless, you cannot protect them forever; sooner or later, they will be ours!” The armored assassin gurgled through the flowing water, thrashing his arms around in a fit of rage before throwing his massive axe through the watery trap. The axe flew dangerously close between the three boys and embedded itself into the magic oak tree that gave out a long deep moan of pain.
“Cross over! Trust me!” Peter pleaded to the frightened boys.
Benjamin was the first to act. He took a quick breath and braced himself to dive into the tree’s very core, only too eager to leave the chaos behind him. As he entered, white light beamed out of the gateway. Once Benjamin vanished, the light faded back to darkness. Sebastian followed, giving out a loud scream the second he jumped.
The entire mob fled out of the woods in terror, all but one, whose obsessive taste for revenge clouded his better judgement. Using the forest’s thicket for his hiding spot, Mr. Jennings skulked behind.
Once the cloaked assassin took flight, it flew its way around the bridge and went straight for Peter, ready to strike with its needle-like weapon. Peter jumped onto the remaining wall of the half standing bridge to gain high ground.
“Thomas, go through the gateway,” Peter yelled, avoiding the constant strikes from the giant cloaked assassin.
“Go ahead, go through. It will only make it easier for us to catch you on the other side, anyway,” threatened the cloaked assassin.
Ignoring the assassin’s threat, Tommy took a deep breath and prepared himself to run into the gateway. He managed to get an inch away from the gateway when his pace was broken and halted by a swift tackle to the ground. Scrapping fingers wrapped around his neck tightly, causing pain to shoot through his whole body.
“Remember me, you little cricket?” Mr. Jennings yelled into the boy’s face as he squeezed his throat.
His enormous grip was strong for a man so deathly thin, and his breath was putrid. He squeezed tighter, digging his filthy nails into the back of Tommy’s neck. Tommy felt his windpipe closing speedily as he struggled to fight him off.
“Now, Thomas Joel,” Mr. Jennings muttered, “You’ll meet the same end as that gullible sod, George Johnston.”
You murderer, Tommy thought. Was he lying? Or was the old principal so cruel that he was capable of murder? Of course he was.
“Troublemaker! You’re all trouble–," Mr. Jennings began when he was unexpectedly lifted up and propelled high into the air by one of the nine-foot assassins. The armored assassin had broken through Peter’s reversed waterfall spell and stood directly over Tommy.
But something stopped the assassin from striking this time. Brambles, branches and intertwining twigs sprouted out from the ground beneath the magical oak tree, protecting Tommy from his deadly assassin.
The tree’s branches began hitting and tearing at the armored assassin, preventing its unrelenting attacks. More branches removed the giant axe the assassin had embedded into the tree’s trunk. Holding the armored assassin firmly in place, the oak tree generously returned the weapon to its owner, swinging the assassin’s axe back at him as hard as its branches could swing. The axe flew at great force toward the giant assassin, lobbing him into the air far from Tommy. But the assassin’s armor was so resilient that the oak tree’s swing only made a slight dent in the assassin’s chest plate.
Tommy ran back and stood in front of the large tree-like mouth, when he caught a glimpse of Peter battling the cloaked assassin in the distance.
Peter dodged the attacks impulsively and carefully with surprising effortlessness. His small stature gave him good speed and balance. The cloaked assassin tried desperately to connect his weapon with Peter, but failed in every attempt. Peter used the remaining bridge walls and woodland around him to back flip and summersault over and through each swipe, using several chances to kick the beast’s chest and clip its shoulders.
Peter battled the cloaked assassin into the path of the reversed waterfall. The spell had reached the last ounce of its magic and came crashing back down upon the rubble, casting the cloaked assassin adrift when the bridge finally split in two and fell into the current. Tucking his large dagger into its pouch at his side, Peter walked over to Tommy, steadily and with ease.
“Are you hurt?” Peter asked with great concern.
“Just a little,” Tommy replied, rubbing the bruises on his throat where Mr. Jennings had tried to strangle him.
“If you don’t do what I say, from here on in, it will cost you your life,” Peter warned, giving Tommy a hard look.
Wolves started to howl in the far distance, meaning only one thing: they were on the prowl. Peter pointed to the mouth-like gateway at the tree’s root. Its broken bits of wood that resembled rows of pointed teeth made Tommy feel uneasy, until a glorious warm light shone out at them.
“Time to go home,” Peter said, leading the surviving Gatesville runaway through the gateway. Tommy took one glance back at the old world he was about to leave behind, long enough to see the cloaked assassin rising out from the deep waters, forever on the hunt for him.
18
Brethren of Villains
Mr. Jennings awoke to the rumbling of the ground that shook apart the earthly pit he’d landed in. He was sure he had broken a bone or two. Wet leaves and muck covered his lanky body. His pain and discomfort angered him further. In one desperate attempt, he tried to lift himself up out of the pit, but his weakened state wouldn’t allow it. Falling onto his back, Mr. Jennings started screaming in agony, unknowingly alerting the remaining predators of the forest that howled in response.
“Help me! Some
body!” he cried repeatedly in between his grunts and moaning.
Something drew near. The sounds of the wolves’ movements and howling ceased as if they’d suddenly evaporated in the mist.
Five wolves silently scavenged, in stealth-like coordination, crawling beside him, until the leader claimed its territory above his head. Mr. Jennings knew they’d found him when he felt warm heavy breaths tickle the few hairs on the back of his balding head. A few crows nested on the towering branches above, goggling down at him, awaiting their meal of leftovers after the inevitable attack. The eyes of the wolves reflected the shimmering light of the moon. Six lights twinkled out of the darkness, revealing three of the wild beasts.
Mr. Jennings couldn’t contain his fear any longer and started to weep loudly. Soon, other wolves gathered, snapping at one another over their dinner.
“Please, I don’t want to die like this,” he cried, after one wolf seized the moment and dared to be the first of the pack to take a bite, sinking its razor sharp white fangs into Mr. Jennings’ ankle. His screams were so high pitched they could have been heard over half of Warwickshire.
“Get off, beast!” he screamed, springing to a sitting position.
The rumbling grew louder. Then the two nine-foot assassins marched through the forest toward him, trampling everything in their path. The wolves shifted their attention away from Mr. Jennings to gaze upon the giant assassins. The leader of the pack instinctively bared its teeth at the approaching threat.
Mr. Jennings looked around for any sign of the angry mob he’d led into the forest before realizing their disloyalty was certain. He’d been left to die, to be eaten by wild beasts or something worse.
The leader of the wolf pack charged at the armored assassin to protect his meal. Without much effort (a tap really), the assassin brushed the wolf away from its sight as a human would a fly. The injured wolf fell down and limped into the woods, swiftly followed by the rest of its pack. Mr. Jennings was left to face the deadlier assassins alone.
“Stay back. Stay back, I say.” He coughed, trying to climb out of the small grave-like ditch.
The cloaked assassin stomped impatiently over to him and picked the old man off of his feet.
“Don’t eat me!” Mr. Jennings yelled, his legs shaking in thin air, trying to kick with what little energy they had left in them. “Who are you? What are you?”
“We want the Children of Aba-sssin,” the assassin hissed like a serpent.
“Oh, dear heavens, your breath is worse than mine,” Mr. Jennings said. “I didn’t think that was possible,” he added quite boldly, proud of his rotted tonsils.
“Silence!” ordered his capturer, squeezing him by the neck. “Bring us to The Three That Are One,” the cloaked beast said while Mr. Jennings gasped for air.
“Three That Are One? I do not teach mathematics, you overgrown bean can,” Mr. Jennings wheezed, his ego getting in the way of his common sense.
“Do you know the Children of Aba-sssin, petty human?” the armored assassin asked.
“I-I…I can’t tell you if you won’t release me…bean can,” Mr. Jennings muttered, forcing his insult out loud once more.
The cloaked assassin promptly tossed the old man into the clutches of its partner, like a rag doll. This time, Mr. Jennings was held upside down.
“Tell me now or I will drop you on your head,” growled the armored assassin as he swung Mr. Jennings back and forth.
“Ah…okay…okay. I don’t know them personally. They’re my pupils. Please, don’t kill me. I can help you find them,” he begged.
The armored assassin looked into Mr. Jennings’ hard, worn face.
“The Three That Are One…they are students of yours, treacherous human?” it growled again. “You teach the enemy!”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Mr. Jennings said.
“Crafts against His Majesty!” snapped the cloaked assassin.
“I’m on your side. I hate the little brats!” Mr. Jennings smiled unconvincingly.
“Liar,” the armored beast whispered eerily to his captive. “You teach the Children of Aba-sssin to fight against our King.”
“No. I wasn’t trying to help them…honest. I agree with you charming gentlemen…I mean, gentle-bean cans,” Mr. Jennings said.
Both beasts began to cackle at the pathetic captive pleading for his life.
“You don’t look as if you would be much use out on the battlefield, human,” the cloaked assassin said, laughing.
The armored assassin gave Mr. Jennings a stern look seconds before flinging him back to his original capturer. Held by the scruff of his jacket, the humiliated principal looked like an entangled puppet.
“Now this is just getting ridiculous,” Mr. Jennings grunted.
“The children have many powers, foolish human,” said the cloaked assassin.
“Powers? My boys? Are you sure about that?” Mr. Jennings giggled.
“Do not mock us, human worm!” the armored assassin warned, pointing its finger at him.
“Well, I could hang around here all day with you chaps, or we could stop babbling nonsense and go find the little scrappers,” Mr. Jennings suggested tensely.
At this point the beasts started to talk amongst themselves in a language that Mr. Jennings could not comprehend.
“He’s a wasteful human, Thestor, diseased and dying. Leave him for the carnivores of these lands. He’s of no use to the Master,” said the cloaked assassin, glancing back and forth between Mr. Jennings and its counterpart.
Thestor silently shook his head in disagreement.
“His soul has escaped him, and his heart is empty. I rather like this uncaring, devious excuse for human fodder. If nothing else, he can wash the warts off my back and help with the other slaves in the dungeons, if he survives the transition. He’ll be my wart scrubber.”
Both beastly assassins looked at the pathetic man and began to laugh at him when the cloaked assassin handed Mr. Jennings over to its counterpart.
“Very well, my ugly pet; I’m sure we can make some use of you…if the Master lets you live,” Thestor sniggered.
Unknowingly, Mr. Jennings laughed together with his new villainous brethren in relief that his life had been spared.
In one movement, Thestor abruptly threw Mr. Jennings onto his back, preparing him for their lengthy flight into the unknown. “Make yourself comfortable up there, peasant, you might have to get used to it, if you’re very lucky.” Both assassins roared with laughter.
“Where are we going?” Mr. Jennings asked in sheer fright, gripping the steel armor on the assassin’s back.
Thestor gave a warning look over his shoulder. “Not another word from you, slug,” he growled. He took off from the ground at great speed. Mr. Jennings screamed like a little girl (revealing his fear of heights), digging his fingernails into the rusted grip points in the assassin’s armor.
The darkened clouds opened their mouths, showing razor-elongated teeth. A bright blinding light shone out from the gateway, increasing the coldness upon their faces. Mr. Jennings’s stomach turned as sulphuric smells flew out at him, attacking his nostrils and clouding his senses. His weak heart slowed to a mere crawl when he slipped into unconsciousness. Luckily for Mr. Jennings, the freezing temperatures had covered the black steel armor in a thick layer of sticky frost that kept his body attached to the flying assassin.
Seconds after his mind faded out of consciousness, the mouth of the vortex opened up, revealing the blinding cold light. Unbeknownst to him, Mr. Jennings was now a prisoner, belonging to the assassin he rode on.
After they entered through the vortex, it evaporated, leaving behind a great patch of gloomy colors in the skyline over Warwickshire. The new brethren of villains had crossed their gateway in pursuit of the three human children who had arrived on the other side of their own gateways…each awaiting his fate.
19
Protectors of Abasin
The tra
nsition for Tommy hadn’t been anywhere near as hellish as what Jennings encountered. It was comfortably quick, and before he knew it, he stepped out of the same rugged oak tree doorway the very way he had entered it. The only difference was he was now covered in soil and plant roots from head to toe, which clung to his clothes even when he tried to brush them off.
The roots were alive and made Tommy squeamish, as he plucked each one off him. The large gateway door closed over, changing into solid oak again. Once his vision cleared, Tommy gazed in wonder at the most beautiful skies one could ever have dreamed of. Clear purple heavens lit up a beautiful white rock that lay ahead of him.
The thought of discovering this new world excited him. Trees surrounded him, but these were not like the withered and mossy trees that bordered Jacob O’Malley’s farmland. These trees appeared to ignite their surroundings like candlelight, reflecting the golden brown leaves that covered their roots. Spectacular colors enhanced the main pathway that lay behind the white rock. Strong, pleasant smells of rosemary and incense rose around him and cleared the remaining residue of stench the horrid assassins had left.
Tommy was exhilarated. The smells grew stronger with every breath he took. His body began adjusting to the atmosphere, when he fell onto his hands and knees, vomiting what little he had eaten earlier in the old world.
“Your body is just adapting to the new air,” a tiny high-pitched voice called out.
Tommy slowly got to his feet when he heard the strange voice.
“Who’s there?” he asked. There was a short silence, and Tommy found himself wondering what had happened to the rest of the group. Feeling isolated in a strange place gripped him with an unsettling feeling.
Rustling came from the gorgeous woodlands to the right of him along with the sounds of small feet puttering close by.
“Show yourself,” he demanded.
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