by Peter Howe
Thoren turned his head toward Walker’s voice. The pain seemed to have passed and he stood still and calm.
“What a clever boy you are!” he sneered. “But maybe not as clever as you think. Remember, all our masters, the Count and the Warriors, are sightless, as we are now. And when the light is finally extinguished from this realm then it will be we who have the advantage, for eyes will not help you in the blackness of Diabolonia.”
“This realm will never lose its light,” Walker said defiantly. “The Source will live forever.”
“Nothing lives forever, boy,” Thoren said. “Remember that, and remember there is more than one way of seeing.”
Walker suddenly realized the other two Nightangels had stopped stumbling around in panic and had regained Thoren’s same deadly calm. Now all three of them were moving toward him. He moved to the right but so did they, all the time getting closer. There was a small space between two of the Nightangels, and Walker made a run for it. Sensing his movement the Nightangel reacted fast, but Walker had the energy of the Source pulsing through him and he felt the brush of the beast’s fingers as it snatched at him and missed.
Walker backed into the passageway that led from the Sanctuary back to the king’s bedroom.
“You think you can catch me?” he yelled. “You’ll never catch a Chosen One. It’d take more than stinky old bags of bones like you to capture the Bearer of the Mark.”
With a roar Thoren lurched toward him, followed by the other two. As they did, the walls of the Sanctuary closed behind them. Walker knew he had to time it carefully. The walls closed when he went through them, and if he got it right he could trap his pursuers behind the last one into the king’s bedroom.
He had a good lead, enough for him to open the bedroom wall and give it time to close before Thoren and the others could get through it. But then another idea struck him. What was he thinking? How stupid could he be? Even if he got through the wall and it closed, trapping the Nightangels in the passageway, he would end up in a Palace full of their cohorts who could still see and who were armed.
There was nothing to do but to press on and find out what would happen. His heart pounding, he pushed gently on the place he knew would open the heavy wall. It slowly swung away to reveal a scene of utter chaos.
The room was thick with people. Almost all the Lightkeepers present in the antechamber were now packed inside the bedroom. Everyone was agitated and shouting, but as the wall swung open silence gradually descended. Jevon pushed his way to the front of the crowd, followed by Frankie, who could push as well as anyone.
“Walker, what happened?” the knight asked. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Walker assured him. He told Jevon all that had happened in the Sanctuary, and how he had remembered the king’s warning that only a Chosen One’s eyes could withstand the light of the Source.
Frankie ran up and threw her arms around him in an enormous hug.
“Oh, Walker,” she cried, “I’m so glad you didn’t join the enemy. I never thought you would, of course, but you were so brave to go with those awful people by yourself just so you could save us.”
Because Walker hadn’t yet entered the bedroom the wall was still open, and Thoren came stumbling out, yelling at the top of his voice.
“Nightangels, your assistance. We need your assistance.”
“That will do you no good, Luzaro, or whatever you call yourself,” said Jevon. “Your friends are as sightless as you. At the moment you lost your vision they also lost theirs. They are our prisoners now.”
“No,” groaned Thoren. “That cannot be.”
“Why would they all go blind at the same moment?” asked Walker.
“Who knows with these creatures?” said Jevon. “They are not like us. Maybe what happens to one happens to them all. Come, let’s gather them into one group where we can keep an eye on them all.”
He took Thoren’s hand and roughly pulled him forward. The crowd parted as he moved the three prisoners through it with Frankie and Walker following them. When they got to the antechamber they saw that Lumina was seated on the throne that the king usually occupied. In front of her, knights with their swords drawn guarded a large group of Nightangels. The three that had accompanied Walker to the Source were added to its number.
“My lord Jevon,” Lumina said, “are we any closer to solving the mystery of what happened here?”
Jevon told her all he knew about what happened, and as he did Eddie and Astrodor sidled up to Walker and Frankie.
“See,” Frankie whispered loudly to Eddie, “I told you he wasn’t a traitor. I knew he had a plan.”
“I’m sorry I doubted you, Walker,” Eddie whispered back. “But you were pretty convincing.”
“I had to be,” said Walker quietly.
He would have added more but he realized that an argument had broken out between Lumina and Jevon.
“But my lady,” Jevon said forcefully, “he has proven that he has courage and is resourceful and has also shown the value of the secrets of the Source that he alone knows. Why do you insist he should not be king? He has every qualification.”
“We are grateful for his bravery,” Lumina replied. “But these are dangerous times, Lord Jevon, and the Council and I agree that we should not place our future in the hands of an untried child from the Outerworld.”
“May I remind my lady that he is a Chosen One and we have always been led by a Chosen One?” Jevon growled.
“And I would remind you, Lord Jevon, that I am the Leader of the Lightkeepers and head of our new Ruling Council,” she answered back, “and we have decided that this boy will not be our king.”
Chapter 16
Because there was no daylight in the Kingdom, time there was measured differently from the Outerworld. The nearest equivalent to a day the citizens called a cycle, although exactly how they calculated one Walker was never quite sure. But in the cycles that followed the defeat of the Nightangels many changes took place.
The first was the expulsion of the enemies in their midst. The defeated Nightangels, about sixty in total, were gathered by the Kingdom’s main gates along with a large crowd of spectators. They no longer radiated light, and stumbled forward in a line, each with an arm on the shoulder of the one in front. The massive stone doors finally swung apart and a blast of icy cold air swept in through the gap. At that moment Thoren, who was at the head of the line, suddenly stood erect and turned his head toward where he sensed the crowd was assembled.
“You fools!” he cried. “Do you think that this little victory you have claimed over us will mean you are safe forever? When the dark descends upon this realm we will return.”
Then he led the Nightangels into the wilderness that waited for them outside the walls. Walker and his friends stood and watched until the gates closed again. They didn’t know what would happen next, or indeed what to do next, so they wandered back to the Palace. Walker led Lightning by the reins, but even she seemed dispirited. When they got to the courtyard no plan of action sprang into their minds and they sat on the edge of the fountain aimlessly swinging their legs.
The citizens they saw were in a strange mood. Given how close the Kingdom had come to disaster they appeared remarkably cheerful. Jugglers juggled, musicians played, and everyone looked as if they were having a fine time but somehow their good spirits didn’t ring true to Walker. Normally people passed by the street entertainers, maybe pausing for a while before moving on. It was rare to see a crowd of more than eight or ten watching. Now there were dozens, and every time a juggler did even the simplest trick there were roars of applause. The laughter was too loud, and the smiles too broad. Frankie felt it too.
“Everyone’s acting very weird,” she observed. “It’s like everything is normal, but it can’t be, can it?”
“I doubt it,” said Eddie. “Thoren was pretty mad, and I bet he’ll make good on his threats, or rather the Black Count will. They’ll be back, you see if I’m not right.”
“Nobody here seems worried about that,” remarked Frankie.
“These people have only ever known peace,” Eddie told her. “They have no idea how to deal with anything else.”
“That’s all I’ve ever known too,” Frankie protested, “but when Thoren said what he said, well, it got my attention, I can tell you.”
Frankie suddenly turned to Walker.
“Since it doesn’t seem like you’re going to be king anytime soon,” she said, “how do you feel about a trip back to the old country?”
“Which old country?” Walker asked, confused.
“Our old country—the Outerworld,” she replied. “You know—the good old US of A. I’ve got things to do, and my clothes are starting to smell really yucky.”
It was true that they still wore the same garments they had arrived in, but it wasn’t the thought of new clothes that made the idea of going back to the Outerworld appealing to Walker. It seemed that after all the fuss they’d made nobody wanted him to be king after all. Well, he would leave them to it. If they could get on without him—fine. If not, let them beg him to come back.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m up for it. You coming, Eddie?”
“No way!” exclaimed Eddie. “You can’t leave now. Anything could happen and I need to be here. We might need you too.”
“In that case you know where to find me,” Walker assured him. Then he stopped for a minute. Lightning! What would happen to Lightning?
“Um, Eddie,” he said in a more subdued tone. “Would you look after my unicorn while I’m away? I don’t think she’ll be much trouble.”
“I suppose so,” Eddie grumbled. “At least you’ll come back for her if you wouldn’t come back for anyone else. Go on, get out of here.”
“Thanks, Eddie,” Walker said. “Come on, Frankie, let’s go.”
Walker was getting much better at landing and they materialized a few feet from the far side of the barn. Although the landing was good, the weather was bad; they had arrived in the middle of a heavy downpour. Frankie held her arms out like the wings of a plane and ran in circles, yelling at the top of her lungs.
“It feels so good!” she cried.
“It’s great to be back, isn’t it?” he asked Frankie. “Even in the rain.”
“Especially in the rain,” she said. “I never thought much about rain until I went somewhere there isn’t any.”
They stood at the barn door taking in deep breaths of warm, moist air that smelled of vegetation and earth—that smelled like home, in fact.
“I’ve got to go back to my house and get out of these things,” Frankie finally said. “Do you want to come by later?”
“Sure,” Walker agreed.
They parted and made their soggy ways home.
* * *
Walker entered the house through the kitchen door. His mother was sitting at the table reading the newspaper and having a cup of coffee.
“Walker!” she exclaimed. “You’re soaked! Go upstairs right now and get out of those wet clothes.”
When he returned to the kitchen a few minutes later his mother looked at him and chuckled.
“You know, my son,” she said, “I don’t think you’ll ever have a career in the fashion industry.”
He had put on two T-shirts, one of which was back-to-front, and neither of which was fully tucked into his pants. The pants themselves his mother had put aside to take to the local thrift shop because they were too small for him and came halfway up his shins. He’d taken the first two socks that came to hand out of the drawer. One was blue and the other gray. He didn’t exactly look like a king.
“I thought I’d go over to Frankie’s house, if that’s okay with you,” he said to his mother.
“Okay with me?” his mother cried. “It’s more than okay with me. I’m delighted you’ve found someone you like to play with.”
The rain turned out to be just a heavy shower that soon ended and so Walker headed out in the direction of Frankie’s house. As he opened the gate and started up the path, the front door flew open and Frankie ran toward him and enveloped him in a huge hug.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she said. “I missed you.”
“We’ve only been apart for about an hour,” he protested.
“You don’t have to be apart from someone for a long time to miss them,” she assured him. “Anyway, be glad that I miss you.”
“I am,” he said, and he was.
“Let’s go down in the basement,” she suggested. “It’s all dusty and spooky down there, and you can imagine there are bodies of people who were murdered long ago bricked up in the walls.”
This didn’t make it sound like the most fun place to spend time, but Walker followed her down anyway. When they got there it turned out to be far less sinister than she had described it. There was a brand-new furnace with shiny copper pipes leading to various parts of the house. Along one wall was her father’s wine collection all neatly stacked in wooden racks. The only daylight filtered in through tiny slit windows at the top of the walls, and at the far end steps led up to large red metal doors that opened the cellar up to the outside world. It wasn’t spooky as much as boring, and Walker had no idea what they would do to pass the time.
But passing time was never a problem for Frankie. Talking was one of her favorite activities. She described in detail her bedroom in Boston and the advantages it had over the one in the cottage; she told him about the annoying characteristics of her girlfriends and how she thought she probably liked boys better; she talked about her swimming coach, her favorite music, and the book she just read. Then she suddenly asked him:
“If they don’t want you to be king, will you go back to Nebula?”
The question surprised Walker because he had never considered not returning, no matter how disheartened he was by what had happened.
“Yes, of course,” he replied.
“I think we should,” Frankie agreed. “They need you, even if they don’t know it. If it wasn’t for you the Nightangels would still be there, and who knows what would’ve happened by now. Anyway, I like Eddie even though he can be a pain, and he doesn’t have many friends. I think we may be the only ones he’s got.”
This surprised Walker. He hadn’t thought of Eddie being lonely or friendless. He always seemed so confident, yet when he came to think about it Walker realized that they were probably the closest companions Eddie had.
“So when do you think we should go back?” asked Frankie.
“Let’s give it a while,” said Walker, who still hoped Lumina would realize what a mistake she had made and would beg him to return.
No sooner had he said this than they heard the sound of knocking on one of the windows. They looked up to see Eddie’s worried face peering through the slit.
“Eddie,” Frankie shouted, “what are you doing there?”
Eddie said something in reply, but they couldn’t hear what it was and he couldn’t hear Frankie, however loudly she yelled, and she could yell.
“It’s no use,” she said. “We’re going to have to open the cellar doors and let him in.”
Walker opened the doors and Eddie came down the steps, his sword clanking against each one as he descended. Just then they heard Frankie’s mother calling down the stairwell that led into the house.
“What’s happening down there?” she asked. “Frances, what are you doing in the basement?”
“Nothing, Mom!” Frankie yelled. “Walker thought he heard a ghost and we went to check it out. It’s okay, there’s nothing here; we’re phantom-free.”
They heard Frankie’s mother sigh as she walked away.
“What’s up, Eddie?” Walker asked, worried by the grim look on his friend’s face.
“You have to come back,” Eddie said. “You can’t believe what’s been going on since you left.”
“But that was like a couple of hours ago,” protested Frankie. “What could possibly happen in such a short time?”
“Frankie, you have
to remember,” Eddie said impatiently. “Time here and there are totally different, and believe me, there’s been enough time for plenty to happen in the Kingdom, and none of it’s good.”
Chapter 17
She’s gone nuts,” said Eddie.
“Who has?” asked Walker.
“Lumina,” replied Eddie. “I think this thing with the Nightangels has made her crazy. She’s got the Lightkeepers under her thumb and they do whatever she tells them, and she tells them some pretty stupid things.”
“Like what?” Frankie asked.
“Well, they just passed a recommendation that nobody think negative thoughts, and that to do so would mean a period of reorientation in the stone quarry,” Eddie said.
Recommendations were the Nebula equivalent of laws, but during the king’s rule there had been no punishments other than the disapproval of your fellow citizens, which had generally been enough to make an offender mend his or her ways.
“How can they know what someone’s thinking?” asked Frankie.
“They can’t,” replied Eddie, “but the problem is you can’t prove you weren’t thinking negatively if someone says you were. She’s also put extra locks on the gates, and stopped any more patrols, even the ones that just stand guard on the walls. In fact, nobody’s supposed to even look over the walls anymore. She says it’s so we don’t antagonize the Black Count, and if we keep ourselves to ourselves we can live in harmony with him, which I think is ridiculous.”
“This all sounds pretty weird,” Walker agreed, “but it doesn’t sound serious enough to make you come flying back here.”
“That’s because you haven’t heard the worst of it yet,” Eddie assured him. “She locked Jevon in one of the rooms in the palace, because, guess what, he’s been thinking negative thoughts. What she really means is he disagrees with her.”
“Jevon’s under house arrest?” gasped Frankie.