Will Wilder

by Raymond Arroyo

His head was spinning. He couldn’t move. Only the hard rain pelting his face brought him back to consciousness.

  SNAP. Balor’s cage slammed shut next to Will. When it rose, the reliquary was trapped within. The boy drove his elbows into the gravelly shoreline and struggled to lift his chest off the ground. He couldn’t let the relic get away—he couldn’t lose it. He tried to shake off the dizziness and face Captain Balor.

  “Why are you doing this? I thought you were my friend.”

  “ ‘I thought you were my friend,’ ” the Captain mockingly screeched. And though he spoke, Balor’s lips were perfectly still. At least, Will thought they were still. The fog was so dense, the rain so constant, it was hard for Will to be sure of anything. “We were never yer friend. We’re sworn enemies and ever ’twill be,” the Captain continued. Both his eyes, one yellow, one red, cruelly glared at Will.

  Captain Balor triumphantly shook the caged relic high in the air. “Now it is ours. The bone Jacob Wilder thought would restrain our power—the thing he imagined would enslave us—is now ours!” Balor’s rain hat blew off, revealing a series of horned nubs protruding from his greasy hair. His body frantically convulsed, the quivering raincoat stretching at the seams. Great bulges, like the snouts of mad animals, pushed out from all sides of the slicker. Then the dirty green fabric split open in six places. From each hole craned a different monstrous face—a chaos of horns, bared teeth, and flaring nostrils—each moving toward Will.

  Am I dreaming? Is this another “spirit”?

  AH-CHOO! AHH-CHOOO! AHHH-CHOOOOOO! Will’s vision dimmed even more.

  “Sneeze yer head off—just like yer great-grandfather! He too couldn’t help sneezin’ whenever we appeared. We hope yer sinuses are ready for this. Take a good look, laddie!”

  The shredded coat flipped away in the windstorm. Through the haze only Captain Balor’s toadlike face and terrible eyes were recognizable at first. Then Will saw the thing that caused him to scream as he had never screamed before. It sapped the air from his lungs. Balor’s head now bobbed upon a lengthy serpent’s neck, wide and reptilian. Gray scales covered his hulking chest. Massive arms and a set of tentacles jutted out from his sides. From Balor’s back, six writhing necks sprang forward, as thick as the one at the center, each bearing a distinct face of hatred.

  Will now understood why that raincoat never seemed big enough for the Captain. He was carrying a lot of passengers under there.

  A barnacled, decomposing face attached to one of Balor’s snaky necks shot forward. It had no eyes, just dark black holes. The face blocked Will’s field of vision entirely.

  “Perilous Falls will be ours once more,” the barnacled one rasped. “The Sinestri are rising, Wilder! The Brethren will fall.”

  “I don’t know who the Brethren are. What are you talking about? Captain Balor, I need the relic back,” Will shouted.

  “He wants the relic back, Captain. Haaaaa­aaaaa­aa,” the barnacled face wheezed, recoiling with a wicked smile.

  The soil under Will quaked. River water overtook his feet.

  “Yer aunt Lucille can explain who the Brethren are. She’s a lifelong member,” Balor said, craning his head forward. He was almost transparent now. “Unfortunately, ye won’t be able to ask her yerself—or do much of anything else. But ye’ll still have yer sight—little SEER.” Balor pried one of Will’s eyes open with slimy fingerlike appendages.

  “What? I can barely see you now…get your hand off me!” Will tried to escape Balor’s touch, but a heavy tentacle pinned him to the gravel.

  “Maybe yer losing yer gift, Seer. When yer heart is clouded, so is yer vision….What a pity the Brethren will be blind again.” Balor’s diseased eye was shut tight, his breath like stagnant water.

  “We have a special goin’-away present for ye, lad. The whole town’s aflutter about what became of those poor souls we didn’t rip to pieces or drag to the river’s depths—the ones staring at hospital ceilings like they’re in a coma, uttering nary a word.” Balor’s freezing spittle hit Will in the face. “In moments ye’ll understand what happened to them all. But ye’ll be just as speechless as they are. Thank yeh for the relic, Will. Yer family will be very proud.”

  “Leave me alone. I did what you asked….Nooooooo!”

  Balor moved his sickly, distended red eyeball directly in front of Will’s vulnerable pupil. The creature held the boy’s lids open, forcing him to take in the full horror of that wicked red gaze. Will’s body went rigid, his eyes blank.

  Thick black clouds blotted out the last remnants of the sun, and the levees quaked.

  Beneath Balor two monstrous sea serpents rose from the waters, easily lifting the coiled, seven-headed creature above the tempestuous tide. Downriver the menagerie coasted, Balor waving the caged relic of St. Thomas about like a scepter at a coronation ball.

  “The water’s high enough. It’s time to swim to the other side,” Andrew exclaimed. The oily water in the third chamber of the Undercroft had nearly reached the top of their platform.

  Simon squatted at the very edge of the filthy pool. He fixed his eyes on the white marble statues across the way. “Tie my rope around your arm in case I have trouble. It’s a very short swim. It’s a very short swim. It’s a very short swim,” he repeated, trying to convince himself. The jittery boy sucked deeply on his inhaler, adjusted the strap of his prescription sports goggles, and turned to Andrew.

  “Okay, okay. I believe I’m ready. Let’s go in together. It’s a very short swim. It’s a very short swim….”

  The two boys lowered themselves into the water, connected by the rope, and swam toward the statues of St. Thomas and Jesus. Andrew moved quickly with a wide stroke. Simon paddled with all the power of a Chihuahua in a lake of molasses.

  His red head barely coming up for air, Andrew dragged Simon farther than the scrawny boy could have ever advanced on his own. After a few moments, Simon gave up all effort and floated, allowing Andrew to motor him the rest of the way.

  Andrew had had enough of the drag. In the middle of the pool, he stopped swimming and turned to his friend. “Uh, Deadweight! Am I your tugboat now? You can’t swim?”

  “You’re doing such an exemplary job that I felt my paddling would slow you down,” Simon clarified, doing a slight dog paddle to keep his head above water. “We’re almost there. Keep going.”

  Andrew smacked the surface of the water with open palms. “What do you mean, keep going? How’d I become your transportation? You keep going! I’m gonna sit here like an old lady on an air mattress while you pull me to the other side.”

  Through his fogged sports goggles, Simon stared past Andrew. His eyebrows hitched up somewhere near his hairline. His voice rose into the soprano range. “There’s a…There’s a…It’s a very short swim, it’s a very short swim, it’s a very short swim….” He frantically ripped the goggles off his face, dipping them in the water.

  “This rope runs two ways, you know,” Andrew continued, pulling the rope at his arm. “You can drag me across as easily as I can drag you.”

  His goggles clear and back on his eyes, Simon was speechless. He pointed beyond Andrew, lips moving but nothing coming out.

  “Yes, that’s the direction we need to go. Right over there. Start pulling your load,” Andrew chided. “To quote somebody I know, ‘It’s a very short swim. It’s a very short swim.’ ” Andrew was enjoying himself.

  There was no response from Simon. He only continued pointing over Andrew’s head—panic-stricken and bug-eyed.

  “Scared of a little work? I’m not moving one inch,” Andrew casually insisted. “We can stay here all day. I’m not your water slave or something….What are you pointing at?” Andrew looked over his shoulder. Shivers ran up his back. “Holy crab butts!”

  Climbing onto the black disk, one claw already on the foot of the St. Thomas statue, a Bottom Dweller slithered out of the pool. Its dragon face turned toward the boys, dead yellow eyes trained on them like prey.

  “Swim back
to where we were,” Andrew whispered. “Don’t freak, Simon. You freak, we die.”

  Simon nodded that he had heard. Andrew didn’t wait for an answer. He dragged Simon by his pointing arm back to their original location, toward the two tunnels that led to the second chamber.

  Andrew could feel Simon hyperventilating. “He’s way across the water, Simon. Don’t freak out.”

  “You’re wrong, lummox,” Simon squeaked.

  Andrew looked back to confirm that the Bottom Dweller was still on the black marble disk on the other side of the pool. The thing had wrapped itself around the statue of Jesus and was clawing away at its marble head.

  Arriving at the stone platform, Andrew lifted Simon up out of the pool. Simon’s eyes were still wide and filled with fear behind his sports goggles.

  “Relax. We’re safe. The gator thing is all the way over there.”

  “I know. But…but…” Simon quivered, aiming a shaky finger over Andrew’s left shoulder. “There’s another one!”

  A long prehistoric nose cut through the water’s surface, headed straight toward the boys. It opened its long mouth, hissing at them, three rows of serrated teeth glinting in the light.

  After dropping Bartimaeus at Dismal Shoals, Aunt Lucille had difficultly steering the Stella Maris. Each time she thought she had found a smooth path, the river’s erratic waves pounded the side of the boat, throwing her off course. She finally managed to dock the vessel along the shoreline near St. Thomas Church. The water was so high she disembarked directly onto the muddy hill leading up to the churchyard.

  Pulling her light blue rain hat over her face, she scaled the sloping embankment, yelling Will’s name. Her tall rubber boots sank into the soft mud.

  She searched everywhere. He wasn’t in the field, he wasn’t at Shen’s house, and he wasn’t in the church. Standing inside the vestibule watching the storm rage did not give her hope. Rain bulleted the ground, falling in great dollops. Wind tortured the trees, snapping branches and hurling them into the river.

  Concerned that Will might have slipped into the waters, Aunt Lucille raced back to the boat. Just as she prepared to leap onto the starboard side, out of the corner of her eye she spied a mass along the river’s edge. It was Will. The water covered his chest. He lay perfectly still in the gravel, his pith helmet half under his head but no longer on it.

  “Oh, dear Lord!” Aunt Lucille flew to his side. She placed a hand near his throat. He was warm to the touch, for which she was thankful. She pulled him to higher ground and searched for marks, cuts, blood—some explanation for his state. She didn’t even notice at first that his eyes were half open and unmoving.

  “Will! Will! Answer me!” she demanded, shaking him, but there was no response. She thought of yelling for help, but in the torrential downpour who would hear her?

  Aunt Lucille got behind the boy and sat him up. She placed Jacob Wilder’s old pith helmet on top of her own rain hat and looped her arms under Will’s. “Here we go, dearie. Let’s get you out of this deluge.”

  She dragged Will up the embankment to the yard, his heels leaving deep ridges in the mud. Approaching the church doors, they were caught by the headlights of a vehicle speeding down Falls Road. The driver of the blue minivan slammed on the breaks, but Lucille did not wait for help. She continued hauling Will toward the church.

  “What happened? What’s wrong with Will?” Deborah Wilder screamed at the top of her lungs, evacuating the minivan, her hair and stylish black-and-white dress drenched by the downpour. “Lucille! What’s happened to him?”

  Aunt Lucille dragged Will inside the church and lowered him to the stone floor. “I don’t know what’s happened, Deborah. I just found him alongside the river.” She pulled off her light blue raincoat, revealing the fabric satchel slung over her shoulder with the Book of Prophecy that Bartimaeus had given her. Lucille balled the coat into a makeshift pillow for Will. “He’s not responding, but his eyes are open.”

  She knelt next to the boy, leaning in to his face. “It’s very odd. He’s breathing, but…”

  Deborah fell to her knees. “Will, it’s Mom! Talk to me, son!”

  “Deb, I’ve tried all of that. He is not responding. I’m calling for help.” She pulled out her cell phone and started dialing.

  Deborah Wilder jiggled Will’s arms, trying to wake him. “Will. Come on, baby. Talk to Mama. Talk to me.” She grew more frantic, shaking his shoulders. Will’s unfocused eyes stared blankly, his lips still.

  Marin and Leo, wet and disoriented, wandered in through the church’s main doors. “Mama, is Will okeydokey?” Marin asked, wiping the rain from her forehead.

  Aunt Lucille put an arm around the two children and closed the heavy wooden doors behind them, shutting out the rain. “As soon as we figure out what happened to your brother, he’ll be fine.” She pressed the cell phone to her ear but gave up seconds later. “Wonderful. All the circuits are busy. Could be the weather. We should drive him to the hospital.”

  “There are downed trees all over town. We won’t make it to the hospital. I almost killed us driving over here,” Deborah sobbed at Will’s side. “Where was he, Lucille? Why was he alone?”

  “I found him at the edge of the river. He was lying on his back, just like that. We should be thankful. He could have—”

  “Where was Mr. Shen?” Deborah asked accusatorily.

  “When the pier collapsed, Tobias went downriver to help the victims. Now he’s…missing.”

  “The man who was supposed to be watching my son is missing? This is crazy. Crazy!”

  “I wish I had a proper explanation for you, Deborah….”

  “He looks like the victims they fished out of the river the other day. He’s just blank, Lucille. Look at his face.”

  Aunt Lucille and Deborah continued to bicker over Will’s condition, but Leo didn’t hear a word the grown-ups were saying. The younger Wilder boy silently knelt beside Will’s head. Leo waved a pudgy hand in front of Will’s eyes. There was not even so much as a flicker of recognition. Will’s mouth was slack and his coloring pale. Leo had an inspired idea. He leaned close to Will’s ear. “I’m going to try something,” he whispered.

  Maybe it was crazy, but if it could help his brother, it was worth the attempt. Leo could see the adults were still arguing among themselves, and there was no use asking them for permission. So Leo decided to just act on his inspiration and see what happened.

  Leo pulled Elijah’s mantle from inside his sling, carefully unfolding the fabric. He laid it over Will’s face, the golden weave of the old cloth glimmering as he adjusted it.

  Aunt Lucille was the first to notice what he had done. “Leo, where did you get that?”

  With complete calm, Leo looked up at her through his rain-flecked, wire-rimmed glasses. “They say this mantle can do miracles. Let’s see if it can.”

  “Take that off him!” Deborah exploded. She started to rip the mantle away from her son’s face.

  Leo clutched his mother’s wrist. “Please, Mom.” He was so intent, so sure that the mantle might do some good, that Deborah released the garment and allowed him to continue.

  Leo placed his plump hands on either side of the delicate crimson-and-gold material draping his brother’s head. “Wake up. Please let him wake up.” Leo closed his eyes and lowered his head as if his simple pleading alone had the power to return Will to consciousness.

  There was a stark stillness in the air. Marin, not wanting to be left out, bent down and imitated Leo. The little girl laid a hand on Will’s hair. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” she whispered. “Time to rise and shine with the angels.”

  Aunt Lucille’s face contorted in pain as she watched the scene. From the tears coating them, her blue eyes appeared gray. The children’s hands remained in place, hoping against hope that they could revive their brother. As the minutes passed, Deborah Wilder covered her mouth to contain her sobbing.

  There was no movement from Will, nor a sound.

  With the mantle co
vering his face, he appeared dead to Lucille. In her mind’s eye she saw her father, a miserable stained cloth covering his dead body. Over the years she had lost so many she loved to the Sinestri—to the Darkness. Now her last hope, the one she had waited for, the one she had prayed for, was practically gone as well.

  AH-CHOO! The gauzy material covering Will’s face pulsated upward.

  AH-CHOO! Like a tiny crimson-and-gold ghost, the fabric of the mantle popped up again.

  “Yes, yes—I’ll do it,” Will said clearly.

  Leo’s blue eyes were the size of quarters, and Marin mouthed a “Wow-zee.”

  Deborah yanked the fabric away from Will’s face. “Will? Can you hear us?”

  He blinked repeatedly and met his mother’s gaze, then Aunt Lucille’s.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” Will said hoarsely, grasping his mother’s hand. He was shivering. “Aunt Lucille, I’m so sorry.”

  “Will, dear, the important thing is you’re all right.” Aunt Lucille’s elation crowded out the tears produced just moments earlier. “Thank God.”

  Deborah Wilder planted kiss after kiss on her oldest boy’s head.

  “I’m so sorry for what I did,” Will said.

  “Don’t apologize, honey. Your brother’s arm is getting better. Accidents happen all the time,” Deborah said.

  “You don’t understand!” Will tried to sit up. “I’m not talking about Leo’s arm. I did something I shouldn’t have done. I did it for a good reason, but I guess…it was wrong.”

  Deborah embraced him. “Cami told me you tried to break into the church. I don’t want you to worry about it now. You’re safe. We’re going straight home when this weather blows over and—”

  Aunt Lucille placed a hand on Deborah’s shoulder, quieting her. “Where’s the relic, Will?”

  Will’s cheeks reddened. “The relic. I had it—”

  All expression fled from Aunt Lucille’s face. “Where is it? You didn’t remove it from the Keep, did you?”

  “I was going to bring it to Leo, to heal his arm. But the Captain—Captain Balor—”