Dragon Sleeping (The Dragon Circle Trilogy Book 1)

by CRAIG SHAW GARDNER

  “Wait!” Mills called. He panicked, thinking he would lose not only Leo but also this strange creature who could lead him to both Leo and Nunn. But the hallway changed again with his thought, and he found himself speeding ahead as well. The light-creature, faint in the distance of this never-ending hall, grew brighter and closer as Mills overtook it.

  Zachs glanced over its shoulder, as if it expected to see Mills there all along. The creature pointed down the hall. “Nunn is there.”

  Mills looked ahead. This corridor did not go on forever. It ended in a door, an open door, with a different sort of light pouring out. While the light that came from Zachs seemed full of heat, the illumination that waited for them ahead was utterly cold.

  Mills knew that Leo had opened that door and was waiting inside. He stepped to the doorway and saw his neighbor standing inside, bathed in the frigid light.

  “What did you do to her?” someone said. It sounded like Bobby’s voice.

  A deep chuckle shook the room. Nunn’s voice echoed all around them. “She’ll be fine, once she meets your father.”

  Leo moaned softly. His form blended with the cold light, so that it became far more difficult to see.

  “Dad?” Bobby asked from somewhere far away as the other room disappeared.

  “He’s right here, you know,” Nunn’s voice rumbled. Mills realized that Leo had disappeared.

  “Bobby?” Leo’s voice rumbled in the same way that Nunn’s had a moment before. “We need to talk.”

  “Nunn uses Leo,” Zachs said close by Mills’ ear. “Nunn uses everyone.”

  “Things have changed around here,” Leo’s voice said, “but they’ve changed for the better.”

  Mills realized then what the creature meant. The magician was able to use Leo’s voice, perhaps even Leo’s physical form, to say whatever the wizard wished.

  “We just have to talk about things,” the voice droned on. “We never did talk much about things in the past, did we? That’s another thing that’ll change. Soon you’ll understand.”

  “Leo isn’t saying that!” Mills whispered. “How can we stop Nunn?”

  “Nunn? Zachs stops Nunn. Nunn and Zachs very close.” The creature of light hugged its arms tight against its shimmering form. “So very close.”

  Zachs closed his eyes to concentrate.

  The next thing Leo said ended in a coughing fit.

  The creature giggled. “Zachs and Nunn are so, so close. Whatever comes from Nunn, Zachs can change.”

  Mills looked at his unlikely ally. He actually could interfere with the magician’s speech. Mills wondered if there was some way this creature could rescue Leo, maybe even free both Leo and Bobby from whatever Nunn had done to them. The light-thing did a little dance in the doorway with both its arms and legs. “Nunn has a visitor. Zachs knows this visitor. Zachs will let him in.” The creature seemed to be having a grand time.

  Leo couldn’t complete the next sentence, either.

  “Come on, now, Bobby. Don’t you see how much easier it will be if you just work with—”

  The words ended abruptly this time, as if somebody had flipped an off switch. Zachs laughed and clapped its hands.

  A moment later, Mills heard another moan. Leo was again standing in the light. He swayed, as if about to fall. Mills took a step to help him.

  A flaming arm barred his way. “No! You go there, Nunn will know you! Let Zachs!” The creature pointed to the swaying Leo. Furlong began to float toward them.

  “Nunn taught Zachs!” the creature cried happily. “Zachs learns well!”

  Nunn’s voice rumbled on as Leo fell through the doorway, into Mills’ arms.

  Furlong opened his eyes.

  “Evan,” he said hoarsely, as if he had strained his voice. “I dreamed I saw my son.”

  Mills looked back at his friend. “I think you did, in a way.” He looked at Zachs. “Is there any way you can get us out of here?”

  “Out of here?” Zachs paused, as if considering something he had never thought of. “Nunn wouldn’t like that. Zachs would. Zachs will do it if Zachs can. Zachs will find a way.” The creature giggled and danced a shuffle step.

  Leo Furlong stared at the glowing monkey-thing. “Whatever’s going on here, Evan,” he said at last, “I don’t think I want to know.”

  “Nunn is looking for us!” Zachs announced suddenly. “Need a distraction, yes. Zachs will bring the visitor!”

  “You know, of course, that I could make life quite unpleasant for you,” Nunn’s voice reverberated in the room behind them.

  “Keep away from me!” the other voice exclaimed. “I won’t talk to you. I want to see my father, my real father!”

  “Bobby?” Leo asked. “Is that my son?”

  “I think it is,” Mills said. “But we can’t get to him. Not from here.”

  “He’s threatening my son!” Leo said as forcefully as his ravaged voice would allow.

  “Nunn likes to threaten,” the light-creature mentioned merrily. “But Zachs can help that!”

  “Now, Bobby,” Nunn’s voice began, “I will teach you how very bad it is for you not to agree—”

  His voice stopped abruptly. Zachs danced from one foot to the other.

  “Bobby, I’m going to punish—” Nunn stopped. “Who?” Nunn rumbled. At that, Zachs only grinned. The words shut off again. Zachs smiled at the others.

  “Nunn is angry. Nunn wants someone to pay.” The creature’s giggling grew higher and wilder. “Zachs will make Nunn pay.”

  The white light surrounded Mills and the others. The world was filled with screams.

  Bobby had never heard anyone scream like that. Nunn writhed on the floor, clutching at his stomach as if he was being torn up inside.

  This was the time to get out of here. Bobby turned to the open doorway that had somehow appeared in one wall.

  He heard footsteps outside, odd, heavy footsteps, like one of the feet was being dragged. He approached the door more cautiously than he had first intended.

  “I know you!” a voice called from the far side of the door. “You thought you’d get away!”

  The owner of the voice dragged his foot into view. He had been human once, before birds and animals had pecked at his face and arms, ripping away bits of flesh to expose the bone beneath, and, of course, certain soldiers had stuck a sword in his belly and a bullet in his brain. But even with all the damage and decay, Bobby knew him well.

  “No one gets away who screws with my lawn.” Bobby yelled as he was grabbed by Old Man Sayre.

  Forty

  Mary Lou saw the black bird cock his head to one side. “Someone is calling you?”

  Then he could hear it, too: the strange, high cry of the People as they twisted her name, again and again.

  The bird fluttered his wings. “They will get Raven instead.” With a single cry, he launched himself from the low branch from where he had watched the neighbors.

  “Raven is good at this,” the Oomgosh reassured her. “He will assess the situation and let us know what is best.”

  “Raven is good at everything!” came a cry from high above. “Certain birds also have excellent hearing,” the Oomgosh confided in a quieter tone than usual.

  Mary Lou’s mother pulled her daughter closer. “Why are they calling you?”

  Mary Lou quickly explained how the People had found her after she had escaped from Nunn; how she tried to leave but was surrounded by wolves; how the People had come to rescue her but wouldn’t let the other humans near her; and how she had escaped a second time for good. She didn’t mention the battle with the red furs or the People’s feast. Her mother already seemed pretty upset without that.

  “What sort of place is this?” her mother demanded.

  The great tree man spun about to face them. He wasn’t smiling. He looked large and dangerous.

  “This is a wild place,” he said, his voice as gentle as his face was fierce. “It’s the sort of place where you might have to prove yourself eve
ry day. It’s a place where you’ll learn to survive, or you will die.”

  Mrs. Blake came up behind Mary Lou’s mother. “We’re together,” she said, “and we’ve all survived so far. I think we can learn, too.”

  “I hope you’re right, Joan.” Mary Lou’s mother scowled down at her daughter. “Why isn’t your father here?”

  What good would her father do against the People? Mary Lou wanted to ask. What good were any of them against the People, if the whole tribe decided they had to get her back? Why, when she had to face up to danger, did her mother think of her father at all? Maybe it was something about having the whole family together. Her mother was always big on that. Or maybe it was just easier for her mother if she had someone else to blame.

  She heard the People’s voices in the trees again, using her name to urge each other forward on the hunt. Why were they coming now?

  Nick stepped forward, the first time he had left the shadows of the trees for the clearing. “They know we’ve lost our protection.”

  “What?” Jason asked. “We can still fight.”

  “With our fists?” Nick asked back. “With the few weapons we have?” He patted the hilt of his sword. “Even if those weapons are special? With Obar and Mrs. Smith gone, we’ve lost the magic that guarded us. Somehow the People know this.”

  Nick was right. Mary Lou nodded her head. “The People know all sorts of things.”

  Calls answered the sound of her voice. Calls from the trees, always closer than the ones before.

  But, speaking of magic, where was the prince? He had always shown up before when she needed him. He had said, just before they had reached the clearing, that they were going to be together. Why was he gone for so long?

  The Oomgosh stood tall, holding his single arm toward the sky. “We will fight if we must.”

  “With what?” Mrs. Jackson spoke up. “I’m afraid some of us don’t know how to fight.”

  “Nick’s got a sword,” Jason pointed out. “Charlie’s got his teeth. And the Oomgosh, even with one arm, is twice as strong as anybody I’ve ever seen. And the rest of us? We’ve got rocks and sticks to throw at them. The People are small. Maybe we can drive them away.”

  But the People were also armed, Mary Lou thought, and could sit up in their trees and rain arrows down on them. And, as much as the People wanted her, she didn’t doubt they might resort to using a leftover poison stick or two to eliminate anyone who was good at fighting—Nick or the tree man or even her little brother.

  She didn’t want anybody to die because of her. That would be even worse than being a prisoner.

  “Maybe,” Joan Blake said, “we could call Mrs. Smith back here.”

  “She does seem in tune with the rest of the neighbors,” Mrs. Jackson agreed. “Maybe she’ll realize we’re in trouble.”

  “No one can fathom the thinking of wizards,” the Oomgosh added.

  Mary Lou wasn’t sure if he was agreeing or raising an objection. “Merrilu!” The call was loud enough now to carry over the wind.

  “Merrilu!”

  The great black bird cawed as it swept into their midst.

  “The entire tribe is in the trees!” he announced as he landed on Nick’s shoulder. Somehow the bird looked like he belonged there. “Raven has seen them! Four hundred and thirty-eight. They are spread out, but only across half the forest.” The bird waved his beak to the right.

  “So we can get out of here?” Mary Lou’s mother asked. “Unfortunately,” the Oomgosh replied, “these creatures can move faster than all but Raven. The best we can do is find some more advantageous place to make our stand.”

  “But,” Mrs. Blake pointed out, “perhaps by delaying our encounter with these things, we might give Mrs. Smith the chance to come back here and help us.”

  “It certainly sounds better than staying here,” Mary Lou’s mother said. “Anything sounds better than staying here.”

  Mary Lou turned. She had heard her name again. But this time the voice had been deep and male. She looked into the shadows of the forest and saw the faintest flash of blue. It had to be her prince.

  She pulled away from her mother and walked quietly out of the clearing.

  Her prince stepped from the darkness, his faint form even more insubstantial in the shade.

  “I came as soon as I knew,” he said. “About the People?”

  He nodded. “We can’t let them overtake the others. The People are desperate to get you back. The others would be slaughtered.”

  It was every bit as bad, then, as she had feared. “But what else can we do?”

  “Come away with me.” The prince’s smile peeked through the darkness. “The two of us know these woods. We can move faster than the others. Together, we can leave everything behind.”

  This was the prince she had been waiting for. “All right. Can I tell the others what I have to do?”

  “There’s no time. The People are approaching much too quickly. A few seconds could mean the difference between our escape and someone dying.”

  Mary Lou looked back toward Jason and her mother. She hoped they’d understand. She turned to the prince. “All right. Let’s go.”

  “This way,” the prince instructed, floating before her. They were not leaving an instant too soon. The calls redoubled through the trees. They sounded like the People were almost directly above them.

  “Are you sure?” Mary Lou asked. If the People were that close, she didn’t know how they could get away.

  “Of course I am,” the prince replied calmly. “Remember how well I know the People.”

  That was true. For a time there, Mary Lou remembered, she imagined the prince and the People could read each other’s thoughts.

  Her feet crunched over the dead leaves as she ran, sounding to her as loud as an air-raid siren.

  “Hurry!” the prince called.

  “Won’t they hear us?” she shouted back as she ran even faster.

  “The People do not hear in the same way as people do,” he answered. “Besides, listen to all the noise they’re making themselves.”

  Mary Lou realized that there seemed to be calls of “Merrilu!” everywhere above them, the whole tribe drowning in the ecstasy of calling her name.

  “We’re almost there,” he called back encouragingly.

  Almost where? She wondered. The prince must have found a hideaway safe from the trees, a house of some sort, even a cave. No wonder they had to rush before the People got too close.

  The prince’s blue robe suddenly grew brighter. He was leading her into a clearing lit by the morning sun.

  “We are here,” he announced.

  It was only when she stopped running and tried to catch her breath that she realized the whole open space was ringed by a circle of the People, silently watching her.

  “Mary Lou,” the prince said with a smile. “Welcome home.”

  Forty-One

  Bobby swatted at the dead man’s hands. A knucklebone broke free, clattering against the wall.

  “You won’t get away from me that easily,” Sayre warned. His voice was rougher and deeper than Bobby remembered, like his voice box was rotting away along with the rest of him. “You’re one of those damn kids who was always running over my lawn!” The dead man coughed. A large beetle ran from the corner of his mouth. “I bet you thought you’d never have to pay.”

  Nunn groaned on the floor.

  “Talking back, heh?” Sayre said to both Bobby and the whole room beyond. “I don’t let people talk back to me anymore. No one controls this fellow anymore!” He brushed at the flies that circled his face. Bits of skin fell away, and maybe a piece of his ear. “You might say I have a whole new view of life!”

  Bobby backed away, looking for someplace he could hide. Sayre leaned down toward Bobby and waved. “Now stand still while I break your neck.”

  Sayre jerked upright when someone coughed behind him.

  “The least you could do,” said a voice almost as hoarse as the dead man’s, �
��is to thank me for all I’ve done.”

  Sayre managed to turn around, his arms flapping loosely against his torso. His head teetered precariously at the top of his neck as he swayed, but his voice was still strong with anger. “I’ve had about as much of this as I can stand!”

  “I think, unfortunately, that most of us could say that.” The newcomer stepped to the doorway, leaning heavily against it, as if the act of taking that single step could use all his energy. This newcomer looked almost as bad as Sayre, his skin dead white, and his eyes sunken deep in his face. Bobby felt like he was in the middle of a zombie convention.

  “So you don’t recognize me,” the newcomer said to Sayre. “Well, who would? You see … I’m responsible for giving you life.”

  He muffled a cough before he added, “But that’s, of course, after I killed you in the first place.”

  Bobby looked carefully at the newcomer’s face. Almost invisible on his pale flesh was a scar on either cheek. It was the Captain who had taken them from their homes.

  “Soldier!” Sayre screamed, sounding even angrier than he had before. “I’ll show you how I hurt!”

  “I’m afraid I already know that all too well,” the Captain replied. “It’s time to stop your threats. I also know you, Mr. Sayre, better than you might imagine.”

  “Then you know I mean what I say!” Sayre shrieked as he lunged toward the other man. He took two steps, then stopped abruptly, his hands inches from the Captain’s throat.

  “Most of all, Mr. Sayre,” the Captain said softly, “I know your mind.”

  The Captain lifted up his own hands, so that his fingers almost touched those of Old Man Sayre. The soldier gazed straight into the walking corpse’s eyes and lifted his hands slightly.

  Sayre’s hands lifted as well, as if he and the Captain were mirror images.

  “Good,” the Captain said, and both his lips and the rotting lips of Sayre mouthed the words. The Captain and Sayre both lowered their hands to their sides.

  “Your mind and mine are quite close now,” the Captain spoke for both of them. “But I imagine you realize that.”