He twisted as far as his suspended hand would take him, examining every corner of the book. “Where are you?”
“Up here.”
“Are you like a ghost or something?”
He heard a chuckle. “No, Mr. Wyatt, at least not the kind you’re thinking of.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking of?”
“Please, time is short. You must trust me before the connection can be made.”
“Help!”
“Again, forgive me for this unusual examination you’re about to take, but it is absolutely essential for the connection.”
“What examination and what connection?”
The book moved again, slowly circling the classroom.
“Hey, wait,” Blake said, struggling to keep his untied shoes on his feet. One dropped as soon as the book went into high gear, shot through the open window, and headed straight toward the sky, taking Blake with it.
Soon the school looked like a shrinking speck in a green field. “Whoa!” he shouted. “Stop!”
They moved faster, darting left and right. Blake lost his other shoe. They jetted miles away, flying dangerously close to the roof of Blake’s house.
“Aah!” He forced his free hand toward the freaky book and grabbed it, wrapping all five fingers around the hot, gold binding, trying to steady the maniac text. Then it rolled, turning him over and over like a sock in a dryer. “Staaahwp!” he yelled. “I’m serious! I’m gonna yak!”
“Are you ready now?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, just stop!”
The book ended the ride quietly, with Blake hanging high above his house. The electrical current running through his body lost its voltage, and his hand, suddenly unstuck, slid easily off the cover. He quickly grabbed the edge. “Oh, crap,” he said, looking down.
“Let go, Blakemore,” the book told him.
“Are you nuts?” he yelled, digging his fingertips into the cover. “I’ll end up sidewalk pizza!”
“Trust me.”
“Trust you? I don’t even know who you are! Or what you are!” Blake wiggled his hands to get a better grip. He could feel the muscles quiver in his hands.
“It is essential to the--”
“Yeah, yeah, I know, the connection.”
“Let go, Blakemore. We must complete this test quickly. We’re running out of time.”
Sweat pooled under Blake’s fingertips. He had no choice. He had to trust the book. Taking a long, deep breath, he closed his eyes, peeled off one hand and then the other, and waited to plunge to the ground.
Nothing happened.
Blake opened his eyes. He was still alive. He wasn’t even falling. He was floating high above his house.
“Oh, man, this is totally awesome!”
The book drifted in front of him and shimmered brightly. “Welcome to the Rellium, Blakemore Michael Wyatt. You’ve passed your first test.”
“How am I doing this?” he asked.
“It’s the power of the Rellium. Every cell in your body has been transformed. The Rellium has identified you as a Wyatt. Do you feel any different?”
“I’m floating above my house. Um, yeah, I guess you can say I feel different.”
“But do you feel the Rellium?”
“I don’t even know what that is.”
“Close your eyes. What do you see?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
“Wait. There is something . . . two bulldogs with blue grass around them.”
“Good. Follow me.”
“How?” He looked across the treetops of his neighborhood.
“Just walk. We must hurry.” The book zoomed back toward the school.
“Hey, wait, don’t leave me here.” Soon he was running through the air. “This is so totally cool!” He air-ran toward Trevor’s house.
“Please, Mr. Wyatt, we do not have time for visiting friends.” The book shot past him. “We’re in terrible danger.”
“How’d you know I was going to Trevor’s house?”
“We’re connected. Now, please, quickly.”
“Sure, no problem. It’s just that I never flew before.”
The book raced toward the school.
“Hey, wait for me!” Blake caught up, covering several blocks in mere seconds. The book zipped ahead of him and glided back through the open window of his history classroom. He followed closely, barreling into a row of desks before crashing into the map of the state of California hanging on a wall.
“Whoa, gnarly entry.” His hand had a hot, tingly feeling where the chronicle had been stuck to it. He noticed an image stamped squarely on his palm. It was brightly colored and looked like the pattern on the cover of the book: planets orbiting the sun. “Hey, what’s this?”
“Like your father before you, you are now part of the Rellium, Blakemore. Your legacy is part of every atom in your body. It’s who you are. That mark is called the Sign of the Ages. It’s an approval of sorts, granted by the Parabulls for your task. This privilege must be used wisely, but of course all sapphire travelers know about the powers they control.”
Blake stared at the intricate design on the palm of his right hand. It looked like a tattoo but much more vivid, much more real, as if it were in Hi Def. He tried to rub it off, but the design didn’t smear or even fade.
“Lady . . . or whatever you are, I don’t know about any powers.”
“Of course you do. The Sign of the Ages will be a permanent reminder of your stewardship of the Rellium. Your father knew this well, and he served the Rellium bravely and with honor--as will you.”
“You knew my father?”
“He understood the sacred connection like no other.”
Blake dropped his hand. “What sacred connection?”
“Without the past, Blakemore, there is no future.”
That substitute teacher--Hugo Price--had said the same thing. Blake looked at his palm again. Something was going on here, and it sure didn’t add up to anything normal. He glanced at the clock. The hands hadn’t moved since the bell rang. Maybe he fell asleep in class and was dreaming the whole thing.
“Okay. I know what’s going on. I’m going to wake up as soon as that bell rings and realize I slept through that whole boring class. But you feel free to knock yourself out. Since I’m still sleeping, I might as well enjoy the ride, maybe do some more of that flying stuff again.”
“You still do not believe?”
“I’m standing here talking to a book. It’s talking back! Oh, and I can run in the air, too! Real? Not a chance.”
“You are no longer an ordinary person, Blakemore. You’ve gained incredible abilities that can change the world forever.”
“Right,” he said. “Me and Spiderman.”
Suddenly Hugo Price barged through the classroom door. The winded, frantic substitute teacher clicked open the tarnished cover of his pocket watch and mumbled something about a mutiny. “We have to go!”
“Slow down, big guy,” said Blake. “Go where?”
“The imperial regent knows what I did! You must hide. Oh, the terrible danger.”
Blake laughed. This dream couldn’t get much weirder. “Is this imperial regent guy gonna kick my butt? ’Cuz I’ll just use my new superpower, fly around his head or something, and zap him with a ray gun. No problem.”
Hugo Price shrieked. He snapped the cover of his watch closed. “That’s how he knew where to find you. You touched the chronicle!”
“The stupid thing nearly sent me into orbit. I see why you didn’t want me to touch that crazy book. It’s got rocket fuel in it. And, look, I got this wild tattoo on my hand. So who else is gonna be in this dream, a couple of ninjas?”
“This is no dream, Mr. Wyatt. You’re now a sapphire traveler like your father.” Hugo Price touched Blake’s shoulder. “The Parabulls will protect you from now on. They’ll show you the way to your destiny.”
Blake laughed again. That video game he played the night before must h
ave really sent him over the edge. “So, like, what are these Parabulls--aliens or something?”
“No, of course not. You must ask the chronicle to summon them for your journey.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. I must summon them for my jour-r-r-ney,” he mocked.
Hugo Price was solemn. “The Chronicle of the Rellium echoes all that has been in the past and all that will be in the future. The future depends on you, Blake Wyatt.”
“On me? Now I know it’s a dream.”
“This is no dream, Mr. Wyatt. But where you’ll be going will seem like a dream. It’s a world of shadows, a place that has already been. The Parabulls will open the doors of time for you, and then you will follow them to what is supposed to be.”
“Hey, Book, tell this guy about those totally killer aerial acrobatics.” Blake looked back at Hugo Price. “Listen to this. The thing talks.”
“Yes, of course, the Chronicle of the Rellium always speaks to the sapphire traveler. I’m a traveler, too, but not like you. You have the power of the Rellium. I’m just a--”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. I’m a sapphire traveler. Cool.”
Price checked his pocket watch again. “The imperial regent will be looking for you now that he knows you’ve taken the power. You must complete your mission before he finds you. He craves what you’re protecting, and he’ll stop at nothing to get it.”
Blake raised his chin and folded his arms in a kingly manner. He gazed out the window as though serious issues needed to be solved. “Well, then, we must attack at dawn.”
“May I speak freely?” Hugo Price asked.
“Looks like you’re going to anyway.”
“You do not understand the full weight of your responsibility. I had hoped to have more time to teach you the ways of the Rellium, but now that’s impossible. First you must understand your enemy. The Tolucan are crafty and ruthless. They will get their way if you let them.”
“To-luh-can? So they’re, like, the bad guys?”
“Mr. Wyatt, you are not taking this seriously!”
Blake sat in the chair behind the teacher’s desk and rested his hands behind his head. He stretched out his long legs. “Oh, yeah, history depends on me. Hmm. By the way, did you know that I hate history? Is that going to be a problem? Since I got a world to save, shouldn’t I at least be good at it?”
Price sighed. “Forgive me for being so blunt, but the imperial regent will do anything--anything--to get what you possess. All of this must seem like a joke, but we have no time for foolishness.”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Do you know why the hands on that clock haven’t moved, Blakemore? You’re no longer in your own time. No one can hear you. No one can see you. Look out the window. No toxic steam from the cafeteria. Nothing from the present is here--only shadows of what used to be. You’re stuck between here and there. This place connects all dimensions--past, present, and future. Time waits here.”
“Yeah, right, that time thing again.” Blake relaxed and stared at the ceiling. That bell had to ring any minute.
“Call the Parabulls and leave!” Price urged. “This will be the first place the imperial regent will look for you.”
Blake snorted. “I’m not going anywhere. Know why? ’Cuz I’m sleeping.”
“You are not sleeping!” the man shot back.
“Look, dude, I’m not stupid. You’re not real.”
“Listen to me, Blake. The imperial regent sent me here to erase you from existence. Every part of your life will cease to exist, just like that, including this very moment. The only thing left will be a wooden monument of who you used to be. Then he’ll take the power of the Rellium and snuff out history--one event at a time--until the chronicle’s power is worthless and history is completely gone and so is the future. And so are you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Figure it out!” Price said angrily. “No past means no future.” He buried his face in his hands. “Nothing like his father, nothing.”
Nothing like my father? What’s that supposed to mean? Blake glanced at the clock again. A slap to the face should end this dumb dream, once and for all. He powered off an open-handed smack to the cheek and waited to wake up. Instead pain ripped through his jaw, and his hand stung from the blow.
How could any of this be happening? He inched over to the book and gently touched the cover. It was still warm, and the jewels glistened.
Price quickly grabbed Blake’s right hand and looked at the tattoo. “Yes, you’re connected now. Reach inside yourself, Blake. You know this to be true.”
“I know this to be weird.”
“Close your eyes! What do you see?”
The two bulldogs were still in his mind, and so was all that strange purplish-blue grass. Then he saw a man who looked like his father approach the bulldogs. He was limping and struggling to remain upright. The man said, “Blakemore, I don’t have much time. Please, I need your help.”
“Dad?” Blake blurted out as the images faded.
“Yes, Blake, that was your father,” Price said.
Blake felt his skin tingle. He hadn’t heard that voice since he was three years old.
“My dad says that he needs my help . . . if that was my dad.”
The old man snapped open his watch again. “We’re losing precious minutes.” He glanced at the door. “Those fools from the grand assembly will send more guards as soon as their pea brains figure out that I escaped. That police officer who took me away was one of them. He returned to the grand assembly. Now they know where I’ve gone. We must hurry before Dagonblud finds you.”
Blake studied the old man, and a sensation of awareness unmasked inside of him. He was Michael Wyatt’s son. What if he belonged to something bigger than himself? He remembered the pain he saw in his father’s face and made a decision. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “What do I need to do?”
“You need to go to the only place where you can be safe from the Tolucan--Saphir Pré, the den of the Parabulls.”
“Is that where I saw my dad?”
“Not exactly. Your father is . . . gone from us.”
“He just talked to me! I know that was him.”
“The figure was a reflection.”
“No it wasn’t!”
“I’m sorry, Blakemore.”
“But I could feel him--”
“Please, we must hurry. Place each fingertip on a jewel. You’ll feel current in your body. That is the power of the Rellium. Once you are connected, you ask the chronicle to summon the Parabulls. They will collect you for your journey.”
“But my dad . . .” Blake peeked at his tattooed hand again. The image was still there, and his face still stung from his own wallop.
As Blake reached for the book, a black flash exploded through the door, along with a low, loud howl.
Price snatched the chronicle. “He found us!”
“Who?” Blake screamed over the howling whoosh that blasted into the classroom.
“Imperial Regent Dagonblud!” the petrified man shrieked, stuffing the glistening text into Blake’s arms and cowering behind him.
The howl became louder, and darkness swallowed nearly all the light. The book felt hot in his arms. The only light in the room radiated from its jewels.
“Now, Blake!” Price yelled over the droning sound. “Connect to the Rellium! Summon the Parabulls! Put your fingers on the jewels!”
“I can’t! The thing keeps falling out of my hands! It’s too heavy!”
“Let it go, Blake! The chronicle’s power is strong. Trust her.”
Blake dropped the chronicle and watched the jewels hover and glisten in the darkness. The howling was deafening. He placed his fingers on the gems and waited for the Rellium’s current to course through his body again but felt nothing this time. “It’s not working!”
“Try again. Now!”
“I’m trying! I still don’t feel anything!” He whirled around in the direction of the howl. “What stinks?!�
�
“Zounds! He has the black diamond!” Hugo Price screamed over the storm. “You must connect! It’s your only way out.”
“Let’s just get out of here!” Blake said, grabbing the floating book and racing for the door.
A deep, menacing voice filled the room. “You’re too late for that, Blakemore Wyatt. Now give me that book.”
CHAPTER 4
THE GIANT WITHIN
Disrespect, doubt, attitude--all of them vanished when gritty charcoal-colored soot and sand flew everywhere, spinning around the desks like tiny tornadoes, sandblasting Blake’s skin and eyes with stinging black dust. He kept the chronicle firmly pressed against his chest, nestled next to his pounding heart. The black sand vanished after several miserable minutes, and the newly restored calm revealed the source of the chaos: an enormous creature in some sort of a military uniform.
“Holy cow, you’re a--” Blake could hear the word giant in his head, but it wouldn’t come out his mouth.
“Blakemore Wyatt,” it said in a low, syrupy voice, “I’ve waited many years to see one of your kind again. The young Wyatt--so much promise, so much hope, so much power--but oh so useless.”
The thing looked eight feet tall with long black hair hanging over its massive shoulders. A red velvet jacket covered its upper body, and tight tan trousers clung to its thick-muscled legs. It was wearing shiny black knee-high boots, and a brown leather sash with medallions rested across its enormous chest. An amulet that looked like a bird or a lion hung from its neck.
But its face was almost transparent. Every few seconds the mouth or the eyes or sometimes the whole face would disappear, then reappear. Blake gasped.
“You do not speak?” The wall of a whatever-it-was said, exposing its blocky teeth.
“Don’t let go of the chronicle, Blake!” Hugo Price shouted from a corner. “He’s trying to scare you so you’ll give up the chronicle without a fight.”
The giant spun around and calmly moved toward the old man. “Ah, what do we have here? A traitor, perhaps?”
Price scrambled back, covering his face with his wiry arms. “Use your powers, Blake. Use them now!”
“Silence!” The giant extended a long arm and tossed out a streak of the same black-dirt storm it had ridden in on. The blackness coiled around the old man like a huge spider web, changing the cowering man into a statue of charred wood. “He looks good in black,” the giant said.
The Wicked Passage (A Blake Wyatt Adventure) Page 4