The Wicked Passage (A Blake Wyatt Adventure)

by Singel, N. M.

  Dagonblud raised the black diamond above his head. “Smell this cursed air for the last time. Your destiny is now!” he bellowed.

  A gigantic wave crashed over the side of the ship, interrupting the Tolucan’s rant, washing the two of them across the deck.

  Blake scrambled to regain his footing. “And destiny almost dies,” he muttered. The chronicle had said a secret evil walks her decks, and destiny almost dies. Her words echoed in his head: the ancient mariner with a dream to catch succeeds because of determination.

  Blake darted to his sister. “Determination, Ricki! That’s what the Parabulls are trying to teach us.”

  Erica placed her hand on her father’s shoulder, sobbing.

  “Come on, Rick, stay strong--for Dad!”

  Blake watched Dagonblud struggle to his knees on the shifting, slippery deck. He snapped around when he heard Columbus’s cabin door creak open.

  The admiral moved to the rail of his quarterdeck, dressed in a navy-blue jacket, cream-colored shirt, dark knee-length pants, and white stockings, just like in the history books. He eyed his crew glued to the sides of the ship, and Erica slumped over her father. Columbus turned his gaze to Dagonblud and seethed, “What evil walks my deck?”

  The Tolucan stood, clenching the black diamond, brushed back his tousled hair and then glared at the explorer. He said nothing.

  “Answer me, devil!” Columbus demanded, dauntlessly grabbing the rail in front of him.

  Dagonblud responded with a ball of fire from his outstretched hand that zipped past Columbus’s shoulder.

  The admiral dropped to a crouch.

  Crap! How could he divert the Tolucan’s attention from Columbus? “Hey, Dragonbreath! You want my power? Then come and get it!” Blake raced up the rope ladder.

  Fireballs whizzed past him. Glancing down, he watched Dagonblud launch more of the blazing projectiles. A near miss singed his hair. Another grazed his arm.

  Blake clambered higher, dodging the fiery barrage--the smell of burning rope poisoning the air. Suddenly, the ladder snapped beneath him.

  “Ahh!” He grabbed the braided hemp line tighter, feet dangling, as he swung and then slammed into the mast. “Dang it!” Glancing down at the burning, trailing rope, he pulled harder, straining to hoist his weight. The crow’s nest within reach, he scaled the last rungs and hurled himself inside.

  Smoke rose from the platform. Blake grabbled for the rim, wedging himself upright before his perch ignited. Flames seared his feet, and he leaped and clung to the mast. He pulled himself higher on the swaying pole. Spiking flares chased him to the top. Heat scorched his legs.

  Now what? He couldn’t go back down. The rope was gone, and the mast was burning. Should he jump? No way could he clear the deck. Pressing his face against the topsail pole, he closed his eyes, defeated. I’m sorry, Dad.

  Seconds passed that felt like hours.

  A cannon fired in the distance.

  Blake opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the sound. A white plume billowed from the farthest ship. What was going on? Fierce heat wasn’t frying his legs anymore. He looked down. The fire was gone.

  Dagonblud pointed up to him. His eyes turned bright red followed by the rest of his body. “Wyatts be damned! You’ll curse the day we meet again!” He imploded, and was gone.

  “Woo-hoo!”

  Diego raised a spyglass and shouted, “Pinta sees land!”

  The crew cheered wildly.

  Blake looked at the horizon. “Whoa! I can see it, too!”

  He watched the lead ship lower her sails as he slid into the smoking crow’s nest. Peering over the edge for his sister, he noticed the rope ladder, untouched. “Ricki!”

  “Blake!” Erica jumped excitedly, waving her arms.

  “I see land, Rick!” He scrambled partway down the rope ladder, stopping to take another glimpse at history. “Whoa!”

  Cinnamon red and butter-yellow stripes streamed across the lavender sky. Inhaling the fresh air, he gazed at the open sea. Glistening waves rolled gently, waltzing beneath the low-hanging sun. Blake climbed down and jumped to the deck.

  Erica raced over and hugged him. “You’re okay!”

  A scrawny boy, spyglass tucked in his dirty shirt, flew past him, up the ladder and then into the crow’s nest. “Tierra! Tierra!” he yelled.

  More cheers erupted from the ecstatic crew.

  “Blake, I was holding Dad’s hand when that cannon went off, and then he disappeared. I don’t know what happened,” Erica rambled. “I can’t find Nura, either.”

  “Don’t worry, Rick. I can still feel him.” Blake hugged her tighter. A hard edge from something in his pocket dug into his thigh--the moon rock. He stepped back, wriggled it out and then stared at it. “Determination.”

  Columbus walked toward them, his steps steady and his voice sure. “You saved me again, Blake. Thank you. You never gave up.”

  “No, Mr. Columbus--you never gave up.” Blake beamed as he rolled the rock in his hand. “Hey, uh, I wanna give you something. I mean, this discovering America thing--it’s kind of a big deal. You really should have this.” He handed Columbus the lunar rock. “This came from Neil Armstrong. He was an explorer, like you. He brought this back from the moon.”

  “The moon?” Columbus looked puzzled.

  “Yeah, other guys went there, too, but I think he got there first.”

  “Well, Blake, this imagination of yours is certainly--colorful.”

  “I know you don’t totally believe me. That’s okay. You’re not supposed to understand stuff like that anyway. I mean, you do live in fourteen ninety-two.”

  Columbus studied the rock briefly. “I’ll treasure this.” He tucked it in his pocket, glanced at the sky, and then walked away.

  “How are we going to get home?” Erica asked through panicked eyes. “Dagonblud took the tempus.”

  “I got here without that thing,” Blake offered. “Maybe we can leave without it. Wait here.” He brushed past her, weaved through the crew, and then vaulted up the steps to Columbus’s cabin. He went inside. The chronicle glowed brilliantly on the bed.

  “Book?! How’d you get here?!”

  “We owe a great debt to your uncle.”

  Blake flipped it open and fanned the pages--intact, as if they were never damaged.

  A small note popped out and floated gently to the plank floor. He reached down to pick it up and noticed the Sign of the Ages on the palm of his cut, rope-burned hand. He read the note.

  Always remember the balance, Blake. The past feeds the present and grows the future. The delicate stories of history are in your hands. Honor them and protect her valuable lessons. --Uncle Leopold.

  He gulped back the lump in his throat, tucked the chronicle under his arm, and shot out of the cabin.

  “Erica!” Blake joined his sister. “The Chronicle of the Rellium. She’s back to normal.” He held up the pristine book.

  “Wow. It’s so beautiful!”

  “And I’m gonna keep her that way.”

  “Nura must’ve fixed it.”

  “We all did. We got history back on track.” Blake ran his hand over the jewels. “Maybe the chronicle can help us find Dad.” He turned and marveled at the admiral marching among his crew, shouting orders and occasionally pausing to look at the sliver of land. The explorer made his way closer and stopped next to them, hands on his hips, obviously elated.

  “Good luck with this whole New World thing, Mr. Columbus. You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

  The admiral didn’t acknowledge him and continued to bark orders.

  “Mr. Columbus?” Blake asked loudly.

  “It’s like he can’t hear you or something,” Erica said.

  Blake tugged on the admiral’s sleeve. Still no response.

  “It’s like we’re invisible,” she added.

  “Columbus doesn’t need our help anymore.” Blake balled his hand in victory. “Yes! We must have fixed the Rellium’s membrane.”

&
nbsp; “But we’re still stuck here.”

  “Not for long,” Blake said. He paused to inhale the sugary air. “The Parabulls . . . They’re here!”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Can’t you smell the sapphire grass? That’s where they live.”

  “They’re the source of our power, Blake.”

  “They are?”

  “Yeah, that’s what Dagonblud was trying to get out of us.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I did! I told you that Uncle Leopold said the Parabulls are the source of all this magic stuff. Good thing you never listen to me.”

  “It’s not magic.” Blake grabbed his sister’s hand and followed the scent up the steps to Columbus’s cabin. The sweet smell intensified. He peeked in the doorway. Fields of waving sapphire grass spread out before them. “Come on, Ricki, we’re going home.”

  CHAPTER 27

  THE ELEVENTH DIMENSION

  Standing in the doorway of Columbus’s cabin, Blake glanced back at the man who was about to change the world. “Take care, Admiral,” he murmured.

  Erica looked across the purplish-blue grass. “I’ve seen this place before.”

  “The sapphire fields?”

  “Yeah, when I thought you were shark food.”

  “This is how the Parabulls got me here.” Blake leapt onto the spongy ground, flattening some of the blades. “Let’s go. We gotta find Guinevere and MacArthur.”

  Erica dabbed her foot in the boggy mush. “This stuff’s weird.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s totally cool.”

  She followed hesitantly, several steps behind. A brilliant yellowish light appeared in a nearby clump of grass.

  “The membrane’s healthy here again, thanks to you, Blake.” The feminine voice was kind. “I wish it was all like this.”

  “Who said that?” Erica asked.

  Blake spun around. “Guinevere!”

  The bulldogs waddled into a clearing, gleaming brighter than ever.

  Blake plowed toward the pair. “Am I glad to see you guys!”

  “Are you hurt?” Guinevere scanned his bruises.

  “Nah, I’m all right.” He waved his sister over. “Ricki, these are the Parabulls!”

  Erica’s eyes widened. “You’re the source of our magic.”

  “Magic?” MacArthur let out a hearty belly laugh. “Forgive me, please, but you kids remind me of things I haven’t heard in centuries.” He regained his composure. “You merely harnessed science.”

  “You mean everything that happened to us was--”

  “Physics, plain and simple,” he answered, and dropped to his haunches.

  “I saw you trying to--”

  “Save the Rellium’s membrane,” Guinevere informed her. “We couldn’t keep up. The holes were appearing too fast.”

  MacArthur looked away and sighed. “Blakemore, the damage is severe.”

  “Worse than we thought,” Guinevere added.

  “I thought we fixed it,” Blake said.

  “You did. You repaired a vital part of the membrane. For that we are truly grateful,” Guinevere said.

  “But Dagonblud is relentless.” MacArthur scanned the field.

  “I saw a place where he messed it up really bad.” Erica reached into her pocket. “Uncle Leopold showed me when we were in the dungeon.” She pulled out a rock that sparkled like a small star and held it out to the Parabulls. “You wouldn’t believe what this little thing can do.”

  Guinevere smiled.

  “Do you . . . want it back?” Erica asked shyly.

  “No, keep it, but you must protect it,” she said, gazing at the stone.

  “Know that you’re holding but a centillionth of the membrane,” MacArthur said.

  Blake snagged the rock and examined it with new admiration. “So this is what it looks like.”

  Guinevere stared at the stone. “Only during times of great stress. The membrane changes in response to its environment.”

  “How big is a centil . . . whatever you said, anyway?” Blake asked.

  “A one with hundreds and hundreds of zeroes.”

  “Whoa.”

  Guinevere raised her brow. “Imagine the power when all the pieces are together.”

  “That’d be one super-huge explosion,” Blake said, handing the rock back to his sister.

  “The biggest,” MacArthur added, and then looked at Guinevere. “What are they calling it these days?”

  “The Big Bang,” she said.

  “Right, right. That one’s rather catchy.”

  Blake felt the chronicle wiggling under his arm. It squirted out, then floated in front of him and spoke. “I thought I’d never see Saphir Pré again.”

  “It talks?”

  “She’s not an it, Ricki.”

  “Oh.”

  Blake turned to the text and lowered his head. “I let you down, big-time, Book. I’m really sorry. I promise I’ll never sell you out again--no matter what.”

  “That’s very noble of you,” the book answered.

  “What’s Saphir Pré?” Erica circled the hovering chronicle.

  “Here, my home, the eleventh dimension of the universe,” Guinevere responded.

  Erica cocked her head. “But I thought there were only three dimensions.”

  MacArthur shook his head. “You both have much to learn.”

  Blake looked over his shoulder, where the admiral’s cabin used to be. “What happened to our dad?”

  “We don’t know, exactly,” MacArthur said. “Dagonblud is masterful at hiding him in his world.”

  “I know where he is,” his sister said, her eyes welling with tears. “In the dungeon.”

  “Your father is a very brave man, Erica. He has defended the Rellium with great honor and courage. You should be very proud of him.”

  “I’m sure he wasn’t so proud of me.” Blake felt a boring pain in his stomach as he relived the near disasters. “I almost really screwed things up--didn’t I?”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Guinevere said. “You did what you thought you had to do--just like Nura, Leopold, and your father.”

  “I know you can feel your father’s strength, Blake,” MacArthur joined in. “Can’t you?”

  Blake nodded. His thoughts raced to his dying father using the last of his power to help him and Erica close the membrane.

  “All of our lives are intertwined,” Guinevere said, “our past, the present, and our future. What happens to one of us affects all of us.”

  Blake stared at his ring. “Yeah, but everyone was counting on me. I almost messed up America’s history before it even started!”

  “But you didn’t.” Guinevere locked eyes with him. “You succeeded because of determination.”

  “Columbus said something like that, too,” Blake conceded as he gently moved his hand over the glimmering text. “So did the chronicle.” He looked at Guinevere. “I did the best I could. I mean . . . I know this was supposed to be my dad’s mission.”

  “Was it?” the chronicle asked, floating closer to him.

  “This has always been your journey, Blake,” Guinevere declared. “We would never interfere with a sapphire traveler’s mission.”

  “So what happens to us now?” Erica asked.

  “You’re going home.”

  Her face lit up. “Awesome!”

  “Follow this path.” Guinevere gestured ahead. “Your house is on the other side.”

  Erica skipped ahead.

  “One more thing, Blake.” MacArthur lumbered toward him. “Before your father was captured by the Tolucan guards, he had discovered Dagonblud’s secret entryway into our world.”

  “At the priory,” Blake guessed.

  “Yes, that’s correct.” MacArthur replied. “Did he also inform you that connecting to the Rellium changed every cell in your body . . . forever?”

  “Not really,” Blake answered slowly.

  “As a sapphire traveler, you are now privileged to
be able to move through all eleven dimensions of space and time.”

  “Sounds cool to me.”

  MacArthur looked at Guinevere.

  “You have to tell him,” she said grimly.

  “Tell me what?”

  MacArthur took in a deep breath, then exhaled.

  “Come on, you guys are freakin’ me out.” Blake fidgeted.

  “With the Rellium’s power coursing through your veins comes the curse of Dagonblud’s obsession for your power. He will hunt you down at any time, in any place.”

  The hair stood up on the back of his neck. “What about Erica? And my mother? Are they safe?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Guinevere warned.

  Blake lowered his head.

  “Regardless of the danger, know that MacArthur and I will always guide you.”

  Blake watched Guinevere and MacArthur turn to the field. As they walked away, the long purplish-blue blades of the sapphire grass parted for them.

  “Use your powers wisely to preserve the past and protect the future,” MacArthur called back. “Serve the Wyatt legacy with pride and valor, and your missions will never fail!”

  “How will I know what to do?!”

  The bulldogs disappeared into Saphir Pré.

  “Wait!” He started to follow but then stopped. “I’m not sure I totally get it.”

  “You will,” the chronicle said. She tucked herself under Blake’s arm. “It’s all about time.”

  CHAPTER 28

  THE NEW WORLD

  Mr. Mancuso made his way along the rows of desks and dropped off the students’ graded assignments.

  Blake slumped in his chair and looked out the window. Steam from the cafeteria’s infamous upchuck bowl rose past the window. His football jersey felt itchy, and he wriggled against the back of his chair, scratching himself.

  Mr. Mancuso returned to the front of the room, and then turned to face the class. He crossed his arms. “Someone in here did not get his composition back.”

  The students looked around. Blake felt himself flush. Great. He was definitely going to fail this history class. That assignment would be twenty-five percent of his grade.

  “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, can someone tell me the topic of that assignment?”