by Gregory Heal
Charles’ ears picked up the heavy footfalls of Draconex, knocking into the ground like deliberate swings of a hammer. They stopped in front of him, giving way to a rustle of fabric as Draconex bent down.
“Been working up a sweat while dreaming, Charlie?”
Fighting the urge to open his eyes and look at his old classmate, Charles controlled his breathing and swirled his eyes around underneath his eyelids to give the impression that he was still asleep, dreaming. The only thing that broke the silence that followed was Draconex’s sporadic, painful coughs.
“Difficult work keeping a warding spell active around your mind, perhaps?” he said after his coughing had stopped, but Charles did not reply.
A few more seconds passed before Draconex kicked one of the chair’s legs, sending a jolt of surprise throughout Charles’s body. The Dark Watcher commander was clearly getting irritated. He grabbed the back of Charles’s chair and slammed him upright. That was when Charles decided to open his eyes.
“Oh, sorry, did I wake you?” Draconex asked sarcastically.
Again, no answer. Charles could see Draconex’s scar deepen in color.
“To my surprise, I received word that Victor Huxley thinks you’re alive.” The scar pulsed; Draconex was clearly trying to keep his anger in check.
Charles’s ears perked up at Victor’s name.
“Now he’s assembling a team to rescue you, wherever you are,” Draconex scoffed, then ran up to Charles in an attempt to scare him. “How did you manage to communicate with him? He’s a terramancer!”
Charles could smell brimstone on Draconex’s breath; close to spitting fire, perhaps.
Draconex straightened, cleared his throat, and said, “No matter. You’ll give me what I want well before they come close to finding you . . . one way or another.”
Charles blinked once, never taking his eyes off of Draconex’s faintly throbbing scar. With slight satisfaction, he remembered the day he’d given it to him.
Draconex dug his fingernails into Charles’s shoulders, his sharp nails slicing through muscle sinew like hot knives through butter. As warm pain erupted in his deltoids, Charles did everything he could to not scream; the only sign of anguish he showed was a slight twitch of an eyebrow.
“You’ve always been so righteous . . . but your silence will cost you.”
Sliding his bloody nails out of his prisoner’s shoulders, Draconex paced around the chair, smearing the blood over his hands and face. Charles noted that the color of his blood matched Draconex’s scar almost perfectly.
“Sesquimillennial. Do you know what that means?” The question was rhetorical. “It’s the anniversary of fifteen hundred years, and believe it or not, we’re coming up on one. Do you know what it’s for?”
Charles knew, but didn’t dignify Draconex with a response.
“The premature end of the Dark Purge—or, as you deluded sorcerers like to call it, the Great Battle.” Draconex wiggled his fingers in the air, feigning amazement. “Where your ancestor supposedly brought peace to the eleven realms by locking away the evil Lord Ferox.” He laughed. “How backward!” Draconex yelled, making the light fixtures rattle in their wall sconces. He stopped pacing and launched into a coughing fit, doubling over. He smacked himself in the chest until he stopped, then bored into Charles’s soul with his dead eyes. “Lord Ferox was on the brink of bringing true peace and order, and he was betrayed by his so-called brethren!”
Charles knew it would get him nowhere to argue, so he let Draconex continue to rant.
“There’s even going to be a celebration at Watercress Castle, and it’s looking to be a sold-out event,” Draconex said matter-of-factly. “Do you remember that place? We had a lot of good times there. That’s where you met Jocelyn, right?”
Charles clenched his teeth, but still said nothing.
Draconex added, “Right before you stole her from me, of course.”
Charles balled his hands into fists and fought with his restraints, rocking his chair from side to side.
“Did I strike a nerve there?” Draconex asked coyly.
Charles was getting more uneasy by the second. He didn’t like where this was headed. He watched helplessly as Draconex patted him on the head and laid a hand on his shoulder in mock reassurance.
“Someone is clearly living in the past.” Draconex brushed some dirt off Charles’s shoulder. “I don’t blame you. I bet it’s hard to forget the fact that you simply weren’t powerful enough to save your own wife.” Draconex shook his head in farcical tragedy, relishing in the joy he found in tormenting Charles. “Such a travesty.”
Since Charles regained his memory only hours before, the death of his wife felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Emotionally vulnerable, Charles dropped his chin to his chest as tears streamed down his cheeks. If he had known Jocelyn wouldn’t have survived the blast, he would have gladly sacrificed himself to save her . . . but some part of him was at peace knowing that she was in a better place than by his side being tortured endlessly for two decades.
“But now you have the power to save every other sorcerer. All you have to do is tell me where the Halostone is, or I’ll be forced to take the lost journal of Merlin and your Ring of Lancaster in order to find it myself.” Draconex pulled on Charles’s ratted hair so that he could look long and hard into his eyes. “This is your last chance. How many lives is the Halostone truly worth?”
“Mine,” Charles said, looking through tear-blurred eyes.
Draconex let go of his hair and spun around, laughing. “He speaks! But, unfortunately, with the wrong answer.” He turned back, now deadly serious. “Since you and your daughter will not cooperate, and Victor now knows that you’re alive, my hands are tied.” He pulled out his butterfly knife and brought its tip to Charles’s throat. “Trust me, you’ll die . . . but only after witnessing the horrors that will come next.”
He pulled the knife back and flicked it upward into the light, throwing the interrogation room into darkness after a shower of sparks fizzled out.
Richard. Richard, can you hear me?
Charles’s voice floated into Richard’s head, waking him up from a dreamless sleep.
Loud and clear. I’m so relieved that you’re okay, Richard responded. He didn’t move, even though he was awake, mostly because he didn’t want to stir his wife from her sleep.
Thank you, old friend. I’m glad you’re holding in there too. Charles’s voice seemed tense and worried.
What happened? Richard asked, feeling a knot form in his stomach.
There were a few beats of silence before: Draconex is at the end of his rope. We need to escape sooner rather than later.
Please. I’m not sure how much more Beth or I can take.
Listen closely. This will take patience on both our ends . . .
Charles began to unveil his plan, and Richard did indeed listen closely.
Chapter Forty-One
“Thanks for lending me some dry clothes,” Jen said to Mira as she wrung lake water from her hair with a towel. Wearing a purple halter top, dark gray cargo shorts, and a thin black belt, Jen looked like Mira’s twin as her clothes dried outside.
“Anytime, girl. I keep extra clothes on hand at all times.” Mira took off her griffin whistle from around her neck. After hanging it onto one of the wall hooks, she took a seat on her hammock and lightly swayed. “I’m just glad I didn’t fall in, too! Those rocks are slippery.”
“Tell me about it,” Jen said, not wanting to relive that experience. She expertly wrapped the towel around the top of her head and plopped down in her own hammock, letting out a tired sigh.
Mira looked at her as she continued to sway back and forth. “So, you met Gavin . . .” Clearly she was fishing for some girl talk.
Jen reluctantly took the bait. “Oh . . . uh, yeah!” Jen pretended to be upbeat, even though she was still reeling from finding out that Gavin was dating her new friend. “He’s really good at rock skipping.”
“You ca
n blame that on me,” Mira said, raising her hand. “I’m usually late, so he has to pass the time somehow.”
“Athletic and patient. What a guy,” Jen commented, trying to keep positive.
A taken guy, she reminded herself.
“He is,” Mira said dreamily. She flipped her legs up and fell back into the cross-hatched hammock. “We’ve only been casually dating for a couple weeks—and I don’t wanna get ahead of myself—but I’m excited to see where this might lead, ya know?”
Jen wanted to be happy for Mira, but she had developed feelings of her own for Gavin. It was like pulling teeth, but she looked at Mira and mustered, “I’m glad he makes you happy.”
Mira propped herself up on an elbow. “Thank you! Plus, he’s a great kisser.”
She was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Jen said quickly, hoping to change the subject. The last thing she needed was to hear about just how great a kisser Gavin Kingsland was. As Jen’s eyes flitted to the open door, she thought, Speak of the devil.
There he was. In dry clothes this time.
“Hey, Gav! We were just talking about you,” Mira said as she gazed at the astromancer.
Gavin stayed by the door, leaning on it as the night air blew in. “Hopefully I arrived before you told Jen about my action figure collection.” Gavin winked at Jen, then said, “You look nice.”
“Thanks, I’m wearing Mira”—Jen gestured to her outfit, then pointed at her head-wrap—“and Bed, Bath & Beyond.”
Both Mira and Gavin laughed at her joke, which made Jen feel better about the situation in which she found herself.
“It works.” Gavin closed one eye and looked through a pretend lens made by his thumbs and index fingers. “Anyway, would you mind if I steal Mira for dinner?” He patted his stomach and smiled at his date.
“Oh, sure! You don’t have to ask me. I’m the klutz who threw a wrench into your evening plans.”
“It was . . . unexpected,” Gavin said with a smile, “but fun.”
“I gotta tell you, I was not expecting to find you both sitting in knee-deep water after I finished my shift.” Mira got up and walked toward Gavin. “It gave us another chance to bond, Jen, but I am starving!”
“I second that,” Gavin agreed. “Would you like to join us, Jen?”
Jen didn’t expect an invite, but she declined. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. I’m not that hungry right now.”
“You’re always welcome!” Mira said as she left the hut.
“Have a good night,” Gavin said, closing the door.
Jen blew out a stifled breath as she dropped her head back onto her hammock. Not five seconds passed before another knock resounded on her door.
“Door’s open,” she said, not quite sure who to expect.
“Hey, little lady,” Victor said, reminding Jen of when she woke up in his cottage for the first time.
“Vic!” Jen pounced out of the hammock and hugged him tightly. “I missed you.”
Just then, she realized it was hard to think about her life before her twenty-first birthday as anything other than a dream. Even though she had grown up thinking sorcery was pure fantasy, it seemed more real than ever. And now, only a week later, Jen was pleased at how far she had come: she was getting more in tune with her nexus, and learning who she really was and where she truly came from.
“How was your trip?” Jen was still suspicious, but she was happier to see him.
“It went well, but everyone’s busy with getting ready for the Sesquimillennial Jubilee next week.” He looked quizzically at her. “What’s that on your head?”
Jen let out a single laugh. “It’s a towel to dry my wet hair so it doesn’t drip on my clothes.” She unrolled it from her head, letting her dark curls fall over her shoulders.
“Did you just come from a shower?” Victor asked.
“No, I—” Jen thought better and didn’t get into it. “Never mind.”
“Okay, good, because I was wondering if you’d be up for some nighttime training.”
Glad that Victor had offered that, Jen said, “Definitely! But first can we grab a bite to eat? I’m starving.”
Victor laughed. “Now look who’s the one holding up training.”
Three hours later, Jen opened the door to her hut and tiptoed in so she wouldn’t wake Mira, who was already fast asleep. The full moon cast enough light through the skylight to allow her to see where she was walking, so she didn’t need to use the hut’s torchlights as she took off her shoes and totem bracelet. Before heading straight to bed, Jen decided to start chronicling her new life in her diary.
As she opened up its stiff binding and smelled the woody scent of the paper, Jen brushed the moonlit pages with her hand, wishing her parents and Tyler were safe on Camelore with her. Sighing, she finally put pen to paper, letting her innermost thoughts flood out.
For Jen, the days leading up to the Sesquimillennial Jubilee became a blur of training, which included very little down time, lots of soreness, and a neglect of her hammock. Victor ran a tough schedule for her, but she rose up to each challenge and proved not only to her instructor, but also to herself, that she was rapidly improving.
As the sun set on the day before the Jubilee, Jen was beaming after being told by Victor that she was ready to begin a new Mancy plane. She remained set on learning animancy next, so she could not wait to see what kind of charm Hephalon would make for her this time.
She finished her most recent diary entry on a high note and placed it by her totem bracelet on her nightstand as she blew out her bedside candle. Staring up through the skylight at the waxing gibbous moon, she peacefully dozed off into a relaxing sleep, looking forward to the following day’s agenda.
Chapter Forty-Two
Let us help you. You need us.
Let us heal you. You’re sick.
Let us feed you. You’re stronger with us.
Let us be you . . .
Malcolm awoke with an uncomfortable numbness in his legs, as though he had slept for hours in an unnatural position. Groggily, he opened his heavy eyelids to see a black, jagged crystal levitating in the middle of a dark chamber he had never set foot in before. Purple bolts of lightning silently played across the surface of the crystal, ever so often shooting outward, illuminating the room with an eerily soothing light.
Could that be . . . the . . . the ShadowCrystal?
He felt weaker and more insecure than ever before, and he realized the power of the Throne of Dragons had left him. Wanting to scream, Malcolm tried moving his jaw, but instead groaned as waves of nauseating pain rippled through his mouth and up his cheekbones, causing him to pitch forward and knock his head on the cold ground. Fighting back tears, he knew then that Draconex had dislocated his jaw just before he blacked out.
Steeling himself for the pain that he was about to endure, Malcolm twisted his wrists upward, put his thumbs in his mouth on his back molars, and wrapped his fingers on the outside of his chin. Rocking his jaw back and forth a few times, he quickly pushed up and out as he felt and heard the wet, sucking pop! as both ends of his jaw found their sockets. Stabbing pain almost caused the beleaguered Dark Watcher to faint, but he forced himself to remain alert when he heard a devilish cackle echo from the far corner of the chamber, eerily shrouded in shadow.
Fear kicked in, sending Malcolm into fight-or-flight mode. Choosing flight, he tried standing up to escape the hellhole in which he woke up, but quickly fell to his knees, his legs still uselessly asleep, just beginning to feel the prickling sensation of a thousand sharp, invisible pins. He reached down to rub them, but gasped when he found cuffs strapped to his ankles, connected to thick chains that led into the wall behind him.
“Good . . . you’re awake.”
Malcolm recognized the voice of Lord Draconex. At first he couldn’t see him, but then the dark sorcerer stepped out from the shadows behind the floating crystal. Ironically, Malcolm felt himself become calmer, just because there was a familiar face
in this unfamiliar place. Malcolm opened his stiff jaw to speak, but his throat was so dry that he ended up hacking and coughing.
“You must be wondering why you’re here.” Draconex paced around the crystal.
“W-why am I chained up?” Malcolm’s voice was so raw and his jaw so sore that he sounded like a different person.
“That’s more for your protection. Madro!” Draconex called.
Silently, a small, pale humanoid limped out of the corner—the same corner from which Malcolm had heard the blood-chilling cackle. Madro slinked over to Draconex’s side and stayed there, awaiting his next command.
Patting the being on his head, Draconex continued. “Madro here is the guardian of the ShadowCrystal”—he gestured to the twirling object in the center of the room—“but he’s also a cannibal with a unique ability to control beings while they sleep. Your shackles keep you behind this warded line that Madro cannot cross.” The lord brushed the tip of his boot along a wide, brownish-red line painted on the floor. “Thank you for the paint, by the way.”
As Madro cackled once more, Malcolm looked down in horror to see a line of crusted blood running up the insides of both his exposed forearms. A chill ran down Malcolm’s spine as he looked up to see the unsightly being staring deep into his soul.
“You’re down here because you’ve failed yet another lesson.” Draconex slid the hood off his head, showing his chiseled yet bony features. “Your love for Jennifer Lancaster makes you weak and unfocused.”