Circles of Seven

by Bryan Davis

  Billy pulled away from Walter and looked up. That voice! Could it be? He could barely whisper. “Bonnie?”

  Walter waved. “Hey, girl! You finally decided to wake up?” He kicked up a splash of water and grinned. “About time, you lazy thing!”

  Billy felt tears in his eyes, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. His voice shook. “Don’t . . . ahem . . . don’t listen to him, Bonnie! We both know better!” He spread out his arms. “You know what? I think I need to get a ride from a certain, awesome girl I know. It’s your turn to carry me for a while.”

  Bonnie’s face beamed. She fluttered down into the cavern, settling into the ankle-deep water streaming from the pool. Billy stared at her, his arms slack and aching. Bonnie folded her hands at her waist and lowered her head, whispering, “I learned something really important today.”

  “What’s that?” Billy whispered back.

  She lifted her gaze, and her eyes sparkled as she stepped closer. “You remember how we were supposed to follow the light?”

  “Sure. I remember.”

  “Well, I saw the Light.” She sighed and hugged him. “And now I know. I have all I really need.”

  Bonnie’s love wrapped around him like a purring tiger, driving out the chills and warming his soul. Her heart pounded against his chest, the most beautiful rhythm ever drummed. She released Billy and turned to Walter, embracing him briefly before pulling away and glancing around the dark pit. “Where’s Devin?”

  “I’d show you,” Walter said, holding up a fist, “but you’d probably get sick.”

  Billy shook his drenched arms. “Explain it later. We have to get out of here. The soldiers are bound to find us soon.”

  Bonnie rubbed Billy’s cheek with her finger. “Ewww! What’s this stuff?”

  “Just think of it as icing on the cake,” Walter replied, holding his arms out. “And it’s time for you to deliver a pair of fruitcakes to the top floor.”

  Chapter 24

  A FINAL SONG

  Billy sat cross-legged facing a crackling campfire, resting his weary bones under a clear, starry sky. The silhouette of West Virginia’s rural skyline under the waning moon set his mind at ease. Most of the pain was gone—his bruises were shrinking, his self-induced cut had closed, and even his passage beetle bites had healed. Since his hair had quit growing so fast and his cheeks were no longer swollen, his body had probably purged the beetle venom.

  He sniffed the smoke-tinged air, detecting the faint hint of a skunk’s musky scent. For some reason, even that was pleasant, the aroma of the real world, far removed from the counterfeit odors of scentsers and the smell of scorched worms in the depths of Sheol.

  Yet, not all was right in this world. The emotional wounds seemed to bleed without remedy. Without any idea of what happened to his dad, the emptiness and mystery were almost unbearable, like plunging through a dark void in a nightmare that never ends.

  His friends sat in a circle beside him, chatting and laughing together as they roasted hot dogs and marshmallows and made s’mores, each voice massaging his heartache like loving fingers. He gazed at Walter to his left, then his mother, Ashley, Karen, and finally Bonnie on his right, her wings wrapped around her body. She looked exhausted. After Patrick sneaked her out of England on a private jet, she had flown to Castlewood from Cumberland on her own. Billy had hated to let her make that trip. If only he could have gone with her somehow.

  Walter poked a stick at the fire. Bundled in his heavy jacket against the cool mountain breezes, his skin glowed with sweat as the fire threw an extra blanket of heat across the group. The flames shrank to a few crackling tongues, and puffs of white mixed in with the campers’ sighing breaths. Their enthusiastic conversation seemed to evaporate with the dying fire.

  Billy held a forked branch, stained at the end with gray and black ashes. His bold voice broke the silence. “I’ll just go ahead and say what everyone’s thinking. We’re stuck out here in the mountains, at least until Sir Patrick, the professor, and the dragons come up with a plan to stop the Watchers.” He tossed the branch into the fire. “I hope Shiloh’s holding up okay. Those reporters will be demanding DNA tests or something before they’ll believe she’s Bonnie. Prof said he wants Shiloh to throw them off the trail, but they smell blood, and they’re not about to give up easily.”

  Karen pressed a gooey marshmallow and a chocolate wafer between two graham crackers, then used her tongue to catch the delightful mixture oozing through the gap. She shifted her body higher on a rolled-up sleeping bag, licking her lips. “So, Ash, where are the dragons now?”

  In the flickering light, Ashley’s face looked tired, her reddened cheeks punctuating her halfhearted smile. She slowly turned a skewered marshmallow over the nearest embers. “Last I heard,” she said softly, “they were resting in Iceland and hope to be here sometime in the next few days. With the military searching for them, they have to be super careful.”

  Bonnie picked up her last bite of hot dog. “Any sign of the Watchers?”

  Ashley pulled the toasted marshmallow from her skewer. “I haven’t had time to search news reports for signs of what they might be up to.” She squeezed the white goo between two crackers and handed it to Bonnie. “It didn’t take long for the media to find you at my house. They swooped in like a flock of vultures.”

  Billy kicked a stray ember back into the fire. “Yeah, thanks to Adam Lark ratting on her. Now we might have to stay out of sight for weeks!”

  Peering out from under the bill of his Baltimore Orioles baseball cap, Walter swallowed his third s’more, then licked his lips. “It’s not so bad. We have food, lots of sleeping bags and blankets, and a great chef.” He nudged Billy’s mother with his elbow. “Right Mrs. B?”

  Mrs. Bannister squeezed her own s’more and grimaced at the dripping mess. “I wouldn’t call hot dogs and s’mores the work of a great chef, Walter.”

  “Remember the beans,” Walter added. “I loved the beans.”

  Billy pulled Walter’s cap farther down over his eyes. “As long as you don’t make me remember them all night. Don’t forget. I’m sleeping next to you.”

  Walter straightened his cap and began digging in his pocket. “Oh, yeah? Well, I have a secret weapon for a middle of the night attack.”

  Billy’s mom squawked at Walter. “You didn’t bring the candlestone, did you?”

  “Nah, Mrs. B.” Walter held up a small, foil-wrapped cylinder. “They’re just gas tablets. My dad’s got the candlestone back in his office safe. We figured we couldn’t destroy it. Devin’s still got the only body Mr. B can get into.”

  “But how are we going to squeeze Devin out and leave the dragon intact?” Billy asked. “Even Ashley’s restoration machine couldn’t separate a spirit from its body.”

  Ashley bent forward and stoked the fire with a stick, sending up a plume of sparks. “Give me time. I’ll figure out something.”

  Karen elbowed Ashley. “What’s up, Sis? You’ve been sulking all evening.”

  Ashley sat back and dug her hands into her pockets. “Not really sulking. I’ve just been thinking.” She paused, and her voice pitched up half an octave. “One of those dragons is my mother.”

  Karen hooked her arm around Ashley’s elbow and leaned against her shoulder.

  Bonnie swung her head toward the woods behind her. “Did you hear something?”

  Billy whispered, “Don’t worry. I don’t sense danger, but I do think someone’s walking this way.”

  A tall, slender form in a black trench coat stepped into the circular glow of firelight, followed by a shorter companion dressed in jeans and a lavender hooded jacket.

  “Professor!” everyone said at once.

  “And Shiloh,” Bonnie added with a smile.

  Shiloh hustled over and sat by her newfound twin. Bonnie unfurled a wing, wrapped it around Shiloh, and handed her the box of grahams.

  Billy’s mother patted a blanket on the ground next to her and raised a coffee thermos. “Any news, Prof
essor?”

  The professor slipped into the space between Mrs. Bannister and Ashley and waved his hand at the thermos. He picked up a stick and poked the fire absentmindedly. “A great deal of news, both good and bad.” He raised the stick in the air. A tiny flame crawled along its end and dwindled into a red ember. “Shiloh and I had to escape from your home. The reporters were simply wearing her out with questions, and the television networks are constantly playing the tape from the tor. They seem to get their jollies from freezing on a close-up of Bonnie and her dragon wings in all their glory.”

  Shiloh pulled Bonnie’s wing over her lap. “The professor found the cave Billy’s father used in the Otter Creek Wilderness, so your mother and the dragons will have a place to hide when they get here.” Shiloh slid out two cracker squares. “Or should I call your mom Aunt Hartanna?”

  Bonnie handed Shiloh a skewer and a marshmallow. “I guess you can, but it’s kind of confusing. Your father was named Valcor as a dragon, and he was Hartanna’s brother back then. That much I have straight. But if he was a dragon, why didn’t he ever change back like all the others? Does it mean they’re not related now?”

  Shiloh threw her hood back. “I don’t know. He said he doesn’t have dragon blood anymore and that it was real complicated. He didn’t have a chance to explain.”

  Billy’s mother pulled the edge of her blanket over the professor’s lap. “So the media vultures are still circling our house. What’s the good news?”

  “Oh. That was the good news, that I was able to get Shiloh away from them.”

  “Ouch!” Walter said, ready to pop another cracker into his mouth. “What’s the bad news?”

  The professor wrapped his fingers around his calf. “Sir Barlow’s leg wound was more severe than he indicated. Infection has set in, and he will require surgery to repair the damage. Even as we speak, he is being flown to Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore at Sir Patrick’s expense.”

  “Why Hopkins?” Bonnie asked.

  “A surgeon there is a member of our circle of knights, so he is aware of our circumstances. Hopkins is also close enough to easily fulfill Patrick’s request that an anthrozil donate blood for the procedure. He believes your photoreceptors will aid his healing.” The professor glanced at Billy, Bonnie, and Ashley in turn. “Are there any A positive anthrozils here?”

  Ashley raised her hand. “O positive. But it’ll work in a pinch.”

  “Me, too,” Billy added, extending his arm. “Just lead me to the needle. I can spare a gallon or two.”

  Bonnie pushed Billy’s arm down, grinning. “Me first! My blood is grade A-plus.”

  The professor clasped his hands together. “Excellent! I’ll take Bonnie there myself later tonight. When we return in the morning, perhaps we’ll know more about Morgan’s plans. She has been plotting for hundreds of years, fueled by hate and revenge, so I doubt that she’ll wait long to act. Patrick has heard rumors of a covert operation in both England and the States, but it would do no good to speculate about the unknown. ”

  Billy threw another stick into the fire. “Has Patrick learned anything about my dad?”

  The professor shook his head. “I’m afraid not, William. His first priority was to get the children in his care to safety. I’m sure he’ll begin the search as soon as he can.”

  Billy propped his chin on his palm. “Dad must still be trapped down in that place. It’s hopeless.”

  Shiloh unfastened the top button on her jacket. “My father says there’s plenty of hope left.” She pulled her necklace from under her jacket and dangled the pendant. “Thank you for finding this for me. Bonnie’s mother gave this rubellite to my father hundreds of years ago, so it’s a family heirloom.” She grasped it by its edges and held it up for the others to see. “Look. It pulses two different shades of red.”

  Billy stared at it. “Yeah. I noticed that when I found it.”

  “It used to be white,” Shiloh went on. “Daddy says it might mean that your father’s still alive. The pulsing could represent his life force. We just have to find him.” She pulled the necklace over her head and extended it to Billy.

  Billy let the pendant dangle against his palm. He rubbed his finger across the shining gem. “You’re giving it to me?”

  “A rubellite is a symbol for a dragon, and I’m not a dragon. It’s better if you keep it. I’m sure my father won’t mind. Maybe it’ll help you find your father. Barlow’s knights are coming back to the States tomorrow to help you.”

  Billy draped the chain over his head and tucked the pendant under his shirt. “So . . . where do we start? Here? Back in Glastonbury?”

  Shiloh cast her gaze on the ground. “I don’t know. I don’t think my father knows, either.”

  “Well, if my opinion matters,” the professor said, “I think William’s father is no longer in the circles. All indications are that the portals to that realm have disappeared. The window screen went blank, and even the electromagnetic vortex at the tor has vanished. The other world is no longer accessible, and I refuse to believe that he would be trapped there forever.”

  Shiloh snuggled inside Bonnie’s wing, and the circle of eight fell silent.

  Billy grabbed another stick and whacked it against the ground. “So we failed! Morgan got what she wanted. The Watchers are free, and she’s huddled up with them somewhere planning Armageddon.”

  “No, William!” The professor strode to Billy’s side, and after Walter scooted over to make a space for him, the professor sat elbow to elbow with Billy, a new burst of firelight flickering in his eyes. “You and Bonnie did not fail. Your mission was to rescue prisoners, no more, no less, and you succeeded magnificently against the most extraordinary odds.” He spread his arm toward Shiloh. “A poor girl has been set free after forty years of miserable bondage. The dragons are alive, fulfilling Merlin’s great prophecy that they would someday live again. Also, Morgan failed to obtain the hostiam she desperately needs to live in this world. She will likely suffer soon enough, since the world she normally inhabits seems to have lost its doors. And to top it off, you are now the head of the Circle of Knights. The spirit of Arthur has returned at our time of greatest need. Patrick will soon preside over a formal coronation and hand you the Great Key.”

  “The Great Key?” Billy asked. “What’s that?”

  “Patrick said that he stored it in the safest place possible along with his most valuable treasure, so I have never seen it. But I have heard that you will use it when you lead your army in the war.”

  “The war? How can I possibly lead an army in a war?”

  The professor enfolded Billy’s gloved hands in his. “You have fulfilled your role to this point, but an even greater battle looms. For now, we take much needed rest in the peace of this wilderness, away from the fevered distractions of media madness. When the time comes, however, you will need to go to battle as the warrior you have proven yourself to be. If you lack faith that God has brought all of these miraculous events to pass, you will surely fail when the greatest test arises.”

  Billy stared at the four interlocked gloves, then shifted his gaze up to the professor’s steely eyes—old, sagacious eyes that had seen hundreds of trials and countless miracles. He felt a spiritual connection with this wonderful gentleman, as though his teacher’s tested faith flowed from eye to eye and hand to hand.

  Billy closed his eyes and nodded. “I guess you’re right . . . as usual.” The circle fell silent again. Another new flame erupted in the campfire, crackling the fuel and playing harmony for a chorus of crickets chirping in the woods.

  The professor slapped his knees. “I think it’s time for a rousing song. We need something to cheer us up.”

  Billy shook his head. “I don’t really feel like singing, Prof.”

  The professor stood up and straightened his coat collar. “Not you, William,” he said, his eyes half closed. “I will sing.”

  Walter snorted. “Not another one of those weird, prophetic songs no one can understand,
I hope.”

  “Why, yes, Walter,” the professor replied, clutching his lapels. “It is one of those weird, prophetic songs. This one came to me in a dream, and I think I shall not forget it as long as I live.”

  “A dream?” Billy almost laughed in spite of himself. “Were there any penguins in it?”

  “As a matter of fact, there was a penguin, a friendly chap who gave me an umbrella. I was appreciative, because I was walking through a dreadful storm at the time. He told me to sing, and sing well, or he would take the umbrella back.”

  Billy knew the story was supposed to be funny, but he could only nod. He had a strange feeling this song was going to shake him to the core.

  The professor stood, warming his hands over the fire. “It has no title, as far as I know, but it conforms to Merlin’s distinctive pattern. Here goes.” He lifted his gaze toward the star-filled sky.

  When dragons flew in days of old

  With flashing scales and flame,

  They soared in scarlet droves of fear

  With hearts no man could tame.

  The Watchers sang a siren’s chant,

  Seducing tickled ears,

  Ensnaring girls with heads laid bare

  And dragons far and near.

  While most fell prey to Satan’s song,

  A few held fast their birth

  And worshiped God’s created realm,

  Religion of the earth.

  Content to suffer wrapped in chains,

  A dragon leaves the skies.

  Content to bleed for souls unknown,

  A dragon bows and dies.

  But can such faith repel the wrath

  When evil is reborn?

  Can sacrifice alone endure

  When scaly hearts are torn?