by P B Hughes
“Oh no—I don’t do creepy dark tunnels or forbidden rooms,” said Gregory, bending over and feeling about the floor for another switch. “Let’s get out of here.”
“I wonder,” said Daniel, “what is so secret that Burk has to conceal it in a hidden room?”
“You can find out for yourself,” said Gregory, finally finding the button. “I’m not going to get caught just because you—” He cocked his head to listen.
The sound of footsteps was headed their way. Daniel uttered a curse and backed away from the wall. The footsteps grew louder until they stopped right in front of the statue. Daniel grabbed Gregory by the arm and pulled him to the end of the hallway. They tried the door; it was unlocked. They slipped inside room and stumbled to the back.
Their breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the deep silence of the room. It took a moment for Gregory’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, but he soon realized they were in no ordinary room. It was circular, illuminated by the soft glow of blue moonlight that slid eerily down from the ceiling, landing on the only objects in the room. A table, only about waist high, was covered by a cloth with an ornate box resting on it. A snake was painted on the walls—slithering and writhing, all the way to the roof where its fanged mouth spread out around the hole that let the moonlight in through the ceiling.
“What is this place?” whispered Gregory.
The boys heard the footsteps coming. Daniel pulled Gregory underneath the table, the cloth giving them enough cover to make them invisible. Then…a click and scrape as the door slowly opened. Someone was in the room with them. The two boys held their breath as the footsteps approached the table, step after step, measured and deliberate. Whoever it was lingered for a moment in silence. The snap of a lock being unlatched above their heads echoed through the room.
“Izet hassah eshnorbek, naz mordar nuvis!” uttered a voice.
A rush of wind filled the air. The cloth fluttered at the base, revealing black garbed feet. A wail, weeping and terrible, echoed about them. Slowly, like the voices of the dead rising from their graves, a multitude of horrifying screams, moans, and sobs surrounded them—a hellacious chorus of misery devoid of beauty and hope. Gregory covered his ears with his hands, wishing, hoping, begging for the voices to stop. On and on they cried. Despair sucked the life from Gregory’s spirit—all was lost, life was not worth living. We will all go the way of the dead—we will all join them.
Then suddenly—snap, the box was shut, the wind died down, and the shrieking ceased. They heard the footsteps walk back to the door. The door opened, and whoever it was exited the room.
The boys waited a few moments, unsure of what had happened. Both of them were shaking uncontrollably, and exhaled nervous, quivering breaths.
Daniel sneezed.
Gregory gave him a look of dismay, wide-eyed and afraid. A moment passed, and then he sighed with relief.
“Don’t do that!” he said, elbowing Daniel.
Suddenly, the tablecloth flew upward. There, staring them in the face, were the emerald eyes of Greavus’ servant. They lunged backward, heads knocking against the underside of the table. He was too quick for them—the man snatched them by the legs and dragged them forward with inhuman strength.
“Let us go!” shouted Daniel, kicking with all his might.
“Orat feesah!” he said, half breathing and half speaking.
The room began to spin. The cloaked figure multiplied before their eyes. The world was slipping, spiraling like a whirlpool. Darkness encroached from the edges of Gregory’s eyes until nothing remained but a solid wall of black.
Chapter 28
Darkness, like the black of space, engulfed Daniel, above and below—so thick it felt as if a suffocating fog was pressing against his skin.
“Daniel,” whispered a voice that slipped past his ear.
Horripilations shivered through his body—something was in the fog, watching him, invisible, creeping, terrible.
“Daniel,” said the voice again.
“Who’s there?” Daniel called out, jerking to his right and left.
Breathing—deep, steady, rasping—pulsated through the shroud. It never remained in one place—moving up, down, in front and behind.
“What do you want with me?” Daniel asked.
A low, rumbling laugh billowed out of the darkness like a belching furnace. “To twist, corrupt, and consume.”
There was a rush of smoke. The thing, whatever it was, was now inches from Daniel’s face, pale red eyes flickering.
“I am Flesh-Ripper, Blood-Drinker, Bone-Biter.”
Thick black tar sprayed out from the fog, clasping Daniel’s arms and legs like insidious chains, slowly spreading across his body like an infectious disease.
“No!” Daniel cried twisting his arms and legs, fighting and pulling, trying to tear the material from his body. “You can’t have me—you can’t—”
The tar spread over his mouth and into his eyes. He couldn’t breathe; his spirit was being sucked from inside of him—the heat vanishing from his body. Suddenly, he felt a tinge of warmth in the middle of his chest, small at first, growing ever larger—the tar began to swell.
A burst of light!
An explosion from his pendant radiated like glorious day. The tar blasted from his body—a furious roar bellowed in the fog, retreating until it was no more.
Daniel’s eyes popped open. His head was swimming, and the world churned. Slowly, the blurry ceiling above him crystalized. The pendant tied about his neck felt warm. He looked down to see his boots sliding across the smooth floor of a long hallway. To his left, Gregory was in the same position, still unconscious. Greavus’ servant had them both by the scruffs of their collars and was dragging them toward two swinging doors.
A muffled voice grew distinguishable as they approached. “I have yet to establish my entire team, though I do have some people in mind.”
They burst through the doors and into an immense, dungeon-like dining hall. The walls were veiled by crimson curtains that fell to the slick black floor. A dozen lanterns hung from the midnight ceiling above, casting the room with a rufescent glow. The servant heaved Daniel and Gregory from the floor to the top of a long table at the center of the room, sending plates, silverware, and dishes of half-eaten food crashing to the floor below. Shouts of surprise rang out as the people at the table scattered from their seats like a flock of birds jarred by a thunderbolt, dodging the explosion of food and splatter of wine.
“Don’t kill me!” Gregory cried as he snapped out of his stupor, flailing about like a fish out of the sea.
The servant leapt upon the table, pinning them down by their necks, breathing like a hungry panther.
“What is the meaning of this?” boomed the sharp voice of Senator Greavus, who was now quivering from shock in the back of the room. A drop of red wine fell from his flushed, pudgy snout. “This had better be good! Nahash?”
The servant hissed like a demented cat. “Burglars! I spied them sneaking about in the halls. Say the word and I’ll squeeze the breath from their lungs.” He tightened his grip.
“Impossible,” countered Bartholomew Burk, who stood next to Greavus looking extremely agitated. “This mansion is sealed tighter than a bank vault. No thief could possibly make it past my guards.”
“Well?” barked Greavus, turning his attention on the boys. “Out with it—how did you get in here?”
“Through the front door,” Daniel wheezed. “We—we came with Jude.”
“Lies!” seethed Nahash. He snatched a black-handled dinner knife from off the table and held it to Daniel’s throat. He then spoke in a strange language. “Vut ich’na ves du lutengard.”
Mr. Burk’s face went white and he gave a sideways glance to Greavus. “You’re sure of it?”
Nahash let out a low growl.
“Then they must be executed.”
A series of protests swirled through the room, but were halted by the sharp rap of a mug upon the table.
“Silence!” called out the voice of Judge Marriott, pounding his mug. “Silence, I say! There will be no executions today. Those children are my guests.”
“Your guests?” snapped Greavus.
“Yes—mine. I invited them.”
Daniel looked over his shoulder to see the judge, grim-faced, dressed in elegant purple robes and a puffy turban capped with a snowy feather.
“I told them they could come along if they wished. So they must have come after Jude—isn’t that right boys?”
“Right, that’s what happened,” agreed Gregory.
“Yes—we came a bit later,” said Daniel, “but got lost trying to find the party.”
Burk’s mouth drooped with displeasure. “But they’ve seen the—”
“Yes, yes, so they’ve seen the hidden room,” interrupted Marriott, giving Burk an irritated look. “What of it? At any rate, they aren’t thieves. They’re Miraclists—competitors in the games, no less. If you kill them you’ll be hanged for murder.”
Nahash growled and released them, slinking back to the corner of the room.
“Miraclists?” Mr. Burk eyed the two of them, a look of recognition flitting across his face. “But I do know you,” he said to Daniel with syrupy smoothness. “You’re the boy with the gryphon.”
“Now is not the time to talk business, Burk,” said Marriott. “We have more important items to attend to. Have a seat, boys.”
Daniel and Gregory pushed themselves off the table and took the chairs across from them. Daniel scanned the room. At the end of the table sat Jude, rigid as a pine tree. Across from him was Caden, dressed in a finely constructed, blood red robe that fell to his feet. He had his usual sour expression—lip curled, nostrils flared, his yellow eyes lean with distaste. To Daniel’s surprise, Ari sat next to Caden dressed in a white gown, brunette hair up in stylish twirls. “What are you doing here?” she mouthed at him.
“I told you, Marriott,” growled Greavus, moving back to his seat, “that this was a closed event—we cannot entertain every,” he gawped at the two boys with a judgmental eyes, “cur that seeks an audience!”
“Nonsense,” crooned the judge, his usual lightheartedness returning. “I didn’t see any harm in having more than Jude and Caden—to avoid looking suspicious, you know.” He winked at Greavus. “As a judge you never want to appear to have favorites. Besides, you allowed Caden to bring his lady friend along, and she was not on the invitation. Am I not allowed to add guests?”
The Senator glared at Marriott for a moment, and then took his seat. He snatched an apple from a platter and bit into it, juice running down his chin. “Then let’s get on with it, shall we?”
Judge Marriott nodded. “Yes, yes—Nahash?”
Nahash slipped out of the room through a side door.
Marriott smiled around the room at what looked to be a very unhappy audience. “I must say,” he said, turning to Jude and Caden in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood, “we all look forward to seeing the two of you lock horns in the arena—your teams will be very entertaining to watch.”
Caden, grunted in agreement, dabbing his face with his napkin. He turned to Jude. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that, Littleton.”
Jude gave Caden a loathsome look Daniel knew was reserved for those he especially disliked.
Caden continued, undeterred by Jude’s frigid expression. “By your display yesterday, you’ve proved to be the second most powerful Miraclist in the Investiture. So I have a proposition for you.” He paused, drumming his spider-like fingers on the table in front of him, and then leaned in closer. “Join my team. The other Miraclists won’t stand a chance against us—you will be subservient only to me.”
Jude stared at Caden, unblinking. The seconds ticked by in silence until the air around them became uncomfortable. “A bold declaration,” Jude finally said, lifting his cup to his mouth, “to claim superiority over one you have yet to face in combat.”
Caden scoffed, raising a solitary eyebrow. “And here I thought you might have a brain in that skull of yours, Jude. Clearly I was wrong. Well, let me explain things to you.” He cleared his throat. “I control fire. You control plants. The more plants you grow, the more fuel I have at my disposal. You can do nothing but make me stronger. You’re nothing but a garden grower,” he added, as if it were an insult.
“One who puts on his armor,” said Jude slowly, “should not boast like one who takes it off.”
Caden clinched his fist on the table so that his knuckles turned white. “Answer my question,” he demanded. “Will you join me or won’t you?”
“I have made my choice,” Jude replied. “Gregory will be my Ruby Miraclist.”
“You choose that nincompoop over me? You’d have better luck with an ape at your side.”
“Caden!” Ari exclaimed.
“Now, now,” said Judge Marriott. “I’m afraid it would be impossible for the two of you to be on the same team, even if you wanted to.”
They all looked at Judge Marriott curiously.
“You see, the reason we asked both of you here tonight is because we think the two of you are prime candidates to compete for the Alpha of the Guardians position.”
A smug smile slithered across Caden’s mouth.
“There is little doubt in our minds that you both will be Guardians. By the academic and athletic prowess you’ve both shown—what with two perfect test scores and the way you dominated in the arena—it is apparent to us that one of you will rise to lead them all. But you cannot both be Alphas—so we’ve decided that you will be on separate teams. A…private requirement, if you will.”
Nahash re-entered the room behind Marriott. In his hands, he held the same box from the darkened room, ornately decorated in solid gold trim. Daniel recoiled at the sight of it, but did not flee.
“Now,” continued Marriott, “there is something we’d like to share with the two of you before you begin the next round.”
Nahash reached to unfasten the lid on the box; Daniel lurched backward in his chair, the legs marring the floor with a groan. All eyes fell on him. He stopped and tried to smile a crooked, nervous smile.
“Something wrong?” asked Greavus with a sour expression.
“No—nothing,” Daniel replied.
CLICK.
Nahash raised the lid, guiding it upward with a gloved finger.
Daniel held his breath as he anticipated what would come forth. But nothing came out—no wailing spirits; no swirling shadows. Instead, Nahash reached in and pulled out a plain, brown scroll and handed it over to Marriott. Daniel released a sigh of relief.
“This scroll is the prize that will be won by the future Alpha, to be recited in front of the crowd at his induction, augmenting his powers,” Marriott smiled, spreading his arms out from Caden to Jude, “but we must make sure in advance that both of you understand the language in which it is written.”
“Of course,” interjected Greavus, standing, “we can’t let you read the entire scroll, just the first line. Otherwise, you would be augmented before you earned it, and we can’t have that now can we?”
Marriott chuckled. “Oh, now don’t tempt them, Senator. Now, if you would both come and read the first line and then tell us if you understand it, that will be all we require of you. But don’t say it out loud!”
Caden pushed himself back from the table, standing. He walked over to the Judge and peered down at the scroll. His eyes narrowed and he took a step backward. “Of course I understand it—why wouldn’t I be able to understand it?”
Judge Marriott smiled and chuckled. “Of course you can—we are just insuring something important that we cannot yet disclose. Thank you, Caden, now take a seat. Jude?”
Jude stood, locking eyes with Daniel, who tried to dissuade him without speaking. Jude only gave him a quizzical look. He walked slowly over to Marriott. He looked over his shoulder at the scroll, and then nodded. “I can read it.”
Marriott rolled the scroll up. “Marvelou
s!” he sang as he returned it to Nahash. “Simply marvelous! That will be all we need.”
Mr. Burk rose to his feet and pulled a silver bell from his cloak. He gave it a swift ring, and the butler stepped in through the door.
“Rebus will show you all out,” Mr. Burk said curtly. He then turned to Daniel. “It would appear fate continues to cross our paths. My interest in your gryphon has not waned—I hope you will still consider my offer.”
Daniel gave Mr. Burk a nod and quickly followed the others out of the room.
The butler led Daniel, Gregory, Jude, Ari, and Caden, back out of the house, winding in silence through the catacomb-like halls. Daniel feared they might see Lady Lugat, but to his relief, she was nowhere in sight. Finally, they reached the front door.
“We hope you enjoyed your stay,” said the butler half-heartedly as he ushered them outside.
“What a bunch of rubbish,” blustered Caden as they moved down the front steps into the shadowy front lawn. All that could be seen was the dim white stone path in front of them. “That was the dullest party I’ve ever been to! My great-grandmother’s ninety-eighth birthday was more exciting. I will have my father throw me a real party when the games are over, Ari—one to celebrate my being made Alpha.”
Daniel reached the peak of annoyance. “Do you ever close your mouth, Caden? And who says you’ll be made Alpha? From what I heard, Jude has just as great a chance.”
“What do you know, you commoner! The only reason they brought Jude here today was to create a sense of competition between us—thus making the games more interesting.”
“You mean to tell me you felt no sense of competition with him already? My, you could have fooled me the way you attacked him without provocation during registration,” Daniel replied.
Caden let out a cold laugh. “I was merely putting your friend in his proper place: beneath me. You shall see, you all shall—he will burst into flames like the rest!”
This time it was Ari who grabbed Caden by the arm, forcing them to stop in the middle of the path. “You told me it was Jude who provoked you into that fight.”
Caden blinked several times and looked toward the gate, then looked back at Ari. “Not now Ari,” he dismissed, attempting to brush by her.