Awen Storm

by O J Barré

  He turned to Shalane. “I’m going to Zephyr Cay to talk to that healer. See if I can get a read on where Emily went. Want to stay another day? Maybe two?”

  Shalane was sorely tempted. But she had to get back. They had already rescheduled several shows and her fans weren’t happy. Not that she cared all that much about that. But Cecil and her manager were another story. She tucked a curl behind Mitch’s ear and ran a nail over his cheek and chin.

  “I wish I could. But I can’t. I’ve got to get back to the tour.”

  Disappointment flashed in the blue eyes, then relief. He’d acted like he wanted her to stay. But did he? It was frustrating trying to read the man. He was as closed a book as any Shalane had seen.

  “Suit yourself,” he said brusquely and nodded toward the tarmac. Your plane is boarding. I plan to charter a boat to Zephyr Cay. Were there any decent hotels on the island?”

  “I don’t know. I would imagine.” Shalane slung her purse over her shoulder and repositioned her carry-on. “I didn’t stick around long enough to find out.” The attendant gave the last boarding call. “I gotta go, Mitch. Be safe. And good luck finding Emily.”

  The flight attendant began closing the gate.

  “Wait!” Shalane called. To Mitch she said, “I ordered coffee and a muffin if you’re hungry. My order’s up.” She kissed his cheek and scurried to board. Scanning her pass, Shalane turned to wave goodbye, but the attorney was gone.

  Up in the Air

  Lugh MacBrayer woke with a start. Dread curled in his gut. In his dream, Emily was trapped in a cave beneath a castle. And something was wrong. Unbuckling his seatbelt, Lugh climbed from the pod to stand in the aisle. The cabin lights were low and snores rose from sleeping passengers.

  Through the opposite window, stars winked against a brightening sky. Lugh checked the time. 6:02 a.m. He hadn’t slept long. The plane shuddered in a pocket of turbulence. Lugh grabbed the seatback just in time to keep from pitching into a muscular man who spilled over the side of his pod.

  The PetJet leveled, and Lugh made his way to the midsection to check on Cu and Hope. It had cost a fortune, but Morgan’s assistant had secured them first-class passage on a specialty-liner designed for traveling with larger pets. The wolfhound slept curled in his cramped, but sufficient quarters. He had made the journey without complaint, good nature intact. The dog’s usual snores were dampened to a gentle snuffle.

  Lugh reached inside the cage and ruffled the long face. Cu twitched and stretched his long, lanky limbs, then flopped to the other side and went back to sleep. In the adjacent cage, Hope’s luminous eyes stared, unwavering.

  “Can’t sleep?” Lugh caressed her black cheek stripes through the wire.

  Her answer sounded in his head. “Barely a wink. I’d forgotten how much I hate flying.” Lugh tickled the sweet spot behind her ear and was rewarded with a purr.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling.” Lugh’s gaze flicked over the other cages.

  Hope shifted positions, coming up into a crouch. “Me, too. Another reason I can’t sleep.”

  “I had a bad dream. Emily’s in trouble.”

  “Yes, I feel it, too. But there is nothing we can do. For the moment, at least. We’re thirty-five thousand feet in the air and on a plane.” She rolled her eyes. “My least favorite thing to do.”

  “But this was your idea.” Lugh ran his hand across his sandpaper face. His five-o-clock shadow had turned into the beginnings of a beard.

  “We do what we have to do for the Order,” she purred. “And the Awen.”

  Live Long and Prosper

  Thirty, smooth-sailing minutes after Emily magicked the storm east, they reached the edge of the vortex. a-Ur arrived first. Ooschu and Talav brought up the rear. Lightning split the morning sky, followed quickly by a cracking boom. Emily jumped. The storm must’ve reached Nassau by now.

  Khenko killed the motor and dropped anchor.

  “What now?” he asked a-Ur, who hovered above the bow.

  “Now we enter the wormhole. You, Khenko, must stay behind.”

  “But—”

  “Dear crane, you cannot go,” Talav said from the starboard side of the vessel. “Your path lies in a different, less dangerous, direction than the one that we must tread. Your service to the cause will not be forgotten. Be well, gentle sir. Live long and populate the earth with your kind.”

  Emily watched the tall man, knowing how much he hated goodbyes. He hung his head to hide his tears, then looked up at Talav.

  “Will I see you again? Will I remember, if I do?” His words were strangled.

  Reaching into the boat, Talav caressed his cheek as if it were one of her jewels. “You may, Khenko Blitherstone. It is my fond hope that it be so.” She chuffed and sank slowly into the warm Atlantic, but not before Emily saw a tear slip from one ochre eye.

  Ooschu rose out of the water and used her powerful tail to balance on the port side facing Khenko. “Our time together has been edifying, my wise friend. Live long and spread your peace throughout the lands.” Then she, too, slid into the drink.

  The fierce a-Ur settled on the stern, tipping the vessel precariously. “You have delivered the Awen, mighty stork.” He bowed to Khenko. “Now your service is complete. We’ll take it from here. Live long and prosper through these dark times.” a-Ur nodded to Emily. “Little wren, say goodbye to your friend. It is time to take your place as the Awen.”

  Tears blurred Emily’s vision. Turning to Khenko, she threw her arms around his waist and buried her face against his chest. Long arms circled and held her close to rock her gently back and forth. Her heart nearly burst, so full was it with love for the man who’d brought her back from the dead.

  “What can I say, Medicine Man?” Her smile wavered and tears trickled down her cheeks. The golden eyes gleamed. Chucking her under the chin, Khenko leaned close.

  “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

  She burst out laughing and returned the gesture, grateful to him for lightening the mood. Turning to a-Ur, she swallowed hard.

  “I cannot believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m ready. Or as ready as I am going to be. What now?”

  “Now, you cast a spell of protection so you don’t get hurt. I will carry you into the vortex. Once inside, I will let go,” a-Ur told Emily. “You must navigate this journey on your own. Remember to keep your mind on Beli, our destination. That is the key. The wormhole will do the rest.”

  Chest tight and heart racing, Emily set the protection charm, then reached impulsively for Khenko’s hand. He smiled, nodded, and nudged her toward the dragon. Belief and something akin to reverence glowed in his eyes.

  “Take care of Awen,” he yelled to a-Ur, who snatched Emily up, quick as a wink.

  Diver Down?

  Khenko stared at the newly-risen sun and wondered what he was doing at the vortex. Had he lost someone? That would explain the tears clouding his vision. Only there was no sign of an expedition.

  Where were Sajak and Ke’nani? He would never take seekers out on his own. And what about the diving buoy? If someone had gone down, a buoy would be set. And the divers’ flag. Plus, the boat was swamped, evidence of a nasty storm. So why in the world would he be out at sea? Alone? In a storm?

  Engaging the bilge pump, Khenko stared at the ocean in every direction. No craft was in sight, not even the fishing boats that put out daily from Zephyr Cay at the crack of dawn. In the distance, he could hear a flight taking off from Nassau.

  Khenko watched it climb, a C20-20 loaded with vacationers heading back to the states. He ducked inside the cabin to consult his captain’s log. There it was, in Khenko’s concise handwriting:

  Departure–5:30am

  Destination–the Vortex

  Passengers–1

  Name–Awen

  Weather Conditions–squall

  Khenko stepped outside to scan the sea again. He would never, ever go out in a squall—or in the dark, for that matter. It was just past sunrise. Where in the Devil’s Tri
angle was this passenger named Awen? And why couldn’t he remember anything?

  The Arcana rocked on its anchorage, waves slapping against the hull. A capricious wind alternately fluttered the ensign flag and whistled through it. The scent of gardenias on a summer morn lingered just outside Khenko’s awareness. Unable to pinpoint it, he went back inside.

  It was quieter here, the gardenia more evident. He inspected the cabin for other signs of a passenger and came up empty. Pausing to ponder his next move, Khenko wondered why he didn’t feel anxious. Why was he only slightly worried, when a woman was likely missing, and he may well have ferried her to her death? Assuming, of course, that Awen was a she.

  The wind shifted, and a knowing came to Khenko, the sense that whatever he had come to do was complete. He fought the urge to start the engine and motor home, reaching instead for the radio. He must notify the coast guard.

  “No!” Khenko heard inside his head.

  He looked around. The voice was familiar, but no one was there. Silence reigned briefly, a pregnant silence full of answers. Or commands. They came at Khenko in rapid-fire succession.

  “Go home. Pack your clothes.”

  “Go to Princeton. Your family awaits.”

  “It’s time to become the leader you are meant to be.”

  “Time is short. The Darkness is nigh.”

  Khenko shook his head to clear the oddly-familiar voices, and used the binoculars to scour the ocean in every direction. The words cycled back.

  “Go home. Pack your clothes. Go to Princeton.”

  “Be well. Live long. Populate the earth with your kind.”

  Feeling an urgency now that he couldn’t explain, Khenko started the motor and raised the anchor. The words kept coming.

  “Live long. Spread peace. Be strong. The world needs you.”

  Nudging the throttle forward, Khenko circled the perimeter and even ventured a short way into the Vortex.

  “Your service is complete.” That struck a chord.

  “Go home. Pack your clothes. Live long. Prosper.”

  Turning toward Zephyr Cay, Khenko gunned the inboard motor. The ferry leapt eagerly for home.

  Another World

  Brian stood atop a boulder overlooking a wide canyon. A hot wind whistled up from the valley floor, taking his breath. Sweat popped out on his brow. Beside him, Ethnui squealed—a peal of happiness that thrilled Brian’s heart.

  They slid from the boulder and landed on concrete beside an interpretive sign. Its bold letters read THE LEGEND OF BLOWING ROCK. Underneath, it elaborated.

  “Look!” he crowed. “We’re in Blowing Rock. We’re out, we’re out, we are finally out!” He grabbed Ethnui and spun her in a circle, then hugged her close, letting go when her scent tickled his nose. “But how did we get here?”

  Ethnui slapped him on the back. “The last I remember, you used magic to clear the rocks from that entrance. Great job, by the way!”

  A bead of sweat trickled down Brian’s cheek. The sun shimmered through a haze of humidity, and though it appeared to be early morning, it felt like it must be a hundred degrees. But at least they were back in AboveEarth.

  Which was weird, because Brian had no recollection of climbing any stairs, scaling any shafts, or anything else. His last memory was the same as Ethnui’s—him performing the spell. For a fraction of a second, large yellow eyes flashed in his mind, then were gone.

  Ethnui’s gaze darted about. She clung to Brian’s arm, wide eyes taking in everything. He glanced around to see what she was seeing—heatwaves radiating from the concrete, cloudless blue sky hemmed in by towering trees, the granite monument, the canyon below, the cars whooshing by on the highway passing the entrance to the park.

  “What happens now?” Fear lurked in her big blue eyes.

  Brian took the Fomorian’s hand. It was as sweaty as his. With the back of his other arm, he swiped his bangs from his eyes.

  “Christ, how long was I down there?” he moaned. “It was still cold when I left, and barely spring.” The fear pinched Ethnui’s features and she clung to him tighter. He was scaring her.

  Brian had better pull it together. They were in his world now.

  “Okay. First, let’s get out of this heat.” He fanned the front of his shirt. “And find a phone. We need money. And transportation to Atlanta.” Brian stuck his nose to his underarm and sniffed. “And it would be great if we could take a shower and change into clean clothes.”

  Ethnui laughed and the pinched look disappeared.

  But, Brian had no idea how they would pay for all that. Then, the hundred-dollar bill his mom had tucked into his wallet for emergencies, came to mind. He was pretty sure this qualified. And, miraculously, Brian still had the wallet.

  A hundred dollars should be enough to buy a cheap phone. And he was betting his Uncle Lugh would take care of the rest.

  **

  They didn’t have to go far. A hundred yards from Blowing Rock Park was an old, rambling hotel named Green Park Inn. Brian and Ethnui entered through a side door and ducked into the restrooms.

  At the gift shop, Brian purchased a prepaid cell. He called Lugh, whose voice mail message said to call Morgan Foster. Morgan made arrangements for rooms at the hotel for him and Ethnui, clothes, and a ride to Atlanta.

  Lugh, Morgan said, was on a plane headed to Wales. Brian told her about the Dracos plan to overtake Earth, then waited at the front desk while she paid for the rooms over the phone. Thirty minutes later, he was in the shower, washing off the grime of UnderEarth.

  **

  Morgan stared at the notes she’d written based on Brian’s description of the Dracos. She had seen the article and resulting hullabaloo, but hadn’t paid much attention until the FBI made a statement denouncing it on television. Which meant it was likely true. This could be the Darkness of which the Elders warned.

  She hurried to her office and used the secure line to call the Director’s personal number.

  “Hobbs,” the familiar voice announced.

  “Kate, it’s Morgan Foster. How in the world are you?”

  “Ahh, you know, Morgan. Just up here sticking it to the bad guys. How’re things back Atlanta? I see you’re having a heat wave. You’d never know it was spring in D.C., there’s an ice storm forecast for the weekend.

  “But I know you didn’t call to discuss the weather. What’s up, my friend?”

  “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  “Dahlin’, you always have bad news.”

  “Well this tops the chart. Remember the young druid caught in the earthquake at Zoo Atlanta? Brian MacBrayer?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Well, he was captured by what he describes as lizard-men—scaled, green, clawed, pointy-toothed, nasty, evil lizard-men—who are plotting to escape and take over Earth.”

  The FBI Director groaned. “Not you too, Morgan.”

  “I’m afraid so. Only this is not a hoax. This is real, Kate. It’s time to initiate the protocol.”

  “Aw, hell.” There was silence, then a heavy sigh. “You’re sure, Morgan? I damn-near fired my L.A. Field Director for telling me the same thing.”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Fuck, Morgan. I’d hoped we’d make it through life without having to deal with anything like this.”

  “Yeah, me too. Yet, here we are. Who woulda thought when we were in druid training that the next big war would fall on us?”

  “I did,” Kate snorted. “I know you were always the optimist. But, even as a child I had a feeling something big would go down in our lifetime. And as the years have gone by, seeing what I see, I have become even more certain.

  “Now, let me get to work on this. And Morgan? I’m glad Brian made it home safe. We’ll need to debrief him. Keep him close. We’ll be in touch.”

  Going Live

  The flight from the Bahamas was brutal. Shalane missed her connection in Atlanta and had to hop a flight to Dallas-Fort Worth. But, heavy lightning and monsoon rains closed DFW A
irport after they landed, and it took hours for the weather to break.

  To make matters worse, Shalane was running on no sleep and had indulged too much at the pig roast. She’d taken pain pills chased by Alka Seltzer, and managed to snatch a few restless hours of sleep on the plane and a couple more in the Dallas Aero Lounge. But the bags under her eyes were epic, and her mood was that of a baited bear.

  Then, somewhere between DFW and McCarren International, the drilling pain behind Shalane’s eye returned with a vengeance. After a several-week reprieve, she had hoped it was gone. But her eye ached horribly, even after the two Tapentadols she had swallowed with breakfast.

  Eggs and bacon had seemed a good idea at the time. Now, Shalane was not so sure. She belched and groaned, checking the clock. Only a few minutes until curtain call, but at least she had made it here in time. The orchestra struck a chord and played the opening strains of “Hallelujah”.

  Shalane took a last look at her costume in the mirror. Not liking what she saw, she refreshed the appearance spell. Then, with a deep, centering whiff of Dragon’s Blood oil, she exited her dressing room and stood behind the red velvet curtain.

  When the band reached the first chorus, Shalane stepped out on the stage. The audience went wild. Catcalls, applause, and rhythmically-stomping feet greeted Reverend Shalane Carpenter as the crowd exploded in adulation. Shalane held her arms wide, encompassing them all. They clapped harder.

  When the next verse started, Shalane lifted the microphone from its stand and a hush fell over the arena.

  She glided to the front of the stage and opened her mouth. As usual, the crowd reacted, whistling and calling Sha-lane, Sha-lane. She belted out the verses of her signature song, nuzzling the microphone like a lover.

  Buoyed by the energy of her adoring fans, Shalane finished the last verse and gave her opening remarks. When she was satisfied she had them eating from her hands, she climbed onto her throne chair and crossed her legs in lotus pose. Her assistants quieted the crowd while she got settled.