Wyatt couldn’t move. In a flash, Athena, his red-haired goddess, had dispatched all three assailants before the lunch staff could reach her. Athena stood over them a moment, breathing hard, before being slammed into a wall by the strong arms of two male staff. But the fight had left her. She said nothing. Only a satisfied smile bled across her face as she caught Wyatt in the trance of her golden eyes.
Chapter Twelve
THE SUN BORE down on the courts outside Dorm B, but did little to eradicate the chilling fall wind. It cut like a knife through skin and bone, bathing his blood in ice. It had been three days since Wyatt had seen his red-haired angel, each one weighing heavier on his mind than the last. He was a mighty Druid, yet it was Athena that had defended him. The scene ran on a loop in his mind. I’m better than that, he thought. I have to be better than that to save them.
Rumor from the girls’ dorm was that she had had her privileges suspended for a week and had to take lunch in her classroom. Wyatt was shocked to discover that she had taken full blame for the incident. She had saved him from all repercussions by claiming to have started the whole thing. It didn’t make any sense to him. If he was being honest, they barely knew each other, yet she shielded him in more than one way. Was it pity? Does Athena pity me? he wondered.
“Yo, Wyatt,” Craig shouted, forcefully bouncing a basketball with his right hand. “Get off the court. We’re trying to play a game.”
Four Dorm B residents glared back at him as he stood in the middle of the basketball court, squinting against the sun.
“But, I want to shoot hoops,” Wyatt said and loosed an awkward shot. It sailed clear of the backboard and rebounded off the chain link fence.
Craig stooped down, picked up the ball and kicked it to the far end of the courts. Ms. Abagail casually remarked that he shouldn’t kick the basketballs, but never looked up from her phone and never stirred from the worn wooden bench at the courts edge. Wyatt stared at her incredulously for a moment, and then glared at Craig. He returned the look and took an aggressive step toward Wyatt, his chin angled high and indignant. Wyatt stared back for a moment, grunted in anger, and went to fetch his ball.
He cursed himself as he shuffled away. He had done it again. But, as he picked up the worn basketball a wicked thought blossomed and whispered in his ear. Images of Athena wielding her lunch tray burned vibrant in his mind and gave him courage. The edges of his mouth curled maliciously as he confidently strode back toward the lone hoop. His eyes narrowed in on the back of Craig’s head, focusing on a single blond hair. He drew the basketball back, dramatically extended a leg forward and hurled the round missile with all his strength. The ball shot from his hand like a cannonball. It pierced the cold air and rocketed three feet over Craig’s head. Wyatt’s confidence quickly descended along with the ball’s flight as it ended its misguided journey against Ms. Abagail’s forehead. She cried out in shock, dropped her phone, and sprung to her feet. Uh oh, Wyatt thought.
He raced over to her, a frantic apology bursting from his lips. He only had the explanation half out when Mr. Alec seized his arm and escorted him roughly back to dorm. Wyatt tried to explain. He bellowed his apology back at the courts until the dorm door clicked shut behind him. He could hear the other residents shouting after him.
Exiled, he paced around his room, angry not at Craig or Mr. Alec, but at his own misguided endeavor. Even if he had hit Craig as intended, what would that have solved? He had no way of further defending himself once Craig recovered. Not when my magic doesn’t work against him…
Wyatt whirled and shot an imaginary fireball at the wall. Satisfied, he turned and hurled another at the windows, wishing they would burst apart and he could escape. He continued to twirl, throwing phantom fire until the room burned around him and he was thoroughly exhausted. Resigned, he fell to his bed and stared at the ceiling, wishing his hands were actually capable of such magic.
* * *
Later that evening, while the rest of Dorm B’s residents were watching T.V. in the living room, Wyatt sat in his room, still serving time. He had been furiously sketching and scribbling for the better part of an hour when Ms. Abagail settled into an office chair and propped her feet against his door frame. She had her cell phone in one hand and an energy drink in the other. The items were just as much a part of her as the pink stripe in her hair.
“Oh, good, Ms. Abby,” Wyatt said with a wide smile. “I made this for you.”
Ms. Abagail set her phone in her lap and grabbed the colorful piece of printer paper. She studied it for a long moment, taking in the extravagant colors and haphazard pencil lines. It was Wyatt’s best rendition of Ms. Abagail with the words “I’m sorry,” scrawled in triplicate.
“Aww,” Ms. Abagail said at last. “That’s very sweet.”
“You like it? I had trouble getting your eyes the same size, but I put pink in your hair.”
“It’s very nice, Wyatt, thank you.”
“You’re not mad I hit you in the face earlier?”
She laughed. “Did you mean to?”
Wyatt shook his head. “No, I meant to hit Craig.”
“Then I’m not mad, but you shouldn’t be throwing basketballs at him either.”
Wyatt nodded solemnly, but his mind had already abandoned the conversation for another. “Can I ask you a question… about a girl?”
Ms. Abagail smiled. “You got yourself a girlfriend, do ya? Not from Girls Dorm, I hope. That’d be against campus rules.”
Wyatt’s mind flitted to Athena a moment. “No, it’s not like that. What if a girl was in trouble? I mean… like…” His voice trailed off along with his thoughts. He could feel his cheeks flushing red and turned back to his desk, pretending to sketch another picture.
“Trouble like she hit another girl in the face with a lunch tray?”
“No,” Wyatt said sharply. “Not like that. I mean if someone was trying to hurt her…”
Ms. Abagail dropped her feet to the ground and slid closer. Her tone grew rigid, her jovial sing-song tenor gone. “Well, sometimes all you can do is to be supportive and loving. But sometimes, bad things happen to good people. You can’t blame yourself.”
Wyatt wrinkled his brow and faced her. “That doesn’t make sense. I should help, fight back, and save her somehow.”
Ms. Abagail looked uneasy, but tried to maintain a look of compassion. Did she pity him? he wondered and fumed silently at the thought. Absently, he drew out his amulet, thumbing the green crystal. Rozen’s golden eyes flashed in his mind and the raucous laughter of Gareck and Mareck made him smile.
“Does your necklace make you happy?”
Wyatt stared at the glassy green surface and mottled wood. “Sometimes.”
“What else do you feel?”
“I don’t know. It’s always different. Sometimes I’m mad, or sad. Sometimes happy, or excited. And sometimes I feel like… I just miss her.”
“Who?”
Wyatt thought for a moment. “My grandma. She gave it to me.”
“Oh.”
“She’d want me to fight,” Wyatt said.
“Fight who? Craig?”
Wyatt didn’t respond. The green crystal had stolen his thoughts. He had to fight, he knew. Even if he didn’t know how, even if the odds were overwhelming, he had to try.
A whisper, like a distant wind, caught his ear. It was muffled, far away, it’s message distorted. He shut his eyes and tried to discern the voice. He didn’t care if Ms. Abagail was looking at him funny.
The whisper beat like an angry drum, a rhythmic pattern of the same word. And then he heard it. Clear as day, the lone word surged in lockstep with the beat of his heart. Dig, dig, dig, dig…
Wyatt’s eyes shot wide and he gasped. They’re calling me. He hadn’t known he was holding his breath. He looked to the doorway and saw Ms. Abagail had rolled further down the hallway and was staring at her phone again. It was fortunate, for if she had stayed in the doorway she would have seen the first sparks and the grasping
green tendrils. Wyatt sprang from his chair and dove over his bed to the far side of his room. The burning sensation of the ghostly vines no longer brought pain or shock. It was a welcome embrace. I’m coming, he thought. Hold on, I’m coming.
Chapter Thirteen
THE GRASS TASTED far sweeter than he would have imagined. He chewed thoughtfully on the honey scented blades for a moment as he lay face down amongst them. A distant flash and series of gnawing shrieks brought his mind to focus. Rozen! Mareck! Gareck!
He stumbled to his feet and saw the half circle of four-armed Fallen encapsulating his friends. A dull glow hung behind them, an eerie mist, part way up the hill. I just vanished, he realized. I haven’t lost any time. His mood swelled, but then quickly plummeted as he realized he still had no idea how to help his friends. He was at least a hundred yards behind the Fallen and no one from either party had noticed his reentry. The initial shock of his departure faded and the Fallen began to close in. He could see his friends packed tightly against one another. They were going to fight and they were going to die.
“I have to do something,” Wyatt whispered aloud to himself.
A gentle wind brushed at his face, soft and reassuring, and the whisper returned. Wyatt couldn’t tear his eyes from the Fallen, but he trained his ears to the soft voice. It was no longer chanting dig, but something else, something Wyatt couldn’t put into words. It wasn’t words that the voice whispered, but an emotion it transferred, and a provocation for action. He took a deep breath and ran, charging headlong toward his friends and the Fallen.
Am I rushing to my death? he wondered, but at once realized he didn’t care if he was. He couldn’t let them suffer. He had to try. He had covered half the distance when a deep energy built in his throat. He let loose a loud cry of “Wyyyyyy-Ahhhhhh,” and continued to run. The Fallen turned toward the sound of his battle cry and shrieked in response. The soft whisper returned, gnawing at Wyatt’s mind.
Some of the Fallen were starting in his direction. Only twenty yards separated them. Something in Wyatt’s mind exploded, sending a rush of clarity and force through his body. He fell to his knees and thrust his palms against the sweet-scented grass, pressed tightly against the firm soil beneath. His were eyes fixed on the nearest Fallen Regent, but his mind saw all of them. Energy coiled through his body, sending violent tremors to the ends of his limbs and into the valley floor. When Wyatt felt as if his body would rupture, he released the energy, casting it into the ground, his eyes and mind fixed firmly on the enemy.
The valley shook as if a thousand giants danced upon it, shaking every blade of grass and calling out with a strained bellow. The Fallen stumbled, some to their knees, all shrieking in anger. A shroud of twisted emotions grew within Wyatt as he knelt in the coarse grass. He had to save them.
The tremor vanished just as quickly as it had come. A stillness fell over the Valley of the Children as all sides tried to process what had occurred. Wyatt stared at the ground and begged the mystical whisper to return. All he could hear was his own thundering heart.
The Fallen Regents shrieked in unison, forcing Wyatt to look up. The four-armed creatures whirled around as a dark shadow darted amongst them. Blood followed the streaking Draygan as her jet daggers flashed like the teeth of a shadowy beast, insatiably hungry.
Mareck and Gareck charged, diggers held high, wide mouths agape in their curious battle cry. “DDDIIIIGGGGGG” they yelled as they reached the nearest Fallen. Hammers spun as the round creatures pressed tightly against one another. A shin splintered and a thick spike trailed rotted entrails as the Children spun away, howling in unison. It sounded like laughter.
Wyatt dug his fingers into the ground. Come on. I have to save them. When he looked up again he could not see his friends amid the swarm of towering Regents. He jumped to his feet and ran at them, screaming as he did.
A pair of Fallen broke from the pack at his bellow and turned to meet Wyatt’s charge. They shrieked, spraying Wyatt in thick saliva as he stumbled to a stop in front of the behemoths. One swung a crooked sword at his neck. He let out a yelp and fell backward, narrowly avoiding being shortened by a head. The pair lunged, snarling and spitting. Wyatt spun aside and rose to his feet in mid run.
A chain lashed at his legs, wrapping around his left and jerking him back to the ground. He let out a sharp gasp as the air was forced from his lungs and rolled to his back. His hands went to the chain and his eyes locked to the swinging blades that shadowed across him.
He kicked the chain free just as its wielder lunged, reaching for Wyatt with knobby fingers. He crab-walked backward and stumbled upright, this time facing his enemy.
Behind the approaching pair lay a blood-stained battlefield. It looked as if half the remaining Fallen lay slain, while the others pursued the darting Draygan and the spinning Children. Rozen was too quick to catch and the Children remained back to back, spinning with outstretched diggers, collapsing knees and spraying visceral gore.
He continued to back away, hands held up in abject surrender, hoping the speechless creatures would abide his plea. His efforts were in vain. The lumbering giants continued after Wyatt and he continued to back away, clumsily spinning to avoid their disjointed attacks.
A spear thrust grazed his shoulder and caused a lapse in his retreat as he grasped at the shallow wound. It was all the Fallen needed to close in. A sharp kick caught Wyatt in the chest and sent him hurtling backward. The ground rose to echo the strike and he rolled about coughing, desperately seeking to draw air. He managed to climb to his knees, doubled over in pain.
He grimaced and looked past the Fallen. A dark shadow was streaking toward him. Rozen. He managed a smile and looked up at the Fallen Regents. His smile faded as he realized his dark angel could not cover the distance in time. A rusted spear head was hurtling for his chest and he found himself unable to move.
The tip seemed to cut the air in slow motion, Wyatt’s mind spinning far faster than it ever had. Is this my life flashing before my eyes? He watched in stunned terror, willing the spear to move faster, to hasten his demise. The wait was agonizing.
At once he heard something. Something that had not been there before. The whisper. It rushed back and coursed electric through Wyatt’s body. The effect was immediate. He knew what to do. The whisper compelled him.
His hands jabbed at the ground, his mind seeking the whisper. It responded and urged him ahead. The ground shook and a thick splinter of wood exploded from the soil. It cut through the Fallen Regent’s leg as if it were smoke. The creature howled and dropped the spear, the tip falling a mere inch from Wyatt’s nose. He didn’t flinch. His mind was trailing the mysterious whisper and he drove another spike into the other Fallen. Soil and tufts of grass erupted as the gnarled root found the Regent’s stomach and burrowed in like a worm.
Wyatt remained in place, hands glued to the ground and eyes fixed on the two Fallen Regents writhing against their bonds. Could they feel pain? He hoped so as a dozen spikes burst from the ground and tore at the mottled white flesh. They continued to shriek and clawed at the mass of roots tearing at their flesh. The rough bark ran dark with tainted blood and Wyatt urged the roots and spikes further.
The creatures’ writhing slowed as Wyatt channeled his energy and thoughts into the mystical tendrils. The roots grew and swelled, clawing at the Fallen, cleaving flesh and breaking bone. The shrieks fell away and all that could be heard was the crunch of rotted bone and Wyatt’s own cry. I have to save them. I have to save them.
With one last desperate shout of emotion he leaned into the ground and sent driving spikes through the pair of deformed skulls. They ruptured like grapes thrown into a fire, peppering the air in a fine red mist.
The corrupted life disappeared from the Fallen and their bodies fell limp, suspended by their wooden prisons. The whisper went with it, leaving Wyatt’s mind in exhausted silence. He sat back on his heels, panting and wiping blood from his face.
“Oho, what a show, Master.”
Wya
tt looked up to give Gareck a wide grin. His trio of friends stood around him, shroud in blood just as he was, but alive all the same.
“What a bloody mess,” Mareck said, feebly wiping at her habit. “Tsk tsk.”
Wyatt rose to his feet, swaying as he did. “I… I… I saved you.”
“Just so,” Gareck said.
“Aye, young Master, that you did,” Mareck said.
Rozen sheathed a pair of daggers into horizontal scabbards against the small of her back.
“How about that?” Wyatt said, gesturing to the torn bodies laced with jagged roots.
Rozen glared at Wyatt and wordlessly pointed at the other eleven corpses strewn about the valley floor.
He scowled. “I could have killed more.”
“More?” Gareck said. “Never have I seen so many Fallen in one place.”
“And Fallen Regents as it were,” Mareck said.
Both Children looked at each and their smiles faded, as if remembering something painful. Without a word, they ran away from the carnage and dropped into the nearest open hatch. Rozen dashed close behind, leaving Wyatt alone in the valley with naught but torn corpses to keep him company. He looked around, frowned, and followed after his companions.
* * *
The ladder descended ten feet into darkness. Wyatt climbed down nine and dropped onto the hard soil. Immediately he shivered. The air had gone ice cold and the light had dimmed significantly since his last visit. His breath steamed in the dull orange glow. He shuddered uncontrollably as he surveyed his surroundings, looking for his friends. Each step numbed his bare feet until he could no longer feel their presence and he was forced to stumble along flat footed. The platform he was on was much smaller than Gareck and Mareck’s, yet was identical in setup. An underground city of stone mole clones…
He couldn’t see past the edge of the platform. He thought his eyes still needed to adjust to the darkness, but a shadowy veil covered all that lay beyond his position. He whirled in every direction, but it seemed as if the enormous cavern had been reduced to a solitary platform, void of life. He was alone. He wrapped his arms tightly around his chest and wished for pants when a familiar sound alerted him to the right side. Was that an angry hiss?
The Druid's Guise: The Complete Trilogy (The Druid's Guise Trilogy) Page 9