Silently, he crawled to the doorway and peered down the hallway. They weren’t looking his way. Only the high backs of the rolling chairs faced him as the men talked softly in the middle of the hallway. Wyatt took a deep breath, shook his head against the taunting voice and crawled into the side hallway, slipping into the mudroom with nary a sound.
Wyatt stepped into the cool night air and eased the door shut behind him. It clicked into position with hardly a whisper. No turning back now, he thought as the light on the keypad turned red. Locked out.
He stood in the shadow of the building a moment, steadying his nerves, and found the tormenting voice had receded. The campus sprawled still and silent, the air calm and cool. Street lights flickered over the paved walkways, but Wyatt’s path took him through shadows and wet grass, away from the light. Death and shadows.
He paused at the secure detention building, hugging the brick and glancing from side to side. His eyes flitted over the shadowed back of the next building in view. The voice had vanished along with the queasy feeling in his gut. He smiled in the darkness.
His socks were soaked through as he slid to a halt beneath the myriad of shaded windows. They stared back like a dozen eyes, studying the pudgy fifteen-year-old boy clad in mismatched socks. He stared back, visualizing the interior lay out. Satisfied, he lifted a handful of pale white stones from the buildings border. He stepped slowly backwards, his eyes fixed on the forth window from the right. The one with curtains of vibrant pink.
The first stone fell woefully short, bouncing off the brick. The second sailed well right and disappeared onto the flat roof of the two-story building. He thumbed his glasses. Mr. Alec had refastened the broken arm with duct tape, but they still hung precariously from his pudgy face. Sometimes he saw double.
The third and fourth stones bounced off the sill of the pink clad window, falling silently back to the ground. Closer. Fifth time is the charm, he thought. It wasn’t. Neither was the sixth, seventh, or eighth. Wyatt cursed himself with each errant throw, his mind replaying the pitched basketball that had crumpled Ms. Abagail’s nose. The failure seethed and boiled within him. Angrily he tossed his three remaining stones in blind fury. He watched wide eyed and held his breath as the three jagged stones arced toward the window in tight formation and collided with the window pane. Tap tap tap. He smiled with glee.
The pink drapes shifted and a dark face darted between them. Wyatt grinned and waved excitedly. Athena dropped her face to the narrow window opening. Her hair was unbound and burned bright from the shadows.
“What the hell, Wy?” she whispered. “This ain’t some movie and if you start singin’ some dumb ass song I’ma kick your ass.”
“I’m here to rescue you,” he whispered back, fighting desperately to suppress his urge to shout with all his breath.
“Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me? What’s the plan?”
Wyatt stopped smiling and squirreled his brow. He tilted his head to the side, studying the equally perplexed face that looked down at him from the second story, pressed into the gap of the window that he knew only opened six inches. Uh oh, he thought in a moment of realization. He didn’t have a plan. He shrugged.
“Are you… fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” she hissed again. “What are you doing here then?”
He shrugged again. What was he doing? “I’m not going to be able to leave dorm for a while, I don’t think,” he said. “So, I, uh… just wanted to see you.”
Even in the dark, Wyatt could see Athena clearly roll her eyes. “And how are you gonna to get back in your dorm? You don’t have an I.D. badge, do ya?
Wyatt shrugged. “Maybe we can still get you out,” he whispered.
“Are you-” Athena’s words cut off abruptly as she turned to face the interior of her room. She turned back and waved frantically. “My staff is comin’. Hide yourself.” The vibrant plume of red hair vanished behind the pink curtains.
Wyatt turned and scrambled behind the nearest tree. What am I doing? His mind raced, grasping for a solution. He had to find some way to get her out. He cursed his impulsiveness, but knew it was futile to fight what he had already done. I can’t get into Girls’ Dorm and I can’t get back into Dorm B. Trapped. He was stranded in the middle, shivering against a cold breeze that had picked up and bit through his worn t-shirt and athletic shorts. He peered around the tree, but Athena’s window was still. His hand went to the pendant. He drew it into the moonlight.
“Can’t you take me into Girls’ Dorm again?” he whispered to the twinkling green sphere set in dark wood. “I really need to get in there. Pretty please? With sugar on top? And a cherry? And-”
A spark burst from the smooth green surface and cut off Wyatt’s desperate request. He grinned in eager anticipation as the single spark soon turned into a cascade of light and heat, pouring forth from the stone. The ethereal vines burst forth and lashed him tight to the tree. He shook off the pain. Thank you, oh thank you. He twisted to look once more to the pink clad window as the fire consumed him. I’m coming.
Chapter Thirty-Two
WYATT WAS ASSAULTED with a plethora of noises and movement. It came from all directions. He whirled, fighting to regain his vision after the searing blast of the pendant. The air was thick and hot, further disorienting him. Clearly, he had not jumped to Athena’s bedroom as he had supposed. Thanks for nothing, he thought.
“Oh my,” shouted a voice, full and thick. “It’s the Druid.”
A hush fell over the room. A thick crowd of unusually large eyes turned to focus on Wyatt who was still reeling to regain his senses.
“He just appeared there,” said one voice.
“What a great flash of light that was,” said another.
“Looks real enough to me. Lacerta, you owe me nine beetles.”
“Well, I’ll be.”
Wyatt turned in place, glancing amongst the many colors of the Astronians. A long stone table transected the room, littered with metal tankards of some dark liquid. The stone benches sat abandoned as the bar patrons packed tightly around Wyatt. Vivid red light poured in through a dozen windows cut in the stone walls and drifted down through an assortment of holes in the stone roof.
A red and blue striped Astronian, hunched and wrinkled, grabbed Wyatt by the shoulders. “Welcome, Master. Wyatt, is it?” Wyatt merely nodded. “Wonderful. We are honored. My name is Volans, please let me buy you a drink.”
The crowd continued to murmur as it parted. Volans led Wyatt to the bench and bid him sit with a curt nod. “Scutum, bring our Druid friend a tall mug of essence,” he bellowed in a gruff voice, then turning, studied Wyatt for a moment. “Peach, I do say. Peach essence for the Druid.”
“Aye, peach it is,” replied an Astronian painted green with yellow splotches across his bare chest.
Volans made to sit, but paused and looked to the shifting crowd, huddled at Wyatt’s back. “Well, don’t just stare at him, lads. Have yourself a seat and make our honored guest feel welcome.”
The crowd moved at once, flowing around the table and settling into seats. Long, jointed fingers found tankards and a jovial mood washed over the room as the stunned Astronians settled back into their previous conversations, though Wyatt could feel dozens of eyes repeatedly flick in his direction.
“When I heard we had a Druid in Ouranos I hardly believed it,” Volans said and took a long draw from his tankard. He wiped at the thick froth on his lips. “But, here you are and quite an entrance, I must say. Long have we awaited you.”
Wyatt shook his head and absently thumbed at his nose, seeking the glasses that weren’t there. He glanced down and saw he was clad in soft satin pants colored red and matching sleeveless shirt. He tugged at the fabric. Did Mikell dress me while I slept? Well, at least I’m not naked, he thought.
A lanky Astronian painted with swirls of blue and orange leaned across the table. “Say,” said the sweetly feminine voice. “How’d you do that? Just appear in a flash, like a star-burst?”
Wyatt locked eye
s with her and shrugged. “It’s my pendant that does it,” he said, finally stumbling onto his voice. “I don’t have much control over it, I don’t think.”
The Astronian frowned. “So, you can’t teach me, can you?”
“Oh, Vela, don’t be foolish. The Mother’s call is not something that can be taught,” Volans said. “It is given to the chosen Druid as a gift.”
Vela frowned again, her giant dark eyes dropping to her mug. “Doesn’t hurt to ask,” she said in a childish voice.
Wyatt frowned as well, studying Vela. Is she a child? he wondered. He turned to Volans. His red and blue stripes were deeply wrinkled and puckered about his round head and his gills sagged far lower than any of the others. Clearly, he was elderly, but the others… They all looked much the same. It was difficult to tell gender either. Vela sounded feminine, but she looked much the same as any of the others and every Astronian was shirtless, wearing only silk pants that were just as colorful and varied as their amphibian skin.
“You are new to Ouranos, are you not?” Volans said, his deep brown eyes studying Wyatt as he studied the crowded bar.
“I’m new to a lot in Hagion,” he said.
Volans nodded knowingly. “It has been many generations since a Druid has graced the realms.”
“I keep hearing that,” Wyatt said.
Scutum, the green and yellow barkeep, shouldered through the crowd and set an overflowing tankard of dark liquid before Wyatt. Scutum was much larger than most of the other Astronians and Wyatt could feel his rotund green and yellow stomach brush against his back.
Wyatt grasped the mug and turned it slowly. “What is this?”
“Why, that’s peach essence, Master. The very finest, for this is a day of celebration,” said Volans, taking another long draught.
Wyatt pulled it close and sniffed at the strange beverage. It smelled wickedly of peaches, sweet and vibrant. He loved peaches. He brought the mug to his lips and took a sip. He set the drink down and mulled the taste over his tongue. The bar had fallen silent again and all eyes were fixed on him. The taste exploded in his mouth, deep and tangy and very carbonated. The bubbles fizzed and forced a deep belch that echoed in the still room. Wyatt smiled and stared down at the mug.
“This is the best thing I have ever tasted,” he exclaimed and took a long swig of the peach flavored fluid.
A raucous cheer went up from the patrons. A thin brown and black spotted Astronian to Wyatt’s left patted him on the back and grinned, nodding astutely. “The very best for the Druid,” he said with a nasally voice.
Someone at the end of the long table shouted, “To the Druid,” and lifted his mug high in the air, precious essence running over the brim. Wyatt found himself sitting amongst a forest of raised mugs and cheery shouts of affirmation. “Here here,” they shouted and drank as one.
Wyatt couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear as he took a deep swig of the fizzy peach concoction. It danced on his tongue, tickled his throat, and wrapped his body in relaxing warmth. It felt as if he were melting.
“What is this?” he said, turning to Volans.
The old Astronian smiled, his wide mouth full of short stubby teeth. “It’s essence, Master. From the bog, aged in driftwood barrels for a full season and sweetened with whatever flavor you wish.”
Wyatt frowned. “The bog? This is bog water?”
Volans laughed dryly. “It is, Master. Fermented bog water, the very best.”
The thought of drinking dirty bog water that had been left to spoil repulsed Wyatt and he pushed the tankard away. Volans laughed again, but it was Vela who spoke first.
“If it displeases you, Master, I would be glad to finish it off for you,” she said, reaching for the half empty mug.
Wyatt thought for a moment and quickly snatched the mug back, just as her slender fingers graced the metal handle. “Bog water or not,” he declared. “It is delicious!” He took a long draw and let the bubbling liquid run down his throat and leak over his grinning lips. Another loud cheer rippled through the bar.
“So, what brings you here?” said an Astronian sitting at Vela’s right hand. Her voice was soft and her skin was rust red.
Wyatt wiped at his chin. “Well, I think I’m going after the Regency, but now I’m not so sure.”
“The Regency?” Vela said, spewing droplets of essence onto the table.
Wyatt shrugged. “I think so, but the whisper only drew me here and now I just don’t know.”
“The whisper?”
“Yes, Vela,” Volans said. “The Mother’s voice. It is what calls to all Druids.” The old Astronian leaned against the table and turned to face Wyatt. “The Mother has called you to us and she will call you again, when the time is right, of that I am certain.”
“I hope so,” Wyatt said. “My friends are sorta counting on me.” For what, though, I don’t know.
Volans nodded again, but said nothing.
“Are you going to free the realms from the Regency?” Vela spewed, practically climbing over the table to draw nearer to Wyatt. Her skin folds were bright orange and pulsed as she spoke.
Wyatt shrugged. He had been so sure when he stood before the Children and boasted of his prowess, but now… Only uncertainty lived within his mind.
“I hope you send those four-armed monsters to oblivion,” Vela said, slamming her mug down to emphasize her point.
“Vela,” chided Volans. “The Regency is not our concern. You know this.”
Vela frowned and slumped back into her seat, pouting. “Forgive her,” Volans said. “Her family was lost to a Regency raid a number of seasons ago.”
“They butchered my family,” Vela shouted.
Volans waved a hand, trying to calm her. “Her family refused to pay the tariff and was punished. It was unfortunate, but not unexpected.”
Vela frowned and took a swig of essence, her eyes never leaving the wrinkled Astronian at Wyatt’s right. Wyatt looked from the young female to the elderly man and back again. He took a long drink, trying to manage his thoughts. It had become increasingly difficult to form ideas, and he found the urge to blurt out the first thing that came to mind increasing.
“I’m sorry about your family,” he said finally and smiled at Vela, trying to convey his genuineness.
“Thank you,” she said with a nod.
“Don’t you want to see the Regency fall?” he said, turning to Volans. “All I hear is how bad they are and they’ve already tried to kill me and my friends.”
“It is not for us to decide,” he said. “We do not squabble over what the Mother has given us or taken away. It is our duty to follow her guidance and respect her care. She allowed the Regency to rise and it cannot be without purpose. But, if she should grow weary of their reign and bring them down...” His voice trailed off in a long pull of essence. “Well, she has sent you here, after all. That, too, cannot be without purpose.”
“I hope you bring them down,” Vela said, to which the female at her side nodded vigorously.
Wyatt sat and drank for a while, deep in his own head. If the Astronians about him spoke, he did not hear. I’m here, he thought. I’m in Ouranos. Now what? I don’t know anything about the Regency. Am I really supposed to fight them? Was that only my cocky boast in the Sanctum? What am I really supposed to be doing?
A hand on Wyatt’s shoulder broke him from his self-loathing reverie. It was Volans. His eyes were soft and rife with genuine concern. “Do not fret, Master. The Mother will show you the way,” he said.
Wyatt smiled weakly and nodded, finishing off his essence with a sharp tilt. He wiped at his mouth and looked uneasily around him. Strange, vibrant creatures jostled and pulsed all around him. He was alone; alone in a world he did not understand. Maybe it isn’t real, he thought.
Outside, the red sun was quickly fading from the sky, casting the crowded bar in deep red and purple hues. Scutum walked around the edge of the room, lighting braziers with a torch as he went. Rich flames danced within the elegant ir
on sconces and bathed the tavern in flickering orange light. Something about the setting sun stirred Wyatt’s mind and set him straight.
“My festival!” he shouted and lunged from the bench. The heavy stone seat, weighed by a dozen Astronians gave no quarter and Wyatt fell over it, landing on his back.
Those around him cried in surprise, but the general pitch of the crowd drowned out Wyatt’s shout of pain. Vela scrambled over the table, kicking tankards aside and jerked Wyatt to his feet.
“Are you alright, Master?” she said softly, looking him up and down.
“My festival,” he shouted again. “Where am I? I’m supposed to be at the keep by sundown.”
Volans turned in his seat. “Best get the good Master to the keep, Vela, my dear,” he said with a wink.
Vela nodded sharply. “Yes, Grandfather, of course. Follow me, Master, Firewind will get you to the keep in a flash.”
The gaunt Astronian gestured at Wyatt and pushed through the crowd, out into the street. Wyatt had little time to think and so he followed, stumbling behind on numb legs. The bar was nestled between two towering stone pillars, rife with symmetrical square windows cut into the stone. Wyatt twisted his head left and right as Vela led him across the crushed stone street. The keep loomed large to his left, high upon the hill and so very far away. To his right he could see the entrance gate a few blocks away. He recalled how long it had taken to traverse the city on toad and felt his stomach twist.
Vela’s springy steps far outpaced his own and she was leaning against the short stable wall when he caught up. She had been talking to one of the stable hands, but was now patiently waiting.
“What are you doing?” he said. “We’ll never make it. Those big toads are wicked slow. It’ll take all night to get there. I could walk faster.”
Vela scowled at him. “I wouldn’t ride one of those clumsy oafs. They’re for the soldiers. We’re taking Firewind. He’s my grandfather’s racer.”
The Druid's Guise: The Complete Trilogy (The Druid's Guise Trilogy) Page 27