Ranofur laid out an assortment of weapons on the grassy hilltop. Swords, knives, slingshots, a bow and arrow. He displayed them one at a time. “I found a few other odds and ends in Q’s shed. Familiarize yourselves with them.”
Ranofur was a machine, whipping us into shape, pushing us to our limits. An hour later we lay strewn about the boulders, sweating and exhausted. “For a final exercise, we’re going to climb to that peak up there.” Ranofur indicated a rocky point high over our heads and added, “No flying.”
Mike moaned.
The climb was hard, physical work up the sheer face of a cliff. I propelled myself along using tiny finger holds and catching the toes of my sneakers on impossibly narrow ledges. But the fear of falling was eliminated, knowing we could zip into the air anytime. I didn’t look forward to landing again, however.
We scratched and clawed our way to the top of the mountain. From our vantage point, the green hills rolled away to the edges of the horizon, and the city of Heaven spread out in the valley below. I sucked in my breath, awestruck at the incredible sight.
A skyline of light and color stretched as far as I could see. Buildings made of crystal and black onyx, spacious parks, formal gardens, streets as yellow as the brick road of Oz. The air shimmered like pure water shot through with streaks of sunrise, with no haze or smog.
Mike pointed to a tiny neighborhood at the edge of the city, reminiscent of servants’ quarters at the back of a large estate. It was walled off from the rest of the city. “That’s the administrative section we came from. The rest,” he spread his hand across the horizon, “is for the residents.”
“We can’t go there,” I recalled with disappointment.
“Not on this trip.” Ranofur drew two pairs of field glasses from his jacket. “Here. Take a look.”
I peered through the lenses, drinking in the beauty of the city below. The magnification showed people strolling along the streets below, laughing, talking, sitting at sidewalk cafes, holding hands, walking their dogs. It could have been any street scene on Earth except the people seemed to shimmer like the air around them.
I shifted my grip, and a black smudge filled my glasses. It smeared the edge of the horizon like a sooty fingerprint on a crystal bowl.
Ranofur followed the angle of my sight. “That’s Death,” he pronounced grimly, “the only door into the city.”
Lesson #17
Cold Cut Sandwiches Create an Unsuccessful Diversion
The black smudge seemed to devour the light, absorbing it like a black hole. “It’s immovable, isn’t it?” I stuttered, suddenly freezing cold. “I mean, it can’t creep over the city, can it?”
“It is a land of its own, separated from ours by a great chasm,” Ranofur explained. “The two cannot meet.”
“Then how do you get from there to here?” I asked.
“There’s a bridge near the gate.”
I scanned the horizon with my field glasses. “I can’t see it.”
“It’s there,” Ranofur assured me. “But you have to believe it’s there or you won’t find it.”
Mike broke into our conversation. “We’ve been out here for hours. Come on. We need to make a surprise call on a certain inventor-turned-painter.”
After returning our equipment and retrieving my backpack, we ate dinner in a cafeteria located inside the headquarters building and walked the two blocks to the Conference Center. We passed dozens of agents of all different nationalities. Most wore suits or casual attire like Ranofur’s. On occasion, someone appeared in jeans, but no one came close to Mike’s exotic appearance. He stood out in Heaven as badly as he did on Earth.
“Heaven is very multicultural,” I noticed. “Just like Earth.”
Ranofur raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps it’s more accurate to say earth reflects heaven.”
“Are there no women here?” Elena asked.
“Sure, lots of them. Didn’t you see them from the mountaintop?” Ranofur replied.
“No, I mean here, in administration.”
“Ah,” Ranofur grinned. “Angels are a breed apart from humans. We’re neither men nor women. We are agents.”
“And we’re late,” Mike said, pushing his way through a pair of glass doors. “Room 106. Follow me.”
The Conference Center reminded me of a posh hotel, with a wide reception area and two hallways leading away from it in opposite directions. Mike led us to a room containing a dozen agents, all standing behind three-legged easels and staring at little bowls of fruit.
Mike approached an angel with black skin and a gray beard. “Agent Schmiel, may we interrupt you for a moment?” he asked politely.
Schmiel’s face split into a wide smile. “Well, blessed beryllium. Mike, weren’t you sent out on assignment?” He was large, taller than Ranofur but not as bulky, and spoke with the soft cadence of the Caribbean.
“Yes sir, I was. That’s what I need to speak with you about.”
The angel set his brush down and removed his paint-spattered smock. “Certainly. Let’s step into an empty room.” He wiped his hands on a rag and led us across the hall. “Now, what is this about?”
“We’ve been tracking Bartholomew Swain, as I believe you know,” Mike began.
Schmiel murmured agreement. “Mmm-hmm.”
“In our search, we came across some blueprints that may explain his actions, but we would like you to take a look at them and give us your opinion.”
“Certainly, my boy. Where are these pictures?”
I already had my iPod out.
“Mmm-hmmm,” he murmured again as he scrolled through the documents. He looked up when he reached the end a few minutes later. “Well, it all seems pretty obvious, doesn’t it?”
“It does?” I asked.
“Why sure it does, young fellow. Swain intends to storm Mount St. Helens.”
“With submarines?” Mike asked skeptically.
“Mike and Nigel think he’s after the Tree of Life,” I explained.
“Not unless he has a different file somewhere. According to what I see here, the volcano is clearly his destination.”
“We believe he located Findul,” Elena put in.
“Ah, wonderful! I have some new tempering methods I’d like him to test out for me. But I’m afraid he’s in for a bit of trouble first.”
“So how is Swain going to accomplish this?” Mike asked. “What’s the connection between boats and mountains?” That question had plagued us since discovering the two halves of Ivy Intrepid.
“This is the key to it all,” Schmiel said, scrolling to a detailed map of the Columbia River. “I think he intends to sail an army in from the sea, up the Columbia, and on up the Louis River tributary that flows right over the volcano’s roots.” He traced the route with his finger.
“But the Louis River is dammed in three places,” Elena protested.
“Indeed it is. That’s why Swain designed these collapsible dinghies.” He showed us the design that had been clipped to the back of the submarine blueprint. “Easy to haul around the dams. I imagine he could cover the river in a night. Swain definitely intends to attack Mount St. Helens. I can only deduce he has, indeed, located Findul’s forge.”
“You’re sure he could navigate the sub upriver?” Mike asked.
“Absolutely. The Columbia is exceptionally deep, and the submarine’s small dimensions make it ideal for relatively tight turns. If he followed the shipping lanes, Swain would have no trouble whatsoever. And these berths,” he showed us the blueprint, “are especially outfitted for occupation. It’s a troop carrier.”
We looked at each other, impressed with Schmiel’s logic. The pieces all fit. Why had we been unable to put them together?
“But why would he bother to haul troops in a submarine when they can arrive supernaturally?” Elena asked.
Ranofur answered that one. “He intends to use mortals.”
“And Swain himself is still a physical man,” Schmiel reminded us. “He needs physical transpor
tation.”
“How many men does the submarine accommodate?” Ranofur asked.
“Several dozen, perhaps seventy-five men, tightly packed, which makes me think they won’t be traveling far. Most likely Swain will pick them up at a port city on the west coast.”
That number was enough to churn my stomach, but mortals sounded easy after the creatures we’d battled. “What if Swain doesn’t limit himself to the living?” I asked. “How do we know he hasn’t included immortals in his plans? He’s already commanded a few to attack us.”
Ranofur shook his head. “I’ve been thinking about that. The Swaug and the Churkon were acting alone. The assassin and the troll were plants that could have been in position for years. It’s doubtful they answered to Swain’s orders. I think Swain has been granted this mission to implement within his own power.”
“A logical deduction,” Schmiel agreed, “considering the physical nature of his plans and the centuries they’ve taken to develop.”
“But how can we stop Swain if we don’t know when this is going to go down?” Elena asked.
“If his prototypes are built, I might suggest after the ice melts and before the summer tourist season begins,” Schmiel said.
“That doesn’t give us much time,” I said quietly.
“No it doesn’t,” Schmiel agreed. “I’d recommend an immediate return to Earth.”
“The children will need to sleep first,” Ranofur stated.
“Put them up at my place. You can leave first thing in the morning.”
“Thank you, sir.” Elena and I both said it together.
Schmiel picked up his rag. “I think I’ll go with you. It’s been a long day, and no matter how I try, I can’t seem to paint a banana that doesn’t resemble a school bus.”
****
The next morning I awoke to the delicious smell of breakfast cooking. Ranofur, clad in his eye-jolting apron, was flipping crepes over the kitchen stove while the others sat at the table eating them piled high with strawberries and whipped cream. I did my best work on the stack set before me.
“You’re clear on reentry?” Schmiel asked Mike in his lilting voice. “The area north of St. Helens is mostly wilderness. Swain won’t be expecting you, and if we create a diversion, you should be able to sneak past the Swaugs.”
“Quinset should be here with the others any minute,” Mike answered. “Ranofur, did you finish those pastrami sandwiches?”
“You really think a brown-bag lunch is going to throw off a Swaug?” Elena asked skeptically.
“Swaugs are not the most intellectual adversaries,” Schmiel reminded her. “In the absence of additional humans, it’s your best bet.”
After breakfast, as the others tended to last-minute details, the scientist pulled me aside. “I’ve been tipped off about a certain concealment apparatus given to you,” he whispered. “Pink, quilted, with red hearts?”
I stuttered something in embarrassment, and he clapped a friendly hand on my shoulder. “I think you’ll find this much more appropriate.” He handed me a leather belt with black panels lining the entire face, each about four inches wide. “It holds any number of gadgets. Each of these panels is made of Dim-ex. Your gadgets will be safely held outside your present dimension. Go ahead. Try it on.”
The belt fit like it was made for me. Tossing aside the makeup case, I drew my sword and was just able to line up the point to one of the panels. It slid in like it was passing through water.
I grinned, and Schmiel pointed out a few more features. “Notice the compass and the built-in flashlight. Always handy. And this,” he specified one of several black buttons, “will send out a homing signal to any agents in the area. The entire belt has been fitted with a danger detection system. If a supernatural enemy is in the area, the belt will warn you with a silent vibration.”
“Thank you, sir!” I couldn’t wait to show my new toy to Elena.
Q was impatiently holding the reins of the fiery white horses when I joined the others. Six more chariots were lined up along the curb in front of Schmiel’s house, and Ranofur was passing out brown paper bags to each driver. I joined Elena and Q in the lead chariot.
The little driver scowled at me through his flight goggles. “Always in a hurry,” he muttered. “But are they ready when I arrive? Of course not. The Timekeeper has all the time in the universe.”
I swung my backpack in place and smiled. “Hello, Q. It’s good to see you.”
“Humph,” he replied, still muttering to himself. “Never appreciated, I tell you.”
Mike and Ranofur soon joined us. When we were all assembled, Schmiel raised his hand in farewell. “A safe journey to you.”
Q flicked the reins and the horses rose in a flaming burst of power. We shot through the gray arch. Heaven disintegrated behind the mist, and the multitude of glittering stars shone forth. In the distance, Earth loomed like a giant blue marble, majestic in its silent beauty. It took my breath away.
Behind us, the other teams fanned out, scattering to all points of the globe in their effort to draw off the Swaugs, Churkons, or any other enemies lying in wait. I hadn’t met any of them. I hoped they fared well.
Earth grew larger and larger, the continents taking shape beneath us. We came in from the north, and soon North America became distinct. Moments later, I could make out the individual peaks of the Canadian Cascade Mountain Range. They were still cloaked in misty purple shadow, but the sun was about to break over them. The view was gorgeous. I wondered briefly what we looked like to viewers far below.
Suddenly, I yelped, the involuntary movement nearly toppling me from the chariot. The others watched me oddly. “What’s wrong with you?” asked Elena. I raised my fleece by way of explanation.
My brand-new belt was vibrating.
Episode 5
Lesson #18
Seatbelts Should Be Mandatory in Open Air Chariots
“Watch out!” Mike cried.
The Churkons came at us hard and fast, one from the left and one from the right. Q jerked the reins and the team soared straight up in the air. The maneuver left my stomach at the lower altitude, but the Churkons passed beneath us, narrowly missing the chariot and each other.
“So much for the pastrami sandwich decoy,” Elena mumbled as we leveled out. Her face was pale beneath her dark coloring, and she clung to the side of the chariot.
Ranofur didn’t look much better. “They must have been scanning for us. Q, can you evade them?”
The little driver’s face was fiercely determined under his flight gear. “These aren’t the first Churkons I’ve taken on, and I’ve never been green goo yet. Hang on!” He steered the horses through an erratic flight pattern, swerving side to side and up and down. Mike was the only one who looked completely at ease. In fact, he looked downright blissful.
Elena removed her crossbow and tried to steady it against the side of the vehicle.
“Can you get a shot off?” Ranofur asked. He was hunkered in a corner of the chariot, attempting to brace himself and Elena against the wild turns.
“I think so.” She followed the flight of the beast with one eye closed.
“Make sure you allow some lead time,” he reminded her.
She misjudged the beast’s speed and the bolt fell away behind it. “Not even close,” she said with disgust, pounding a fist against the metal side.
“Take your time. You’ll get it.”
Elena reloaded as the Churkon wheeled. It was heading right for us. She aimed.
“Steady,” Ranofur whispered.
Elena picked her moment carefully, but just as she put pressure on the trigger, Q veered in a hard right. The shot went wild, and a heavy wing clipped the side of the chariot, sending us rocking like a ship on heavy seas.
I was jolted against Q, who gave me an irritated shove.
“Don’t these things come with seatbelts?” I gasped. My knuckles were white where they fused to the frame. The back of the vehicle was completely open. Only air sepa
rated us from a long, long bungee jump, minus the bungee.
“Ah, I do love a rousing chariot ride.” Mike sighed with satisfaction as the wind tore his wig into tatters. He had tied it in place with a handkerchief, which gave him the appearance of a white-haired cleaning woman.
My eyes bulged. “Are you insane? Mike, those things are trying to kill us!”
His face maintained its placid expression. “I have every confidence in Q’s flying abilities.” I suspect he was glad to lay the responsibility in someone else’s hands.
The floor suddenly dropped out from under us as the Churkons dove again. My stomach revolted, and I heaved that morning’s crepes over the side. I hoped anyone on the ground below was carrying a sturdy umbrella.
One of the monsters followed our descent and raked our flank with a blast of fire. I ducked, but the flame passed harmlessly around us like water skirting a rock. The team ran at a full gallop, kicking up flames that protected us all. As I watched, one of the Churkons swooped low over our heads and raked its claws across one horse’s back. The stallion screamed and veered to the side, striking out with its hooves.
“Now!” Ranofur screamed.
Elena sent a bolt into the monster’s hide. It let loose a harsh cry and staggered to the rear, its wings pumping laboriously.
“Another, quickly,” Ranofur screamed. “Taylor, get your sword out. If you’d been paying attention, you could have taken that one out yourself.”
If I had my sword out, I thought to myself with some resentment, someone would be decapitated by now, and it wouldn’t have been either of the Churkons. But I plucked the weapon from my belt and held it in one hand while keeping a death grip on the chariot with the other.
The second Churkon flew in at an angle and Q used the same straight-up-in-the-air evasive maneuver, only this time we continued over backward like a looping roller coaster. The G force slammed me into the bottom of the chariot where I screamed in a pitch so high little girls couldn’t have matched it. Only my fiercely clutching fingers saved me from being thrown off the back.
Taylor Davis and the Flame of Findul (Taylor Davis, 1) Page 14
