The Orb of Kandra

by Morgan Rice

  “Actually what?” Oliver asked.

  She looked back at them. “There’s more than one.”

  “What do you mean?” Ralph asked.

  “There’s two,” Esther said. “We’re going to have to choose one.”

  “But how?” Oliver stammered. He felt his chest sink. How would they ever know which one was the one to take them home?

  Esther let out a huge sigh. “I’ve no idea. But first things first, let’s find a bridge so we can cross the river. I don’t really want to swim in that muck, and the bridge here doesn’t look like much help.”

  She pointed at the charred remains of the one in the river. It looked sad, rusted, and falling to pieces.

  “London Bridge,” Oliver said. “That way. Let’s go.”

  CHAPTER FORTY FOUR

  Mistress Obsidian stared into her vision bowl with disbelief and growing rage. How had Christopher Blue been overpowered by a seer? She’d imbued him with the power of dark matter! The strongest, most volatile power a human could possess! And how had Malcolm Malice let her down so spectacularly? He was her best student! All they’d had to do was destroy Oliver Blue so he could not rescue the Orb of Kandra. Yet they’d completely failed, getting caught up in petty squabbling amongst themselves.

  She should never have entrusted such an important task to them.

  She stood up from the table, furious—with them, with herself for putting her faith in them—and stormed over to the window.

  Across the playing fields her students worked on their archery practice. To think she’d let them all down. That Amethyst school was still standing, still lording it over the entire seer community, denying them their rightful position as masters over the world and the mortals within it.

  His saccharine agenda made Mistress Obsidian sick! Protect humans? Why! When seers were by far the more extraordinary group? When the universe had gifted them with such incredible powers? The universe clearly wanted them in charge and yet Professor Amethyst and his school of do-gooders insisted on protecting mortals!

  Anger made her head swim. She grabbed the ledge and took deep, ragged breaths.

  Her gaze fell then to the glass cabinet to her left. Inside was the Obsidian knife. She’d learned enough from studying the vision bowl that overuse of the knife could be disastrous. She still struggled to shake the image of her counterpart in another timeline imploding after stabbing the Orb of Kandra. It was enough to make her extremely cautious. And she’d already used it once, to give Christopher Blue his powers. Just look how that had turned out!

  But still, she found herself reaching for the knife as if drawn to its dark power. She took it gently from the cabinet and turned it in her hands, deliberating. Her mind went back and forth, back and forth. Perhaps now was the time to be decisive. Oliver had the Orb but he was still stuck in 1690. He’d not yet returned it to its plinth in the sixth dimension. There was still time to win this, with a little help from the dark world…

  Mistress Obsidian forced away the image of her parallel self dying from her mind. She raised the knife above her head, its tip to the sky, and sliced down as if through sponge cake. She made a slice all the way from the height of her head down to the floor. Then she took her hands and peeled back the edges of the universe. She stepped inside.

  The space where she now stood was very dark and very cold. A place between time. There was no sound. Just a dark expanse of nothing.

  Mistress Obsidian glanced about her, searching for what she was here to fetch. Then, slowly, small blue orbs began to light up around her. It was the eyes of rogues waking from their slumber.

  “The dark army,” she announced. “I call on you.”

  More and more eyes began to open, glowing their peculiar blue light into the blackness.

  Then in a sudden whoosh like the force of a tornado, the rogues flew for the gap she’d made in the fabric of time.

  Mistress Obsidian struggled for breath as the wind whipped through her hair. Her cloak flew out behind her. The rogues were racing through the slit so fast they became a blur of black and shimmering blue.

  She grasped the edges of the dimensional fabric, trying to steady herself. Then a wicked smile played across her lips. A laugh escaped from between them. She’d really done it. She’d really unleashed the dark army onto the world.

  “Just try and stop me now!” she screamed into the void.

  CHAPTER FORTY FIVE

  As London Bridge loomed into view on the horizon, Oliver, Esther, and Ralph took it in turns to look through the spyglass at the far bank of the River Thames. Indeed, through the glass they could see the outline of two distinct metal arches, with odd glittering shimmers and lightning forking across their surfaces. They were identical, reminding Oliver of the porthole windows in submarines.

  “How do we know which one is the portal Michael told us about?” Ralph said, looking concerned as he handed the spyglass back to Esther. Then he gulped. “What if neither is?”

  Oliver checked his amulet. “It’s getting warmer the closer we get. So at least one of them has to be the way back to the School for Seers.”

  “Neither of them look particularly stable,” Ralph added. “The metal is all rusted. And singed. They must have been damaged during the Great Fire.”

  Just then, Esther quirked her head up and peered into the distance. “Do you hear that? It sounds like wind.”

  Oliver squinted into the distance.

  “Sounds like galloping to me,” Ralph said.

  Then Oliver gasped. “It’s footsteps! The Obsidians must have freed themselves from Newton. Quick! Let’s head to the bridge.”

  But Esther shook her head. “The Obsidians would be coming from the north. The noise is coming from south of the river.”

  But no sooner had the words left her lips, than something in the distance caught Oliver’s eye. Coming from the south—the same direction they themselves needed to go—Oliver saw spots of blue light. They were all grouped in pairs and moving in a peculiar way, in a rhythmic sort of up, down, up, down motion.

  Esther and Ralph turned too.

  “What is that?” Ralph asked.

  Suddenly, it dawned on Oliver what he was looking at. It wasn’t the approaching Obsidians. He gasped.

  “Rogues!”

  As the rogues rushed toward them, another noise—coming from the west this time—made them all turn.

  “Is that…” Esther began.

  “It’s Sister Judith!” Ralph finished.

  The old nun was racing toward them at lightning speed. And coming up behind her were more women in matching gray cloaks, as well as the students from the London School for the Future-Sighted.

  “It’s Michael!” Oliver exclaimed. “And Samuel!”

  “Wait,” Ralph said, gasping.

  Oliver looked up the cobblestone road that connected the Thames to the north of London. Hurrying down it were Chris and the Obsidians. They’d broken free from Newton and were advancing toward the bridge with speed.

  Oliver realized that all three groups were going to converge at this point. A meeting of seers. Good versus evil.

  It was going to be an epic battle.

  CHAPTER FORTY SIX

  Chris’s head still pounded from being knocked out, not to mention that awful alchemist concoction Newton had put in him. Thankfully his super-strong nuclear powers seemed to counteract them. Realizing Oliver had gone and that his plan to endanger Newton to bring Oliver to him had failed, he’d wasted no time freeing the bound Obsidians and getting straight back to his pursuit of Oliver.

  Luckily, his stupid brother had left his glowing footprints to guide him.

  Even from the other end of the long alleyway, Chris zeroed in on Oliver. His pathetic brother was standing by a bridge looking across the Thames. He could see light from that Orb everyone seemed to be obsessed by glowing in the girl’s satchel. The Orb meant nothing to Chris. All he wanted was to see Oliver destroyed. And this time, he wouldn’t let him get away.


  As he thundered down the alleyway, the Obsidians bringing up the rear, Chris suddenly heard the strangest of sounds. It was a mixture between hooves and roaring wind. He looked ahead and gasped. A strange procession was advancing onto London Bridge, all with odd glowing blue eyes.

  “Rogues!” Madeleine squealed with delight.

  “Not just any rogues,” Malcolm told her. “It’s the dark army. Mistress Obsidian must have summoned them.” He looked delighted.

  Chris noticed another bunch of people were coming from the west. They turned onto the north end of London Bridge.

  “Who’s that group?” Chris asked. “That bunch of kids and all those nuns?”

  For once, smart-aleck Malcolm didn’t have the answer. “I have no idea.”

  No sooner had he said it, than the two groups met, right in the middle. Without hesitation, they descended into vicious magical fighting.

  From the nuns and kids on one side, sparks of white light shot through the air like arrows. They pelted the dark army. One bright arrow went right into the eye of a rogue. He let out a piercing scream and staggered as neon blue liquid dripped down his face. He hit the barrier of the river and tumbled over the side into the water.

  The dark army retaliated against the arrows of lights with jets of black oil. The viscous liquid shot out of the hands of the rogues on the front line, coating the nuns who stood at the front of the group.

  The woman yelled out as if the liquid burned them. But they used their own powers to counter the oil, turning it into golden goo-like honey. The honey-like liquid pooled on the floor around them and began to seep toward the rogue army. The rogues blasted yet more oil over the honey, smothering it, burying it. Bits of bright light managed to burst through but it was quickly stifled by the oil. When the last piece of light was suffocated, the oil froze over like the hardening lava of a volcano.

  All the while, the arrows of light continued to rain down on the rogue. Their own arrows of black flew back.

  Chris had never seen anything like it in his life!

  “What are they fighting for?” he asked.

  Malcolm flashed him his condescending look. “The nuns are on the side of the light, obviously. The dark army is on our side. The side of the dark.”

  But Madeleine gasped suddenly. She added, in a worried voice, “The dark army can only be here if they’ve been summoned. Mistress Obsidian must have called them.” She pulled her hand into a fist. “She doesn’t trust us to stop Oliver from escaping.”

  “Where’s Oliver supposed to escape to?” Chris laughed. “They’re just stuck in the middle. There’s nowhere to go.”

  They carried marching onward. Chris wasn’t scared of joining the battle ensuing before his eyes. He knew he fit in perfectly with the dark army. In fact, he liked them a whole bunch more than the Obsidians. He’d had enough of Malcolm’s face. And the weasel had let him down too many time. He didn’t blame Mistress Obsidian for losing faith in them and calling on other fighters.

  Yes, an army suited Chris way better than a school. Maybe if he proved himself in front of the dark rogues they’d let him join them. The thought added more fuel to his belly.

  The noise of the battle grew louder the closer they came. The sky was filled with lights, dust, clouds, rain. All types of matter went back and forth between the warring group like artillery made from ice crystals and hailstones.

  They reached the edge of the bridge, coming around the back of the school kids. The rest of the Obsidians slowed their pace. But Chris didn’t. He was already tapping into his powers, summoning the toxic green goo that had the power to burn anything it touched.

  “Chris!” Malcolm hissed. “Slow down! We need a battle plan.”

  But Chris ignored him. He went straight into the fray. His mind was focused only on Oliver. Even as flaming lava jets arched over his head Chris just walked straight through, fearlessly, like it was nothing.

  There was a boy in his way, blocking his path to Oliver. He was a young boy.

  A sniveling loser who picked the wrong side, Chris thought as he grabbed him from behind and plucked him clean off the ground.

  The boy’s sweater began to burn as Chris threw him away like he weighed nothing.

  He kept barging forward. He grabbed the next child, pushing him roughly aside, ignoring his scream as his clothes began to burn at the point where he’d touched them.

  He reached the nuns who were leading the pack. One of them swirled on him. She narrowed her gray eyes, locking them on him. Chris shuddered. It felt like she’d penetrated into his mind.

  “Christopher Blue,” she said. “It’s not too late to choose the light.”

  Chris scoffed. He pushed out with both his hands, blasting the nun backward with the full force of his power. She fell and skidded across the bridge, right into the midst of the dark rogues. They descended upon her.

  Just then, Chris caught sight of Oliver. He and his friends were trying to force back the rogue army. The girl was protecting them from the blows of the rogues with one of her shields while the boy pelted them with hailstones he seemed to be plucking from the sky. And Oliver, sniveling little Oliver, was snapping the wooden planks beneath their feet, making them fall into the sea.

  Chris ground his teeth and marched on.

  If he wanted to, Chris could end it now. In the chaos of the battle, with Oliver distracted, he could blast him with his powers. But he wanted to use his hands. He wanted to see the life drain from Oliver’s face up close.

  He plowed onward. When he reached Oliver, he grabbed him from behind, wrenching him back into a headlock.

  Oliver yelled and flailed with his arms. He kicked back, his boot colliding with Chris’s shin. Chris winced. But the pain was nothing. Definitely not enough to make him let go. Oliver had never been particularly good at self-defense.

  He wiggled like worm on a hook, trying to wrestle himself free but failing. He’d always been so weak, Chris thought as he tightened his arm around Oliver’s neck.

  “Isn’t this just like the good old days?” Chris sneered as he dug his knuckles into Oliver’s scalp. “You and me scrapping.”

  Oliver wheezed. He was clearly struggling for breath. His face was turning an interesting shade of purple.

  Then suddenly, there came a surge from behind. The nuns and school kids had gained some ground. They barreled forward.

  Chris felt someone slam into his back. He lost his grip on Oliver.

  Quickly, before Oliver could shoot any powers at him, Chris ducked into the crowd to obscure himself from Oliver’s view. The battle was so chaotic, he blended right in.

  Just then, he heard the black-haired girl’s desperate cries. “Oliver? Oliver, where are you?”

  He looked up and saw she was right there.

  Chris grinned evilly. Another hostage. Perfect. Another person Oliver would never leave behind.

  He rushed forward, shoulder to shoulder with the school kids, and grabbed the girl.

  Her scream pierced the air. He put his hand over her mouth to silence him. She bit him.

  Now it was Chris’s turn to scream. He reared back, but he didn’t let go.

  Through the chaos of bodies and blasts, Oliver appeared.

  Despite the pain in his hand, Chris grinned. He knew Oliver would come back for her.

  “Let Esther go!” Oliver yelled.

  “I’ll trade you,” Chris replied. “Come here.”

  He could feel Esther shaking her head against his chest. Oliver stood his ground. But Chris could see in his eyes he was deliberating, that he was so close to approaching. He just needed more of an incentive.

  Chris lifted Esther clean off the ground and swung her legs over the edge, dangling her above the water.

  That was enough to do it. Oliver ran full pelt toward her. “Esther!”

  “That’s it, little brother,” Chris muttered under his breath. “Save your friend.”

  Then he let Esther go.

  CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

&nbs
p; Oliver didn’t even think. He threw himself into the river after Esther. Disgusting water went right up his nose and he gagged on it.

  He heard a plop from behind. It was Chris. He’d leapt into the water after them.

  Oliver thrashed around, searching for Esther. It was too dark and gloomy. He could hardly see a thing.

  Suddenly, he remembered the tincture Newton had given him. It was for advanced vision. Could this be the moment he needed it?

  He could hear Chris from behind, the sound of his arms slapping the water. He was gaining on him.

  He glanced back just in time to see Ralph dive into the water. He began grappling with Chris.

  It bought Oliver the time he needed. Treading water with one hand, he grabbed the tincture from his pocket.

  “Here goes nothing.” He downed it in one.

  Almost immediately, Oliver’s vision began to change. Just like looking through the spyglass Newton had invented to detect magic, Oliver could now see the shimmers, the traces of magic left in the air. If it hadn’t been such a perilous moment he’d have thought it was beautiful.

  Suddenly through the water, he saw her. Esther. She had a brilliant yellow aura like a field of buttercups. It was so bright he could see her through the filth of the Thames. She was struggling. She’d clearly lost her bearings and couldn’t work out which way was up and which way was down.

  He swam for her, forcing his face under the stinking water.

  He reached forward with his hand, reaching for the beautiful yellow glow that was Esther. Then he got hold of her hand and gripped it tightly, even more tightly than the monkey grip she’d used to save him from floating away when gravity reversed.

  With every ounce of strength he had in him, he pulled. It was much harder to ascend with the weight of her dragging him down. Oliver felt the air in his lungs run low.

  Then suddenly they reached the surface and burst out. Esther took a huge gasp of air.

  “The portal,” Oliver stammered. “Let’s swim to it.”