Van Bender and the Burning Emblems (The Van Bender Archives #1)

by S. James Nelson

  “Bring it on,” I said.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  She came over to me, took out a vial of red brink, and poured it into her palm. With a few quick flicks, she drew an almond-shaped eye, and gave it a tail.

  “Open your palm,” she ordered.

  I obeyed. She extended the tail to my hand, and with her hand against mine drew a spiral.

  “Why on my hand?” I said.

  “So that you can close the eye if you want.” She jerked her head at Dad, behind her. “He likes to have his third eye open all the time. But this way, on your hand, you can close your third eye by making a fist.”

  “Third eye? Is that like the evil eye? Can I shoot flames from my third eye?” I liked that idea.

  “Nothing like that,” Mom said. “You can see things with your third eye.”

  “Like what? Dead people?”

  Marti came to my side. She had both eyes closed, but walked with the same confidence as if she had both eyes open.

  “There’s a world of creatures,” she said. “Spirits that affect our world. They can only be seen with the third eye.”

  “Sounds epic.”

  Marti nodded. “Remember the hover carts? The floating swimming pool? All spirits. Remember the traps I created? Visible to a third eye.”

  “Freaky.”

  She grinned. “You still have a chance not to look.”

  I wiped the rain from my face, rolled my eyes. “I can handle this.”

  Mom put the lid back on the vial of her brink, and held it out to me.

  “Put this in your pocket. Maybe you’ll be able to use it.”

  Surprised that she would give me brink, I obeyed her, putting the vial in my pocket next to the metal cube Nick had given me. I still had my lighter in the other pocket. Mom took out her own lighter and paused with it unlit, right near the tail to my third eye.

  “You’re sure you want to see?” she said.

  Maybe it was the tone of her voice, or the rain beginning to soak through my clothes, but I shivered at a chill along my spine.

  “Okay—you’re right. I give up. I don’t want to see.” I rolled my eyes. “No—come on. You haven’t really told me why I might not want to.”

  “You said it, yourself. It’s just a little freaky.”

  “I can take it.”

  She shrugged and lit the eye. The emblem blazed, and the flame spread down the brink tail and burned onto my hand. I nearly pulled away, fearing the flame, but found that although it was hot, it didn’t hurt. Once the spiral on my hand had caught fire, the flames transformed, lighting up like a firework. The eye followed the tail of brink down to my hand. Once it touched my flesh, all the brink dimmed to nothingness, and a third eye glowed black on my open palm.

  My brain about exploded as I looked up from my open hand to my face, and saw the unseen world.

  Chapter 52: My sensitive brain can’t handle it

  Richie did better than most. He didn’t puke, faint, or try to throw himself off the building. Really, he’s one tough cookie.

  -Marti Walker

  In an instant, I became dizzy. The world spun. I could see my own face and my own eyeballs, which my brain had never seen before, except in a mirror. With my natural eyes I looked out over the edge of the hotel, into the city. Yet, at the same time, I could see my face from my hand.

  I staggered to the side, reaching out for something to steady myself. My vision swung with the eyeball on my hand, and I fell flat on my butt.

  The third eye on my hand gave another perspective to see things from. It was like super-duper 3D, and my brain couldn’t do that kind of fancy math.

  Nuts. Just plain nuts.

  Mom bent next to me on one side. “Close your hand. That will help.”

  I balled my hand into a fist. That third perspective went dark and immediately my head turned back on. The dizziness left me.

  “That,” I said, “is wrong. Just plain messed up.”

  Marti knelt on my other side, her eyes still closed. But on her forehead she had an eye, glowing black. So did Mom. Spirit eyes.

  “It’s easier,” Marti said, “if your third eye is on your forehead because the perspective isn’t as off, but then you can’t shut your third eye as easily.”

  “We did warn you,” Mom said.

  I shook my head. They had warned me, sure, but they hadn’t prepared me. “Maybe you were right—just maybe.”

  Unwilling to loose to the complex calculations of a third eye, I raised my hand, fist out, and shut my natural eyes. The world went black until I opened my fist, and I saw everything, again.

  Only, it was different. The nearby buildings didn’t stand quite straight, but bulged or narrowed in smooth curves, coming to unnaturally sharp points at the tops and corners. Lights were brighter, and dark spots blacker, as if my third eye had turned up the contrast.

  And things moved everywhere.

  Little things. Strange, roundish shapes of indistinct color flitted through the air on pointed wings, with tails streaming dozens of feet behind them and lashing back and forth. They sounded like wind, and as they passed me their tails brushed against my arms or face or legs. It felt like the wind touching my body.

  I swatted at them, trying to get them away from me.

  “You can’t move them with your body,” Marti said. “And besides, they’re harmless.”

  “They’re freaking me out!”

  They didn’t block my vision because although they had shape and color, I could see right through them. They were transparent. In fact, I could see farther than with my natural eyes because there was neither light nor darkness in this spirit world. Just odd shapes of high-contrast colors.

  Even though it was night—actually, nearly morning—I could see the mountains in the distance. Huge shapes over-laid them. Enormous figures humped over in the form and color of a mountain, with spines of jagged formations along their backs and down their numerous arms, and what I presumed were their heads hunched low in the foothills, tucked under their curled-up forelegs. They lived. Their bodies moved with long, deep breaths.

  I pointed at them—not with the hand that had the third eye.

  “I’m not ashamed to admit,” I said, “that those things scare me. Just a little.”

  Marti looked where I pointed. The eyeball she’d painted on her forehead pulsed black.

  “The mountainous shapes?” she said. “Those are titans.”

  “The ones that cause earthquakes?”

  “Yup. With enough brink—or with powerful enough brink—you can control those. They move the earth.”

  I closed my fist and opened my natural eyes. The darkness returned. The little flying things went away. The titans disappeared. The black emblem on Marti’s forehead vanished.

  I licked my lips, swallowed hard, and wiped the rain from my face.

  “Okay. I admit it. I wasn’t ready for this. For like the first time ever, you were right.”

  Mom shrugged. “I bet you’ve had that feeling a lot, tonight. Maybe next time you should listen.”

  I gave her a sheepish look, one that agreed without being too obvious about it. I didn’t want the fact that she was right going to her head. She’d be unbearable if she knew I’d realized she was right about one thing, let alone a lot of things.

  Marti chuckled. “And you can’t even see all of the stuff out there, right now.”

  I gave her a look of horror. “Why not? What else is out there?”

  “Other spirits,” Marti said. “Some are finer than others—harder to see.”

  “I used red brink on your forehead,” Mom said. “It’s pretty powerful brink, but yellow is stronger. The stronger the brink, the more powerful your third eye is. And the finer the spirits you can see.”

  “That’s just lovely,” I said. “I wish you’d used blue.”

  “That would be almost useless,” Mom said. “If you’re going to see the spirit world, you might as well see all of it. And there is
n’t much that a red third eye can’t see.”

  “Thank you so much.”

  Dad stood off to one side, drawing a series of lines with brink. They ran together for a few feet in front of him, then sprayed out ahead in numerous directions.

  “Gather close,” Dad said. “We’ll all ride the same wind.”

  “What does this spell do?” I asked.

  We took up positions behind Dad. The drizzle of rain continued. I wished for a jacket and umbrella. I kept my hand and third eye closed.

  As she watched Dad, Mom said, “He’s making a net to catch the wind sprites with.”

  I wiped the rain away from my face with my hand—unfortunately the hand with the third eye on it. It was strange to see my face from the palm of my hand as it rubbed across my skin. Super weird. I got dizzy again before I closed the fist.

  “Wind sprites?” I said. “Those are the little flying things with the long, whipping tails?”

  Marti nodded. “They help make the wind in our natural world. When he lights the emblem, look at it with your third eye.”

  Mom said, “And hang on tight to someone.”

  She stepped directly up to Dad and gripped the back of his pants, at the belt. She turned to Marti, and held a hand out. Marti took it, then extended a hand to me. I took it with my free hand.

  Dad pulled out his lighter and wrapped a fist around the place where the lines of light converged. They extended for several feet ahead of him, but poked out an inch behind his palm.

  “Is this how Agent Maynerd flew?” I said. “Earlier tonight?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Mom said.

  My stomach started to feel queasy.

  Dad struck the lighter and touched the flame where the brink stuck out behind his hand. Fire spread up through his hand and out ahead of him, speeding along the many lines. Once the entire emblem burned, it flared bright for a moment before fading to invisibility. I closed my eyes and opened my palm.

  In the unseen world, the brink pulsated with a churning darkness. As the wind sprites passed nearby, the lines of darkness whipped out at them, connecting to their backs then splitting in order to grab another wind sprite. As each wind sprite became captive, the wind on my face and around me increased as their tails flowed out behind them, surrounding us, touching our bodies and faces. Blowing on us. That was exactly what it felt like—wind blowing on us.

  The ropes captured more and more wind sprites. It went from a few dozen at first, to scores and scores. They became a churning mass of transparent tails and wings. In moments, hundreds had become captive. I couldn’t tell if they fought against the ropes, or accepted them, but the whipping of their tails hastened. Their wings flapped harder. The wind grew stronger, turning so powerful that it pulled the four of us forward. I nearly stumbled and fell, but before I could, the wind sprites pulled us up into the air.

  Standing, we rose out over the city, gaining speed as the emblem caught more wind sprites. We went faster and faster, in a straight line toward the mountains on the western horizon. It felt much like an airplane taking off, except we didn’t have a solid airplane body surrounding us, absorbing the wind and keeping the rain from battering us. I had to turn my head, so when I breathed the wind didn’t keep me from exhaling.

  The grid of street and house lights spread out beneath us. Car headlights moved along the streets. Stoplights changed color.

  That’s how long it took me to determine that I hated flying with wind sprites as much as I hated flying in helicopters or riding in roller coasters. It made me far, far sicker.

  We stood as we flew, like how a water-skier stands on the water. I clutched my stomach with my free hand, closing my fist so I could open my eyes. As I did, the wind sprites disappeared, and it looked like we simply flew through the air at a maddening pace, pulled by nothing. The lights passed hundreds of feet below us, streaks of yellow and white. My natural eyes saw nothing between me and the ground. Just a void. An expanse of nothingness that looked absolutely perfect to fall through.

  We banked to the left, and the motion sent my belly reeling. Vomit rose in my stomach. I let go of Marti’s hand to cover my mouth.

  I couldn’t have done anything stupider, because the moment I let go of her, I began to fall.

  Chapter 53: I puke on Marti. It’s awesome.

  Omigosh! Richie Van Bender puked on me! He puked on me! I’ll never wash that shirt!

  -Marti Walker

  Puke is not nice. Even though I began to tumble through the air, turning over and over and spinning round and round, it had decided to come, and wouldn’t be stopped. In fact, the falling made me sicker. My stomach tightened and clenched. My mouth jerked open. The contents of my stomach spewed out into mid-air in a steady stream. I couldn’t help it—I just wasn’t built for the types of motions I was enduring.

  It didn’t help that I had my eyes open—all three of them. My brain just couldn’t process all of the visual input, and so as I fell I threw up again. I didn’t even have time to think about how I would splat when I hit the ground. I only noticed the pain all over my body. The confusion in my head.

  I suppose I nearly hit the ground. I didn’t see. I couldn’t tell which way was up or down. Between the natural world and the unseen world, everything was just one gigantic jumble.

  Until someone gripped my hand, and my trajectory abruptly changed from downward to upward and forward. I could feel it, although I couldn’t see it.

  “Close that hand!” Mom shouted. “Close it!”

  I obeyed. With the disappearance of the unseen world, some of my disorientation faded. I once again stood behind Marti in mid-air, traveling through the air at an increasing pace and altitude. She held my hand.

  “I just love flying,” I said. “I wish we could do it every day. Twice a day!”

  Marti bent her neck so she could rub her face with her shoulder. “I hate it when you puke on me!”

  I felt a little pleasure at knowing I’d thrown up on her. You know, it was actually kind of fun to vomit on my opponent for a major award, but the enjoyment ended when the queasiness about made me vomit again.

  Marti must have seen me turning green. Her eyes widened as she turned her head away. “Throw up in some other direction!”

  I obliged her, and turned my head to look behind us. We flew directly over a street, and I reckon that some poor driver in a car got a nasty surprise on the windshield. They would look up to see where it had come from, but see nothing, because we moved way too fast. We would be long gone.

  We sped upward and onward, passing over swaths of houses, past extensive neighborhoods. The city’s tall buildings fell away behind us, and the mountains the city sat up against grew distant. However, we approached another, lower mountain range. I found that if I looked past Marti and my parents, and focused on the mountain peaks, the queasiness in my stomach reduced some, although it didn’t go entirely away.

  Dad looked back at me, his face intense. He still had his hand extended, the fist closed around the emblem. I had my fist closed around my third eye, so couldn’t see the tethers.

  “Can you feel the emotion?” he said. He had to shout over the wind rushing in our faces.

  I felt inside myself, in that strange place in my heart where I’d felt the emotions back at Nick’s cabin. I shook my head. All I really felt was a continued nausea and dizziness, and the wind buffeting my body.

  “Keep trying,” he said. “Nick might be hiding it, and you might only feel it as we get close. Or when his concealing spell falls for a moment until he can put a new one up.”

  “It would be awesome if we were almost done,” I said.

  “Five to ten more minutes,” he said. “Then we can land.”

  “How fast are we going?” Marti asked. She seemed calm, all things considered. Maybe she’d traveled this way, before.

  Dad shrugged. “We’re still gaining speed. The wind sprites protect us from most of the wind.”

  “How fast?” I said. The ground blurred beneath
us. “You know, so that someday I can tell my kids about how you abused me.”

  “Probably about five hundred.”

  The very thought boggled my mind. We were traveling as fast as an airplane, with nothing to protect us from the elements except for the spirits that actually made the wind.

  “That’s nothing,” Dad said. “I’ve gone as fast as three thousand miles per hour.”

  The mere thought of traveling that fast made another bout of sickness rush through my stomach. I looked back and away, but this time I held my puke back.

  We passed the edge of houses and ascended up the mountains, traveling several hundred feet above the ground. The land became dark below us, except for several blinking lights atop towers at the tops of mountain peaks. More light shone on the ground ahead as we approached a town. I wanted to shut my eyes from the pain, but focused on the furthest point of light ahead and on the ground. The wind rushed in my face. My stomach continued to churn.

  Things didn’t get any better as the minutes passed. I gripped Marti’s hand as tight as I could, and dry heaved several times.

  “Richie,” Mom said. “Are you okay?”

  “You keep groaning,” Marti said.

  “I’ll take zipping over this, any day.” Zipping hurt, but at least it only lasted a moment.

  “Thank you,” Marti said, “for not throwing up on me again.” I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic, or not. “Thank heavens for the rain to wash the puke off.”

  I ignored her and tried not to think about my stomach. I had plenty of other stuff to think about, after all. My entire world had turned upside down in the last eight hours—and I wasn’t certain if it was for the better. It was like reality had taken a vacation. The world as I knew it had just disappeared, and my parents had been replaced with strange people.

  And, plus, things had gotten a whole lot more dangerous. It seemed like my life or some part of my body had been in peril a dozen times that night—with no signs of that changing in the near future. Nick Savage had taken emotion I’d generated, and wanted to transform it into brink so powerful that he could cause an earthquake in New York City.