The Blue Door
Page 17
The Caretaker absently pushed at glasses he wasn’t wearing at the moment. “Too many things have been lost.”
“Which brings me to the second reason for calling you here. I have good tidings,” the Messenger announced. “It’s time to renew our search.”
Mid-morning on the last day of the fair found Prissie and Jude in the poultry barn, collecting Maddie. Because of the purple ribbon tied to the front of her cage, Jude had been invited to keep her in the barns as a part of their showcase. It was only an Honorary Mention, but Jude consoled himself that the judges had obviously seen just how pretty and smart his chicken was. Since the results had been announced, Tad had taken to referring to the judges as “Judicious and the Right Honorable Madder,” which pleased the boy immensely.
“Let me help,” Prissie begged, barely holding on to her patience as she watched her littlest brother manhandle the wire cage.
“I can do it,” he insisted. “Me and Maddie will be fine.”
“Maddie and I, and be careful,” she said, as she followed him into the broad alley between the barns.
“I will!”
They turned toward the lot where Grandpa’s pickup truck was parked. However, they’d only gone a few steps when Jude tripped over his own feet and went sprawling on the straw-scattered pavement. Maddie’s cage door flipped open, and the hen tumbled out with a squawk of protest.
“Oh, no! Look what you’ve done!” Prissie said.
Jude’s gray eyes widened in dismay. “I’m sorry, Maddie! Are you okay?”
The hen fluffed her feathers and eyed the ground with interest. As soon as she began scratching, Prissie rolled her eyes. “She’s obviously fine, but we need to get her back in her cage.”
“Help me catch her!”
Maddie had other ideas. As far as she was concerned, a free-range chicken was meant to be free, and she’d had enough of confinement. Prissie made a grab for her, but the hen darted forward, staying just out of reach. Jude chased her along the alley, but she used her wings for an extra burst of speed and circled back toward Prissie. “Maddie, come back!” the little boy urged anxiously. “It’s time to go home!”
For the next several minutes, they ran in useless circles. Prissie knew she must look absolutely ridiculous chasing a chicken and was extremely grateful that no one was around to see her. Of course, that was the very moment that Ransom and Marcus rambled past the end of the alley. Clutching at the stitch in her side, Prissie prayed that they’d keep walking, but the boy with two-toned hair punched his companion’s shoulder and jerked his head in their direction.
Ransom slowed to a stop, then called, “Need help, Miss Priss?”
“Not from you, I don’t,” she grumbled under her breath.
Jude wasn’t as fussy about where his help came from. “Ransom! Maddie got out!” he shouted urgently.
“Yeah, I can see that,” the teen replied, keeping an eye on the loose chicken as he ambled toward them. “She’s the one you were bragging on earlier, right? Nice looking bird.”
Jude nodded, still frantically following Maddie, but then his lip began to tremble. “It’s my fault she got out. Will you help us?”
“No problem,” Ransom replied casually. “But I don’t know much about catching chickens. Do you have to throw something over her?”
“Go for the legs,” Prissie directed.
“If you say so,” he shrugged, then angled toward Maddie.
“Will it bite?”
“Maddie’s a good chicken!” Jude assured.
Prissie propped her hands on her hips and challenged, “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of chickens.”
“Gimme a break. I’m not a farmer,” Ransom replied. “I just want to know what to expect.” He glanced back toward Marcus, who lounged by the end of the building, and asked, “Can you block that end? I’d rather not chase her through the midway.”
His friend pushed off the wall. “Yeah, she won’t get by me.”
Prissie frowned at Marcus and warned, “Don’t hurt her!”
Indignation flashed through his eyes, but he held his tongue and stood his ground.
“Lay off Marcus,” Ransom said sternly. “If you hadn’t noticed, he’s helping.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Prissie snarled.
“No, but your brother did.”
He was right, and for Jude’s sake, she’d put up with just about anything. “Fine,” she snapped. “Let’s try chasing her back into the barn. It’ll be easier to corner her there.”
“Right,” he replied.
A wild goose chase might have been easier. The hen managed to stay just out of range, clucking and scolding as she ran in ever-widening circles. “Maddie, c’mere!” Jude coaxed, desperation edging his tone.
Ransom got close enough to swipe at her feet, but with a series of sharp clucks, she launched herself over his head, taking a short flight in her bid to escape. “I didn’t know chickens could fly!” he exclaimed, coming out of his duck-and-cover crouch. Meanwhile, Maddie made a beeline toward Marcus. “Heads up!” Ransom called.
“Don’t let her through!” Prissie exclaimed.
“Yeah, yeah,” called Marcus. He held his arms wide and scowled at the oncoming hen, then barked, “No!”
To Prissie’s astonishment, the chicken obeyed. Maddie back-winged, then wheeled to run in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, Maddie didn’t give her or Ransom the same courtesy. “Stop!” she shouted.
“Whoa, chicken!” Ransom tried.
“Maddie, not that way!” Jude wailed as his pet raced past them, straight out into the bare field beyond the barns.
“Oh, this is bad,” Prissie said worriedly.
Jude stood stock-still in the midst of the passage, clasped his hands together and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. “Please, God, save Maddie,” he prayed aloud. “She’s just a chicken, so she doesn’t know any better.”
Ransom quirked a brow at the boy, then asked Prissie, “Now what? Follow?”
Her heart clenched for Jude’s sake; her little brother’s face was tragic, and she needed to do something. “I’ll go after her,” she decided aloud. Fixing Ransom with a fierce look, she said, “Take Jude back to my family’s stand, and tell Koji that I need him.”
“What good will it do if he’s here?” Ransom asked.
“Just do it!” she yelled over her shoulder, taking off across the field.
He paused uncertainly, then beckoned for Jude to follow him. “Let’s go, kid. We could use the extra help.” As an afterthought, he called, “Hey, Marcus, go after her!”
His buddy shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and glared toward the forest. “I’ll do what I can,” he replied, waving Ransom toward the fairgrounds. “Get Jude outta here.”
“Thanks, man!”
Prissie jogged across the rough-cut field, trying her best to keep up with Maddie, but the chicken no longer scurried in endless circles; she ran flat-out, her neck low to the ground, as if she was after a grasshopper. The uneven terrain forced Prissie to keep half an eye on her footing as Maddie swerved toward the shelter offered by the pine-covered ridge that loomed nearer with every step. Jude’s chicken was acting odd, as if the hounds of hell were at her heels.
“Not in there!” Prissie yelled as the hen reached the boundary, but Maddie quickly disappeared into the forest beyond. She stopped to read one of the bright yellow signs posted at intervals along a barbed wire fence — State Protected Land, No Hunting. The countryside was filled with raccoons, foxes, and coyotes, and even skunks that could be a danger to a lone hen. Prissie needed to protect Maddie from herself because the foolish chicken didn’t realize she was headed for trouble.
Prissie glanced back across the empty field toward the fairgrounds, then gathered her courage. She was on her own. This was up to her. Consoling herself that since the signs didn’t forbid trespassing, she wasn’t really doing anything wrong, Prissie pushed apart the wires and stepped through the fence.
Not far ahead, she could h
ear Maddie’s nervous clucking. “Wait, you silly goose!” she called. “Do you know what kinds of things live in here? It’s dangerous for chickens!”
Ferns and bracken covered a hillside so steep, Prissie needed to use the surrounding trees to pull herself up the slope. Small branches caught at her hair and skirt and slapped across her bare legs as she followed Maddie’s agitated clucking. She didn’t see the chicken until she hit upon what seemed to be a deer path hugging the side of the ridge; instead of trying to charge straight up and over, the narrow trail zigzagged steadily higher.
“Maddie, wait up!” Prissie panted as she clambered after the bird. “You’ll make Jude sad.”
After another switchback, the ground leveled, and she caught up to the black and white hen. Her nervous clucking tapered off, as if she’d reached safety. “Thank goodness,” Prissie sighed, then looked around for the first time. They’d climbed much higher than she realized; the wide shelf rose high above the place where she’d entered the forest. Too high. Prissie scrambled backward to hug the rocks that lay farthest from the precipitous edge.
Maddie certainly didn’t mind the height. The hen was suddenly calm, carelessly skirting the drop-off as she eyed the ground and began to scratch and peck. “At least I’m on solid ground,” Prissie muttered, more frightened than she wanted to admit. For Jude’s sake, she made an effort, calling out to Maddie in a coaxing voice, “Come back with me; I know the way home!”
The hen clucked indulgently and let her get closer, but before Prissie could snatch at her feet, the chicken threaded her way through a stand of fern and disappeared from view.
When she moved to follow, a deep voice halted her. “Priscilla Pomeroy, stop! Please.”
She froze in surprise and peeked over her shoulder, then turned around fully to face the stranger who knew her name. Without a doubt, he was the most fearsome person she’d ever seen, and she quickly took a step backward into the ferns.
Prissie’s family was tall, but the man who’d followed her up onto the ridge would have towered over her father. The powerfully built, broad-shouldered stranger gazed intently at her with eyes that seemed to be a murky shade of … purple! A leather band across his brow held back the black hair that stood up all around his head, and his clothing was just as outlandish — a warrior’s attire, from the soles of his heavy boots to the jewel glittering darkly from the pommel of the sword that peeped at an angle from behind his shoulder.
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and Prissie tensed, sure he was going to attack. Instead, the man grimaced and slowly extended one hand as if trying to call her back. “Fear not,” he begged gruffly.
Prissie stopped her backward shuffle and cautiously asked, “Who are you?”
“I am Taweel.”
She stared hard at him and noticed for the first time that under his breastplate, he wore a tunic similar to the one Koji had worn when she first met him. The raiment shimmered slightly, even in the shade. “You’re an angel?” she guessed.
He nodded once and offered, “I am a Guardian in Jedrick’s Flight.”
Prissie sagged in relief. Baird had mentioned Jedrick, so Taweel was another member of their team. Help had arrived. “I don’t suppose you happen to guard chickens?” she asked, pointing in the direction Maddie had run. Taking a large step backward, she continued, “Because I’m trying t —!”
“Wait!” Taweel exclaimed, but it was already too late.
The ground crumbled beneath her feet, and she was falling.
As soon as the world was right-side up again and Prissie caught her breath, she mumbled, “Wh-what happened?”
“You fell,” replied Taweel, his deep voice rumbling against her ear.
She wriggled a little and opened her eyes. Just as she suspected, the big Guardian held her in his arms. “You caught me?” she asked blankly, trying to piece together fleeting impressions. “But how is that possible?”
A soft grunt was his only answer, and she gazed up into his craggy face. Thick black eyebrows gave him a brooding look, and faint scars showed here and there against his dusky skin.
“Are you my guardian angel?” she inquired tentatively.
“No.”
Prissie was beginning to think that her own Guardian was some kind of deadbeat. Pouting a little, she asked, “Then why are you here?”
“I was Sent.”
It was straight and to the point, but it didn’t answer enough of the questions swarming through her mind. “Why were you sent?” she asked, hoping for more specifics.
“You were in danger.”
“From whom?”
Taweel’s jaw clenched, and he replied, “The enemy.”
That didn’t sound good, and suddenly Prissie wasn’t sure she wanted more answers. Just then, a glimmer of light shone over Taweel’s shoulder, and a tiny face appeared, blinking at her with dark eyes. “Hello, little manna-maker,” she greeted, quite forgetting the proper term for this sort of angel.
“His name is Omri,” Taweel announced.
“Hello, Omri,” she said politely, squinting as the tiny figure crawled closer toward the Guardian’s ear, then stood, latching onto the silver chain that dangled there, connecting a cuff to the ring that pierced Taweel’s lobe. Omri’s gossamer hair looked like spun gold and was pulled up into a ponytail that fluttered in the brisk wind.
Prissie stiffened when that particular detail registered. Tilting her head back, she peered past Taweel’s bristling hair at the overlapping patterns of smoky purple light that stretched above them. “We’re flying,” she whispered.
“Yes.”
In an instant, Prissie was curled into a ball, her face hidden in her hands. “I don’t like high places,” she confessed in a trembling voice.
Taweel’s arms tightened around her, offering silent reassurance. A moment later, Prissie felt something warm pat against her hands, and when she peeped between her fingers, Omri was waiting there, a quizzical expression of concern on his face.
“You wouldn’t understand,” Prissie muttered glumly. “You’ve got wings!”
She felt Taweel turn in the sky and glanced up at his outspread wings. They didn’t flap; instead, they shifted as if to catch invisible air currents. He wheeled slowly, gliding far above the trees. Finally, he spoke. “When the others have driven back the enemy, I will return to the earth. Until then, you are safe.”
Prissie stared up at him, and he met her eyes reluctantly. “I know,” she said softly. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’m not looking down.”
His gaze shifted self-consciously, and he replied with another vague grunt.
Glad for a distraction, Prissie coaxed Omri into her hands and cradled the pixie-like creature to her chest. He grabbed a hold of her thumb, hugging it fiercely and rubbing his cheek against its pad. She smiled at his antics, and he beamed up at her — quite literally.
“They get brighter when they are happy,” Taweel remarked.
“He’s humming, too,” she replied. “Does that mean something?”
“Omri takes great delight in fulfilling his purpose.”
Prissie frowned in confusion. “Isn’t his job to make manna?”
Taweel peered down at the little yahavim. “If you were hungry, he would feed you. Omri is responding to a more urgent need.”
“What?” she asked wonderingly.
The tiny angel looked expectantly into Taweel’s face, and the Guardian replied, “He knew you needed something to hold onto.”
By the time Taweel began his slow descent, Prissie had decided that yahavim were even better than kittens and wondered if Abner could be coaxed into loaning her one of his flock. The thought of pets suddenly reminded her of the reason why she was here in the first place. “Maddie!” she gasped, looking fearfully into Taweel’s face. “I forgot all about Maddie! Jude will be heartbroken if I don’t bring her home!”
“Milo is the swiftest in our Flight,” the Guardian replied calmly. “He was Sent for her.”
When Prissie opened her eyes, the first person she spied was Milo, whose jeans bore an impressive grass stain. Maddie was tucked securely under his arm, and he hurried toward them across the meadow. “Miss Priscilla!” he exclaimed. “I see you’ve met Taweel.”
She nodded numbly as Taweel set her on her feet.
At that moment, two more angels strode out of the trees to join them on the edge of the field, and she gasped. Like Taweel, the newcomers were unusually tall, and this time, there was no mistaking them for anything other than angels. Both had their wings unfurled, though not extended for flight. Shifting mantles of light trailed behind them like capes.
Prissie edged a little closer to Milo just as Omri wriggled free of her grasp and darted forward to intercept the oncoming figures. The little yahavim flew in dizzy loops that seemed to be a greeting. “Who are they?” she whispered.
“You can see them?” he asked in surprise.
“Obviously,” she muttered.
“Jedrick and Tamaes,” Milo answered simply.
They approached with swords in hand, alert gazes sweeping the landscape, which seemed peaceful enough to Prissie. The taller one’s well-muscled arms were bared and probably would have been tattooed if his vibrant green wings hadn’t been on display. Light brown hair streaked with gold was cropped short except for a single lock, which hung in a braid over his left shoulder. When they reached her and Milo, this stern-faced warrior gazed down at her with piercing eyes — green flecked with gold. “Are you well, Priscilla Pomeroy?” he demanded in a surprisingly gentle voice.
“I’m fine … thanks to Taweel,” she replied a little nervously. These new angels were really very intimidating.
“Miss Priscilla, this is Jedrick, our captain,” Milo introduced.
“You have been causing quite a stir,” the leader remarked.
She looked around in confusion. The sky was blue, the grass was green, the sun was high, and the shadows were few. “I don’t see anything dangerous,” she ventured.