Jasper's Quest (Finding Magic Book 3)

by Blair Drake

  It must be the wind, only it sounded like nothing Jasper had ever heard. It sounded like a wounded elephant, or maybe a lion. A growl so deep and ferocious, so filled with sadness and pain. It reverberated in his head, echoing in the darkness.

  A fresh wave of terror raced through him.

  Along with the roar, the wind spun him faster. The snow joined in the dance. Flurries of white flew into a funnel that opened up right beneath him, dragging him into the blackness that lay within. He wanted to resist, but there was nothing he could do. Nothing to grab hold of, and no strength left inside him. Slowly but surely, he was sucked into the wild vortex. His screams echoed through the darkness…

  “Whumph!”

  Jasper landed on the hard ground with a thud and groaned from shock. Winded, he gasped for breath, wincing at the stabbing pain knifing through his chest. He forced himself to breath more slowly, easing air between his clenched teeth. Gradually, the pain subsided and he breathed normally again.

  He struggled to his feet, grateful to discover he hadn’t done any serious damage to his body during the fall. Apart from sore muscles, he didn’t feel any different than before. And then he looked about himself in growing confusion. There was one big difference – his surroundings.

  Where am I?

  He stood near the edge of a thick forest. Tall trees stretched upwards, blocking a portion of the sky. The sun hung low to the horizon, painting the ground with long shadows. The night would soon be upon him.

  He drew in another breath. The air was hot and humid and felt heavy in his lungs. The snow that gathered earlier on his clothes had already melted, leaving him uncomfortably damp. He took a few steps forward and then turned around, not knowing which way to go. If he turned right, he’d end up deeper in the forest. To the left, was an open plain.

  Which way?

  And then came a haunting cry, the same anguished plea he’d heard through the storm. Shivers coursed up and down his spine. He couldn’t tell if the cry was human or not, but it was definitely from something in a great deal of distress.

  His instincts kicked in, and he headed away from the forest in the direction of the sound. Across the plain, through a stand of trees, hurrying now. The cries grew louder and with them other sounds joined in. Laughter reached his ears, sounding incongruous alongside the painful pleas. He crept closer, his heart thumping.

  Taking cover behind a large baobab tree, he discovered a natural clearing among another thin clump of trees. Shadows stretched long, dark fingers across the ground. Peering into the dimness, he swallowed a gasp. A group of people, made up of men and women, boys and girls surrounded an old man who lay in the dirt. The man was curled up in a fetal position with his hands covering his face.

  Jasper watched one of the male spectators lash out with his foot and connect with the old man on the ground. A howl of pain went through the victim. He curled up even tighter, whimpering.

  The crowd laughed even louder. “Ye call yerself a healer! Ye say ye’ve saved so many of us over the years. Why don’t ye get up and save yerself!” another man in the crowd jeered.

  “Yer a has-been. No good to anyone, or anything. Yer time is over, old man,” another tormentor mocked and aimed a vicious kick at the victim.

  Rage surged through Jasper at the injustice of the scene unfolding before him. A defenseless old man was being persecuted for no good reason. It was something he couldn’t tolerate. It reminded him of some of the younger students at the Academy who found themselves the brunt of jokes from older kids. Jasper had a reputation as someone who stood up for the underdog. Now he burned with the need to do something to assist the old man who lay helpless on the ground at the mercy of the cruel crowd.

  He took another moment to look around him and did a rough head count of the spectators gathered around. He was outnumbered by far, and a sizeable portion of the mob were full-grown men. Jasper was tall for his age and physically fit, yet he was no match for the men who made up the crowd.

  Still, he couldn’t sit there and do nothing. The man on the ground was crying in pain. Then he saw three of the boys pick up large rocks and aim them toward their victim. Before he could fully process what was happening, the boys hurled their missiles. They landed with remarkable accuracy, thudding against the man’s head and shoulder and back. Each time, the man cried out.

  Unable to hold back another moment, Jasper burst out from his hiding place, his fists clenched.

  “Stop!”

  The spectators gasped collectively in surprise. The ones with their backs to him turned around. All of them took a step back. He glared at the gathered crowd, his breath coming fast. Adrenaline surged through his veins. They stared at Jasper in shock. He understood their reaction.

  Every member of the crowd, including the man on the ground, was dressed in funny garments, like something he’d see on an old-fashioned movie based in ancient times. The coarse homespun fabric looked something like burlap. The men wore tunics that hung loosely from their frames and fell past their knees. The women wore long dresses made from the same material.

  He looked down at his school uniform – the navy-blue blazer, white shirt, blue-and-maroon school tie and gray pants. His lace-up school shoes were still shiny. He’d polished them only that morning. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  “W-who are ye?” one of the male adults of the crowd demanded.

  The man was broad across the chest, with arms as thick as tree trunks. Jasper trembled inside, but forced himself to maintain eye contact.

  “My name is Jasper Walker. Who are you?” he stated clearly.

  The man gathered himself together, and when he spoke again, his voice was loud and firm. “I’m Baron Drakor. What is yer business here?”

  Jasper took a few more steps forward. Most of the crowd drew back. Baron Drakor remained where he was. Jasper narrowed his gaze at the man, and then pointed to the figure on the ground. “That man is a friend of mine. I demand you release him.”

  Drakor’s face split into a wide grin. Huge guffaws filled the air. His whole body shook with mirth. Many in his crowd of supporters began to laugh. He crossed his arms over his powerful chest and stared hard at Jasper.

  “A friend of yers, you say? How could that be? This man has lived in my village since I was born. I know every inch of this land and everyone in it, and I’ve never set eyes on ye.”

  Jasper thought fast. He had no idea where he was, but it was obvious he’d been thrust somewhere far back in time. He could hardly admit he was a school boy snatched from the twenty-first century. They’d think he was crazy and might turn on him next.

  No, he had to continue with his bluff and pray they set the old man free. It was his only hope. He glanced down at the victim and saw blood running from a wound on his face. Jasper’s anger surged inside him. Once again, his hands clenched into fists.

  Refusing to be intimidated by Drakor’s glare, Jasper shrugged. “Perhaps you’re not as widely traveled as you have people believe.”

  The crowd sniggered. Drakor’s face turned red. He turned angry eyes on Jasper. “How dare ye!” he spat. “I am the King’s representative. No one, and I mean no one, speaks to me like that!”

  Without warning, the man lunged at Jasper and knocked him off his feet. Caught unawares, Jasper fell hard. Once again, the air was knocked out of him and he wheezed and gasped for breath. The crowd erupted into laughter. Anger and embarrassment burned on Jasper’s face. Anger won out. He surged to his feet, his fists at the ready.

  Drakor laughed even harder. “Oh look, the young pup wants to fight me. How about that?”

  The laughter of the crowd grew louder and Jasper understood why. Drakor was a mountain of a man. His heavy black beard and narrowed black eyes made him look even more menacing. Jasper glared at his opponent and at the same time tried hard to stem the trembling that had started in his body.

  “Come on, then! Let’s do it,” Jasper urged before his courage gave out.

  Drakor shook his head in surpri
se. He chuckled. “Don’t be stupid, boy. I’d knock yer head off. Now, go home to yer mother and leave us to finish our business. If ye turn and leave right now, I’ll forget yer impudence.”

  Jasper turned his gaze on the old man who still lay curled up on the ground. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but he looked at Jasper out of the other one. Hope and desperation warred in the old man’s eyes. Tears leaked down his cheek. Jasper saw he was the man’s only hope. If he turned his back on him, the old man would surely be stoned and beaten to death.

  “Come on, boy. It’s none of yer business. Go back home to yer momma, where ye belong.”

  The guffaws and jeers of the crowd filled Jasper’s ears. For a fleeting moment, he thought about turning away and leaving them to it, but then he saw the poor man who cowered on the ground, and he couldn’t do it. With a surge of determination, he tightened his fists and charged the leader.

  This time, he took Drakor by surprise and managed to get in a couple of good blows before the man recovered his wits. All too soon though, Jasper was outmaneuvered, and within moments, Drakor had him pinned up against a tree. Jasper breathed hard from the exertion. Drakor hadn’t even broken into a sweat.

  “So, that’s the way it’s going to be, is it?” Drakor growled.

  The huge man’s foul breath filled Jasper’s nostrils and made him want to retch. He squirmed against his captor, but the man’s hold remained firm.

  Drakor half-turned toward the crowd. “What are we going to do with this young upstart?”

  “Stab him!”

  “Hang him!”

  “Tie him up and tear him limb from limb.”

  “Slice him up from top to bottom and feed his guts to the lions.”

  The shouts grew increasingly louder and more barbaric. Jasper’s heart thudded with fear. What the hell’s happening? How did I get into this mess? And more importantly, how can I escape?

  The questions spun through his head like an out-of-control kaleidoscope, escalating his fear. He struggled to keep it from showing. He didn’t want his tormentors to know he was close to full blown panic.

  And then he felt heat on the top of his thigh, burning against his skin. He shoved his hand in the pocket of his jacket and started in surprise. His hand closed around a small object that was hot to touch. He pulled it out and realized it was some kind of school pin, and it was glowing red like a pile of fresh, hot coals.

  How did this get here? Was it Headmistress Lalane?

  His thoughts scattered when he felt a weird tingling in his arms. Without warning, a flash of electricity arced through him, leaving his nerve endings burning.

  Suddenly, he felt taller, stronger, fiercer – as if nothing and no one could stand in his way. It was the strangest feeling, and he had no idea how it came about, but before he had time to contemplate it further, he was jolted back to awareness by the flash of a long-bladed knife.

  “Let’s just fight it out, man to man,” Drakor suggested. He released his hold on Jasper and sent him a malicious grin.

  Jasper warily eyed the knife clutched in Drakor’s fist, taking care to circle just out of reach. He looked around for something to use as a weapon, but there was nothing. The crowd was silent and now stood back, watching the show. Jasper gathered his wits about him and prepared for the fight of his life. He had no doubt it would be a fight to the death. Only one of them would walk away alive, and he had a horrible suspicion it wouldn’t be him.

  Growing impatient with the cat-and-mouse game, Drakor lunged at him. The knife blade flashed. Jasper stepped out of the way just in time. Without pause, Drakor lunged again, and this time the blade caught Jasper high on the cheek. Searing pain, followed by a burning heat, immediately registered in his brain. He reached up, and his hand came away wet and dark with his blood. He stared at it in surprise, but before he had time to think too much about it, Drakor struck again.

  Again, the knife blade flashed as Drakor swung in a deadly arc. This time, Jasper was ready and he neatly sidestepped the blow. In the same moment, he grabbed Drakor’s meaty forearm – the same arm that held the knife – and he squeezed as tightly as he could. Drakor’s eyes went wide. At the sound of breaking bone, he squealed with pain. A moment later, Drakor dropped the knife.

  The crowd gasped collectively, and Drakor fell to his knees. Sobbing, he held his injured arm. The bone poked all the way through the skin and made a grisly sight. Jasper stared at the wound, amazed at what he saw.

  How did I have the strength to do such a thing? It seemed unbelievable.

  And yet, even in the dimness, he could see the chalky white bone of his opponent. Blood poured from the wound. His stomach somersaulted in revolt. He’d never been able to stand the sight of blood. Staring at Drakor’s compound fracture, he felt lightheaded and weak.

  But this wasn’t the time to disgrace himself. He’d won the battle fair and square. He wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but he had and was going to use it to his advantage. He stood back and eyed the crowd.

  “Is there anyone else who wishes to take me on?” he shouted, his voice loud and clear.

  As one, the crowd subsided amid murmurs of fear and uncertainty while muttering and shaking their heads. Two brave men shuffled forward, helped Drakor to his feet, and led him away. Soon the only one still there was the old man who remained huddled on the ground. Jasper moved closer and crouched down beside him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  The figure stared up at him through his one good eye and nodded cautiously. Jasper stood and reached out his hand. The man took it gratefully and slowly rose to his feet. Though he was as tall as Jasper, he had an air of fragility about him, and his skin was wizened and brown. A long white beard flowed down his chest, almost touching the ground.

  He stared at Jasper. The eye that hadn’t suffered from the beating was the color of amber and filled with keen intelligence. Then it widened in recognition followed swiftly by alarm.

  No, that can’t be right. There was no way the man could know him. Jasper had never been there before. He dismissed the notion as a trick of his imagination.

  “Th-thank ye, boy. Ye saved my life.”

  Chapter 2

  Jasper acknowledged the old man’s comment with a nod. “You’re welcome. I’m not sure what you did to deserve their mistreatment, but where I come from, decent people don’t tolerate that kind of thing.”

  The man looked at Jasper with curiosity flooding his face. “Ye talk strange, boy. Where are ye from?”

  Jasper shook his head, not even sure where to begin. How can I explain that I fell here from the sky? One moment he was being buffeted by tremendous wind on the roof of his boarding school, and the next he was spinning through the air, totally out of control until he fell to the ground and everything came to a grinding halt.

  The old man continued to gaze at him, his one-eyed stare intense. Jasper cast around for something to say.

  “I was born in the United States of America. I go to school on the west coast of Canada,” Jasper replied slowly.

  Confusion filled the wizened face. “The United States of America? Canada? These are no places I’ve ever heard of, and I’ve lived here all my life. These places must be far away from here.”

  “I’m not sure. Where am I?”

  The man frowned. “Don’t ye know?”

  “No.”

  “Did Drakor hit ye on the head during that fight, boy? How can ye not know where ye are?”

  Jasper shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t hit my head. He only sliced my cheek.” Jasper reached up and touched the wound. Stinging pain arced through him, and once again, his fingers came away wet with blood. He shuddered at the sight of it and swallowed hard.

  “What year is it?” he asked in an effort to distract himself.

  The old man regarded him more closely through his uninjured eye. “Ye ask strange questions, boy. Are ye sure Drakor didn’t hit ye on the head?”

  “I’m sure. Please, answer my questions. W
here am I, and what year is it?”

  The man shook his head, his expression nonplussed. “Yer on the planet Ardhi, deep in the center of our continent, and it’s the year 1675.”

  Jasper frowned. Ardhi? He’d never heard of the place and 1675…? He’d guessed he’d been transported back in time, but he never imagined five centuries back. The knowledge blew his mind, and it took him a moment to get his head around it.

  “Tell me about the countries on Ardhi,” Jasper asked in an effort to better pinpoint his location.

  The man stared at him a moment longer and then compressed his lips and nodded. “Come with me. I’ll take ye home. I’ll tend yer face and answer yer questions. I have many questions, too.”

  Jasper briefly considered the invitation and then nodded. After all, what else was he to do? He was in a strange land, far from home. He had no idea how he got there or how he’d return home.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, matching his steps to those of the old man’s.

  “Rylan. Rylan Griffin,” the man answered proudly.

  “Well, my name’s Jasper Walker.” The two of them shook hands.

  A smile of satisfaction played around Rylan’s mottled lips. “It’s nice to finally meet ye, Jasper Walker,” he murmured to himself.

  Jasper frowned at the comment. It had been said so quietly, had he misheard it? The man couldn’t possibly have said “finally.” Jasper had been thrown back five centuries. There was no way Rylan could have any inkling about him, and yet, it almost sounded as if Jasper was expected...

  The very notion was ridiculous and he dismissed it straight away. Perhaps his journey through the portal and back in time had been even rougher than he remembered. The force of the storm had pummeled him left of center, but he didn’t recall taking any sort of blow to the head… But perhaps he was mistaken? Perhaps he’d hit his head somewhere amid the turmoil and was even now suffering a concussion? Perhaps he’d imagined the scene in the clearing? Perhaps even the old man hobbling along beside him was a figment of his imagination.