Milo and the Dragon Cross

by Robert Jesten Upton

  At the top of the ridge, the lichen-encrusted monument thrust up like a gnarled fist. “Get in!” Yeroen cried. “I’ll hold Smith long enough for the three of you to get through!”

  “Four,” Milo muttered, shouldering the rucksack. “There’s four of us.”

  “Stigma, put up an obscuring spell as soon as you get through,” Yeroen directed. “Pick a direction—the more random the better so Smith can’t tell so easily which way you might have gone—and go. Go now!”

  The battle was coming fast. Evidently, Kayn had managed to get ahead of the others who were now left to pursue him instead of blocking him. “I’ll go first,” Stigma said, “and Milo, you and Raster follow. Analisa comes right behind you to take your back. Agreed?”

  They didn’t wait for agreement. They tumbled into action in the order Stigma had given. Milo squirmed in between the uprights into the core, the emptiness feeling uncanny, since Stigma had gone only a couple of seconds ahead of him. He felt a heavy blast from the rear, at the opening he’d just left. Fearing for Analisa, he turned and ran out.

  ...and into blazing sunshine. Stigma reached out a hand to pull him the rest of the way through, and in seconds Analisa stumbled out blinking and shielding her eyes from the bright sun.

  “Kayn was right there!” she cried. “He projected some sort of spell—something I’ve never seen—to catch me, and Yeroen caught it in a billowing net and threw it back at him! I could see the others coming up just as I dove through.”

  “Let’s not wait to see how it came out,” Stigma said.

  “Thank you, Yeroen,” Milo said back at the vacant passage. “And good luck.” He looked around. It was familiar. He was back on the hill beside the academy at Rykirk. Stigma was already hurrying down the slope toward the gate in the wall that surrounded the weathered monument.

  At the gate Analisa placed her open palm on the rusted lock, and the grated door swung open, creaking. The school was just down the hill. Students were milling around in a break between classes. They all stopped, staring in astonishment at the three drenched figures striding down from that off-limits place. As they came in among the students, Milo saw the headmaster hurrying their way.

  “Halt!” Trevorthorne ordered. “You can’t be up there!”

  “I’m turning him into a toad,” Analisa muttered.

  “No,” Milo said, stopping her. “He’s just a silly old guy.”

  “That may be, but I don’t feel like dealing with him just now,” Stigma said. “Join hands. Time for some temporary invisibility.”

  They did, and although Milo didn’t notice any change—he could see himself and his companions just fine—Trevorthorne’s face went slack-jawed and the students nearby took a collective intake of breath. Trevorthorne stopped dead in his tracks, looking this way and that as Milo and his friends passed right by him.

  “Let’s go to the kitchens,” Milo said, directing their steps. “Kayn hasn’t broken through yet, and it may be a long time before we get anything to eat.”

  The cook recognized Milo right away. “Oh my! Look at you!” she exclaimed, and the three of them became aware of their wet, muddy, and disheveled state. “And you especially, young lady!” the cook said to Stigma, whose only bit of clothing, the smock from Milo, was a sodden wreck of mud and melted sap that barely covered her. “First, I expect you’re as hungry as ever”—this addressed to Milo with a wink—”and then I’ll see if I can’t find a proper dress for you,” she said, addressing Stigma.

  As she bustled away, Stigma gave Milo a sheepish smile. “Last time I met her, she didn’t criticize my dress. Of course, she couldn’t see me and I was here to steal food. I guess she treated you better.”

  Milo nodded, Raster jumped down out of Milo’s rucksack as he unslung it from his shoulder, and Analisa looked nervous. “Can we afford the time?” she asked. “Kayn...”

  “Milo’s right,” Stigma answered. “I’m so hungry I could eat a—”

  —broken off by Raster’s turning over a large, empty pot that clanged and rolled across the floor. Milo quickly scooped him up. “Behave. We’ve got to make a good impression if you want something to eat.” He put the cat back down as the cook came back with a tray of food from the morning’s breakfast. Analisa forgot her concern and all three of them—four, that is—fell on the tray. Raster’s manners were not up to his father’s standards as he grabbed the nearest piece of meat, jumped off the table, and took it underneath.

  “Oh that cat!” the cook exclaimed. “Such a gentleman!”

  “That’s your dad she’s talking about,” Milo told Raster under his breath. “So try to live up to his example.”

  “And where, may I ask, young man, did you come up with such pretty young ladies for companions? They’re not local girls.”

  “Oh...just friends who ahh...just arrived,” Milo told her.

  “Yes,” Stigma said, taking over. “We were all traveling together, but we got separated. We found Milo again, this morning.”

  “That’s right,” Analisa put in, shooting the other two a wicked glance. “He’s like a brother.”

  The cook laughed, obviously not taken in but understanding the ways of young people. “I think I’d better see about that dress I mentioned,” she said, and left them alone again.

  “She’s right,” Stigma said. “I can’t go around wearing this. I’m almost naked.”

  “You should be used to that, I’d think,” Analisa commented with a bit of tartness.

  Stigma gave her a look. “Costume doesn’t count unless someone can see it, don’t you think?” and she gave Analisa’s tattered and mud-smeared clothing a glance over.

  Milo’s attention was back to Raster, who was poking around another stack of pots after gobbling his breakfast. Milo reminded himself that the young cat had never seen a real kitchen before.

  The cook returned with a loose white blouse and a sturdy dark blue skirt. She also held out a light blue bodice embroidered with simple daisies in white and yellow.

  “My niece left this here, but that was a while back before she...well, I don’t think she’s likely to be getting into it again. Looks like you could, though.”

  Stigma held it up for size and she and Analisa went off to the pantry where the cook said she could try it on. While they were gone, the cook turned to Milo.

  “Did you get into the gate last night? My man didn’t know if you were in your room or not when he locked the door. Old Trevorthorne was in a snit about keeping you away from there, that’s for sure.”

  “It worked, thanks. I got in and found out what I needed to know. You can’t imagine how much I appreciate your help and all you’ve done for me...for us.”

  The cook looked flattered. “You’re a fine young man,” she said. “Not like so many of the stuck-ups here. I’m happy we could help out.”

  The two girls came back. Not only did the dress fit, it looked stunning on Stigma. She held out the drape of the skirt and spun around, clearly pleased with the unaccustomed sensation of the twirling skirt. Milo clapped his hands and grinned. Even Analisa looked happy with Stigma’s transformation.

  “Oh yes,” the cook said smugly. “That’s a very big improvement over the way you came in.”

  “Thank you,” Stigma said.

  “You’re welcome,” answered the cook.

  All of them laughed, and then Milo noticed that Raster had vanished. He went looking for him and found him high up on a shelf behind the ovens, with a sausage he had pulled down from the hook where it had been hanging to cure. He was licking his chops.

  “Raster?” Milo scolded. “You can’t do that.”

  “Oh, but it’s good! Here, try some.”

  Milo grabbed the cat and the cat snatched the sausage as Milo carried him back to the table where the others were.

  They had company. An angry Trevorthorne, with the groundskeeper—the cook’s husband—and a couple of faculty members in tow.

  “What’s the meaning of this!” he shouted, either
at the cook, at the girls, or just at. “And you!” he added, turning hotly on Milo and the cat.

  “Headmaster.” Milo nodded a calm acknowledgement. It reminded him how many times he had been scolded like this by the principal and various exasperated teachers at home.

  “What are you doing here? Where have you been? Did you try to force your way into the...the...” He broke off, remembering that he didn’t want to tell Milo what was behind the wall on top of the hill.

  “We had some breakfast,” Milo said. “Thank you for the hospitality of the school, and the kindness your staff has shown me since my arrival here.”

  “And these?” the headmaster demanded, gesturing to indicate Analisa and Stigma, as if they were speechless and inanimate objects. “Where did you get to when I saw you just now, out on the commons?”

  “These are my friends, and now that they’re here, we’ll be on our way. We don’t want to disturb the peace of your school any further.”

  “Just one minute there, young man!” Trevorthorne ordered. “You’ve got some explaining to do!” He grabbed at the sausage that dangled from Raster’s claws, the cat snatching it back.

  “We really don’t have time for that now, and I don’t expect you want to see what may come to look for us,” Milo explained, his tone civil. “You see, it’s just like what you expected from thistledowners like us. We’ve gone and poked our noses into places better left alone, and I’m afraid we’ve really stirred up a hornets’ nest. Only it isn’t hornets, it’s much worse. If we don’t leave here soon, there’s going to be...well, I suggest you get all the students and everybody else behind closed doors until this all blows over. It could be dangerous if anyone were to be caught outside. Not to mention what your students would have to tell their parents about what they’ve seen and been exposed to when they go home. As headmaster, I expect they’d hold you responsible.”

  Milo held Treverthorne’s eye until the headmaster flinched. Trevorthorne twisted first one, then the other, nervous shoulder.

  “Do you have any idea about what you’ve got up there on that hill?” Analisa injected into the dialog. Milo hoped silently that she wasn’t about to infest the man with boils or something. “Milo might be no older than your students here, but the school hasn’t seen his like in centuries, if ever.”

  “We just barely escaped with our lives,” Stigma put in. “Unfortunately for you, when we escaped, we landed here, and it’ll be pretty obvious to our pursuers where we went when they come looking for us. If we aren’t here anymore, they probably won’t waste time to start tracking us down. Even though they have a taste for human flesh, boiled, roasted, or just plain raw. All this succulent young meat here will tempt them.”

  By now Trevorthorne and his teachers were very uneasy. The headmaster tried to look dubious, but the twitching of his facial muscles gave him away. He wasn’t likely to prevent their leaving any longer.

  So they left.

  Milo let Raster decide which direction they should go. The more random and unplanned, according to Stigma’s logic, the less trace it would leave for Kayn to follow. Stigma also cast an obscuring spell to hide the traces their presence had left. Raster’s choice led them more or less in an easterly direction, at right angles to the direction Milo had come from when he first arrived at Rykirk. They soon discovered that Raster was following his nose. In a dale below the school was the village of Rykirk, and the village meant kitchens. Raster had followed the scent of his next meal.

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” Milo said. “Isn’t Kayn going to suspect we’d go to the village? Might it put the people here in danger?”

  Raster thought a visit to the village—and its kitchens—was an excellent idea, but the other two shared Milo’s misgivings. Just then, Milo noticed Raster’s ears turn and focus. “What is it?” he asked the cat.

  “An interesting sound,” Raster replied. “And a very odd scent.”

  Just then Milo heard the sound, too. A tintinnabulation accompanied by a creak and a bump. Then he, too, caught the scent.

  “Oxen,” he said. “I wonder...could it be...”

  ...and a green two-wheeled cart hove into sight, pulled by two huge beasts. “It is!” Milo exclaimed. “It’s Einter! And that’s Senster, the white one, and Dexter, his brother!”

  Einter’s wagon was clunking and jarring up the hill toward them, following the road out of the village. They walked to meet it.

  “Hey!” Einter called in greeting. “Lookit! What brings yuh here, young’un?”

  “Same thing that took me into Korrigan Forest. I could ask the same of you?”

  “Oh, just makin’ the rounds like I do. I’d welcome yuh onboard, but it looks like we’re goin’ opposite places.”

  “Oh, not really. We just need to get away from where we’ve been, and fast.”

  Einter gave him his squint-eyed look of appraisal. “There’s fast, and sometimes there’s slow. Sometimes slow turns out to be faster. I’m guessin’ that you want fast so’s yuh can avoid somebody.”

  “That explains a long story in a short way,” Milo replied.

  “Then climb aboard. Go into the box where yuh won’t be seen.”

  Milo turned to his friends. “This is my friend who helped me before. What do you think?”

  “Won’t Kayn find us right away if we don’t get as far away as fast as we can?” Analisa asked.

  “Or would that be exactly what he would expect us to do?” Stigma suggested. “Maybe your friend is right. Maybe slow would be a better plan than fast.”

  Einter had climbed down from the bench, stretched out his back, and began gathering twigs and grass from the side of the road.

  “Try this out,” he said, twisting and tying the plants into small bundles. “We haven’t been proper introduced, but I can pretty well see yer friend here’s a witch. I just bet she kin turn these dollies”—and he held up the first one he’d tied into a rough human form—”into decoys to put yer pursuer off track.” He reached out and pulled a hair off Milo’s head.

  “Ouch!” Milo said, flinching. Einter wrapped the hair into the small bundle.

  “I see what you mean!” Analisa exclaimed. “And I’ll send them off in another direction. Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “ ‘Cause yer too young to be that dishonest,” Einter chuckled.

  21

  A Will, a Way

  Analisa sent the three decoys off to create a false trail. “I’ll send them out over the sea,” she told her friends. “That way, when they fail, they’ll fall into the water and be lost. That should win us some time while Kayn tries to figure out where and how he lost us.”

  “Why wouldn’t he just search out Einter’s wagon?” Milo asked. They were inside it now as it rolled and clunked over every rock and pothole in the road, moving at the usual ponderous rate of the two oxen pulling it.

  “Stigma hid our trail with her obscuring magic,” Analisa said. “We’re as hidden from Kayn’s magical detection as she is when she’s invisible.”

  “Not to mention what your friend up on the box did,” Stigma added. “He’s not just your normal itinerant tinker.”

  “He’s...well, I can’t tell what he is,” Analisa said. “He seems like he’s got his own sorcery, but he’s completely opaque. As if he was really an ordinary tinker. I can’t read anything from him at all.”

  “Me neither,” Stigma agreed.

  “Whatever, but he’s helped me in all sorts of ways, even when I didn’t know he was helping. He knows stuff,” Milo told them.

  The three of them spent an entire, boring day shut inside the cart, jarred and rattled until they were so bruised by the springless knocking about that they could hardly sit down at all. Einter had pointed out that since they were trying to escape the notice of the most dangerous, powerful, and unscrupulous wizard of the age, sore backsides were a small price to pay.

  “Maybe Yeroen and the others succeeded in subduing him,” Milo suggested.

  �
�Uhn-uh. No way,” Analisa insisted.

  “I agree,” Stigma said. “The best they can do is to slow him down. I just hope he’s in such a hurry to chase us that he won’t have time to really turn his anger onto them.”

  Milo winced. He was trying to ignore his own fear for his friends and feeling guilty about leaving them behind to face what he had unleashed. His thoughts moved from them back to Bori. “What...how did Bori...” Milo started, fishing for a way to put the question that had stayed in his mind since the battle on the barrow.

  “Bori was a paragon of cats,” Analisa said.

  “Yes, with a special mission,” Stigma agreed.

  “He’s my dad,” Raster put in proudly.

  “I mean, how was he able to fight Kayn? He transformed himself,” Milo said. “I had no idea that he could do a thing like that.”

  “I believe he was a descendent of Count Abracadabracus’ cat,” Analisa speculated. “I’ve heard that his cat had remarkable abilities. Some people in the Kingdom of Odalese think the cats in that town are from that bloodline, and have some of those powers.”

  Milo remembered the bronze lions that guarded the steps of the town hall. “Bori told me once that the town is protected by the bronze lions there, but he said he’d never met them wandering around.”

  “Maybe it’s the real, flesh-and-blood cats, not the statues,” Stigma suggested.

  “When Bori transformed, those lions are what he looked like,” Milo stated.

  “Does that mean that I’m a really bad dude?” Raster asked, proudly excited.

  “Maybe,” Milo told him, “but don’t let it go to your head. You already seem to think you’re a lot bigger than you really are. And a pain-in-th’-butt sometimes. Remember, though. It’s supposed to be a secret and not something that you can brag about.” He gave the young cat a friendly pat to make his point. Raster lifted his tail into the air in acknowledgement, and purred, proud of his anticipated reputation.