Billy: Messenger of Powers

by Michaelbrent Collings

  Billy remembered something Mrs. Russet had said. “That’s the room in the tower where I first appeared. With the fortune teller things that gave me this.” He indicated his own badge, which said only “Billy” on it.

  Vester nodded. “Right. The ‘fortune teller things’ are the Counters. They magically determine the alignment of every person who comes to Powers Island—whether that person is a Dawnwalker or a Darksider. That way, we can make sure that the numbers of Dawnwalkers and Darksiders on the island are always equal.”

  “Why do they need to be equal?” asked Billy.

  “Because that way,” answered Vester, “if either the Dawnwalkers or the Darksiders decide to void the Truce, there will likely be immediate destruction of a large number of the world’s Powers, on both sides.”

  “It’s a terrible way to keep peace,” said Ivy.

  “True,” said Vester. “But neither side will risk the destruction of so many of its subjects at once. Powers Island, if ripped apart, would probably weaken both sides to the point that they might never rise again. No Power, of the Dark or the Dawn, would ever risk that…until Wolfen.”

  Ivy had stopped weaving her wreath of flowers some time ago. Now, at the mention of that name, the wreath seemed to wilt in her hands.

  “Wolfen was an incredibly gifted Power,” continued Vester. “He ascended to the Council when he was only a few years older than you, Billy, sitting for a decade on the Black Throne. He was a Darksider, and everyone knew that he was for subjugating humanity. But after a period of rule, he disappeared for several years. When he returned, he claimed that he was the Messenger of the White King—the man foretold to lead in a new age—and called all Darksiders to his side. To war.”

  “And they came?” asked Billy.

  Vester nodded. “Yes, many of them.”

  “But what about the balance here on the island?” asked Billy.

  Vester shrugged again. “It happened so quickly that many of the Powers didn’t know it had happened until it was almost too late. And many of those who did know simply couldn’t believe it was happening, it had been so long since open hostility had been present among the Powers. Wolfen had somehow managed—all by himself—to craft his own island, Dark Isle. He and his followers gathered there, and then….” Vester drew a deep shuddering breath. He couldn’t go on.

  “They attacked,” Ivy said simply.

  “It was a terrible, terrible war,” said Tempus. “The Dawnwalkers were unorganized, unprepared to face a militant onslaught. Many of us were killed. Many more….” Tempus’s face grew even more gray. He reached to the hem of his shirt, and drew it upward. Billy gasped. Tempus’s stomach was a mass of terrible scars. But unlike most scars, these scars glowed a pale blue. “We were marked and herded like cattle, to be servants to the servants after the war ended and the Darksiders ruled.”

  To Billy’s relief, Tempus lowered his shirt, and seemed to lapse into almost comatose silence.

  “Wolfen lost, eventually,” said Vester. “But not before wreaking great destruction on our world. He was captured, and tried, and sentenced to death. But the Darksiders were still many, though leaderless. They offered to re-institute the Truce, if Wolfen’s life would be spared.” Vester grimaced. “The Council agreed. Full privileges were restored to the Darksiders, and the Dawnwalkers no longer feared torture or destruction in captivity.” He paused, then said, “Personally, I think they made a mistake. They should have killed Wolfen when they had him.”

  “Vester!” said Ivy reproachfully.

  Vester looked evenly at her. “If you had lost your father to the man, maybe you would understand my feelings better, Ivy.”

  Ivy’s voice immediately softened. “Oh, Vester, I didn’t mean….”

  He waved her off. “No matter. The Truce has continued. No Dawnwalker has ever confirmed that Wolfen is even still alive, let alone that he is contacting anyone amongst the Powers. And the Darksiders, of course, claim not to have heard from him since his exile.”

  “What about the Dark Isle?” asked Billy.

  “It disappeared,” said Vester, “the day Wolfen was captured.”

  “And no one knows where it is?” said Billy.

  “Perhaps the great Powers of the Blue Water might. But the Water Powers tend to align themselves with the Darksiders, so they would hardly volunteer to tell a Dawnwalker, would they?”

  “That’s not fair of you, Vester,” said Ivy. “Until we have some proof that they are conspiring with Wolfen—”

  “That’s a foolish policy,” snapped Vester. “Proof will only come when we’re attacked, and then it will be too late!”

  Before Ivy could respond, the door to the anteroom opened. In the doorway stood a strange creature, gnarled and knotted. It stood on two legs, but where a head would have been on a man, there were only masses of branches and leaves. And instead of arms, there were two thick branch-like appendages that sprung out of the middle of what Billy could only call its trunk. “Billy Jones,” it said. The voice came from somewhere inside the creature, resounding as though in a drum, and its voice was deep and dark with hidden knowledge. “The Council has decided your fate.”

  CHAPTER THE SEVENTH

  In Which Billy Meets Wolfen, and goes back Home…

  Billy’s stomach churned. His fate?

  Then Ivy said, “Oh, Father,” in a tone both amused and mildly reproving.

  The tree-like creature chuckled. “Allow me my small diversions, Ivy.” Then, to Billy’s amazement, the creature exploded in a mass of blossoms, tiny flowers of every color that fell slowly to the ground and then disappeared.

  Ivy stood from her bean bag, rolling her eyes at Billy. “My father is like that,” she said.

  “Did he—did your father just explode?” asked Billy.

  “Oh, no, that wasn’t my father. It was just one of his Fizzles,” she answered. Then, when she saw Billy’s confused look, she added, “A Fizzle is a non-living creature that some of the Powers can manage. Like Vester’s little horsies made of lightning and fire.”

  Billy glanced at Vester in awe. Vester held up a hand. “Mine are just little Fizzles. Can’t make them talk, and they have to be touching me or else they disappear within seconds.” At that, the tiny electric blue horse ran out of Vester’s pocket and re-assumed its perch on the fireman’s shoulder. It looked around for a moment, as though trying to find the other horse, the one of fire that had sacrificed itself to perfectly toast Billy’s marshmallow. Then, not finding its friend, it moved with tiny crackles of electric hooves to Vester’s other shoulder, where it settled down to sleep.

  “But my fate?” asked Billy. “What does it mean, ‘The Council has decided my fate’?” He was dismayed to hear his voice—which was already too high for his own liking—starting to sound like a squeaky door.

  “Could mean anything, my boy,” answered Tempus, who rose creakily to his feet, taking a last sip of his cocoa before reluctantly putting the mug down on the floor. “Could mean they’re just sending you home, could mean they’re going to shower you in gold and call you the new White King, could mean they’re going to feed you to a wyvern.”

  Billy’s insides lurched. Vester frowned. “That’s not funny, Tempus.” He looked at Billy. “The Council hardly ever feeds anyone to a wyvern anymore.”

  The three Powers in the room watched Billy as his face went through about three hundred different expressions, ranging from uncomfortable to worried to downright terrified. Then they laughed, and Ivy hugged him.

  “Oh, you are a fun one, Billy Jones,” she said. She linked her arm through his. This close, Billy thought she looked much younger than old. He wondered what her real age was. If Veric, the Green Councilor, was her father, then she couldn’t be too old. But it was hard to tell. Her face had the same ageless quality as some plants: looking at it you couldn’t tell if it was one year old, or fifty. She squeezed Billy’s arm tightly. “Come on, let’s go see what the Council has planned for you.”

  Billy
looked at his hot chocolate, which he still held. “What do I do with this?” he asked.

  “Just put it down anywhere,” answered Ivy. “There are Fizzles here who do the cleanup.” And as she said that, Billy saw a tiny creature come running out from under the pot-bellied stove. It looked something like a tiny stone snowman, its body made up of three small rocks stacked atop one another. But instead of stick arms and no legs, this little creature had about a dozen pairs of minute stone appendages sticking out in all directions, which it seemed to use interchangeably as hands or feet as the situation warranted.

  The Fizzle scuttled along the ground, then hoisted Tempus’s cup in its small arms/legs, and precariously made its way across the anteroom floor, disappearing around the corner of the bar. There was a popping sound, and Billy knew that the rock Fizzle had just Transported to wherever the dishes got cleaned.

  Billy put his mug down. He wanted to see if the same Fizzle would come to take his cup, too—anything to avoid finding out what the Council had to say to him—but Ivy drew him cheerfully back out onto the roof of the tower.

  Outside of the anteroom the sky was now overcast, the tower completely cloaked in the eternal clouds that writhed about its heights. There was no sign of any beautiful blizzard, even though when Billy looked back through the open door to the anteroom, he could still see the wonderful snowflakes outside the cozy room, doing their magical dance. Several of the snowflakes appeared to swirl together into the form of a hand, waving goodbye as he watched.

  Then Tempus and Vester stepped through the door. Vester shut it behind him, and as soon as he did, the golden door disappeared, leaving behind only the solid rock mass. Billy shook his head. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to such things.

  Ivy drew him toward the Diamond Dais. Billy saw that it was still split in two, with that strange crystal spire sticking up in the middle of it. He had unconsciously expected that the dais would have been fixed somehow, so was a bit surprised to see that it was still cracked and marred.

  The Councilors all sat on their thrones, watching Billy, Ivy, Tempus, and Vester approach. Eva Black and Nehara the Blue Power had apparently not returned after leaving, since the thrones of Death and Water stood empty. But all the others were there: Veric, the Green Councilor of Life; Dismus, the Gray Councilor who represented the Wind; Fulgora the Red, the beautiful Fire Councilor; and Mrs. Russet—Lumilla the Brown. The four of them sat rigidly, looking very official and more than a little scary to Billy.

  Billy caught himself gulping. He tried to imagine that Blythe Forrest was watching him, and managed to straighten his back and put on a brave face. This time, at least, he didn’t have to climb up onto the top of the diamond platform on his own. A soft ramp of leaves rose up before him. He glanced at Ivy, who squeezed his arm and winked. He smiled in thanks.

  His smile disappeared, however, as Ivy withdrew her arm from his and gave him a gentle nudge toward the platform. Billy walked up the leafy ramp, and stood at the edge of the platform.

  “Mr. Jones,” said Mrs. Russet. Billy turned to face her. “We have a bit of a problem. Most people who come here arrive because they have Glimmered, or have shown a Power. You have done neither, at least not in a way that we can verify. Ordinarily that would mean you would not remain here. We would send you back to where you live, with a spell over your memory so that you would never remember any of this, or would think it merely a dream.”

  Billy was surprised to hear how much Mrs. Russet’s words dismayed him. As frightening and strange as this day had been, it had also been wonderful and exhilarating. He couldn’t bear the idea of never remembering the anteroom and its hot chocolate, or the amazing boxing match between rock giants, or the three new friends who now stood behind him.

  His concern must have shown on his face, because Mrs. Russet’s expression softened. “Don’t worry, Mr. Jones. We’re not going to do that to you. Events of the day have convinced us that we must keep an eye on you, and test you to find out if you are a Power, or a normal human being, or something else entirely. So we are going to declare you unDetermined, both as to whether you have control over one of the Elements, and as to your eventual affiliation with either the Darksiders or Dawnwalkers.”

  “But I don’t want to be a Darksider,” Billy blurted without thinking about it. He immediately snapped his mouth shut, ashamed of his outburst.

  Mrs. Russet nodded approvingly. “Well, that will be decided at a later time, if at all. As I said, for now you are unDetermined.”

  She stamped her crystal staff against the diamond floor in front of her earthy throne. Billy felt a warm sensation on his chest and looked down. The badge he had worn since he had arrived at Powers Island was changing. It had only said “Billy” all this time. But now the badge brightened, the word “unDetermined” appearing after his name.

  “What does unDetermined mean?” asked Billy.

  “Normally, it means that someone has Glimmered, but we haven’t determined what Element they control,” replied Mrs. Russet. “In your case. Well…,” she shrugged. “It means we really don’t know anything at all about you. But what we have decided to do,” she continued, waving her staff to indicate that the decision was coming from the whole Council, “is treat you as though you have Glimmered.”

  “And what does that mean?” asked Billy.

  “That you will be tested,” replied Mrs. Russet.

  She reached into her robe, and withdrew a small brown band. She gestured for Billy to approach. When he did, she held out the band, and the thing literally leaped through the air, attaching itself to Billy’s wrist, becoming a seamless bracelet. It felt like plastic, but pulsed with strange warmth, as though it were alive. “The bracelet means you are unDetermined. But it is Brown because I—a Brown Power—am your Sponsor,” said Mrs. Russet.

  “My Sponsor?” asked Billy.

  “I will be your guide and adviser through the testing process,” answered Mrs. Russet.

  Billy heard Tempus whisper, “Lucky,” in a jealous half-whisper. Mrs. Russet glared over Billy’s shoulder at the old man. “What?” asked Tempus, trying to look innocent and failing dismally. “Well, my Sponsor was a Power named Dopey the Blue.” He shuddered. “At least, I think that was his name. It was what everyone else called him, anyway.”

  “Returning to business,” said Mrs. Russet, with a warning glance at Tempus. The old Wind Power fell silent, his toe scratching absently on the ground in front of him, looking to Billy like a little kid whose mother has just scolded him.

  Mrs. Russet took Billy’s hand in hers. “I know this is all very strange to you, Mr. Jones. But the events of today are unusual.” She looked at the crack in the Diamond Dais, the strange spire in its middle. “There are prophecies that seem to be coming to fulfillment, and you seem likely to be at the middle of them.”

  “Unless Eva Black was right, and it is really Wolfen who is the Messenger, and he has come back,” interjected Fulgora, the Red Councilor still mesmerizing in her beauty even as she spoke words that obviously discomfited the rest of the Council.

  Mrs. Russet looked at the Red Lady, frowning. “I do not think that is so. I certainly hope that it is not. Wolfen is in exile, and I hope never to hear from him or of him again.”

  There was a murmur of agreement from Veric the Green Councilor, as well as from Dismus, the Gray Wind Councilor.

  Then, at that moment, a noise like rushing wind came from the Black Throne. The dark orb that had heralded Eva Black’s arrival reappeared. As before, it grew, coalescing into a human form. Mrs. Black soon could be seen, and then her outlines solidified into the woman that Billy was already coming to fear and loathe.

  But she looked very different now. Gone was the aristocratic sneer, the disdainful gaze. Now, she looked distraught, even afraid. Her hair, previously so perfectly combed and styled, was a bit mussed, with stray locks of hair now billowing around her face. “Stop,” she said. “Don’t go forward with the boy.”

  “We told yo
u,” said Mrs. Russet angrily. “You left, and we were forced to make decisions without you.”

  “But, but,” said Mrs. Black, almost whimpering. Billy saw the other Councilors’ eyes narrowing, clearly surprised at how Mrs. Black was acting. Their surprise grew as she started to sniffle. “But Wolfen…” she began, then began crying in earnest.

  “What of him?” demanded Veric, his leafy arms crossed in front of his broad chest.

  “He appeared to me,” sobbed Mrs. Black.

  “WHAT?”

  Billy wasn’t sure who screamed that. Maybe everyone. Certainly every person nearby was now on their feet.

  “He appeared to you?” demanded Mrs. Russet. Then, without waiting for an answer, she turned to Vester. “Vester, get to the Accounting Room. Find out how many Darksiders are on Powers Island. We may have to evacuate if Wolfen is attacking.”

  “No, no!” shouted Mrs. Black. “You don’t understand. He’s not here to take his rightful place as Lord over all Powers.” Everyone paused, staring at the destroyed-looking Death Councilor. “He’s here to…to….” she shook her head, clearly not able to believe what she was about to say. “To swear allegiance!”

  “What?” said Mrs. Russet, shocked.

  Before Eva Black could say anything more, a rainbow of color appeared over everyone’s heads. It was like watching a nebula in deep space, a writhing cloud of many-colored gases that swirled in upon themselves. A rushing sound, like a sandstorm blowing a great dust cloud in front of it, emerged from the sight. And then a man floated down, dropping gently to the Diamond Dais beside Billy.

  “Great Powers,” whispered Veric in a quiet curse. “It’s him. It’s Wolfen.”

  Billy shrank away from the man beside him, but at the same time couldn’t help but look closely at him, fascinated by the person who had caused so much havoc and fear among the Powers. Wolfen appeared to be in his mid-fifties, a wiry, lithe, tall man with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair that hung down to the middle of his back, tied tightly into a braid. He wore a black suit of soft-looking cloth, with a velvety white cloak draped over it. His eyes were green, crackling with intelligence, and his face was twisted with the remnants of a life lived in the shadow of hatred for those around him.