Peter and the Shadow Thieves

by Ridley Pearson Dave Barry

  Just a few minutes, thought Aster. If that.

  He knelt and prepared to unlatch the trunk. At long last, the Return was at hand.

  Molly was not going to make it. Strain as she might, she was losing altitude rapidly; now she was fifteen feet above the wolves—now five of them—trotting directly below her feet, growling ominously. George, finally aware of the peril, was even lower, flapping his arms in a frantic, fruitless effort to gain altitude. Stonehenge was one hundred yards up the road.

  “Peter,” Molly said. “We can’t—”

  “I know,” Peter said, swooping close. “Take my hand. You too, George.”

  With Molly holding one of his hands and George the other, Peter strained upward with all his might. He was able to hold them level for another twenty yards, but then their weight began to overcome his ability to fly. Down they dropped, toward the waiting jaws.

  “I’m going to have to put you down,” said Peter, sounding far calmer than he felt. “When I do, you start running toward Stonehenge.”

  “But,” said George, looking down, “what about the—”

  “Don’t worry about the wolves,” said Peter. “I’ll take care of them.”

  You will? said Tink. How?

  “What did she say?” said Molly.

  “She said not to worry,” said Peter. “Hang on.”

  With a grunt and a sudden violent swoop forward, Peter carried the now-heavy forms of Molly and George ten yards farther on, and set them down just ahead of the approaching wolves.

  “RUN!” he shouted, turning to face the oncoming pack.

  The first wolf reached him a second later, snarling, lunging. Peter shot upward, leaving it snapping at the air, then dropped straight down, his feet landing hard on the wolf’s back. The wolf howled in pain and fury and turned, but Peter had again launched himself upward; the slashing teeth missed his leg by an inch. The other wolves, responding to the plight of their fellow pack member, converged on the spot, leaping and snapping at Peter, who danced in the air just above their heads, shouting to keep their attention.

  Meanwhile, unnoticed by the wolves, Molly and George were running up the road toward the Heel Stone, illuminated now by the gentle light of a million stars, as the moon now was a mere ghostly circle.

  “What do we do when we get there?” huffed George.

  “We look for Father,” said Molly, looking up at the moon. “If we’re not too—”

  She stopped and gasped.

  “What?” said George. Then his eyes followed her gaze, and he said, “Oh, my.”

  Looming in the road fifteen feet ahead, standing eight feet tall if he stood an inch, was Karl the bear. He dropped to all fours and began moving toward them, growling.

  “You, there!” said George, in a voice that would have sounded more impressive if it had not broken in the middle of “there” and shot up two full octaves. “Stop, I say! Stop!”

  Karl did not stop. He came steadily forward, growling louder now.

  A warning chime sounded in Molly’s ear. Molly had heard Tink make that sound before. And, in a flash, she remembered what it meant.

  “George!” she said. “Close your eyes!”

  “What?” he said, staring at Karl. “Why on earth should …OW!”

  He yelped as Molly slapped her hand over his eyes, at the same time closing hers tightly. Karl’s eyes, on the other hand, were very close and very wide open when Tink flashed a brilliant burst.

  With a roar, Karl, temporarily blinded and befuddled, reared up and swiped his huge paws through the air, hitting nothing.

  Molly opened her eyes and pulled her hand from George’s face.

  “Come on!” she said. Then, remembering something, she stopped, turned, and knelt to pick up the fallen form of Tink lying on the road, glowing faintly. Gently, Molly put Tink into her coat pocket and began running up the road toward the Heel Stone, with George close behind. Behind them, Karl continued to bellow and swipe at the empty air.

  Aster had seen the bright flash of light in the distance; he had heard the deep roar, unquestionably Karl. He didn’t know what was happening, and he didn’t have time to find out. Whatever it was, Magill and the animals would have to deal with it. The eclipse was total now. The moon was visible only as a shadowy circle in the sky.

  Aster knelt next to the trunk. He unfastened the two golden latches. He took a deep breath, then exhaled.

  It was time.

  A raven glided out from the looming starlit shapes of the trilithons. It fluttered to a landing at the base of the blue-stone, in the pool of darkness that was Ombra. Moments later it took flight again, disappearing into the darkening sky.

  Ombra rose and spoke to the two riflemen, his voice low but urgent.

  “Aster is behind that stone,” he said, pointing to one of the standing trilithons. “Follow me. Quickly.”

  He glided forward, bent low, and came up to the trilithon, the riflemen crouching just behind him. The trilithon’s two massive vertical stones were separated by only a few inches, forming between them a vertical crack several feet deep. Ombra moved forward, oozing into this space, disappearing entirely between the uprights. Through the opening on the other side he saw the gold-clad man—Aster, he was certain—kneeling next to a wooden trunk. Aster’s gold-gloved hands reached out and unfastened the two latches.

  He was about to open the trunk.

  Ombra shot back out of the space.

  “Now,” he whispered urgently, waving the riflemen forward. “Shoot him now.”

  The riflemen moved around the stone quickly. Too quickly. One of them caught his foot on the corner of a stone embedded in the ground. He fell forward, his rifle clattering on the hard-packed dirt. Aster’s head turned toward the sound; he saw one rifleman sprawled on the ground, the other raising his weapon, taking aim.

  Without an instant’s hesitation, Aster flung the trunk lid open.

  The ravens screamed and scattered into the sky.

  And out came the sun.

  Or so it seemed: the center of Stonehenge erupted in a brilliant ball of light. The gold-clad figure of Aster appeared to be on fire as he stumbled away from the glare. The rifleman on the ground screamed and crawled away, dragging his weapon. The other rifleman, a more disciplined warrior, turned his eyes from the light for a moment, then slowly forced himself to look again, training his rifle sight on Aster.

  “No!”

  The voice was Ombra’s, but it sounded weak.

  “Do not shoot him!”

  Ombra was on the ground a dozen yards behind the riflemen. He had been forced back by the light burst, like smoke blown by the wind. His shape was distorted, flattened.

  “Do not shoot!” he repeated, slithering away from the light. The rifleman lowered his rifle, turned, and stumbled after the retreating form.

  Nerezza ran forward, meeting Ombra at the bluestone circle.

  “What happened?” he said. Shielding his eyes, he looked toward the brilliant sphere of light and the figure of Aster now moving toward cover behind a huge fallen stone. “Why didn’t they shoot him?”

  “I called them off,” said Ombra. “We cannot kill Aster while the trunk is open. It must be closed. And only Aster can get near enough to close it.” Ombra looked at the sky. Nerezza followed his gaze and saw something he’d never seen before: in the middle of the ghostly reddish circle that was the moon, a pinpoint of greenish light had appeared. As Nerezza watched, the pinpoint became a tendril of light, reaching outward from the moon, farther and farther, like a tentacle feeling its way downward toward Earth.

  “We have little time,” said Ombra. “We must force Aster to close the trunk.”

  “But if we can’t shoot him,” said Nerezza, “and we can’t get near him…what can we do?”

  Ombra’s dark hood swiveled slowly away from the moon, toward Nerezza.

  “Get Slank,” Ombra said. “Tell him to bring me Lady Aster.”

  Gasping for breath, Molly, with George just behind, reac
hed the Heel Stone. A moment earlier the sky over Stonehenge had erupted with a brilliant flash of light; the center now bathed in a brightness that was difficult to look at directly.

  “What is that?” said George. “Is that the Return?”

  “I’m sure it’s the starstuff,” said Molly. “But it’s still there, on the ground. The Return hasn’t taken place yet. Father must be inside there. I need to—”

  “Would you look at that,” interrupted George, pointing up.

  Molly looked up and saw the strange tendril of green light coming out of the moon, stretching toward Earth, its lower end moving back and forth, causing the rest of it to form gentle, undulating curves. To Molly, it looked like a giant snake seeking prey.

  George stared in wonder as the light came closer to Earth. “That thing is thousands of miles long,” he said. “Tens of thousands. It must be traveling at a fantastic speed!”

  Tearing her eyes away from the light snake, Molly looked back toward the glowing center of Stonehenge.

  “I need to get in there,” she said. “To warn Father.”

  “Why?” said George. “Obviously the Return is about to start. And once the starstuff’s gone—”

  “But it’s not gone yet,” interrupted Molly. “And if Ombra’s anywhere nearby, he’ll see that thing”—she pointed at the green light, drawing ever closer to Stonehenge—“and he’ll try to stop the Return. I need to get in there and warn Father.”

  “You’re not going anywhere,” said a deep voice.

  Molly and George turned as the tall, wide figure of Magill stepped out from behind the Heel Stone.

  “You’re supposed to be back at the house,” he said. “You’ve got no business here.”

  “Please,” said Molly. “Listen. I need to warn my father. There’s a—”

  “You can’t go in there,” said Magill. “Your father left orders. Nobody goes in there. Too dangerous.”

  “Please,” Molly said desperately, starting toward the light. “He doesn’t know that—”

  “No,” said Magill, moving to block Molly’s path. “You can’t…OOW!”

  George had played a bit of rugby at Harrow, and his tackling technique wasn’t half bad. He’d taken a three-step running start, then launched himself, his goal being to hit Magill from the side, waist high, driving him away from Molly. Unfortunately, Magill was considerably taller than George’s usual targets; George had connected, noggin-first, with Magill’s right knee.

  The collision proved extremely painful for both parties. Magill yelped as he skipped sideways on his left foot, both hands holding his knee. George thudded to the ground, moaning, clutching at his throbbing skull.

  Molly, her obstacle removed, took off running toward the light.

  Leonard Aster crouched behind a fallen trilithon stone, a few feet from the open starstuff trunk. Warily he poked his head out; squinting in the brilliant light, he looked toward the place where, only moments ago, he’d seen two men with rifles. When he’d stumbled blindly away, looking for cover, he had expected at any moment to be shot, or at least hear shots fired. But there had been nothing. And now the men were gone.

  Aster concluded that they’d been driven off by the fierce light radiating from the starstuff. The air around him hummed with energy; even with the gold mesh protecting him, he could barely see through the glare.

  Cautiously, he stood and looked up, his eyes scanning the sky. There it was. Relief flooded through him as he saw the green tentacle of light writhing toward the glowing center of Stonehenge. It was only a few hundred feet above the top of the trilithons now—close enough that Aster could see it was actually a column of light several feet in diameter. Its end was now aiming directly at the open trunk, and descending.

  Only a few seconds now…

  The column was coming lower, perhaps one hundred feet now. The hum in the air was louder. Aster’s eyes again swept the area and stopped suddenly. Aster took a step backward, as if he’d been struck.

  It couldn’t be.

  But it was. Walking toward him from the bluestone circle, arms outstretched, was his wife.

  “Louise!” he shouted, waving his arms. “Stay away!”

  She kept coming. Her face, starkly illuminated by the brilliant light, was pale and drawn, her eyes wide open, staring unblinking into the glare. She was already perilously close. If she got much closer, Aster knew, she would die.

  He looked up: the green light column was directly above the starstuff. The hum was almost deafening. He looked at Louise: she was still coming. To stop her, he would have to leave the trunk—something he was trained never to do. But he could not stand there and watch her die.

  Aster began to run toward Louise. After three steps he stopped, frozen by something he heard behind him—a familiar voice, barely audible over the hum. He turned.

  No.

  Molly was coming toward the light.

  “GO BACK, MOLLY!” he shouted. But she didn’t hear him. She wasn’t even looking at him.

  She had seen her mother.

  Now Molly was running forward, tears streaming down her face, oblivious to the danger. In that instant Aster understood that both his wife and his daughter were about to perish in a cataclysm that he had unleashed. He might—might—be able to save one of them; he could not save both.

  In that instant Leonard Aster made a decision that went against a lifetime of Starcatchers training, and centuries of Starcatchers tradition. In that instant, in the hum and the glare, he became a husband and a father.

  Leonard Aster closed the trunk lid.

  The world went black.

  The brilliant light was gone. The hum was gone.

  Aster could see nothing. He blinked hard, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness.

  “Molly!” he shouted.

  “Here, Father!” she called, stumbling forward, also sightless. “I saw Mother!”

  “Molly, you must not come closer!” he said. “You must get away from here.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll get your mother,” shouted Aster. His eyes adjusting now, he saw Louise. She was quite close. If he could get to her quickly, move her behind one of the stones, he might have time to run back to the trunk, open it, and complete the Return. He looked up: the green light column was just above the tops of the trilithons, swaying back and forth as if seeking the trunk.

  Aster turned toward his wife. His golden suit, illuminated by the green light column now directly overhead, gleamed like a beacon.

  “There!” said Ombra.

  The riflemen took aim at the shining figure as it ran toward Louise Aster.

  “Now!” said Ombra.

  The two guns fired almost as one.

  The shining figure went down.

  Molly heard the shots and screamed as she saw her father crumple to the ground.

  “Father!” she shouted, stumbling toward the gold-suited figure, now lying facedown on the hard-packed dirt, unmoving. She reached her father and knelt next to him. Gently, she turned him over, and gasped. The front of his golden suit was bathed in blood. It looked black in the eerie green light as it poured from a wound in his chest.

  “Oh, no, no, no,” she said.

  She looked up, desperate. Directly in front of her stood her mother.

  “Mother,” Molly said. “Help me! Father’s hurt!”

  Louise Aster said nothing, looking at her daughter with an expression devoid of any emotion, her wan face painted a pale hideous green by the overhead light.

  “Mother,” Molly repeated softly. “Please.”

  But she saw no concern, no hint of recognition in the empty eyes looking back at her.

  And then, in the strange green light, Molly saw the dark shape of Ombra gliding across the open ground, followed by a half dozen men. They were heading directly for the trunk, which lay on the Altar Stone, twenty-five feet from where Molly knelt by her wounded father. Molly glanced up; the green column of light lingered overhead, snaking back a
nd forth, though it seemed farther away than before. She knew the eclipse would be over soon, ending any chance of effecting the Return.

  Despair filled Molly’s soul. Her father was dying; her mother had become somebody, or some thing, that she no longer knew. And now the Others, in the form of the horrid Ombra, were about to gain possession of the starstuff that both her parents had sacrificed so much to safeguard.

  Not if I can help it, Molly thought, struggling to her feet.

  “Get the girl!” groaned Ombra.

  Molly was running now. A few steps and she was almost to the trunk. She reached toward the lid, but suddenly strong hands grabbed her dress, and strong arms yanked her back. A raspy voice spoke close to her ear.

  “Hold up there, missy,” said Slank.

  Molly struggled and kicked, but she was no match for Slank’s muscles. He gripped her tighter, pinning her to him.

  “No use, missy,” he whispered.

  Molly looked toward the trunk: Ombra and the other men were now standing next to it, the men eyeing it warily, aware of the power it contained. Molly looked up; the green snake of light was higher still, clearly receding. It was over. She had failed. The Starcatchers had failed. Slowly, Molly lowered her eyes.

  Hang on….

  Molly caught just a glimpse of a shape swooping low over the tops of the sarsens from the northwest. It was hidden by the tall trilithons now, but Molly knew what it had to be, moving that fast…

  “PETER!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

  Every head, including Ombra’s, swiveled to look. And so everyone had an excellent view as Peter swerved expertly around a massive trilithon support, missing it by a quarter inch at best. Everyone saw it, but nobody had time to react, least of all Peter’s target.

  “Hello, Slank!” shouted Peter, delivering a high-velocity kick to Slank’s head as he shot past.

  Roaring in pain and rage, Slank staggered backward, involuntarily freeing Molly. He reached for his belt and yanked out a pistol, pointing it skyward, aiming it at the hated boy. Peter turned and began coming back. He was moving fast, but Slank was a good shot. As Peter, who had not yet spotted the pistol, drew close, Slank’s finger tightened on the trigger. He inhaled. With Peter dead in his sights, he fired.