by Bryan Davis
She pointed toward the entry gate at the bottom of the hill, now shrouded in darkness. “Billy is right about there, where we came in, but Bonnie . . . ,” she twisted her body and pointed behind her, toward the top of the hill, “is somewhere in that direction, maybe a hundred yards away.”
“What’s so strange? We knew they were separated.”
Ashley rested her elbows on her thighs and cradled the computer with both hands. “Well, the vortex of light energy here may be messing up the data, but I don’t think Bonnie’s in Billy’s circle at all. Her signal is way different now.”
Walter peered at the upward sloping hill, barely able to see the outline of the tower at the tor’s peak. He turned back and rubbed his hands across his upper arms. “This place creeps me out. Let’s get to the top and find the professor.”
“I know what you mean,” Ashley said, throwing her hair back with a shake of her head. “You can almost feel the energy swirling around, like we’re in the middle of a light-warping blender.”
Walter grabbed Apollo and started up the slope with a bound. “Well, let’s get this over with. I don’t want to be part of an electromagnetic smoothie.”
Morgan led Billy to a luxurious sitting room, complete with two plush sofas, a fireplace, and an oriental rug laid across a shiny marble floor. An afghan covered the back of one sofa, showing off an interwoven design—a red dragon breathing a plume of yellow fire. The other sofa sported a similar afghan with a white dragon spewing what looked like streams of ice.
A dog lay on the rug, its triangular ears perking as Billy walked in. Its coat shimmered, ribbons of orange, green, and purple rippling across its short hair as if a rainbow were petting it from head to tail.
Morgan twisted her head back and forth. “Bonnie’s not here! Where could she have gone?”
Billy stepped toward a long hallway. “Could she have—”
“Elaine!” Morgan shouted. She pulled a braided cord that hung from the ceiling, and a loud bell gonged three times. “Come here at once!”
A lithe woman dressed in flowing silk ran into the sitting room, gliding gracefully on her bare feet. “Yes, Sister?”
“Where’s Bonnie? I left her here just a few minutes ago!”
Elaine eyed Billy, then quickly looked back at Morgan. “She has chosen the wide path, Sister, just as you feared.”
“The wide path?” Billy repeated.
Morgan glared at Billy. “I thought she was wiser than that.”
“Wiser than what?” Billy asked, spreading out his arms. “What’s the wide path?”
Morgan placed her hand on Billy’s cheek, but he turned his head and stepped back. She balled her hands into fists and rested them on her hips. “I gave your princess the option of waiting for you or venturing out into a deeper circle. We call it the wide path, because so many have gone there before her. It seems that she has chosen to join them.”
“I don’t believe it. She would’ve waited for me.”
Elaine gave Billy a half-curtsy and presented a folded piece of paper. “She left a note, Your Highness.”
Billy snatched the note and flipped it open, reading silently. “Billy, don’t worry about me. I can’t explain right now, but I have to go on. Trust me.” He refolded the note and repeated the closing phrase in his mind. Trust me.
His chin fell to his chest. “It’s Bonnie’s handwriting.”
Morgan raised her hand again to caress Billy’s cheek. This time he didn’t step back. “Oh, Billy, I know you don’t trust me yet, but you will learn. When the armies of the earth tremble at your feet, you will believe in me and my power.”
Billy caressed the folded note with his thumb. “If you have so much power, why are you a prisoner here? Why do you need me?”
Morgan reached for Excalibur, but Billy twisted away. She turned her back to him, crossing her arms over her chest. “I brought the original Arthur here,” she said, “and he went on to the eternal realm. I can only leave here permanently if I return to your world with the king.” She spun around abruptly and extended her arm toward Excalibur. “Freely give me the sword, and I will prove to you my power. It was mine long before I bequeathed it to Arthur, before that thief, Devin, took it for himself, before it was restored into your rightful hands. Yet, in my hands, I can show you all its glory in unmasked brilliance. You have yet to see a fraction of its power.”
Billy took one step back and planted his feet firmly. “No.” He nodded toward the room’s entry. “Just show me which way Bonnie went. I have to find her. If I decide you’re really the prisoner Sir Patrick was talking about, I’ll come back for you.”
Morgan grasped Billy’s upper arms, leaned forward, and kissed him tenderly on the cheek. “Very well, young Arthur. I will trust in my king’s faithful word.” She turned and gestured for him to follow. “I will show you the wide path.” She stepped quickly down a corridor on the other side of the sitting room.
Billy hurried to catch up, and Elaine followed, staying a few steps behind. After making two left turns into adjacent halls and then a right that led down a long staircase, Morgan stopped next to a door at the bottom landing. The only light in the stairwell came from the door at the upper level. Billy halted halfway down the stairs. Elaine stood at the top and closed the door.
In the darkness, Billy heard Elaine’s feet press the creaking stairs and then felt her soft breath as she drew close . . . too close. Morgan climbed back up, hemming Billy in. He drew in shallow, rapid breaths. He wanted to grab Excalibur and call upon its light, but Morgan’s soothing voice washed over his senses.
“Young Arthur, do not fear us. We draw our bodies close to prepare you for the next circle. We will pray for your mission, and our prayers are best uttered in darkness.”
Shivers erupted across Billy’s skin. Darkness? Why does a prayer need darkness? As a gloomy heaviness filtered into his thoughts, his mind begged for light. Any light! He grabbed Excalibur and jerked it out. The sword’s beam burst forth, filling the stairwell with brilliance. The laser ripped a hole in the center of the lower door. A blast of air rushed up the staircase, pouring in from the gash.
Morgan and Elaine pressed against Billy’s body. Loose, wrinkled skin covered their hideous faces, like skulls with leathery masks. Morgan’s black lips drew close to his cheek.
Billy gasped and pushed Morgan out of his way. He threw open the door at the bottom of the stairs and dashed through, but his foot found no floor on the other side, and he fell headlong into an empty expanse.
Walter passed through a tall archway and stood at the center of the tower’s hollow base. “Well, we made it, but I guess the professor’s gone AWOL.”
Ashley kept her eyes on the handheld computer, her lips and cheeks taut. “It seems so.”
Walter set Apollo on the ground. “You look like you swallowed a porcupine. What’s the matter?”
Ashley held the screen where Walter could see it. “Billy’s in a new circle, but it’s still not the same one Bonnie’s in. Their signals are way different.”
“Explain something to me,” Walter said, raising a finger toward the flashing dots. “If Billy’s belt is the one spewing out a signal, then how can you keep track of Bonnie if they’re separated?”
Ashley gave Walter a blank stare.
“Wow!” Walter exclaimed. “You’re as stumped as a lumberjacked forest!”
Ashley pulled the computer back and turned away. “I guess you’re proud of that, aren’t you?”
Walter ran around to face her again. “Hey! Chill out! I’m on your side. Don’t be so defensive.”
Ashley pointed at herself. “I’m defensive? You’re the one worried about me reading your mind all the time.” She turned again, shaking her head. “If you were on my side, you’d cut the jokes and grow up.”
Walter spread out his hands. “Grow up? Ashley, listen to yourself . . .” His voice trailed away. “Hmmm . . .”
“What?” Ashley said, tapping her foot. “Couldn’t think of a jok
e?”
Walter grabbed his cloak and stripped it off. “No. I just thought of something.” He tossed the cloak on the ground, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I do feel different.”
“Different? What are you talking about?”
“I think the cloaks are messing with our minds. Try taking yours off.”
Ashley dropped the backpack and laid the computer on top. Walter helped her pull the cloak over her head, then rolled it up in a ball and held it against his chest. “Feel different?” he asked.
Ashley blinked her eyes and straightened her shirt. “Yeah . . . I think I do.”
Walter stuffed the cloaks into the backpack. “Let’s save them. They still might come in handy.”
“I wonder why it affected me more than you.”
“I don’t know.” Walter kept his eyes on the cloaks as he pushed them deep into the pack. “Every time you barked at me, I felt something, like I was supposed to bark right back, but I just ignored it.”
After Walter helped her remount the backpack, Ashley took his hand. “Walter,” she said, her voice pierced with remorse, “I’m sorry for being such an ill-tempered know-it-all.”
Walter absorbed her heartfelt apology like soothing balm on a wound. “And I’m sorry for cracking too many jokes,” he said softly.
Ashley drew him into an embrace and whispered, “Thank you for protecting me.”
Walter held his hand above her back for a moment, then patted her gently. “Any time.” After a few seconds, he pulled away. “Now we have to find Prof.”
He retrieved Apollo and exited the tower through its tall archway, scanning the area as he walked across the tor’s summit. The lights of Glastonbury cast a glow all around the eerie outcropping, illuminating a rising mist that dressed the hill in white raiment.
He walked to the tor’s highest point and peered over the edge. Here, a second access trail descended a steeper slope than the one he and Ashley had climbed on the opposite side. The narrow path veered right, then plunged toward a faraway gate. Walter let out a quiet whistle as he surveyed the hill’s expansive, tiered slopes. Flat strips of grass wrapped around the entire tor, creating wide terraces, like huge stair steps for a giant who might want to bound to the top. He tried to count the steps, but the mist veiled the lower levels. Seven maybe? he thought.
A beam of light flashed in a thicket at the base of the hill. Walter froze in place. Was it his imagination? No! There it was again! He kept his eyes on the spot and called out, “Ashley! I see a light!”
Ashley sprinted to his side. “Where?”
Walter pointed toward the dim outline of a group of trees. “It was right there, but I don’t see it now.”
“Let’s check it out.” Ashley stomped down the hill, choosing an especially steep part of the slope.
Walter hurried to follow, sliding at times to keep from pitching forward. He caught up with Ashley, then took the lead. “I think I still have it marked.”
They tromped into the thicket, their feet crunching on a carpet of decaying debris. Walter kept his voice low. “With all the noise we’re making, whoever was here probably knows he has company.”
Ashley shone her penlight all around and whispered, “If we don’t see the professor soon, we’ll just have to shout for him.” The thin beam darted from tree to tree. “What’s this?” She steadied the light at a two-foot-high rock wedged into the ground at the base of an oak tree. The tree’s low-hanging limbs seemed to stretch out and form a cradle.
“It’s just a stone of some kind,” Walter said.
Ashley bent down and placed her hand on the stone’s smooth top. “No. It’s carved, and it has writing on it.” She shone the light on its flat face. “Born—1948. Last seen at this tree on October 31, 1964.” Ashley turned toward Walter. Even in the dimness he could see her alarm. “Walter! It’s a tombstone!”
Chapter 14
THE FORGOTTEN CITY
Bonnie plummeted through cold darkness. She beat her wings, but they caught nothing, ripping through the vacuum in silence. With no air, she couldn’t even catch her breath to gasp or scream. Her head pounded. Her skin seemed ready to explode.
Finally, she plunged into a blanket of air, and her lungs drank it in like a pair of thirsty sponges. Her wings pulled against the cool breezes and eased her body slowly downward, allowing her to survey her new surroundings from above.
The sun peeked over the horizon, casting narrow beams through pink and orange clouds. A city lay below—chimneys on low-rising roofs, empty horse carts parked at the sides of roads no wider than a dragon wing, and crates stacked in alleys between densely packed buildings. The chimneys gave no hint of smoke. No lights shone in the homes. No lamps lined the streets of cobblestone.
Bonnie scanned the city for signs of movement. Nothing. Not even hints of trash blowing down the street in the fresh, cool breeze. Each new part of this strange world proved colder than the previous one. Here, in the waking dawn, crisp, biting air chilled her bare hands, so she pulled them inside her warm, fleecy sleeves. Somehow her sweatshirt had dried during her descent.
She settled lower and performed an on-the-run landing in the middle of town. Letting out a long puff of white vapor, she stopped on the cobblestone road and scanned the area, her hands on her hips. The town looked like a cross between an Old West ghost town and a modern English village. Vacant businesses lined each side of the street, ranging from a dressmaker called, “We Are Not What We Seam” to a pub with a medieval-style bottle over the door that carried the words, “Good For What Ales You.”
Bonnie whispered to herself, “No wonder it’s a ghost town. These puns probably killed everyone.” The wind whipped sand around her boots, loose doors creaked on rusty hinges, and dangling signs beat against warped rooflines. She half expected to see a tumbleweed roll by.
A shadow disappeared into an alley—quick, fleeting, like a startled animal, maybe a dog scampering away. Bonnie jerked her head toward the movement. Nothing else stirred. She hustled to a narrow walkway at the edge of the road, glancing up at the sign over the nearest door. “Sahara’s Dry Goods.” A dusty window revealed empty shelves lining the inner walls and broken crates littering the floor.
She prowled toward the side of the building, creeping nearer to the alley where she had seen the shadow. With her wings stretched out, ready to fly, she peered around the corner.
With the sun still low on the horizon, the sandwiched buildings kept the five-foot gap between them in dim shadows. About thirty yards back, the alley ended at a rough brick wall where stacks of crates reached a third of the way to the roof.
Bonnie bit her lip and took three cautious steps into the shadows. More boxes lined the side walls, ripped open and piled haphazardly, like a broken staircase leading to nowhere.
A stifled gasp squeaked from the wall to Bonnie’s left. She crouched, her eyes searching for the source of the sound. She took a long, slow step and reached toward one of the empty crates. With a quick yank, she flung it to the side.
Bonnie slapped her hand against her chest. “A girl!”
Covering her face with a trembling arm, a young woman cowered in a corner created by the wall and a stack of crates. “Get . . . get away from me!”
Tears welled in Bonnie’s eyes. The girl, about her own age, wore a tattered, frilly dress, her arm smudged with alley grime. Bonnie reached her hand out slowly, her voice pitching higher and quaking. “Don’t . . . don’t worry! I’m not going to hurt you.”
The girl’s frightened eyes peered out from underneath her arm. As she squished farther into the corner, her voice quavered like a shivering kitten. “You’re a . . . a monster! Some . . . some kind of bat woman!”
Bonnie quickly folded in her wings, and her voice faltered again. “I’m not a . . . a bat woman. I’m a girl, just . . . just like you.” Still in a crouch, Bonnie crept closer. “My wings are just extra. The rest of me is normal.”
The girl squirmed back but couldn’t slide any closer t
o the wall. “You’re not normal! You have scales . . . like . . . like a lizard!”
Bonnie raised her hands to her cheeks and caressed the grooves in her leather-like skin. She closed her eyes and took a quick breath, opening them again to gaze at the girl. She was so pitiful. Her dress was no more than a rag, riddled with such gaping holes that she had to clutch the ratty fabric with her free hand to cover her exposed torso.
Bonnie tried to swallow a growing lump. “I . . . I don’t know how to explain the scales, but I’m really not a monster. I won’t hurt you.” She extended her hand again. “My name is Bonnie Silver. What’s yours?”
The girl’s lips trembled. “Sh . . . Shiloh.”
Bonnie leaned over slowly and slipped her hand into Shiloh’s. “Will you stand up and talk with me? Maybe we can help each other.”
Shiloh grasped Bonnie’s hand, and Bonnie hoisted her to her feet. Now that Shiloh was standing, the rising sun cast its morning glow on her face. Bonnie recoiled, letting Shiloh’s hand drop. “You look . . .” She swallowed hard. “You look just like me!”
Shiloh’s eyes narrowed under her wrinkling brow, and her voice sharpened, revealing a distinct British accent. “How can you say that? I don’t look anything like you.”
Bonnie gazed at Shiloh’s face—her blue eyes, her small nose, her blonde-streaked hair. She seemed to be a mirror—dirty and reversed—but still the reflection Bonnie recognized as her own. She raised her hand to touch Shiloh’s face, then pulled back and touched her own cheek. “I . . . I haven’t always looked like this. I don’t know what happened to me.”
Shiloh gave a thin smile. She tugged at the shoulder of her dress and clutched a hole closed in front, her face turning pink. “Then we’re in the same boat. I don’t know what happened to me, either.”
The cool morning wind gusted into the alley. Shiloh drew her arms in close to her body and shivered. The hem of her party dress dropped to just above her scuffed knees, revealing scratches on her left calf and blonde hair flourishing on both legs.
