Circles of Seven (24 page)

Irene straightened her back and placed her hands on her knees. “But will he give the sword to her? Devin is evil, but he is not stupid. Once she possesses the sword, she will have no more use for him.”

Valcor slid the candle closer to the letter and shook his head. “When Merlin and I journeyed to Avalon to rescue the king, I learned that Morgan cannot keep Excalibur, or anything else, unless its protector freely hands it over to her.” He pressed his finger on the page. “This letter explains what I believe is an even greater danger. You see, in order to secure the king’s freedom, Merlin promised to tell Morgan how to restore her wandering spirit to a body, but he refused to give her the information until His Majesty and I arrived safely in Camelot. The promise, it seems, has been fulfilled in this letter, which I recently learned was in Devin’s possession.”

Irene shifted to Valcor’s side and draped her shawl across his shoulders. She eyed the letter’s exquisite penmanship. “Why would Merlin make such a promise to a witch?”

Valcor took her hand. “I asked Merlin that very question. He said the plan is of divine origin and extends well beyond his vision, but we should not worry; God knows what He is doing. In any case, it seems that Morgan is not a witch, at least not the common variety we have seen. She was the wife of a Watcher.”

“A Watcher!” Jared repeated. “I thought they were all banished to the abyss!”

“They were, but Morgan’s husband taught her the Watchers’ crafts, the evil arts of the fallen angels. She did not know that practicing these arts would cause her to lose her humanity. She actually took on the nature of the Watchers. She has no hope of redemption without becoming human again and giving herself in obedience to the Christ. She craves a new body. But obedience to the Christ?” Valcor let out a low snort.

A peal of thunder rolled across the sky. Valcor’s gaze flashed toward the tent entrance as he rolled up the scroll and thrust it back into his vest. “There is much to explain, and time is short.” He held his hand over his vest pocket. “It seems that Merlin told Morgan she needed a
hostiam viventem,
a living sacrifice, in order to become human again. That sacrifice has to be a legal, female relative of the king—a wife, a daughter, or perhaps even a niece. Well, Morgan had her evil eye on Guinevere, but not even demonic arts could persuade Arthur to give up his wife. So, it seems that she changed her plan, hoping Devin could take the throne.”

“But how would that further her cause?” Jared asked. “Devin has no wife and no female relatives that I know of.”

“Who would have him?” Irene sliced her hand across her throat. “I would kill myself before I let that piece of filth touch me!”

Valcor smirked. “Even dead, you might still be a target. Merlin said that a deceased woman could be a hostiam if she sacrificed herself for the cause of love, assuming, of course, that the body has not been dead long. But Devin would have no need to hunt for corpses. If he had succeeded in usurping the throne, he would have had his choice of women. Morgan would have entered his wife and become queen, and Devin would gain enough power to rule the world. I believe Devin would have put up with a witch of a wife for a prize like that.”

A distant howl drifted into the tent. Valcor pushed the entrance flap to the side and leaned out, then ducked his head back in. “So Devin and Morgan have an understanding. She provides him with power, with influence in high places, and he, in turn, uses that power to become king, gets married, then provides Morgan with a body to live in.”

Irene raised a finger to her chest. “But if any legal female relative would serve as host, then I really would be a candidate, would I not, since I am an adopted daughter?”

Valcor nodded. “You would be, yes.”

“Then why does Devin seek to kill me?”

“Because,” Valcor replied, stroking his chin, “he has identified you as a former dragon. He hasn’t yet made the connection that you are also in the royal line. So you have peril either way. If you are a dragon, Devin wants you dead. If you are an heir, Morgan wants you alive, yet in such a way that you would be better off dead. I believe, however, that Devin’s bloodlust will override his desire to search for Morgan’s hostiam, so he will likely try to kill you until the day he dies.”

“If he ever dies,” Irene added.

Jared’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “If? Why do you say if?”

“Haven’t you noticed his new youthfulness?” Irene asked. She brushed her finger across her calf. “He shows no sign of the leg wound I gave him when I fought with him as a dragon. If Morgan’s evil handiwork has made him like the Watchers, then who knows how long he might live?”

Valcor firmed his chin. “Then I was right. We should all go into hiding. Although your friendship is dear to me, we must separate. The farther apart we live and the less we communicate with each other, the more difficult it will be for Devin and Morgan to find us all.”

He began to rise, but Irene pulled on his sleeve. “Wait. I have something for you.” She opened her palm. Two spherical red stones rolled to the edge of her hand, looking like a pair of polished cranberries at the peak of harvest. She plucked them from her palm, handing one to each of the men. “You know what the rubellite means to the dragon race. I ask you to keep it. Always remember what we once were. If you ever procreate, pass it along to your progeny at the appropriate time.” She gazed up at them, her blue eyes sparkling. “As these gems reflect the vitality of your mortal essence, may you always reflect the nobility of our race through your courage, your integrity, and your sacrifice.”

Valcor stood and bowed, tears streaming down his cheeks. He rolled a tear onto his finger and held it out for Jared and Irene to see. “How rare were the tears of a dragon. We once lived in Paradise, and because of the corruption of an angel disguised as a dragon, all the world was cast into darkness. Now, as humans, we shed many tears—for what was lost, for what might have been, and for the end of friendships. Good-bye, my true friends.” He bowed again and hurried from the tent.

“We had better go as well,” Jared said, holding the tent flap open for Irene.

She raised a finger. “We must wait for his signal that all is clear.”

They waited, listening so intently they could hear a faint sizzle from the candlewick. Another howl pierced the night. Jared wet his fingers and snuffed the flame. “That’s a good enough signal for me.” He and Irene shuffled from the tent and folded it up.

After inhaling deeply, Jared tucked the bundle under his arm. “It’s a new world, Hartanna, if I may call you that one last time. We will now be alone and friendless, perhaps for many years. This knowledge of Morgan’s intent to capture a hostiam is vital in helping us understand our enemies, but it also casts a heavy burden on our shoulders.” He took Irene’s hand. Her eyes glittered in the moon-washed night. “If Valcor speaks the truth,” he said, “you are in the greatest danger. You must go into hiding as far away as possible, and it would be best if I never learn where you are.”

Irene intertwined her fingers in his. “Valcor speaks the truth. Of that we can always be sure.”

Jared kissed her hand. “May the Maker grant you safe passage.” He bowed and marched quickly to the north. Irene closed her eyes briefly, then hurried away toward the south.

Valcor, hiding behind a tree, watched them depart, listening to the mournful howls of the approaching dogs. He jogged a hundred paces or so toward the sound, rubbed his hands on the grass, then dashed away to the west.

Fifteen hundred years passed. In the town of Glastonbury, England, a man and his wife celebrated their daughter’s fifteenth birthday in the shade of a lush oak tree. A magnificent, grassy hill towered over them as they spread out a checkered blanket in a copse that grew near the base of the steep slope. The mother set a double fudge, two-layer cake in the center of the blanket, and the three sat in a circle as she lit the candles, cupping her hand around the match to keep the cool breeze from snuffing out her efforts.

As soon as the last candle came to life, the parents sang a hurried version of “Happy Birthday to You.” The girl then leaned forward and blew the candles out. Her father clapped his hands. “All fifteen in one blow!”

The girl pushed back her blonde-streaked hair and smiled. “I think the wind helped me.”

“And now for your gift!” He pulled a small, velvet-covered box from his jacket pocket, and, carefully lifting the hinged lid, he presented it to her.

As she drew out a delicate gold chain, a wide smile spread across her face. An octagonal bronze pendant dangled at the bottom of the chain with a bean-sized white stone glimmering at its center.

Her mother ran a finger along the chain’s links. “Do you like it?” she asked.

The girl leaned over and kissed both her parents on the cheek. “I love it! Thank you!” She settled back and examined the gem in the pendant’s center. “What is this? A pearl?”

Her father helped her fasten the chain around her neck. “It’s a rubellite, the rarest kind. It was once red, and it suddenly turned white before you were born. It’s a family heirloom my sister gave me a long time ago.”

The girl rubbed her thumb across the smooth stone. “You mean Irene? From your stories about the dragons?”

“Yes. It represents our life essence. Irene—”

A man burst into the copse. “Here they are!” He drew a sword from a scabbard and ran toward the birthday gathering.

The father leaped to his feet and stood in front of his wife and daughter, spreading his arms as a shield. The intruder halted and pricked the father’s throat with the point of the sword. The mother jumped up, but her husband lifted his hand, signaling for her to stay away. He angled his head back. “Palin!” He swallowed hard, feeling the sting of the blade. “What is the meaning of this?”

A female voice answered. “You know the meaning, Valcor.”

Palin stepped aside, lowering the sword. A slender, dark-haired woman appeared from behind a tree. Her ghostly form seemed to float, though her legs moved in a normal cadence.

Valcor smirked and nodded. “Morgan. How typical of you to pollute the pristine like a walking weed.”

A scowl flashed across Morgan’s face, but she recovered quickly, her dark red lips stretching out over her teeth. “Poetic, as always, my old friend, but your insults are misplaced. I have a wonderful birthday gift for Shiloh, and I would like for her to come with me to receive it.”

Shiloh stood behind her father and wrapped her arms around his waist. He grasped her hands in front, intertwining his fingers with hers. “When pigs fly, Witch!”

Morgan’s smile melted into a thin horizontal line. “I thought you would come up with a more original quip, Valcor, but your denial was expected.”

Valcor nodded toward Palin. “Where is your other pet gorilla? Has Devin finally given up hunting for your hostiam?”

Morgan reached for Palin’s blade and pricked her finger on its tip. “Devin is not known for handling these matters delicately. You would fight. He would kill you. All would be lost.” She held out her hand, palm down, allowing a drop of blood to fall to the leaf-strewn grass. A wiggling brown sliver crawled out of the ground, like an earthworm squeezing up from a narrow hole. As it emerged, it lengthened to the size of a man’s foot, then doubled, constantly growing in girth, and its end morphed into the head of a snake as it continued to stretch.

Morgan grasped the snake’s midsection and wrapped its body around her shoulders and torso, carrying its neck in her hand as the hissing head bared its fangs at Valcor. “So when we finally tracked you down,” she continued, “I sent Devin to make sure the place I prepared is ready for your daughter’s arrival.” She stepped toward Valcor, and the snake lunged. Its fangs latched onto Shiloh’s forearm.

She screamed, shaking her arm until the snake finally released her and dropped to the ground. Valcor stomped on its head with the heel of his boot, pounding it flat. Shiloh’s mother pulled her daughter away and hustled to the nearby oak tree.

Morgan shook her head in mock lament. “What a shame! Now I’ll have to take Shiloh with me.” She picked up the dead snake by the tail. “You see, I have the only cure for the serpent’s venom.”

As Valcor’s wife tried to tend to their daughter’s wound, he spun toward Morgan, his red face taut. “What good is she to you?” he shouted, spitting his words. “She can’t be your hostiam without my approval!”

“Don’t worry. I will keep her safe in the sixth circle until you change your mind. I’ll let you decide which is better for her. Will you allow me to take her body and send her soul to God, or will you condemn her to live an eternity of tortured loneliness? For now, though, you have to answer a more urgent question. Will you allow the serpent’s venom to rot her flesh over the next three days until she suffers an excruciatingly painful death?”

Valcor shot her a threatening glare. “For healing only. Not as your hostiam.” He ran to the tree and scooped Shiloh into his arms, whispering as he carried her back to Morgan. “Will you trust me, dearest angel?”

Amid streaming tears, she nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”

He gazed into her eyes, his own tears falling to her dress. “Will you remember what I’ve taught you? Never lose faith, no matter how long it takes. Above all, never eat Morgan’s food. God will provide for all your needs.”

She shook her head, breaking into a sob. “I won’t forget, Daddy! I’ll never forget!”

Chapter 18

Escape

Shiloh released her knees and extended her arm, displaying two tiny snakebite scars near the crook of her elbow. “So Palin carried me up the hill and threw me down near the top. My parents followed, and when Palin dropped me, Mum ran up and tried to help me. Then Morgan shoved Mum with her foot, and she fell, but I couldn’t see what happened to her. Morgan clamped her arms around me, and everything went black, like I fainted or something. When I woke up, I was locked in a cramped bedroom for three days, and this weird doctor kept showing up to make me drink some awful tea. I knew I couldn’t eat what she gave me, but I figured that drinking was okay. Then, one morning, I woke up in my alley.”

Bonnie held out her own arm and caressed her scars, needle marks from the dozens of times her father had drawn blood. “You and I really do have a lot in common.” She took Shiloh’s hand. “Irene is . . . was my mother. We’re cousins.”

Shiloh’s mouth dropped slowly open. “Cousins?”

Bonnie smiled, nodding her head excitedly. “We’re both dragons. Isn’t that awesome?”

Shiloh released Bonnie’s hand and folded hers together. “I . . . I guess it’s awesome that we’re cousins, but I’m not a dragon.”

“But if Valcor’s your father, then you must have dragon blood.”

Shiloh shook her head. “He told me he found a way to become fully human before I was born, so I’m fully human, too.”

Bonnie lifted her hand and caressed her scaly cheek. “Wow!” She quickly dropped it, folding her hands and matching Shiloh’s pose. “So you still don’t know what happened to your mom and dad?”

“No,” Shiloh replied, her head drooping. “I can’t even remember what my mother looked like. But even after all these years, I still see my daddy’s face in my dreams, the same way it looked when he put me in Morgan’s arms, tortured, like he was about to crumble into pieces. And I still wake up in the middle of the night, hearing him call in that same voice, ‘Never lose faith, no matter how long it takes.’”

“That’s what’s kept you going, I’ll bet.”

Shiloh pulled up a thin chain around her neck and held the pendant in her palm. “That and my father’s gift. As long as I wear it, I’ll never forget his love for me.” The pendant’s rubellite center pulsed between red and white, painting her fingers in alternating hues. “It just started flashing like this last night. I was hoping it was a good sign, and now that you’re here, I’m sure of it.”

Bonnie spread out the fingers of her own right hand. The stone in her ring strobed, too, but at a slightly faster rate than Shiloh’s. “It’s almost like a heartbeat, isn’t it?” She placed her left hand on her chest and compared the rhythmic pulses. “But it’s not the same pace as my heart.” She folded her fingers into a fist and covered it with her other hand. “Strange. It’s never done this before.”

“Mine was solid white for years, so maybe the pulsing’s got something to do with you coming here.”

Bonnie nodded slowly. “Maybe.” She smiled and extended a hand to Shiloh. “Ready to try to get back home?”

Shiloh grinned. “Ready!”

Pulling on each other’s hands, they stood up together. Bonnie picked up the sign, propped it up lengthwise, and slid it close to the door. “Now, when I slide it in, if everything looks clear, jump through the hole.”

Shiloh crouched next to the opening. She licked her lips and swallowed. “Okay . . . I think I can do that.”

Bonnie took a deep breath. “Ready?”

Shiloh held up her hand. “Wait! How are you going to get home?”

“Don’t worry about me. I told you we came to rescue prisoners, and that’s what I intend to do. Even if Billy doesn’t find me, I’m sure I’ll get home somehow.”

A tear slipped down Shiloh’s cheek. She rose to her feet again and untied her bead necklace. “Okay,” she said, fastening the string around Bonnie’s neck. “We’d better do it before I change my mind.”

Bonnie gripped the sign with both hands and shoved. The edge penetrated the doorway. Sparks shot out, enveloping Bonnie with a surging electric buzz. “All clear?” she grunted.

Shiloh peered into the gap. “I see the tree!”

The sign ripped out of Bonnie’s hands and flew toward Shiloh. Shiloh ducked just in time as the board spun like a rectangular Frisbee out into the street.

Shiloh lowered her head to the porch floor and pounded the boards with her fist. “No! I’ll never get out of here! Never!”

Bonnie firmed her chin and spread her wings. She leaned into the doorway and thrust her right wing into the energy field. Waves of shock tore across her skin, boring into her flesh like a thousand power drills. She erupted in a guttural scream. “Go! Goooo noooowwww!”

Shiloh stood and leaped into the gap in one motion. Her body slipped through a thin, jelly-like membrane and disappeared from sight. A new jolt of electricity slammed into Bonnie like a runaway truck, shooting through her heart and tossing her body into the air. She tumbled across the dirty road like an old rag doll—arms, legs, and wings flopping haphazardly through the dust.

When she came to a stop, everything seemed dark—the cobblestones, the buildings, the sky—but she could see a solitary man slowly approaching.

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, but she couldn’t move anything. Her whole body tingled. Her head swam in the swirling mix of darkness and sparks of colorful light. She could barely breathe, gasping for a mere puff of fresh air. She heaved her chest, whispering a desperate prayer. “Jesus, help me!”

The words of the poem at the base of the statue drifted across her ears like a song, “Contentment holds eternal keys to days of peace that never pass.”

“Contentment,” Bonnie whispered. The whole world exploded in light—a single brilliant flash—and then blackness.

The professor jogged back to the stand of trees with Apollo in hand. “Did you get enough data?”

Ashley studied her computer. “Plenty of data, maybe too much for this computer. If Larry were up and running, he could map this in a heartbeat.”

Walter, the professor, and Marilyn huddled around Ashley and watched the screen draw lines on a graph, slowly illuminating one pixel at a time. Ashley groaned. “This will take forever!”

A static-filled voice sputtered through the computer’s speaker. “Your graph is complete. I’m sending the image to your screen.”

“Larry!”

“In the flesh. . . . Or rather, in the silicon.”

“Karen!” Ashley shouted. “Good job!”

Karen’s voice sounded through the speakers, loud and lively. “Thanks. It wasn’t the I/O board after all. I found a trail of little black pellets at the bottom of Larry’s casing and followed it to a nest of mice next to the secondary exhaust fan. I guess all the trash they gathered gummed up the outflow. Larry just overheated and tripped a breaker on the Omega panel.”

“Great detective work!” Ashley held the computer out for everyone to see. “Here’s the image!” A graph flashed on the screen showing a series of lines growing closer and closer together as they reached a solid point.

The professor placed his finger at the focus of the tightening circles. “Can you find this point on the tor?”

“Larry,” Ashley called, “can you guide us to the maximum vortex point?”

“With pleasure.”

The foursome ascended the steeper side of the tor, correcting their course a few times based on Larry’s directions. As they neared the top of the hill, they slowed their pace.

“Okay, Ashley. You are standing at the max point.”

Ashley braced one foot on the steep slope and the other on a terrace. “Good. Can you tell if Apollo is able to do a flash?”

“Apollo is . . .” Larry paused.

“What?” Ashley said, shaking the computer. “Apollo is what?”

“Ashley, my programming instructs me to report an anomaly.”

“An anomaly? What is it? No! I mean . . . go on.”

“Apollo is currently reading an electromagnetic field disruption at the focal point. I suggest you step back.”

Ashley wedged Apollo’s base into the ground, then backed away, pushing the other three with her. She pulled the computer close to her ear. “Keep me up to date, Larry.”

“To quote Star Wars, Ashley, ‘there is a great disturbance in the force.’ And it’s growing to an unstable level. I predict a significant cross-dimensional rift.”

A flash of light exploded in a hail of sparks. A brilliant white rectangle appeared, floating a few inches above Apollo, too bright to see through. Seconds later, a body dove out of the light. It struck the ground headfirst and tumbled down the tor, twisting to the side and rolling to the edge of the trees.

Walter dashed down the hill. The new arrival, a young female, sat up, holding her hand against her forehead. Walter skidded to a stop and extended his hand. “Are you okay?”

The girl accepted his hand and pulled herself up, her eyes focused on a nasty elbow abrasion. “Yes. I’m fine.” Her voice was low and very British. She lifted her head, and her eyes met Walter’s. “Who are you?”

Walter grabbed her shoulders. “Bonnie?” The professor, Ashley, and Marilyn caught up and surrounded the girl.

She pulled away from Walter’s grasp. “I’m not Bonnie!” Placing her palm on her head again, she moaned. “Ohhh! What a trip!”

Ashley peered into the girl’s eyes as the moon illuminated her dirty face. “Bonnie, don’t you recognize us?”

The professor shone his light on the girl’s forehead, then her clothes. “Miss Silver, your dress is not the one you wore when you left, but I recognize the Narnia shirt I gave you for Christmas. I believe you are suffering a bout of amnesia. That was quite a spill you took.”

She smiled and turned her back to the professor. “I’m not Bonnie. Look. No wings.” She took a deep breath and spread her arms out, slowly turning. She let out a long squeal, ending with, “I’m home! I’m finally home!”

“Home?” Walter repeated. “Where have you been?”

The professor turned off his light. “I believe, Mr. Foley, that her accent indicates a local origin. She must have been one of the prisoners of the circles.”

The girl extended her hand toward the professor. “Shiloh Nathanson. Pleased to meet you.”

The professor shook her hand. “Charles Hamilton, at your service.”

“Wait a minute,” Walter said, pointing at Shiloh. “If you know about Bonnie’s wings, then you must know Bonnie.”

“You bet I do! She’s the one who got me here! There’s this strange doorway, and she opened a hole in some kind of electric fence so I could jump through.”

“So where is she now?” Marilyn asked.

Shiloh flicked her thumb toward her entry point upslope. “Still in there. But she said not to worry; some guy named Billy would find her and get her out.”

Walter smacked his fist into his hand. “Then they’re still separated!”

Shiloh nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

The professor gazed into Shiloh’s eyes. “Miss Nathanson, where is your home?”

“Here in Glastonbury . . . well, on the outskirts of town, really.”

“Perhaps we can take you there. I’m certain your parents are beyond merely worried about you.”

“That’s for sure . . . If they’re still alive.”

The professor leaned over, lowering his voice. “I am puzzled about your striking resemblance to Bonnie Silver. Who
are
your parents?”

“Robert and Sarah Nathanson, but I’m sure they’ve changed names again by now. That was forty years ago, and they were always on the run.”

Walter’s foot slipped, but he quickly righted himself. “Forty years! But you’re my age!”

Shiloh shook her head and laughed. “Not exactly. I guess I’m fifty-five now. I left on my fifteenth birthday.”

The professor pinched his chin. “I know of a Nathanson in Glastonbury, but he is childless. Perhaps he is your father’s relative. If your parents are no longer here, I can take you to him.”

“Ashley, I must report another anomaly.”

Ashley lifted the computer. “Let’s hear it, Larry.”

“Apollo is reporting a fully-charged flash engine.”

Ashley swung her head and looked up toward the portal. The door of light had vanished, and the moon shone on the hillside . . . the empty hillside. “Apollo’s gone!”

“Impossible, Ashley. Invisible to you, maybe, but not gone. Its signal is somewhat warped. I conclude that it has moved through the portal.”

“That big flash must have recharged it!” Walter exclaimed, leaning over the computer. “Can you program it? Can Bonnie use Apollo to get home?”

“Yes, I have made the proper adjustments. My communications with the unit are now completely in sync. The subject, however, will have to see the rift in the dimensional barrier and know how to use it.”

Ashley fingered the barrettes in her hair. “A hole in an electric fence? So that’s why she didn’t need a cloak.” She tilted her head upward. “Karen. You listening?”

“Are you kidding? This is better than
Star Trek
reruns!”

“Listen! Fire up the word processor. You’re going to send a note to Bonnie, special delivery!” Ashley jerked the computer up to her mouth. “Barlow! What’s up with Billy?”

“It’s hard to tell, Miss. I think his shirt has overlapped his belt and has obscured most of the view. I can tell that he’s moving, but I see only rocks on the ground.”

“Check the circles. Which drawing is he in?”

“One moment.”

Shiloh stared at the handheld computer. “This Barlow guy can tell where Billy is?”

“Yes,” Ashley explained. “There’s a drawing of circles on a floor, and two lights show up in the circles, one for Billy, and one for Bonnie. Bonnie was in what we’re calling the sixth circle. I suppose that’s where you were, too. Anyway, whenever they go somewhere else—”

Barlow’s voice interrupted. “He is in the southwest circle. The eyes of the child in the picture are glowing. But there is no longer a light in the western circle.”

Ashley bit her lip. “Bonnie’s not in number six anymore?”

Shiloh pushed her head between Ashley’s face and the computer. “Are you sure, Mr. Barlow? I just saw her there two minutes ago.”

Ashley leaned away from Shiloh and pulled the computer closer. “Check all the circles, Barlow. She has to be there somewhere.”

“Very well, Miss.”

Shiloh folded her hands behind her back. “I’ve got . . .”—she swallowed, and her voice rose to a trembling pitch—“a sick feeling in my stomach.”