Circles of Seven (4 page)

The professor pulled a chain from his trouser pocket and caught the watch in his palm, extending his arm beyond the shadows. The setting moon, nearly full and ghostly white, illuminated the thick blanket of clouds on the western half of the sky and cast a faint glow on the antique, analog face. “About half an hour, William.” He slid the watch back into his pocket. “The dragons’ delay concerns me. With the sun rising soon, I fear their discovery.” From another pocket he drew out a light brown beret. After running his fingers through his scattered white hair, he pressed the cap over his head. “It’s getting cooler,” he said, turning toward Billy.

“Yeah. I noticed.” Billy felt drawn to the professor’s insistent gaze and shifted his eyes toward his teacher. The early morning mist flecked the elderly sage’s wrinkles with tiny dots of moisture.

“Do you still sense danger?” the professor asked.

Billy shook his head. “No. The feeling left a few minutes after we got here.” Although the prickly sensation on his skin and the boiling in his stomach had subsided, he still felt an ache, a different kind of pain deep inside.

The professor laid his hand on Billy’s shoulder. “I have something for you,” he said, holding his other hand open. At the center of his palm lay a wide gold band with a dime-sized red stone mounted in the center. “William, I saw your rubellite ring in your suitcase. May I ask why you are no longer wearing it?”

Billy pulled a lace on his hiking shoe and retied it into a secure, double knot. “I guess it makes me think too much,” he finally replied.

The professor held the ring in his fingertips. His wise, old eyes gleamed under his bushy brow. “This rubellite is more than a mere bauble, William. It is a symbol of who you are; it is a connection to your heritage.”

Billy retied his other shoe, finishing with an emphatic yank on the lace. “Well, maybe that’s the whole problem right there.” He stood up and shoved his hands into his pockets.

The professor rose with him and gently grasped his forearm. “William, you probably think that I cannot possibly understand your pain. You have lost your father, yet he continues to haunt your life as a phantom in dragon form. How can the grief in your soul ever be mended when his every appearance scalds your heart as surely as if he pierced you with a blast of fire?”

The professor opened Billy’s hand and slid the ring onto his index finger. “Never lose hope,” he said, closing Billy’s hand into a fist. “This ring appeared at the threshold of despair, at the very moment darkness met the dawn.” The professor’s hands trembled, and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Don’t give in to darkness.” His long fingers tightened over Billy’s fist. “For the dawn will eventually break.”

Billy’s face grew hot. His eyes moistened. He couldn’t refute a single word his teacher had spoken. Somewhere in that scaly dragon named Clefspeare the spirit of his father lived on, though the voice that growled past the sparks and flames denied that he was any longer Billy’s true father.

The professor patted Billy on the back. “William, as your heart aches, remember this: ‘Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.’”

Billy lowered his head. He balled his hand into a fist and rubbed his ring’s gemstone with his thumb. The rubellite was cold. It was lifeless. But it was all he had remaining of his father’s touch.

The professor walked slowly out of the stand of trees and stood atop a low berm that encircled a huge, grassy field.

Billy followed and mounted the embankment at the professor’s side. With his hands in the pockets of his pleated trousers, the professor gazed up at the sky and let out a long stream of white vapor. “Many people are offended when I speak freely about my faith, but I trust, now, that you are not.”

Billy shrugged his shoulders. “No, I’m not offended.” He followed his teacher’s line of sight; the clouds had drifted to the west, exposing the northern sky. “What’s on your mind?”

The professor pointed into the darkness. “Do you see that star?”

“The one that looks kind of yellow?”

“No. I believe you are referring to Kochab. Look more to the left.”

“Okay. I think I’ve got it.”

“That’s Polaris, the North Star.” He glanced down at Billy. “I assume you’ve heard of it.”

“Sure. It’s always due north. Sailors used it for guidance back before satellites came around.”

“And many explorers still use it.” The professor moved his finger in a counterclockwise circle. “If you could see a time-lapse film of the night sky, all the stars would stretch out into a stream and draw concentric circles with Polaris at the center, yet, for all practical purposes, Polaris would remain a single point—unmoved, always guiding, a light that never changes.”

A fresh breeze blew across the field, biting through Billy’s flannel shirt. He zipped up his jacket and bounced on his toes. “I think I’ve seen a picture like that before, but I don’t remember where.”

The professor shifted his finger up to the right. “And you probably recognize that constellation.”

Billy ducked under the professor’s elbow and followed the angle of his arm. “I see the big dipper. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes. Ursa Major. We call part of it ‘The Plough’ here in England, and in ancient times, it was called ‘King Arthur’s Chariot.’ Do you see how the two stars in the dipper make a line that points toward Polaris?”

Billy pulled a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket and began slipping them on. “Sure, Prof. I’ve seen that before. I used to go out and look at the stars with Dad and . . .” Billy clenched his gloved fingers together. “So what’s all this got to do with your faith?”

The professor drew out his own gloves from his back pocket and put them on, keeping his eyes on his fingers as he slowly pushed them into the holes. “Much of what you have learned about faith, you have learned from me, but where you are soon going, I cannot come.” He pulled out his watch again, fumbled the latch open through his thick gloves, then, after reading the time, snapped the casing shut. He kept it in his closed fist as he shifted his gaze to the northern sky. “God always provides a guiding light, William. No matter how dark it seems or how terrible the situation, you can always count on finding a glimmer, a spark of light in the deepest blackness that will tell you which way to go.”

Billy watched the twinkling north star, imagining a lonely explorer looking up at the same star a thousand years ago, counting on its never-changing position to keep him on his charted course. When he turned to the professor, his teacher’s sad, deeply set eyes were trained directly on him.

“Do you understand?” the professor asked.

Billy nodded. “Yes.” He then looked back at the sky and wrapped his arms around his chest to battle a new gust of wind. “I think I know exactly what you mean.”

The first hint of dawn appeared on the eastern horizon, and the professor stepped down from the berm onto the grassy field. “Now we can finally search the area.” His long legs stretched into a quick pace. “Bring Excalibur, William.”

Billy hustled the few steps back to the tree where he had left Excalibur. He strapped the scabbard to his waist and vaulted over the embankment again, following his spry teacher into the circular field. He searched the grassy dome, scanning both the ground and the brightening sky. The clouds had moved in from the west again, but they couldn’t keep the sun’s rays from spilling across the hilltop as the horizon dawned clear and sparkling blue.

Within seconds a huge shadow covered the hilltop. Billy jerked his head up toward the eastern sky. “It’s a dragon! Is it . . . Dad? . . . No. It’s Hartanna!”

Gusts of wind bent the grass and whipped Billy’s hair while two madly flapping wings settled Hartanna’s enormous body onto the hilltop. “Billy! Professor!” she growled. “Climb onto my back! We must fly!”

Billy scrambled up Hartanna’s flank and straddled her back between her shoulders. The professor extended his long arms and grasped one of Hartanna’s spines to pull himself up. With a final push, he boosted himself aboard, just behind Billy.

Two seconds later, her wings beat the air again. “Hold on!” Hartanna shouted. With a sudden vertical lift, the great she-dragon took off, heading straight for the clouds to the west. Billy wrapped the fingers of both hands around a two-foot-long spine and held his breath. The g-forces were so great, he felt his brain pushing into his sinus cavity.

After they passed upward through the cloud bank and slowed their ascent, Billy looked back at the professor, mounted like a seasoned warrior with a steely gaze. Billy understood the professor’s serious countenance. If he had a mirror, he’d probably see the same expression on his own face. One dragon alone meant trouble.

Hartanna shouted through the wind. “Clefspeare, Bonnie, and Sir Patrick’s squire were ambushed by two of the New Table’s so-called knights. I rushed down and killed one of the fiends, but the other held a knife at Bonnie’s throat. He demanded Clefspeare’s promise to go with him quietly, and he would treat him as a prisoner of honor.”

“A prisoner of honor?” Billy yelled. “What’s that?”

“We used that term back in the sixth century. It means he won’t kill his prisoner without giving him a fair fight, and the prisoner must agree to go peacefully. When Clefspeare gave his word, the coward let Bonnie go and led Clefspeare away. I guided Bonnie and the squire to a safe place.”

The professor leaned over and shouted, “Sir Patrick’s squire? That must have been Markus. Is he still with Miss Silver?”

“No. When I dropped them off, Markus insisted on reporting to his master, but Bonnie refused to go with him, saying that she wouldn’t trust anyone but her teacher and me. I agreed and sent Markus away, but since tracking Clefspeare was an urgent matter and great speed was necessary, I decided to leave Bonnie behind. I sensed no danger, even while Markus was present, and Bonnie assured me that she would fly away if she heard or smelled anything strange. Unfortunately, I have been unable to find Clefspeare and his kidnapper. I can’t imagine how they disappeared so quickly.”

Although the wind buffeted the dragon’s words, Billy understood the gist. “But what was Patrick’s squire doing there? He wasn’t even supposed to know about the meeting.”

“My question exactly,” Hartanna replied, “but I was in too much of a hurry to interrogate him as thoroughly as I would have liked.”

A sudden gust of wind knocked the dragon to the side. Billy tightened his grip on Hartanna’s spine and hung on until she righted herself. The professor shouted again. “It seems that we’re in for a rough ride in more ways than one, and we won’t get any answers until I have another talk with Sir Patrick.”

Ashley sprinted through the airport corridor, waving an arm as she ran. “Come on! That was our boarding call!”

Walter lugged a heavy, carry-on suitcase and shuffled into a labored jog. “What’d you put in this thing? Dumbbells?”

Ashley stopped and waited for him to catch up. “I’m not going to comment on ‘dumbbells.’” She took the briefcase and ran ahead, apparently oblivious to the weight. “I told you I’d carry it,” she shouted back. “You’re the one who wanted to be Mr. Chivalry.”

Walter slung his backpack over his shoulder and tried to catch up, but he kept falling farther behind. He straightened the baseball cap on his head and grumbled under his breath. “She’s a dragon, Walter. Get used to it. She’s stronger and smarter.” Letting out a grunt, he urged his legs into a dead run. “I’ll bet she can’t fish with a fly rod or spar with a sword or jump across Saddler’s Creek without getting wet.”

Walter finally caught up to Ashley at the gate. As soon as he arrived, she tugged at his backpack. “I hold my high school’s record for long jump,” she said, fishing in one of the pockets. “I know I put the tickets and passports in here somewhere.”

He turned to make it easier for her to search. “Long jump? How did you know what I was thinking?”

She pulled out two envelopes and handed them to the attendant. “What do you mean, what you were thinking? I was just explaining why I can run so fast. I did the long jump in high school, and you have to get up a huge head of steam before you can plant and jump.”

“I was just thinking . . . Oh, never mind. But you sure creep me out sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know.” She wagged her head as they hustled down the Jetway. “I’ve heard it before. Ashley reads minds. She’s a space alien.”

After finding their row in the crowded plane, Ashley slid her case under the seat in front of her own and helped Walter get his backpack off. “My brain reacts so quickly to all sensory input,” she continued, “everything from facial expressions to posture to personality, it can anticipate what people are thinking. It makes people think I can read their minds.”

Ashley took a window seat on the right side of the plane, and Walter slid into the middle. He hoped the seat to his left would remain empty or at least be taken by someone under four hundred pounds. He tilted the video screen embedded in the seat back in front of him, eyeing the line of passengers stowing their luggage in the overhead racks.

It was easy to tell the Americans from the Brits. Those heading home to England looked drained from their ‘holiday’ ordeal, ready to fall asleep, while those embarking on a vacation adventure in Europe greeted Walter with bright, cheery faces. A thin, pale man plopped down next to him, buckled his safety belt, and leaned back without a word, immediately closing his eyes and easing into a gentle snore.

Walter mumbled under his breath. “Seven hours of snoring ahead!” He pulled the flap of the seat pocket in front of him and rifled through the magazines.
Aha! A comic book!
Walter leaned back and flipped open the pages. After reading it for a few seconds, he burst out laughing.

“Walter!” Ashley scolded. “Settle down!”

“Just a minute! Listen to this joke. There was this fish who loved to play golf—”

Ashley snatched the comic book from his hands. “Shhh!” She pointed toward Walter’s neighbor. “He’s trying to sleep.”

Walter frowned and crossed his arms. Ashley pulled the airline magazine out of the seat pocket and flipped through the movie schedule. Walter found the plastic bag that held the video headset, tore it open, and slid the earpieces around his cap. He adjusted the speaker pads on his ears and grinned at Ashley. “So what am I thinking? My brain can’t leak through my ears now.”