Hidden Power (10 page)

She fumed. Not only had he hidden the orb in her pack,
without
her knowledge, but now he’d charmed her parents into dead-walkers. 

“None of this seems very fair,” she fumed, crossing her arms over her shoulders and stopping, mid-stride. “What if they don’t see me again? What if they don’t see you again?”

Kayne paused, every cell in his body screaming impatience at her. “Then they will be the better for it, Aurora. They will remain unaware and, if not exactly happy, then content.”

She shook her head, pursing her lips. At last she moved forward, determined to make sure that her parents did see her one last time, dead or alive. “It still isn’t fair!”

He pushed her out the back door, shutting it tight behind her. “It isn’t fair,” he agreed, prodding her into the woods at the back of the small farm. 

“It isn’t fair that my master ordered me to steal the Ythra Orb, it isn’t fair that I was bound to do his duty, and it isn’t fair that I panicked and hid the orb in your pack. For these grave injustices, only one can I apologize for.”

He turned her around, so that their eyes met. “And I do apologize, Aurora. Sincerely, I do.”

She blinked in the face of his intense gaze. Looking away, she marched forward, if only to give her legs something to do. Behind her, the family farm lay fallow and untended. She could only hope it would be there when she returned.

“Where are we going?” she asked over her shoulder as he raced to catch up.

He was silent until they had reached the woods and were under the cover of towering trees. Then he said, “We must travel west, to the Land of Morgis.”

“Morgis?” she gasped. Like Ythulia or mages, it was the stuff of legends, fairytales and, occasionally, nightmares. “Where the oracles dwell?”

He nodded, prodding her deeper into the brush. “We must find Chaklor, the one-eyed oracle, descended from the race which created the orb. Only she will be able to tell us how to protect it from Kronos and return it to Ythulia unharmed.”

Aurora shivered from the sudden news, or was it the lack of light in the deep forest? 

“But what of Kronos?” she asked, matching Kayne stride for stride as they strode forward with renewed vigor for their quest. “What if he finds us first? Who will protect us then?”

Kayne gritted his teeth and marched forward, glancing down to reply. “It’s not Kronos I’m worried about,” he insisted, peering around in the dark. “But his minions.”

Kronos sprinted through the woods, following the mortal’s trail until at last his familiar scent grew dim and untraceable. Not to worry, his rabbit senses were alert and cagey, and after two days of constant travel he came to a small plot of land dotted with full fields, a small barn and a single cabin.

No smoke curled from the chimney and even from afar the smell of the animals, untended, tested his nostrils with their pungent and unkempt odor. 

He pittered and pattered until he picked up the mortal’s scent again, rich and fragrant as it wafted off a leather apron hung on a peg by the garden fence. 

He broke the spell and stood, stretching out his long, human limbs as he felt the sumptuous coat return to clothe his naked body. Standing on two legs for the first time in days, he breathed deep the scent of mortality and burst into the home, finding the hearth cold, a half-empty cup of tea still on the kitchen table next to an odorous tin of what smelled to be some kind of balm or liniment.

The house had been emptied in a hurry, he had no doubt. Nor did he doubt that this was where the mortal lived, or his daughter, the one Kayne had called “Aurora.” The one who had the Ythra Orb in her possession.

He smelled the faint scent of fear and humanity in the room, and something else, too; the smell of magic, of light magic, used sparingly but used nonetheless. He smirked. It could only be Kayne, helping the girl and hiding the Orb.

He found the girl’s room and stopped at the door. The power of the Orb was strong in this room, centered in the girl’s humble closet, open, and aside from some tattered mortal clothes and dirty boots, empty.

Still, the energy from the Ythra Orb lingered rich and ripe in the air. He smiled, but not for long. He stood in the open doorway, admiring the farm but distressed by its location.

Kayne could have snatched the Orb and headed in any direction by now. Even without the power to assume animal form—a right that was reserved for full mages only—he could have traveled countless miles, in any direction, in the time it had taken Kronos to track him down. 

Anywhere. Kayne could have traveled anywhere at all. Back toward the woods behind the cabin, up into the hills to the east, down into the valley in the south or, north, toward the humble town of Balrog. Kronos knew he could not cover all that ground, no matter what form he took.

And yet… suddenly… the sound of bleating from the barn caught his attention. It was so raw, so hungry, so… ripe. A smile slithered to the crags that covered Kronos’ face. He walked toward the barn, black and crystal staff in hand, sparks flying from its cracked and craggy handle as he kicked open the old barn door.

Stalls of farm animals stood, rank and full, up one side of the barn and down the other. There were steeds of several sizes, some for riding, others for plowing. Half a dozen Bleaters gathered, wooly and ripe, in a pen in the far corner. Above him, a barn Hooter hooted, eyes round and yellow and wide at his presence.

“Perfect,” he cried, pointing the staff in turn. In seconds, one of the steeds appeared in front of him, then the Hooter, then a Bleater. They whinnied and hooted and bleated, confused but docile and in the power of his spell. 

“By this wand my power grow,” he intoned, an unearthly orange glow surrounding the frightened animals as they began to transform in front of his very eyes. “And from its tips my wishes flow.” 

He pointed the tip of the staff at the animals and watched as the six-legged steed froze, power surrounding him, changing him, morphing him on the spot.

His hide turned from a rich, chestnut brown to a dull, greasy, spotted gray. His mane, once rich and black, turned a shimmering white. Flat, dull teeth grew pointy and severe as the steed’s jaw cracked and reformed to twice its size. Its six legs grew as well, filling the barn with the sound of stretching muscles and reshaping limbs. 

It grew twice as wide and twice as tall until, at last, it nearly outgrew the barn. Horns grew on its head, then down its spine, toward its backside and tail. It was, at last, a savage beast, and bowed on one crackling, wart-covered knee to bid his master’s wish.

“Teach your friends,” he whispered in the horse’s mangled, black ear, pulsing with power, magic and puss. “And find the girl lest I make your time on earth even more perilous and disgusting than it is right at this very moment.” 

Without another sound, the steed rose from bended knee and returned to his pen, enrobed in a rich, blinding orange light. One by one, the other steeds transformed as well. None grew as large or as powerful as the first, but all were lethal – and quite disgusting – in their kind.

Then Kronos turned his attention toward the Hooter, seizing it with one strike from his staff until it, too, grew and changed into a large, leathery, six-winged beast.

Giant fangs, sharp and yellow, sprang from its beak, claws ripped from its leathery yellow tendons. Feathers, once brown and sumptuous, became leathery scales, ears became horns until at last the transformation, bloody and brutal, was through. 

“Teach your friends,” he whispered in the Hooter’s leather ear hole. “And find the girl.”

The Hooter drifted into the rafters where, one by one, yellow eyeballs opened at its return. One hoot from the transformed minion began a chain of events as disgusting as it was glorious. The sound of bones cracking and skin tearing and muscles growing signified a roost full of savage, monster Hooters, each and every one eager and willing to do its new master’s bidding. 

At last Kronos made a monster of the tiny Bleater, its cottony white coating turning to scales green and orange, its spine ripping through its leathery hide and turning to spikes, its hooves growing pointy and clawed, its eyes green and fiery, its teeth sharp and dangerous.

At last it stood, black blood dripping from its spiky spine, eight hands tall and eager to do whatever Kronos wished of it.

“Teach your friends,” he whispered to the drooling Bleater, scaly new skin fairly vibrating with violence and a savage new bloodlust. “And find the girl.”

The Bleater returned to its pen, where frightened Bleaters turned, one by one, into drooling, mewling, hungry savage beasts. They grew so fast and hard they cracked the barn wall and, seeing an opening, tore through it. 

The steeds, too, broke down their stall doors, streaming from the barn in search of Aurora, the daughter of their former master but sworn enemy to them now. The Hooters fled as well, tearing through the barn roof with savage claws sharp and bloody from their transformation, and yellow-black eyes keen on tracking down the girl they’d watched perform morning chores for years.

“Go!” he screamed as his minions fled far and wide. “Go forth and find the girl and bring her to me. Do so, and quickly, or this day will surely be your last.”

But only when the barn was empty and Kronos stood alone did he hear the squeaking of the rodents, cowering in the only corner of the barn still left standing after his minions all but tore it to the ground with their violent escape. His eyes widened, growing darker than ever, as he filled the corner where they cowered with power and light. 

“Cower no more you miserable little Squeakers,” he cried as the rodents grew feet, not inches, until they towered nearly as tall as himself. Some groveled on fresh and bloody claws, eight inches long. 

Others stood on their hind legs, arms almost as long as his, eyes a rich and bloody red to match the tongues darting from their elongated, savage snouts. More teeth and spines emerged, snapping through gums and skin, leather tails growing pointy, scaled and spiked.

“Find the Orb,” he growled to them, staff pointed in their glowing red eyes. “Find the Orb of Ythra and take your rightful place at my side when this world of light grows dark with power. My power!”

Long after his minions had left, scouring north, south, east and west in pursuit of the squire, the girl and the Orb, Kronos remained in the barn, picturing a darker world, picturing his world, where the light mages cowered like rats in the corner, and humans served the dark mages like steeds under a heavy plow.

Aurora clung tight to the straps over her shoulders and peered into the darkness that stretched before her, as far as the eyes could see. Her ears were attuned to these woods. They were, after all, her backyard. She heard nothing, sensed nothing, smelled nothing.

“I think it’s safe to make a fire,” she said, Kayne lingering closely at her side. He seemed tense and uncertain in this new environment, eying her carefully in the little bit of moonlight that filtered through the treetops above to splash across his handsome face.

“I’m worried about what’s following us,” he said, looking behind him as if for emphasis. 

“You keep saying that,” she sighed, worn from the day as well. “But I haven’t seen anything all day.”

He nodded in agreement. “That doesn’t mean they’re not out there,” he said, turning back to face her. 

She nodded, listening once more to the eerie silence that filled the dark, thick woods. They’d walked all day and well into the night, making steady progress despite Kayne’s insistence on stopping every few hours to listen for these “minions” he was so concerned about.

She had no doubt that Kayne’s fear was grounded in reality. What little she’d seen of Ythulia and the mages who lived there had convinced her that not only was magic real, but it could be dangerous. At the same time, she was a child of Synurgus, the planet Below that the mages had sworn to protect and serve eons ago.

That meant she was born of flesh and blood, raised in these very woods, accustomed to the sounds and smells that filled her every waking hour. Despite his magical training, Aurora could see things Kayne could not. At least here, so near her home.

In Mage City, he might have been on familiar ground. The land Below was
her
turf, and she had vowed to make it home alive, no matter the cost to herself.

She turned to him then, so close to each other their noses were almost touching. “If these minions are created of magic, then shouldn’t they be able to sense us with or without a fire?”

He chuckled dryly, inching backward so that they could see each other better. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Good then.” She shook her head, bending low to the ground in search of twigs and branches to start, then feed, a healthy fire to beat back the darkness. “I was afraid we’d be sitting in the dark all night, freezing to death before his minions could find us.”

Kayne grunted. “That might be a preferable death than the one Kronos has in store for us, Aurora.”

“Thanks,” she chuckled, shaking her head. “You really know how to rally the troops.”

She wasted little time after that, foraging for kindling close to their camp as he prepared a small space in the middle of the small clearing she’d scouted for them. 

When at last there was enough wood to last the night stacked by the small triangle of kindling she’d foraged, she knelt to her work, smashing two flint stones until sparks lit the night.

She heard footsteps and turned, finding Kayne leaning down beside her. She smiled to herself—spooked by her own traveling companion. So much for knowing the land Below like the back of her hand!

“Here,” he offered, holding out an empty palm. “Let me try a quieter, quicker way.”

His palm extended, Kayne let down the hood of his white cloak and focused his attention on the center of his hand. Beside her, Aurora felt the ripple of energy snake through her body, the way her shuffling feet sometimes built up static electricity in the winter. 

“Kronos has been teaching me this spell for the last few weeks,” Kayne explained as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up with the build-up of power that filled the tiny little clearing. “I haven’t quite got the hang of it yet, but it should…”