The Candlestone (7 page)
The dragon had been resting in his regeneracy dome, a term Billy’s father had recently explained to him as though he were quoting from a textbook. “Encircled and undergirded by various gems and polished stones, a dragon radiates light from his luminescent scales. As the light bounces off the smooth facets of his bed, the rays dance with excitement, gaining more power during the light’s ionic agitation. While the dragon sleeps, he absorbs the recharged radiance, and the give-and-take respiration creates a dome of light around his body, giving him the sustenance that all dragons need, photo-energy that surges through his body like blood through a human’s.”
With this vital refreshment, the dragon now appeared vigorous and well rested. His two enormous outstretched wings flapped, shifting him toward them, and his regal face seemed to smile.
Billy’s mother inched forward. “Jared, it’s so good to see you again.” She reached out and clumsily touched his closest flank.
“Marilyn, dearest one,” the dragon replied, “I am enraptured to see you again. But, please, call me Clefspeare, for I am no longer a man. Jared, your husband, has died.”
Billy’s mom lowered her eyes and sniffed, and she covered her mouth with her fist. Billy stepped forward, shuffling his boots in the loose dirt. “Uh, Dad.”
The dragon swung his neck around and drew his head near, his hot breath flowing across Billy’s hair. “I will allow you to call me ‘Dad,’” Clefspeare replied, “though I prefer my dragon name. You need to reckon with the fact that your true father is gone. Jared’s son lives on, though Jared is no more.”
Tears welled in Billy’s eyes. He clenched his teeth and balled his hand into a fist. His mission was too important; he had to keep his composure. “We have some important news, and we need your advice.”
“I will help if I can.”
Billy told Bonnie’s story in as much detail as he thought necessary. He also explained the presence of the professor and Walter on the mountain and their desire to know what was going on.
“So . . . Dad. What do you think we should do? Should we let the professor and Walter in on everything?”
Clefspeare heaved a deep sigh. Sparks flew from his nostrils, settling on the cave floor and dying out on the cold ground. “It was wise and noble of you to ask my permission,” he finally replied. “While you are away retrieving your friends, I shall consider what I will and what I will not tell. You may bring them to me, but do not prepare them. I know Walter, but I have never met your professor. How a person reacts to a shocking discovery helps me evaluate his character.”
Billy didn’t understand what Clefspeare meant, but he was willing to do whatever it took to get the ball rolling. “C’mon Mom! Let’s go get them!”
“No,” the dragon said, his gentle but firm command echoing throughout the cave. He cast his gaze on Billy’s mother. “Let your son fetch his friends. We need this time to talk.” She nodded, her head still down.
Billy didn’t have time to worry about her; she was in good hands . . .
Or wings, I guess
. Clutching the flashlight, he hustled out of the cave and retraced his steps to the plane. He knew he might be early, so he waited patiently, bouncing on his toes to keep warm, not caring that the cold breeze bit his tightening cheeks. After a few minutes the professor and Walter made their way up the slope, huffing as they strode up the steep incline.
“It’s okay,” Billy called. “My friend said you can come and talk to him.”
The professor halted and let out a few puffs. “Very good.” He took in another breath and seemed back to normal. “I also have two news items for you. We found the sword, and it is Excalibur.”
“That’s awesome! Where is it?”
Walter posed as though he were trying to pull the sword out again. “It’s stuck in a rock. Caught like a twenty dollar bill in a politician’s hand.”
“And you can’t get it out?”
Walter shook his head. “Not a chance, unless you know someone who’s kin to a king.”
Billy squinted at his friend. “Kin to a king? What’re you talking about?”
“We shall address that issue later,” the professor said. “The other news item is more pressing. Walter’s father called. It seems that Miss Silver’s mother really is dead. They were able to find a certificate of demise just a short time ago.”
A boiling sensation festered in Billy’s stomach, and icy chills spread across his skin. His teeth chattered as he stalked down the slope. “Come on,” he called with a wave of his hand. “Let’s get this show on the road!”
Walter followed Billy, but the professor paused. “Shall I retrieve Merlin’s Diary from the airplane? Will your friend know anything about it?”
“He might,” Billy called back. “It’s worth a try.”
Professor Hamilton climbed the slope back to the airplane and returned with the book tucked under his arm, and the three marched down the slope. After covering this route so recently, Billy was able to hustle across the leafy terrain without any delays.
When they arrived at the cave, Billy pointed out the shadowy entrance. “It’s right here where the stone turns dark.”
“A cave?!” Walter exclaimed. “Who’s your friend? Fred Flintstone?”
“This is not the time for jesting, Walter,” the professor chided. “I believe we are just beginning to probe a series of mind-bending mysteries, and I can feel the excitement of adventure racing through my bones. Let us conduct ourselves as men now and not as boys. I perceive that we shall need all of our cunning and strength.” He pulled off his beret and held it in both hands. “Lead on, William.”
With the professor and Walter close behind, Billy entered the tunnel, a cold shiver running up his back. This wasn’t a game; it was life and death. A bad decision could keep them from finding Bonnie before it was too late.
They rounded the corner. The moment of truth had arrived. The great secret would be out—his dragon nature revealed. How would the professor take it? Would Walter understand?
Billy’s legs shook as he entered the inner chamber. The light of the torch illuminated his fellow travelers’ faces, the dancing flame reflecting in their narrowing pupils. The professor’s mouth gaped, but Walter stood calmly, a huge smile growing on his face.
The dragon’s pointed ears perked up and rotated in all directions as though they were satellite dishes searching for a distant signal. He bowed low, a formal, stately bow of submission. After clearing his throat to speak, Clefspeare trembled as though shaken by awestruck wonder.
“Master Merlin. You have returned at last!”
Chapter 5
The drive to Flathead Lake cut through a long, mountain-bordered valley. Dark clouds hovered over the peaks to the right, while bursts of dancing flurries pelted the windshield. The gorgeous scenery and friendly conversation with Ashley drew Bonnie into a pleasant state of distraction. Her worries about her mother faded to a mere nagging feeling in the back of her mind. “So what do your parents think about your research projects?” Bonnie asked. “Do they mind you being gone a lot?”
Ashley hesitated, and her shoulders sank with her lowering voice. “My parents died when I was a toddler.”
A lump grew in Bonnie’s throat. “Oh . . . I’m so sorry.” She reached out her hand, and Ashley took it, intertwining her fingers with Bonnie’s and placing it on her lap. Bonnie was a bit startled by Ashley’s affection, but it felt good, the melancholy touch of a sad friend. Bonnie swallowed the lump and caressed Ashley’s hand with her thumb. “Do you mind telling me how it happened?”
Ashley tightened her chin and shook her head while staring at the friendly clasp of hands in her lap. “I’d tell you if I knew.” She turned to Bonnie, and her smile slowly reemerged. “You see, my grandfather adopted me. He’s the only father I can remember. I even call him ‘Daddy.’ He’s a widower, so all we have is each other.” She returned her gaze to her lap and sighed. “I must have asked him a hundred times what happened, but he kept telling me it was too awful to talk about. I looked through old newspapers at the library, but I couldn’t find anything about accidents or fires, or anyone who knew the story, so I finally decided to try to forget about it.”
Bonnie felt her own stories welling up, the loss of her mother and how she suspected her father of contributing to her death. She whispered, “Do you remember your parents at all?”
Ashley freed her hand and pushed back her hair. “Sometimes I think I remember them, images now and then, but it’s not much, so I can’t say I miss them.” Ashley’s smile made a complete comeback, and a refreshed glow shone in her eyes. “Daddy’s been the best father any girl could ask for. He’s gentle and sweet, and he loves to sit and talk about anything that’s on my mind, except, of course, my parents.”
Bonnie smiled with Ashley but still kept her voice low. “He sounds wonderful! Do you have to spend much time away from him when you do your research?”
“No. He’s the main reason I’m involved in the project. When I started, he was getting old and feeble, so I made sure he stayed where I could be with him if he needed me. We both live in the lab complex now, so I get to see him every night.”
Bonnie drew her fingers up to her chin and raised her voice. “He lives in the lab? Whoa! This lab is a motel, too? When are you going to tell me what’s going on there?”
Ashley gave her a coy smile and leaned back in her seat. “You’ll find out soon.”
Ashley’s refusal to explain brought Bonnie’s nagging thoughts to the forefront again. Not knowing what was going on or where they were heading was driving her crazy! She sighed and settled back in her seat, letting the awesome landscape consume her thoughts. To her left Flathead Lake stretched out for miles and miles, a magnificent blue expanse of silky smooth water, a tree-lined mirror for the heavens. She vaguely remembered riding on a boat there once when she was little, but after her wings started growing, she didn’t get to go again, to the lake or to very many other public places.
To her right, a series of dirt and gravel driveways led to precarious heights in the foothills and mountains, each one a mystery. Who lived at the ends of those paths? Were they lonely way up there where the snow-filled clouds shrouded their homes? Did they store up months of supplies and hibernate for the winter, ready to emerge when the sunny days of spring melted their fortresses of ice?
Images of hiking in snow-covered forests seeped into Bonnie’s mind, her short legs scampering over deep drifts and a strong hand holding her up from one side. That was a long time ago . . . back when she looked normal.
With haunting memories and mysteries all around, Bonnie felt trapped, riding in a vehicle driven by a man who might really be a monster. Her stomach churned like a bubbling vat of curdled milk. She was so far from home, even the Montana home she used to know. And now—
“I . . . I think I’m getting sick,” she announced.
Her father tightened his grip on the steering wheel and slowed down. “Do we have to pull over now, or can you last till we get there? It’s less than thirty minutes.”
Bonnie pointed at a store up ahead, a Conoco station with a homemade sign on the front—
Barbara’s Market
.“ Can we stop there? I think I’d better run to the bathroom.”
“Okay. I’ll go ahead and gas up while we’re here. Do you need any money for anything?”
“No.” Bonnie patted her jeans pocket. “I still have what you gave me at the airport.”
With the snow falling in thicker streams, Ashley and Bonnie hurried toward the shop, not bothering to pull on their coats for the short jaunt. The fresh breeze and quick march had already relieved Bonnie’s nausea, and her brain kicked into gear. All these delays in seeing her mother weren’t making any sense. She had to let someone know where she was and how to find her.
After she brushed the lingering flakes from her shoulders, Bonnie surveyed the colorful assortment of convenience grocery items, tourist souvenirs, and grab-and-go fast foods, her eyes darting around as she stepped toward the restroom in the back of the store. She spied a carousel of postcards on her right, pausing to quickly scan the bank of cards nearest her.
Ashley grasped the card rack with one hand. “I thought you were sick.”
“Uh, I am. I mean . . . I was.” Bonnie pushed her thumbs behind her backpack straps and hitched it higher. “I’m feeling better. I guess I just needed to move around. I think if I wash my face I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. I’m getting a drink. Want anything?”
Bonnie shook her head. “I’m fine. Thanks.” When Ashley turned around, Bonnie grabbed a postcard and stuffed it into her back pocket before heading to the restroom. Once inside, she splashed cold water on her face and dried off with a paper towel. She then pulled the postcard from her pocket and a pen from her backpack. One side of the card had a photo of Flathead Lake, and the other side carried the name of the store imprinted near the bottom. It was perfect. She sat down, wrote a note, and addressed the card.
With the postcard still in hand, she slowly opened the restroom door, but it flew open on its own, and a friendly faced elderly lady stood in front of her. Bonnie jumped back, holding her hand over her heart and pressing the postcard against her shirt.
“I’m sorry, dear,” the lady said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Bonnie took a deep breath to quiet her pounding heart. “Oh . . . that’s okay. I thought you were someone else.”
The lady stepped into the restroom and gestured toward the card in Bonnie’s hand. “Careful. You don’t want to bend that pretty card.” She turned on the water and picked up a bar of soap. “Is it for friends back home?”
“Uh . . . yes. It’s for close friends. I’m visiting from West Virginia.”
The lady gave her a knowing nod, her short gray hair bobbing around her perky eyes. “We get lots of folks from the East. Not as many this time of year, but we do get them.”
“We? Do you live around here?”
“For sixty-five years,” she replied with a proud smile. “I run this store.”
Bonnie fished in her left front pocket and withdrew a wrinkled five dollar bill. “Please, ma’am, I’m in a big hurry.” She smoothed out the bill and extended it toward the lady, trying to keep her hand from shaking. “Will this cover the cost of the card and postage, and would you mail it for me? I need it to get there as soon as possible.”
The lady looked at her hand for a moment and then caught it in her own, closing Bonnie’s fingers around her money. She leaned over and whispered. “Is everything all right? Are you in trouble?”
The lady’s fingers felt warm, and Bonnie let her hand relax in her tender grip. “I’m okay. I’m with my father, but I haven’t seen him in a long time. I’m just . . . kind of nervous.”
The lady nodded slowly. “Oh. . . . Nervous. . . . I see.”
Bonnie drew back and handed the card to her. She then presented the five dollar bill again, this time without shaking.
The lady laughed and waved her hand. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll be glad to mail it for you.” She eyed Bonnie carefully once more. “I’ll send it the fastest way possible.”
“That’s awesome! I can’t thank you enough!”
“Just tell your friends back home to come out for a visit.”
Bonnie headed for the exit and turned back. “That card might just do the trick.”
Professor Hamilton straightened up, his body as stiff as a flagpole and his eyes glued to the amazing, giant creature bowing before him. The professor had said he expected strange events, but seeing a real dragon, and a prostrate one, no less, obviously caught him off guard. He clasped his hands together and cleared his throat. “Merlin? Why do you call me Merlin?”
The dragon peered through his partially closed eyes. “Master, I have not seen your face in over a thousand years, but your image was etched into my mind as surely as the commandments were chiseled into tablets of stone by the finger of God. I remain your humble servant, Clefspeare.”
“Clearly this is a case of mistaken identity, Mr. Clefspeare. My name is Charles Hamilton. I am a homeschool teacher, former professor at Oxford University, and specialist in Arthurian history and legends. Although I am very familiar with the history and myths surrounding Merlin, I assure you that I am not he.”
Clefspeare rose to his former sitting position and stretched out his neck. “Remarkable!” the dragon kept repeating as he moved his head to take in the teacher’s image from various angles. “Then it has happened! It must have happened!”
The professor kept his body stiff, but he moved his eyes to follow the dragon’s glowing face as it glided all around. “Sir, having a dragon such as yourself examining me with such fervor is quite unnerving. I shall be glad to answer whatever questions you wish to ask, but I must request that you proceed before I leap right out of my shoes.”
Billy grinned and slapped his hand over his mouth. “Yeah, Dad,” he said, speaking between his fingers. “What’s up?” He glanced over at Walter, and his friend’s composure surprised him. He was smiling, almost laughing, like he was enjoying a funny movie.
Professor Hamilton turned his head toward Billy, squinted, and mouthed, “Dad?”
“Yes,” Clefspeare said. “I am Billy’s father, in a manner of speaking. Forgive me for my emotional outburst. I was a human for over a dozen centuries, and seeing your face brought a flood of fond memories from days long ago. Though you did not know this before today, you are the image of Merlin, the great prophet, and, not only that, you carry his journal. The leather cover bears his scent to this day. But we will discuss your resemblance and how you came by the book in a moment. We have urgent business in Montana.”
The professor set the book gently on the ground and pulled a copy of the hospital photo from his coat’s inner pocket. “Yes, the matter of Bonnie Silver.” He displayed the photo for Clefspeare. “I assume that William has apprised you of all that he knows, but there have been new developments. Walter’s father has discovered a death certificate for Bonnie’s mother, so her father’s pretext was false. This makes his character that much more doubtful, even sinister, I would say.”
Clefspeare gazed at the photo for several seconds before responding. “You have spoken well; these developments are distressing. In order for me to help you, however, it is imperative that you understand my history. Being a man of sound intellect and training, I assume you want to know everything about how a dragon could be Billy’s father.”
“Yes, and any extraneous details that might help me combine your knowledge with my own to solve other puzzles we have unearthed.”
“Such as?”
The professor returned the photo to its place and retrieved Merlin’s Diary from the ground. “Such as this book. Its mystery is great. I have pondered its meager contents for hours, yet I have solved very little. We have also found Excalibur, but we don’t yet have it in our possession. It’s imbedded in a stone quite nearby, and I’m afraid King Arthur is no longer available to extract it.”
“I will help you understand the book soon enough,” Clefspeare replied. “Perhaps when I tell my story, you will figure it out for yourself as well as the mystery of Excalibur’s power. I advise all of you to have a seat. It is a long tale, and although Bonnie’s fate depends on swift action, I assure you that understanding this story will help you in rescuing her.”
The dragon waited for his audience to sit comfortably, and he raised his head high. First, with a puff of dense smoke, he blew out the torch, and blackness descended on the cave. Then, with a soothing, hypnotic tone, he spoke in a quiet voice, and the words reverberated in gentle echoes. “Do not be distracted by thoughts of the day or your cares for loved ones. Cast your eyes deep into the darkness and see the images of antiquity. Let your thoughts walk through the winding cave; let your minds wander into the past.
“I am Clefspeare, your guide into forgotten days, the age of knights and kings. Follow my light and see the ghosts of the past come to life before your eyes.” The dragon blew a ferocious stream of white-hot flame against the cave wall, filling the entire cavern with intense heat and light. Then, in a second, the blaze disappeared. Yet the wall held a glowing imprint of the flame’s violent massage. Fiery characters emerged, first a man wearing a crown and then a man and a woman in front of him, each on bended knee. They seemed to move, animated somehow by the crackling, pulsating cinders. As his listeners watched in awestruck silence, Clefspeare gave the characters voice.
“Clefspeare, I dub you Jared, son of Arthur.” The king tapped the bowing man’s shoulder lightly with a gleaming sword. “By this decree, I name you my son, though truly you are closer than any of my natural offspring.” He turned and tapped the lady’s shoulder, touching her long flowing blonde hair that draped her sparkling white gown. “And you, dear Hartanna, I dub Irene, for your very presence brings peace to my soul. You are now my daughter, a treasured princess, who I hope will always find peace within the walls of my palace.”
