The Minions of Time (14 page)

The bookshelf closed behind Constance, and she plunged into total darkness. No torches this time. Carefully she made her way down, fearing the horrid creature she had glimpsed trying to catch them—Mr. Page had called it a Slimesees.

With her hand on the curving wall, she reached the last step, where she encountered a musty, salty smell she associated with the ocean. She moved to her right down a narrow corridor toward a pinpoint of flickering light. This was the way she and Owen had come with Mr. Page.

The light turned out to be a glowing torch, and Constance was determined to have it. She climbed the wall, wedging her feet between wet stones. It took all her strength to balance herself while pulling the torch from its holder.

No sooner was she on the ground than she heard rustling behind her. She quickly moved away, retracing steps she and Owen had taken so long ago.

Through passage after passage, trying one underground channel, then another, backing up and trying again, Constance tried to recall the route they had taken. When with Mr. Page and Owen, she had simply followed and hadn't paid much attention.

Strangely, despite her fear and the danger, Constance's mind raced with how much her life had changed since Owen's departure. Her mother no longer went to the bookstore to clean. Constance went to school and faithfully did her homework, but she was just going through the motions, simply biding time. For what, she didn't know. But with every step toward school, home, or the library (the only other place she was allowed), she sensed someone following her. And when she had been frightened by a wing flap overhead, she told her mother.

“Nonsense,” the woman said, but her look betrayed her.

Constance had to wonder if some kind of presence had also triggered a fear in her mother.

“Yes, Mother,” Constance had said. She had retreated to her room, turned out her light, and looked out the window, waiting for watching eyes. It was those eyes she had been afraid to alert when she had slipped out, down the back stairs and into the alley, while her mother was sleeping. Cloaked and walking in shadows, she had gone unnoticed in her corner of the world and had walked the familiar streets to the bookstore.

She had passed the Briarwood Café and stared through the window at the girl with the long, flowing hair who wiped the countertop with a rag. This was the girl Owen had taken to the movies, and Constance wished she could be as beautiful as Clara.

Constance had a friend who said she could tell the future. “I think you'll get married,” her friend had said. “And he'll be some congressman or governor or maybe even the president. Yes, the president of the whole country. You'll live in a big house, and people will wait on you. They'll take pictures of you getting in and out of your car and stuff like that.”

Constance had laughed, because she knew no one could tell the future—especially her friend. Still, the idea intrigued her. With all she had suffered, could her grown-up life be destined for something grand?

Constance came to a bend in the tunnel where she, Owen, and Mr. Page had rested and talked after the winged beast had attacked them in the old bed-and-breakfast place—the B and B. Something had drawn them there to meet that man, and now she felt as if she was being drawn again. But why? What secrets did this underground tunnel and the B and B hold?

The beast that had chased them had shot fire down a shaft, and as Constance drew close to it, she saw the charred wood along the floor where the flames had licked. The sight sent shivers through her, recalling the overwhelming fear, but Mr. Page's calm had soothed her and infused her with a resolve to survive.

But now dread surfaced as a blast of air shot through the tunnel, making the torch flutter and nearly go out. A sound filled the room, a humming, buzzing, whine of a small motor or perhaps of a large animal.

The bottom of the elevator shaft remained intact, though the top and sides had been charred. The rustling behind her seemed closer now. She threw the torch toward the opening and backed into the enclosure, peeking through the wood slats of the cage. Mr. Page had lowered them with a pulley and crank, so Constance grabbed for the hanging chain. Could this damaged contraption possibly still hold her?

Someone moved past the torch, and shadows danced on the wall.

Constance pulled the chain with all her might, and it was then that she realized the humming was coming from above. She gave another tug, straining with every ounce of strength, and the elevator began to ascend.

Something small flew past her and she swatted at it, but the chain began to slip from her other hand. She grabbed with both hands again, and something buzzed near her ear. But she had to keep pulling. The floor began to crack. Just as she feared she would fall through, an arm grabbed her from below.

Constance screamed as she flew out of the cage, and it crashed to the ground.

Owen could tell Erol and Mordecai were happy to see him and Watcher, though he had to convince them not to shoot at the transport flyer. When they had moved to a safe place in a wooded area with the clan and those they had enlisted (quite a throng), Petunia landed with Machree. Several of the women tended to the huge bird.

“More warriors are coming from the mountain,” Owen said. “My friend Connor is leading them, and the Scribe and Burden are with them.”

Mordecai said, “Then we will wage war soon.”

“Not until I return from a final journey to the Highlands,” Owen said.

“What for?” Mordecai said. “We need you here.
The Book of the King
says the Son shall—”

“We will follow the book to the letter,” Owen said, glancing at Watcher. “But I must go to the Highlands.”

A screech in the sky made them look up to see that Petunia and Grandpa had taken flight again. They dipped their wings and shrank into the shadows underneath trees.

“Don't worry about them,” Owen said. “These two are loyal to the King now.”

Erol shuddered. “It's not them I'm worried about. The demon flyers are on the move. They're heading north toward the mountain.”

“Why didn't you warn us?” Owen asked Watcher.

She lowered her head. “I didn't sense it.”

Owen stared at her, wondering what had happened. Instead of confronting her, he said, “I must hurry. Be on your guard. Under no circumstances should you go to battle without me.”

“You want to be here to see the slaughter?” Mordecai said, smiling.

“I want to be here to celebrate the victory for the King.”

He ran for Grandpa, and Watcher followed. The beast seemed reluctant to come out from the safety of the trees. “You have nothing to fear from me,” Owen said.

“He fears what is in the air,” Watcher said.

“As well he should, but as the book says, ‘Those who live for the King shall cast out fear and live free from it. It no longer has dominion over us when we follow him.'”

“Let me go with you as far as the White Mountain. I can bring the transport flyer back here.”

It was too dangerous, and Owen needed her here. But the look in her eyes let him know it was no use to say no.

They flew on the back of Grandpa, low to the trees and with clouds blocking them from the view of the demon flyers.

“They're delivering gemstones,” Owen said. “It's part of the Dragon's plan, which makes it even more important for us to hurry.”

Below them marched the warriors from Yodom.

“Watcher!” Owen called out. “Land near them on the way back and tell them where to meet Erol and Mordecai's group!”

Farther up the mountain and through the pass it became much colder, and Grandpa had a hard time staying aloft. Watcher wasn't talking and seemed distant.

Owen had Grandpa land and said he would go the rest of the way on foot. “Watcher, return for Humphrey,” he said. “And do everything you can to help expand the army, but make sure Connor doesn't take things into his own hands before I return.” He paused. “Is there something on your mind?”

Watcher's big eyes glistened and her lower lip twitched. “I can't help you anymore,” she said, sobbing. “My powers are gone. I have betrayed you, my people, and worst of all, the King himself.”

Owen lifted her head. “What happened?”

Watcher closed her eyes and bowed her head. “I lied to Machree to get him to help, and that has made all the difference.”

Owen knelt before her and hugged her neck. “Watcher, I could never have a greater friend. I wouldn't even be alive if not for you.”

“But I have let you down, right when you needed me most.”

Owen pursed his lips. “If only I had my sword.”

“Your sword could not undo my wrong, could not bring back my powers. I might as well surrender to the Dragon now.”

“Don't say that. You know
The Book of the King
states, ‘When the Son comes, he will make everything new again. The old will pass away, and the original order will be restored.'”

“But what does that mean for me? I'm of no use.”

“Your powers have protected us,” Owen said. “But it is who you are that is most important. Your true heart of repentance pleases me most and the King.”

“I'll never see the Son,” she said. “He would not want to know such a one as me.”

Owen smiled. “I assure you, friend, he wants to see you very much.”

“Have you found him?” she said, gasping.

“Many things I have not been able to tell you, things I have discovered. I will explain when I return.”

“With the Son?”

Owen paused. “When I return, you will see the Son.”

A screech from above sent shivers through Watcher's body, and Owen loosed her. “I must go.” He took Mucker from her back and tucked him inside his shirt. “Do not despair. You will be forgiven and your powers restored. Trust me.”

Constance struggled against the man who pulled her from the elevator, her feet barely touching the ground. “Let me go!”

“You don't understand,” the man said, his voice scratchy and cold. “You have released the minions before their time.”

“I what?” she said.

When they reached the turn, the man bent to pick up the torch, and the flame illuminated his face. An eye drooped, and scars ran from his head down his face and neck, leaving a hideous mess of fire-ravaged skin and bone. Wisps of hair were threaded over an otherwise bare, shiny skull.

Constance couldn't even breathe, let alone cry out. Why had she slipped out of her home and come to the bookstore?

The man held the torch close and looked her over. “Have you been stung?”

Her mouth moved, but she couldn't utter a sound.

“Did they bite you?”

She shook her head.

“What were you looking for down here?” the man said.

She looked back at the elevator cage, in pieces on the ground. He pulled her through the opening and back into the channel.

“I was in the bookstore,” she managed, “and someone came in. I merely wanted to get away.”

“Why were you there?” the man said, his voice like gravel.

“Looking for a friend,” Constance said. “You wouldn't know him.”

The yellow flame dancing beside him cast an eerie glow but allowed Constance to look past the shocking face and see into his eyes. They were set deep and dark, but they had the look of knowledge and wisdom—and love.

“You're him,” she said, “aren't you? The man who—”

A noise startled her, and they both turned. A scream and buzz filled the air, and off came the man's coat. He threw it over her. “On the ground! Quickly!”

Shrouded, Constance could only imagine what was happening. The torch whooshed, and she pictured the man swinging it like a baseball bat, fending off whatever was attacking. Bees? Some sort of creature that lived only in this underworld?

The man grunted and struggled, and Constance lifted the coat enough to peek. The winged creatures easily evaded the torch and swarmed him, then moved away.

One was finally knocked to the ground by a mighty swing, and in the sparkling light Constance examined it. The wings were thick like leather and ribbed like a snake's back. It had a series of short legs underneath with sticky spines protruding, and when it finally righted itself and stood, it looked directly at Constance. The pupils grew smaller, and it opened its mouth in a scream or a call.

Constance screamed at its protruding jagged teeth—the incisors much longer with something black dripping from them. Its tiny, forked tongue snaked out between the lower teeth. It darted underneath the coat before she could slam it onto the floor.

Then the rest of the hissing and flapping creatures swarmed her.

“Are you all right?” the man yelled.

“I think one of them flew under here with me.”

“Don't move.” He wrapped the coat around her and picked her up, running like a much younger man. After a few turns, the man lifted the coat from her face and held the torch close, his eyes filled with alarm.

She turned to see on her shoulder a winged creature, baring its fangs before sinking its teeth into her skin.