Formatted MS-kindle-no map Page 17

  In the instant that followed, Peter slipped his fingers into the space between two floor stones, stopping his downward plunge, while Navashay locked her hands around Peter’s wrist and arm. She scooted away from the hole, pulling him as she inched backwards.

  Scrambling back to his friends, Krys stole a glance at the journal, balanced on the edge of the dark abyss. He tried to think of a spell to use to save it, but his mind tumbled with fear for his best friend, leaving no ability to concentrate on anything else.

  A thundering voice rattled the stone walls, making it hard to know whether it came from deep inside the belly of the castle or from the figure. “You will not proceed!”

  The journal tipped further, wobbling on the precipice.

  Perspiration drenched Peter’s face.

  Terror coursed through Krys as he grabbed another handful of Peter’s tunic and his other forearm. He and Navashay pulled hard. Peter’s sweaty arms slipped in their grasp and he slid deeper into the hole.

  The journal lost its battle against gravity and, as if in slow motion, plummeted toward the darkness, its pages fluttering through the air as it fell. Peter pulled his arm from Krys, reached out and made a grab for the book. As he did, Peter sank even deeper.

  Krys couldn’t see whether his friend had saved the book or not. He dried his hands on his trousers and grabbed for Peter again. He dug his heels in the space between floor blocks and clenched is jaw. He yanked harder on Peter’s arm.

  Navashay curled her fingers around the back of Peter’s belt as Peter’s frantic clawing at the stone floor continued.

  Peter was caught in the center of a tug-of-war between his friends and the cloaked figure, whose raspy breaths continued to spew noxious odors throughout the room. Krys was tiring fast and didn’t know how long he could hold up to such a strong opponent.

  Krys drew all the strength he possessed. He and Navashay dragged Peter upward. He could feel Peter kick his legs, but he still dangled into the hole.

  The shadowed figure let go of Peter and rose out of the abyss.

  Krys readjusted his grip on his friend, trying desperately to keep him from sinking into the shadows again.

  The hooded face turned toward Krys. The feeling of hatred burst forth from the figure, shaking Krys to his very core. “Who are you?”

  Evil laughter filled the air. “I’m no one you want to tangle with, boy. I’m the darkest sorcerer to ever walk Lanterra.”

  “Grimm,” Krys whispered.

  Navashay looked from Krys to Grimm. “You can’t be. You should have died a long time ago.”

  Grimm leaned close to Navashay and laughed again. “You have no real knowledge of magic, do you, little girl?”

  The wizard’s putrid breath flowed over them. Krys retched.

  Navashay tried to move out of the way but the wizard flicked his hand, sending her flying backward into the wall.

  Without Navashay’s hold on him, Peter slipped deeper. Bile rose into Krys’ throat and a shiver ran up his spine. He pulled on his friend harder than he thought possible.

  “He who holds the journal,” Grimm bellowed, “must be stopped.” The sorcerer rose the rest of the way from the crevice, towering over Krys. He yanked Peter from Krys’ grip. “The blood of the chosen mage must be spilled upon the body of the king to make my powers complete.” The wizard scraped a talon across Peter’s neck then threw him to the stone floor where he lay, unmoving. Blood dripped from the yellowed claw as the sorcerer drew it up and breathed in the scent of fresh blood. A roar of laughter filled the small room.

  Horrible images of dragons and his entire village burning drifted through Krys’ mind. He felt cold inside and realized he gazed into the twisted mind of Grimm. Panic spread through his being. Grimm’s head snapped around to face Krys and the images intensified; death, his village being destroyed and scavenged by deformed creatures. Agonizing screams filled his troubled thoughts. He closed his eyes and concentrated on blocking Grimm’s thoughts from his. Having succeeded in separating his mind from the sorcerer, Krys stared into the shadowed face beneath the hood.

  Without breaking eye contact with Krys, Grimm raised a hand sideways. Lightning gathered around the gnarled fingertips pointed at Peter.

  “No,” Krys yelled. He flung himself at Grimm’s outstretched arm. When he connected, he forced the sorcerer’s arm backwards. A lightning bolt hit the globe, still suspended in the center of the room. The energy spread across the surface and blinded Krys, but didn’t appear to have affected the wizard inside.

  Grimm’s guttural roar filled the small room.

  Krys scrambled to Navashay, trying to pull Peter to safety. He grabbed his friend’s belt and helped Navashay drag him across the floor.

  “I will have Anderwood!” A stream of vapor shot from Grimm’s outstretched hands and hit Navashay in the chest. She tumbled and landed in an unconscious heap against a stone column. Blood stained the corner of her mouth.

  Grimm reached for Peter and dragged him to the crevice again.

  Krys launched himself at Peter, grabbing his friend’s arm. “Peter is not an Anderwood—it’s me you want.”

  “Lies!” Grimm yelled. “The journal is controlled only by an Anderwood.” The sorcerer pulled harder and drew Peter closer to the abyss.

  “He was only holding it!” Krys yelled in desperation and pulled Peter harder.

  “With the last of the Anderwood bloodline gone, I will be unstoppable.”

  Grimm’s words swam through Krys’ mind.

  “You—can’t—have—Peter!” Krys grunted, refusing to let go of his friend. But he could feel Peter’s hand slipping. He tried to tighten his grip, but could not. With one final tug from Grimm, Peter disappeared, the hole closing up behind him and squelching his terror-filled scream.

  “Peter!” Krys crawled to the spot where Peter had disappeared and clawed at the ground in desperation. “No,” he screamed. He pounded his palms on the stone floor. Rage overtook him. He flung his arm sideways. “Nisiforam!” A large section of stone column disintegrated. Krys slumped back and stared at the destruction he had caused and then at the spot where the crevice had been moments before. He didn’t know what to do. “Peter,” he whispered.

  Krys covered his face with his hands and wept. Grimm’s words accosted his thoughts. He glanced at the spot he had last seen his friend’s face. He thought of the terror in Peter’s eyes and the unnatural scream that had escaped his lips.

  A groan from behind him broke Krys from his thoughts. He turned to see Navashay stir. He scrambled over to her, helped her sit up and brushed her long hair from her face.

  She opened her eyes wide and jerked her head from side to side. “Where’s Peter?” she shrieked.

  Krys fell back against the column next to her. “Gone,” he whispered.

  “Gone?” She sat straight up and stared at Krys. “Where?”

  “Grimm took—” He couldn’t say the words. “He thinks Peter’s me!” His breaths came in gasps. “He’s going to—to—” He swallowed hard, fighting back the tears. “He’s going to—sacrifice him!”

  “No!” She moved to stand, but fell back again and closed her eyes a moment. She inhaled a ragged breath and reached out her hand, pointing to her satchel.

  Krys pulled it across the floor to her.

  She dug in her bag and withdrew two fleshy purple leaves. She crushed them in her hands and applied one to the back of her head and tucked the other one inside her tunic near her belly. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. Several moments passed before she opened her eyes a slit and breathed in a more rhythmic manner.

  Krys helped her to her feet and steadied her. They both turned to Raven.

  Navashay reached toward the globe. Her hand trembled. “There’s no time to waste. We must free Raven, now!”

  “B-But,” Krys stammered. “Peter has—” Panic surged through him. “Grimm has the journal. A-And I don’t remember the spell!”

  A small smile appeared at the corners o
f her mouth. “It’s a good thing I do.”

  Krys wrapped her in a tight hug. When he realized that he held her in his arms, he released her. He could feel the blood flushing his cheeks. Avoiding her gaze, he took her arm and steered her to the globe.

  He looked into Raven’s blank eyes, yet he addressed Navashay. “Okay, what is it?”

  “Balsoraminor hirtoorazin weelglosterhyn sor bozitor,” she said.

  Krys repeated each word to her as she said them again, then the entire spell once more. He felt energy surging through his core and realized just how powerful the spell actually was. His whole body shuddered as he raised a hand to the globe. I can do this. He pointed at Raven’s chest. He tried to steady his shaking hand. “Balsoraminor hirtoorazin weelglosterhyn sor bozitor,” he belted out.

  He stared at the globe and waited for something to happen. Nothing did.

  “It didn’t work!” He slapped his palms against the globe. Thousands of sparkling lights flickered where he hit it and it wobbled in mid air. He dropped his hands to his sides and his chin fell to his chest. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

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  Chapter 20 - The Race to Save Peter

  His palms pressed on the surface of the giant globe, Krys stared into Raven’s blank eyes. “Why didn’t it work?” He turned to Navashay. “How are we going to free him now?”

  “I-I don’t know.” Tears glistened in her eyes. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the floor, mumbling the spell over and over.

  Krys looked to the great wizard for help, but Raven wasn’t talking. He silently cursed himself for not being able to remember the spell himself. A cryptic word nudged his mind. He turned to Navashay and grabbed her shoulders. “One of the words is wrong.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Not really, but one word keeps bugging me,” he said, scratching his head. “I’m sure we’re pronouncing it wrong.”

  Tilting her head slightly, she looked at him and raised her eyebrows. “Which one?”

  “It was supposed to be Hirtoorazan!” He shook her. “We pronounced it HirtooraZIN!”

  Navashay’s eyes widened. “I think you’re right!”

  Krys turned back to Raven and blew out a long breath. He furrowed his brow and pointed a finger at the sparkling globe. This time, his hand did not shake. “Balsoraminor hirtoorazan weelglosterhyn sor bozitor.”

  The floating bubble lowered to the floor. A crackling sound replaced the dead silence of just a moment before. Within seconds, the shell of the orb dissolved and the wizard slowly drifted to the stone floor, surrounded by a veil of glimmering mist. The white robes that Raven wore while in the globe had changed to emerald green. The rich hue of the wizard’s clothing matched the color of his eyes; but his eyes stared straight ahead, focused on nothing.

  Silence hung in the air like a thick blanket.

  Raven jerked and he jumped forward, his face flushed with anger. He threw his arm forward, releasing a ball of white fire. “You cannot continue this hatred, Grimm. The kingdom will never be yours!”

  Krys dropped to the floor and covered his head with his arms. A tingle of the energy passed over his flattened body, just missing him. A clean, crisp smell filled the air.

  Peeking under one arm, he found Navashay sheltered behind a column. He pushed himself from the floor and darted to join her, leaving Raven to blast an unseen enemy.

  Chunks of stone fell to the floor. An echo spread throughout the room.

  Navashay turned to Krys and whispered, “What the heck is he doing?”

  “I guess he’s caught in his own time and must think he’s still fighting Grimm.” He wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

  Navashay peeked around the edge of the column, then back at Krys. “Maybe we should leave him and go after Peter.” She shot a thumb in Raven’s direction. “He doesn’t seem to be all there.”

  “Well, he needs to get it together, we need him.” Krys peered around the column as Raven continued releasing balls of white fire.

  The wizard’s attack ceased. His tight jaw relaxed and he looked around. A serene, yet bewildered expression replaced the anger. He dropped his arms to his sides.

  Krys stood and reached for Navashay. Making slow, guarded movements, he pulled her from behind the column and the two of them stepped out where Raven could see them.

  Raven looked from one to the other. “My apologies, young ones,” he said with a slight bow. “I believed you to be—” He paused. “—Another.”

  Krys and Navashay stepped closer to the wizard.

  Raven’s face went blank of expression and paled. He stumbled, knees buckling. He collapsed and fell back, unconscious. Krys and Navashay dove forward and caught the wizard. They lowered him gently to the cold floor. Lifting his head, they placed Krys’ bag under it.

  “I guess not moving around for two hundred years caught up with him,” said Navashay.

  “What do we do now?” Krys said. “We can’t sit and wait for him to wake up.”

  “I’m afraid that’s exactly what we’re gonna have to do.” Navashay knelt beside Raven. She placed a hand on either side of the wizard’s face. “He’s exhausted. We have to let him rest before we can do anything; and hope that Peter can hold Grimm off until we get there.”

  The memory of his friend’s face when he disappeared into the crevice made Krys’ gut clench.

  Navashay looked at Krys with compassion. “There’s nothing we can do until Raven comes around again.”

  “B-But,” Krys stammered. “Peter doesn’t stand a chance against Grimm on his own.”

  Navashay placed a hand on his. “Yes he does. We have to believe that.”

  Unsure of what to do, Krys squatted at Raven’s side and watched as Navashay mopped the perspiration from the wizard’s brow with her sleeve.

  Raven’s eyes fluttered open and he looked from Navashay to Krys. Gingerly, he sat up, then struggled to his feet, leaning on Krys for a moment. He shifted his weight from leg to leg, finally steadying himself to stand upright unassisted. He gave his head another slight bow, wobbling a bit, then looked Krys over from head to toe. “Your attire is not familiar.” He turned to Navashay. “Nor is yours.” His brow drew together. “I am no longer in my own time, am I?”

  “No, Master Raven. Two centuries have passed,” she said.

  Raven gasped. “And the battle?”

  Krys dropped his gaze to the floor. “The castle fell to Grimm.”

  “The king?”

  “The king, too,” said Krys, his voice dropping slightly.

  Raven said nothing for several long seconds. He stood up straight, adjusted his twisted robes and exhaled a large breath.

  Krys turned and headed for the door, anxious to get to Peter and thinking the wizard would follow.

  “Do either of you know where I may find Krystomere Anderwood?” asked Raven.

  Krys’ breath caught in his chest and he stopped short. He spun around to face the wizard once more. “I-I—” He swallowed and continued, “I am K-Krys Anderwood.”

  “You? It cannot be!” Raven narrowed his eyes. “You were to be older and more experienced.” He shook his head, disbelief evident. “You are not yet a man.”

  “I’m fourteen!”

  “Almost a man is not a man—yet.” Raven turned to Navashay.

  “I’m Navashay Foxglove; a healer from Hibbard Village.”

  “Hibbard? You are a long way from home, dear child.” Raven placed a kind hand upon her shoulder. “This, I do not understand,” he mumbled.

  He shook his head a little and stroked his beard, turning his gaze on Krys. “You were to be older— But you say you are Krystomere Anderwood?”

  Krys nodded, then took another step away from the wizard. “We need to get going.”

  But Raven did not move. “How did you come to be here?” he asked Navashay.

  “An old woman and a journal guided me—” She glanced at Krys. “—us here. To you.”

  Krys touch
ed the empty pouch on his belt. His heart beat thudded and his stomach twisted. “Raven.” He begged. “We have to hurry! Grimm has taken the journal, and our friend, Peter – meaning to sacrifice him.”

  “Peter? Peter Greenleaf?” Raven asked.

  Krys stumbled backwards at the mention of his friend’s name. “H-How do you know his name? And, how did you know mine?” He glanced at Navashay, then back to Raven.

  “Your coming was foretold centuries before Grimm imprisoned me.” Raven stopped for a moment, clearly in thought, then rushed from the room. “We must hurry,” he yelled over his shoulder. “Peter will not last long against Grimm.”

  Krys and Navashay ran to catch up.

  Robes billowing out behind him, Raven ran through the dungeon. When he reached the passage Krys and his friends had traveled, Raven waved his hand. All the torches they’d lit in the dungeon went out at once. The glowing embers of the torches left enough light for Krys to see the wizard thrust his hands downward. A pool of light appeared on the floor around him, several paces across.

  He led Krys and Navashay up the inclined passage, the bright pool of light guiding their steps.

  They raced past the empty rooms that lined the passage walls and up the stone staircase. When they reached the arch they’d entered through, they found it open and clear. No veiled presence remained.

  Night had fallen on the quadrangle.

  Krys gasped for breath after the relentless trek from the bowels of the castle. His heartbeat was the only thing he heard as they slipped through the arch.

  Raven turned left and headed in the direction of the Great Hall.

  “Where are you going?” Krys yelled after Raven. He pointed to his right. “The main gate is this way. We have to get to Peter.”

  “I must retrieve my other staff. I have no idea where the one I usually carry is,” Raven yelled over his shoulder. He never slowed his pace as he stepped into the vast room.

  Krys peered at the open archway as he entered behind the wizard. The rock illusion here was gone also.