Aster Wood and the Blackburn Son (7 page)

Chapman was still recovering from the shock of being released from the spell, but clearly he understood. Together we moved out the door, gripping each other tightly.
 

“Don’t let go!” Kiron shouted over the boisterous crowd.
 

A group of dancers passed by and, seeing us holding hands, tried to break us apart so that they could join. They had almost broken the grip between Kiron and Chapman, when Kiron kicked one of them with the heel of his boot.
 

“Get off!” he growled.
 

The man whimpered, clutching his injured shin. I automatically turned to the sound, breaking eye contact with Kiron, and I saw that same confused look on the man’s face Chapman had worn a moment before. The pain of the kick had brought him to his senses, but only briefly.

When I turned back to Kiron, he looked away before we could lock eyes. He gazed up at the buildings above, and a vacant smile seemed to melt his features.

“No!” I said, and I kicked him, hard, in the shin.

“Ouch! You brat!” Kiron said.
 

But then he understood. The pain had broken the spell, if only for a moment. Pain and bliss couldn’t exist together in the same space, so with each kick or jab, we came back to reality.
 

In this way, kicking and pinching each other, we made it through the square. On the other side, in the old tavern at the corner of one of the main boulevards, we stopped again.

“Get Finian!” Kiron said, this time looking at Chapman and giving him a poke with his boot.
 

Chapman shook his head like a dog shaking off water.
 

“Yes,” he spluttered. “Finian!” he shouted, bursting through the tavern door with his back. Both Kiron and Chapman took turns looking around. It didn’t take them long to find him.

At the bar—no, on top of the bar—Finian sat, swaying drunkenly, singing a garbled tune.
 

Kiron led the charge. He dragged us over to him, and grabbed the man by his beard and pulled him off the bar. Then he smacked him, hard, across the face, before gripping tightly onto his hand.
 

Again, the group became clearer with the addition of another. Now we were four. It became easier to think, to not be distracted by the purple and yellow streamers that floated above the tavern as if a great victory had just been fought, or game won.
 

“What happened?” Finian asked.
 

“No time,” Kiron said.
 

“Arin,” Chapman said.
 

And we set off again.

In this manner we dragged each other through town like some big, weird group of dancers, until we finally had them all. Eight of them and two of us. With each addition to our circle of connected hands, the task to stay focused had become easier. We got lucky when we found three of the men together, all hovering around the same pot of liquid chocolate, spoons in hand.
 

After wrenching the spoons out of their frantic fingers and making sure each hand was connected to another, Kiron lifted his link and pointed it over the far wall of the city.
 

“Don’t let go!” he shouted.

I watched the jump as we made it, and was amused despite the seriousness of the situation. Chapman’s eyes were wide and terrified, surprised at the sudden pulling sensation that twisted and folded his body like saltwater taffy. I realized that he may have never used a link in his life before this moment. Arin was trying to break the grip of two of the others, clearly alarmed at the strange state of his body as it traversed through space.
 

The only one who stood upon landing was Kiron. The rest of us hit the ground and tumbled in the dirt like bowling pins. One by one, we each sat up and stared around at the others, both loss and awe intermingling on each face.
 

They were free.

But the situation was grave.

“What happened?” someone asked.
 

One of the men who had been standing over the chocolate pot licked his lips, as if he hadn’t yet let go of the idea of a heaping spoonful of the stuff melting on his tongue.

Another scrambled to his feet, seemed ready to fight.
 

“Kiron, what is going on here?” he asked with authority. His shirt was a bright orange, and around his head he wore a ringlet of purple flowers, remnants of Stonemore and in contrast to his demeanor. It was Finian, the drunken man from the tavern, now painfully sober.

When Kiron didn’t answer the questions, I did.

“It was an enchantment,” I said. “I came into town early this morning and was under the spell, too. Then I found Kiron.”

“And just who are
you?
” Finian asked, narrowing his eyes.

“This is Aster Wood,” Kiron’s voice boomed, more authority in his tone than the other man could have hoped for in all his life. “Slayer of Cadoc and keeper of The Book of Leveling. He deserves your respect, all of you.”

Finian looked back and forth between us, and I could tell he was still considering arguing further, but then Kiron went on.

“This boy has done more for the Fold than any wizard known to us since Almara,” he said flatly. “And now he has saved all of our lives as well.”

Kiron approached me then and held out his hand. I grabbed it and he hoisted me up to standing. I brushed some of the dirt and twigs off my clothes. But then I noticed that he was doing something strange. He had released my hand, but now stood before me, his palm up and outstretched, eyes downcast. I stepped back, confused. Then, I did what I thought he wanted, and I placed my hand in his, as if to shake it. Immediately he bowed his head. Then, he released me.

Gasps came from several of the men.
 

“What was that?” I asked. But he ignored me.

Then, one by one, each man in the group stood and did the same. Eight more hands were held out to me, eight heads were bowed. Finian was the last, and he came grudgingly. He thrust his palm out to me, glaring. I looked at Kiron, unsure, but he only nodded grimly. I took the man’s hand and he reluctantly bowed his head.

When this curious ritual was through, Kiron clapped his hands together with a snap.
 

“We have work to do,” he said. “We have been under the sweet enchantment of Stonemore for too long. Now the enemy gathers his forces not far from here. They will attack, though we don’t know when.”

“Attack?” Finian asked. “How do you know this?”

“I saw them,” I said. “There are thousands of them.” Nine men stared, some unbelieving, some aghast. “And they have children with them.”

“Children?” one of the oldest in the group asked. I turned to him.

“Yes,” I said, happy that someone was focusing on this point, which to me was the most important part. “They’ve kidnapped at least a hundred young children and are forcing them to work in the army. The boy I met said he couldn’t leave because his little sister, who is only five, is being held captive by someone called the Coyle.” The thought of the Coyle brought a lump to my throat, not of tears but of bile. “We have to get them out.”

The group suddenly erupted in conversation, opinions flying wildly and nobody listening to anybody.

“Forget children,” one man said. “An army of thousands would obliterate the city.”

“But we must release the children,” another said. “Of course we must. To do anything less would be a sin beyond all others.”

“They’ve just been setting us up,” one said. “Gassing us with that foul air so that we’ll sit quietly for the slaughter.”

“And what about the gold dust below the hold, Kiron?” said another more quietly, as if he weren’t sure if everyone else in the group knew of his secret. “What of that? We must retrieve it.”
 

At last, Kiron raised one hand into the air, and gradually the men fell silent. Then he looked pointedly at me.

“We must decide how to move forward based on the new information Aster has brought us,” he said. “What can we do that will enable the use of the Book at the earliest opportunity?”

“What is this book?” Finian spat.

My chest felt caved in. I didn’t want to tell the story again. But Kiron raised his hand in my direction. He expected me to be the one to tell it, regardless of my personal problems. I took a deep breath.

“I’m…well…I’m Almara’s descendant. Before he died, we were on a quest together, his original quest, actually, to get to the Book of Leveling.” I shifted my weight, uneasy with all these eyes on me. The last time I had stood before a group of people and told my story, back in the Solitary village, I had ended up running for my life with a stolen piece of their history in my fist.
 

“But what is it?”

“It’s a guide,” I said. “A roadmap to balancing the Fold.”

Several of the men stared blankly, and I realized I needed to continue.

“Have you all heard of Jared?” Most nodded. “Well, before Jared died up on that mountain, he stole the gold balancing points in eight of the planets in the Fold. And when he realized what he had done, that the planets were out of balance, he used the power he had left to try to draw Earth closer, so he could take gold from there and level
these
planets again. Only it didn’t go as he had planned, and the force of his spell killed him. Lucky for us, before that he had written a guide for himself, a plan with the details about where the gold had been taken from, and how much. The Book of Leveling.”

“And you have this book?” the old man asked.

I looked towards him, relieved at the kind tone of his voice. I nodded.
 

I dropped my pack to the ground and dug out the book. The men gathered around me and, opening to a blank page, I ran my hand over the surface. As the words appeared, several of them gasped. But those closest remained quiet and serious, reading the instructions over my shoulders. Finally Finian spoke.

“And how are we to find this gold?” he asked, turning to face me. “There is no gold left in the Fold. Surely even a child like yourself must know this.”

I bristled. I was tired of taking my beatings without complaint.

I dug into my pocket and pulled out the gold medallion I had wrenched from Cadoc’s neck back in the dragon’s cave and dangled it in front of Finian’s nose.

Nobody gasped this time. Nobody breathed. Even Finian’s mouth hung open in shock. I had to stifle a laugh when I looked over at Kiron and found he wore the same look as the rest.
 

The seconds stretched on as the group remained silent. But then a voice rang out clearly through the grove.

“Oh, he knows it,” said the voice. “Though from what I remember of Aster Wood, he likes a good challenge.” Footsteps crunched over fallen twigs from the trees that towered above, and from between two large trunks emerged a very, very old man.
 

Though he didn’t look his age in the slightest.
 

Owyn Gildas stood before us, gripping his staff and smiling broadly. Stonemore’s most abused prisoner had returned.

The group immediately gathered around him. He looked like he had been through hell. His hair stood on end in several places, and large gashes were cut into his cheeks and forearms. But still he smiled at his group of friends. Kiron was the first to speak.

“You made it,” he said gruffly. “I feared you hadn’t survived.”

“Oh, I survived,” he said. “Only to come back home and find the place brimming with fools.” He looked around at the men, amused. “Finian, flowers do look wonderful on you.” Finian scowled, ripping the crown of purple blooms from his head.

“You wouldn’t be so smug had you experienced it, yourself,” he snarled.
 

Owyn’s smile faltered, and his cheerful demeanor seemed to melt. He walked up to Finian and stood not more than two inches from his face.

“Oh, I suspect what
I’ve
experienced would have killed one like yourself,” he said quietly. Finian lowered his eyes. Then Owyn turned away, and his smile returned.

“You and the girl did a number on that mountain, my boy,” he said to me, his eyebrows raised.
 

“Me and the girl?” I asked.
 

“I was tracking you,” he said, a mischievous smirk playing around his lips.

“You were?” I asked, surprised. “Why didn’t you let us know you were there? We could have used the help.” The thought of help being so close, but withheld, stung.

“I would have,” he said, “but I was on the other side of the valley. It was with this,” he held up a long, thin spy scope, “that I saw you.”

I reached out for the telescope and held it up to my eye, training it towards Stonemore. From here, I could see the people in fine detail. And we were at least a mile away.

Owyn turned to Kiron and the rest of the group.

“That’s how I found you all today,” he said. “When you landed here, a shockwave preceded you. I looked over the countryside using this, and it didn’t take me long to locate you.
 

“I had been waiting on the outskirts of the city, hoping you would show yourselves. I wasn’t about to set foot back in that place after what I saw on the roads. People smiling and guffawing like idiots. I knew something was amiss, so I waited. And sure enough, when I saw the pink and purple buildings, I knew there was trouble.” He laughed again and looked pointedly at the garb on the surrounding men. “Now I can see it for certain.”

But I wasn’t amused.

“Why didn’t you find me after?” I asked, my voice rising. “I was alone. Almara was dead. I spent months out in the wilderness on my own after what happened. And you didn’t so much as show yourself?”

Owyn’s smile faded again, but this time there was pity in his eyes, not malice.

“I had to choose,” he said, more serious. “The girl had gone, and I could tell something wasn’t right. When I saw you recover, leave the mountaintop, I knew you would be alright, at least for a time. So I followed the girl instead. She seemed…off, somehow.”

I laughed, though I wasn’t amused in the slightest. The men around us stayed silent.