Michael looked to his side and saw a pair of branches lying on the ground. He grabbed one in each hand and ran into the stream. He jabbed the thinner, pointier stick like a spear at the first dog’s head. It let go of the man’s neck and snapped onto the end of the branch, holding it with its teeth and trying to tug it away. Michael whirled the other, heavier branch and smashed it down on the dog's skull with all his might. As the dog stepped back yelping in pain, the second one lunged for Michael. He sidestepped the attack, but slipped on a rock and fell into the water. With ferocious agility, the beast turned and was snarling over him, its white fangs and red gums bared against its broad black snout. Michael tried to scramble to his feet before those teeth could sink into his throat, but the rocks were slick with algae and he couldn’t lift himself up quick enough. As the growling beast dove upon him, Michael saw a flash of green foliage and heard a fleshy whump as Sam slammed a branch across its nose.
The hound doubled back in surprise. James charged next, hurling a rock at its head, which missed by a fair distance. That gave the dog a moment to collect itself. It lunged at Sam, catching him by the ankle with enough force to wrench him off his feet. Sam screamed as he collapsed against the rocks.
Michael managed to get to his feet and realized that he was somehow still holding one of the branches. He swung it like a golf club, connecting with the dog's lower jaw. The beast yelped as Michael brought the branch down for a second blow to its cranium.
The hound was thoroughly jarred and ran back to the far edge of the stream where it was joined by the first beast. They furrowed their snouts and stared irately at the young men. James threw another stone at them, which also missed. The first dog took a tentative step forward and growled as if to attack again. But then Jake hurled a stone, which glanced off its side, and then James threw yet another that connected firmly with the second dog’s face.
Michael beat his club against the rocks and stream, splashing luminous blue rivulets every which way. “Come on!” he challenged the dogs to attack, but they seemed to think better of it, turned, and padded back into the bushes. With a rustle of chaparral, they were gone.
Michael knelt beside Sam who was still lying in the spring, breathing heavily.
“Are you okay?” Michael asked.
Sam stared up at the sky for what seemed like a long while. “I think so.” He sat up with a groan and examined his leg, which was bleeding through his sock. “I can’t move it,” he observed with curious calmness. “How’s the other guy?”
James was already turning the stranger over. “He’s not breathing! Give me a hand!” he called.
Jake splashed through the stream and helped him drag the limp man to the bank while Michael helped Sam hobble over. They laid the stranger out in the dust of the trail.
“Is he alive?” asked James.
Jake searched the man for signs of life. “I think his neck is broken.” He pulled back the man’s hood and gasped.
“What is it?” James asked. Then seeing what was wrong, dittoed the exclamation, “Woah! What’s wrong with his face?”
Michael turned to look and was shocked to see a pair of short, curved horns protruding from the top of the man’s completely bald head. One of them ended in a stump that was half jagged and half smooth as if it had been sawn part way then snapped off. The man’s features otherwise looked human, but Michael could tell even in the low light of dusk that his complexion was awry. He was a dull, grayish-green. Red rivulets flowed from his throat and ran in a dark trail through the gravel to the blue river Fold.
“He must have stumbled into a Fold,” guessed Jake.
“A Fold that turns people’s skin green, makes them grow horns, and sends vicious black dogs after them?” asked James sarcastically.
“My dad has seen Folds do a lot of strange things,” said Michael kneeling by the dead man. He picked up a limp green hand. The skin was already growing cold. “It’s not impossible, but that is a pretty unlikely combination of effects…and it definitely doesn’t explain the dogs.” He pointed at the man’s clothes. “Have you ever seen anyone wear something like these?”
“It looks like armor,” observed James.
The man was indeed wearing a leathery-looking chest plate with protective sleeves of thick, black leather. A red star was emblazoned on the front of the chest plate and on each shoulder. He also wore tall black boots that looked more appropriate for combat than jogging through a forest.
“What do we do with him?” asked Jake. “Should we go back to town and find help?”
“We can’t leave him here,” Michael asserted. “Those dogs will come back as soon as we’re gone.” He asked Sam how he was holding up.
“Um, I’m okay, but my leg is bleeding pretty badly.”
“Do you know any healing techniques?” Michael asked him.
“Yeah, but I’ve never used them on people before. They don’t let first years do that.”
“Ok, now is probably not the best time for you to try it out,” said Michael. “We need to wrap up your ankle then.”
“You can use my bandanna,” said James, proffering the sweaty piece of cloth.
They didn’t have anything significantly cleaner, so Michael took it and wound it tightly around Sam’s wound. His ankle was twisted like it could be broken as well. Michael tightened the bandage and helped Sam onto his one good foot. His friend draped an arm around Michael’s shoulder to support himself.
“Can you guys carry the body?” asked Michael, bracing himself against Sam’s heftiness.
“Are you kidding?” Jake whined. “We barely made it up here just carrying ourselves!”
“Come on, Jake,” said James patronizingly, “It’s downhill almost all the way. We can’t leave him here to be eaten by dogs.”
“Yeah,” added Michael, “and my dad needs to see his face so he can find out where the Fold is that did this.”
“Alright,” Jake grumbled, “but I get to carry his feet.”
•••
Despite their adrenaline, it took a long while to descend the mountainside. The wan crescent moon slipping behind the hills did little to light their path as they made their way through the fields just outside of town. Michael helped Sam hobble along while Jake and James bore the horned man behind.
As they reached the oak tree, Michael’s ear perked up. He could hear dogs barking in the distance, coming from the forest beyond the fields.
“We have to hurry,” he said.
They picked up the pace. Sam limped as fast as he could, groaning with each step. As they reached the vineyards the barking was clearly closer and Michael could tell from their cacophonous calls that there were more of them.
In a sweaty panic, James and Jake overtook Michael and Sam, sprinting as fast as they could with the heavy body. Michael could see the streetlights of his neighborhood not far away. Beyond that, the first fireworks exploded into the sky, signaling the start of the Discovery Day celebrations. The sound of their bursts mixed with the wild clamor of the advancing dogs.
Michael knew that just beyond the farms were his parents and neighbors. The street lights meant safety. People could see them there— people who might come out to help. But there was no time to get there. The dogs were approaching fast. Their raucous howls seemed right behind them.
Michael dragged Sam faster, but the hounds were quicker. Michael was exhausted and covered with sweat. He turned to his friend whose leg was streaming with blood and his face was streaked with dusty tears. They were so close to home, but weren’t going to make it at this pace. Suddenly, it seemed idiotic that his friends were carrying a dead stranger’s corpse instead of Sam. He called out to them to put the body down and come back, but they didn’t hear him. They were too far away or perhaps delirious from exertion.
“Sam, you’re going to have to sit down,” Michael said.
“No,” wheezed his friend.
“Sit down,” Michael commanded as calmly as possibly.
Sam looked terrified, but allowed Michael to lower him to the ground. “Michael, we have to run! You have to run!”
Michael ignored his friend and turned around to see a pack of five, black-maned dogs bounding down the trail. Michael bent his knees, and put out his arms, standing as if he was going to push a heavy block. He focused on the dogs in his mind while his eyes blurred, staring into the middle distance. He took a deep breath. He would have liked to take many more, but there was no time. Just as he had practiced that morning over the stove, he imagined a burst of light and flames issuing from his palms, but larger, massive, and powerful enough to stop the snarling horde racing upon them.
“Michael!” Sam begged. “What are you doing?”
But Michael wasn’t listening. He concentrated on his body filling with energy, Moving from his mind to his feet and back again, then imagined all of that energy flowing into his hands, building up to a mighty force. He drew his palms back then thrust them into the air ahead of him. As he did so, he imagined the dogs smashed apart by a blast of fiery light.
Michael returned from his mind’s eye and stared awestruck at the result of his intention. A radiant orange flash was subsiding. His fireball had struck the pack of dogs and sent them flying in a cloud of smoke and flame. But one last dog leapt through the carnage, unharmed and undeterred by the shattered pack.
Michael crouched again, ready to hurl another ball of flame, but he knew there was no time. The dog was already springing through the air. Michael couldn’t think about what he wanted. He couldn’t bring his mind to focus upon the breath and the controlled Movement of energy he needed to save his life. All he could see was the wide pink maw and gleaming white fangs flying at him through the blackening night. He shut his eyes and held them tight.
Chapter II
CROSSROADS