Adrian touched her shoulder. “Those are some big words! Is Exodus telling you that right now?”
“A minute ago.” She hugged his arm and pulled him closer. “Adrian, I’m scared.”
He gathered her into his arms and whispered, “Why?”
As she hugged him, her words came out in spasms. “That girl. … I’m scared for her.”
“Is she in danger?”
“Exodus talked about a terrible sickness. I think the girl has it. She’ll die if she doesn’t get help.”
“Do you know where she’s going?”
Regina shook her head. “Exodus didn’t say.”
As he slowly released her, he straightened and looked back at Wallace. Standing at the forest’s edge, the boy stared at the field, his one eye unblinking. A tear glistened on his cheek, and the sword dangled loosely in his grip.
“Are you all right?” Adrian asked.
Wallace barely moved his lips. “Elyssa told me about Exodus and the disease.”
“Then fill us in.”
“It’ll take a while.” Focusing on the ground, Wallace walked toward the stream, his legs brushing a section of tall grass along the way. “I need a drink first.”
“That’s fine,” Adrian said. “You can tell the story when we’re settled under the trees again.”
Wallace stooped at the stream’s edge. “Hey! Take a look at this.”
“What?” Adrian hurried to join him.
“Look at how it leans,” Wallace said, nodding at the surrounding grass. “Do you think there was a flood?”
Crouching next to him, Adrian brushed his hand along the blade tips. Every one bent as if overwhelmed by a fast-moving stream. “There’s no doubt about it. The stream must have swelled in a torrential downpour.”
“There’s one problem.” Wallace pointed upstream. “It’s bending the wrong way.”
Adrian compared the stream’s flow to the angle of the grass. If floodwaters had rushed through, the grass would be pointing the opposite way.
“Could the stream have switched directions?” Wallace asked.
“I don’t see how that’s possible.” Adrian smiled. “Unless the ground shifts its angle once in a while.”
“Then how would you explain it?”
Adrian scanned both banks. Every patch of grass bent the same way, ruling out any theory that this particular patch had been sat upon by an animal. “I’m not sure what to think.” He scooted to a section of damp soil, looking for more clues. Although still dim, the muddy bank revealed a set of shallow divots. “Now this is interesting.”
“What?” Wallace shifted over and stooped next to him.
“Tracks of some kind.” He scanned farther upstream. With the earliest rays of dawn barely easing over the horizon, the impressions weren’t crystal clear, but their shapes and configurations were apparent—paw prints in a line parallel to the water. They appeared to be from a dog, though bigger than any from Major Four. “Do you have wolves here?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
Wallace looked up, his eye widening. “The dragons tell us about wolves. Supposedly they hunt in packs, and they’ll eat humans, so the dragons chase them away, but I’ve never seen one.”
Adrian mentally drew the wolf that could make such prints, a hefty creature almost twice the size of those at home. Unless this species walked single file, there was only one wolf, two at the most. He and Wallace could probably dispatch them, but if there were more, they would be hard-pressed to fight while protecting the girls. They couldn’t afford to lower their vigilance. “I hope you’re not too tired.”
“Uh …” Wallace straightened his sloping shoulders. “I’m okay. Why?”
“We need to keep moving.”
Wallace glanced at Shellinda and Regina. Both leaned over Marcelle’s cart, fussing with her hair. “You think the wolves are close?” he whispered, even more quietly than before.
Nodding, Adrian raised his voice. “The girls said they aren’t tired, so we might as well keep moving. If we stay close to the trees, we can get under cover if we see a dragon.”
Wallace gave Adrian the sword and scabbard and walked casually toward the cart. “I’ll take Marcelle. I can tell my story while I’m pushing.”
After they gathered their flasks, Wallace marched ahead with Shellinda touching one side of the cart and Regina the other. Staying within a few steps of the stream, he pushed the cart over roots, divots, and rises. Adrian trailed the procession, watching for more tracks at the water’s edge. At times, the oversized paw prints disappeared, perhaps signaling the wolves’ entry into the stream, but they always reappeared again, freshly pressed tracks blazing the trail. They were somewhere ahead and probably not very far. Since they were clearly not in pursuit, maybe a bit of noise would frighten them should they draw near.
“Go ahead and start your story,” Adrian called, “and speak up so I can hear you from back here. The water’s pretty noisy.”
Keeping his focus straight ahead, Wallace nodded. “It’s like this. At one time, Exodus floated around in the sky. Everyone called it a star, but it’s smaller than a real star, and it’s hot, but not so hot that it’ll burn you when you’re close. Anyway, the star emitted pheterone, a gas that dragons need to survive, so they loved it. Some even worshiped it. Humans hated Exodus, because they couldn’t see any purpose for a star that made them sweat more than usual, so they decided to try to get rid of it.”
Wallace looked at the sky. “They flew up to Exodus on a dragon and pierced it with a spear. It spewed vapor that spread out everywhere, and it shot away out of sight. With Exodus gone, there wasn’t enough pheterone anymore, so the dragons were in danger, and that white vapor carried a disease that affected only the humans.
“It caused terrible sores, and the sores spread, like the disease was eating them alive. Anyone who caught it died in just a few days. Some of the kids seemed to be immune for a while, and some of the smarter humans tried to figure out why.
“Elyssa said something about …” Wallace glanced upward again. “Genetics, I think.”
“Sure,” Adrian said. “We know all about genetics at home. Go on.”
“Anyway, they couldn’t find a cure, and every human died.” Wallace shrugged. “Elyssa wasn’t clear about the rest of the story, but she thinks the dragons preserved the genetics of the humans and started a new population on another world.”
“Major Four?”
Wallace glanced back. “We call it Darksphere.”
“Yes, I know.”
“One more thing,” Wallace continued. “Elyssa said someone would try to bring Exodus back, and if that happens without healing its wound, it will spread the disease again, and all the humans on Starlight will die, just like before. Only Elyssa is protected. Only she can seal it without getting the disease.”
“So that’s what Exodus meant last night,” Regina said, still clutching the cart. “I heard it say that it was healed.”
“By the girl inside?” Adrian asked.
She nodded. “I think so.”
“So if that girl is sick …” Adrian pointed toward the field across the stream. “She must not be Elyssa.”
Regina cocked her head. “Elyssa is from your world, right?”
“Right,” Adrian said. “She’s a friend of my younger brother.”
Regina touched herself on the chest. “The girl inside Exodus is a Starlighter from my world.”
“Maybe she is Cassabrie.” Adrian said.
“Or Koren,” Wallace offered.
Regina dipped her head low. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to ask her name.”
Adrian hustled past Wallace and walked at Regina’s side. “That’s okay.” He touched her shoulder with a gentle hand. “You’ve given us a lot of information.”
“But what can we do with the information?” Wallace asked. “We don’t know where Exodus went.”
Adrian propped the sword on his shoulder. “And even if we did know, what could we do? Since t
he wound’s been sealed, she might not be contagious while inside the star, so maybe there’s no danger, no one to warn.”
“So we keep marching northward.” Wallace pushed the cart over a protruding root, careful to keep it from bumping too hard. “How long do you think it will take?”
“All day. Or longer.” Adrian glanced at the paw prints. More wolves had joined the pack, at least five all together. “Let me know when you want me to take the cart.”
“I’m fine. No offense, but I’ve probably pushed more heavy carts than you have, and I know you’re better with that sword.”
Adrian smiled and slowly dropped back to the trailing position. As he kept a wary eye on the tracks, he took a deep breath. A sweet fragrance filtered in, a blend of wild perfumes. Grass pollen incited a slight itch in his nostrils, but no hint of wolves or any other beast joined with the odors. Sunlight now poured over the field on the right, highlighting the flowers he and Cassabrie had enjoyed during their journey southward. Blossoms of red, purple, and yellow waved in the breeze, cooler than in the Southlands, a strangely contrasting backdrop to the dark uncertainty that lay ahead.
Soon, they would likely come upon wolves, and later, if they survived, they hoped to meet the white dragon, but would that encounter be just as troubling? Might he have no solution to the mystery that plagued Marcelle? Could he explain the Exodus puzzle and the disease it might be carrying?
“Wallace, what do you know about the white dragon?” he asked.
Wallace gave another light shrug. “I’ve heard stories about it. Most of us think it’s a myth.”
“He’s no myth. A mystery, to be sure, but not a myth. I’ve seen him.”
“Then what I’ve heard might not do you much good.”
“Go ahead. I’ll take it for what it’s worth.”
Wallace guided the cart closer to the stream, dodging a limb bent nearly to the ground. “Some say he’s trapped in the Northlands because he’s a tyrant. The Creator banished him to a land of ice and snow to keep him from conquering the world. He’s a deceiver who’ll do anything to get out.”
“What could someone do to help him escape?”
“I never heard. Even if the story’s true, I doubt anyone knows how he could get out. Until you came along, no one’s ever been to the Northlands and come back to tell about it. People just make things up.”
“You’re probably right.” As Adrian marched on in silence, an image of Beth came to mind. Impaled and trapped, surely she had motivation to deceive, but so did Alaph. Which one was telling the truth? Alaph had helped Jason heal their father, but could that be part of the deception? Alaph admitted that those who followed him had given in to his influence, so he obviously had some kind of mesmerizing power.
Letting out a silent sigh, Adrian looked to the north. Soon they would all learn the truth, whether from Alaph’s actions or, if Drexel succeeded, the actions of the other three white dragons. It seemed that all of Starlight’s history was about to collide.
Marcelle sat in front of the lantern, watching its flickering flame as it cast a wavering light around the archives escape tunnel. The children she and Captain Reed had rescued from the dungeon lay sleeping in various poses on the floor, while Dunwoody sat leaning against the trunk, his head bobbing and his eyelids batting as he fought sleep. Somewhere in the palace, Maelstrom was likely searching for her, still convinced that Cassabrie lurked, perhaps also convinced that the spirit of Marcelle was trapped within his rope’s crystals. Maybe he had collected the crystalline remains in the execution embers and embedded them in the new rope. If so, he was probably furious that he no longer had them. Maybe his obsession with finding her would preoccupy him for a while and keep him from meddling with the military.
Blinking at the lantern’s wavering flame, she brought her mind back to the present. All the pieces of the plan were now in place. Captain Reed had the letter of marque and was rounding up the troops, careful to watch for Maelstrom’s loyalists. Father, disguised as an old general, worked through the night buying food and warm clothes, securing weapons, and packing provisions.
By now, Randall had already passed through the portal with Orion and Arxad. If Arxad’s plan worked, only Magnar remained on Major Four. With his foul temper, who could tell what rage he was already displaying? Would he stay near the portal, waiting for the troops to arrive? Probably. He wouldn’t want to miss the toppling of Starlight’s usurper.
She laid a hand gently over the scale attached to her chest. It stung, a constant reminder of her alliance with Arxad, and, by association, with Magnar. No matter how ornery and antagonistic he became, she had to stay patient and figure out how to win him over. At the end of the day, he might be the key to winning the war.
She looked at an hourglass Dunwoody had set near his foot. The last grains of sand at the top filtered through the pinched throat and settled on the pile. Dawn had arrived. If Reed followed the schedule, the three scouts he assigned to check the portal for Magnar’s presence would be waiting at the point where the pipeline ended in the forest, and they needed her to lead the way to the portal. Dunwoody had already shown her a map of the gas lines. Since it forked only twice, it would be easy to follow the pipe to her destination.
She shifted her gaze to Dunwoody. The old professor had fallen asleep, his chin now touching his chest. She rose and shook his shoulder gently. “I have to go.”
He jerked up and glanced at the hourglass. “Oh! Yes! By all means!”
Grabbing his wrist, she helped him to his feet. He brushed off the seat of his pants and looked at the hole leading to the pipeline. “I dreamed about you flying on Magnar. I have no idea what he really looks like, but it was a splendid sight. Would you describe him so I can see how accurate my dream was?”
“Although I despise him,” Marcelle said, “I have to admit that he is magnificent in appearance—shimmering reddish scales, sleek muscular body, and radiant eyes that would make most cower just by staring at them.”
“Interesting. In my dream, he was two-toned, some green and some brown, close to the coloring of a toad.”
Marcelle laughed. “I suggest that you not mention your description to Magnar if you ever meet him.”
“Of course. It is not wise to offend someone who can set your hair on fire.” Dunwoody looked toward the access panel leading to the archives room. “How do you plan to use Magnar to topple Leo?”
“The hardest part will be to convince Magnar to come with me. Getting left behind probably wounded his pride, so he likely won’t be ready to listen to a woman’s advice.” She looked up, imagining the palace’s layout above. “Maybe I could appeal to his anger and desire to destroy. The front doorway construction is wood and glass. I’m sure he could break through and create a huge mess.”
“True, but the palace is not a favorable place for a dragon invasion. Once inside, where would you and a dragon go? Flying would be difficult, if not impossible.”
“Do you have a suggestion?”
Dunwoody propped his chin on his hand. “I was thinking that you could attack the Enforcement Zone and destroy the gallows and pillory. At the very least, you will have ruined symbols of injustice in Mesolantrum, and you would be out in the open, which would be a perfect environment for Magnar. Surely the commotion would bring Leo and his loyalists out for battle.”
“His thugs, you mean.” Marcelle mentally replayed Maelstrom’s absorption of Philip’s energy. He was bold when in control of a situation, but when he faced someone he had no power over, he seemed almost cowardly. “I’m not confident that Leo will show up. He seems to run like a rabbit when the odds are against him.”
“Then what will you do?”
“Your idea is the best one I’ve got. We’ll attack the Enforcement Zone. If we can at least get rid of his armed supporters, we’ll have the upper hand.”
“I will get a message to Captain Reed to let him know what you’re doing, and I will find another refuge for these children. I fear that this one is to
o porous.” Dunwoody turned to the trunk. “There is something here you should take with you.”
“The eggshells?”
“No. They are far too fragile, and I see no benefit.” He lifted the lid. “Did you notice the inner compartment?”
She nodded. “It needed a key.”
“I have it.” He withdrew a key from his pocket and reached into the trunk. After turning the lock, he opened a flap-like door, no wider than two fingers. On a tiny shelf inside a shallow hole lay a small leather bag tied at the top with drawstrings. He took it out and dangled it in front of her.
She squinted at the bag, but it appeared to be nothing more than a tobacco pouch. “What is it?”
“I had a good deal of time to study the dragon’s journal, and now I know what this is for.” He laid it in her palm. “Inside, you will find a metal box, and within the box you will find a shining sphere about the size of my thumb knuckle.”
As she reached to untie the bag, he batted her hand away. “Take care. You must not touch it until the proper time. It is beastly hot and will burn your skin.”
She enclosed the bag in her hand. “What is the proper time?”
“When you attempt to reunite with your body. It is called a stardrop. The dragon scribe said that it heals, so I hope that it will repair whatever damage your real body has suffered.”
“But if it’s so hot, won’t it burn my insides?”
“My thoughts exactly. I suggest that you find the dragon and inquire further.”
She pushed the bag into her tunic’s pocket. “I will. The dragon scribe and I have a lot to talk about.”
As Dunwoody gazed at her, his eyes glistened. “My dear Marcelle, I have a confession to make.”
“You do?” She slid her hand into his. “What is it?”
“Ever since …” He cleared his throat, strengthening his voice. “Ever since the day you walked through my classroom door, I have held a special fondness for you. You entered as a scared and lonely peasant who had recently stepped into nobility. You disguised your fear and grief with bravado. You masked your vulnerability with confidence. You put on armor of steel to protect your heart of flesh. And as a result, you became lonelier still.