Chapter One

THE BALL SENT up a puff of fine dust as it skipped past Wyatt and bounced off the chain-link backstop.

“Too fast,” he said, thumbing his glasses. “And too bouncy.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Craig shouted from the mound, his muscled arms held out in challenge.

“You’re supposed to roll it. It shouldn’t ever leave the ground,” Wyatt replied, scowling at the shaggy-haired teen. “You don’t know how to play.”

“Just kick it, Wyatt,” Mr. Alec said through the fence, his voice thick with impatience.

“Yeah,” Craig shouted after the ball had been tossed back to him. “Just kick it. Everyone else can.”

“Pitch it good and I will,” he shouted. “I could kick it a mile if you knew how to pitch.”

The ball sailed past Wyatt before he had time to set his feet. He scowled at Craig, who returned the look with a sneer. Wyatt grunted. He already hated him. He stunk of feigned superiority and Wyatt wanted nothing more than to wipe the smirk from his face. Wyatt wasn’t sure he believed in love at first sight, but hate… That was a different matter entirely.

“Come on, chubs, kick the ball.” Craig’s lips curled as he tossed the rubber sphere from hand to hand. Similar calls poured in from the outfield and a few shouted at his back. His own team was against him.

Wyatt crouched, placing his weight firmly on his back foot, and glared at Craig. “Just pitch it good,” he said.

“Just let him kick it, Craig,” Mr. Alec shouted. “We don’t have all day.”

Had Wyatt not been so focused he would have turned to glare at the slight thirty-something man.

“Fine,” Craig said. “Here you go, newbie, try not to miss it.”

The ball moved so slowly it was nearly at a stop when it reached Wyatt. He swung wildly at it, but met only air. The momentum sent him to the dirt. Craig began a howl of merriment, but was quickly silenced as Wyatt’s untied sneaker caught him square in the jaw and sent him sprawling. Laughter erupted across the field and backstop. Even Mr. Alec’s deep throaty warble rang unrestrained.

“How’s that?” Wyatt bellowed through his wide grin, fighting to ignore the pulse of pain that coursed up his spine.

Craig reared from the dust like a whirling dervish and charged. Wyatt’s eyes went wide at the sight of the thundering behemoth of a teenager storming toward him. His green eyes sparked with anger and malice.

Wyatt popped upright. He felt unsteady in only one sneaker, but was not about to back down. He braced himself, just as he had before the pitch, but this time he sent forth a clawed hand. “Fireball!” he shouted with all the breath in his lungs.

Craig had nearly closed the gap when the shout arrested his advance. A crackling orb of flame exploded against his chest in a shower of sparks. A hush fell over the group from Dorm B, residents and staff alike. Craig stood blinking. Wyatt twirled in place, kicked out a leg, and jutted out his left hand.

“Ice and thunder!” he bellowed. “Lightning!” His right hand hurled electricity from pudgy fingers and his left launched brilliant spears of ice from the palm.

“What the…” Craig said slowly, his eyes darting to the crowd at Wyatt’s back, looking for support.

He’ll need them to pick up the pieces when I’m done.

Wyatt spun again and slowly circled around his stunned foe. He cast another fireball and followed it up with a slap of gale force wind. The stout teen absorbed all attacks, but remained motionless, watching in mute stupor as Wyatt spun, chanted, and hurled magical attacks.

“Is he serious?” Craig said to the group.

Mr. Alec was laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Wyatt, what are you doing?”

Wyatt never took his eyes from Craig and didn’t stop strafing around the rooted teen. “I’m smothering him with flame and ice. He will fall before my magic! I cast you down, evil creature! You will know my name.” He called down a flaming phoenix with a wave of his hands. It would be his crescendo. “Wyatt the Mighty!”

A vibrant cascade of orange, red, and blue sparked from his fingertips and assaulted Craig. The phoenix tore through the boy with a screech and sharp sizzle of searing heat. It was an awe inspiring sight to behold, but each bolt of lightning and ball of fire bounced harmlessly off Craig’s broad shoulders. The violent torrent of wind displaced not a single blond hair, and his flesh remained uncooked. He must have anti-magic protection, Wyatt realized. Or are my spells not strong enough?

“You’re lucky I’m weak from my journey,” Wyatt said, pulling the elements back into his palms. The phoenix dissipated with a puff of smoke. “Otherwise, you’d be real sorry.”

“Really?” Craig said, a wicked grin plastered on his tan face.

“Alright, Wyatt,” Mr. Alec called. “Knock it off. Let’s get back to the game. We’ve only got five more minutes.”

Wyatt ignored him. If my magic won’t work against this brute… Wyatt lunged at Craig and shot a stiff palm out, zeroed in on his sharp nose. Craig leaned to the side, slapping his attack aside with all the effort of swatting an errant fly. His opposing hand flashed briefly into view before Wyatt felt it crush against his ribs. His back slammed into the ground a moment later, tearing the breath from his lungs.

“That’s enough,” Mr. Alec shouted. “Line it up, boys.”

Voices of protest reached Wyatt’s ear as he sat up in the dust, unsure of what had occurred. He is impervious to both magic and physical attacks, he thought, bewildered. I will have to remain wary of that one…

“Craig, that means you! Line it up.”

“Freak,” Craig said with a smirk before turning to join the group.

Mr. Alec led the train of seven boys across the parking lot, leaving Wyatt alone with his thoughts. He watched them for a moment, shaking the cobwebs from his head. How had he been beaten? I must practice even more.

A hand shot into view, nails painted black, and fingers crowded with thick metal rings. He took it and was pulled upright.

“Walk with me,” she said. “You get to help me pick up lunch at the cafeteria.”

Wyatt squinted against the afternoon sun. The swinging I.D. badge around her neck caught his attention and he leaned close to inspect it, thumbing his glasses as he did.

“Abagail Miller,” he said, and nudged his glasses again.

“Ms.” She laughed warmly. “Or Miss. And you can call me Abby if you’d like.”

“Oh,” he said, taking a step back to examine her. “I thought you were a kid, Abby.”

“Miss Abby.” She smiled, her teeth shining just as brightly as her fair skin. “And I’ll take that as a compliment, but I am staff.” She pointed a ringed finger at him. “Don’t you forget it. Grab the lunch cart and let’s go. Oh, and get your shoe.”

The lunch cart was a rickety contraption of stained gray plastic atop which a large cooler was attached. It continually veered to the left as Wyatt pushed it along the uneven asphalt.

“That was quite a way to begin your first day,” Ms. Abagail said, brushing her hair out of her face. Shoulder length and straight, it was dark as night aside from the neon pink stripe that hung from her left temple. She could have been a monochrome painting if not for the solitary outburst of color.

“He started it,” Wyatt protested. “Not my fault he can’t pitch.”

“And what was all that fireball stuff?”

Wyatt winced. He hadn’t intended to unveil his spell-casting so soon. And it shamed him deeply that his efforts had been so futile, not that he would admit it.

“You’re a strange one, aren’t ya?” she said when he didn’t answer right away.

“You’re the strange one, not me,” he quipped.

“I won’t argue with that,” she said with a laugh. “But, it’s not a good idea to start fights, especially on your first day. And not with Craig.”

“I didn’t start it.”

“Either way, it’s only going to get your privileges suspended. And you don’t have a whole lot to start with, being new and all.”

Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t care. He started it.” If that cocky oaf of a boy could have pitched correctly he wouldn’t have needed to reveal his magic. He got lucky this time. Once I rest and regain my energy…

Ms. Abagail sighed.

The back entrance of the cafeteria was shrouded in shadows and bracketed by towering metal freezers that hummed loudly. A hunched woman with a sour face loaded the bottom of the plastic cart with a box of bread and tray of limp salad. A metal trough of steaming brown stew slid into the cooler. Wyatt tried to engage the cafeteria worker in conversation, but she only smiled weakly and turned away every time he spoke.

The way back to dorm was more difficult as the cart was laden with food and the snaking asphalt path pitched upward. Wyatt nearly tipped the cart as its small wheel caught a crack and leaned precariously to one side. Ms. Abagail steadied it and helped pull from the front after that.

“So, what kind of things are you into?” she said once a decent pace had been achieved.

“Uh, I like to read,” he said. “And draw.” And practice magic, he thought. And sword-fighting and martial arts…

“Oh, cool cool. Well, if you keep fighting, you’ll have plenty of time to read, stuck in your room.” She turned and flashed a friendly smile.

Wyatt shrugged. “Fine with me. I won’t be here very long anyway.”

“Oh?” Ms. Abagail said. Something ran across her face, but Wyatt couldn’t decipher it.

“When my grandma gets better I’m going back home,” he said.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Didn’t you read my file?”

“Of course,” she said.

“Then you know I’m leaving soon.”

Ms. Abagail smiled softly, but said nothing.

Chapter Two

MR. GERALD WAS just as tall as he was wide. The collar of his purple dress shirt pinched a thick fold of skin toward his chin, nearly obscuring it. It pulsed and vibrated erratically as he spoke. Wyatt thought a man of his stature would’ve had a deeper voice, but Mr. Gerald’s came out as a nasally whine.

“This is your room, you’ll have it to yourself for now,” the giant man said, mopping at his forehead with a limp tissue. “Lunch will be in about ten minutes, Mr. Alec will call you when it’s your turn to wash up. Until then, you can get settled.”

Wyatt nodded, but Mr. Gerald’s voice was little more than background noise. He was far too busy examining his new surroundings to pay the words any heed.

 The corner room on Dorm B was spacious and smelled sweetly of lemon furniture polish and window cleaner. It contained one bed, one dresser, one desk, one chair, and one wall locker; all wooden and all bolted to the hardwood floor. The floor was scratched and scuffed so as not to reflect a single ray of light. Not that much light came through the quarter inch of safety glass that wrapped around one corner. The windows were equally as tarnished, scratched to a milky white. They didn’t open.

“How many other kids are here?” Wyatt asked as he craned around the wide man and peered down the long hallway. It was lined with numerous doorways, presumably bedrooms, some open, others shut.

“Ah, well, with you, that makes thirteen,” Mr. Gerald wheezed. The I.D. badge hanging from his thick neck showed a far thinner man, smiling. “During the week anyway, less on the weekend. You met half the group on the fields when you got here.”

“Wrong. I met more than half on the fields,” Wyatt said. “There are seven others on dorm right now, six would be half. And thirteen is bad luck.”

Mr. Gerald scowled, but said nothing. His bald head shone with sweat and rivulets ran from his temples. Wyatt grinned lopsidedly at the towering man and adjusted his thick framed glasses. They hung for a moment, then slid back into a seemingly impossible angle.

Mr. Gerald forced a smile and teetered from the room, his worn tennis shoes protesting each step with a loud squeak.

Wyatt shrugged at the interaction. He couldn’t blame the man for being in a poor mood. Wyatt could feel his own mood sour with each passing moment. The sterility of the dorm was oppressive. He turned to survey the room again. Sterile and suffocating.

A single garbage bag sat atop the bed, marking the entirety of Wyatt’s worldly possessions. He tore into it and fished out a slim wooden stick the length of his forearm. He whirled in place, brandishing the crude wand in one hand, and snapped it at an enemy.

“Fireball!” he yelled. He spun to his right and shot out a socked foot in a disjointed high kick. “Wy-Ahh!” was his battle cry.

Lightning crackled from the end of his wand and tore a neat hole in an advancing goblin’s chest. Smoke trailed from the ragged orifice as it collapsed with a groan. Wyatt let out a cackle and leapt atop the bed. He whirled in all directions, daring his enemies to challenge the great wizard, Wyatt the Mighty!

He faced the advancing horde of snarling goblins. There was no end to their numbers. His wand crackled and snapped as he spun a tight circle atop his hill, sending forth bolts of lightning and orbs of fire. He laughed as the goblins howled in pain and dismay. One reached for him, but a swift kick sent the green-skinned monster sprawling. A lightning bolt turned it to ash.

His mind flickered to his previous battle on the field. Acid fury pulsed through his veins and his grip tightened on his wand. He sent forth a wave of fire, searing a crowd of goblins. He paused to listen to their cries, and grinned. Craig will wish himself as lucky next time.

In a matter of moments he reduced the entire goblin army to ash. Satisfied, he dropped onto the bed, awash in sweat, gulping air.

“Wyatt, you’re up!” Mr. Alec called from the hallway.

He took another moment to survey his handiwork and catch his breath before tucking the wand into the waist band of his shorts and heading for the bathroom.

“What are we doing after lunch?” Wyatt asked as the water ran over his hands. It was ice cold.

Mr. Alec leaned back in a rolling office chair, his legs propped against the wall near the bathroom door. “After lunch, you’ll have some chores to do and then we’ll head back outside for an extra rec’ if everyone does what they need to and we don’t have any more issues.”

“Like casting make believe spells like an idiot?”

Wyatt whirled at the voice. Craig stood grinning in the open doorway directly opposing the bathroom.

Mr. Alec smiled and looked to Wyatt. “Yeah, no more magic crap.”

“It’s not crap,” Wyatt said. He flicked his wet hands at Craig. “Water!” he shouted and grinned lopsidedly.

The tall teen made to lunge at him, but Mr. Alec rolled in front of him before he could move. “Knock it off, Wyatt. We don’t start crap here,” he shouted.

Wyatt scowled. Craig held up a pair of middle fingers and smirked. Wyatt brought a hand to his waist band, fingering the end of his wand beneath his superhero t-shirt. He wanted nothing more than to unleash an unrelenting tempest of lightning, fire, and wind, but thought better of it. In such close confines it would be difficult to avoid collateral damage. You lucked out again, Craig…

He had turned back to the sink when Craig said something that set his blood to a boil. The words plunged into his mind like a hot knife, bringing his rage to a head. The words themselves were lost immediately, but the anger remained.

Mr. Alec said something as Wyatt lunged, but his mind was otherwise engaged and he couldn’t process it. All he saw was Craig’s stupid grin. He drew the wand and thrust it at the grin in one motion as if it were a dagger. There was a time for spells and a time for pure physical violence. This was the latter.

He couldn’t tell if he ever reached the grinning bully. Something solid slammed into his chest, drove him into a wall, and dragged him away from his prey. Craig’s laughter rang off the concrete walls and echoed within Wyatt’s skull. He protested in fits and starts, spraying spittle and shouting things even he couldn’t decipher. His vision was clouded with blacks and reds. The pressure in his ears was overwhelming. Surely his head would rupture.

Back in the corner room of Dorm B, he caught his breath enough to stand on his own. In another moment his vision cleared. Mr. Alec loomed in the doorway, a firm scowl pasted on his bearded face. He was shouting something and gesturing wildly, but Wyatt’s ears found no sound and he couldn’t read lips.

Wyatt’s senses didn’t completely recover until Mr. Alec left and the back hallway emptied as the other residents transitioned to the front for lunch. Wyatt collapsed onto the edge of his bed just as Ms. Abagail rolled into view. She propped her legs against his door frame and took a swig from a colored can.

“That stuff is bad for you,” he said without looking up from the floor. He could feel every vein twitch beneath his skin.

“Yeah, I know,” she said and took another long draw. “But, you don’t want to see me without my caffeine. I get all crazy.” She drew a wide circle around her ear with her finger.

Wyatt arched his bushy black eyebrows and glanced in her direction, but said nothing.

“Kind of a crazy first day, huh?” she said.

Wyatt shrugged. “It’s OK. I won’t be here long.”

“Yeah, you told me. Look, it was real sucky of Craig to mention your grandma like that, but you can’t just attack people here.”

“I hate him,” Wyatt blurted. His hands tensed into claws and a flood of emotions washed over him again. How dare he talk about her.

He gritted his teeth and stood. Ms. Abagail was saying something, he could see her mouth move in between gulps of energy drink, but the words were lost in the tempest that swirled throughout the room. Where did the storm come from? His eyes darted about, searching. Lightning struck his desk and thunder shook the walls. I need to escape…

His eyes fell on the tall wooden wall locker in the far corner of the room. The urge to hide was too much to resist. Ms. Abagail called after him as he curled into the tight confines, but her voice sounded distant and garbled, as if she was underwater. Or he was.

The wall locker was little more than an upright coffin. It was a tight squeeze for a boy of fifteen who, admittedly, was a little thick of body. Wyatt’s knees pressed against both the unyielding wood and his own chest. His arms crossed on top, each hand wrapped around the opposing shoulder. His broad hips forbade the door from shutting all the way and a sliver of light transected his prison.

The violent tremor in his body fell away at once and his head cleared in the tight space. His mind still swam with visions of his knuckles against Craig’s smirking face, but the tight walls wrapped him in stifling comfort. Outside, the strange storm raged, tearing at the wooden furniture. He doubted the bolts would hold for much longer.

Absently, he reached into the collar of his shirt and drew out the long hempen string that always hung from his neck. A piece of driftwood the size of his thumb hung from it. The wood was crude and asymmetrical, roughly polished, smooth in some places and splintered in others. The jade stone embedded within it glowed in stark opposition to the drab wood. It was no larger than his thumbnail, dark green, and perfectly smooth. It sparkled in the shaft of light and was warm to the touch.

It always brought comfort to look at it and he would often lose himself staring into the tranquil jade stone. He did so now, freeing his mind from all thoughts. He ran a finger over the wood and drew it across the stone. He pulled back suddenly, slamming his elbow against the wall locker. He plunged his finger into his mouth and stared incredulously at the gemstone. It burned me.

Something in the stone caught his attention. It looked like a spark, an almost imperceptible movement of light and energy. It arrested his heart and the pain in his finger faded from consciousness. There, another spark. And another. They bounced wildly within the jade gemstone, lighting it up like an ember of green fire.

“What the…” he whispered, drawing the pendant in line with his eyes.

He slowly brought his finger to it again. As soon as his finger grazed the smooth surface a jolt of fiery pain shot up his arm and forced him to pull back. His head smacked against the wall, but his gaze never wavered.

Eyes wide, he watched as another spark flitted across the stone and burst from the surface, spiraling into the shadows of the cramped wall locker. A pair of sparks soon followed, bursting toward the top of the space, banishing shadows as they floated down to him. The amulet glowed brightly and a cascade of green sparks burst forth, momentarily blinding him. When he could see again, hundreds of sparks filled the space, slowly floating down to cover Wyatt in a green glow. He sat rigid, not that the space allowed much movement.

The mysterious sparks pulsed and shifted. Thin tendrils sprouted from the mystical orbs and crept along his legs and arms. Magic seeds, Wyatt thought, as he watched them pulse and grow. Ethereal roots grabbed at his body and pressed tightly against his soft flesh. Wyatt gasped and found he couldn’t breathe. The tendrils of energy had reached his neck and were slowly twisting around, cutting off his air. Warmth flooded over him and the light grew too bright to bear. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself against the prying green seeds.

It felt as if his body was on fire. He was being burned alive. Consumed. Is this what it feels like to die?

And then it was gone. The warmth, the light, the crackle of a million impossible sparks…

He eased his eyes open.

It was all gone.

Chapter Three

HIS VISION WAS blurred and muddy. He stumbled to his feet and slowly turned in a circle, both frowning and squinting. Wyatt wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but it was certainly not his new room on Dorm B. He pulled off his glasses and examined the lenses. Slowly, he lifted his gaze. Everything was clear, although he still couldn’t be sure of what he was seeing.

Dark spears of rugged wood rose from the ground, thick and knotted, tightly spaced for as far as Wyatt could see. It wasn’t far; the forest was dusk dark.

“No way,” he said, turning in wonder.

Something akin to moss cradled his feet. It was dark blue and covered the entire forest floor in a soft carpet. It crept up the trunk of every tree, reaching far over his head in some places. He pulled off his stained socks and wiggled his toes against it.

He pressed a hand to a nearby trunk bare of moss. Its bark was rough and nearly black in color. Perhaps it was black, but the strangeness of such a notion made Wyatt dizzy. It must be dark brown, he thought. The mighty, dark monoliths stood stalwart and silent, none more narrow than a half dozen feet across. Most were far thicker.

Wyatt looked skyward, wondering how far the strange trees reached. He could not discern any canopy or even branches, but what he did see stole his breath.

Millions of tiny orange orbs, not unlike the green ones that had stolen him there, buzzed and danced amongst the shadows, hundreds of feet above. They danced and darted like a million playful fireflies. He tried to follow their movements, but soon became lost in the larger ballet. A faint hum descended and Wyatt lost himself in the barely perceptible symphony. It was beautiful.

He had no sense of how long he stood with his face turned up, but suddenly he jerked back in control, remembering the strangeness of his situation. He spun around again, trying to decipher what he was seeing and feeling. A deep breath seemed to melt his muscles. The air smelled of cinnamon and the soft moss was plush and inviting. But, he couldn’t sleep now. Who knew how much more there was to see?

“Well,” he said to the forest. “Time to explore.” I am Wyatt the Mighty, after all.

He looked to his glasses and then to the surrounding clarity. He shrugged and tossed them over his shoulder. No direction was discernibly different from any other, so he began walking the way he happened to be facing. It seemed sensible.

He brushed every tree he passed and danced around a few, his feet rejoicing with each step in the soft moss. He began to hum in tune with the orange orbs high above and skipped from tree to tree, a smile splitting his face in two.

Catching an exposed root and being upended onto the forest floor did little to dissuade his ecstasy. The moss wrapped him in warm security. A distant light caught his attention as he rolled upright. It was the first change he had seen in the strange forest. How could he ignore it? He stumbled to his feet and skipped after the light, a strange sensation urging him to hurry.

“Glowing trees?” he said in wonder as he reached the spot.

The five trees were blindingly white with smooth trunks, each similar in size to the surrounding forest. The five stood alone, the dark forest forming a sharp border around the tight ring. Even the moss terminated and turned abruptly to damp soil.

Wyatt entered the ring and spun until he felt dizzy. Each tree glowed with radiant white light, bathing Wyatt in warmth and forcing him to squint.

“This is awesome,” he yelled as he walked the circle with childlike awe, brushing each trunk with his hand. Smooth and warm. Alive.

As if in response to his admiration, the branches of the trees swayed silently in the still air. Wyatt stood rooted as an intertwined web of branches descended in front of him. A large bundle of brightly colored fruit hung heavy from the center. Wyatt admired the attractive bundle, ignoring the strangeness of its arrival. Five uniformly oval fruits drooped from spindly stalks. Each was a different color; blue, red, yellow, green, and orange. They resembled mangoes. A strange hunger rose in his gut and a thin line of drool escaped the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said to no one as he grabbed the nearest one.

Its orange skin was flawless and smooth, begging to be eaten. Wyatt was all too eager to oblige. The flesh was soft, moist, and deep purple in color. Sweet juice ran down his chin. It tasted faintly of strawberries, or perhaps blueberries. No, it was most similar to a banana or a peach. No, pineapple. Apple? Grapes? Each bite brought a different flavor. His head spun at the complexity.

Something seized his wrist and halted his ravenous feast just as Wyatt was moving for another bite. He leaned back in surprise and saw a thick coil of radiant white wrapped securely around his wrist. Wyatt dropped the fruit and pried at the snare with his free hand. In an instant a second white vine snaked down the first and seized his wrist. His eyes went wide in horror and, grunting loudly, pulled against his bonds.

“Let. Go. Stupid. Tree,” he said between pulls.

The vines did not yield, instead pulling tighter and wrenching Wyatt off the ground. He yelped and looked down to see his feet swiping at empty air just a foot from the forest floor. He twisted wildly, trying to pull free. Curse you hunger, he thought, but he knew he would have handled the fruit regardless. He just couldn’t help it.

After several minutes of futile effort he relented and let himself swing lazily from side to side. His face was bathed in sweat and his wrists screamed out in pain. He thought his arms would pull free from his shoulders at any moment.

“This just got a lot less awesome.”

Something moved outside the ring of white trees, but vanished from view as he spun to his right. What was that? He grunted and swung his legs, using his weight to pull himself back to the left. A small patch of green ferns seemed to have grown from nothing at the edge of his prison, half in the shadows. That wasn’t there before…

He swung away and when he spun back the ferns had moved. The large mound was just inside the ring of trees now. A pit formed in Wyatt’s stomach. Nothing he had seen so far made a lot of sense, but the small patch of ferns made him especially uneasy.

His movement slowed and he came to a tenuous rest facing the ferns. Something was certainly off about the plants and not just that they could move on their own. The ferns shifted abruptly.

“Ah!” Wyatt shouted.

The wide green leaves twitched and shook as one. A thick brown snout appeared and slowly split into a snarl, vivid white fangs glowing in the ambient light. Green ferns parted and folded against the lean, muscular body of a wolf. Tall ears shot up, fringed with dark green tufts of fur. It took Wyatt a moment to process what he was seeing. The fern was the wolf and the wolf was the fern. The green plant grew from fur and shifted as the snarling beast crouched. Piercing green eyes fixed on Wyatt.

He twitched and shook, his feet swiping feebly at the air, but the vines held him fast. The wolf stalked Wyatt in a wide circle. Its thick fur was a mottled mosaic of greens and browns, though most was hidden beneath the green ferns. An especially dense patch of ferns grew from the top of its thick neck and fanned out with each growl.

Wyatt’s eyes flashed from the fangs to the thick black claws that sprouted from each giant paw. It was far larger than any wolf had a right to be. Suspended a foot off the ground, Wyatt felt small and insignificant.

It stopped pacing and leaned back on its haunches in a predatory crouch. It was coming, he knew. He wanted to scream, but his mouth had gone dry and it was difficult to take a breath with his arms stretched above his head. He wanted to shut his eyes, but found they would not obey. He had no choice but to watch as the giant wolf lunged for his throat.

A sharp whistle split the air and the wolf let out a howl as it fell to the side. A black feathered arrow protruded from its chest. The beast snarled and shook his head from side to side. The ferns twitched like muscled skin as the wolf surveyed the surrounding shadows, desperate to identify the threat.  Wyatt did the same.

“Help,” he gasped. It came as little more than a whisper.

Another arrow flashed from nowhere and struck the wolf in the side of the neck. It staggered for a moment, but then reared with a sharp bark to face the direction the arrow had flown from. Another seemed to burst from its haunches. Wyatt coughed with surprise. The wolf spun, thick lines of red running over the green leaves of its body. A slather of red and white foam ran from its open maw.

The wolf leaned back and let out a bone chilling howl. A fourth arrow at the base of its jaw silenced the great beast. It fell to the dirt, lifeless.

“Are you a fool?” called a female voice from the black of the greater forest.

Wyatt twisted. The voice seemed to come from every direction at once. “No,” he said, forcing a pained gasp of air. “I’m…”

“A fool,” said the voice.

The body accompanying the voice materialized out of the darkness and stepped into the glow of Wyatt’s prison. She was tall, slender, and clad in dark colors. A large cowl hid her face in shadows and bled into a long, sweeping cloak that nearly met the ground. Her torso was covered in a leather vest, stained dark green. Dark pants stopped just below her knees. The rest of her legs and feet were wrapped in pale strips of linen, leaving only her heels and toes bare. A similar wrap covered her arms from elbow to hand, wrapped between her thumb and first finger.

Her skin was as dark as her clothing. She was a shadow. A long wooden bow was slung over her shoulder and a quiver hung from her leather belt, feathered arrows filling its space. In her hand she held a spear, the tip a four edged point of razor sharp metal. It shone in the light as she pointed it at Wyatt’s head.

Wyatt tried to shrug. “My social worker says I lack impulse control,” he said plainly.

The spear point lowered. “Social… worker?” she said slowly, shaking her head. “You certainly are impulsive. Never before have I seen a human strung up by the false fruit.”

Wyatt looked to the white trees and frowned. “False fruit? That’s what it’s called? Shouldn’t there be a more appropriate name? Maybe go away fruit or eat this and get trapped fruit?”

“It is fruit that is false, as surely you have witnessed. There is no need for anything more or anything less.” Her voice hissed slightly as she spoke, reminding Wyatt of a cartoon snake. He grinned sheepishly.

“Well…” he said, raising his eyebrows expectantly.

The stranger stood unmoving for a moment, as if deciding if he were worth saving. At last she took an aggressive step forward, thrusting her spear at his head. Wyatt shut his eyes, heard a soft snap, and found himself in a disjointed pile on the ground. He stood up and rubbed his wrists. The manacles had left deep red welts and his shoulders ached.

The dark stranger was pulling her arrows from the felled wolf. The arrowheads gleamed with blood, but she thrust them into her quiver. The fourth arrow snapped as she tore it from the neck. She snarled and tossed it aside.

Wyatt brushed himself off and stood as tall as he could manage. “My name’s Wyatt,” he said, and smiled at his savior. She stood over a foot taller than him. “Wyatt the Mighty.”

The dark shadow beneath her hood stared back in silence a moment, before spinning in a flurry of billowing cloak and disappearing into the night. Wyatt was once again left with only his curious thoughts.

“Hey, wait up!” he called and blindly ran after the tall figure.

His eyes struggled to adjust to the new dimness, but he charged headlong after the stranger nonetheless. It only took a handful of blind steps before he collided with the tall silhouette of the stranger. Wyatt let out an oomph, twisted his feet together and fell face first to the ground. He rolled to his back and found the spear point once again uncomfortably close to his nose.

Wyatt let out a weak laugh. “Heh, sorry ‘bout that.”

He received only silence. Carefully, he ventured a finger to the metal spike and gently moved it aside. Then he remembered his manners. “Oh, and thank you for, well, cutting me down,” he said as he climbed to his feet. “And killing that… uh… whatever it-”

“Who is it that you belong to, human?” Her voice was sharp and commanding.

Wyatt stared back incredulously, trying to discern some detail in the shadow of her hood. Belong to? Human?

“Uh, The Shepherd’s Crook, I guess,” he said. “For now anyway.”

“Perhaps this Crook will offer some reward for your return,” she said, her voice hanging on the word some.

Wyatt reached to adjust his glasses and found only his bare nose. He scratched it absently. “I don’t think they’d give you a reward. I’d probably just be punished. Not that I have a lot of privileges to start with,” he said, thinking back to Ms. Abagail.

“No reward…” she said slowly. “Then I claim you, human. You are mine.”

“Well, can I come with you then? I’m sort of new here.”

Long, slender fingers grabbed his stained t-shirt and thrust him forward. “March,” the stranger shouted and nudged him along with the butt of her spear. Wyatt obliged. He stumbled over exposed roots, striving to see in the gloom. Gnashing her teeth, the stranger brushed past him. He hastened to keep up.

“So, what is this place?” he said. “That clearing… and the false fruit. What’s with those weird white trees?”

“Even the forest is wise to avoid the false fruit, human, as you should have been,” she said sharply.

“You make it sound like the trees have some say in where they stand,” he said.

“You make it sound as if they do not.”

“Don’t tell me the trees can move.”

The stranger did not reply.

Wyatt thought of pressing the issue, but remembered the strange fern covered wolf and the ease with which the stranger had slain it. “What was that fern wolf thing?” he said, racing to keep up with her long strides.

She hissed. “A fern wolf.”

“Hmmm. Makes sense. Is it a plant or an animal?”

No answer.

Wyatt kept close behind the cloaked figure as she wove about the dark trunks. Wyatt knew if he fell more than a stride behind she would vanish into the shadows. It was difficult to maintain sight of her as it was.

“What are those lights up there?” Wyatt said as he stumbled over an exposed root. He grabbed the stranger to keep from falling. With blinding speed, she spun her shoulder and forced Wyatt into a broad trunk. The bark raked his face, but he kept his footing.

“Wisps,” the stranger said.

“What’s a wisp?” He grasped at his cheek. It was sticky with blood.

“Wisps are the energy of the forest. They guide travelers and watch over the wood.”

“Like faeries,” Wyatt said.

“No,” was the only response, but Wyatt thought he heard a sarcastic laugh.

“Well, fat lot of good they did guiding me. They weren’t even around the false fruit.”

The stranger turned to look at him, but he could not see her expression.

“Oh,” he said. “Right…” They did guide me. “What’s this place anyways? Not the woods, but this world?” he said, gesturing wide with both arms.

He received only silence. He probed several more times for a response, but found only chilling silence. He sighed and settled for her distant company as they traveled through the strange forest.

Gradually, the trees thinned out and the tall stranger fell back to his side. The dark shadows fell away and the world opened before them. They stood in shared silence at the forest border.

A dark red sun could be seen breaking the distant horizon. It bathed the open valley before them in a warm glow. Columns of smoke rose from hundreds, or perhaps thousands of holes in the ground as far as Wyatt could see. He could not distinguish any flames in the shin high grass.

“What is that?”

The stranger thrust him forward without a word. Wyatt stumbled along in dumb wonder. Smoke billowed endlessly from the ground and it warmed noticeably with each step. They walked silently past dozens of the smoking holes, none wider then a manhole cover, before the stranger stopped. She lifted her spear and thrust the butt against the ground three times and stood back. Wyatt was about to speak when a low, creaking noise rang out from the ground between them. A small hatch opened up and a round, bald head shot up into the valley.

“Ah, Rozen,” it exclaimed, and then noticing Wyatt, exclaimed “Oh, a human!”

“An escapee,” Rozen replied. “I have claimed him.”

The man’s voice was as mirthful as his jolly face. “Oh, how wonderful. Well, come on in. Mareck has just set the table.”

The round head vanished into the darkness. Rozen pointed down the hole after him. Wyatt stood at the edge and looked at her hesitantly. No sense in stopping now, he thought. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. But, before he could make another move, Rozen sent him plummeting into the hole with a swift kick.

Chapter Four

WYATT LANDED ON a small wooden platform with a yelp. He rolled and scowled up at the dark silhouette that stared down from the open hatch. The rising sun surrounded the dark warrior in a brilliantly red halo, transforming her into an angel. A dark angel, Wyatt thought.

Without warning she dropped through the hole, clawed feet coming right for his face. Wyatt shrieked and reflexively rolled to the side. The platform disappeared from beneath him and he floundered through six feet of air, coming to rest in a heap upon a dirt floor. He moaned and rolled to his back.

“Oh my, Rozen,” said a new voice, smooth and vibrant. “Don’t damage the poor thing. Tsk tsk.”

Rozen hissed, jumped down, and jerked Wyatt to his feet. Wyatt made a dramatic show of shaking his head and brushing dust from his soiled clothing. He glared at Rozen for a moment before turning to the two new creatures that stood before him.

Wyatt had to rub his eyes. The two figures were nearly identical, roughly four feet tall and nearly just as wide. Their torsos were round and their limbs thick and muscled, covered with plain brown woolen robes. Round heads sat atop broad shoulders with no discernible necks. Their skin was pale, smooth, and completely hairless. Wide mouths smiled beneath flat noses that flared beneath beady eyes. Their eyes… They were much too small for their bulbous heads, but it was their color that perturbed Wyatt, or rather, their lack of color. They were completely white, void of color or pupil. Unblinking white orbs stared at him, or at least he thought they stared back. He shuddered.

“A little clumsy, ain’t he, Darling?” said the seemingly male creature who had greeted them at the hatch.

“And a little soft of body as well, Dear,” said the female. Her large ears were studded with an array of metal piercings, chains, and colorful gems. It was all that differentiated the two strange creatures. Even their voices were eerily similar.

“Are you calling me fat?” Wyatt said, shaking away his stupor.

“Darling, fetch him a spare habit, he’s covered in filth.”

“Of course, Dear. We don’t want filth at our table. Tsk tsk.” The female strode off, her earrings jingling with each heavy step.

“Where am-” Wyatt froze as he glanced to his left. Vertigo clawed at his throat and brought him to all fours.

His fingers gripped the edge of the large platform as his eyes raked the monstrous cavern set before him. Round platforms of dirt, stone, and wood littered the space in all directions and at all heights. Thick columns of stone supported the structures, and a myriad of rope ladders and bridges spider webbed between them. Wyatt could not see the walls of the cavern, nor the bottom. The curved stone ceiling arced above him, thick spires of stone joining to the topmost platforms.

Every platform was littered with furniture and alive with activity. Wyatt fell to his stomach and examined the platform directly below. A fire burned at its center, heating a large black pot that smelled richly of stew. Chests and wooden crates littered the edges of the platform and two piles of straw denoted beds. A pair of wooden stools flanked a table at which two round bodies sat, oblivious to the stunned boy twenty-five feet above.

He slowly climbed to his knees and forced his lungs to accept a breath of air. Every platform he could see held the same scene; a crude campsite and a pair of round creatures. It’s an underground city of mole people, Wyatt thought as he rose to his feet and turned from the precipitous drop.

“It appears the human is a bit frightened by heights,” said the male, followed by a jovial laugh.

“I am not scared,” Wyatt protested. “Just surprised is all. I’m not afraid of anything.” He slowly inched away from the edge as he spoke.

The circular platform on which he stood was larger than the others, nearly a hundred feet across, but decorated with the same crude accoutrements. A cast iron pot over the central fire sent up curls of meat scented steam. Wyatt’s stomach grumbled and the residual vertigo vanished.

“Are you mole people?” he said.

The round creature guffawed heartily. “You’re not from Hagion, are ya, human?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Nay, we’re no moles, Mother be good. My name’s Gareck and that there is Mareck.” The female gave a wave from the far side of the platform then returned to pawing through a wooden crate. “We are the Children. And this,” he said, gesturing to the vast expanse around them, “is Métra.”

“May… trah?” Wyatt said. “Wait. Mareck and Gareck? Children? Are you twins? You don’t look like kids. And this place… What’s Hagion?” His mind was racing.

Gareck waved a pudgy, six-fingered hand in Wyatt’s face to silence him. Six fingers, he thought, and webbed, and clawed. Mareck came over and handed him a brown robe, shaking him from his trance.

“Lose them strange mucked up clothes, human, and put this on. Breakfast will be in just a moment.”

Wyatt looked down at the robe and back again at the odd couple. They smiled widely and walked away.

“Dear, what a strange creature,” Mareck whispered.

“Aye, the strangest, Darling,” Gareck replied.

Wyatt stared after them awhile, but the thick aroma of stew brought him to attention. He glanced around hesitantly and took another step from the dizzying precipice. He wasn’t scared, just wary of falling. Besides, one couldn’t be afraid of heights when underground, could they? He took another step.

 Mareck and Gareck were fussing over the pot of stew and Rozen sat in a chair off to the side, picking over her arrows. Satisfied that no eyes were on him, he tore off his shirt and pants, and quickly slid the brown habit over his head, leaving his white briefs on. The scratchy robe smelled of lilac and fresh dew. The bottom hem ended just above his knees and the middle billowed out around him. It was meant for a creature far shorter and wider than he. A thin rope was fastened to the back of the habit which he tightly wrapped around his waist and tied. It did little to tame the excess fabric billowing around his torso. He gave the bottom a futile tug, shrugged and joined the group at the table.

Rozen looked up and laughed. “You now look the part of a fool, human,” she said and returned to mending her arrows.

“Oh shush, Rozen,” Mareck said. “At least he looks a bit cleaner now.”

“Right nice you look,” said Gareck, giving Wyatt a stiff slap on the back. His hand felt like stone and the force nearly tilted him into the fire. “As sharp as any human can hope to,” he added.

The trio laughed together. Wyatt smiled back, placed a hand behind his head, lifted a foot onto a stool and posed provocatively. Mareck and Gareck laughed all the more. Rozen did not.

“Aye, he’s a funny one, this human,” Gareck sputtered as he wiped away tears from his blank eyes.

“That he is, Dear,” agreed Mareck. “Please, sit down.”

Pleased with himself, Wyatt slid onto a stool. His knees scraped against the underside of the ornately carved table. It was oddly comfortable, the wood smooth and warm.

“My name’s Wyatt,” he said. “Not human.”

“Not a human? Then what are you, creature?” said Gareck with a wicked smile.

“Oh, don’t listen to him, Wyatt,” Mareck interjected. “My Dear is only making fun.”

“Aye, that I am. Welcome to our home, Wyatt the human.”

“Thank you,” exclaimed Wyatt, a great grin plastered on his face.

Mareck nodded and smiled. She had a softer face than Gareck and it made Wyatt feel at peace, despite the blank eyes that disguised her stare.

“I hope you’re hungry, Wyatt,” she said.

“Oh, I am. Starving.” His stomach grumbled loudly in agreement.

“Lovely, just lovely,” she said. “Rozen, come to the table and lose that hood, there is naught to hide from here.”

Rozen hissed, but not in the same way she had done in the forest. She undid the clasp at her neck and let the cowled cloak fall away as she sat opposite Wyatt. Wyatt couldn’t help but gawk. Her skin was the color of night and equally as flawless. Prominent cheek bones led into a sharp jaw and pointed chin. Her eyes flashed gold and seemed capable of seeing all. Everything about her face was sharp and focused, angular and strong, but it was her hair that Wyatt stared at. A long braid tumbled from the top of her head and coiled on the table. The brightness was stunning. Each strand radiated a different color; shades of orange, yellow, red, silver, and gold created a living force. Her hair looked like a twisted cord of flames. Her hair is on fire, Wyatt thought, no, it IS fire. She was beautiful in the deadliest manner.

“Enjoy what you see, human?” she spat at him. Her thin lips peeled back as she spoke, revealing two perfect rows of pointed teeth. Wyatt was certain they could cleave the flesh from his bones with little effort.

“Uh, no, I mean, um,” he said. “What are you? Not a mole, obviously.”  He offered a smile and feigned a laugh. He just couldn’t help himself. Her fierce golden eyes narrowed, making him feel more naked than he was.

Mareck set bowls of steaming brown stew in front of the pair and two more for Gareck and herself, breaking Rozen’s golden stare. They settled in at opposite ends of the table.

“Rozen, the hu- Wyatt is just curious,” Gareck said.

She wordlessly lifted the bowl to her lips.

“Don’t let Rozen unsettle you, Wyatt. I can answer your question,” Mareck said before taking a sip of her stew as well.

Wyatt looked to Rozen who shot a glance at Mareck, but said nothing. Rozen’s knees rose past the table’s edge. She was squatting more than she was sitting and it made her look surprisingly childish, despite the spear leaned at her side and her golden eyes that were weapons unto themselves.

“Rozen is a Draygan, a people from Purorus,” Mareck continued, steam pouring from her wide mouth. Her numerous teeth were blunt and rounded like a line of tombstones.

Wyatt hazarded a taste of his stew, but quickly withdrew and nearly dropped the bowl as the liquid scalded his lip and seared his tongue. He looked about in wonder as his company devoured the fiery liquid without hesitation.

“Wait,” he said, his mind catching up to his ears. “She’s a dragon?” Wyatt could not hide his excitement. A real dragon?

Rozen slammed her bowl down, wielding her golden stare as an assassin would a pair of gold daggers, aimed at Wyatt’s skull. “Draygan,” she said. “We are the people of dragons.”

Her sharp teeth flashed with every word, deadly and beautiful at the same time, but Wyatt found his mind wandering. Everything in the cavern carried a slight orange hue, much like the forest, yet he saw no fluttering orange orbs. No candles, no torches. The fires can’t possibly produce enough light…

Rozen pounded the table, drawing his attention back to the shadowy warrior crouched across the table from him.

“Sorry,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “I have ADD.” He received only blank stares and silence. “Uh, so, you can breathe fire? That’s awesome. Though I always imagined dragons a little diff-” Rozen hissed loudly. Angry? “Oh, sorry. Of dragons… right… I just really wanted to see a dragon. They are so cool.”

“If a dragon breathes fire, how can it be cool?” Mareck asked.

“Don’t be silly, Darling,” said Gareck. “Dragons don’t breathe fire.”

Rozen formed her hands into fists.

“So, there are dragons?” said Wyatt, wide eyed.

“Oh, yes, but you shan’t wish to meet one,” Mareck said. “Not as a human.”

Gareck laughed and even Rozen’s stern expression cracked for just a moment. Wyatt frowned, but shifted it into a wide grin at the thought of dragons. Could this place get any cooler?

“What of you, Wyatt? It is strange to find one so foreign to the ways of our realm. You must have traveled from a very distant land to be so…”

“Foolish,” Rozen finished. Mareck frowned at her, but the Draygan had returned to her stew.

“Oh,” said Wyatt, straightening. “I’m from Ridge Summit.” Three blank expressions stared back at him. “New York?” More stares. “The United States… Planet Earth…”

Mareck and Gareck exchanged confused looks. Gareck scratched at his ear with a thick claw.

“Well, how is it that you happened upon the Shadow Forest?” Gareck said at long last.

“And strung up by the false fruit,” Rozen added with a venomous smile.

Wyatt looked around the table. Their eyes were all glued to him, awaiting his response. A million sparks burned me here, he thought of saying. Or, magic green vines consumed me. His fingers found the pendant stashed beneath his scratchy brown habit. Before he knew what he was doing, the pendant was out and swinging from his fingers.

“With this,” he said.

Gareck and Mareck simultaneously fell to their knees and pressed their round heads to the dirt. Rozen stood up so fast her stool tumbled backwards. Her brilliant golden eyes went wide and she uttered a single word; “Druid.” Wyatt could not identify the underlying emotion.

“We had no idea,” said Mareck, speaking into the soil.

“Please forgive us, Master,” said Gareck. “Mother be praised, they have returned.”

Wyatt looked around, stunned. Druid? He looked at the pendant. It was no different than it had ever been.

“Um, what’s a Druid?” he said slowly.

Mareck and Gareck stood and exchanged confused looks. Wyatt could only shrug and flash his lopsided grin.

“You carry the symbol of a Druid,” Gareck said.

Wyatt looked at the pendant again as if expecting to see something new. Symbol? A piece of wood clutching a green stone?

“Oh my, we have been so…” Mareck said, wringing her hands. “Please, forgive us, Master. We had no idea.”

“Truly,” Gareck said. “We knew the Druids would return, but…”

“We thought not in our lifetime,” Mareck finished. “We should have been more prepared. Tsk tsk.”

Wyatt could feel his eyes bulge and fought to restore dignity to his expression. “Uh, it’s OK… You can, uh, sit down.”

“Very well,” Gareck said with a nod and the Children returned to their stools.

“See, Rozen,” Mareck said in a whisper. “One should never doubt the Mother.”

“The Mother?” Wyatt said.

“Aye, the Mother has sent you to us,” Gareck said.

“Oh… uh… yeah, of course… Druid… yeah…” Wyatt was having trouble getting his thoughts in line.

“Tell us, Master. Is it the Regency that has prompted your return?”

Mareck nodded at her mate. “What else would it be? The Regency drove the Druids from Hagion long ago and have brought naught but corruption and death. Clearly, we have suffered enough penance. And good riddance to them, I say. Tsk tsk.”

“Regency? Uh…” Wyatt said.

Rozen grunted. “See? He’s no Druid. False stories.” She turned away.

Wyatt bristled. “No… I am… well… yeah, a Druid.” He looked at the pendant still clasped in his hand. He studied the green stone for a moment before tucking it back beneath his habit. It felt warm against his bare chest. “I… I’m just… well, learning still…” He forced a smile.

“Learning?” said Gareck.

“It has been many generations since the Druids disappeared.” Mareck said. “The Master is clearly young and not of this world.”

“Hmmm, I suppose you have the right of it, Darling.”

“But I am a Druid,” Wyatt protested. Whatever that means.

“Of course,” Gareck said with a nod. “It is only we expected…”

“Tsk tsk, Dear. What is it that we expected? Many would claim the Druids do not even exist and here is one at our table.”

Gareck looked to Mareck and smiled. He nodded sharply. “Very good, Darling. Of course.” He turned to Wyatt. “Forgive us, Master, and welcome to our humble hovel, our hole in the ground, as it were.”

“Thanks,” Wyatt said. “So, uh-”

A loud shout came from a lower platform and arrested the conversation. It was just as well, Wyatt thought. He had no idea what to say. I’m a Druid? What on Earth does that mean? He wasn’t even certain it was a positive title, but couldn’t help but to rise to the obvious reverence the Children had bestowed on him.

Gareck trundled to the edge of the platform. “What news of you, Tarez?”

Wyatt could not hear the response, but Gareck’s reaction was clear. The round man straightened and turned, his cheerful expression exchanged for a scowl. He nodded at Rozen and gestured his heavy hand toward the hatch. Rozen sprinted around the table and leapt to the hatch, her long fire braid trailing behind her.

“What is it, Dear?” Mareck said.

Gareck smiled, but even Wyatt could tell it was forced. “Naught to worry about, Darling. Just a scouting band, I’m sure.”

“We have already given for the season,” Mareck said. “Is there no end to their greed?”

Rozen dropped back onto the platform, her face ashen and contorted. Her golden eyes were wide and jumpy.

“The Regency, they breach the hill’s crest,” she said frantically.

Gareck grunted. “Off to the storage tunnels for you, young Draygan. There are empty casks in the far-”

Rozen exhaled loudly, spittle spraying between clenched teeth. All eyes went to the trembling Draygan. “No,” she said. “They come from all sides.”

“All sides…” Mareck said.

Wyatt could hear Rozen’s quickened breath. “Not scouts, an entire… A full Regency attack force. Hundreds…”

Mareck scowled. “It can’t be… How could they…”

“It makes no difference. You must hide, Rozen. We won’t allow them search of the storage tunnels. We’ve done it a dozen times before.”

Rozen shook her head. “I saw Shamans and Wights in their midst.”

“What’s a-”

Gareck cut Wyatt off with a sharp grunt. Mareck pounded the table. “My Dear,” she said. “We must not let them find her here. You know what they will do to her… and to the-”

“I know,” he said sharply. “We can hide her.”

“From a Wight? We cannot.”

Gareck looked to Rozen. The Draygan had donned her cloak and drawn the cowl over her head. Gareck frowned. “What do you suggest?”

Mareck fixed her blank gaze on him, but said nothing.

Gareck bristled. “No, we cannot. It would be suicide during the season of Birth. It is still swollen from the rains.”

“Birth season?” Wyatt’s inquiry fell on deaf ears.

“We must,” Mareck said.

Gareck looked to Rozen. “Please,” came a whisper from the shadows of her hood.

“Dear,” Mareck said and nodded at Wyatt. “The Druid.”

Gareck looked to Wyatt as well. A sly smile split his wide face. “Of course, Mother be praised, the Druid. Master Wyatt, we have need of your power.”

Rozen cut in before Wyatt could summon a response. “He is a babe. He knows naught of our world. He is no true Druid. There are no-”

Wyatt stood and scowled incredulously. “Just because I don’t know about your screwy world doesn’t mean I’m not a Druid.”

Gareck waved a thick hand and stepped before Wyatt. “Master, do you wield the Mother’s gift? Her power?”

“Uh, I, er,” Wyatt stammered. Power? Did he mean magic? “Of course, I have the, uh, Mother’s power. I am a Druid, after all.” He stood tall, trying to look impressive. He just couldn’t help himself.

Gareck bowed and turned to grab Rozen by the arms. The drastic difference in size made Wyatt grin. “The Master will help us flee, don’t you fret, Rozen.”

The Draygan remained still and silent. Mareck appeared at Wyatt’s side and placed a clawed hand on his back. “Many thanks, Master,” she said. “Your arrival is nothing short of miraculous. Mother be praised.”

Wyatt grinned sheepishly.

“My Darling has the right of it,” Gareck said and turned to Mareck. “Best grab the diggers, Darling.”

Mareck nodded and fetched a pair of giant hammers from amongst the chests and crates. Each was the size of an infant, a flat maul on one side and a thick spike on the other. Mareck shouldered them as if they weighed nothing. She nodded.

“Uh, what… uh, where…” Wyatt’s thoughts were evading him. His head was beginning to hurt.

Gareck flashed a toothy grin. “The Torrents, Master Wyatt. We shall ride the Torrents.”

Chapter Five

BY THE TIME they reached the bottom of the cavern Wyatt’s hands and feet were raw and blistered. His shoulders screamed in pain and his face was a sheet of sweat. The ill fitting habit chafed his skin. He wanted to protest, but he had not the breath. He wanted to put voice to the multitude of questions in his head, but the searing pain in his limbs stole his focus.

He was not meant for such physical activity. The round Children glided down the rope ladders with uncanny grace. Rozen forwent the ladders in favor of falling from platform to platform, her long sinewy limbs absorbing the impact with grace. Wyatt could do nothing but wince at each unsteady hempen rung.

“Do we really… have to…” Wyatt gasped when they reached the cool dirt floor of the cavern. It was just as bright as the above platforms, but there were no fires to be seen. Wyatt was in too much pain to give it any consideration.

Rozen disappeared into an opening carved into the stone and soil wall. Gareck stooped and assisted Wyatt to his feet, though he hadn’t remembered falling. The cool soil soothed his torn feet, but exhaustion reigned supreme over the rest of his body.

“Please, Master,” Gareck said. “We must hurry.”

As if to support his claim, a cacophony of shouts came from high in the cavern. A sharp horn blast split the air and the mysterious ambient light seemed to flicker and dim. The crescendo rippled across each platform of the monstrous cavern. Even the stone seemed to shout and tremble. Wyatt shuddered.

When he turned, he saw the Children disappearing into the same tunnel that had swallowed Rozen. He grunted and hobbled after them.

The light was dimmer in the tunnels and the air much cooler. It clung damp to Wyatt’s skin, allowing him to once again breathe. It took everything he had to keep pace with the quick shuffles of Mareck and Gareck. Short, fat mole people and still I can’t keep up.

After a dozen twists and turns Wyatt found his voice again. “What’s the Regency and why can’t they find Rozen?”

He heard a distant snarl somewhere up ahead before Mareck responded over her broad shoulder. “They rule the realm.”

“Hagion?” Wyatt said, trying to put the pieces together.

“Just so,” Gareck said. “And even further, to the other realms, if the tales be true. Perhaps the entire world.”

“Shouldn’t a Druid be taught their history as a child?” Mareck said.

“Hey,” Wyatt called. “I’m new here. It’s not my fault.”

“Just so,” Gareck said.

“Our apologies, tsk tsk.”

The Children banked left at an intersection of identical and dimly lit tunnels. Should he lose sight of his guides Wyatt knew he would be forever lost in the subterranean labyrinth. He quickened his pace, ignoring the ache in his feet and the burning across his palms. At least the ropes are behind us. Walking is much easier.

“Are you rebels or something? Is that why we have to run?”

Gareck laughed, but it was Mareck who answered. “Mercy, no. We’re honest beasts. We flee to protect the Draygan.”

“What do you mean?” Wyatt said.

The tunnels turned right and began to slope gently downward. Wyatt could hear a distant gurgle of water. It sounded peaceful and the damp air was cool and cloying.

“They have sent dozens of scouting parties in search of her,” Gareck said. “They promise death to any that are found assisting her.”

“But, never before have they sent an entire army,” Mareck said.

Wyatt felt the underlying tone in her voice and grew defiant. “Hey, it’s not my fault. I just got here.”

“Just so,” Gareck said. “But should the Regency discover a Druid has returned to Hagion…”

“Tsk tsk,” Mareck said.

“Just so,” Gareck said. “Don’t you fret, Master. You shall find sanctuary as our ward. On the Mother’s grace, we will protect you.” He patted the tunnel side.

Why? he wanted to say, but instead he said, “I don’t need protecting. I’m Wyatt the Mighty. I need no babysitter.”

The sound of rushing water drowned out Gareck’s response.

Another sharp right and the tunnel spilled into a large cavern. Wyatt stumbled and nearly fell, his coordination stolen by the shock of the raging river before him. The sound was deafening. It looked to span nearly a quarter mile and coursed by in an angry white froth. Cold water spat and sprayed, creating a perpetual mist along the mud slicked bank.

“There she is,” Gareck shouted. “The Torrents.”

Wyatt numbly followed as Gareck led them to a line of crude wooden rafts lashed to the near stone wall. Mareck had already freed one from its tether and was struggling to shove it toward the churning river.

Wyatt snapped to attention. “Whoa,” he cried. “We’re not going in there are we?” He pointed at the river.

Gareck turned to him, a wide grin plastered on his face. “Aye, Master. Five furlongs down her back is another bank. The tunnel there leads deep into the Shadow Forest, far from Métra. We can take shelter in the forest until the Regency has left.”

“I… uh…” Wyatt couldn’t tear his eyes from the churning froth.

“We cannot,” Rozen said. “Your Druid is not capable.”

Wyatt snapped from his reverie to glare at the towering Draygan. Her hood had been knocked back, revealing her stunning features. Her face was contorted in an expression Wyatt did not recognize. Hate? Fear?

“Do not fear, Rozen, my dear,” Mareck said. “Master Wyatt is a Druid, he will guide us with the Mother’s will.” She turned and fixed Wyatt with an expectant look.

“I… uh… yeah… well… er…” He fought to wrestle his own fear. He couldn’t let them discern it. “Of course… yeah… I am Wyatt the Mighty, after all. Just… uh… tell me what to… uh… I am new here…” He grinned sheepishly and tried not to look at the swollen Torrents.

Gareck slapped him on the back and sent him headlong into the short wall of the large raft. “Just so, Master. I will give the command when we near the bank.”

“And you call to the Mother and shape the currents to drive us ashore,” Mareck finished.

Wyatt looked uncomfortably between them. The raft had not yet reached the pitching current. There was still time… Wyatt cleared his throat and thought to speak, but Gareck cut him off with his booming laugh. His face was laid wide in a toothy smile. Is he enjoying this? Mareck is grinning as well…

“In you go, Rozen,” Gareck bellowed. “And the Master, if you would.”

Before Wyatt could protest Gareck seized him by the waist and hoisted him over the side with seasoned strength. He rolled onto the rough deck and surged to his knees, disoriented and desperate.

“I-” he began, but the roil of the Torrents drowned out his words.

Mareck tossed the diggers into the makeshift barge and the two round creatures gripped the sides with thick claws.

“Dig, my Dear,” Gareck shouted.

“Aye, my Darling, dig.”

The two creatures dug into the soft mud and let loose a guttural growl that shifted into a chant. “DIIIIIIIIIIGGGG!” They bellowed in concert and the barge surged forward, toward the Torrents. “Dig Diiigggg Diiiiiiigggggg.”

A second push jolted the craft and Wyatt fell to all fours. He stared at the lashed logs beneath him and wished he was somewhere else. He lifted a hand for his pendant, but a third surge sent him sprawling. The floor pitched and a wash of water filled his nose. He sputtered and scrambled to his knees again. The current bit hungrily at the wooden barge and tore it from the mud shore. Wyatt tasted the wooden deck again and came up coughing. He floundered for balance, spitting at the torrential spray that surged over the leading edge. A clawed hand wrenched him upright.

Wyatt wiped frantically at his eyes, but the floor pitched and he grabbed at the side. Gareck and Mareck stood in the center of the unsteady craft, emblazoned with toothy grins, their arms joined around each other. Rozen clutched the short wall and stared solemnly ahead. Wyatt struggled to reach her side.

He looked to her, seeking to catch her golden gaze, but she remained still, rigidly fixed to the wall. Wyatt opened his mouth, but the river water gagged him silent. He fell to coughing and gripping at the stout wooden wall as if it were his life. He figured it was.

The Torrents cut through stone and soil, burrowing somewhere deep beneath Métra and its strange inhabitants… and the mysterious Regency.

The ambiance was darker than in the cavern, but still held eerie glints of orange light. Where is it coming from? Is it the stone that glows? The air? The river ignored his thoughts and turned sharply to the left, sending the spinning barge within a hairbreadth of colliding with the rocky side. Air bit at his skin, chilling the river water and stealing his breath. He could no longer feel his fingers and the pain of traversing the rope ladders was long forgotten. Everything was numb.

“We near the bank,” Gareck roared over the river’s howl. “Ready yourself, Master, if you would.”

Wyatt turned to face the grinning Children. How could they be so calm? The pair of round creatures appeared ecstatic. “Ready for what?” Wyatt yelled back.

Mareck answered for her mate. “Call on the Mother, Master, and shape the current. Drive us ashore.”

Wyatt didn’t dare ask what the alternative was. He merely faced the coursing river and gripped the wall even tighter. He could feel the waterlogged wood yield to his terror.

“Around the bend,” Gareck shouted. The river turned and widened slightly. On the far side Wyatt could see a small muddy bank and thumbnail sized opening cut into the stone wall. “Ah, there it is!”

“Now, Master, guide us to safety,” Mareck bellowed, her voice coming like a shouted song. Together the Children bellowed, “DIIIGGGGGG!”

The chant persisted at his back as Wyatt eyed the bank, his mind racing. He swallowed and shook water from his eyes. I’ve made it this far, he thought. What if I actually am some magic wielding Druid? What if I do have this gift? Why not? He turned his attention to the river and rose shakily to his feet, fighting for balance and finding little. He stumbled once, steadied himself, found a moment of stability and shouted the only thing he could think of.

“WATER!” he bellowed with all his lung strength and then promptly fell to his knees as the barge pitched violently to the side. Did I do it? Are we saved?

The group watched in stunned silence as the far bank drew even with their barge and then swiftly passed by, fading into the distance. Oh no. Wyatt tried to shrink against the short wall, but Rozen seized his shoulder, sharp claws biting at his skin and piercing the numbness. He winced and faced her. Her golden eyes blazed with fury, that was plain to see. She opened her mouth to speak, white daggers sparkling in the gloom, but a sudden bout of turbulence shut it. She turned back to the river and remained silent.

Down river thick timber beams jutted from the frothing water. There was less than a raft width between each pillar. A wall, Wyatt knew at once. A barrier. That can’t be good.

The barge struck the first pillar with a sickening crack, hurling the party to the rough deck. Wyatt spun and rolled, seeking to rise, but the raft spun, struck a second pillar and broke apart. Water flooded over his head and invaded his mouth and nose, seeking to consume him. Another surge ripped him from the water and tossed him across something solid; a piece of the raft. He scrambled blindly, seeking a handhold. The trio of lashed logs was slippery, but desperation allowed Wyatt to find purchase and his nails dug deep. Thank God I didn’t clip them like Ms. Abagail asked.

The river churned all around him and continued to blur his vision as he twisted and turned aboard his fractured vessel, searching for his companions. Did they drown? A rising swell brought the others into view. They bobbed atop the rest of the barge, largely intact, far to his right. Three heads moved in sync with the Torrents and all were turned to him. They seemed to be yelling something, but all sound was devoured by the hungry river. He tried to yell back to them, but a mouthful of water drowned his words. Sputtering, he wrapped his arms tighter around his diminutive raft.

Daylight spilled into the dreary tunnels, turning the river ahead into a flow of lava, pitching red and orange. The light filled Wyatt with hope and he let slip a relieved sigh. The light at the end of the tunnel, he thought. Almost to safety.

Then the river gave way beneath him and all he could see was black.

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