The Book of Things to Come (Hand of Adonai Series 1) Page 8

  “Rise, loyal subjects. Jaurru, where were you?”

  “He was, as I had feared, the victim of a spiritual attack,” Oliver said. “His mind and memories were scrambled by the enemy, but I was able to overtake the enemies’ stronghold. He’s of sound mind once more, my lord. I’ve erected defenses to ensure it does not happen again.”

  “Is this true?” the king asked Aiden.

  Aiden cleared his throat. “It is, my lord.” Each word came out slowly, deeply.

  In a few more minutes, the three would be on their way, alone at last, able to speak openly about the situation and find a way to get home. For now, Lauren’s nerves racked her.

  Ribillius stood, as she had written it so many years ago. He took a golden scepter in his hand. A giant spherical diamond adorned the top. “Knights of Alrujah. We face dark times. The enemy gathers strength and threatens our very lives. But now, they have named my daughter a target.

  “For too long we have waited for the mysterious Mage Lord to show himself. But no more. His anonymity ends today. Today marks a shift in the coming war. It will be the day all Alrujah remembers as the day we reclaimed control. Today, we march, we infiltrate, and we root out the Mage Lord wherever he may be.”

  Ribillius’s thunderous tone echoed through the throne room.

  Anxiety froze Lauren’s lungs like she’d inhaled helium. The threats of the Mage Lord were supposed to remain secret. Her father was supposed to rule as if the Mage Lord didn’t exist. The war was supposed to come to Alrujah. If the game changed, if it didn’t follow the script, how would they know what to do? The freeze of the helium worked through her chest and down to her stomach.

  Ribillius no longer sounded like a loving father. He sounded like a king, a king hungry for expansion and for power. She knew his inner workings and his fear, his insecurities and his doubt. She knew him as a mother knows her child. She had seen him crush several elf rebellions and punish, harshly, traitors to the crown, but she had never seen this side of him, the side of him that demanded blood. His voice carried a very clear message, more so than the words his mouth formed. His voice announced blood would be shed, and he would shed it if no one followed. He spoke like an avenging king, an avenging father.

  “Today, Alrujah declares war on the Mage Lord and his followers. Today, we issue our own threats, our own decree. Alrujah is free and will never again live under the tyranny of a maniacal king!”

  The room shook with the cheers of soldiers stomping in unison, each lifting their swords toward the ceiling. The cry of the soldiers pierced Lauren’s back. Her legs buckled. Aiden’s hand grabbed her elbow in a strong, robotic grip.

  Amidst the cheers, Ribillius leaned to Korodeth’s ear.

  Lauren had to stare intently at his lips to see what command he might issue.

  Ribillius said, “I want to know who the Mage Lord is. I want him rooted out and brought before me. By any means necessary. Bring his corpse if you must. You are my eyes. You are my ears.”

  “As you wish,” Korodeth said. He hurried from the room. As the doors swung open in front of him, three soldiers dressed in similar garb melted from the shadows and followed him out.

  Lauren hadn’t scripted any of this. These must be changes Oliver instituted without talking to her. She should be irritated. She should have some say over these things. But the thought of covert soldiers slinking in and out of shadows was too cool. He must have known she would have approved.

  Based on Ribillius’s actions and the little she knew of Korodeth, the game may have changed completely, and their hope to get home may have, like the mystery soldiers, slipped from the shadows and away from them forever.

  King Ribillius raised his diamond-topped scepter—encrusted with jewels and inlaid with silver—in the air matching the soldiers’ salute. “Knights of Alrujah—prepare for battle. Every man old enough to hold a fork must be fitted with a sword and shield. You will train, you will lead. Now, go.”

  The soldiers thundered out. Lauren feared the king would give them different orders. He’d not followed a word of the script since Aiden’s arrival. She wondered if there might be a connection.

  With the throne room clear of the knights, the king dropped to his knees and pulled Lauren into his arms. Ribillius’s chest heaved with gentle sobs. “I can’t lose you. Not like I lost your mother.”

  “You won’t, Papa.” She let herself melt into her pretend father’s embrace. In the script, Indigo cried at this point. Lauren didn’t have to force the tears. She didn’t want to go. She was genuinely afraid. She wanted to stay with her father, no matter how pretend he may be. As long as she was in Alrujah, he was real.

  Oliver put his hand on her shoulder. “I will go with you.”

  The king pulled back and said, “Jaurru. You will accompany them. Watch over them. Protect them. When we’ve found the Mage Lord, I’ll send word.”

  “But how, Father?” Lauren asked.

  “I will send a razorbeak to deliver messages.”

  “How will they find us?” She asked because they were finally back on script. She wanted to keep things moving and hoped they would progress the way she and Oliver had drawn them up.

  “Lakia the Caller will accompany you.”

  Oliver looked up, his eyes bright.

  Erica.

  Chapter Seven

  Adonai made them each, the elf and the dwarf, the nar’esh and the angel, but the first of His creation was the human. He breathed upon them, and His breath blessed them. They achieved their endeavors and sought peace among the races and the beasts.

  —The Book of the Ancients

  LAUREN KNOCKED ON LAKIA’S heavy wooden door. Two black iron strips ran horizontally across it to hinges on the side opposite the handle. “Lakia,” she called softly. The two of them—Lakia and Indigo—had grown up together in this castle, Indigo from the time of her birth, and Lakia from the age of six.

  No answer, but someone stirred. It sounded like blankets and pelts moving over each other, sliding together like soft music. She tried another tactic. “Erica?”

  After a moment’s quiet, “Who’s there?”

  The cold of the stone floor seeped through her white boots. “It’s Lauren.”

  No answer.

  Oliver leaned in close, his forehead only inches from the door. “And Oliver. We can explain.”

  Still no answer.

  “Want me to kick the door in?” Aiden asked. He grinned. Lauren thought he might be joking, but hope sparkled in his eyes. He sounded like Jaurru.

  Lauren wasn’t surprised. She felt more like Indigo with each passing minute, even the magic coursing through her, through her blood. It was like being very awake, very aware. All her senses worked seamlessly together with her environment, as if she could change it by the power of her will alone.

  Even the cold, which never left her alone, was a part of her, an extension—almost as if the cold could talk to her, and she to it. “I have an idea.” She grabbed the handle, squeezed it hard, and closed her eyes. It was cold, but her hand radiated heat. The hotter her hand got, the colder the handle became, until it snapped off in her hand, dusted with ice crystals.

  Oliver’s eyes grew wide. Aiden stared, his smile replaced by an awe-struck gaze.

  “What?” she asked.

  “How …” Oliver stammered.

  Lauren shrugged and pushed the door open. “You should go, Oliver. She probably still hates me. And you can blame it on me if you want.”

  “It’s no one’s fault,” he said.

  Aiden stared still, his face blank except for surprise.

  Lauren smiled. “Impressed?” she said flirtatiously.

  “Wow.”

  Oliver said, “Oh brother.”

  * * *

  Lakia’s room, though smaller than Jaurru’s quarters, dwarfed Oliver’s monastery room. The morning breeze whispered in through two bell-shaped windows cut into the wall opposite the door. Erica sat on the bed, her knees up, staring at the back of her
hands. When he came in, she immediately shoved her hands under the thin pelts spread over her legs.

  She wore a white and purple nightgown, something ridiculously thin. He wished he or Lauren had thought about the practicality of the costumes they designed. The skin on her arms bristled with goose bumps. Dagger, her oversized wolf, sat in the corner, staring at her.

  Quietly, Oliver asked, “You okay?”

  “I’m so not okay.”

  “I guess you’re pretty confused.” He walked closer. He wanted to put a hand on her shoulder or sit next to her, but within a girl’s bedroom, the gestures would be far too forward for a monk.

  “My hands,” she whispered.

  “What about them?”

  Her eyes were sad. He almost didn’t recognize her without her dark makeup and black clothes. She looked good this way, different, definitely, but good—softer, prettier.

  “Where are my gloves?”

  Oliver scratched at his chin. Already, stubble had formed on his pale skin. “Yeah. I didn’t put those in the code.”

  She looked back to her hands under the pelts. “What are you talking about?”

  He folded his hands and the sleeves of his robe fell over his wrists to his intertwined fingers. “We’ve been pulled into the game Lauren and I designed. And we didn’t exactly put your gloves in the game.”

  “Are you insane? I mean, like truly crazy?”

  “If I am, we’re all facing the same problem. Aiden’s here, too.”

  “Great. I’m stuck in some nerd world with a geek, a jock, and a spaz.” She glared at him. “Listen, I need gloves.”

  At first, he wanted to ask if he was the geek or the spaz but decided it didn’t matter either way. “You’re willing to take my word for it? You don’t think you’re dreaming?”

  The pelts moved in small lumps, like hamsters crawling over each other. She rubbed her hands together. “If it is a dream, it’s not mine.” She sounded frustrated, irritated even.

  If she wanted gloves, he would get her gloves. It was the least he could do for her after getting her yanked into Alrujah against her will. It wasn’t his fault, but it sure felt like it. Besides, finding gloves for her might win him some points.

  Subtle blonde highlights ran through her brown hair. Parted down the middle of her scalp, it spilled over her ears and down her back. “Why in the world is my hair so long?” She sneered. “And brown?”

  “We’re in the game. You’re exactly like Lauren drew you. She did all the character design and …”

  “Lauren drew me this way? And now I look like some hippie flower girl with this stupid nightgown and gosh awful hair?”

  “I think,” Oliver said with a boldness that surprised him, “you’re very pretty. You’re pretty with black hair and with brown.”

  “Oh gag. Look, I really don’t care what’s going on here. I just want my gloves back.” She lay down again and pulled the covers up to her slender neck.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going back to sleep. Shut the door on your way out, would you?”

  Oliver knelt next to her. The chill of the stone floor bit through his thick cotton robe. “You can’t go back to sleep. We have to go. Like, now. We have to make it to Varuth before nightfall, and it’s a long ride.”

  “I don’t have to do anything. And if I don’t have gloves, I intend to do exactly nothing. Now get out of here. You’re messing up my hibernation plans.”

  Half of him wanted to pull her out of bed forcefully so she would understand the urgency of the situation. The other half wanted to kiss her cheek and watch her sleep. Neither of those were logical options, and he was, above all, a man of science and reason. The whole situation made him emotionally tired. He took a deep breath, pushed himself up with his prayer staff until he stood over her. “You have to come with us. There’s going to be a war soon. If we don’t get out of here right away, things could get pretty bad.”

  She sighed and opened her eyes. “I’m serious. I’m not doing anything unless I get some gloves.”

  If he remembered correctly, Lauren—Indigo—should have a pair in her room. With a few modifications, he could get them close to what Erica wore in North Chester. Sure, he couldn’t change them from white to black, but she would have to deal with the color.

  Dagger lay down and wrapped his tail around his legs.

  The wolf gave him an idea—a way to get Erica some gloves and impress her at the same time. “There are some gloves in the castle. We might be able to save some time by having Dagger get them.”

  She sat back up. “Dagger is the wolf, right? How exactly do you suppose he can get some gloves?”

  “You can tell him to. Your character, Lakia, is a summoner. A caller. She talks to animals is what I’m trying to say. Anyway, you can tell him to go to Indigo’s room and grab some gloves. She normally keeps them on her dresser.”

  “Hold on. Who’s Indigo?”

  “Lauren.”

  “This makes no sense.”

  “You’ll catch on soon enough.”

  She didn’t answer. Wind whispered through the windows. She shook her head. “This is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Hey, Sparky.”

  The wolf stood up. Its head nearly came to Oliver’s waist. It was a beast of a wolf, way too large to be a normal timber wolf, but Lauren had wanted it so. “His name is Dagger,” Oliver said.

  “No, I don’t think so. I like Sparky better. Now, get fetching, Sparky.”

  * * *

  When Lakia’s timber wolf ran out of the room, Lauren fidgeted with her white velvet cape trimmed with fur from the notorious White Wolf. Aiden stared at her with his piercing blue eyes. She hadn’t thought it possible for him to look better than he had in North Chester, but standing here in his silver battle armor, he was near irresistible. “What’s taking them so long?” she wondered quietly, hoping Aiden would close his mouth and stop staring.

  He didn’t.

  “What do you think is taking so long?”

  His armor caught the light of the suns from the window and glinted.

  She blinked. “Say something.”

  “The door handle.”

  She frowned. “Does it freak you out?”

  “It’s a little weird.” His right hand rested on the hilt of his sword.

  Weird? Frustration and embarrassment rushed back to her like she was home again watching Bailey Renee leaf through her journal and laugh, or getting grounded by her mom for getting a C in chemistry.

  After a moment’s quiet, Aiden said, “I’m really surprised. This armor looks heavy, but it’s not.”

  Lauren shrugged. Without thinking, she said, “It looks good on you.”

  He smiled. “Thanks. I like your cape. Very super-hero.”

  Her face flushed with heat in the cold air. She pulled the cape around her tightly and shivered.

  The wolf rushed back down the hall with a pair of long white gloves in its mouth and disappeared into the deep room.

  “Those were my gloves,” Lauren said. Why hadn’t she put them on? It only made sense to wear every scrap of clothing she could find in this cold. Stress must have made them slip her mind.

  Aiden asked, “Why does that dog have your gloves?”

  “It’s a wolf. And it’s probably bringing them to Erica. She’s got this thing with her gloves.”

  He unsheathed his sword and peered down the sterling blade with one eye. “Is it a pet?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Cool.” Aiden held the blade gently, his cheek to the cold steel. “My dad’s really into fantasy and all, but I’m not really into the whole video game thing. I’m more into sports—football and stuff. But I have to say, this is pretty cool. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want to get back to North Chester, but this sword is pretty sweet, m’lady.”

  Lauren grinned. “M’lady?”

  He shrugged, stunning her eyes with the reflection of the suns. “I figure, when in Rome.”

  She rocked back and
forth on her heels, tugging at the white ribbon in her long hair. If she’d been this pretty in North Chester, she’d have plans to ask Aiden to prom. She smiled with coquettish confidence. “I designed your sword.”

  Still holding it level with his eyes, Aiden pointed it down the hall, his eye glancing down the blade as if it were a compass giving him direction. “Beautiful job.” He took two quick steps back and twirled it around him, first on either side, then over his head. “Feels good. Natural.” He slipped it back in its sheath.

  Lauren’s heart jumped at his ease with the blade. She wanted to kiss him, but Indigo and Jaurru weren’t supposed to kiss until much later in the game. But she wanted to go off script, live in the moment, enjoy every second of the bizarre situation. A quiet voice inside her, something coursing through her like her magic had warned her not to deviate from the script, as if disaster loomed like angry clouds waiting to strike out with brilliant flashes of lightning.

  Lightning. She felt it now, a tingling like electricity, from her toenails to the tips of her flowing hair.

  Aiden’s face twisted in confusion and unease. “Lauren? Your hair is standing up.”

  Her hair rose from her shoulders like she was in space. Small purple sparks flashed from one strand to the next like a tiny thunderstorm.

  Aiden looked at his silver armor and took a few steps back. “Bro, that is way freaky.”

  Bolt 1. She remembered the exact page she’d penned the words on in her journal. Six pages in, nearly fifteen lines down, she described the opening spell as a low-level electrical attack useful against armored opponents.

  Like the ice spell, it manifested itself without her conscious will. Her powers simultaneously amazed and terrified her. If she couldn’t control her magic, it could be disastrous for anyone nearby.

  She closed her eyes. Her fingers crackled, and her feet rose an inch from the ground. Her eyes snapped open. “I have to let it out.”

  “Bad idea,” Aiden said.

  She moved to the window to release the energy into the sky. “You may want to move back.” Aiden didn’t argue. He moved to the opposite side of the room, pressed his back against the stone wall. Lauren stretched out her arms. The electricity focused in her chest before it flowed up her arms and shot into the sky. The few clouds glowed sapphire before they fizzled into gray.