Spear Bearer

She looked back through the sliding glass door. Her mom sat on the couch, her face buried in her hands. Lizzie made a vow: “I'm going to get her, mom.”

  She jumped Crawdad Creek and sprinted through the narrow strip of woods and into the field. The moon was waxing toward full and the leaves from the soybean plants reflected its silver light. The night was silent save her rhythmic breathing and pounding of her feet. All too soon the woods rose up ominous and dark in front of her.

  She felt the night creatures stop to watch her. She looked around, and with the Spear she could see them: opossums, snakes, mice and rats. A crow cawed deeper in the woods, and a shiver went down Lizzie's spine. As much as she didn't want to, she knew she had to follow the crow's call. She crossed the fallen tree over Muddy Brown Bayou.

  At first she more felt it than saw it. The power of the Spear drew her eyes toward it. A cicada clinging to a tree glowed with an eerie green light. She stared at it a moment and then asked, “Nick?”

  The cicada buzzed off the tree and transformed—arms and legs snapping out, green vest growing in the center, red cap popping up. Nick. Never, it seemed, did he appear the same size. This time he was nearly as tall as she.

  “Hello Lizzie Long.”

  “Don't act like my friend,” Lizzie said. “You just pretended to be my friend so that you could get the Spear.”

  “Sorry child. I had no choice. Ze Sorcerer, he...” his voice trailed off, his beard wagging as he shook his head.

  “Caw,” the crow cried. Lizzie looked up and saw it high in a tree above them. It didn't surprise her to see that it too glowed green.

  “Yah, ze bag,” Nick said. Reaching into some nearby bushes, he pulled out a long, narrow bag—a rifle bag.

  “Ze Spear, put it in here.”

  The bag was perhaps three times bigger than it needed to be—perhaps the Sorcerer didn't know the Spear was broken. She unzipped the bag and placed the Spear inside. As she let it go, the complete darkness of the woods engulfed her. Her heart raced. Gaap could be right there next to her and she wouldn't even see him. What could she do anyway? Without the Spear she was helpless—just a little girl alone among immortals in the midnight heart of the forest. No one would even hear her scream.

  “Close ze bag,” Nick said. “We need to go—zis Sorcerer, he is not patient.”

  She fumbled blindly for the zipper, but her hands were shaking.

  “I can't,” Lizzie whispered.

  “You must,” Nick said. He put his hand on her back. “Your sister needs you.”

  Little Lori with her long blonde hair, blue eyes and snaggletooth smile. They fought all the time—Lori was a major pest—but at this moment, Lizzie would have traded the world to find her and hug her and make everything alright.

  She took a deep breath and held it a long time. “I can do this,” she said with a sigh. She zipped up the bag. Nick helped her to her feet with a powerful hand.

  “Caw caw caw,” the crow cackled happily. Lizzie ducked as she felt the air from the beating of its wings as it swooped down close over her head and then flew on ahead.

  Lizzie pulled out her flashlight. “That bird...?” she whispered.

  “Ze Sorcerer's familiar,” Nick answered with a soft voice. He began to walk.

  “Familiar?”

  “Like ze witch's cat, yah?”

  Lizzie nodded. It helped her nerves to talk. “Is the familiar his prisoner? Gaap said...” She stopped. Nick couldn't be trusted; she didn't want to tell too much.

  “No, he does not use ze pain glyph on ze familiar.” Nick answered. He quickly added, “And ze familiar is not his pet eyeser, like in your foolish human stories. Zat is how it is wiz ze humans—always getting ze truth all helter-skelter.

  “Ze human may sink of ze familiar as his pet, but it is not so. No, it guides ze human by ze power of persuasion, leading him like a rider guides a horse, pulling ze reins zis way or zat. The Sorcerer kidnapped your little sister, but it was ze familiar's plan.” As they topped a hill, Nick pointed down at a clearing below. “Zere it is.”

  It was an area remarkably barren and flat. No trees, bushes or grass. No rocks or fallen trees. Torches on posts surrounded a large circle encircling a five-pointed star drawn in white. Gaap stood outside the circle, his great wings closed and drawn together behind him. A man stood inside the center of the star and a round lump lay at his feet. The crow perched upon his shoulder.

  Lizzie hurried down the hill, her eyes fixed on the lump. As she drew closer, the air grew thick with the smell of citronella. Her dad had bought torches that smelled like that. Did the Sorcerer shop at Wal-Mart too?

  Lori, the round lump curled up in a ball at the Sorcerer's feet, looked up. She still wore her pink Barbie nightgown, and her hands and feet were bound in rope.

  “Lori!” Lizzie shouted, and she began to run.

  “Stop right there!” the man commanded.

  Lizzie slowed to a walk.

  The Sorcerer was nothing like she had imagined him. He wore a sharp dark suit with black wingtip shoes. His hair was short and neat.

  “You're the Sorcerer?” Lizzie asked.

  “I am,” he answered. With a deliberate motion, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a long knife, its blade glinting in the torchlight. “Now, please don't come any closer to the pentagram, or I shall be forced to kill your sister,” he said, pointing the knife toward Lori.

  Lizzie saw his face clearly for the first time. She could hardly believe her eyes. “I've seen you on TV,” she said, “You're that politician.”

  “Madison Akers,” he said. “Sorry we have to meet, Lizzie, under such unfortunate circumstances. But sometimes one is forced to do unpleasant things for the greater good. We need the Spear of Destiny.”

  Chapter 31 — The Wood Witch

  Manuel and his mom followed Gordon on his motorcycle through town and then onto a highway and finally into the suburbs. They stopped at a neighborhood swimming pool. The paved road ended, but a dirt road continued, one path leading into wooded hills and another toward crop fields.

  “Wait for us here,” Gordon said to Miss Garcia. “We’ll be back soon.”

  “This is loco,” Manuel’s mom told him as he was getting out of the car. “You should call 9-1-1.”

  Manuel shook his head. “We have to find her first. We’ll call them when we find the kidnapped girl. The police won’t listen to Gordon if he tells them he can use his belly to find her.”

  “I’m calling the police if you’re not back in 30 minutes,” she replied.

  Manuel nodded, though he didn’t think it was a good idea.

  Manuel was surprised when they did not take the path into the woods and instead took the narrow dirt road that led to the fields. They jogged.

  “What is our plan?” Manuel asked.

  “We need to find Akers, of course.”

  “But then what?”

  “Even the best plan needs be adaptable. The more you leave to adaptation, the less you need to change.”

  “That’s it?” Manuel asked. Playing the situation out in his mind, he didn’t see how they had a chance.

  “I think Sparky’s scared,” the shrunken head said.

  “That’s it,” Gordon replied, ignoring the head. “I’m not certain what we’ll find there. The Sorcerer has summoned a great lord of a demon, a nasty piece of work that one. Similar to that imp you saw, only ten feet tall and ten times as powerful. He had me bound and trussed before I could say Jack Robinson.”

  “What chance do we have against that?”

  “Ah, well,” Gordon answered, “I know a little bit about demons. They don’t like being summoned, and they don’t like taking commands. This one will be looking for a way to defy and destroy this Akers. There’s a chance there.”

  Manuel didn’t think this was much of a plan. “A chance?”

  “A chance,” Gordon replied. “The deck seems stacked against us. But that’s only because we haven’t seen the Sorcerer’s hand. Why has he t
aken the girl? What is he doing with her now? There are all kinds of possibilities, and we may just need a moment’s distraction to rescue the girl. And, if we’re lucky, recover the stolen sigils.”

  The road turned to the left, but Gordon and Manuel continued straight through the fields and toward the woods and trees taller than any Manuel had ever seen.

  They slowed to a walk when as they entered the woods, their eyes adjusting as it grew darker. He could see better than other people in the dark, Manuel had known this from comparing what he could see to what his mother could see at night. Also, the moon was full, and even down under the shadow of the great canopy of trees some of the light filtered through.

  Manuel was wearing shorts and a short sleeve t-shirt and he quickly learned he was not prepared for a walk in the woods. They had to push their way through thick brush and vines with thorns seemed constantly to wrap around his ankles.

  Then Manuel heard the voice, a whisper on the wind, quiet but clear.

  Listen, sons of Mud and Light,

  Ye offspring of my fairie kin,

  My distant relative, my kissing cousin,

  Abide my instruction this night.

  “Did you hear that, Gordon?” Manuel asked in a whisper. The voice seemed to have no direction and he wondered if it was only inside his head.

  “Yes,” Gordon answered. “This could be trouble.”

  Manuel almost stumbled and fell into the deep channel of the creek that opened up before him.

  This creek no man can pass,

  Through these woods, border to border,

  This is my charge and that is my order,

  Whether you beg, barter, or dash.

  Now Manuel saw her. A tall slender woman stood on the other side of the creek. Despite the darkness, Manuel could see her clearly because the woman seemed to glow, from the dress of green leaves she wore to the brown hair that flowed down below her knees. And glowing brightest of all were the emerald green eyes that were both beautiful and frightening.

  So please believe,

  You must leave,

  Or be forced to do so.

  “I don’t think this wood witch can stop both of us,” Gordon whispered to Manuel. “Go and cross the creek further down. You will find them; we are very close. Move quietly and remember, wait for your best opportunity.”

  Manuel stared at the wood witch. He had just noticed the claws where her fingernails should have been, but even so, this spirit looked so beautiful and so serene he had a hard time believing it would hurt them.

  Gordon shoved Manuel. “Go!” he said.

  Manuel began to move downstream, but he kept looking back. Gordon walked forward, then slid down the embankment down to the water’s edge.

  The wood witch stepped forward and pointed at Gordon’s black boots and immediately the water and mud there began to bubble. With a gurgling sound, Gordon sank up to his knees.

  Gordon reached out a hand toward the other side of the creek bed, and a sapling bowed down as on command. Gordon grabbed it.

  Manuel took one last look. Gordon was down to his waist, the water boiling around him, but he held on firm to the sapling, and the sapling’s roots held tight in the ground.

  Manuel ran until he came to a tree that had fallen across the creek, a massive tangle of roots rising out from its base and pointing skyward. He skittered across the makeshift bridge and then angled back in the direction Gordon had indicated.

  Before long he heard voices, so he slowed his pace and stooped commando style as he crept forward. He came to the edge of a clearing and took in the scene. Madison Akers stood to his left. He had made a large pentagram of chalk and stood inside it with the girl he had kidnapped. The crow was on his shoulder and he held a knife in his hand. Another person, a child about his age judging from its size, stood some distance to Manuel’s right and well beyond the pentagram. This person was holding a bag. Another stout and short person with a conical hat and long flowing beard stood nearby. Manuel knew by instinct that this person wasn’t human. Finally, the demon Gordon had talked about stood just outside the pentagram. Slowly it turned its head and its red eyes seemed to fix on him.

  Manuel froze.

  “So without further adieu,” Mr. Akers said, waving his free hand toward himself, the crow swaying on his shoulder, “please toss the bag to me.”

  The demon turned his gaze away from Manuel and stared at the person with the bag.

  Manuel breathed again.

  Chapter 32 — Madison Akers

  Gaap's voice clawed into Lizzie's mind: Keep him talking. Move closer to the pentagram. She had to fight to keep from cringing under the weight of his voice.

  “So without further adieu,” Mr. Akers said, “please toss the bag to me.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” Lizzie asked, taking a step forward, moving closer to one of the points of the pentagram.

  He sighed. Pointing his knife at Lizzie he said, “I am going to rule the world. Literally. Believe me, the world will be a better place for it”

  Lizzie continued to inch forward. “You won't be able to use it if you don't know how.”

  “I'll figure it out.”

  The crow cawed.

  “I know,” Mr. Akers said to the crow. “I see her game.”

  He reached into his jacket again and pulled out a chain with dozens of round metal pendants attached to it. It jingled as he moved it.

  “What is that?”

  The Sorcerer frowned. “Has dear old Zuphlas—oh yes, he has you calling him Nick—has Nick put you up to this? I'll show you what happens to those who trifle with me.”

  He fumbled with the pendants in one hand and separated one from the others. Then he took a red pendant and held it over the first.

  Lizzie heard a grunt and turned to see Nick furrowing his brow and squinting his eyes in pain. Lizzie spun back to the Sorcerer and stepped forward again, screaming, “Stop it!”

  But Mr. Akers had already gathered the chain of pendants into the palm of his hand and Nick made a sigh of relief. “I am not a fool,” he said, giving her a stern look. “I know you are stalling. I know you are trying to trick me. But I am not playing games, Miss Long, and I won't hesitate to use this knife on your sister. I don't want to kill your sister, but I will if you come one step closer.”

  Lizzie looked down at the line he spoke of—the outline of the pentagram. It was made of white chalk.

  “This is how it will work,” he continued. “You will throw the bag to me and I'll make sure the Spear is inside. Only then shall I release your sister.

  “Afterwards, you will go home and tell the police she was lost in the woods and that you found her.

  “Now you could tell them that Madison Akers kidnapped her, but no one would believe you. And then, when you least expect it, I'll send my friend Gaap here,” he pointed the dagger toward the demon, who stood dark and menacing just beyond the pentagram, “to take Lori away for good. Maybe you too. Understand?”

  Lizzie nodded helplessly.

  “Toss the bag to me,” Mr. Akers commanded.

  Gaap's telepathic voice bore into Lizzie's mind—Throw it short.

  Without thinking, Lizzie threw it short.

  “Oh, for the love of God,” the Sorcerer complained. He pointed the dagger at her. “I hope, for your sister's sake, this isn't more of your games.”

  He grabbed Lori's rope bound hands and dragged her toward the bag.

  “Ow,” Lori moaned. Lizzie felt guilty—he wouldn't be hurting her if she'd thrown it right to him. At this point, it didn't seem there was any hope of keeping the Spear anyway.

  When the Sorcerer reached the bag he got down on his haunches, careful not to put the knees of his wool slacks on the ground, and balanced on his toes. The knife and the chain of sigils he laid on the ground so he could use both hands to pull back the zipper on the bag.

  NOW, Gaap's voice screamed inside her head, wipe away the corner of the pentagram. DO IT. There was power in the words. Ev
en if she'd tried to resist, it would have been difficult.

  She jumped forward, dropped onto her hands and knees, and began to brush away the chalk of the pentagram. Gaap's powerful wings beat swoosh swoosh and there was a rush of air.

  The Sorcerer's eyes bugged and he dropped the bag. He snapped up the chain of sigils and deftly shuffled through them.

  “Argh,” the demon growled, and he bounced up in the air as if shot. As he flew over the Sorcerer he groped for him blindly and missed. He crashed to the ground with a thud, writhing in pain.

  The Sorcerer picked up the knife. “I told you what I would do,” he said, wagging a finger at Lizzie. Without hesitation he lifted the knife over Lori's stomach.

  “No!” Lizzie screamed.

  The world moved in slow motion.

  Jumping to her feet, Lizzie raced to stop him. But she was too far away.

  The knife went into Lori's tummy. Lori didn't scream, she just said “ohhh” drawn out really long.

  Then a black streak smashed against the Sorcerer’s temple, his head rocked, and the crow flapped its wings to maintain its perch on his shoulder.

  Lizzie did not pause to wonder what had hit Akers or who might have thrown it. Before Akers could recover, Lizzie shouted “keyah” and kicked, the toe of her boot finding Mr. Aker's throat.

  The Sorcerer rolled backwards sending the crow fluttering into the air. He lifted his head, but Lizzie didn't give him a chance to get back up. Vaulting into the air, she came down with both feet on his face. His head hit the ground, thump; his eyes rolled and blood trickled from his nose. His hand relaxed and the chain of sigils fell onto the ground.

  Gaap rose in a flash. He brushed Lizzie out of his way with the back of his arm, sending her tumbling. His black hand throttled Mr. Aker's throat and lifted him easily into the air. “Pathetic mortal. Thought you could master Gaap, did you? Oh, how you shall suffer at my hand.” The Sorcerer struggled with both hands against the demon's grip. His face grew red as he choked, his eyes bulging as if they might explode.

  Lizzie crawled over to Lori.

  “I'm cold,” Lori said, shivering, her hands on the hilt of the dagger protruding from her tummy. Blood flowed out all around it.

  Lizzie looked up at Gaap. “She's dying,” she said.

  “One less heir of Longinus to contend with.” The demon laughed. “Good!”

  He spread his wings. “You would be wise to avoid me. Come looking for me with your Spear, and you might end up like this one here,” he said, shaking Mr. Akers like a doll. With a look of grim satisfaction, he tucked the man under an arm and flew into the air. Lizzie turned away and tried to shield her sister from the debris swept up in the gusts from those powerful wings.