Thunderbirds & Warlocks - Draca Deity Series - Edition 1

  Chapter Six

  Lachy couldn’t be bothered to hear any more of their conversation, and to be honest, he had about enough of Wison’s bad news. In the short time he’d known him, he had come to dread the sound of Wison’s sinister, loathsome voice. Wison had an accent, that Lachy could only describe as something similar to an old film about the medieval times, and he said his words differently than most people, with a distinctive vibrating base when he spoke. He had an annoying way of stuttering his s’s, reminding Lachy of a snake. His smooth s’s weren’t a cheap imitation either, it was ghostly, bloodcurdling. Lachy hadn’t forgotten a word of their conversation, but his main focus was redirected, there was work to be done, and no time to agonize over how he was going to do it.

  He was frightened out of his wits, but he battled with his fears, feeding on the loyalty he felt toward the Thunderbird. Wison was hunting him, and Lachy had the key Wison needed, what ever mystic power it held, Wison seemed to think it would end the life of his friend.

  Lachy thought back to last semester at school. Mrs. McDonald was always coming up with innovative ways to keep everyone interested in learning, so she kept telling them, and one day she came up with an idea about fire safety. It was an interesting class, she had the local firemen invite the class to the station, the kids got to climb all over the trucks, try out the fire pole. Then they had a seat on the floor, circling around the Chief while he gave a lecture about fire safety. The next week, which was of no surprise to Lachy, they had to do a report about Fire safety, and take it one step further, making a fire escape route at home, and use the diagrams for the project.

  Lachy's dad thought it was a great idea, and later that week he’d gone out and purchased an emergency ladder. Lachy and Jake had a great time practicing climbing up and down it. While Lachy was thinking about all that, he was eyeing his bedroom window. The ladder was high enough to reach his window, it was the perfect way to get inside the house, without being seen.

  There was only one problem. The ladder was no where in sight. The yard was a horrible mess, with the disaster that happened the night he spent in the Amish barn. He made a mental note to ask Ferus about that one day, and find out exactly what happened to his treehouse. Lachy looked around the yard with a careful easy once over, examining every thing he could see, every bulky chuck of splintered wood and busted fence post. He scouted around, trying to keep his head low, and out of sight of the windows as he searched for any sign of the ladder. He nearly had a torrid fit, when he saw his comic books, stamped right into the mud. He lifted one of them up and hung it there, watching the mud drip off the corner, and the sides of his mouth weighted down, and he tossed it aside, disgusted.

  After about ten minutes had passed, he was about to give up, and try to think of another way to get inside the house, when he bit his tongue. A sharp object stabbed right into his big toe, and he stomped around, pressing his lips closed as tightly as he could, muffling his screams of pain. It was something hard that got him, hard as steel.

  He didn’t think he could be so lucky, but he was. A sharp piece of steel was sticking out of the ground, poking out between a thick gnarled branch. He bent down and pulled away the leaves and nearly hooted out with joy. It was the ladder.

  Lachy went straight to work, tugging, pulling, and shoving until the ladder was free of the branch, and without taking time to rest, he pulled on the ladder until it was positioned right where he wanted it. Below the eaves of the house, pointed directly at his bedroom. The rope was tattered, and caked with mud, but he was willing to try it, and see if it would hold his weight. He was determined to get that chain for Ferus’ sake, and also, determined to beat Wison Guthrie at his own game.

  He reached for the ladder and steadied it above his head, careful not to make any noise, hoping that Wison had stopped pacing the floor, and wouldn’t walk up to the window at the worst moment. Catching Lachy in the act, with an 18 foot aluminium ladder in his hands. He braced it and pushed on it a few times to test and see if it was sturdy and when he was satisfied that it was, he reached for the rope. The ladder didn’t exactly reach the ledge of his window, so his father got Lachy a rope ladder. Lachy thought it was cool, like an obstacle course and as fun to climb as the rock wall at school. He coiled the rope around his shoulder as best he could, making sure the ring on the end was in good reach of his hands, and he placed his foot on the first step. He bounced a few times watching for it to come tumbling down on his head, but it held strong.

  He took another step and then another. It wasn’t as difficult to climb as he first thought. No different than the rope ladder for his treehouse, that was battered and broken all over his backyard. Don’t look down, was rule number one for rock climbing. Lachy climbed so many times sticking to that rule, that it was natural to him now, and he figured this was going to be an easy climb. He hadn’t quite worked out how he was going to get the rope on the hook beside his window, he’d need to reach fairly high, to clamp it onto the hook that his father had put a few feet next to the sill, but he thought he’d worry about that when he got there. One step, two step, three step, ouch, he counted, as he was making some progress but his toe wasn’t cooperating, it was burning with pain. Gotta take the bad with the good he supposed, if he hadn’t stubbed his toe, he’d be no closer to finding a way in. Then he stopped, hugging onto the ladder.

  Someone was coming. Instantly, before he had time to react, or try to climb faster, there were voices, directly below. Lachy clung to the ladder for dear life, with his eyes wildly looking down. He broke the rules of climbing, and sure enough the sight of the ground came smashing up at him, it made him feel weak, dizzy and he thought he was going to be sick. He cautiously lifted his head, straightened his neck, and took in some very quiet tiny breaths, trying to ward off the nausea. He couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying, but he knew who was saying it. It was his father and Wison Guthrie. They were standing on the patio deck, and appeared to be arguing. A puff of smoke rose up and reached Lachy, right in the face, and straight up his nose. It tickled his throat and felt instantly irritating. A great fear shadowed over him, he was about to sneeze.

  That meant he was about to get caught. Lachy doubted that much got past that evil Warlock, and the sneeze that was about to charge out of him, would surely wake the dead. His hands were basically occupied, one hanging onto the rope, and the other on the rung of the ladder. He was lucky so far, neither of the men had taken much notice of the ladder. Wison wouldn’t have known it was gone in first place, and his father would have assumed no different, as it was known as a usual house fixture, so Lachy wasn’t too worried about them seeing it. His sneeze was getting closer to coming out, he could feel the back of his throat tightening. Wison was directly below him, with a cigarette puffing up feathers of stinky smoke. Lachy thought of any remedies to stop a sneeze, and all he could come up with, was to pinch his nose and try to hold it in. His eyes were watering, with big tears coming down his face. He was tempted to yell down at Wison to put it out, break times over, back in the house, but he held his tongue. He leaned his head down, stretching his neck until his nose reached his fingers. The fingers holding the rope were the closest. He wiggled his fingers and got finally got a grip on the sides of his nose. He went to squeeze, and then everything started to shake.

  Lachy was thrashed from side to side, and nearly fell off the rungs, but managed to hold on tight, and keep his fingers pinned to his nose. The sneeze was building up, with a blast ready to detonate at any second. The ladder wobbled again. He looked down, with a revolted look taking over his features. Was Wison toying with him? He was leaning against the ladder, bracing his arm against it, and it vibrated, and bounced roughly against the wall every time he took a haul off his cigarette. That cigarette was taking forever for him to smoke, and Lachy was about ready to climb down, take it out of his mouth and stomp on it, out of sheer resentment, not to mention principle, alone. No one should ever smoke, it’s dangerous to your health.

&
nbsp; “Ferus! I need help!” Lachy rang a warning bell inside his head, hoping he could hear his distress call. He waited and waited, and felt even worse then he did before, there was still silence. Lachy managed to get his sneeze under control, but if Wison blew any more smoke up at him, he was pretty sure the next time, he’d not be so lucky.

  “Gamman Shears is a wise and generous leader. I’m not so sure about this Wison.”

  “Horace, you are either with me, or against me.”

  “I have been out of the fold for many years my old friend. I am no longer in position.’

  “Need I remind you of position? Your obligation?”

  Lachy was gazing down at his father nervously, it was getting harder and harder to hold on to the ladder, he fingers were going numb, his feet were aching from the rungs, and his toe was howling in pain. He knew he’d get in big trouble if his father saw him now, he was fretful about what he should do. He was at the point that staying in this position was no longer possible, he’d have to go up, or down. Soon he’d have to decide, or his body would shut down and refuse to cooperate, and he’d be stuck. Then he thought they were starting to move, he stared harder at them, willing them back inside the house, and with great relief, Wison finally stepped away from the ladder. They were still arguing about a man named Gamman Shears, and positions and titles and rights. All of that had gone straight over Lachy's head, the only thing in his mind, was the safety of his room, and getting there in one piece.

  He was back to the climb, not willing to waste a moment, and had already gone up a stack of steps before he even heard the patio door slam shut. The rungs were slippery in spots, and Lachy climbed along getting a good foot hold with each step he took. He looked up, and noticed the hook came in to view, and so did his window, he only had three more steps go to, and he’d be on the top of the ladder. He didn’t want to be on the top, the top one always made the ladder unstable, being a few down gave his legs something to brace against. He unwound the rope from his shoulder, letting it drop rung by rung until he had only the ring in his hand. He bunched it, and swung it like a lasso. This was new for him, he’d never had to do it this way, his dad hooked it up the first time, by leaning out the window.

  He swung the hook, and his shoulders crunched. It made a thump against the wall, and missed by a few feet. He tried it again, and again, and his face heated with frustration. Thump-thump-thump, it was like pebbles being chucked at glass. It was sure to draw attention, he fixed his eyes directly below him, ignoring the ground smashing up at his eyes, the nausea he felt every time he looked down, he waited for the sound of the patio door sliding open, so far it didn’t. He couldn’t afford to make any noise at the moment and had only himself to blame if he got caught. He was going to have to go higher, he wasn’t going to catch the hook from this far down. He wrapped the rope around his wrist, and instead of swinging in a lasso, he flipped the ring on the end of the rope up.

  It caught his first try. He looked at it with disbelief, he didn’t think he was ever going to get it, but there it was, the weight of the ladder had straightened it out, until it reached about midway of the aluminum ladder and it hung there as perfectly as if his dad had just hung out the window and hooked it up. He reached over and got a good grip on it, and gulped. If it weren’t firmly attached, as soon as it was accosted by his weight, he and the rope would take the long dangerous fall into the backyard. He pressed a foot on the rung of the rope ladder, testing it out. It was unsteady, flowed away from the aluminum ladder as soon as he braced any weight on it. That was normal, it was a free flowing ladder, Lachy was used to that. He shifted a little more weight onto the ladder, and when he was satisfied that it was safe, he switched ladders. Both hands were free now, and he climbed the rest of the way like a madman on a mission. He moved as fast as he could, minding the slimy mud clumps that could easily break his ankle if he slipped.

  His window was closed, when he reached as high as he dared go, he could feel the distance between himself and the ground, listening for any voices, doors opening, any signs of them returning. The yard was quiet, but he didn’t know for how long, and he pressed on, there was no going back now. He wrapped his leg around the rope on the ladder and swung himself over to the base of the window sill, after a few tries he managed to clamp his fingers on the edge of the window. He held on as best he could, and with one hand the window slid open.

  Lachy resisted the urge to look down, this was the hard part, he’d have to brace himself and pull himself in, for those brief moments he’d be venerable, there would be nothing to hold his weight, one wrong move and it could mean a death plunge. He pushed himself toward the window and wiggled half way through, then a tearing sound quickened his heart.

  With one good thrust he was falling and fell on his head with a thump, onto his bedroom floor. He sat for a moment regaining his focus, then got to his feet. The ladder had already coiled on the ground below his window, it wasn’t as secure as Lachy thought, and he took a quick look down, and felt the blood gushing to his feet. That could be him squashed against the grass, and he wiped the sweat from his brow, and moved away from the window, as quick as a shadow. He strained his ears to listen, even though the rope ladder was too light to make much of a sound, all the commotion Lachy had caused breaking into his room was definitely rowdy. He was wary that he would have been heard, and it’d be no surprise if they came bursting through his door at any moment. Earnestly, he scouted around his room, making a plan.

  As he was planning it out in his head, there were footsteps climbing the stairs. His thinking might be ahead of them, but his actions were a bit behind. He would have to hide, and chose the cubby hole in the back of his closet. If his dad was looking for him, it would be the first place he’d search. Fortunately for Lachy, his dad thought he was bike riding, and wouldn’t suspect it was him, so he had no reason to think of it, which made it the perfect place to hide. He opened the closet door a crack, and was pounced inside, his mind a tether of fear, they were coming.

  “Wison, what are you doing?” It was Horace, he was right outside Lachy's door.

  “Do not underestimate the beast. There is something going on here.”

  The door creaked open, and Lachy crouched into the small square space, and clamped his eyes shut, as if that would somehow make him seem invisible, undetectable to those haunting liquid eyes. The light was blown out in the closet, Lachy thought thankful to himself that his father hadn’t gotten around to fixing it. It was sensible to think, that he could hide in the shadows of the cubby hole, he managed to close the tiny oblong shaped door before they were too close to possibly hear it.

  “Have a look. It’s just a boy’s room.” Horace said with a deep belly laugh. “I do believe old friend, you have grown paranoid in your young years.”

  A grunt of disapproval seemed to be Wison’s response. There was no sound for a moment, then Lachy started to fiercely tremble, as slow deliberate foots steps came into his room. And he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a slam, and glass rattling.

  “Lachy forgot to close the window. I will have a word with him about that when he gets home.”

  There was another long gruelling silence, and it was killing Lachy. He wanted to know what they were doing, what Wison was up to, in his room. The darkness was stinging Lachy's eyes, the dust bunnies were creeping up his nose, and he was paralysed with fear. What would he do now, if his great effort was wasted, if Wison found the chain first? Then Lachy's cheeks sunk in, he couldn’t remember if Jake had time to shut down the laptop. What if the websites were still open, and they could see all that Lachy had learned? ‘Please leave now. Please go, go, go.’ Lachy was whispering inside his mind. ‘Just go.’

  And the door opened, and closed, again.

  Were they really gone? Or was Wison playing a trick on him, pretending to close the door, and was waiting for him to come out of hiding. It didn’t seem to Lachy that Wison was the type of man who could easily be tricked.

  Then
he heard voices. Distant voices, that were growing faint. That had to mean, that they were gone. He lifted the latch handle on the oblong door, and crawled through his closet. He kept on the floor and lifted his arm up, and turned the handle, and steadily opened the door. He gritted his teeth when it made a long creak sound, and he stopped the door, when the crack looked wide enough to crawl through. On hands and knees, he crawled through the door, eyeing everything all at once, not trusting the room was empty until he inspected every corner.

  He got to his feet. He was safe, for now. He went directly to his computer desk, and a tiny smile came across his face. The laptop was on, but there was a screen saver going, if they had touched it, it wouldn’t of had time to resort back to it, so that meant they hadn’t touched it. He wiggled the mouse and immediately closed out the website about the dragons, then he released a breath of relief. He moved the papers Jake printed to the side, and smiled wider. The stone was next to the keyboard just where he left it, and he lifted the chain and stuffed it into his pocket. He gathered a few things in a bag, being careful not to make any obvious noise. He packed the printouts from the website, a few pairs of jeans, t-shirts and unmentionables, his mp player, and a few games. He stopped before his dresser and slowly he slid open the top drawer and moved his clothes to the side. A glitter of a tear formed in the corner of his eye when it came into view.

  He lifted a tiny silver picture frame, and held it tightly in his grip. It had been a long time since he touched it, or opened the drawer for that matter. She was so beautiful. She had a warm smile and perfect teeth, her hair looked soft and it flowed past her shoulders. The sight of her deep blue eyes made him tense up inside, there was a kindness in her eyes, they had a soulful look about them, that drew people to her, people always wanted to be around her, including Lachy. He missed his mother. He slipped his most prized possession into his school bag, sucked in a breath, and harshly wiped his wet eyes with the back of his hand. He grabbed a few other things as he passed his desk, a flashlight, batteries, and the sweet sac from Mulish’s Lomey. He finished zipping up his bag and slipped it on his back, then quietly he opened the door, and listened. There was only one way out, the kitchen. When he saw that it was safe he took careful steps toward the stairs. A strange silence came from down stairs, and Lachy was starting to think getting out of the house might be easier than he first anticipated.

  “Why do you believe it has come? If it is not to lay claim on the boy?” The sound of that voice sent a coil of dread inside Lachy. Wison and his father were still in the parlor.

  “It would have taken him already.” Horace said, sharply. Lachy plopped down on the top step, fully attentive to every word they had to say. He didn’t believe that the Thunderbird came for him, either, he didn’t know why it was there, but surely it had better things to do, than rummage around for humans.

  “Do you recall the last episode with the clans?” There was a long drawn out sigh. Lachy didn’t have to guess that it came from his father, he knew exactly what that sound meant, Lachy could see it, as if he was looking at his dad right then. His head would be lowered, his fingers were wrung through his hair, he was getting upset, and getting no where with the Warlock.

  “Of course. It ended..”

  “Yes. It ended indeed.” Wison cut him off. “Tell me Horace. How did it begin?”

  “I am a cryptozoologist. I took my boy to the Andes, to go hiking to Machu Picchu.”

  “Explain this cryptozoologist. What is it’s purpose?”

  “Plainly put. The study of extinct birds.” There was a sick burst of laughter, and Lachy covered his ears, he dreaded the sound of Wison’s voice even more than ever before. They spoke about strange things, Wison’s tone was bitter, he was an angry evil man, and Lachy wanted nothing to do with him, he wanted him out of his house, and out of his father’s life.

  “Any good bird is a dead one.” Wison said, laughing. Regrettably, Horace laughed, too.

  “You lost the boy?”

  “Yes. A thunderstorm separated us.”

  “For how long was he gone?”

  There was a long pause. Then in a softer tone, his dad confessed. “Three days.”

  Lachy jerked his head back, confusion surged through him. He absently rubbed his thumb over his scar, thinking of the day he woke up with it on his arm. It was the morning his father found him in the cave, at the base of the Andes Mountain. No matter how hard he tried, he had no recollection of what happened, and it wasn’t long before that time, that he lost his mother.

  “You failed at keeping the boy from his talons, he has the mark of the dragon.”

  “But I retrieved him, did I not?” Lachy didn’t like where this conversation was going. He had never heard his dad talk so.. old. His words were stiff and boring sounding, like he was a different person all together. It was as though he spoke from a different time, like in an old movie from about the 16th century. “You failed to kill a Thunderbird, did you not?” Horace barked back. Bewildered by that statement, Lachy rested his hands on his chin, eager to hear more.

  “It is due to your insolence, that the boy is preyed upon by the Thunderbird. It has come for him, mark my words.”

  “As have you.” Horace replied in the same vicious tone, and Lachy blinked when there was a big bang.

  “I will take charge of the boy, as his father you have proven your failure.”

  “Do not insult me, in my house.” Horace shouted. There was a scuffling of foot steps, and another bang. Lachy crept down the stairs and hovered close to the floor. Wison had his father pinned against the wall, with his hand at his throat.

  “You will join my army, Horace Wulf. Or I will slit your throat here and now.”

  Lachy felt a familiar heat. His toes became warm, his fingers turned a bright pink, his ears began burning. He was about to pounce to his feet and see just what this fire inside him could do. Rage pulsed inside him, then his throat constricted, and his eyes popped madly, his mind blurred with confusion, there was a burst of laughter filling the house, it fell between his dad and Wison. It was slow at first, his father let out a deep chuckle, then Wison, and his father’s was loudest of all. Lachy slouched back on the bottom step, the raging heat faded quickly, until there wasn’t a pinch left. The men inside the parlor were laughing and slapping one another’s back, as if they had never argued.

  “I thought you’d never ask,” Horace said.

  “Did you not think I would?”

  Lachy couldn’t imagine his father joining an army. He didn’t seem the type to fight, or hunt, or even lift a finger to kill a spider. He blew air up the side of his temple, and a piece of hair puffed up from sticking in his eye. Nothing in this house was right, nothing since the day he was hit, by lightening.

  “Come sit with me, Horace.” Wison said, in an even tone. “The army will arrive shortly. They will need provisions. A place to rest.”

  “Of course. Of course.” Horace replied.

  A crooked line formed on Lachy’s mouth. He tried to picture a house full of fatal Warlocks that could fly. He hoped they didn’t have moves like Wison the Warlock, he doubted even the Thunderbird could defend himself against an army full. Getting out of the house, and away from the both of them became the most urgent feeling that had ever overcome Lachy in his entire life. He suspected it would be the most compelling feeling he’d ever had, even if he lived to one hundred years old. There was only one slight problem. Getting to the kitchen meant crossing the foyer to the front door, and it was in plain sight to the dinning room, where the men were. One wrong move and they’d know right away that he was there, and he’d be caught trying to sneak out of the house, he’d be trapped, with the stone Wison so desperately wanted, tucked in his pocket.

  “We will lure the beast, and the bait is the boy. When the beast comes, I shall smite him with my sword.”

  “Of course that will not exterminate the creature.”

  “It will wound it, enough to keep it still. So that I may drain it
’s blood.”

  Lachy nearly fell off the stairs when he heard it. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to harm the Thunderbird, not to the point of draining all it’s blood. This Wison was a gruesome hunter, Lachy knew he had to do something, but what? Even if he managed to get out of the house without them knowing, he didn’t have a clue where to go, or what to do. Lachy was starting to realize that this was bigger than an emerald stone, he could burry it in the ground, but it wasn’t going to make Wison, or the hunters who were heading for his house go away. Lachy had to search his mind, his spirit for some kind of answer, for the courage to at least get out of the house. Maybe once he was away from them, and their dreadful conversation, he’d be able to think clearly, and figure out a plan. He needed a plan.

  “Is that how you intend to kill it?”

  A hearty laugh was followed by a loud slap, obviously to his dad’s backside. “Not at all my good man. I intend to enslave it. To feed off it’s blood, until I have gained the ultimate power.”

  Lachy was frosted with fear, that was the most disgusting thing he had ever heard of, and his upper lip curled. It was even more revolting than smearing lamb’s blood on the Amish barns. He wanted to jump to his feet, he wanted to run in there shouting at the both of them in protest. He wanted to stop them. But how he could he? Jake’s words came to him, and he lowered his head reliving the doubts that plagued his mind when Jake said, he was just a kid. The Warlock was even more dangerous than Jake knew, Lachy told Jake that the Warlock had powers like in the movies. Jake was lucky, though, he hadn’t seen him in action. The Warlock had powers, plasma balls, he could flip high in the air, and fly. Lachy was no match for him, no matter how angry he could get and how much fire he could summon. No matter how hot his body became, he knew there was nothing he could do. He sat perfectly still on the stairs. Lachy couldn’t stand it another minute, he no longer wanted to hear what Wison had to say, his voice was cruel and pitiless, and it made Lachy sick inside to know that he was with his father, laughing and plotting to capture the Thunderbird.

  The threat of Wison Guthrie was frightful and real to Lachy as a thought occurred to him, his dad didn’t say that Wison couldn’t take him away, his dad, in fact heartily agreed to join Wison’s army. There was a sinking feeling inside of him that told him it was time to get out of the house. All of Lachy’s logical thoughts fled from his mind, he wasn’t thinking about the danger he was in, or his pounding heart that raced with terror. He pounced to his feet, stepped into the hall, and didn’t dare glance over his shoulder, he knew if he did, he’d lose his nerve. He stretched out his legs and moved with a new found stealth, his foot steps were as silent as a lamb, and he crouched down as close to the floor as he could get, and slithered his way into the kitchen. He laid there for a brief moment, waiting to hear if they had seen him, he clamped his eyes tightly when he heard a boot stomp and he covered his hands over his head. Expecting the worst.

  It nearly was the end of his freedom. The boots had stomped directly toward him, straight into the kitchen. Lachy saw a pair of boots stomp right by his nose, he had moved so fast under the kitchen table that he didn’t remember doing it. The boots moved briskly over to the fridge and Lachy closed his eyes as a whoosh of cold air blew against his face. His father rummaged around in the fridge, got a box of bottles, a bag of beer nuts, and then he stopped.

  Lachy didn’t dare blink, let alone breathe. His father twisted on a heel, and seemed to be examining the kitchen, and Lachy realized he could have moved further in, under the table, his shoe was sticking out at the corner. He was sure that his father would see it, that he would kneel down and find him there, and question him, about what he was up to. He laid there, breathlessly, waiting. Then the boots walked away, and the men continued on with their babble, and Lachy realized he managed to slip through the house, unseen.

  It had been lucky to up to now, the kitchen door was only a few feet away, without as much a glimpse behind him, he crawled out from under the table, and got to his feet. His legs charged forward like a bullet. He was moving so fast he barely had time to stop before he banged his head into the porch door, and it took everything he had to stop before it. His eyes lifted to the sky, and he peered out through the window, everything seemed still, and normal. He tightened the straps of his backpack and took a final look back, at his dad’s house. A heavy weight of sadness shadowed over his heart, it felt as though it was the last time he’d ever see his father’s house again. It wasn’t safe here, not anymore. The memories of his life were here, this was all he knew, and he bitterly wiped a tear that was trailing down his cheek. Lachy's mouth and throat dried up, like a sponge baking in the sun, he had dug deep, deep down, to find the courage to do this. To leave his dad, without a word, before his dad gave him away to that madman.

  He’d be damned if he was going anywhere with Wison, literally he supposed, and determined that what ever waited for him outside, was far better than being under the command of some sinister warlord who wanted to take over the country. He didn’t bother to close the door behind him, and stepped outside, with his head lifted to the sky. A brightness shone through the darkness of his mind, then a shadow came his way.

  “Draculoc! Jake is safely at his dwelling.”

  The sound of that voice made Lachy weak at the knees. He’d been struggling so long on his own, thriving on his emotions of, strength, courage and bravery that it all washed away in that instant. It left him spent, empty and eager to let an adult take over, make the decisions for him, take charge of this travesty and fix it. “Did you hear their plans?” Lachy asked, relieved to hear the news of Jake, but too distracted by the heavy, grave news to think of anything else.

  “Jake has humor, a likable boy.” Ferus said.

  “Yeah, he’s great. Thank you for seeing him home.”

  “It was my privilege.”

  By this time Lachy was hiding in the bushes where he had sent Jake hours before. He hadn’t realized until now, just how musty mud smelt, and he lifted his head, crinkling up his nose.

  “Why do you hide?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Do not fear.”

  “I’m filled with it, you should be to.” Lachy said. “Did you hear? What they said.. My dad? Wison?”

  “I suppose I may have missed a bit.”

  “Got hard of hearing at your old age?” Lachy said, and grinned when Ferus’s soft purr of a laugh came in his mind. “They are coming.” Lachy said, thinking it a bit strange that it was his turn to say it.

  “I am aware.”

  “They want your blood.”

  “As do they yours.”

  “What?” Lachy said, and jerked back a foot. “No they didn’t say that. They want yours.” Lachy wanted to make that very clear, granted, Wison was a guttural lunatic, but Lachy was sure he’d draw the line at human blood.

  “He has come to claim you.”

  “I know. And my dad isn’t arguing.”

  “It is their way. It is forbidden for him to.. argue.”

  “I don’t want to go with the wicked Warlock. He will try to kill me.”

  “Yes. Sadly that is his purpose. But it is against the law of the Ravinwulf Deity. Warlock Guthrie works alone, the things he knows, he does not reveal, even to your father.”

  “Is that true?” Lachy asked gloomily, to himself. Not really caring that Ferus could hear the fear in his voice. “What do we do?”

  “Wait.”

  “No!” Lachy argued. “You have to get out of here. I heard them talking. They want to capture you, keep you as a slave.” Lachy sat blinking, in disbelief, off in the distance he heard loud thunderous roars. The sky was flashing with lightening. It was terribly frightening. “Are you doing that?”

  “It is not I, Draculoc.”

  “What is it?” Lachy asked, sneaking a quick look toward the roadside. The rumbling was getting close, it was moving in on him, incredibly fast.

  “They are here.”

  “What? Who?
”

  All of a sudden he covered his ears, screaming inside his mind. “What is it?”

  There were motorcycles. Big black shiny motorcycles, and they were coming from every direction. Lachy was suddenly crowed in, as they spun 360’s on the front lawn, spitting mud clumps of grass behind the wheels, in the drive, the backyard, some along the side of the house. Then another gang came, they seemed to have dropped out of the sky, in a single file they raced along the road. There must have been a hundred. They lined up along Orchard Ave, Lachy thought that they actually took up the entire street. Well maybe not the entire street, but from Lachy's vantage point he couldn’t see an end to their parade. Some seem impatient about waiting in line, and tore up on the grass, by jumping the ditch, tearing up more of the lawn, crushing his moms rose bushes, and all her shrubs. Lachy was sobbing, without even realizing he was doing it.

  “Be brave.” He heard in his head.

  “Ferus get out of here. Save yourself.” Lachy yelled so loudly inside his head that expected even Ferus to complain. Lachy pulled some of the bushes over his head, he laid out flat and closed his eyes, one of the bikes came dangerously close to where he hid and nearly plowed him over. He looked up, and his face cringed. They were dressed in black leather from their heads to their boots, some had beards and girls pony tails. Others were bald with shiny heads, and they all were decorated with some sort of tribal tattoos.

  “That’s Wison’s army?” Lachy whispered to Ferus, it was totally shocking. They were nothing to what Lachy thought they would be, he expected them to be dangerous, but not in his wildest imagination did he expect them to be, mad bikers, riding motorcycles that resembled Harleys.

  “Yes.”

  Lachy noticed in the wide shouldered thick forest of men who looked like retired foot ball players, there was a small one. He was really, really short. Then all at once he realized, it was a kid. He strained to see but couldn’t tell what the kid looked like, he was dressed in black leather, and wore a helmet. It was strange to Lachy that Warlocks would want to travel with a kid, but they were.

  “Where are you?” Lachy asked, looking to the sky.

  “A distance.”

  “Good. Go away and don’t come back.” Lachy said, with conflicting emotions, he didn’t really want Ferus to leave him behind, with all these terrible people, but he was relieved to hear that Ferus was smart enough to get away before they knew he was there. The humming motors were pretty much simmered down as the last of the crowd of rough men parked their bikes, and were starting to form a circle by the front door. Lachy espied the small one, then his attention was captivated by a crow. It was flying overhead, and he followed it with his eyes, as it graced across the sky, and then he lifted his head, alarmed. Like the first star you see at night, the tip of Mulish Schmidt’s barn came into view.

  The David Star brought a sense of calmness to Lachy’s worried mind, and it all became clear to him. In an instant he knew exactly where he had to go, he just wasn’t sure how to get there. Panic-stricken, he closed his eyes putting his hands over the back of his head. There were padding of foot steps, then it stopped. The young Warlock came close the bush where Lachy hid, and he gazed upward. The Warlock had slipped off the helmet, long flowing dark hair shook and drifted landing on her shoulders.

  Lachy’s face went crooked with shock. The thought didn’t occur to him that there would be a girl Warlock. He pictured them only as boys, that Warlocks were the boys and maybe something like, girls were the Witches. She didn’t look like any Witch that he could imagine. Lachy figured that she must be a Warlock, why else would she ride with them, dress like them, act like them, she had to be one of them. He thought of Grandpa Wulf, and one of his sayings, “If it looks like a Wulf, runs like a Wulf, smells like a Wulf and is sly like a Wulf, well there you have it son, it’s a Wulf.” It was better when Grandpa Wulf said it, he might have used different words, but the sentiment was the same. She had to be a Warlock and he reasoned that he better stay away from her, and consider her as dangerous as the rest of the biker riding Warlocks.

  He crouched even lower, if that was even humanly possible, as she was moving again. He tried to keep as still as a mouse, and all the while his eyes were settled on her. She wasn’t ugly for a girl, she looked a little shorter then he was, and he guessed she must be about the same age. She slowly looked around, then fixed her eyes on the fields. Lachy was puzzled about what she was doing, or who she was looking for. She slipped off her jacket, and Lachy immediately took notice, she was wearing a sleeveless t-shirt, and had a tattoo on her shoulder. It was radical to see a kid with a tattoo, and Lachy wasn’t one bit impressed. If he was able to make a noise, he’d fake cough into his hand and huff out the word, ‘idiot.’ Those things are for life, they don’t come off, she should know that. The tattoo looked tribal, similar to the one his dad had on his shoulder, a shriek escaped Lachy’s throat as she took another step closer to the bush he hid under.

  “Do not wander off.” One of the Warlocks called out, and she lifted a hand up slowly, as if to ask for him to give her a minute. Lachy inched closer the edge of the bush and could see her head slowly turning as if she was scoping out the landscape. The tension in his muscles eased a bit when she turned around, and headed back to the others.

  Wison and his father stepped out into the yard. It was curious to Lachy that the men seemed comfortable with his dad, they even called him by his name without being introduced. Not once in his life had seen a picture of any of them in the photo albums, or ever meet any stopping by for a visit. The kid was standing perfectly still, with her arms folded before her chest while some of the others gathered around his dad, like he was the star of the show. They were patting his father on the back, laughing loudly, pretending to fist fight, and would laugh again. His dad was so full of life, his face was beaming, his eyes were spirited, he appeared, happy. That made Lachy feel a little depressed, resentful and put out. Why hadn’t he ever brought out this enthusiastic, vibrant side to his dad? He had never seen this side to his father, and it worried him. He hadn’t thought of what kind of life his father had, before he met his mother, and Lachy came along. Then his dad raised him, by himself. He was starting to get a picture in his head of what his dad’s life was like, a looming unpleasant sense of sadness attached itself to Lachy's heart, the feeling had fatal sharp claws, and it made his heart pain as the reality sunk in. His dad ran with a rough crowd, a crowd of Warlocks.

  “Are you joining us in the hunt, Horace?” One of the men asked, bashing his boots against the ground, pretending to shoot into the air.

  “Ahmad Girod, it has been centuries.” His dad replied, much to Lachy’s grief, his dad sure liked to exaggerate. Centuries, it was laughable, especially for a such a serious man such as his father to say something so radical and silly. Despite all that was going on, he was enjoying this lighter side to his dad. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I haven’t made a kill, in a good two hundred years.” Ahmad said with a wide grin, scratching his chin through his scruffy beard. Lachy knew he was kidding, they were all laying it on a bit thick. He recalled his dad telling him that Wison was joking at the truck when they were introduced, and Wison’s tally was three hundred years.

  “I wish to slay it, myself.” Horace said, grinding his hands together.

  “Not if I can help it.” Lachy was thinking. He had no clue how he was going to stop them, but he was angry and upset enough to give it all he had, to try.

  “Kill the bloody beast.” Another growled out, coming up next to his dad, picking him up off his feet in a bear hug. Lachy resented the sentiment, willing his father to stop being friendly to them, to see that they were leading him down the wrong path, the path to damnation.

  “Kurtz Bowman, how long has it been my friend.” Horace said, with a loud voice as Kurtz dropped him to his feet. “Yes. What a day of honor it will be. That beast will spill it’s blood at my own home.”

  “Remove that thought from your head, or I?
??ll remove it for you.” Wison snarled at them, his eyes began to glow.

  Lachy covered his eyes, wishing they would all go away. A break out of laughter came from the others, and it offered no comfort to Lachy. He kept his eye on the opposite side of the road, his mind on the Amish barn. His mood was soured by despair, and thinking rationally was nearly impossible, when his mind was acting irrational, shut in, trapped, a prisoner of fear, just like he physically was trapped under the brush. The first thing he decided to do, if he was going to wipe his mind clean enough to get a good look at his options, was try to ignore the uproar of vicious stories and crude humor that was going on, in the yard. The Warlocks had many battles, and didn’t seem to grow tired of talking about it. Lachy didn’t find one of their stories interesting, remarkable or worth the badge of honor that they bestowed upon each other after every story was told. Lachy nearly choked when he heard the words he had been begging to hear.

  “Come inside. We have cold beer.” Horace said, with an arm up. Everyone one of them looked up, and immediately headed toward the front steps.

  “Where’s the boy?” One of the men yelled out.

  “You shall meet him, at dusk when he returns.” Wison spoke up.

  “Oh no you won’t.” Lachy said, defiantly. “I don’t want to meet any of you.” Lachy started fidgeting in his spot. The hard branches were sticking into his back, and his eyes were watered from the dirt stunk of mold and decay, ode to skunk, as if at one time, something crawled in there and died. He thought he might have gotten used to it by now, but he didn’t. The dust and fumes were tickling his nose, too. He hoped with all his heart that his chance to escape was close, as he didn’t know how much more of this he could take. One by one the men were starting to enter the house.

  “Two-four-six-eight.”

  “What is the purpose of this exercise?”

  “You are gonna have to learn to knock, you scared me half to death. Now look what you made me do. I lost count.”

  “What is the purpose of counting?”

  “To see how many Warlocks can fit in my house.” Lachy said, the sound of Ferus’ laugh was soothing to his fears.

  “I am going to the Amish Barn.” Lachy told Ferus, boldly. He had his mind made up, and he wasn’t going to allow anyone to argue with him about it, not even Ferus.

  “If that is what your brave heart tells you, young Draculoc. Then it is what you must do.”

  “Will you tell me when it’s safe?” He asked, as he couldn’t see for himself, there were a lot of Warlocks, it was going to take a while before they all entered the house. If all of them chose to actually go in, that was. He had to wait and see, and waiting was something he wasn’t very good at. He wanted to run away, now.

  “Of course.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I am near.”

  “Why? They will capture you.”

  “Once again, you underestimate me.”

  “Did you see how many there were?”

  “It matters not.”

  “It matters to me.” Lachy said, scowling. “I don’t want them to.. to.. hurt you.”

  The laughter came again.

  “You aren’t afraid of them, are you?”

  “I am Thunderbird. I know not fear.”

  “Have you ever run from danger?”

  “I have swiftly out manoeuvred my opponents.”

  “By running away?”

  “By outsmarting them.”

  “You ran away. That is fear.” Lachy said.

  “Thunderbirds do not know FEAR!”

  Lachy pressed on his temples. “Ok. Ok. You don’t have to yell.” Lachy looked over to the yard and released a breath as he saw the last Warlock had gone in. They seemed to have gone to the kitchen, he clearly saw movement, and lowered his head, infuriated at himself. “I should have closed that door.” Lachy grumbled, under his breath. The door was wide open, and he clearly would be exposed to anyone near it, if he made an attempt to climb out of the bush. He watched the door, anxiously, as he tensed with every shadow that he saw move.

  “Does that matter?”

  “It does if I don’t want them to see me.”

  “See you?” Ferus replied.

  It went without saying that he didn’t, annoyed with the entire situation, Lachy had to think harder to come up with a way to get out of there, without causing a scene. “You said they couldn’t see Jake, was that some sort of dragon magic? Can you do that to me?”

  “Sorry, it is forbidden.”

  “That’s not fair. Why not?” Lachy his face slumped with scorn.

  “Jake is Jake, you are Draculoc. You cannot be shielded from the Warlock eye.”

  “Why not?” Lachy felt bad for asking, and believed the Thunderbird would if he could.

  “It is something Horace Wulf will have to remedy.”

  Lachy rolled his eyes, he had heard that one before. “I think I better go. Before one of them steps out of the kitchen door.” Lachy sent as a puff of thought to Ferus. Guardedly he scoped out the door step, alert to any movement. He turned his head in the direction of the path he plotted out, and crawled out of the bushes. He rose to his feet, and without forethought he began racing across the yard. He took three steps forward, and screamed. His was rising in the air, with his legs dangling, he was kicking with both feet furiously.

  “What have we got here?”

  “Let me go. Let me go.” Lachy squealed, squirming to get away.

  “What are you doing here boy?” He asked, his filthy yellowed fingernails digging into the base of Lachy's neck, as he lifted him higher, until he could see him, eye to eye.

  “I am looking for my friend. He lives here.” Lachy said it, before he thought it through. It sounded like a good plan, and he was going to go with it. This Warlock looked big, but he also didn’t look very bright.

  The man lowered him down on his feet, but he kept his death grip on Lachy’s collar. “We’ll see about that.” He said, gruffly.

  Lachy struggled against him. He thought of the meanest most offensive thing that Chris Daniels ever said to him. ‘Your mother died, to get away from you.’ Without warning the man jumped back, hopping up and down kissing the tips of his fingers. “Man that kids hot.” He roared.

  Lachy didn’t wait around to see what was going to happen next. His legs were pounding under him, all he could think of, was the safe little bed, settled high in Mulish Schmidt’s barn. Then he fell the ground. Landing on his face.

  “The boy has returned.”

  With the wind knocked out of his lungs, Lachy struggled to his feet, but he wasn’t able to move. It was like some invisible force was pressing him against the pavement. “Leave me alone.” He screamed.

  “I rather like a challenge.” The tone of the voice behind him made his skin prickle hot. Wison flipped through the air and landed directly before Lachy.

  “Wicked. He is still impressive.” Lachy thought. “Even if he is evil.”

  “Where are you going in such a hurry, lad?”

  “Away from you.” Lachy snapped at Wison, with squinted eyes, Lachy wouldn’t dare show the slightest hint of fear.

  “I see.” Wison said, lifting his head, and his lethal leer gazed over in the direction of the Amish barn.

  “Yeah. Remember that?” Lachy taunted him, bile seethed inside him as he remembered the scratching and clawing sounds he put up with all night long in the barn.

  “You will not be sleeping under the Star of David this evening.”

  “Lachy what are you doing?” Came the old voice, that was filled with concern, and dare Lachy think, love.

  “Dad! Dad help me.” He shouted out.

  Horace took a step toward the road and was blocked by a group of the Warlocks. “Tisk-tisk!” Wison said. “Where is he?”

  “Who?” Lachy replied, hardly able to speak with pavement shoved into his nose, Wison moved in on him quickly and had Lachy pinned down with a boot on his back.

  “The beast!”


  “Let me up.” Lachy responded in a muffled voice, if he pushed any harder Lachy was sure he’d break his nose. An outbreak of anger lurked below the surface of Lachy's skin, Wison was taunting him so badly that Lachy wasn’t sure how to control it, and a part of him didn’t want to. He heard the pavement sizzle against him, the pavement was hot enough to fry eggs on it, it should have been burning him, baking him, but he didn’t seem affected. He tried to wiggle out of the Warlocks strong hold, but it was no use, he was too powerful.

  A moment passed, and Wison was gaping at the sky. “I’ve got the boy! If you wish him to live, you will show yourself. Or do you fear me?”

  Lachy wished he hadn’t of said that. “Don’t listen to him Ferus, he is trying to play on you, just like a bully.” There was silence. Lachy was relieved, Ferus didn’t even hear Wison, or at least Lachy didn’t think he could.

  Wison lowered his sardonic leer onto Lachy. “Very well. Your beast has abandoned you.” He said, and he stepped back, shifting his weight onto the ground. Lachy was shivering uncontrollably, and panting hard when he got to his feet, and he turned his head and glanced toward the Amish barn. There didn’t seem any way possible to make it there now, he’d have to play it out with the Warlocks, and think of a new strategy. With a flick of his wrist Wison lifted his hand and Lachy’s body moved upward. His arms and legs were light as air, but he had lost all control of them, there was a force that pinned him to something that felt like an invisible ironing board. His back was stiff, and he was lifted high above the crowd of Warlocks who were gathering.

  “Where is the beast?”

  Lachy didn’t blink. He was staring directly at Wison, with savage wildness, he was prepared to accept what ever Wison was going to do to him, and he’d never tell on the Thunderbird. Suddenly the danger Lachy was in became fatal, he screamed out with a grunt of alarm. There was a horn blaring, an 18 wheeler trucker was heading down Orchard Ave, straight for Lachy.

  “Lachy!” His father screamed out.

  “Tell me boy.” Wison said, looking over his shoulder toward the truck. “Call the Beast. Cry out his name.” He backed himself up to the safe cushy grass of the side of the road, but he left Lachy hanging there, in the center, directly in the path of the trucker.

  Lachy didn’t say a word. Mostly because his words were wedged in his throat, he was scared, the truck was coming hard and fast, the hydraulics were screeching, the driver was trying to slow down to a stop, but Lachy could see the bank end twisting, getting ready to jack-knife. Lachy shot a quick glance over at Wison and shook his head no. If Wison wanted to kill him, he would, and nothing Lachy could say or do would change his mind. Lachy wasn’t about to sacrifice his friend, even if Wison would let him go, he’d never dream of it.

  “Very well. Then the steel rig will flatten you.”

  “You came all this way to get me, do you really think I’d believe you’d kill me so quick?” Lachy was as surprised to hear the words found their way out, as Wison was to hear what he had to say. “Go ahead, I’d rather be flattened by that truck, than go anywhere with you.” Lachy belted the last of his words out before he lost his nerve.

  He defiantly gazed into the fear-provoking eyes who turned on him, with resentful revolt. “If you wanted to kill me, you would have.” Lachy repeated what he heard his father say about the Thunderbird, then he thought about all the conversations he had with Ferus, and added. “Oh that’s right. You had your but whopped by a Thunderbird, didn’t you. I saw it happen. Do all your little Warlock friends know about what a coward you are. Hay guys, he’s a coward. COWARD! COWARD! COWARD!. A coward who runs away, in fear. You’re scared of Thunderbirds.” Ferus was testy about someone saying he had fear, and Lachy was betting on Wison, not being much different.

  “Do not mock me!” The Warlock’s voice shouted so loud that Lachy couldn’t make out anything else that he said. Wison thrashed his arm and an incredible energy hit Lachy and a jet stream of air swept over him, pushing his hair off his face, rippling his clothes with a forceful whirlwind. He was flying.

  All Lachy could hear were the sound of tires squealing, and his father’s wails in the back drop, screaming his name. He felt a weird sick feeling, like all the air evacuated from his lungs, it was a desperate scary feeling. He could see the 18 Wheeler, he was moving out of it’s path, but the grass was getting closer, moving in on him so fast and hard, that he knew it was going to hurt. He was going to aching for a week, if he lived.

  At first he bumped his arm, flipped over on his back and rolled. The impact vibrated him, right to bone, everything should be hurting, even the parts of him that weren’t hit by rocks, sticks and prickly thorns. When he finally stopped rolling, it took great effort to get his mind going, he was gazing at the sky, pretty sure he’d landed on the Amish side of the road. He tried to move and felt too stunned, his legs were weak, and he was shaking all over. Lachy saw a grayish mark on his arms and knees, from everywhere the rocks hit. And a grin came through his soiled cheeks. Just like with Chris Daniels, Lachy's body had turned to armor. He crawled at first then managed to get to his feet, then he was running with all he had inside him, toward the Amish farm.

  “Draculoc. Run!”

  “What do you think I’m doing.”

  “Make haste. He comes.”

  “What else is new.” Lachy yelled at Ferus.

  “I am near.”

  “Go away.” Lachy ordered Ferus. “Don’t let them see you.”

  “They will capture you long before you reach the David Star.”

  “Maybe. But you can’t let them get you. Promise me.” Lachy said, holding back tears. Lachy could feel the stiff breeze Wison created, as he swooped over his head. In the distance he saw something funny looking on the grass, he ran and ran until he couldn’t breathe, and forced his legs to run, a few feet more, just a few feet. There was a patch of grass, that oddly looked burnt in the shape of a circle. Lachy staggered a bit, with nervous tension and his stomach churning, and felt something push on his back. It was hard and felt like the blunt end of a stick. He had fallen face first into the burnt patch of grass, and from the side, he saw the last person in the world who he expected to see. A barrage of excitement lifted Lachy off his feet, he was incredibly ecstatic to see a dark clothed man was walking along, with a straight posture, and swinging a cane.

  It was Mulish Schmidt. He looked toward the sky, and his beady eyes glared at the Warlock. “Be thou gone from mine sight, thine wicked beast of wrath.” Mulish lifted his staff high, and thrashed it into the ground by his feet. Lachy could have sworn he saw sparks coming from where it hit. Wison squealed, and flew away from that Amish man. It was a moment Lachy would always remember. Mulish stared up him, with his cool dark eyes below the wide brim of his hat, with not a hint of fear or nervousness. He turned his back to him, and walked on, and didn’t seem to need a reason to look back. Lachy was about to call out to him, and was drowned out by a hideous scream.

  “What’s happening?” Lachy begged Ferus.

  “You are on Sacred Ground. Well done Draculoc.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “The lamb was sacrificed on the ground where you rest. It’s blood will protect you.”

  On the patch where Mulish had pushed him, Lachy smiled, once again, he owed Mulish Schmidt his life. Lachy didn’t dare make a move, and looked at the grass. There was no life at all the small patch where he laid. He looked toward the Amish farm and the doors and shutters were shut, and he caught a glimpse of Mulish as he closed the barns doors. Mulish Schmidt was a brave man, Lachy swore one day he’d pay him back for all the kindness and compassion the Amish had shown.

  Wison’s furry had lit the skies into blazes. Lachy buried his head and closed his eyes. He was laying in a crooked position, it was heaps more than uncomfortable, but Lachy didn’t care. For the time being, Wison wasn’t able to reach him. The grass smelt of burnt hair mixed with a sweet scent, and he covered his nose, choking down the stench
. He couldn’t believe he was stuck in the middle of the field. Butterflies were fluttering away from a patch of flowers, the birds had taken into a frightful flight. There wasn’t a breath of breeze. And in the skies above he heard a strange sound and he looked up, there was a flock of crows coming in for a landing.

  Then his logical thoughts assembled inside his mind, and he was forced to face two very critical questions. Was he safely inside the Sacred Circle? Or was he now prisoner inside the ring?