Circles of Seven

  The reply was scratchy, indecipherable. Ashley covered her other ear with her palm. “Say that again?”

  “Cellular service . . . unreliable. . . . meet . . . tor.”

  Ashley squeezed her eyes shut and raised her voice. “You want to meet at the tor?”

  “Yes . . . get . . . transportation.”

  Ashley’s voice rasped as she shouted into the phone. “We’re already on our way, not more than a mile or so from the base of the hill.”

  “Excellent. . . . with Apollo . . . Understand?”

  Ashley wagged her head. “No, I don’t understand. But we have Apollo. I think we can get to the top of the tor in about twenty minutes. We’ll meet you there. Okay?”

  A static buzz sounded from the earpiece.

  “Professor?” Ashley shook the phone. “Professor?”

  The connection fell silent.

  Ashley snapped the phone shut and clipped it to her belt. “I don’t know what’s going on.” She retrieved her computer from Walter. “My cell phone’s showing that there should be a strong signal.”

  “Think it was another phony call?”

  Ashley shook her head. “I doubt it. They must know by now that we know about the phony call, so it wouldn’t make sense for them to try it again.”

  “True. But do they know that we know that they know that we know? Maybe they would try it again, because they know that we know it wouldn’t make any sense.”

  “Stop it!” Ashley said, covering her forehead with her hand. “You’re making me dizzy!”

  Walter held out Apollo. “Wanna fire up our friend here and see what’s cooking in the electromagnetic stew?”

  “Yeah, but let’s do it on the move.” Ashley marched forward again and pressed two keys on her computer. “Okay, Walter. I’m ready. Wake up Apollo.”

  Walter pressed a button on Apollo’s base and carried the unit like he would a handful of eggs. “Is it working?”

  Ashley stopped and stared at her screen. “Amazing!”

  Walter halted and cocked his head to get a look. “What? What’s amazing?”

  “The other portal areas were like pinholes that we had to punch our way through.”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “If these readings are right, then this place is a hole the size of a meteor crater. It’s like an interstate highway into Hades.”

  Chapter 13

  ASCENDING THE TOR

  Billy pulled his foot from the sticky mud, making a loud, wet, vacuum sound in the ankle-deep water. The marsh should have been easy to wade, but the soft mud underneath swallowed his feet. Yes, it would have been easier to soar across the marsh in Bonnie’s arms, but it wouldn’t have been right. She was a great helper, and her advice never seemed to fail, but how could he use her as a crutch? This was his mission—his test. If she just carried him through the circles like he was her glass-eyed Teddy bear, he’d just be along for the ride. He had to do some of this himself!

  Billy halted and took a deep breath. Light rain washed against his face as his shoes sank a few inches into the mud. He was about halfway across, and Bonnie stood under a tree on the other side. He pushed on into a deeper section, his gaze alternating between the water in front of him and Bonnie standing on the shore.

  A woman dressed in black suddenly appeared next to the tree. She grabbed Bonnie by the wrist and ran along the island’s shore until they disappeared around a bend that led into a cove. Billy pumped his arms and launched his body forward, pushing through the mud like a madman. Whoever that woman was, she looked like trouble!

  As he struggled on, a wide ripple broke the water’s surface near the shore. He planted his feet and slowed his breathing. Something was out there, and with his sense of danger still hibernating, he wasn’t sure if he should plow forward or not.

  Another ripple. Two more. Billy edged backwards, slowly pulling a foot up and placing it into the mud behind him. The water began to boil, curls of scaly flesh splashing to the surface and disappearing again underneath. Snakes!

  The boiling water moved toward him. Billy backed away another step, then two. A head popped up above the surface, its mouth open wide and lunging, dual fangs stretching out in attack. Billy yanked Excalibur out of its scabbard and swung the blade in one quick motion. He lopped the serpent’s head from its body, sending its thick coils writhing in the marsh.

  Another snake struck from the side. Billy dodged its fangs just in time. Two more attacked from the front. He swung his sword, neatly slicing one in half and hacking a deep gash in the other. The wounded serpent splashed in the shallows, its oozing purple blood mixing into the dark, soupy water.

  Six ugly heads surfaced, protruding from the water like submarine periscopes. They approached from differing angles and skimmed along the water—fanged speedboats with glowing yellow eyes. Billy’s heart thumped. Could he stop them all? He drew back his sword, but before he could strike, something jerked him out of the water, something with enormous strength. He landed with a thunk on a wooden surface, his legs flying upward and slinging muddy water in all directions.

  Billy rolled to a sitting position. He was in a canoe! With Excalibur still in his grip, he braced his hand on the side and pulled himself upright on a bench. A slender woman sat on the other bench, her long black dress spattered with mud.

  He wiped a smear of mud from his eyes. “Who are you? Where’s Bonnie?”

  The woman’s voice crooned like a bedtime lullaby. “One question at a time, my friend. Which shall I answer first?”

  Billy slid Excalibur back into his scabbard. “Where’s Bonnie? Were you the one who took her away?”

  She nodded, her eyes wide and sparkling. “Yes, young Arthur. I led Bonnie to a safe place on my island. She is quite well.”

  “Why do you call me Arthur?” Billy kept his eyes on her while taking off one of his shoes.

  The woman waved her arm, and the canoe instantly moved toward shore, skimming slowly over the grass-covered water. “I am Morgan Le Faye, half sister of King Arthur. I call you Arthur, because I sense the spirit of my brother in you, the same courage and combativeness that he displayed. You see, I carried the king to these shores many centuries ago in this very boat. But he has long since moved beyond my outer gates to his final resting place.”

  The boat ran aground on the grassy shore. Morgan stepped out so lightly it seemed that her bare feet didn’t even press down the grass. She offered Billy her hand.

  “I can make it.” Billy lifted his leg over the boat’s side and lumbered into ankle deep water before sloshing onto shore with his shoe in his hand.

  Morgan let out a low laugh. “Must you always do things the hard way, Billy Bannister?”

  Billy jerked his head up. “How do you know my name?”

  Setting one finger on the bow, she drew the boat farther onto the shore. “Sir Patrick and I have discussed your coming. Although I disapproved, he delayed your mission for months. You see, I have waited many years for my land to be reborn, so I wanted to hasten your arrival and fulfill Merlin’s prophecy.”

  After dumping a marble-sized mud ball from his shoe, Billy leaned over and slipped it back on. “What do you know about Merlin’s prophecy?”

  She spread out her arms, smiling like an excited schoolgirl. “Merlin and I walked these very shores together.” Stepping over to an apple tree, she lifted a book-sized stone that leaned against a protruding root. “He carved his prophecy on this tablet when we last saw each other.” She held the stone out for Billy to see as she recited the words out loud, her voice lilting in a melodious chant.

  In circle three a raven lurks,

  Deceiving all with words of scorn,

  Yet two can find a hidden door

  To take them to a land reborn.

  She opened her eyes again, and her gaze riveted Billy in place. “I will show you the hidden door, and we will restore my land together.”

  “We?” Billy asked. “I think the two are supposed to be Bonnie and me. If we had sta
yed together, I’m sure we would have found the door.”

  Morgan laughed again. “Your interpretation is so shortsighted. Bonnie is a noble, valiant young lady, but she is not the subject of this prophecy.” She put the stone back in place, then took Billy’s hand. “You are to come with me back to your world to take your crown as the king of England and restore your authority over the lands that rightfully belong to the throne. But first we must rescue a group of warriors who will enforce your will on those who resist.” She straightened Billy’s shirt around his shoulders, and her hands lingered, touching his cheek with a tickling caress. “Your face appears to be swollen. Are you sick?”

  Billy pressed his finger on his neck wound. “Some weird bug bit me. I guess I’m allergic to it.”

  She pulled his hand away and examined the bite, running a finger along the welt. “A passage beetle. Very dangerous.”

  “Yeah, I found that out.”

  “It is worse than you think. A passage beetle sprays an electromagnetic charge that allows its bearer to pass through the gates of each circle of this domain, but its bite creates unpredictable symptoms.”

  “Symptoms? Like what?”

  She caressed his shoulder with her fingertips. “Are your muscles usually so well defined?”

  Billy raised his arm and rubbed his triceps. “Well, I have been working out.”

  She twirled a lock of his hair at the back of his neck. “And your hair. Is it usually this long?”

  Billy reached back and felt his hair. “That’s weird. I just got it cut a couple of weeks ago.”

  Morgan’s hand joined Billy’s at the back of his head, and she caressed his fingers. “The bite has altered your metabolism. Destructive symptoms are possible—skin lesions, spontaneous bleeding . . . or worse.”

  Morgan’s fingers felt like icicles. Billy bent down to tie his shoe, glad for an excuse to pull away from her touch. “You know so much about it,” he said, looking up at her. “Is there a cure?”

  “Yes, here on my island. You may have heard the legend about my healing powers. King Arthur was gravely wounded by his enemies at the Battle of Camlann, and I brought him here to nurse him back to health. After some weeks, he returned to Camelot, but forty months later, he came back to this island because of another mortal wound, and he lived here for many years. When he finally died, I became trapped, and now, since I can only serve the true king, only Arthur’s heir can set me free.” Morgan yanked Excalibur from Billy’s scabbard, her eyes glowing with a fiery yellow hue. She held it vertically in front of her chest, letting the blade divide her feverish stare. “Take your throne, give me my freedom, and I will give you your cure.”

  Billy shot back up and grabbed Excalibur’s hilt. For a brief second, Morgan resisted his pull, but she finally let go with a sigh. Billy glared at her, keeping a firm grip on the sword as he rested it on his shoulder. “I read that you just wanted to steal Excalibur from King Arthur.”

  “Steal?!” Morgan breathed a low, “tsk, tsk,” shaking her head. “Oh, you are so ill informed. I am the Lady of the Lake, the one who gave Excalibur to Arthur in the first place. I am incapable of stealing. Part of my curse is that I am not able to keep anything that is not freely offered to me.”

  Billy loosened his grip on the hilt. “Look. Sir Patrick said I was supposed to find prisoners here and release them, not become a king in my own world. I’m here on a mission, not some quest to get a crown.”

  “Of course your mission is unselfish,” Morgan said, placing her hand on his chest. “You have a noble heart.”

  Billy took a quick step back, and Morgan folded her hands at her waist, bowing her head. “I am under a curse only you can break, Billy Bannister.” She looked up again, her eyes imploring. “Set me free, and I’ll help you take the throne of England. Together we’ll spread your goodness to all of mankind.”

  Billy’s swollen cheeks grew warm. “Just . . . just take me to Bonnie. I want to talk to her.”

  Morgan bowed her head again. Her voice dropped off to a whisper. “Are you not able to make decisions without her counsel?”

  “It’s not that. Bonnie’s my friend, and she’s here to help me. I should be with her.”

  Morgan nodded, her hands still folded. “Very well. I will take you to her.”

  Bonnie sat on a low bench in a dank cell. Although the cube-shaped room was well lit by a lantern on the wall, she couldn’t see much. There simply wasn’t anything to see—only six-foot-high walls with a few corner cobwebs at the top to break the monotony of the damp, stone cage.

  She felt like a fool for getting within arm’s reach of that raven-witch. She had a feeling the dark-hearted woman was up to no good as soon as she started bad-mouthing Billy. Why didn’t she just zoom away for help? She could have stayed away from the serpents. . . . If there really were any serpents. But, no; like a gullible little girl, she listened to a smooth-talking seductress and ended up locked in a dungeon.

  And what would that witch do to Billy? When she bolted the door on the prison cell, her words were so creepy! “Don’t worry, dear. When young Arthur delivers you to me, then we’ll become much better friends. We’ll be so close, no one will be able to separate us.”

  Bonnie let out a huff. Friends with that ghoulish fiend? Forget it!

  But there seemed to be no way out. Bonnie had slammed her shoulder against the door at least five times, but it wouldn’t budge. There was a grate in the ceiling for ventilation just inches above her head, but her fingertips could barely slide through the holes, and she had already given it a hefty shake. It was as solid as a rock.

  Bonnie rubbed a sore spot on her forehead. The raven’s goon, a burly, blonde bombshell of a woman, had really let her have it with the flat side of a sword. She was dressed like a knight, complete with chain mail and shield.

  Bonnie put her chin in her palm. “Okay, Bonnie, time to think. You’ve already prayed a dozen times, so that’s covered. But what am I forgetting? I’m supposed to be Billy’s helper, so I shouldn’t be in this predicament.” She blew through her lips, making a low trumpeting sound. This place is a house of cards compared to the candlestone. There’s got to be a way to escape, but it sure isn’t obvious.

  Bonnie poked her finger into the earthen floor and scratched away a thin layer of mud. The dirt underneath was dry and sandy except for one trail of moisture that disappeared into the layers of sediment. She dug a little deeper with the toe of her hiking boot. More moisture. Hmmm. I wonder.

  Switching from her toe to her heel, she kicked the dirt and gouged out a divot. She then tunneled down several inches, following the moisture trail. Finally, she struck something solid, a metal grid. Bingo! A drain!

  Dropping to her knees, she excavated the damp soil with her hands, piling the mud up against the walls. As she scooped up another handful, her fingers brushed a smooth wood surface and a metallic lump.

  Aha! A hinge. And where there’s a hinge, there should be . . .Yes! A handle!

  Bonnie grasped the handle and heaved open a trapdoor. The hatch stood on its hinges, partially shielding the lantern’s light and casting a shadow across a hole about two-foot square. A miniature avalanche of surrounding dirt cascaded into deep blackness.

  Bonnie knelt again and lowered her head near the opening, cupping her hands around her eyes to allow them to adjust to darkness below. Nothing. Nothing at all.

  Muffled voices reverberated through the walls of the stone cage. Bonnie lifted her head. Footsteps clumped over cobbles, and the voices grew louder.

  “You’d better not. Morgan won’t like it,” a woman’s voice said. A jangle of keys clanked against iron.

  “I’m just going to have a little fun with the girl,” another woman said. “What Morgan doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

  Fun? What could she possibly want with me? Does she consider it fun to beat me up?

  Bonnie lowered her legs into the hole and braced herself on the sides. Folding her wings in tightly, she slid her body down, hangi
ng on to the edges with her fingers.

  She gasped. Cold darkness. A floorless chasm into nothingness . . . or worse.

  The prison door creaked open. “What are you doing down there?!”

  Bonnie closed her eyes and let go.

  Walter pushed open a wooden gate. On the other side a long series of paved steps ascended a grassy hill in stages—about fifteen steps, then thirty feet of gently inclining pavement, then another dozen steps, and so on. A few sightseers ambled down the path toward them.

  Walter rested Apollo on the top of the gate as he held it open for Ashley. “Looks like it’s all uphill from here,” he said.

  Ashley marched right past him, hitching up her backpack and eyeing her computer. “We’d better get going.”

  After bending around the right side of the hill, the path curved back, and they labored to climb the steepening grade. They clambered up several hundred feet, then stopped at a graffiti-laced wooden bench. Ashley sat on one end, and Walter plopped down on the other. As Walter caught his breath, he glanced over his shoulder to read the words etched in the weathered grain on the backrest, “No Religion—No Problems.”

  Walter set Apollo on the bench and rubbed a finger over the letters. “I wonder what they have against religion around here.”

  Ashley shrugged her shoulders. “Probably the same thing I did not too long ago.” She spoke into the computer. “Barlow. We’re near the top of the tor, and I need a status report. Can you hear me?”

  Walter closed one eye. “You used to be against religion?”

  “Shhh!”

  A young couple walked by hand in hand, heading down the slope. When they passed out of earshot, Ashley brought the computer close to her face. No sound. She studied the flashing dots on the screen. “Very strange,” she whispered.

  Walter tried to get a peek. “What?”