Billy: Messenger of Powers (49 page)

Billy tried to look away, but found that he couldn’t. As with the first time he had seen her, she was beautiful, mysterious, captivating to him in a way he had never before felt. But now, looking at her was not mere fun, it was tinged with a deep fear.

What if Wolfen and Mrs. Black are right? he thought again. I never heard any other side of the story. Maybe Mrs. Russet, and Ivy, and Tempus, and Vester…maybe they were wrong. Maybe they
deserve
to be in prison.

He wrenched his eyes away from Blythe Forrest and looked back at the stack of glass cells that housed the Dawnwalkers. It sparkled in the sky, catching the sunlight and turning the scene into something almost beautiful.

Billy felt something tugging inside him. This was a moment of choice, he realized. When he went back to the Accounting Room on Powers Island—if he ever did so—would his “Billy—unDetermined” badge now say “Billy—Dawnwalker”? Or would it proclaim that he was a Darksider.

For a moment, Billy didn’t know. And for a moment, he honestly didn’t know what he even
wanted
it to say.

Below him, far away, Blythe laughed again.

How can she be happy if this is a bad place? Billy thought. How can the one person who was nice to me be evil?

He thought about staying on Dark Isle. Staying with Blythe. Being, as he had said he wanted to be, her friend.

Being a Darksider.

That tugging feeling deep inside Billy teemed and writhed, like a living creature that dwelt inside his heart and was only now awakening. But would it be a creature of the Dawn, or one of the Dark?

Billy took one more long look at Blythe.

“Stay,” whispered Wolfen.

The creature in Billy’s heart opened its eyes, and Billy suddenly saw what he was.

“No!” he shouted. He shook Wolfen’s hands from his shoulders, shrugged away from Mrs. Black’s matronly touch on his neck. Suddenly, Blythe disappeared from his view and he found himself back on the rock again, high above Dark Isle, Wolfen in front of him and Mrs. Black behind. “You’re lying!” he screamed at Wolfen. “You weren’t trying to save me on top of the tower, you were trying to stop me, to hurt me. Good people don’t hurt other people to help them!”

“Billy,” began Wolfen, his voice the embodiment of calm reason. “Think this through. Look at it from our point of view.”

“No,” insisted Billy. “I won’t. Your point of view is wrong. It’s not what I believe. It’s not what I
am
.”

“What you are?” said Mrs. Black, the mocking tone returning to her voice now. “Just what are you, Mr. Jones? A no-Power
human
? A boy with no friends at school, a boy with no future in life, a boy with—”

“Stop!” Billy shouted. “If that was all I was, you wouldn’t be wasting your time up here with me like this. Neither of you would be.” He looked into Wolfen’s eyes, returning the dark master’s gaze steadfastly. “But that’s not all I am. I am the Messenger. I speak for the White King.” He glanced back at Mrs. Black, who was looking at him with a mixture of surprise and disgust on her face. “And you would do well to remember that, witch.”

Billy saw Mrs. Black’s expression change to one of searing hatred and rage. “You…
dare
?” she snarled. Her cheeks went white, her lips pale, all the blood seeming to rush from her face as she drew herself up to her full height.

Billy thought for a moment that she was going to hit him. But she didn’t. She stood as still as marble, as silent as a gravestone. But that wasn’t all she was doing, he knew. He could feel the air around him start to crackle with energy. Nearby him, Wolfen sighed, as though resigned to what was going to happen.

“Hear this, false messenger,” said Mrs. Black at last. “Hear this, false speaker. None shall dare to challenge the Dark and live.”

With that, a small insect rose from behind Mrs. Black. It fluttered around her hair for a moment, then flapped its way over to Billy. It was a bug, he saw, a large gray moth. It flew before him in lazy patterns, its wings a blur. Then suddenly it was as though Billy could see the insect in slow motion, every detail of the moth clear to him.

It was a moth, but not alive. It was in the shape of an insect, but was only a mockery of such a thing. Instead of a body with pliant wings, it was made entirely of tiny bones, of minute skeletons that created a lacework of grays and blacks. The back of the moth’s bone-wings were patterned strangely, in the shape of a skull. Billy couldn’t help but shudder at the sight of the strange creature. Even though it was tiny, he could sense the power coming off of it in waves.

“The Death’s Head Moth,” said Mrs. Black. “One of my own little contributions to the artistry of the Dark.” The moth continued to fly slowly in front of Billy, as though showing off for him. “Do you want to know what it does?”

Billy didn’t. He looked around for an escape from the doom he could feel coming toward him. But there was nothing. Wolfen was on one side, Mrs. Black on the other. And on the other side there was nothing but a steep fall to a deep ocean full of deadly sea life.

“It is a Harbinger,” said Mrs. Black. “It foretells doom. Your doom, Billy Jones.” She licked her lips in that disconcerting way of hers. “But don’t worry. You won’t be gone. You’ll be dead, but will remain under the power of the Dark.”

Billy didn’t understand what she was saying. He didn’t know what would happen if the Death’s Head Moth touched him, and he didn’t want to find out. However, it appeared that he didn’t have a choice in the matter, because the moth at that instant swooped in toward him. Billy ducked away from it, which made Mrs. Black laugh. At the same time, he felt Wolfen’s hands close around his arms, holding him tightly in place.

The moth fluttered lazily before him, wheeling about for another chance to land on Billy and do its evil work. It swooped straight at Billy’s right eye, and Billy could only scream.

There was a flash, a sizzling sound. Then he heard Wolfen swear behind him, and saw that Prince had chosen its moment to fight. The Fizzle had erupted from its hiding place in Billy’s shirt, and caught the Death Head’s Moth in its flaming jaws at the last second.

Mrs. Black shrieked as though in pain, and clutched at her eye like she had been stabbed there. Wolfen’s grip loosened at that moment. “Eva!” shouted the dark master.

Billy hurled himself away from the fracas, moving in the only direction left to him: towards the edge of the cliff. He moved instinctively, without thinking about it, but as soon as he had taken only a few steps, he looked behind him.

Prince was on the craggy ground behind him, the lava Fizzle working its jaws back and forth as it tried to get a death-drip on the moth. The bone insect was fluttering its skeletal wings, trapped in Prince’s mouth. The Fizzle grew brighter as it chewed, and Billy could feel heat rolling off it in waves as Prince tried to snuff the Death’s Head Moth out of existence. Mrs. Black screamed again, and sank down to her knees, still clutching at her eye.

The moth struggled to get away, but Prince just clamped down tighter and tighter, and grew brighter and brighter as its heat intensified. Soon Billy could barely look at the Fizzle, which was now a white-hot line of heat on the ground.

Then, slowly, the heat faded. The Fizzle let its fire dim. Billy was elated. Prince had done it! The snake had saved him again! The Death’s Head Moth lay unmoving in its mouth, crushed and broken.

But Billy’s elation was short-lived. He squinted, barely able to believe his eyes, as the crushed bones that made up the moth’s body slowly re-formed and knit themselves back together again. Worse, Prince was no longer moving.

“Fool!” shouted Mrs. Black, still on her knees, clutching at her eye with one shaking hand. “You can’t kill Death!” She laughed then, an insane laugh that sent shivers up and down Billy’s spine.

Billy looked back at Prince. The Fizzle was writhing. It had seemed as though the snake had caught the moth, but now Billy could see that it was the other way around: Prince was trying to get
away
, but couldn’t. The Death’s Head Moth flapped its wings again, beating them around the lava snake’s eyes. Billy could see Prince’s ember-eyes blinking, fading, dimming like coals left too long in a fire-pit.

“Prince!” he shouted.

The snake twisted and jerked, but could not pull itself away from the fearful creature of death that Mrs. Black had conjured up. It rolled its fire-lit eyes toward Billy. Run, it seemed to be saying with its look. “No,” Billy said. “I won’t leave you.”

Run, Prince’s eyes continued to say. Run now.

But Billy couldn’t—wouldn’t—leave his friend. He moved toward where the snake and the moth were struggling, and reached out to grab the insect, to pull it away from Prince. But before he could, Prince’s tail flashed out. It hit Billy’s shin like a flaming whip, and Billy winced in pain as he was burned right through his pants.

Prince opened its jaws, and a dreadful keening wail issued from its mouth. It quivered rapidly now, and its color dimmed from yellow to orange to deep red.

It was still looking at Billy, though. Looking with eyes that now seemed to be covered by a white coating, like it was wearing a veil. Run, fool, run! said the snake’s look.

The moth had settled down onto Prince body, now, and was walking along the length of the Fizzle. Wherever it touched, Prince’s body turned to gray. Soon, Prince was more gray than red.

And then, with a final shudder, the snake whipped about once again. There was a crackle, and a smell like sulfur, and then the Fizzle was motionless. It still remained, but no fire was in it. Instead, it was now only a gray carcass. Then, to Billy’s horror, the body seemed to transform. The Fizzle’s gray skin resolved into thousands of tiny thread-like shapes. The eyes opened once again.

“Prince?” said Billy in an uncertain voice. But the Fizzle looked at him now without any love. Its eyes, once bright friendly embers, were now emotionless pits of darkness. The lines on its body shifted and hardened, and Billy suddenly realized what had happened.

“Prince,” he said again. But he knew it was no use. Prince, his friend, was gone. In its place was only a long serpent made of the same tiny bones as the Death’s Head Moth that flapped near its head. It was a newly born servant of Death.

The new Death Fizzle hissed at Billy. Then, with the dry rasp of bone scraping across stone, the snake crawled to Mrs. Black and wound itself tightly around her ankle.

Mrs. Black, though still holding her eye in pain, laughed at Billy’s expression. “They all leave, don’t they?” she taunted. “All your friends. They leave you alone to face your fate.” She grunted, and pulled her hand away from her eye.

Billy almost screamed at what he saw there, but bit back his terror, knowing he had to keep his wits about him if he was to survive.

Wolfen helped Mrs. Black to her feet, then both the Darksiders turned their terrifying gazes on Billy full force. Billy stepped back, trying to move as far as he could from them, but suddenly he felt his heels hanging over nothing. He had come to the edge of the cliff.

He chanced a glance behind him, and saw nothing. Only a long fall to an angry surf and treacherous rocks. As though they could sense that a meal was nearby, the circling sharks below drew in close, swimming restlessly.

“Nowhere to go,” said Wolfen. His voice was only a whisper, but it hit Billy like a hammer. Because there
was
nowhere to go. His friends were imprisoned, or worse. He had no powers of his own. He had no one to help him.

Then, unbidden, the words that Terry had spoken came to him mind:

“Through fires of fate and storms that save