The Silver Sphere (7 page)

He reached the van just as the light turned green, and jumped
onto the back and latched himself to the door. A girl wailed inside, so he grappled
the handle on the double door and wrenched it open.

The girl wasn't alone. A burly man shouted, "What the hell?
Get out!"

Nick stumbled inside as the van lurched to life. He curled his
hand into a fist and slammed it into the man's stomach, winding him. Just as Nick
stretched for the girl, the man growled and knocked him into the side of the van.

A muffled voice came from up front. "Keep the kid quiet,
Jordy!"

"Some nutcase got in! But he's not leaving," Jordy
growled, glaring at Nick as he held him against the metal wall.

Nick glanced over at the teenage girl, who couldn't have been
much older than fourteen. Long honey hair framed her terrified expression, and snot
ran down her chin from her nose. She squatted while crying, her face scrunched.

"Run!" Nick gasped.

She was tied down, and rage filled him. What sort of
monsters
would kidnap a little girl? A sudden well of power hit him and Nick threw Jordy
from him. The kidnapper's head smacked into the other side of the van and he dropped
to the floor, hard.

Nick whirled around and pulled at the knot in the girl's ropes
until it loosened. "I'm here to help," he whispered.

Jordy groaned off to the side, writhing with his head in his
hands.

"My name's Nick Casey. Please, trust me."

She wiped her eyes and sniffled. Not once did she look away from
the felled man. Her voice came out in a choked whisper. "Okay, I'm E-Emily
L-Lawson."

Nick pulled her into his arms. "On the count of three, I'm
gonna jump, all right?"

Emily nodded, her body shaking as she rose. Though she was in
at least her early teens, she weighed less than he'd expected.

"Hang on tight!"

As the van sped along, Nick launched from the back, and a sharp
pain jabbed in his side. He looked down and... an ice pick was stuck in his gut.
Jordy snarled from behind as Nick dropped from the exit.

The first thought in Nick's mind was,
Roll over. Protect her.

He landed so hard the wind rushed out of him. He wheezed and
his fingertips ran cold. Emily crawled toward him as cars honked. Someone had their
high beams trained on him and yelled for traffic to stop.

"Mister, you okay?" Emily's voice cracked as she took
his hand in hers.

"I'm... fine." Even as he gasped it, he knew it was
a lie. "Are you... okay?"

She nodded as tears dripped from her chin onto his neck. "Please
don't die."

"Someone call an ambulance!" a man cried somewhere
nearby.

Another voice shouted directions to the police dispatcher.

He vaguely heard the girl's mother yell out, "Emily! Emily,
are you all right?"

As his vision faded, Nick spied the girl being pulled into her
mother's arms, the mother weeping and repeating, "Thank you," over and
over.

Emily darted to him and cradled his head.

Emily,
he thought, and closed his eyes.

Nick gazed at the radiant stars of the clear night, his head
light as a cotton ball. Ascending, he rotated and viewed the bright, spinning lights
below. Two ambulances and a few police cars formed a circle around his body. Its
open eyes stared up at him from the stretcher while a paramedic tried desperately
to revive it.

Cold panic rushed through him.

I must be dreaming, or my mind is slipping.
He continued
to glide higher, the image of the emergency technician over his figure fading away.
Thick and murky blackness engulfed him with an arctic embrace as the shadows twisted
and turned around him. Darkness ensued for a time, and he fell asleep.

Nick stirred and wiped away the chunky crust that had formed
in the corners of his eyes. A haze of images prevented him from organizing his thoughts.
What happened?
His head ached.

Once more on solid ground, he brushed his hand through the grass.
He stood and inhaled the chilly, crisp air, which invigorated him. A pair of hills
emerged to his right, and beyond it swirled the remainder of an orange and red sunset.
He lumbered toward the dwindling sundown, rustling his hair with both hands. The
pain from the ice pick to his stomach grew dim, as if he'd only dreamt it.

Had he fallen asleep? Had the kidnapping been a dream?

He trekked awhile, sticking to the flat parts of the countryside.
The twilight made it too dark to view his surroundings for anything familiar. Grass
and sticks crunched underfoot and echoed around him, but didn't offer any clues.
Light emanated from over a hill, and he quickened his pace.

As he drew closer, crackling sounds and voices rose ahead. He
crawled through the mossy, wet grass, and stayed as low to the ground as possible
as he scaled the embankment. When he reached the top, he peeked over the hill.

Several shapes hovered around a campfire, holding out long sticks
over the cozy flames. The scent of roasting meat filled the air. His eyes adjusted
to the light, and....
Am I going insane?
The figures below were wearing armor
like Arthurian knights.

One man, draped in a cape, darted over to a horse tied to a nearby
tree. He was dressed in a rich violet and red, and a large sword hung from a sheath
at his side. On his cloak was a lavender bird of some sort.

Nick considered approaching the fire, hoping they might be a
traveling circus.
What else could they be?
He circled the encampment and
tried to maneuver closer to better survey the strange men. Bobbing up from nowhere,
in the middle of the night, probably wouldn't be a good surprise for the warriors.
Their weapons dangled as though real, and testing them would be foolhardy. After
all, if someone came after
him
from the dark, he'd want to defend himself.

A sharp object poked into the small of his back. Nick stifled
a yelp, thinking for an instant of the ice pick slamming into him.

"Where do you think you're slithering off to, little spy?"
said a raspy-voiced man behind him.

Nick jumped up. "Uh, w-who are you?" The words stumbled
out of his mouth.

"Who am I?" the man mimicked. "Well then, that
is quite a question to come from someone lurking around our encampment like Malefic's
spy, now isn't it? If you weren't unarmed and so frail looking, I would have slit
your throat eons ago. To your feet, snoop, and be glad I don't stick you through."

The surly-sounding figure shoved Nick ahead. As the glow of the
campfire cast on them, the man behind him moved around and into view. The stranger
was tall, slender, and fair-haired. His armor sparkled, and several weapons hung
from his waist and shoulder. He, too, wore red and violet. The sharp object that
he poked into Nick's back was a long, thin blade.

"Speak quickly, outlander. I won't waste time on meddlesome
spies. What is your business and who sent you?"

Numb with shock, Nick didn't respond. He searched for words to
explain everything, and found none. An honest answer was best, he decided at last.

"My name is Nick Casey. I woke up on the ground nearby,
and I've been having trouble remembering how I got here. I'm definitely not a spy,
and I mean you no harm."

"Harm? My, my, now Mr. Casey," the warrior said, as
he studied him up and down in the better lighting. "You're certainly not from
Azimuth, and you're a bit too old to be one of the six Kin. And you're absolutely
not in a position to harm any reconnoiters of the First Brigade of Meridia. Of that
I can assure you. I'm Captain Spiro. You're fortunate I was walking in your direction
to relieve myself. If I had not stumbled upon you, one of my sentries assuredly
would have cut you in two without asking any questions. Walk now." Captain
Spiro held his blade out and motioned toward the fire.

They reached the bonfire, and the men sitting around stirred,
muttering under their breath. Each and every one wore uniforms similar to Captain
Spiro's, and all struck Nick as fierce and unforgiving. He swallowed a lump rising
in his throat. Unlike Captain Spiro's thin, young face, many of them had weathered
skin and were unshaven.

"Clayborn," Spiro boomed, "fetch me some handcuffs
for this intruder."

"Well, what have we here?" Clayborn rose, a massive
man, and towered over Captain Spiro and the rest. A full beard and long, braided
hair made him look more like a Viking than a knight.

"One more traitor from Malefic's legion to carve up?"
another soldier seethed and drew his sword. A mole sprouting black hairs hovered
above his eye, and when he smiled, Nick saw his teeth were yellow.

"Simmer down now," Spiro retorted. "We do not
harm free independents, and I need to determine what side this oaf is on."

Clayborn hissed as he turned and stormed off. "Aye, methinks
he reeks of Malefic's soldiers. Malefic has cost me my ship and crew, stranger.
The gods be with you if you are associated with that lowdown."

A few of the men sitting around the campfire stood and walked
toward Nick. They examined him and appeared only mildly interested in him. By their
glares, he noted they had already decided which side he was on. It seemed not to
be theirs.

"Tolbert, Molson, keep an eye on him till Clayborn returns,"
Spiro ordered.

Nick shifted from foot to foot and wrung his hands until Clayborn
arrived with rusty handcuffs. The hulking figure passed them off to Tolbert and
Molson, whispered something, and headed back to the fire to talk to Spiro.

Tolbert, the man with the mole, fastened the ice cold shackles
to Nick's wrists.

"We're doin' ye a favor, spy," said Molson. "Ye
will be less sore with the cuffs in front."

They forced him down near the warmth of the flames, not far from
Spiro and Clayborn, who engaged in a heated conversation. The captain seemed to
be explaining something when a small troop of men trotting down the hill interrupted
him.

Spiro shouted to them, "Where is Canter's patrol? They are
a fortnight late."

"Sorry, Cap'n, things look bad. Zumbaki have turned up out
there," one of the men reported.

Spiro hissed and spat on the ground. "Zumbaki? Painted tribesmen.
They shouldn't even be on this side of the forest!" He sighed and rubbed the
bridge of his crooked nose, which looked as if it had been broken in the past. "I
intend to retire for forty winks. Be sure to alert Clayborn of anything suspicious.
Be wary in the field. Malefic and his troops could be close," he cautioned
as he marched to a small tent.

Nick stared at the fire, licking his dry lips as his stomach
rumbled. His back ached and his feet throbbed.

After some time passed, two men came running down the hill, glistening
with sweat. They wore lightweight armor and carried fewer weapons than the others.

"Canter, you should signal us with flares," Clayborn
declared as he rushed to meet them.

Canter panted, barely able to speak. "The f-flares... l-lost.
W-we're lucky to make it back. We ran into a pack of Zumbaki. We lost Landon and
Maniker."

"Bloody savages," Clayborn muttered.

Nick's head spun as he struggled to follow their dialogue. He
didn't know how he'd arrived in this nightmarish land, but he would have to adapt
quickly if he wanted to survive.

Shelby decided Sculptor wasn't so bad after all. On the journey
back to their division, Sculptor briefed her and Mr. Dempsey on their predicament,
while Barrick rode ahead of them to scout for trouble.

The shrubbery around them burst in odd colors. Bushes blazed
bright blue and teal next to flowers flaring yellow blossoms with violet leaves.

"Shouldn't be too bad," Barrick proclaimed from ahead.
"We're on the southern side of the forest. No Zumbaki around here, and Malefic's
patrols haven't been sighted. Over the eastern fringe, near the Cark Woods, I wouldn't
be caught without an entire division."